As the battle continued Bertrand strangely began to feel lighter and lighter, he only felt this way though.

Trying to sidestep a zombie's swift swipe had nearly cost him his life when he tripped over his own feet.

He survived of course but only thanks to the valiant sacrifice of one of his compatriots who body slammed the zombie, sending it flying over the roof.

Sadly it had managed to slit his throat with its claws in the process, reducing their already diminished numbers once more.

The battle was going somewhat well in the beginning but after around the two minute mark, everyone started to get significantly more tired and slow.

Even if they hadn’t fought anything on their way to the inner fort they had still been intently focused on scanning their surroundings.

Leaving them quite mentally drained and the short rest they had before the zombies appeared was nowhere near long enough for them to recover their focus.

There was only so much adrenaline that you could handle before crashing and Bertrand and his fellow soldiers had long since surpassed that limit.

They were now starting to die off like flies, it was demoralizing to say the least, despite that no one retreated.

Mostly because there was nowhere left to retreat to, if they were in an open field though, they would have shattered long ago.

There was a threshold for casualties before armies collapsed and they had crossed that threshold easily, like a rock plummeting down to the bed of a lake.

Presently Bertrand was struggling to hammer his bayonet into the skull of a zombie that had attached itself to the shoulder of one of the linemen.

Thankfully he was barely able to keep it away from his neck which meant that once Bertrand succeed in killing it, he could get back up and join the fight again.

A very important thing, as although Bertrand was concentrating on killing the zombie he could still hear the orchestra of battle, it had started off with screams and shouts but now it was little more than grunts and the occasional yelp.

They were losing, that's what those sounds meant and so every addition soldier who could join the fray mattered greatly.

But at least they wouldn’t lose this particular melee, as with one final exertion of effort Bertrand managed to plunge the bayonet into the zombie's skull, penetrating it and piercing the brain.

And after a few uncontrolled spasms, the zombie was dead.

He didn’t even have any time to offer the linemen a hand up as he had to quickly swerve around to face a new one that had finished its own personal battle.

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Fresh bright red blood was spattered all over its mouth and decaying chin and the remains of what looked to be an artery of sorts hung loosely from its lips.

It reminded Bertrand of a farmer from his hometown that would always chew on a piece of wheat, treating it like some sort of small cigar.

The fondness of that memory made him grimace, that thing had just killed one of his brothers and here he was reminiscing on old times.

If he got out of this he would have to get himself checked for more than just physical injuries.

A few minutes ago Bertrand would have rushed the zombie, trying to jab it in the chin and sever its neck wide open, or stab it through the eyes.

Now he just waited though, he didn’t have the energy to spare those half a dozen steps, only the energy to mount a counterattack.

He took those few seconds he had while waiting for its attack to quickly glance around the rooftop.

It was just as he had expected, they were losing, there had to be a little under a third of them left now and he couldn’t spot Blindie or the veteran amongst the survivors.

And then he looked back at the decaying remnant of what had once been a human and watched as it entered his strike range, for a spilt second he did nothing and then he lunged forward with as much power as he could muster.

Springing forwards at the zombie and throwing his left arm out at it while pulling back his right for a brutal stab, he was already missing quite a few chunks from his left arm so a few more would hardly matter at this point.

His punch connected with the zombie's collarbone and with a sickening crack his wrist snapped, he had hit solid iron.

Seer the zombie was wearing a cuirass, a lighting fast thought raced through his head while a whole new level of pain followed closely behind it, why the hells was a zombie wearing a cuirass?

It was just a brief thought though and had already disappeared from his mind by the time he started thrusting up with the bayonet while the zombie grabbed onto his arm.

The pain was more persistent though, making Bertrand waver and in his distress he ended up slicing through the zombie's neck rather than stabbing upwards through it.

Bertrand tried to disengage but the zombie had already bitten into his left arm and was also holding onto it, so all he accomplished was tearing open his arm more as the zombie's teeth raked down it from his failed escape attempt.

And then things went from bad to worse, as a clot of blood spurted out of the zombie's neck and hit him in his left eye, blinding it.

With stepping back not an option and running on fumes Bertrand slammed his head downwards, headbutting the zombie in his desperation.

It did nothing to actually wound the zombie but it made them stop biting his arm as it seemed to realize his neck was a better target, it also tried to adjust its grasp and hold onto his shoulders instead.

And for a brief window of time Bertrand was freed from its clutches, taking advantage of this he tried to move backwards while preparing himself for another attack.

It was a desperate, simplistic, and good plan which ended up not happening as he slipped on a pool of blood instead and fell over.

Rather than being a bad thing though it actually helped him, with how exhausted he was it was actually the fastest way to avoid the zombies attacks and get some brief respite.

The pain from his fall didn’t make him feel anymore awake though, if anything it just made him more tired.

The only solace it offered now was a more defensible position, the zombie would come at him, bite his lifted forearm, or what remained of it and then he would kill it.

It was another plan that didn’t work.

Bertrand watched with his one good eye as the zombie leapt upon him and began tearing into his stomach.