A knight in scratched black armor approached.

Crimson hair flowed in the wind with silver streaks, about as long as Arsalan’s hair, along with a tattered blood-stained cape.

Following was a swordbearer – a squire in chainmail that carried her war knife, or messer as some called it here. A two-handed blade with a single edge, which bears a frightening resemblance to a giant kitchen knife. The sight gave us all pause.

All of our foes cheered as their champion walked up to Rovan, standing by the drawbridge. He stood his ground.

The knight took the messer from the kneeling assistant, and flourished it for all to see. The cheering roared twice as loud as an epidemic of fear strangled our rangers. I reassured them that if we do our best, we can hold the warlord’s forces off.

“Listen,” I told them. “I don’t think they know just how well prepared we are. You all know the ranges around the fortress, and the wind isn’t that strong. I expect you’re all willing to show off your marksmanship. Especially now that the lives of your friends and family are on the line. Strelya! Is your detachment ready?”

She sternly nodded yes, followed by her subordinates.

“Good. We have no choice but to fight them from atop the walls. They’ll try to find a way up, kill them as they do. Don’t expose yourselves more than you have to. Use your firebombs on clumps that get too close. They’re well-trained and well-equipped professional soldiers and mages. Don’t underestimate them, and defeat them whenever you get the chance. Their motivation is in glory and money, but we have the hopes of our loved ones within these walls. Anthrax is already firing up the bastion’s turrets.”

The swordbearer moved aside and took off his glove as the witness. After the fighters shared deep breaths, he dropped the glove. The fight began.

They circled each other, but the knight’s blade outranged Rovan’s mace by twice as much.

Rovan’s outmatched. He’s being toyed with. Shit!

Every knightly strike and feint was akin to a bored predator playing with prey, exhausting the victim.

“Strelya! You take over for now. Hey, the two of you have to come with me. Now. Don’t worry, we’re not letting Rovan die.”

I wore my shielded kettle helm over my hood and padded vest, then fixed the bayonet on my revolver carbine as I hurried down.

After a minute, Rovan began showing lots of wear. The black knight turned and reciprocated all the cheering, with a ripped crimson cape dancing in the wind.

“Is this whelp of a sergeant their best?!” screamed the knight with a resonating voice full of gravitas, slightly muffled.

Rovan fell for the trick and charged. The knight deftly dodged his strike – and the follow-up he made after. Holding the sword backwards, with both hands on the blade, the knight used its heavy pommel as a blunt weapon. Murder stroke, some called it. Rovan fell off-balance as his shield got kicked, knocking him backwards.

With his guard down, the raging dark armor approached and smashed his helmet over and over with the pommel. Loud incessant clanging could be heard from a distance as his helmet got dented over and over helplessly. Rovan was down and barely conscious.

The messer was flipped; half-sworded in an attempt to find a clear gap in his armor to stab him in. Rovan was about to die.

“Halt!” I yelled, as the gate opened.

“You.. should know better than to interrupt a duel.”

“I am Isolus, the director of this redoubt – this fortress.”

“Nevermind. What do you want?”

“Fight me, instead. The old man is done.”

“A deathwish, huh?” the knight asked.

The enemy army booed and taunted. I had two unarmed guards haul Rovan inside, leaving a smeared bloody trail. The gate closed behind me. This is it.

“Fine. It’s a shame you’ve butchered that Marbordian helmet and gambeson. You’re still going to die. Come on then!”

The knight turned to the crowd, dismissively. Stalling. Clearly trying to regain stamina after the earlier bout. I need to act now.

I could shoot, but maybe I can win this with just the bayonet. I saw a few familiar feints that I myself practiced over the years.

We orbited one another, but I was pushing more aggressively. My bayonet probed, giving less time to organize. I couldn’t penetrate most of that black armor, but I was obviously aiming for the gaps along the joints. I wasn’t going to let armor be used as an active defense. My bayonet never remained overextended.

The cadence of our fight hastened. Now, I’m receiving several jabs and slashes, but my arm plates made up for my lack of a shield. I’m fresh, confident, and my enemy is winded. I’m slightly taller, and hopefully also stronger. I have the advantage.

“Not half bad! You’re still going to die.”

“You’re on my property.”

“Nah, won’t be yours for much longer. Nothing will be.”

Then I saw a change in footwork; an extra aggressive pace. A sudden flurry of strikes flew past my cheeks. I dodged, falling further back on the drawbridge with every thrust. This is starting to wear me out too. I took the safety off the weapon, primed and ready to shoot.

Suddenly, the two-hander rose up for a strike, but it seemed like a feint somehow? Reflexively, I thrusted my bayonet towards the knight’s neck – and got crudely parried.

But I’ve practiced this countless times, and followed up the deflected bayonet with a sturdy uppercut using my carbine’s buttstock. Now that’s a heavy blow.

A deafening clang resounded as the bronze buttplate of my stock tore off, along with her helmet. Her long, messy hair streamed over her face. She stumbled back, revealing herself as a scarred older lady with slight old cuts and burns on her cheeks.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” she said.

My fingers quaked – dropping the carbine.

“Dropping your weapon? Am I that ugly? How rude.”

“..mom?” I asked, with a crack in my voice.

“The fuck you mean by that? Fight me.”

The knight kicked the carbine forward.

“Pick it up so I can kill you, little shit.”

I lowered my glasses and ripped off the metal face shield from my helm, the very same kettle helmet Kantax used as a legionnaire decades ago with the same padded gambeson vest. Memories flashed of that burning house, and how I used this helmet to hammer a nail onto the fabric I escaped with.

“Kantax, it’s me. Forlasita.” I raised an open hand.

“Hah. Huh? What? Wait, but you don’t..”

“I’m wearing a black wig and my ears are clipped! This hood is the same pink hood from that dress you and Arsalan got me. My helmet and vest are yours. Please, it’s me!”

Kantax shook as the blurry appearance of her daughter stood in front of her. Still in denial, she furiously charged forward. I grabbed the carbine and backed away.

“Yeah, nah. My daughter DIED in that fire!”

“Wait! Plea-”

She clumsily swung her messer; I blocked it with my carbine. The sword embedded itself into the middle of the weapon’s wood furniture. A close-up moment gave her a clear view of my face. We paused, before I kicked her away – freeing the sword.

“My dear, I’d recognize your eyes anyday.”

“It’s me. Please, mom. Help me.”

“Impossible. You’re really alive, dear?”

Kantax pulled back. We orbited each other, muttering ways to solve the problem. We playfully sparred much like we did before. Eventually, we hatched a plan and she feigns loss, falling disarmed.

“Ouro!” she called.

Her swordbearer and aide comes forth to hear her orders better. It really is Ouro. Kantax orders him to organize her company to abandon camp at the dead of night and sneak to the southern gate to aid the defenders. Anyone unwilling to do so can run off.

I reeled my bayonet from my mother’s throat, and ordered a pair of guards to drag Kantax in. I stood in front of the shocked army, defiant. Our rangers screamed the loudest cheers I’d ever heard.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

”I have defeated your champion! Leave, or die!”

Kantax is tied up, and by my orders she’s escorted to the laboratory office. The guards then returned to their posts.

I quickly cut the rope binding her black gauntlets, using the same survival knife Kantax and Arsalan gave me.

I held her face up and asked. “Are you hur-”

Now with free hands, Kantax quickly embraced me with a hug even tighter than Inkunzi’s. She started whispering as she sobbed.

“I thought.. I thought I fucking lost you.”

“Hey, I miss you t-”

Kantax began to sob as she held on tighter.

“They told me you were gone. Arsalan told me you were gone before he left,” She muttered. “I can’t even remember the night I lost you. But that Taido kid told me all about you and where you were headed, but he couldn’t find you. Seylas’ moved to the mainland and we followed. I had to follow what little hope I had left.”

“I.. I’m happy to see you again, mom.”

“Listen. I won’t lose you again. You hear me?” she promised.

It didn’t take long for us to realize the other began shedding tears, so we started wiping off each other’s cheeks. Our sudariomos were almost identical, as my burnt one was still the same one Kantax knitted that day it all burned down. The tears and wiping probably cleared my concealer, unveiling the scars I’ve tried to hide.

“My dear, where’d you get all these scars?”

“Don’t worry, you know I won them all.”

“Besides the point. And I’m not sure we’ll win this one.”

Moments turned to minutes, and minutes to hours. A new moon greeted us with a pitch-black nightfall. Kantax explained the unit composition and layout of the besiegers. Under the dark and quiet of night, the few dozens of men from her company snuck their way to the opposing gate.

Her troops are loyal. Not a single one walked away. They’re mostly wearing darker-colored gambesons layered with chainmail and some blackened armor plates. Some assumed this was a plan to sneak in and stealthily win the siege, but Kantax briefed them on their new directive to dig in and defend. A few of them raised objections and concerns, but they knew they could turn this around.

“Listen, dear. Most of the besiegers are getting some good rest, gathering resources, or getting drunk. Skippio’s only had a few battles under his belt but he has no clue what your fortress can do, and he probably doesn’t know my troops have bolstered yours. To him, this is just a keep full of peasants. Tomorrow, he’s probably going to issue the command to build a ram and some ladders to get his men in.”

Dawn comes early, and Skippio’s 600-strong army loses a company of 50. From being outnumbered 12 to 1, we’re at much better odds of around 5 to 1.

A horned sorceress, Zillah, leads the wolfhead mercs. Kantax respected her the most, and knew that by now Zillah would’ve informed Skippio of the missing cohort that lost their captain. Kantax’s division was known to be some of the poorest of the army; ridiculed for being so lowly compared to the other swashbucklers.

But these guys are real fighters, most of whom had to shed blood since childhood. They’re mostly handpicked by Kantax herself.

The traitorous troops were uneasy, but they calmed down after being fed well and treated like much needed heroes – even by the rangers and guards. Before, they were treated almost as bad as the spear levies since none of them were born of nobility. Only their captain, Kantax, was respected.

The next evening came. Skippio grew restless. He ordered the rapid completion of siege ladders and even an unarmored battering ram. The surrounding camps grow busy as more and more of the nearby forest is consumed for immediate resources. They’re even slower than we thought. It’s clear their complacency began to wore off when they realized we really were planning to put up a fight.

The sun rose once more. Lit torches in view of the front gate are snuffed out. The army had begun their assault, and the alarm was sounded. Everyone steeled themselves, as some breakfasts remained half-eaten.

Skippio sent the pavise crossbowmen first to skirmish our rangers, and were immediately peppered. Their traditional crossbows are outclassed by our repeaters from atop and inside the castle walls.

Strelya, normally a quiet lady, barked orders as soon as she gauged the distance to the crossbowmen. She shifted her squads around the walls to create a devastating killzone that not even the largest shields can protect from.

Countless spearmen rushed forward but stopped short of the barbed ditches outside, where they then became easy pickings. Some foreign mounted archers started skirmishing around the settlement to draw the attention away. Their speed and skill are easily met by the defenders’ shot placement and volleys. Their skittish horses went down, or retreated.

My carbine stayed slung over my shoulder, it wasn’t accurate enough. Soon I started sniping from the bastion with a new repeater that used Arsalan’s elven bow at its heart and an adjustable magnified sight. This was what I practiced the most with for defense.

I aimed for Skippio, about 170 meters away, but ripped through an armored squire’s neck instead. The young man clawed away at his throat as the bolt splintered everywhere. I’ve just killed someone.

But the furious Skippio glared back with one eye as he covered his other. Perhaps shattered pieces of the bolt got to him? I only had one shot, as mages began shielding him with spells. Damn.

The siege ladders eventually got closer, through the ditches by combined efforts of the elite troops and barrier spells conjured by some of the cultists. The plebeian spear levies aren’t afforded such protection – so they either break and run, or huddle up into a makeshift turtle formation; but a schiltron would be a terrible idea against us. Everyone had a firebomb.

Anthrax finally gave the go-signal to the weapons crews and the bastion’s large flamethrower spewed streams of fire – but not at the poor clustered spearmen. He aimed at the knights who were desperately trying to haul the battering ram forward, and at the sergeants responsible for raising the ladders.

Alarmed by the amount of losses, I saw Zillah begin ushering her fellow mages to fire destructive magic at the bastion. The stone walls largely resisted the attacks, but some blasts got through and damaged the weapon. Anthrax quickly ordered the crew to abandon the crumbling machine, as it had already burnt several dozens of troops to a crisp. The barrier spells failed.

Their scouts reported merely fifty-something defenders, and some had already fallen due to the now-decimated skirmishers. Half the ladders reached the top, and are now being scaled by furious knights and berserkers.

Most of the lowly spearmen broke rank and started running for the forests as the defenders pelted firebombs. It was like we had fire-breathing dragons tucked away in here, so of course they ran.

As the invaders reached the top, they’re met with volleys from rangers who gave them no time to protect themselves. The armored few who shrugged the bolts are then surrounded by Kantax’s cohort, which proceeded to beat them mercilessly with shields and maces.

The defenders now clearly totaled over 100 with barely any losses, I’d be surprised if Skippio doesn’t call this off soon.

More and more soldiers climbed atop the walls. Some sneakier troops managed to grapple onto the riverside walls and enter without a ladder. I noticed and called for help as I dropped my repeater to rush to the breach where I can fire my revolver carbine instead.

Losses mounted near the riverside wall and I ended up throwing my four firebombs at several raiders. I shot two soldiers in the head, and one large soldier in the chest all with five rounds. Now with only one round left, I’m cornered – one guy smashed my carbine in half with a mace. I parried what I could but another strike smashed my right wrist, flinging the revolver into the Hirene river.

Reeling and unable to defend myself, I fell back to the burning bastion where the flamethrower collapsed. I’ve fireproofed my clothes prior with boric acid, but they chased me through the heat.

From the shadows of the scattered flames, a large sword cleaved one pursuer in half. Bloodied black armor and crimson hair reflected the embers. Kantax had snuck through one of the service ladders, along with a handful of her own men.

“Run! We’ll handle them,” she said. “GO!”

“Traitorous scum!” the raiders screamed as I retreated away, only to find several firebombs already being used on the walls as more enemies climbed up.

A large horn echoed through the battle. As Kantax expected, the horn gave the exact signal for retreat. I looked over the wall and saw the last of Skippio’s retinue hauling ass. Zillah furrowed her brow, and slapped Skippio before leaving with her remaining mages in another direction. Kantax said Zillah worked under Eschaton, the mage she fought in front of me long ago. Ever since Seylas rescinded power, their force barely held together.

“You sanctimonious bastard!” I faintly heard Zillah yell at Skippio from all the way over here.

They darted glares at each other as another captain continued sounding the horn – signaling a total retreat.

Back in the keep, I regained my breath after hauling others to safety. I ordered the rangers to stop shooting at the retreating men, and to immediately gather the wounded for tending.

Their fierce eyes.. I remembered how they turned to fear as soon as I started shooting. The raw power of making invaders feel weak wasn’t as exhilarating as I thought it’d be. I’ve never killed anyone, until today. And I killed quite a few.

Not even in the two and a half years I spent in war near the end of my past life did I really shoot anyone. I wasn’t really a frontliner, and I largely spent my active hours driving trucks, or getting our shitty vehicles running again, or making improvised munitions for drones or traps. My free time was usually spent watching documentaries, or learning how to maintain and operate the myriad of equipment we had.

But the shock and awe in their eyes only turned to rage after I was left with one bullet. They didn’t know I had one bullet left – or what a bullet was, but they saw me stop shooting, and that was enough for them to offer everything up to kill me.

They came here for conquest, and I nearly lost my home and life yet again. How often will I have to fight off invaders? Death comes so quickly in this world, and dishing it out to people who would have dealt it to me and my friends is a necessity. My instincts savor the idea, but it’s sickening to think about.

I didn’t get any burns this time, but my right wrist still feels like complete ass. It’s swollen stiff. Guess my gun’s probably somewhere at the bottom of the river. Lugosi mysteriously left last month, but I’ve since been able to teach first aid and sanitization. They don’t really understand why cleanliness helps save lives yet, but they followed orders well enough to save whoever we can. Fortunately, a captured mage, Rujia, knew healing magic.

…

Weeks have passed since.

13 of ours died, but we had to bury 79 of strangers too.

44 of them surrendered or were captured, but we had no prison so we promptly sent them away.

Many of them returned, even those without permanent damage – unable to find work elsewhere.

Pulvera’s population now hovers around 170.

Kantax sat by the burial site at night, etching the new grave markers by candlelight. Alone.

“Y’know, it never really gets easier,” she said.

I know.

“Seeing in the dark.”

Oh.

“Or seeing your friends buried.”

She stopped etching, and turned to me.

“Especially when you had to kill them yourself.”

“They knew what they signed up for.”

Kantax winced. “Half of these guys didn’t sign up for shit. Either they join, or their family pays.”

I spoke up, and placed my hand on her shoulder.

“Giorgo, Rava, Ludoviko, more than a handful of my friends paid with their lives that day. Strelya might’ve died from infection if no mage knew advanced healing arts.”

“Shit’s just like that. Glad I still have you, dear.”

She reached out and gently held my hands.

“Forgive me for being gone for so long” she said.

“Wish I could tell my family the same thing,” I whispered.

Her eyes brightened as she teared up. I really didn’t mean to say that out loud, my bad.

“Wait, you have a family? Do I have grandkids?”

“No, no I didn’t mean it like that. It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re here, forgive me for not leaving clues behind.”

I faked a smile and hugged her, but the warmth ate away at me and I soon found myself smiling for real. Moments later, I started to cry for real too.

“I’ve missed you so much.” I embraced her so tightly that I felt my right wrist was about to snap.

“Lasita, hey.. it’s-”

“Fuck, I never got to say it back before but the truth is – I’ve always loved you too, my dear mother.”

Fancula, mi neniam devis diri jin antauhe sed la vero estis – mi amas vin, mia kara patrina.

I’m glad most of these people I care about, are still alive.

Let’s keep it that way, for as long as we can.