Brazen idiots. Louis thought, watching the two men tussle in the dirt. Going at it for a few minutes now, the group had now gotten bored, some watching with blank stares, others sharpening their minds and blades for what lay ahead.

“YOU BASTARD! TAKE IT BACK!” The pigheaded man screamed, swinging his ax carelessly at his smaller, more compact target.

“One condition.” The short, rugged black haired man stated, stopping the brute's swing with only his forearm.

“I am no dwarf, you ugly cunt.” He finished with a grin, enraging the brute man further.

He swung at the black haired man, who dodged the cross body slice with ease, glaring with delight as his opponent had lost his balance, embedding his ax in the dirt.

“Quit fighting. We need the men,” Eri, the head of the company, said, standing between the two men and narrowing his eyes at the black-haired man, who walked away with his hands raised. The pigheaded man followed suit, begrudgingly muttering complaints as he went.

Oli wiped his brow and glanced at Louis, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You ever remember when you were a lad, always climbing those trees?”

Louis snorted, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I remember getting stuck in them, crying like a baby. But you still climbed every tree to get me down. You getting sentimental?”

Oli’s laugh was strained, but he kept the smile on his face. “Yeah, guess so. I thought I’d always have that, you know? But now you're a man, and this is your first battle. I can still see that kid in you, always climbing up to get himself off the ground.” He rested a hand on Louis' shoulder, giving it a light shake. “Just promise me...”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, his tone curious.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself out there. I might not be able to get you down this time.” Oli’s voice softened as his gaze shifted away.

Louis stared at him for a long moment, trying to catch his eye, but Oli avoided it. “Of course. With the way you taught me, I promise,” he said. Then, hesitating, he asked, “Do you think we’ll win?”

Oli sighed and turned back to him, meeting his gaze. “Of course we will. A bunch of cripples and drunks against some rebel farm folk? We’ll be fine—especially with them.” He gestured over his shoulder to the crimson armor of the Angevin foot soldiers.

Over two hundred foot soldiers waited in the forest, sharpening their freshly forged weapons and polishing their armor. From the hill where Louis and Oli rested, they looked like angelic warriors. Whilst the band—nearly eighty —stood basking in the setting sun, in worn, chipped armor, armed with whatever weapons they'd scavenged from their previous skirmishes. This was their first battle since they had joined and yet, Oli and Louis seemed better prepared.

"At least it's a gorgeous sight," Louis muttered.

From their vantage point, they overlooked the Welsh town of Chepstow, with the sun glimmering prettily on the water behind it.

"God-given days, always a bloody battle to follow," Oli said, squinting at the horizon. "Rain, that's what you want."

"What about the mud?"

"Easier to kill in," Oli replied.

Before Louis could respond, a voice rang out, ringing through the air.

“LET'S GET A MOVE ON!” Gualter shouted. For such a loud person, his frail body didn’t cast the imposing image one might expect, especially when compared to the young, sturdy blonde man standing next to him.

“ALL SPOILS MUST BE BROUGHT BEFORE ERI AND ME FOR DIVISION, ANY MAN CAUGHT HIDING A SHILLING WILL LOSE A HAND PER SHILLING!” Gualter’s voice rang out, brash and demanding. He slapped a hand heavily on Eri’s shoulder, the impact causing the man to stiffen slightly. Gualter, oblivious to the tension, grinned wide, his yellowed teeth glinting in the light. “ANY MORE THAN TWO, AND WE’LL MAKE SOME FURTHER USE OF YOU!”

Eri didn’t flinch, but the narrowed look he gave Gualter spoke volumes. He was the type of leader who tolerated Gualter’s theatrics, seeing them as a somewhat necessary tool. His gray eyes flicked briefly to the men, a silent promise that anyone who dared test the order would answer to him. “Right, Gualter. Enough,” he finally said with barely a shift in tone. He pushed Gualter’s hand off his shoulder, still not looking directly at him, "Are we understood?"

“UNDERSTOOD!” the men responded in unison, some with a resigned grunt, others with barely contained eagerness. They began marching down the hill, their boots hitting the ground in rhythm, their voices a low murmur of anticipation. The drums from the town below began to sound, a steady pulse, and the heat of midday seemed to press harder now as they moved forward.

Gualter’s voice echoed again, but this time it was more to himself than to anyone else. “You know they needed some cheering up.”

Eri didn’t bother to answer, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Louis grinned as he looked over to Oli fumbling with his gear, struggling to tie up his boot. “Need a hand, or are you planning to delay the battle?”

Oli shot him a mock glare. “You know me. Just, uh, they're a little… tight today.”

Louis chuckled, reaching over to help. “Don’t make me carry you. You’re slower than a damn turtle with that limp anyways.”

“Too early for your yapping.” Oli spoke, finally getting up.

“Too early for a battle.” Louis responded.

“Probably, though you don't know how hard it is to see in the damn dark, let alone fight in it.”

“I’ve fought in the dark before.”

Oli stretched and yawned. "All that pretty form shit you do is gonna get you killed."

Louis frowned. "That pretty shit worked on you."

“In a pile of men it won’t.”

“Then I won’t get into a pile in the first place.” Louis quipped sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah.” Oli responded with a grin.

“Do you ever think about going home, Oli?” Louis asked, souring.

"I do. Every day." Oli’s tone turned more somber as he cracked his knuckles. "We will, as long as we just do what we gotta do to get there."

“Then what about after all that?” Louis asked.

"I’d probably be a farmer," Oli replied, his tone lightening again, "and instead of fighting, I'd do a lot more sleeping."

“That does sound nice.” Louis responded, slightly disappointed.

“You’re not thinking of flinging yourself in the water to swim there I hope?” He said with a grin, patting Louis’ back.

“Wish I could.”

“Men say you gain something after your first battle, maybe you’ll grow some fins.” Oli replied mockingly.

Louis smirked, but the lightheartedness in his chest didn’t last long. As the horns blared, it dropped straight to his stomach. The weight of what lay ahead settled into his bones. Without another word, he and Oli nodded, drawing swords, their steps quickening, moving in sync with the swelling mass of men around them. The rumble of feet against the ground mirrored the pounding of Louis' heart. The pulse of battle was in the air, heavy and thick.

They moved swiftly toward the town's makeshift wall, the battering ram ahead of them, smashing into the barricade. The ground shook beneath them as the wall splintered, sending debris flying. The first charge broke through, but still, no resistance came. No arrows, no shouting from the defenders—nothing but empty silence. After several more powerful blows, the wall finally gave way. The battering ram shot through the breach, and the men erupted into cheers and hollers as they flooded through, pushing and shoving through the tight gap, Louis got pushed to the ground, tasting the dust as it was kicked up into his face, before scurrying up and jumping through..

Louis scanned the crowd, having lost sight of Oli after he’d fallen behind. Eventually, he spotted him up ahead, sword raised high, a smile on his face. Their eyes met amidst the chaos, and for a fleeting moment, a silent understanding almost passing between them.

Louis had never felt anything like this before. The rush—the pulsing of his blood, setting his body ablaze. He’d heard men crave it, how they throw themselves at it, and now, he understood why. He felt alive. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the field. Darkness was creeping in, but the charge continued, the men moving forward toward the heart of the town, the sounds of their footsteps and the clash of metal growing louder with every step.

Behind them, the Angevin forces surged forward, a wave of crimson flags, flying overhead. Their soldiers moved with a quiet, terrifying discipline—like a tide ready to wash over the sand. The weight of their force seemed to press down on them, their blood-red armor gleaming even in the fading light, a stark contrast to the boisterous and dull crowd surrounding Louis. The sight sent a shiver down Louis’ spine.

The rebels had prepared for them, drawing back into the village’s square, drawn blades at the ready, No surprises. Louis thought.

He had lost sight of Oli as they busted through the gate, swept into the black tinted crowd of the mixed Angevin force, Louis bit his lip , but he pushed on.

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“FOR ENGLAND!” The mixed crowd of Angevin and Mercenaries shouted around Louis, he did not join in.

The energy had built to a feverish pitch as they charged, clashing their steel right into the hoarded rebels, with no remaining thought of strategy, just blind rage..

Louis met a rebels clumsy first swing, the song of steel rang his ear as their blades scraped against each other. The man could barely hold onto his chipped sword after Louis’ first blow, Louis was pushed in the side by some faceless man, falling to his knees, leaving him to watch as his sword ripped through the man's stomach. As simple as that he collapsed on the ground, writhing in his spilt organs and gushing blood, screaming. Louis scrambled up, eyes wide

He suddenly felt a cold, sharp pain slicing his side, turning to see a boy, a few years his younger, in an oversized knight's helm holding his wobbling sword with Louis’ blood stained on it. He had impressive armor and weapon for an Angevin kid, barely missing Louis with his strike.

The boy swung again, even more clumsily than the other man, losing his balance as Louis dodged the depressing attempt. He collapsed into the dirt, losing grip of his sword in the fray behind him. Louis began to swing, freezing in the middle, as the boy began to cry, guarding himself with his hands.

“I-I yield-“

The crowd suddenly bashed into Louis’ aching side, sending him tumbling into someone who shoved him off.

The world spun around him until he hit the ground with a thud.

He tried to stand up until he was tackled again, this time by the weeping boy who pummeled him straight in the face with all his strength. The ringing of screams cascaded into his ears. building into a crescendo of blood, of death, of pain. Louis gritted his teeth, this was hell. The world had been left behind.

“Just die you monster!” The boy cried.

You fool, you weak fool. Nothing more than a corpse, that's your destiny.

That feeling again flowed through Louis, pounding his body to fight. Without thinking he stopped blocking the punches, pulled his dagger out, and shoved it deep into the boy’s exposed neck, twisting it in enraged glee as blood spat out.

Whatever sense of victory Louis felt extinguished as the boy’s eyes widened, coughing blood through his helm onto Louis’ face, collapsing on top of him.

For what felt like an hour, the song of steel on steel mixed with cries and screams raged on, and Louis laid there not sure who’s blood he was soaked in anymore,.

Louis shoved the boy’s body off, surrounded by hundreds of unrecognizable dead, the sound of clattering swords and screams slowly faded out of his hearing.

They had won, Louis assumed, for the only ones left standing were the Angevin soldiers celebrating opposite of the mercenaries, one scouring the bodies, whilst the other finished whatever laid crawling or howling..

Some smoke had filled the air, choking out the sky as flames devoured the town.

Louis yanked off the boy’s helm, his heart stopping. The boy’s emerald eyes were gone, extinguished in the fading light.. Louis' gaze went down to his bloodied knuckles, the punches echoed in his mind. His body shook.

Was that the only way?

He sat back down.

Monster...

“Wasn’t that bad of a day, ay?” A voice interrupted Louis’ thought, he looked up.

It was Oli, his short brown hair was soiled in blood, his eyes twitching wildly. He held a full leather sack, which also was stained.

“The sack?” Louis asked quietly.

“Borrowed it from a leather worker’s shop, he didn’t need it no more so… yeah.” Oli replied, sitting on a corpse next to him, taking a drink from a fresh wineskin.

“Borrow that too?” Louis asked again.

“You want some? You're a proper man now.” Oli replied smugly, Louis did not reply.

“What’s got you worked up now? Some corpse shove their foot up your ass?” Oli asked with a breathless chuckle.

Louis didn’t reply. He picked up the boys helm, it was a visored barbuta, smith forged steel, no cheap price for a lower class kid.

“Guy you killed?”

“Kid.” Louis replied begrudgingly, pressing the helm against his head.

“Yeah, it happens.”

“Why does it?”

“Why does it what? Have to happen? Because he was trying to kill you probably, so you fought back.” Oli replied, taking a drink from the wine skin.

“But why, why did I?”

“Protect yourself?

“They don't look like how I thought they would.”

“Look, you did what you had to. It’s the only way out here.”

“I froze.”

“You… froze?”

“I was gonna kill him until he just, yielded.” Louis answered regrettably.

“And you didn’t kill him then … because?”

“He was crying,” Louis replied, looking down.

“Ain’t nobody just freeze up in a battle and survive, you're lucky he didn't stab you in the gut.”

“I don’t feel lucky.” Louis replied coldly, "He was crying."

“You’re just shook up, that’s all.”

“I'm not. I'm fine.”

“You aren’t, your whole body is shaking.” Oli replied,

Louis hadn’t even realized.

“No… I don’t know why it feels like this.”

“This,” Oli said, pointing at the boy, “this is how you survive. You saw it with your own eyes today—so get over yourself. There’s only one way to live in this world, I taught you that. It doesn’t care if you’re a knight, a king, or a priest" Oli’s words hit Louis like a slap. Louis didn’t want to hear it. he continued, "Sooner or later, someone will try to drive their blade through you. And when that time comes, the only one who can save you is yourself. So make your choice, Louis—choose to live, like you promise me. Or die here, like him!”

Louis picked himself up, walking off slowly, without a response, carrying the boy’s visored barbuta helmet in hand. he ignored Oli’s calls as he passed through the silent town, out the gate, and back up to the top of the hill where he collapsed with it, his tears, shining in the moonlight, gave some life to the blood stained helmet as it dripped, slowly.

Louis left the helmet on the hill, trudging back to the town through the now on setting rain. He passed all of the now makeshift tents and houses that had been set up, but the bodies still lay everywhere. The water mixed with the blood infused soil created what looked in the light to Louis as a murky slop, with the smell of almost a metallic scent filling his nose.

He stopped in front of an alehouse, glancing back down the path, momentarily thinking of Oli still out there somewhere, waiting. But then he remembered. He snorted in contempt. He’d probably be in there celebrating too.

The thought was a cold comfort. He hated the taste of ale—how thick and heavy it felt in his mouth—but it was becoming the only thing that blurred the edges of his mind.

The bar was alive with the noise of laughter, singing, and clinking mugs, a stark contrast to what lay beyond the door, sinking into the mud. For a moment, he let the noise draw him in.

He shoved down a drink, pushing his intoxicating thoughts to the back of his mind. Two more pitchers were slammed down in front of him, making him jump.

"Mind if I join you?" The voice was gruff, but familiar. Louis looked up to find the rugged, short-haired man from earlier, sitting down across from him.

"Sure." Louis muttered, barely noticing the others around them, the drunken festivities continuing with only a brief glance at the newcomers.

The man grabbed the pitcher, drinking deeply in a few gulps, slamming it down on the table with a thud. The room quieted for a second, eyes on the two men. Louis shrank back, but the stranger didn’t seem to notice or care. He stretched out, clearly comfortable.

"Exciting battle wasn't it?" Th man asked.

"Yeah." Louis replied. "They fought hard."

The man sighed. "Yeah, yeah they did. Almost as if they weren't ready."

"Yeah," Louis said, taking another gulp. "They fought hard."

Louis felt a lump form in his throat. They were thrust into a war they didn’t understand.

"Why aren’t you celebrating?" Louis asked, not sure why he cared.

Amiles leaned back in his seat, the flicker of something almost vulnerable crossing his face before it hardened again. "They fight for a king who doesn't care about the innocent. They fight for power. I used to believe in the good of people, but... what's it worth now?" He looked out the window, his eyes distant.

Louis didn’t respond at first, the weight of Amiles' words sinking in. He drank, again and again, the ale numbing the pain in his chest. His money, what little he had earned from the battle, was disappearing as quickly as the pitchers. He didn’t even know how many he’d had anymore. He could barely feel his legs, let alone think clearly.

"They– didn’t deserve this…” Louis mumbled., burping.

Amiles stared at him for a long moment, almost as if he were measuring the weight of Louis’ words. "You’re right," he said softly, more to himself than to Louis. "They didn’t deserve it."

“What’s your name? I don’t want to be rude,” the man asked after a moment.

“Lo-Louis,” Louis replied, catching the man’s attention. He straightened up as he heard the name.

“A fancy name. Sounds royal.”

“Yeah…” Louis said, pulling himself together, but he could feel his thoughts slipping again. He noticed Amiles’ gaze sharpen.

“French, huh?” the man asked again.

Louis took a long gulp of ale.

“There aren’t too many Frenchmen in Wales. It’s a pleasure,” the man said, leaning back in his chair.

“You—you were the guy fighting that big… pig-man,” Louis slurred, struggling to remember how much ale he’d had.

“He was just another idiot, not worth my time,” the man replied, his voice dripping with disdain.

Louis took another gulp.

“Sorry, I forgot my manners. I’m Amiles,” the man added with a grin. There was something cold behind it, something unsettling.

“Okay…” Louis mumbled, tilting his head. Maybe he knows where Oli is?

“Ha—have you seen my friend Oli? He— fire?” Louis’ voice trailed off as his gaze suddenly snapped to something bright behind the man. He stood up abruptly.

“FIR-E I SEE FIRE!”

“You’re drunk,” Amiles said quickly, but there was something in his voice that didn’t sound comforting. “It’s fine, just sit down.”

The shrieks grew louder. The inn grew quieter.

“I’ve got to help!” He shouted, leaving behind Amiles as he stumbled his way to the inn’s door, the raging storm continuing outside.

Amiles’ face hardened, and with a sharp whistle, two men stepped from the shadows by the door, blocking Louis’ path.

“Louis, I think it’s best if you sit down. We can talk about your friend if you do.” Amiles grinned, his eyes gleaming. “It’s just the thunder that’s got you worked up-”

Before the words even left Amiles mouth, the two men collapsed, grasping at their necks.

Louis flung the door open, stumbling out into the storm. There’s a fire! Screw these people!

Behind him, Amiles’ voice echoed, distant. Footsteps pounded after him

The muddy ground sank under Louis’ weight as the rain beat down on him, his wet hair covering his sight as he stumbled down a red-stained hill. Somewhere along the road, or many times along the road, Louis fell into the mud, spitting out the salty, wet earth as he pulled himself to his feet again.

The first thing that came was the smell, an awful, twisted, sickening scent that filled Louis’ nostrils. Then, a blazing light flickered in the distance, growing brighter with each step, until they stood in front of the fifteen foot inferno of corpses. Their faces… Louis collapsed to his knees, his world falling from beneath him. And then, footsteps.

“I told you to wait inside.” Amiles whispered in his ear. “It’s funny… I thought of sparing him. Would you have?”

Louis sat in silence, his eyes beginning to burn.

“A shame. Not for those Angevins though. I had them receive long, agonizing deaths.” Amiles continued. Louis could hear screams and more blades ringing behind him, echoing in the night.

Louis' gaze was fixed on the swaying ground as he saw Oli, his burnt, gashed face gaped at him with an open, twisted jaw, his charred arm stretched out as if he were begging for him.

Tears burned Louis’ face.

Louis tried to stand again but was stopped by Amiles.

“He wouldn’t h-have… Who… Who in the… hell-s are you!? You-you… killed our own, piece of shit!” Louis screamed, coughing as he spit out phlegm.

“Those people we slaughtered in that square… They were our own. Our blood, but they were never the real rebels, the real rebels… they were never here, Louis."

The words cut through him, each syllable a cold strike. Reality slammed back into him like a fist. it was all... a lie.

"We bought our time and you slaughtered innocent townsfolk, who only put up a fight because they were told there would be reinforcements.” Amiles knelt in front of Louis.

"Where's your honor?" Louis spat. Amiles leaned in close, Amiles’ grin faltered for just a second.

"Honor? You still think there’s honor left in this world?’ he whispered. "I’ve been where they are—where you are. You think I wanted to become this? My family… I watched them burn. And me? Cowering in the bushes, too small, too useless to stop any of it." He growled. "I learned that when you’re that small, that powerless, all you can do is struggle for air. The people above will just beat you down and the only way up is to do everything in your power to bring them down, even this.” Amiles stated, unbothered.

“Damn you to hell, you– monster!” Louis replied, still weeping as he stared back into the inferno in front of him, his former friend’s face now unrecognizable ash.

“Monster?” Amiles chuckled. "I am the monster people like you created."

Louis lashed out, his punch weak and sloppy, barely grazing Amiles' jaw. It was nothing—Amiles barely flinched. He turned his head back with a bloodstained grin, smashing Louis into the mud with a single punch.

“You will learn, as I did.” Amiles said, standing back up. "This is the only way."

Without a fight, Louis was dragged up, covered in mud. His eyelids grew heavy as he fought to look at Amiles. He was watching the fire before following, his eyes were frozen, not glowing with the flame, and then that light went out.