Hugo tightly clenched the rough haft of his makeshift spear, his palms slick with perspiration under the relentless midday sun. Several months ago, what had once been his dependable scythe had been brutally transformed into this crude weapon. Its blade, now a grotesque monstrosity, extended garishly long, twisted, and marred with countless chips. Stretching out before him was a lush grassy field, its left flank adorned by a serene small lake. At the field's distant end stood the looming border of a forest. However, the idyllic scene was shattered as a battalion of heavily armored knights charged recklessly across the field, lances poised and aimed forward, ready for blood.
"Arms ready!" the man clad in leather armor roared, his sword pointed resolutely ahead. At first glance, Count Kohlstedt seemed unwavering in the face of the approaching phalanx of steel, yet to Hugo's keen ear, his commander's voice betrayed a hint of trepidation. Count Kohlstedt clutched his sword's hilt with a white-knuckled grip and pivoted to confront the oncoming knights, brandishing the blue and white checkered banners of the Kingdom of Swavaria. To Hugo's right, he caught sight of his own standard bearer, a youth no more than twenty, weakly displaying the black, double-faced eagle on a field of golden yellow. The other levies, lined up shoulder to shoulder beside him, trembling in their boots, their makeshift weapons and cloth-covered bodies bracing for the imminent collision with the thunderous charge of hundreds of armored horsemen.
The horsemen raced across the open field with terrifying swiftness, shredding the grass and slinging mud into the air as they descended upon Hugo and his comrades with a murderous determination. In an instant, pandemonium broke loose. The clamor of clashing steel resonated through the surroundings. The horsemen ruthlessly trampled Hugo's fellow soldiers into the muck, their anguished cries piercing the tumultuous atmosphere. Lances ruthlessly punctured the chests of those to his left, penetrating the unguarded bodies of the unarmored men. To his right, the peasants valiantly attempted to breach the formidable armor of their mounted adversaries, but the riders, wielding cruel maces, mercilessly delivered several pounds of iron upon their skulls.
Count Kohlstedt fought desperately, swinging his sword wildly in a futile attempt to fend off the unrelenting onslaught, his blade resounding against the unyielding armor of the professional soldiers. Hugo stumbled to his left, narrowly avoiding a collision with a charging knight who violently plowed into the man who had stood behind him. As he regained his balance, he witnessed a rider brutally crush Count Kohlstedt's skull with a mace, crushing the lord's head as if it were mere blades of grass beneath the hooves of the horse.
A charging horseman thundered toward Hugo, his greathelm crowned with a glinting circlet, and his sword descending with deadly intent. In the split second before Hugo could react, the standard bearer swung his golden banner at the rapidly approaching rider, startling the horse, which reared up on its hind legs and unleashed a deafening shriek. Hugo found himself face to face with the exposed underside of the horse, devoid of any protective armor—a momentary vulnerability. With a firm grasp on the haft of his spear, he propelled himself toward the horse's underbelly.
His makeshift spear met flesh, tearing through the horse's vulnerable underside, and blood erupted like a geyser, drenching Hugo and the standard bearer in a gruesome scarlet spray. The wounded horse collapsed onto its left side, its rider's leg pinned with a stomach-turning crunch. Flushed with adrenaline, Hugo leaped over the fallen horse. The rider, struggling to fend off Hugo with his sword, couldn't twist far enough from beneath the dead horse to confront him. The man's greathelm had been dislodged during the fall, revealing his long golden hair. His fear-filled blue eyes locked onto Hugo as he straddled the horse's lifeless form, his golden beard now a grisly mixture of mud and blood. Without a moment's hesitation, Hugo wielded the curved blade as if it were still the scythe it once had been. The metal cleaved through the rider's neck with a sickening slush, separating his head from his body.
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The cacophony of battle shifted, no longer dominated by the clashing of steel, but by a deafening chorus of terror. The headless body sprawled before Hugo wasn't just any ordinary rider; it was the sovereign of Swavaria. In defending his own life, Hugo had unwittingly committed regicide. Witnessing their liege lord fall at the hands of the humble Hugo, the surrounding riders began to lose their cohesion. The peasants standing alongside him, now infused with an unfamiliar fervor, raised a war cry and charged at the knights still entangled in the melee. They leaped onto the sides of the horses, forcibly dislodging the riders from their saddles. Where fear once reigned, newfound confidence and a relentless thirst for vengeance against their former oppressors took hold. Chainmail-clad knights found themselves overwhelmed by a relentless onslaught of rudimentary weapons, their limbs bent and broken by cudgels and clubs. The blood-soaked earth beneath them began to squelch with gore as Hugo stumbled away from the fallen king's horse, the surge of adrenaline fading as swiftly as it had overtaken him.
Hugo clung to his blood-smeared spear, his head swimming in a daze. The standard bearer clutched Hugo's shoulders, providing much-needed support as Hugo's vision flickered in and out. Faintness washed over him, and he struggled to make out the standard bearer's agitated words, lost amidst the din of the battle, reduced to a distant, dull whine. Hugo observed the knights retreating. Countless riderless horses careened chaotically across the field from whence they'd come, while others sought refuge by fleeing into the nearby lake to escape the brutal fray. Hugo turned to survey the gruesome scene that now surrounded him – a haunting landscape of mangled and lifeless bodies, the result of the peasants' relentless pursuit of the fleeing knights.
His hearing surged back with a jarring intensity, inundated by the anguished cries of the wounded. The standard bearer's urgent shouts swiftly reached Hugo's ears.
"Hugo, we have to run now! Can you hear me? Those knights aren't vanquished; they're receiving reinforcements! More are emerging from the woods, Hugo; I can hear their war horns! We must escape!"
The standard bearer tugged Hugo away from the gruesome scene, and they stumbled amidst the scattered bodies and discarded weaponry. Just as the standard bearer had warned, the distant wail of war horns echoed from the forest's edge. Hugo glanced back as they reached the road that had been behind their battle line, witnessing fresh riders bursting forth from the tree line, joining the blood-spattered knights who had been fleeing. The once-senseless and now bloodthirsty mob of peasants, scattered across the open field, were being mowed down like ripe grain. A surge of nausea overwhelmed Hugo as he quickened his pace, racing northward along the road.