They came around the bend in the road in a tidy formation, one neat as could be managed inside of the cramped confines of the city. It was evident that they possessed no small amount of experience in the art of brutal urban warfare. Judging from the confident swagger and upright posture that they exhibited as they marched, they were also well aware of that fact. Standing tall, looming over the awaiting forces of Albion, for not a man amongst them stood at less than six feet, they presented an intimidating sight to the shorter and often malnourished peasant conscripts.
In sharp contrast to the mercenary force that had so recently been successfully repelled, these men were armored. The gleaming shine of polished steel beaming off of their metal carapaces was dulled only by the blood of their erstwhile brethren. In thick plate were they clad, modern breastplates weighty enough at the front to deflect even a bullet fired from an arquebeus, matched with finely articulated, overlapping plates forming their tassets, greaves, and gauntlets. The only portion of these new foes that remained bare were their heads. Their expressions were those of sneering and snarling faces, of men that had butchered and would do so again, sporting all manner of beards and moustaches in garish defiance to Albion’s fashion. These were not the mere boys that had been thrown against the city’s defenders before, the frightened and desperate gaggle of the green and the infirm. No, these were hardened, grizzled veterans ready to repeat in Maegwyn what they had enacted in dozens of other such cities.
The entire assemblage of the Home Guard inaudibly gulped, what hard won confidence that they had gained previously now cruelly shattered when faced with actual soldiers. These men were consummate professionals, those whose every waking breath, having emerged living from countless battlefields, stood as testament to their competence. Murmurs roiled through the ranks as they beheld their impending doom, something that even from the dozens upon dozens of yards that separated the two bodies of men still left spines atingle and set nervous feet tapping loudly against the cobbled stone streets, as if ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The Empress’s Shield were grim faced behind their great helms, hands clenching tightly to their weapons as the enemy approached. As confident as they were in their own skill, they could not help but to compare themselves less than favorably to a deathly foe as vaunted as that of the Aachish mercenaries.
Nathaniel took in the proceedings with some dismay, still catching his breath from the exertion of the prior engagement. Though it was true that the last battle had seen the leading elements from the opponent’s army put to full route, it was also true that it had required the use of all of his preparations to ensure that outcome. For the thousands of enemies slain or put to flight at the square, he had lost well over two dozen of the Empress’s Shield. What remained were the battered survivors, eager to lay down their lives in service to the Empress as ever, but thoroughly exhausted and unlikely to pose much of a threat in light of the enemy’s vast numbers.
Of the Home Guard that had so stoically blocked the road out of the square, over two thousand lay broken and bleeding amongst the great heaps of the fallen strewn about the plaza. Even his crossbowmen, those ambushers that had lain in wait within houses of stone as sturdy as a castle, had suffered no small amount of casualties from the returning missiles of the enemy skirmishers. Furthermore, his trap had already been sprung, the guile that had ensured victory before was now laid bare, plain for all to see. The enemy would not be taken off guard by repetition of the same ploy. As depleted as his men, and more importantly their ammunition, were, they were no longer in any shape to defend their current refuges from any manner of assault, let alone that of a fresh foe whose might was comparable only to the Empress’s Shield itself. No, it was time to retreat, for no victory was left to found in that blood soaked square.
“It is time, we must fall back to the curtain wall.” With a quick look to his bodyguards and the surviving officers of the Empress’s Shield, he made arrangements to affect their retreat.
“Retreat now?!” It has scant been three days and you would have us yield yet more ground, falling back entirely to the inner city!” Andross, ever the impassioned skeptic towards Nathaniel’s plans, expressed his discontent.
In and of itself, that was not surprising for the young zealot had made plain his criticisms for Nathaniel’s devotion to the city’s defense from the first day they had been acquainted. What was a surprise, however, was the general rumble of agreement that rang out from the rest of the Empress’s Shield. It would seem that his conservative approaches had led to some discontent brewing amongst the devoted bodyguards of the Empress. Now this undermining of his authority would not do. It was true that for his planned retreat from the city to be accomplished, he would need the bulk of them to perish. But it would still be an absolute waste for the Empire’s most effective band of warriors to expend their lives carelessly. Their sacrifice could be used to inflict grievous injury upon the foe or save the lives of thousands of the Home Guard, he would not allow them to be lost to blind zealotry.
“And what would you have us do then Andross? The Empress’s Shield here now number little over twenty and we face a foe of incomparable might to the last. What use does reminding me of our misfortune have when an enemy we cannot hope to prevail against bares down upon us?!” Nathaniel’s incredulous voice pierced the din of battles fought elsewhere in the city, echoing off of the walls of the square and reaching the ranks of the Home Guard, sending waves of unease through their ranks.
“It is not merely our regiment alone that stands here guarding the way to the inner city, Lord Protector. Thousands more of the Home Huard still defend the square and thousands more yet wait for naught but an order from you to join us in the thick of battle. Relieved by them we can hold the foe here!” Enraged by Nathaniel’s incredulity, his anger over having been outed as a rash fool countless times that week boiled over, and he expressed his barely checked emotion with a hot retort.
“How many thousands of our men would you see fall today Andross? There is no victory to be found here, the foe is much too great and powerful. In seeking to hold the enemy back for a day here at the price of our reserves, you would cost us a full week or more holding the curtain wall! We must retreat now, lest they destroy us to a man. A dead man cannot protect the city or the Empress.” Nathaniel’s own raised voice countered, the bickering of the two men doing little more than eroding the remaining morale of the Home Guard.
“Then it would be thousands of men well spent if it could buy us even one more day for the eastern legions to arrive! These men only exist to fight and die to protect the Empress, and if their deaths can serve to safeguard her then they must do so. If you say this enemy is fearsome beyond imagining, as if they were some monsters from myth, then that is just cause enough for us to stop them here! How diminished would the forces of the Duke be if we were to decimate his greatest warriors here and now, before they have even reached the walls? Here we have the perfect defensive position, one arranged by you no less, to throw back those very mercenaries. If we do not defeat them here and now, then whenever shall we do it? Before the walls where they may freely bring crossbow and cannon to bear against us? Where they may freely arrange themselves into formation and assault our walls at dozens of points as our men are stretched to thin to resist? If we retreat now, they will use the opportunity you have afforded them to quietly take the curtain wall, then the inner wall, until they are at the very gates of the palace itself!” Speaking from his heart and airing not only his own grievances, but those of the collective contingent of the Empress’s Shield against the Lord Protector’s hitherto rather unsuccessful defense of the city, Andross raved. With every passionate word his voice raised, sounding angrier and more confident in his own wisdom, his faith in his cause bolstered by calls of agreement from his fellows.
“Our men are not mere tools to be thrown away at the Empress’s convenience to achieve mutually annihilation against our foe, they are our Empire’s people! Without its people, the Empire is nothing. Without an army tempered by the knowledge of a caring monarch, wars cannot be won. What man would be so foolish as to fight and die for those that cared not if he lived or died? If we would have any chance at fighting back against the Duke of Brackenweir at the conclusion of this siege, we will not gain it by crumbling the very foundation of our Empire in the pursuit of meager and short lived victories. Look how already your words have sewn dismay among our ranks!” Nathaniel’s arm pointed at the increasingly chaotic mob of conscripted peasants. Sergeants and officers ran to and fro, barely able to maintain any semblance of discipline as shaken as they were by their commander’s shocking disagreements.
“Don’t you dare preach to me upon the sanctity of life, Lord Protector. I was there when you flaunted your plans to murder the peasantry defending the earth works. I was there to see them die like animals, led to the slaughter due to your schemes. Their deaths served no great purpose, did not accomplish any great damage to the enemy. When they were helpless and slaughtered to a man it was naught but senseless butchery. I have to wonder sometimes whether you even intend to defend this city at all. No matter your excuses, every day you lead the defense of this city our forces yield more ground, more men are lost to no gain, and the one hope we have in our salvation grows ever dimmer. All you ever seem to pursue is retreat or safety within the walls, I cannot help but come to believe that you seek to spare naught but your own life while the rest of us are slaughtered! With the sacrifice of these men, here and now in this square in battle against the enemy to hold them off if but for one more day, then at least some good will have been bought with their lives. At least in this manner they will not suffer ignominy, dying with honor in battle against our great enemy rather than by your cruel betrayal.” While a flicker of doubt flashed across Andross’s face upon observing the effect his words were having upon the Home Guard, he merely lowered his voice, spitting his ire towards Nathaniel in hushed tones. As quiet as he was, he spoke animatedly, airing long held simmering hatred and all of his doubts in a commander that had so greatly disappointed him.
It seemed, however, that with his latest words, in particular his final accusations levied against the Lord Protector, he had overstepped. Nathaniel’s neck shot towards where Andross was standing with an audible crack. His anger was so apparent in his body language that Andross could almost see steam emanating from his helmet or unnaturally red eyes gleaming eyes full of malice. The rest of the Empress’s Shield were not far behind Nathaniel’s reaction either, their expressions contorting to that of disbelief as they heard one of their number accuse the Empress’s right hand himself of cowardly treason. The group took a collective step back, disavowing Andross for his sins, unwilling to share in any of the retribution that was sure to be swiftly arriving.
“Such insolence!” Nathaniel replied to Andross’s defiance with a mailed fist, one still dripping with the blood and shredded flesh of the unfortunate mercenary commander, delivered directly to the man’s face. The impact to Andross’s helmet rattled his head with vindictive force, sending the younger man crashing to the ground.
“Everything I have done in the defense of this city has been for both the Empire’s sake and hers. I would not expect a mere boy to understand the intricacies of warfare, but I demand that a mere bodyguard not question the strategies of the Empire’s appointed general! Do not forget who has vested me with my position you wretch. Slander against me is slander against the Empress herself! Now for the rest of you louts, I gave an order and I damned well expect it to be carried out before we are all slaughtered in the midst of this inane bickering.” Genuinely enraged by the accusations of treason and betrayal, Nathaniel fumed. While they were right on all counts… he had never betrayed the Empress within the depths of his heart and Andross’s ever word cut deep like a searing knife plunged into the core of his being. His voice lowered to a dangerous and wrathful tone as he dismissed the remaining members of the Empress’s Shield, all the better to stamp out the remaining embers of discontent.
Narrowed eyes hidden behind faceless helmets were the only reply, an aura of dissatisfaction yet radiating from the maligned bodyguards. For as out of line as Andross may have been with his malignment of the chosen one of the Empress herself, not all of his points fell upon deaf ears. The events of the previous week and the month prior had seen the Empress’s relationship with the Lord Protector become increasingly strained and his behavior had devolved into all manner of oddity, giving them just cause for distrust of the man. But as unwilling as they were, their faith in the Empress lay far above that of their own petty desires and without strong evidence of betrayal, something that was all but unthinkable on the part by a man as close to the empress as the Lord Protector, they dared not to defy her duly appointed champion. The group dispersed from the scene of the earlier massacre, each withdrawing back to the stone house from whence they had begun the ambush to organize the general retreat.
“And you, I shall not suffer your continued presence until you have reflected upon your own foolishness. For the crimes of maligning myself and the Empress I may have forgiven you for the sake of your youthful temperament. But for sowing discord in our ranks at a time of such cruciality, even if it was done only out of passionate circumstance and unintentional, I would have you at the very least stripped from your current position. You are damned well fortunate that we have neither the time nor the luxury to enact martial discipline in these trying circumstances. Do not return until you have run to the gatehouse and informed the gunners of our failure to hold the square. If the gods are willing, you will reach them in time to mitigate this disaster and earn forgiveness for your indiscretion. Now if you have any intention of actually contributing to salvaging this mess, go!” Hauling Andross up bodily with one arm, he pushed the younger man towards the rear and emphatically pointed towards the looming curtain wall. Nathaniel sneered behind his helm as Andross stumbled pathetically for the first few steps before he regained his feet, discombobulated by the swift strike to the temple. The man was likely sporting some manner of concussion, but it was only to be deserved for daring to cause such strife within Nathaniel’s heart.
Andross, his head cast down in humiliation, scurried past the ranks of the Home Guard. The lines opened for him wordlessly, men not wishing to stand anywhere near him as if he were a leper, a pariah, untouchable by any sane man. Hateful glares greeted him as he went, and the man shrank down under the intense scrutiny and wrathful invective. How dare these mere peasants treat him this way? He only spoke the truth! Their weakness was their own fault, if they had only trained harder, been more devoted, then surely the foe would not be such an existential threat. It was only the reasonable option to expend their lives as needed to ensure the protection of the Empress’s, Andross thought quietly behind a crazed expression. He would not suffer this humiliation unchallenged; he swore to himself. If even his comrades had abandoned him in this matter, then it fell to himself to redeem his name, to prove that the Lord Protector was not the dutiful servant of the Empress that he purported to be.
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To Nathaniel’s chagrin however, the retreat would take time, and the enemy had not waited for the heated argument to fade before they had begun their advance. While his subordinates in the Empress’s Shield began evacuating the crossbowmen from their refuges, the spear formations of the Home Guard had advanced under the orders of their commander. The second captain of foot had taken the initiative whilst Nathaniel was embroiled in pointless arguments, moving his troops to block the road into the square to cover the retreating crossbowmen.
As much of a tragedy as it was, the crossbowmen would be of far greater value atop the wall than any of the spearmen, and the hapless men of the second company of foot had been chosen as sacrifices to ensure a successful retreat. It was a cold hearted maneuver for a certainty, one almost as cold blooded as Andross’s prior suggestion, but Nathanial agreed with Nibbons’ judgement. With the enemy so close, ensuring the survival of every defender was a mere fantasy. At least until his last gambit was brought into play, the Home Guard could only affect a slow, fighting retreat with any hope of success. Nathaniel and his remaining two bodyguards joined the forefront of the new defensive line, somewhat calming the fearful voices that had been rippling through the formation. The men were badly shaken, both by the intimidating sight of the enemy before them and that their own captain had seemingly served them up as lambs before the slaughter. But it bolstered their hearts knowing that no matter what frightful foe they faced, the Lord Protector himself would be fighting there right alongside them. Unlike that villain that had so publicly been chastised earlier, the Lord Protector cared no more for his own well being than theirs.
The two forces met in what could only be described as a complete inversion of the preceding battle. While the realities of urban warfare had necessitated the use of short spears or halberds in lieu of the preferred pike elsewhere in the city, there were no such constraining circumstances along the city’s main thoroughfare. Sharp points of deadly, gleaming intent were leveled against the city’s defenders as the mercenaries slowly advanced step by step towards them. Though their front ranks wielded great swords or halberds, the pikes starting from the third rank were so long that they still crashed against the amassed ranks of the Home Guard before the latter’s short spears could manage to make contact with their own enemies.
This advantage was exacerbated by the expert use of the great swords held by the front ranks of the mercenaries. They were swiftly and accurately swung not only to maim and kill the city’s defenders, but also to cleave the very hafts of their short spears in twain, leaving the men with nothing more than impotent, splintered wood. Although the Empress had emptied the armories to provide what mass produced armor that could be found for those conscripted into the ranks of the Home Guard, what was available was old, barely up to the standards of the civil war, let alone for a battle against a foe trained and equipped for the realities of modern warfare. What was intended to block arrows or deflect the cutting edges of long swords was of but little effect against the wall of steel thorns given momentum by the weight of thousands of men.
Sharp pike heads pierced through layers of chainmail, individual rings bursting impotently under the onslaught, until yielding to the hateful metal, unfolding like flowers in bloom until the blossoms were stained the color of roses by gushing crimson ichor. Here and there a man, frequently a sergeant commanding individual bands of men, deflected pike heads with a solid breastplate, sending sparks flying against the odious sounds of shrieking metal. But where such a man may deflect one or two such thrusts, perhaps even three if he was lucky, or four if he was particularly experienced, how could he do so to ten?
Even the most heavily armored of the Home Guard were soon reduced to pin cushions or bodily rent asunder by great swords of such heft they cleft straight through the thin plates girding joints or limbs, leaving swathes of the Home Guard’s formation crippled upon the streets, dying agonizingly slowly from blood loss. Where the Home Guard’s spears did strike, they accomplished little, the steel tips swatted aside by mailed fists or screeching off of the thick, polished steel carapaces enveloping the front ranks of the mercenaries. In a matter of minutes, the entire formation of spearmen was forced back, yielding yards of frontage to the enemy.
Nathaniel and his bodyguards formed a lone salient as the tide of mercenaries eroded the formation. The quick work of their own great swords affording breathing room to a cadre of spearmen behind them, whose proffered spears, far nimbler than the clumsy pikes favored by the mercenaries, held to fend off the bulk of the heavily armored enemy. Those not held back by the thicket of spear tips fell to the blades of the Empress’s Shield. However, such a singular focal point of steadfast defiance held little sway over the course of the overall battle, and much slaughter was to be had before the mercenaries’ advance slowed and halted. But such an outcome owed more to their increasing struggle to negotiate their way through veritable mountains of the slain than to any martial feat on the part of the city’s defenders.
The mercenaries halted for a time, utterly exhausted from the endless killing they took a brief respite. During this timespan of several minutes, they reordered formations disrupted by the increasingly treacherous footing, resting wearily upon blood soaked weapons as they rested and regained their footing. Their reorganization was slow, hindered by not only the sea of bodies where any wrong step could lead to a sprain or broken bones as lethal to any fighting man as a spear tip, but also by the wailing and painful moans of the dying. Above such a din little could be heard, even to the point company trumpeters and drummers made little headway in conveying their officers’ orders.
The Home Guard, utterly decimated by only the first wave of the enemy’s advance, did not let the lull in the fighting go to waste. While two of the stone houses at the very edge of the square had found themselves quickly behind enemy lines during the first clash, their occupants mercilessly slaughtered to a man, the rest of the crossbowmen had been successfully evacuated. No longer covering for the retreat of the crossbowmen, captain Nibbons had begun the general withdrawal of the Home Guard from the square.
After the first wave alone, well over a thousand of the Home Guard had been freshly slain, with the dead amongst the foe at fewer than a hundred at most. Their crippling casualties to but little effect were somewhat offset by the great slaughter that they had exacted against the enemy earlier that day. However, every minute that they remained within that abattoir that had once been known as Victory Square pushed the force closer to overall defeat, and a rapid retreat was paramount.
While what was left of their front ranks organized, marching backwards slowly with spears ready to receive any assault, those men closer to the rear proceeded with much greater speed. Jostling each other, dropping their weapons in many cases, the rear ranks fled in a mad scramble that was only kept from becoming a deadly stampede by the timely intervention of captain Nibbons’ staff officers whom just barely managed to retain order. Such cowardly retreat in the face of the enemy may have been rewarded with summary execution in better circumstances, but with the battle already all but lost and escape of such pivotal importance the loss of discipline was forgiven, even if it meant yet further risk upon the front ranks of the retreating formation.
Now that the rear most ranks had collapsed, the front ranks no longer possessed the weight of numbers to resist the foe should they advance once more and match them pike to spear. It was a grim realization for every man remaining in the formation, but they had long since lost their naiveté in the face of brutality and the necessity of war. They knew well their place as sacrifices for the whims of their leaders. While once mere peasants, they were now soldiers baptized in a sea of blood and gore. They dared not to turn and run, for with their backs bared to the foe they would be defenseless, mere lambs led to slaughter. They made peace with their chances, continuing their cautious retreat, hoping against hope that the enemy would be sated with merely driving them from the battlefield. But their hopes were denied, for after several minutes the mercenaries once more began to move.
Nathaniel parried a sword chopping down against his throat, his own sword twisting to deflect the blade while sliding down its edge to sever several fingers from its wielder. The man howled in pain as the fingers of his gauntlets gave way with a loud crunch as they sheared, dropping his weapon to the ground. Before the man reached back to draw the short sword that hung from his back as his secondary weapon, Nathaniel kicked his chest hard, denting the man’s breastplate and sending him careening against the cobbled street whereupon his flailing body was trampled beneath the armored feet of his fellows whom had moved forward to take his place.
It seemed that no matter how many he slew, more of the mercenaries were always coming to begin their assault anew. The fighting was exhausting. While he and his men had only barely exerted any effort in the previous battle, only truly tiring themselves when slaying the enemy general, in this one every man seemed as skilled or more so as that general. The skill of the Empress’s Shield had been sorely tested for the first time since the civil war, and it seemed their self assured confidence was little more than mere arrogance. As they fought a foe not only far more experienced in battle but also one well used to the vigorous demands of modern warfare, they found themselves no longer at the pinnacle of martial might.
Nathaniel’s bodyguards had availed themselves well against the first wave of the Aachish mercenaries, their thick and antiquated plate armor finding itself at great advantage against a relatively lighter armor intended for use by average men against arquebus. But they were not so fortunate in the second. With an ever wavering backline of spearmen, the men found themselves beset by more enemies at once than ever before. Soon one of the bodyguards was slain, the lucky stroke of a great sword severing the man’s wrist whilst an unblocked pike head ripped past his gorget and implanted itself in his throat. The city’s defenders were fading, and barring any change in circumstance they would all be swiftly overrun.
The line of spearmen yielded ground rapidly. With none behind them to add weight to the formation they were all but incapable of resisting the mercenaries’ newest advance. Try as they might to break off, to outpace the mercenaries like before even at the cost of tripping up the foe with the bodies of the fallen, it was unsuccessful. The mercenaries clung to the retreating Home Guard like leeches, inexorably closing in for the kill like a pack of wolves before the sight of a wounded dog. They were more cautious than before, presumably having learned their lesson from the previous wave, carefully picking their way through the littered city while maintaining formation. But it is far faster to carefully advance forward than to so withdraw backwards, and their cruel blades cut into the retreating Home Guard like dogs nipping at the heels of a running fox. Scores more fell and the entire formation, as accepting of they were of the reality of the situation, began to buckle and all but collapse before their salvation finally arrived.
Screaming balls of iron came soaring down from the sky and into the plaza below. The great metal behemoths atop the city’s curtain wall spat hate without care, their deadly discharges plowing through stone buildings and the chaotic melees of defender and attacker alike. Great and sturdy houses that had once served as veritable keeps under assault and bombardment by the enemy came crashing down in the city streets as they crumbled under the withering barrage. Rubble fell from the heavens, tumbling across the open and unobstructed plaza without resistance and plowing through or crushing armor and men as if they were not present, their deaths coming so swiftly that not even a scream was heard. Far fewer shots managed to reach the general melee, as obstructed as they were by intervening buildings, but those that did turnt limbs and bodies to scarlet mist, uncaring of whose banner their hapless victims fought beneath.
Nathaniel and his sole remaining bodyguard had themselves been forced back to the center of the square by the time the barrage ensued. The spearmen that had been supporting them were separated or slain and they fought with backs pressed to the triumphant statue of the Empress to avoid becoming surrounded. A sudden bright flash of light accompanied by a sharp crack and an almost scorching heat emanating from his right had all but convinced Nathaniel that he had been struck directly by the barrage. He opened his eyes, the eyelids squinting as he recovered from the brightness of the flash. The sight awaiting him was that of the enemies that had been assaulting him slain one and all, while of himself he was unmarked save the blackened and stinging but otherwise functional gauntlet upon his right hand.
The mangled, pulverized bodies of his enemies surrounded him, their armor peppered by dents and punctures. They had evidently been cut down as the statue of the Empress had been directly struck, exploding in a deadly shower of stone shrapnel. To his right, his bodyguard still drew breath but was crippled, his right arm mangled in the explosion. The rest of the battlefield was obstructed by a choking blanket of stone dust, making it impossible to tell the state of the engagement. But as the bombardment ceased a few minutes later, an eerie silence took hold over the blood spattered streets and Nathaniel knew the enemy advance had been stopped.
Bending down to haul up his bodyguard, he lent a shoulder to support the injured man as they slowly made their way back to the curtain wall. As the pair stumbled their way past mountains of rubble interspersed with severed limbs and twitching bodies the eerie silence was broken by loud wailing cries of pain and the fearful pleading with death as countless mortally wounded men refused to accept the inevitable. They were joined by a gaggle of fortunate souls that had survived the barrage, but they were but few in number. The majority of the men that had been left to die were slaughtered either by cannon shot or wrathful enemies before they could escape.
While undoubtedly effective in achieving its goal, the bombardment had been a weapon of last resort. It had slain as many of their own as of the enemy, and its employment set a terrible precedent in the eyes of the city’s remaining defenders, for who could fight with no reservations for leaders that had so callously risked the lives of their men? But what was done was done, Nathaniel concluded with grim acceptance. The once mighty monument to triumph and eternal symbol of the Empress’s dedication to uplifting the Empire into prosperity now lay in ruins, the majority of the men that had set out to defend it that day now laying at rest, their life’s blood joining with the dust and shattered masonry of Victory Square. It was a direful portent for a certainty, warning of tragedies and defeats yet to come, but in the end the worst eventuality had been avoided.
The enemy advance had been halted, likely for the day or more in light of the tremendous piles of rubble now blocking the main thoroughfare of the city. He did not yet know the outcomes of the skirmishes that had been fought in the alleyways scattered throughout the rest of the outer city. However, as his position in the square had not come under assault from the rear, behind the layers of defenses he had devised to hold the foe, they surely been successful. At the end of the day, even the reserve companies of the Home Guard’s spearmen still drew breath, unneeded to bloody the nose of the Duke’s forces in Victory Square. They would be an essential asset once the army had begun its relocation to within the walls of the city.
Nathaniel tiredly walked onwards towards the waiting parade grounds that served as the Home Guard’s barracks. Everything would need to be relocated by the next day lest the enemy take advantage of the collapse of their defenses. The men would likely need to work through the night to ensure there were no spoils waiting for the foe when they arrived. And as for him, once he returned his sole remaining bodyguard to one of the regiment’s dedicated doctors he would be faced with Andross once more. Nathaniel’s impassive expression collapsed into a frown as he contemplated that interaction. Regardless, the night would be long and full of labor, and so he steeled his aching limbs and set forth.