A lone figure walked away from a burning village. The figure walked awkwardly carrying a long sword in its hand as it limped towards a small dirt road.

The figure was a knight, more specifically a warden. Wearing a Loran helmet with a cut on the left eye, and a gash on the top of the helmet, each with blood staining the steel on the armor. A fresh river of blood running down the mask and soaking into the chain mail on his neck.

His torso was cut in several different areas, pieces of chain mail hanging off where they should've been, cloth stained in crimson from a rather large laceration on his chest that scarred his armor and painted the area around it a dark red.

His left shoulder had two arrows sticking out, causing fresh blood to stream down his arm and drip freely off his armored hand.

His left hand gripping his sword by the base of the scarred blade. His gauntlet decorated in two large dents causing the metal to warp in an odd angle. The sword being quite basic, steel hilt with leather on the area for grip, its pommel being unique as it represented a lion's head. The guard being a dark steel with many scars from attacks blocked. The long blade of the sword decorated with scratches all along its surface, tinted red from its most recent battle.

Adorning his back was a yellow Phoenix, with the cloth it was on being a midnight blue, with tatters and tears decorating its surface. A large slice carving its center, with blood staining its edges from a blow dealt from behind. Blood blotted it's left from the wounds in his shoulder.

His left leg has a shallow puncture from a blade that found its way home just above his knee. Causing him to bleed from the wound and bathe his shin guard and boot with blood, leaving a small trail behind him.

A small pendant hung from his neck on a chain, making a small clicking noise with each limp. Breath labored and panting the warden kept on with his trek until he reached the dirt road.

Stopping, he looked back at the burning village. Dark ashes raining from the roaring fires that consumed the small houses. The village was located in a plain with lush tall grass that was still wet with dew, surrounded by forestry. The sky painted the land in a blue hue as the sun was blocked by gathering clouds, the village glowing a menacing orange in opposition with the cold morning.

Looking back towards the road he grunted and made his way forward again, to continue on his journey into the unknown, or at least that's what he thought until a piercing scream cut through the air.

Turning his head back sharply he could see a woman running. She was wearing peasant clothes he noted, no sleeves, and cloth pants, carrying something bundled in her arms, no, more like cradling. She was running away from the village through the tall green grass, sprinting as fast as her legs could take her.

Bursting from the village were three figures giving chase to the girl.

Vikings, the ones who had raided the village, a raiding party had come to pillage it as he patrolled through. Although, as if that wasn't enough for the knight, a small band of samurai had decided to come along and join in on the fun.

This area was more notably a neutral area to the samurai and knights. Being on the border between the lands of both of their territories. Neither belonging to either faction that had been in a feud for as long as he could remember. Families from both sides living in the quaint area.

The Vikings that gave chase were of the lower ranks, without much decor on their "armor" and headdresses, barely any tattoos to signify past battles. Two berserkers with a shaman leading the pack were chasing the poor woman.

She ran from them but he could see they would soon catch her and either butcher her there, or do unforgivable things to her. She wasn't running in his exact direction, but she was closer than she was before, although if she continued she wouldn't get to him.

Not liking her odds he gripped the blade of his sword and took a deep breath.

"Oh for fucks sake" muttering under his breath before yelling out.

"HEY!!!!" She immediately turned her head to the source of the noise. Her long raven black hair whipping as her dark eyes landed on him, widening in shock or, fear?

That's when he realized something, she was from the East. Hailing from the land of the samurai in the marshes. She feared knights, as would be expected from the constant war between his fellow knights against the eastern dynamos. As the knights weren't all chivalrous and respected, many were mercenaries. Not only that but other classes knights were often feared. The only class of knight that could remain neutral in this conflict were of his type, the wardens. As they had fallen under certain oaths, and were not pledged to the king or any of the lords. Although many wardens were not like him, abandoning their oaths and becoming mercenaries swearing fealty to gold, lords, or of course, the king.

Two vikings however stopped their advance and eyed him with malice. The berserkers turning towards him gripping their weapons while the shaman continued to chase the woman.

To be completely honest he didn't care whether she hailed from the East, West, or North. Hell he didn't care if she was the daughter of any notorious samurai that cut down knights. The only thing that did matter was the pendant around his neck. His oath as a warden, "To protect those that need to be protected.", it didn't matter what they were, if they were in trouble he would help.

Pushing down the pain from his wounds he ran towards the shaman, every fiber in his body screaming at him to stop. Fresh blood gushing out of his injuries from his rapidly beating heart. The woman saw the armored figure sprinting toward her from her front and immediately screamed. The shaman behind her rushing to tear her apart.

Although to the savages dismay, the warden got to the woman first, grabbing her and shoving her behind him, changing the grip on his blade to his hilt both hands now grasping his weapon. Bringing his stance low, he brought his blade up into a defensive position staying on a high guard. The shaman immediately skidded to a halt as the two other Vikings rushed to come support.

Based on his current condition and the predicament he currently put himself into, he could not have that handicap of fighting all three of them at the same time. Exploding off his back foot he shot forward and rushed his enemy. She immediately readied her tomahawk and threw it at him aiming to bury it in his chest, but to no avail as the warden quickly ducked to the side while continuing his advance closing the distance between the combatants. Bringing down his sword he smashed through her weak defense of her dagger, that she hastily brought up to block against him. Breaking through, his sword cut through and sliced down her torso. Blood sprayed from the large wound, splattering his helmet and the grass. She screamed in agony dropping to her knees and clutching at her chest. Thrashing wildly as the blood pooled beneath her.

One down, two more.

Readying himself again, the first berserker practically threw himself at the lone knight. Swinging both axes in a wild arc from his left. Blocking the blow and staggering back he immediately sidestepped narrowly avoiding the other berserker's axe aiming to decapitate him. The missed attempt to cleave his head gave him a small opening as he cut sideways to cut open the assailant's guts, only for him to dodge back and be grazed by the blade, barely drawing blood. The other immediately howled and reared back bringing both his weapons down towards the knight. In a practiced motion he brought up his sword blocking the deadly swing, one hand on the hilt and the other gripping the blade and shoving away the attack. Opening up the Viking to an attack, he went in, the only problem being he could hear the other advancing from behind. Instead of an attack he grabbed the stumbling Viking and threw him backwards spinning himself towards the thrown enemy.

Just as planned they collided completely stopping ones attack and stunning the one he had grabbed, using this to his advantage he swung in an arc much to his shoulders dismay as it went hot with pain. Grinding his teeth he went through with the attack and effectively lopped the head off the stunned viking, a geyser of red shot from the stump that was his neck.

Panting he let the bloodstained blade touch the ground, sweat pouring down his face stinging the cut above his eye. Barely being able to stand he stayed in a crouched form as the last enemy circled him counter clockwise. Keeping him in front of him he followed him, turning himself rooted in his spot, his blade dragging across the ground cutting into the wet soil.

The arrowheads had dug into his shoulder more and were tearing into him. Fresh blood leaking from the wounds, rivers of it flowing down his arm, and trickle off his hand and down his sword.

Looking back he could see the woman lying there eyeing him in disbelief and worry as he stood his ground. As his head was turned the sole survivor let out a loud war cry and rushed him. Bringing his axes in two different directions one to bury into his left shoulder and another coming toward his right. But neither would find their mark as the warden got into an even lower stance, dropped his sword and tackled him. Digging his shoulder into his assailants stomach, completely knocking the wind out of him, and effectively making him drop both his weapons.

Bringing him to the ground the warden brought his right hand up and smashed him in the face with his armored fist. Connecting with his nose it shattered and exploded blood all over his face. Howling in pain he brought his hands up and tried to bring the bigger knight off him. To no avail. The knight just continued his attack twisting himself to propel his attack and put his body weight into his next blow. Dropping his elbow completely caving in his face with a nasty squelch and crunch.

With that problem finally over he stopped and stared down at the lifeless body he now sat on top of. Then instantly regretted it as the gruesome sight of his slain enemies face just made him grimace.

Grunting in pain he stood himself back up and walked towards his abandon sword. As he picked it up he looked up to see the woman lying in the grass still clutching whatever it was she had to her chest. Her skin was a gold tan, from working out in the fields. She was beautiful and young probably no older than nineteen. He was very glad he had gotten to her when he had. She stared up at him in silence, the only sound being that of both their labored breaths.

Looking ahead further from the woman he could see at least six people walking in a column heading east from the village. Immediately he knew what they were. At least the woman would get some help, dragging his feet he walked two steps forward then pointed towards the group.

Through pained breaths he spoke "Samurai, go, they'll help you", she got up from laying down into a crouch then looked behind her to where he was pointing. She looked back to him then to his chest. Her eyes dragged across his body until they landed on his shoulder, looking at the dark rivers of blood that freely flowed down his arm.

Planting his blade into the ground he leaned against his sword, watching her as she scrutinized his form, her eyes filling with concern. He could take her along with him, he's sure many would, a beautiful romance forming between protecter and beautiful girl, all that dumb crap. Although he knew she wouldn't last around him, she'd be much better off with her own, it'd be selfish of him to take her with him. Pretty funny how she was worrying over him now though, when just a few moments ago she was terrified of the sight of him. Truth be told he wasn't getting any less exhausted or injured so he didn't have time for her to worry about him.

Sighing he looked at her from the eye that currently wasn't seeing red from blood seeping into it.

"Ok shoo, go away" he brought his hand up and motioned for her to go. She began walking away from him, occasionally looking back until she broke into a light run towards the samurai.

Finally with her gone he hoisted his sword out of the ground and dubbed himself king of the land. Not really, he just sluggishly pulled his sword from the ground and grabbed it by the base of the blade yet again, limping his way over to the trail he had been going towards before.

"Just my luck, fighting savages and samurai, only to save a samurai woman. Well anything's better than letting the Viking do what they want." Trudging onward he dragged his left foot with every step.

Not being able to deal with the constant discomfort he reached over and yanked out one of the arrows. They weren't that deep due to his shoulder guards, but they still hurt like hell, and they sure as hell hurt coming out too. With a nasty sound he wished he could unhear and a pained moan the arrow came out. Tossing the grisly arrow to the ground, he kept walking and reached for the next one.

Rustiling from the grass drew his attention, effectively interrupting his makeshift operation, leaving the second arrow in his injured shoulder. Then whipped his head towards the source. As if god had shit in his dinner yet again their stood a lone figure. Standing at least a head and a half shorter than him, armed with a naginata, clad in a white mask was a nobushi.

She stood there in a stance, with the weapon pointing towards him. His head was already fuzzy and his body felt like it was being weighed down by lead and poked with branding irons. There was no way in hell he could deal with a nobushi right now.

He had fought plenty before, the defenders of the marshes in the east. Hundreds of them dotted their land and they were designated to protect the villages. They were quite formidable and they had been put through plenty of intensive training.

On a good day he could dish out the pain to any nobushi as he was usually more skilled than them and definitely always overpowered them, but today was not a good day, today was a very bad day.

On his journey to fulfill his oath he wandered down the road all night. He had then been ambushed by Vikings on his way to the town and had killed plenty of them, turning his path to the town red. Then as he fought to protect the town alongside the small militia that occupied it, allowing some people to evacuate he had been shot in the shoulder, twice, WHILE he was in a fight with a most troublesome raider who wore the bones of his victims as armor. Being able to swing around a very large axe like it was a tree branch. The root cause for the large bloody slash running across his chest. As he finally got to finish off said raider a damned orochi had come from behind and slashed him in the back. He had yelled in both pain and frustration at that point and turned around faster than a speeding arrow and grabbed the orochi by his, stupid, thin neck and forcibly slammed him to the ground before burying his sword into the little bastard's chest cavity. The next hour or so had become a blur as he fought samurai and Viking alike until the town had started burning and the people had ran away.

And now here he is, not being able to catch a damn break, as a nobushi stares him down. Heaving a deep sigh he looked up to the sky and questioned the very god he had put his faith into why he continued to test his strength. Looking back down he saw the nobushi quizzically cock her head to the side.

Sticking out of her hat were three wild flowers that grew around this area, a pretty yellow to accompany his doom. If he was being honest with himself she didn't look like she wanted to fight him. Sure her stance was good and that blade looked mighty sharp but, she looked as though she was reserving herself, and he couldn't really sense any killing intent from her.

Then, she took a small hesitant step towards him.

"Oh shit"

This was not going to be great, his vision was blurring and his body was starting to sway.

"shit…"

His body was starting to feel numb and his mind was going with it. All he could do was stand like an idiot and watch as she continued to close the distance between, them her blade inching closer and closer.

"stop…"

In a hushed tone he spoke those words. Yet she kept taking small steps towards him. He still had his sword…right? The numbness in his hand was increasing so he couldn't really tell. He tried to adjust his grip on the blade, but instead just felt his left side grow lighter as something clattered to the ground. Looking down and to his left he now saw his sword on the ground.

"shiiiiiiiiiiit"

Looking back towards her, the blade was now right in front of him. White mask staring right into his eyes, no doubt she couldn't see them due to his helmet, otherwise she'd see just how damn drained he was. Blood loss and exhaustion was taking its effect as instead of retreating backwards he brought his hand up. She immediately stiffened and the blade was brought closer to him, now inches from his neck.

Instead of bringing his hand down he lazily shoved it away from his neck and stepped towards her, he had no idea what his original plan was, but at that moment he felt his strength finally leave him as his knees buckled and he fell forward.

Collapsing right into the nobushi.

Hey romannumeral here, been playing For honor since the open beta and decided I'd show it some love by writing about it. Not many people seem to make content for it, but i thoroughly enjoy the setting and characters in the game(mainly the warden). Welp anyways hope you enjoyed the story and please consider reviewing as I love reading them(criticism welcome)!