Sir Marce Rock's face was pale due to the loss of blood. His horse was walking, unable to go faster because of the long travel. He entered Gerin Town, a small border town with a small military garrison of less than a hundred soldiers.

He was a retired soldier who worked in the border patrol. His duty was to catch poachers and the sporadic thieves that robbed small caravans crossing the border. Nothing significant has happened there all the time he has been in that job around ten great tides ago.

He arrived at that town, leaving behind his past life after the division war.

He has seen war and knows what it is and is coming directly to him, chasing him. A full-scale invasion of a country that had just recovered from a civil power struggle that, while not a civil war, left the power structure in tatters for a long time.

Blood was all over his body, and the wound was still bleeding. He needed to stop the bleeding and clean the wound as quickly as possible before going before warning the people about the incoming attack.

One of the first buildings at the town's entrance was Old Pepe's Tavern. He dismounted, tied his horse outside the tavern, and crossed the street towards a boy sweeping the front of a bakery.

The streets were small and muddy, most of the buildings were made of wood, and a few were made of adobe.

Around 16 years old, the boy looked at him and stopped working. His eyes opened wide when he noticed Sir Marce's condition and ran towards him. "Sir Marce, what happened?" said the boy offering his hand to hold his arm to help him walk.

"The Holy Union is invading. A big army will be here tomorrow," said Sir Marce, looking back and then to the sun hiding on the horizon.

"I hear your mother knows how to treat wounds, and I need her help." Said Sir Marce putting his arm around the boy's shoulders.

"She is not here. She went to the Capital to buy ingredients for the shop. But she taught me the basics of how to treat wounds, and there are bandages, clean water, and stitches inside."

"Do it, lad, and be quick because I need to visit the Mayor and the garrison to tell them the news."

Cert was finishing putting the last bandages on Sir Marce's shoulder. "But why? Why the sudden invasion? I am unaware of any issues between this country with any other." Sir Marce grabbed his shirt and put it on right after Cert finished with the bandages. "Lad, you are too young to understand politics. This country just got rid of a religious government. I bet the Holy Union didn't like that." They walked toward the Mayor's home. Sir Marce put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You go to the garrison and tell them what is happening. Ask whoever is in charge to meet me at the Mayor's place for details. "Right away" Cert ran and turned to the left on the street junction. Sir

Marce kept walking slowly. It was the fastest he could walk due to the loss of blood. He saw a bench across the street and, for a second, thought about resting a bit, but there was no time to lose, and he kept going.

The Mayor's house was around 200 meters away. It was already around midnight when Sir Marce knocked on the door of the Mayor's house.

As Sir Marce finished briefing the Mayor, Cert arrived accompanied by two soldiers from the garrison. "The boy told us the situation." Said one of the soldiers. "What do you suggest doing? We have no precedent about what to do in this situation, Mr. Mayor. I think it all boils down to how to surrender". The soldier was skinny and tall, with a scar from the neck to the nose, leaving a gap in his mouth that made his teeth visible. His nickname was "Sargent Cadaver."

The Mayor scratched his chin. He was short, in his fifties, with a long goatee. "Not necessarily." He looked down, then up, and a slight smile appeared. " Brenn Kenermett is in this town. He lives here and has a family."

Everyone made a profound expression of surprise.

"One of the three swords of Koseng is here??" Said Cert, almost screaming. "We are saved!"

"It is true that one of the Three swords of Koseng can defeat a hundred men single-handedly." Said Sir Marce. "But the Holy Union army is at least twenty thousand strong. Not counting that if they are going all out, I am sure they are considering the Three swords showing up at some point. I doubt they will perform a full-scale invasion without bringing some of the Inquisitors, who can be pretty troublesome for any of the Three Swords alone." Said Sir Marce looking towards the entrance of the town, imaging the invaders arriving and wondering if they will stop to negotiate or will attack without warning.

Sir Marce looked to the floor, remembering his days as a soldier in the division war. He witnessed the power of the Three Swords. His brain barely comprehended how a single human unleashed so much carnage in such a short time, regardless of how powerful his Whispering could be. Whispering is a tool that depends on the individual skill of individuals born with the "blessing of Whispering." There shouldn't be so much difference between the users, like physical strength, speed, or any traits. Nobody surpasses an average deed by ten times, let alone thousands. Whisper users included, except once every million times, someone with an unimaginable power arises. Nobody knows why, but it is possible, like the Three Swords of Koseng, three persons among a few million population rose up in this era as top warriors and heroes of Koseng.

Legends say any of the Three Swords can defeat a hundred men squadron single-handed. Although many think it is just a folk legend, Sir Marce saw two of them in action, and he thinks the tales fall short of what he witnessed. Perhaps there is hope. It is not the time to doubt. Something has to be done and quick. Sir Marce thought. We have to consider all the options before the army arrives.

"One thing is for sure, the Capital is two days by horse, and the Holy Union will arrive by dawn. We need to be prepared for the defense," said Sir Marce. "Sargent, you are the highest ranked official in this town. What will you do?" Said Sir Marce looking at the Sargents eyes.

"I have no idea. I am just a Sargent. There is nobody with enough rank in this town to pull any kind of plausible strategy. Perhaps we should call Brenn Kenermett and ask him."

"Right, boy, go to the northernmost mill, take the small path to the right, and go to the farm at the end. Ask for Bengo. That is the name Brenn Kermett used when he married and moved into the town. Tell him the situation and ask him to come," said the Mayor moving his hand to hurry him up. Cert immediately started to run.

The boy arrived after a while, alone. "He wasn't at home. His wife said he left to the woods to hunt, and she doesn't know when he will return." Cert said, gasping for air. "She said he has been out for a while, but sometimes he takes days or weeks."

There was a silence. Everyone's face showed deep hopelessness. Finally, The Mayor said, moving his head, "We are deeply screwed." Cert quickly said. "But if we surrender peacefully, perhaps it won't be so bad."

Sir Marce looked at him, "Is not that easy, lad. Most people in this town are refugees from the Holy Union, running away from their harsh religious rules. Many are scholars, free thinkers, and even doctors who were persecuted by the inquisition. Some say they prefer to die rather than return to that life."

Sir Marce knew war very well. Even if the Holy Union had more discipline than an average army, they were still soldiers. Soldiers expect some leniency from their superiors to loot and rape. The most sinister thing the Holy Union do to all their citizens is to take away one child from each family to educate for the priesthood or the army. There is no way the citizens will surrender.

"We need to immediately start evacuating." Said Sir Marce looking at the still stunned Mayor.

"True, we need to give the alarm and organize an evacuation. Do you think we can do it on time, Sir Marce? There are roughly two thousand people."

"Not by the sunset, and I doubt the army will wait too long." Sir Marce was looking towards the town entrance. There were no walls and a straight road towards the hills separated by less than an hour's walking distance. He could see lights coming from the mountains. "They are about to arrive. They need to establish a camp for the night since the army must be walking all day crossing the forest." Said Sir Marce.

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"Then let's wake up the Priest and ask him to make a call in the church," said the Mayor.

The local church belonged to the Faronists. Faron was a Holy Church bishop who deserted two hundred years ago. His movement didn't worship the Vernaculae stone or follow the non-canonical practices like seizing children from their followers.

A bit later, a big crowd was gathered in front of the church, listening in disbelief to the bad news.

"They are coming, and most of you know what they will do. Your soul, your children, your wives, and your daughters. We have no choice but to flee and pray to the gods they will be stopped before they take the whole country." Said the priest, a short and chubby man in his fifties. Bald and with a thick mustache. Wearing a white tunic and a brown stole. "AS I explained, there is not enough time to evacuate and put enough distance to be safe. We need volunteers to stop them long enough to make a difference. It is a large army, many thousands strong. Most of the defenders won't survive. So what I am asking is the ultimate sacrifice, your lives in exchange for a chance for your dear ones to survive. It will be an act of love and courage. I do not need more words to convince you. It is up to you, your conscience, and God."

A moment of total silence followed the priest's words. For being so many gathered, not a single fly could be heard. Then, a young man yielded. "I will give my life for my children and wife!". Then a middle age woman said, "And me! My husband is sick, but I trust he will take care of Andilei, my baby daughter. I will give my life for them!". Then another person followed, more and more, until around three hundred people volunteered.

The priest cried with an emotional gesture. "Thank you, God is watching and will reward all the brave people of this town, not only those who will fight but those who will endure a long journey to the Capital. Do not falter. A few riders are on their way to the Capital, and with the grace of God, help will arrive long before you reach it."

Sir Marce was at the back of the crowd, next to a tree accompanied by Cert. He looked at the boy and said, "why did you choose to stay? Your mother is not in the town." Cert looked at him and replied, "If she is coming back, she will find out what is going on before reaching the town. Two paths are going to the Capital. She might think I am in the other one. I am sure she will not think I stayed." Said Cert with a grim face. "She still thinks I am a useless kid. For her, I am still a kid. And I want to prove her wrong." Sir Marce looked at Cert with an almost paternal gaze. "You will prove nothing by dying here, lad." Cert looked back at him. "Who said I will die? I will contribute to slow them down as much as I can and then run away." Cert smiled nervously.

The sun finally started to rise. Three hundred people awaited inside the small garrison. They were counting on the large army to attack them first before the defenseless town because of the possibility of reinforcements on their way, and they needed to take the garrison down as quickly as possible. The people were armed with spears, shields, bows, and swords from the fort. But there weren't enough, and some people held knives, sticks, and pitchforks. Besides a couple dozen of soldiers, the sight was pitiful. Made of wood and stone, around eight meters tall, some towers spread through it. But the walls were not weak. And they were counting on the bows and three mages, including Ser Marce, to keep them at bay for at least a couple hours. A couple hours was all they needed to let the large caravan of people leaving the town put enough distance to be safe and reach the next big city, Tengen. Tengen was the third largest city besides the coastal city of Dumarn in the east and Ghenelass, the Capital, which was three days on a horse away to the west.

In the distance, the army started to make formations. A group of riders approached. All of them wearing knight armor. One was holding the Holy Union flag.

As they arrived at the fort entrance, one of them took out his helmet and shouted, "In the name of your Holyness, the Pope Norwentus the Eight, Great Ponticife of the Holy Union and guardian of the sacred stone, I demand to talk to your leader."

The wooden door opened. The Mayor and Seargent Cadaver walked towards the knights. Sir Marce and Cert were on top of one of the two wooden towers on each side of the gates.

The Knight didn't dismount and looked down at the two men. "Let's go straight to the point. I didn't come to negotiate but to tell you, out of kindness, to peacefully surrender the town without any conditions. This place is now claimed by the Holy Union; as you can see, any effort to stop it is futile and dumb." The Knight looked around the walls. "You don't even have an army. Save the lives of these pagan fools and embrace the mandate of God." A thunderous sound emerged from afar. The army started to march, and the Mayor sweated nervously. "I am sorry, dear Sir, but I beg you to reconsider. We ask for three hours to prepare the town, and we will hand it to you along with this fort." The Knight made a disgusted gesture. "Do you think we don't know what you are trying to do? We don't need an empty town. The people and their belongings should embrace The Holy Union as their new nation and embrace the Holy Church."

The Mayor wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Then I am afraid we must decline, Sir. "

"Nonsense!" The irritated Knight put his helmet back. "You had your chance, stupid pagans. You don't deserve God's mercy. It is such stupidity." The riders headed back galloping.

"Dear lord, have mercy." Sir Marce thought while touching his shoulder in pain.

Finally, the army arrived and stopped at bow distance from the walls. The sight was beyond anything Sir Marce had witnessed before. He experienced some battles, even two considered significant actions. The biggest one was around ten thousand men fighting. This time, it was more than double that, all in a single side. He started to doubt they could hold them even for an hour.

Luckily, there were no siege weapons in sight. But surely, they had ladders. The walls were around fifty meters long, and the back was surrounded by thick forest. One side was covered by a hill and the other by houses from the town. The enemy had to attack the front wall, which would thin the number of attackers. There was enough range for his repel Whispers to keep them at bay if he got backed by the other two Whisperers. But he was exhausted and wounded, and he couldn't sleep. Only rested a couple hours lying down inside the fort.

Sargent Cadaver shouted, "Everyone ready as instructed, hold your posts, they are coming!"

The first wave of hundreds of foot soldiers ran towards the walls, many carrying ladders. At the same time, archers in the back unleashed a barrage of arrows.

"Cover!" Sgt Cadaver shouted. Everyone crouched behind the wall, and some used their shields. Sir Marce waited until the arrows stopped falling and whispered something from his top position.

Some Whispers sounded like words. Others just made unintelligible sounds. Nobody knows how exactly Whispers work. The name was given because, in the beginning, it was thought only whispering could achieve magical effects. But later was discovered that powers can come from any sound source, like hands or tools. Whispering is hard, and few can achieve any effect. It seems to require a natural ability and practice to master the skill. Each individual usually learns one kind of power. Still, some people use several powers, although mostly, only one is fully mastered. Sir Marce discovered he was a Whisperer when he was young. He could create a form of powerful wave capable of hitting a wide area.

Sir Marce pointed his hand toward the closest soldiers. Suddenly, a bunch of them flew a few meters back as if an invisible wall or an enormous shockwave had hit them. Another Whisperer used a similar power but with much less range area. The other made pointy sticks fly in waves of ten or so, stabbing some soldiers and many others deflected the sticks by shields or chainmail. Some of them just had a concussion. The soldiers being stopped or slowed were not nearly enough to make a difference. Sir Marce realized those weren't mercenaries or recruited peasants but professional Holy Union soldiers. And he obviously underestimated them.

He was naive just to think they could hold them for an hour. This would last minutes, and everyone in the town was doomed.

Every defendant seemed to come to the same conclusion, and Sir Marce could see it in their faces. He hoped the shock would pass quickly, so everyone could run away before the walls were down.

Suddenly all the attackers stopped. There was a brief silence, then all the first wave of soldiers' torsos, heads, ladders, weapons, ...everything started to fall down in pieces from a certain level from the ground. Everything was cut in half, and blood began to spray everywhere as body parts dropped. Then everything else felt dead on the floor, except for a few soldiers lying down from Sir Marce's and the other's attacks. They were below the deadly cut. Everyone opened their eyes in horror. Some soldiers started screaming, and the entire army behind came to a halt. The whole first wave was annihilated in a moment.

A lonely man was standing next to the wall's corner. Looks like he came from the town. He wore golden full plate armor. Shiny as if it was made of pure gold. And he was holding a two-handed sword with a dragon carved on the handle.

Brenn Kermett, one of the Three Swords of Koseng, had arrived!