Holding the orc's severed head in my hand, I locked eyes with Lea’s sullen face.

"Oh, Lea, why so grumpy? I’m sure someone as strong as you can handle fifteen mugs with ease," I teased, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"Shut up, Palladion. A bet’s a bet. Though I couldn’t have known the kid was a complete maniac. I don’t know why, but you always seem to attract the same kind of people," Lea retorted, her sigh laced with frustration.

I had known Lea for nearly a decade, and her irritation was all too familiar to me. Beneath her facade, I glimpsed a spark of admiration and respect as she sized up the half-elf.

Relus draped an arm over her shoulders, his voice cheerful. "Don't worry, Lea. I'll be right by your side tonight in your heroic battle against the booze!"

"A battle you will surely lose, Relus," I chuckled.

I shifted my gaze back to the battlefield. Despite the ground shaking under the clash of steel and roars, the horde of orcs remained unaware of their imminent demise.

As they threw themselves against the palisade, they left their flank exposed. When my scouts reported the approaching marauding orc band, I dispatched Lorus ás Ras, Lea's younger brother, with my armored riders into the nearby forest. They smeared themselves with mud, masking the reflection of their steel and their scent from the orcs.

Once Relus gave the signal, the riders moved out. Initially trotting, they quickly picked up speed, galloping so fiercely that even the wooden platform where Lea, Relus, and I stood quaked.

They formed the formation for which my company was both feared and respected throughout the old world: The Thorn of the Rose. A wedge formation resembling a wall of steel. Leading them was Lorus, my standard-bearer, holding a dark red banner emblazoned with a golden skull crowned with thorns, mirroring the golden wreath I wore on my head. To Lorus's left and right followed my Chevaliers of the Thorns. An order I had founded, comprising mostly of former human or elven plebeians, whom I had knighted as the Golden Taron, as was my right by birth. This action had not endeared me to the other orders and nobility, who saw them as mere brigands.

My knights were clad in red-painted plate armor, their helmets adorned with horns or feather plumes, and their surcoats bore my banner. Their horses, too, were draped in blood-colored cloth. Most of the armor was dented or had parts replaced, not from poor maintenance but from excessive use, enhancing their archaic appearance.

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The chevaliers wielded massive lances, capable of bringing death to any foe, be it orc or monster. On their backs, they carried their preferred secondary weapons—swords, axes, or morningstars.

Behind the knights followed their squires, less well-armored but eager to prove themselves in the upcoming battle. Among them were also common men-at-arms, mounted warriors from all over the old world who had joined my company, hoping for a chance to earn knighthood through valor in combat. Word had spread quickly that I knighted men regardless of their origins.

Other adventuring companies, like Luna's Crescent, were renowned for their magic, and others like the dwarves of Utan for their heavy infantry. Even the Greenshields were called upon for their famed marksmanship in defending Avernus, the most critical city of the old world. However, none of these could match us on the open field.

The wall of steel and flesh advanced swiftly, the thunder of hooves now resonating on the dry meadow ground. The first orcs turned, finally alerted by the clamor of horse and rider. Grunts echoed, and a larger orc, likely their chieftain, hastily began to form a defensive line.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

The riders lowered their lances, mere fractions of a second from impact. My heart pounded with anticipation, a symphony of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The world seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the promise of blood and glory. A serene calm enveloped me, the muskets and crossbowmen silent, their focus mirrored in my own.

Then, the fragile silence shattered with an ear-splitting crash. The wall of steel collided with green flesh. Lances pierced the first ranks of orcs, barely slowing the horses. Riders plowed several meters into the mass. One, two, sometimes even three orcs were skewered on a single lance. The first rows halted, but the momentum was unstoppable. The rest of the squires and men-at-arms charged into the disoriented greenskins at full gallop. The bloodshed was enormous. Orcs fell like flies, impaled by lances or trampled by hooves. Immediately, the knights discarded their lances and drew their secondary weapons, hacking and slicing through the orcs like wheat.

"Come on, let's not miss out on the fun. LUX INVICTA!" I shouted, eager for the dance of death, and leaped from the palisade into the throng of orcs below.

"LUX INVICTA!" I heard my comrades echo behind me.

My slender longsword, red-gold from hilt to tip, materialized in my outstretched gauntleted hand as I descended, slicing the orc before me in half upon landing, its halves slowly sliding apart.

Two thuds behind me indicated that Lea and Relus had followed, and judging by the cries of pain, they had begun their own blood harvest.

I quickly assessed my situation. Four orcs stood nearby, their bewildered expressions revealing their shock at my sudden appearance and the death of their comrade. Their confusion was palpable, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that I intended to exploit.