First Blood
I grew up as a mercenary, combat was my life. As a young woman, I had no memory of where I came from. All I knew was that I was born somewhere in the Adrestian Empire, in a year I did not know, and raised by a mercenary leader named Jeralt Reus Eisner. He was a rather somber man who gave me the name of a demon and never spoke in detail of my origins. More importantly, he trained me in the art of combat from the time I could walk. One day, as I started to grow older, he gave me a sword and a seax and allowed me to fight in his ranks. I first killed a man fighting as his soldier. A few years later, I led a platoon and a few years more I began leading a company. Living as nomadic sell-swords took us all across Fódlan for any purpose a client could offer. We defended small towns from pillaging raids, protected merchant caravans, settled disputes between lords, put down insurrections, ravaged noble houses who stepped out of line, hunted knights or royal soldiers who went rogue, and at times we were even involved in border skirmishes with the Almyrans. War was my life and I did not question it. In time, my mind became clear of any thoughts of where I came from, what year I was born, who my mother was, or even if Jeralt was actually my biological father. I did not think about the past, or what the future might bring. I was a mercenary and nothing more.
Yet even with a life of combat, I did not expect my dreams to be plagued by images of an unfamiliar war. And the day that began my journey into the War of the Eagle and Lion started with such a dream.
It was actually a recurring dream, to a degree, and it began the same way it always did; two massive armies clashing in a muddy field drenched by pouring rain. The armies were arrayed in tight formations around their banners, one side flew the banner of the Church of Seiros and their enemies flew a standard I did not recognize. The charge of the Church army was unlike anything I had ever seen in reality; a perfect en masse wedge formation with heavy cavalry in the two front ranks and infantry close behind, pegasus knights flew above them under the clouds. The sounds of running hooves, clanking armor, horse whinnies, and blood-curdling war cries created a terrible cacophony that shook the rain-soaked earth. Then the Church army crashed into the enemy lines and order instantly dissolved into muddy, fiery, blood-splattering chaos as soldiers stabbed, smashed, and skewered their foes and destructive spells were unleashed everywhere. It was a scene of all-out war covered by the darkness of storm-clouds. But when the Church army seemed to gain the initiative, the battlefield was bathed by several crimson-red lights and eleven armored figures carrying glowing weapons stepped into the fray. The dark clouds gave way to the dawn sun as the figures led their army in a mass counterattack that began to engulf the Church Army.
As the chaos of the battle escalated, one of the enemy champions stepped out from a mass of flames, armed with a burning red sword in his right hand. He was a terrifying titan of a warrior, seemingly seven feet tall, with flowing white hair and golden eyes that shined like the fire he came from. He slowly walked through the landscape of blood and corpses until he came face-to-face with a Church warrior who stood her ground against him. This warrior was a tall, green-haired woman who wore a white robe, scale armor, and a winged bronze crown. In her right hand she carried a long sword and in her left a rounded silver shield, edged with bronze, with the insignia of the Church branded in the center.
For a tense moment, woman just stared into the man the man's eyes with a piercing glare. Then she charged. With impressive strength, man raised his large sword one-handed and easily deflected the woman's charging strike. She then blocked his counter with her shield and the two engaged in a frenzied sequence of strikes and parries, moving with almost inhuman speed. The man then lunged forward and swung for her neck but the woman leapt away and backflipped to the ground on both feet. The man closed the gap in an instant and their sword dance escalated until both blades clashed in a locked stalemate. The man snarled like a beast, knocked her sword away, then drove his knee right into the woman's armored chest. She leapt back with the blow to decrease the impact. The man then flicked his wrist and his glowing sword extended into several jagged fragments, becoming like a whip. He lashed the blade-whip straight at the woman, who pivoted and allowed the tip to graze off her armor. The man continuing swinging the blade-whip until it reached its apex then he twisted it and lashed back at her. The woman ducked and somersaulted under the whiplash to avoid decapitation. As she stood up, the man lashed his blade-whip forward a third time and snared the woman's sword. And with one jerking pull, he disarmed her.
The woman quickly released her weapon as it was pulled away and dashed forward while the man's defense was open. Before he could react, she stunned him with a palm strike to the chin. Then she leapt up with one leg and drove a vicious kick into the man's chest with the other leg, knocking him down. The man dropped his sword-hilt as he hit the ground. He groaned and tried to sit up but the woman mounted him in an instant, pinned his sword-arm with one hand, and held a dagger to his throat. She brought her face down to his, her emerald eyes were pure rage.
"Tell me, Nemesis," she growled. "Do you remember recall the Red Canyon?"
He gasped in surprise. She raised the dagger.
"You took everything that I loved!"
She stabbed the dagger into his eye. He screamed.
"You'll die for that!"
She stabbed his neck.
"Die!"
Again.
"Die!"
Again.
"This is your punishment!"
She tore the bloodied blade from his mutilated neck. His blood gurgled in his lips and his last breath escaped in an agonized groan. The woman's breath was ragged and her whole body trembled with rage as she looked down on her dead enemy. Her white robe was splattered red from the blood that now pooled around the man's head. The woman did not even realize that the battle was over until she heard the cheers of her fellow Church soldiers who were now circled around her. The enemy was defeated and the morning sun shined bright over the field.
The woman stood up from the man's corpse and walked over to his fallen weapon was retracted back into a sword. She knelt back down, picked up the blood-soaked weapon, and cradled it in her arms, not caring about the blood that stained her softly smiling face.
"He's gone now, mother," she said.
The cheers of victory rang and everything faded to black.
That's where the dream usually ended, but something different happened this time. Instead of waking up in the real world, I opened my eyes to find myself standing in a strange stone room that bathed in an ambient emerald light. A stepped dais sat in the center of the room. On top of the dais was a tall stone throne and laying across the throne's seat, in a peaceful slumber, was a small girl. And to put it simply, she was the strangest girl I had ever seen. She wore a a golden tiara around her head and extravagant dark blue gown, accented by golden piping and tassels and braids of white and pink thread. Her most noticeable trait was a large mane of green hair that was longer than her torso and seemed thick enough to completely cover her. As if that were not uncanny enough, her ears were narrow and pointed, giving her the appearance of an elf or a fairy.
"What on Earth. . . " I muttered to myself.
Before I could say another word, the girl awoke with yawning and stretching. She perched her head on the armrest, and looked at me with curious, emerald eyes.
"Hm, I wonder how you got in here," she said to me, and I almost recoiled at her words.
She was speaking the Holy Language of Seiros. I was not a monk, I only possessed a very basic commoner's knowledge of that language, and yet somehow I perfectly understood her.
"Um, who are you and what even is this place?" I asked.
I was startled again by my own words as I had fluently spoken in the Holy Language despite thinking in common Adrestian. I could not comprehend how my words were so seamlessly translated despite the vastly different grammar structure.
"It is most rude to interrupt a moment of repose," she completely ignored my question and instead contented herself with another yawn. "Very rude indeed. But you are an interesting one."
She locked her piercing eyes with mine.
"Now come to me," she arbitrarily waved me forward. "I wish to have a look at you."
Seeing as I had nothing better to do in this uncanny dreamscape, I slowly stepped towards the throne and further into the light. I suddenly realized that I was wearing my battle armor when I heard mail clinking and glanced down.
"Hm, I have not seen the likes of you before," the girl said as she studied me with intense interest. "Who are you anyway?"
"A ghost from Hell," I said with a completely straight face.
She just gave me a bemused scowl. "You would do well to keep your wit in line, girl."
'You're calling me girl? That's rich.' "Fine, I'm just a mortal human. My name is Byleth Sitri Eisner."
"Huh. I shall not ever grow accustomed to the sound of human names," she smirked. "You must possess a date of birth as well?"
"Horsebow Twenty," I answered with comparatively less amusement.
I was struggling to wrap my mind around the prospect that I was speaking to an elf-like girl, in the Holy Language, in a surreal dreamscape. A girl was so inexplicably interested in me no less. I did not remember eating any bad mushrooms before bed.
"Wow, wonders never cease!" she said with genuine surprise. "It seems we share our day of birth, how strange!"
The girl quickly mellowed from her momentary excitement and reclined back in the throne as if deep in thought.
"Hmm. It all feels so. . . familiar. I think it may be time for. . . yet another nap."
She yawned yet again and dozed off without another word.
Then everything faded to black once again.
"Wake up, kid, we have a situation."
A hand shook me awake and I turned my head up from my pillow to see Jeralt crouching over my bed.
I groaned in response while rubbing the matter out of my eyes. "Damn. . . what's going on?"
A quick glance at the window above my bed told me that it was still dark. The only light in the room came from the candle that burned on a small table in the corner near my bed.
"Some nobles just ran into the village, they say they have a pissed off bandit party hot on their trail from the north," he explained as he stood up, already clad in his full mail and plate armor. "The scout team is is on lookout across the bridge, I need you to call the rest of the battalion to assembly."
"Understood."
I managed to remove my weary body from the comfort of my bedsheets and stumbled to my equipment chest at the foot.
"Having that dream again?" Jeralt asked with concern.
"Yeah."
I flipped open my chest, still in a haze of nausea and exhaustion that I alway experienced after that dream came to me. I did not tell him that the dream had been different this time. If he was ordering a full battalion assembly then it was not an appropriate time to explain it.
"Well, hopefully a fight will clear your head," he said. "I'm going to inform the village elders, get the battalion moving."
He quickly exited my room without another word.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right out," I lethargically called back as he left.
I quickly stripped off my night gown and got properly dressed. I pulled my long raven hair back and tied it in a Faerghian warrior's knot. I stepped into my breeches, looped my scabbard belt, and put on my undershirt and gambeson. I laced my boots and clasped my greaves over them, then I pulled on my haubergeon, put my brigandine over it, and clasped my pauldrons, rerebraces, and gauntlets. Finally, I slung my shield over my back and grabbed my helmet before bolting out of the tavern. Strange dreams may be exhausting but battle waits for no warrior.
This village, called Remire, was nestled in a river valley in the heart of the Oghma Mountains, northern Adrestia, near the border of Faerghus. We had been using the village as our headquarters for the past three weeks as we refitted equipment, requisitioned supplies, and trained for our coming mission in southern Faerghus. There was little over a hundred of us, swords for hire who officially solicited ourselves simply as Jeralt's Mercenaries. Jeralt was never one for bold titles. To him, this profession was all business, but his reputation as the former Grandmaster of the Knights of Seiros nevertheless earned him the folk title of Sir Jeralt the Blade Breaker. Naturally, his mercenaries were also called the Blade Breakers in colloquialism.
We spent most of our days intricately practicing combatives and battle drills, refreshing our ability to fight as individuals and cohesively function as a unit. We each memorized our roles in the battalion, rehearsed every possible contingency, and when we weren't training we were helping the villagers in their day-to-day labor. Jeralt made it a policy to always give back to the communities that hosted us so our presence would not be a burden. The village priest, Father Timothée, was a veteran of the Central Church Army who respected our discipline and professionalism that was not always standard for sell-swords, and for that he and his parish clergymen assisted us in any way they could.
Once outside the tavern in the pre-dawn darkness, I got to work calling up the battalion, quickly moving through the stables and townhouses on the northern edge of the village where the soldiers slept. I roused each of the subordinate leaders and simply told them, "Assemble". That was all they needed to hear to spring their men into action. While the subordinate leaders handled the soldier accountability at the stables, Jeralt met with Father Timothée and the village elders in front of the church to discussed the situation. As I approached, I noticed three individuals standing with Jeralt who I did not recognize, two young men and one young woman. I easily identified them as the nobles Jeralt spoke of; they wore black gambesons highlighted by gold facings. Each of them also wore a different colored shoulder cape on their left sides, one blue, one red, and one yellow. I took note that they were also armed. The young man with blonde hair and the blue shoulder cape carried a spear. The other young man, who had dark hair, tan skin, and the yellow cape, held a bow in one hand and had a quiver slung on his shoulder. The young woman was the shortest of the three with pale skin that nearly matched her snow-white hair. She wore the red cape and carried an axe that seemed too big for her. As I approached, the blonde spear-wielder was the first to notice my presence and stepped away from the group to greet me.
"Greetings, ma'am, are you Sir Jeralt's lieutenant?" he spoke to me in the noble Adrestian dialect, though I faintly detected the distinct inflections of a northern Faerghian accent.
"In a sense," I simply replied as I examined him and his friends on his left who also approached me, Jeralt himself was still talking to the elders. "And who might you three be?"
"Ah, pardon my lack of manners, I am Dimitri. My companions are Edelgard," he gestured to the red-caped girl, "and Claude," the yellow-caped boy next to her.
"Pleased to meet you, my name is Byleth," I nodded to them.
"Charmed," Claude smiled.
"The pleasure is ours," Edelgard nodded back.
"I assume you are the ones with the bandits chasing you?"
"Unfortunately," said Edelgard. "They attacked us while were dismantling our camp. They chased us all the way to this village from that direction." She pointed past the church to the north side of the village.
"We've been separated from our other companions and we're outnumbered," said Claude. "They're after our lives, not to mention our gold."
"How many are we facing?" I asked.
"I would wager a few drove at least," Dimitri shrugged.
"But we didn't exactly have time to count," Claude quipped.
I couldn't help but feel suspicious. Not only was this an odd situation, but their names were also very familiar. All three were fairly common names, but each was also attributed to a very specific person. But in such a remote region as this, I did not think these nobles could possibly be who I was thinking of. "So, the three of you were just out camping, then you rose before dawn only to be attacked by a small army of bandits? And all in enough time to don those uniforms? What makes you three special targets?"
"I-we are not, but. . . " Dimitri stammered.
Claude simply stood still with his arms crossed, seemingly amused by his companion's embarrassment under my scrutiny. Though his calm demeanor suggested that he was seriously analyzing the situation. Edelgard, on the other hand, became notably more agitated.
"We were not taking a leisure holiday, we–"
Shut was abruptly cut off mid-sentence by Jeralt, who stepped right past her to address me in common Adrestian. "The villagers are going to take shelter in the church, Father Timothée and the monks will provide white magic support for the company." He gestured to the clergymen who followed right behind.
Edelgard, for her part, stepped back with a look of astonishment at suddenly being interrupted to brazenly.
"At your orders, Lady Byleth," Father Timothée smiled at me.
"Much obliged, Father," I smiled back in mock annoyance of the honorary title he always addressed me with, in spite of my lack of knighthood or nobility.
"The girl just told me the bandits are approaching from the north," I told Jeralt. "I assume you want the company to line on the bridge?"
"Yes, we should funnel them through a choke point for as long as possible, the priority is stopping them from entering the village. I'll take the troop to the ford and pinwheel on their left flank."
"You're going to be a little alone out there without us, Jeralt," I dryly remarked.
"If they're focused on you they won't be prepared for us."
"But they might have lurking horsemen of their own."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take. The bandits will keep attacking if we just hold them off, we need to completely scatter them with a pincer move and there's no other way across that river besides the bridge. If they've been chasing the kids this whole time it's safe to assume they don't know about the ford."
Right as Jeralt finished his sentence, our attention was drawn to a bright red firework that streaked upwards and exploded in the sky on the north side of the village; the signal from our scouts that a hostile war party was in sight.
"Alright, we don't have any more time," Jeralt said to me as he untied his great helm from his belt and put it on his head, leaving the visor up. "Get the company to the bridge."
He then dashed to the stables, leaving Father Timothée and I with the young nobles.
"You three should join the rest of the villagers in the church," I said to them. "I'll check on you when it's over."
With that, I put on my own helmet and turned away to rally my platoon leaders, not intending to speak to the young nobles any further. Instead, they responded with a request I was not expecting.
"We want to fight with you," said Dimitri.
"What?" I turned my head to him in disbelief.
"We lead the bandits here, let us help you fight them."
"He's right," said Edelgard. "While we are in need of your aid, it would be dishonorable of us to cower away from the fight."
"And besides, we're all trained in combat," Claude held up his bow. "No need to reject extra hands."
I was not comfortable with that idea. Even with weapons and training, the trio were still children and obviously important. If they fought in my company, their deaths or wounds would be on my head. But seeing the resolve in their eyes told me I would not be able to convince them with words and there was no time left to argue. I shot a glance at Father Timothée silently asking for his support to talk them down. He simply shrugged.
"It's your prerogative," he said. "But they do seem eager to assist."
"Fine," I conceded. "But you'll need more armor than that. And you'll stay where I know you are and you will obey the commands of my officers and I at all times."
"Understood," Dimitri nodded.
Edelgard and Claude voiced no objections and the trio followed me to the join the infantry company.
"If I may inquire, Miss Byleth, you seemed to object to Sir Jeralt's order of a flanking maneuver," Dimitri spoke to me as we walked.
"I don't exactly object, but I am concerned that he is taking too much of a risk leading our cavalry troop all the way around the river ford where they could become isolated with no infantry support."
"Is that not a prudent risk to accept if the maneuver can ensnare the bandits?" Edelgard asked.
"It may be too great a risk considering that the ford is three miles to the east and the cavalry troop is only forty-five men strong."
Neither Dimitri or Edelgard had a response to that.
"And I always thought the bards were exaggerating when they sang of the fearless Jeralt the Blade Breaker," said Claude.
"Only slightly," I said.
Without another any further discussion, the trio eagerly followed me as I joined the infantry company at their assembly area by the village stables. I sent the young nobles to the battalion quartermaster, Erich, hoping he would be able to fit them with any of the extra helmets, mail, and brigandines he had in our limited supply stores. I simultaneously called the four platoon leaders and gave them a quick briefing of our situation.
"Is he quite sure about that maneuver?" asked Devon, third platoon leader.
"He's sure, his intent is to completely route the bandits in panic," I said.
"That does make sense," said Pierre, second platoon leader, "If the troop can cross the ford undetected their charge will certainly bring shock and awe even with forty-five horses."
"And the effect will be more devastating on the enemy the more we can whittle down their numbers," said Nicholas, the archer platoon leader.
"Yes, but we'll have to keep their attention focused solely on us," I said. "And the bridge is the perfect place to do it. We'll challenge them the old fashion way with our shield-wall in the middle to create a choke point. Nicholas will split the archers into two sections on the parapets so any attacking elements will be caught in a crossfire."
"We can also use harassing shots to goad them into charging," Nicholas added.
"That will work perfectly, but don't unleash volleys until they charge, even if they pass the ranging stakes. Any objections, gentlemen?"
None of them voiced any further concern.
"Do you have anything to add, Ivar?" I asked the stony-faced leader of first platoon.
"No, ma'am," he said.
"Right then, get the platoons to the bridge, standard marching order."
The platoon leaders dispersed and led their men out by platoon; first, second, third, and archers. The clergymen followed behind first platoon where they would be able to quickly aid the soldiers in the battle. I sent Claude with Nicholas' archers, given that he carried a bow and arrow bag himself. As company leader, I marched with Ivar's first platoon, strictly ordering Dimitri and Edelgard to stay right behind me. The company standard-bearer marched right behind the front rank of first platoon, carrying our battalion's black banner of the three-leafed white lotus, Jeralt's personal signet.
The heavy cavalry troop mounted up as the company formed and simultaneously departed from the stables, passing by first platoon on our right. They projected an image of force mounted on their mares, all clad in plate armor, full-body hauberks, or both. The troop leader, Erwin, rode next to Jeralt at the front of the column, carrying the swallow-tailed troop standard. Jeralt himself projected an imposing command presence astride his large mare, Eva. He and I briefly locked eyes and he gave me a nod before turning Eva right and spurring her into a steady gallop. The other riders followed him closely as they skirted towards the riverbank and they soon faded from view in the pre-dawn darkness.
They were all formidable warriors, but I still could not help but be slightly concerned. They were only a platoon-sized troop of horsemen executing a wide flanking maneuver that would ideally require the numbers of one or more full-sized, hundred-men troops. Officially, Jeralt's Mercenaries were a battalion, but at the time we were really just one infantry company and one cavalry troop, and even those echelon designations were generous.
As a former knight, Jeralt was a natural horseman and typically preferred to lead the cavalry troop into battle. I myself had no talent with horses, thus I typically acted as the commander of the understrength infantry company, Ivar's platoon was twenty-five men, Pierre's platoon was thirty-one, Devon's platoon was twenty-one, and Nicholas' archer platoon was twelve. An additional four-man scout team made for ninety-three men in total. Quartermaster Erich also had eight young orderly boys under his wing who only fought under extreme circumstances. For this engagement, Father Timothée and his four monks brought our effective combat strength to ninety-eight, not including Erich's orderlies. The cavalry troop was forty-five, counting Jeralt himself.
Needless to say, our battalion had seen better days. We had not experienced a particularly high combat attrition rate recently, but months of inactivity had decimated our ranks through expiring contracts, training injuries, and illnesses. But despite our reduced numbers I was not particularly worried about the company's objective to hold the village bridge. Even with the prospect of being outnumbered, the bridge was the perfect choke point to attrit a hostile war party, especially undisciplined bandits.
I was far more worried about Jeralt and the troop being cut off or ambushed with no chance of infantry support from us. Singers and poets often romanticize heavy cavalry as though they are the indomitable force of war, but that is only true in open-field battles. They are undeniably terrifying to behold when they charge in mass formation with lances down, but their true strength is their mobility which allows them to strike hard and swiftly then tactically withdraw to strike again. They are not meant to fight grueling, static battles of attrition in close quarters like infantry as they simply become easy targets for spears and arrows. As such, a troop that is surrounded is often in danger of imminent slaughter, even when the enemy is all infantry. Granted, bandits are far less trained and disciplined than soldiers and much easier to control, but it was still a gamble. I did not distrust Jeralt's judgement, but I could only accept it on the basis that it was him leading the horsemen and no one else. I was not particularly devout at the time, but I still whispered a prayer for them.
I put such thoughts out of my head as soon as my men reached the bridge. It was time to focus on our own mission. The platoon leaders immediately moved their men to fighting positions based on our order of march without need for my orders. Dimitri, Edelgard, and I marched with first platoon as Ivar halted them in the bridge center. The bridge was wide enough for nearly half of Ivar's platoon to form abreast. I stood shoulder to shoulder with Ivar in the center of the front rank, covering his right side with my kite shield. I was ironically the only soldier in the front rank not carrying a spear, choosing instead to fight with my seax in this compact shield-wall. Pierre and Devon waited close behind so they could quickly reinforce Ivar with their own men and even rotate platoon positions entirely if needed.
The bridge was flanked by earthen breastworks that we had fortified with small palisades and fire-steps, perfect for the archer platoon. Nicholas thus split his archers into two sections that flanked both sides of the bridge. Nicholas himself went with the section on the left flank, Claude right next to him. The archers then stood their quivers upright on the ground, where they could easily draw arrows, and lit torches where they stood to give visibility as there was no longer any moonlight, though we could only see as far as the tree-line half a mile forward. There was no point in concealing our position in the darkness when our entire objective was to focus the bandit party's attention on us.
The scout team soon emerged from the shadows of the trees. The lead scout, Marcel, hailed Ivar and I with the security phrase and informed us that we faced at least a double drove of "armed and very pissed off freebooters" who could already be heard raucously approaching in the distance. All four scouts requested permission to fight in the front, but they had been patrolling village outskirts from their distant camp the entire night so I sent them to the rear with the security detail at supply wagons to rest and refit. There was little to do at this point besides wait for the enemy, whose shouts and footsteps grew steadily louder, so my soldiers simply conducted their final equipment checks with each other. The lull before a battle is boredom punctuated by anticipation that always makes the wait feel longer than it really is.
I glanced over my right shoulder at Dimitri and Edelgard who stood close to me in the second rank. Both of them were now wore helmets, mail, and brigandines like the rest of us, though Edelgard's haubergeon was noticeably large on her. For the time being, stared silently into the black of the trees even while men around her idly chatted and the sounds of the approaching enemy grew louder still.
"Ever experienced combat before?" I asked.
"Not properly," said Edelgard. "Though Dimitri is no stranger to violence." She smirked at him.
"No less than you," Dimitri dryly replied without even looking at her.
The somewhat awkward demeanor he had displayed earlier was now completely gone and replaced with cold stoicism. He simply gazed forward with unmoving, icy blue eyes.
"Spears front!" Ivar shouted.
The enemy arrived. A mob of ragtag men came running out of the tree-line, so raucous they barely seemed to notice our presence until they came close to the bridge. The bandits in front slowed to a halt as they realized they now faced armed resistance and the whole mob devolved into a confused gaggle, clearly perplexed to be facing any resistance at all. My men, for their part, silenced their murmurings and held their weapons ready as we initiated the battle of wills that plays out before every engagement. I scanned the enemy party in front of me to the best of our visibility, it was difficult to guess their numbers without seeing any war banners but I judged that they easily numbered in the hundreds. Their weapons varied by man; swords, battle axes, war hammers, and an assortment of pole arms. Unsurprisingly, few carried shields, or wore any kind of armor, and there were no archers or crossbowmen. Assuming they did not have mages, would not be difficult to stack their bodies.
The bandits continued milling about until one large man carrying a two-handed battle axe stepped to the foot of the bridge and pompously demanded we let them pass. No one responded, much to his agitation. Vexed by our silence, the whole mob began spewing threats and insults, but not one of my men shouted back. When insults did not provoke any reactions, several individual bandits approached the bridge and called challenges for single combat against anyone with the balls to face them. They spat yet more torrents of insults and vulgarities when no one broke formation to fight them. They very colorfully articulated how weak and yellow-bellied we were and what they would do to our mothers and lovers when they were done us. But they were only wasting their breath. Our silence was a deliberate part of the battle of wills, our standard response to provocation. I glanced at the young nobles again to pleasantly see that they also betrayed no sign of intimidation.
Intimidation is the primary weapon of all bandits. They are predominately little more than armed thugs who, more often than not, lack the skill to best a trained soldier in single combat; but they are dangerous in numbers and use that show of force to break their victims of the will to resist. It is just a smokescreen that most soldiers can see through and render ineffective simply by not reacting. What the bandits were doing was actually sensible in a way, any thinking man can tell that rushing headlong into a armed chokepoint is tantamount to suicide. They wanted us to expose ourselves in the open and tried to goad us into attacking, but one of the most imperative characteristics of defense to make the enemy fight on your terms, and so our two sides played mind games. The Blade Breakers played this mind game with nearly every bandit party we fought and the bandits always broke first because they are driven by little more than mob mentality and thirst for gold, which eventually intoxicates them to madly rush to their deaths. They fall into our trap the moment groupthink overrides sense and they unwittingly force themselves to fight on our terms.
The one-sided psychological contest continued for what seemed like an eternity, the ruckus of the bandits gradually growing into an enraged roar, until our enemies finally succumbed to mob mentality and the frontmost bandits charged.
"Brace!" Ivar and I simultaneously yelled.
I flipped down my visor. The Blade Breakers in the front rank leveled their weapons. Each rear man pressed his shield into the back of the man in front of him. The bandits thundered to the bridge, past our arrow ranging stakes. And ran straight into a volley of arrows. Their war cries became death screams as the shot bandits tumbled into the ground and the men behind them tripped over them and created a pile of bleeding, writhing bodies. The deadly arrows did not relent as the archers fired at will, drawing arrows as soon as they loosed them. The effect was a hailstorm of missiles. Dozens of bandits were already dead before they were even on the bridge, those who still clung to life were trampled by their own comrades who slipped through the arrows and dashed onto the bridge. The bandits who made it screamed bloody murder, closed the distance. Only to be met by our raised spears.
Several bandits skewered themselves in their rush. Many more were trapped by their own crowding comrades while desperately trying to claw through our deadly spears, those who managed to slip past were immediately stabbed by the men behind the first rank. The bandit leader who had issued the initial threat managed to knock aside Ivar's spear and hook his shield with the beard of his axe. I quickly leaned to my left and stabbed my seax into the bandit's neck and he collapsed gurgling his own blood. A sword-bandit saw my opening and lunged in for the blow, but was killed by a spear to the chest. I immediately knew that Dimitri had done the deed as he was standing right behind me with his shield in my back. Another sword-bandit lunged at me with a clumsy overhead swing. The mercenary to my right blocked high, throwing the bandit off balance, then I stabbed him in the abdomen and ripped my blade up and out. He howled as his entrails spilled out. His legs gave out but he could not fall backward thanks to the tide of men that was pushing their own into our weapons. A few of our mercenaries fell and were immediately dragged back through the lines. The men standing directly behind them stepped in their place and continued the killing.
Most of our enemies were merely rushing to their deaths at this point, their corpses stacked in a nearly waist-high pile in front of our shield-wall, most bandits who tried to climb over the body pile were killed as soon as they exposed themselves. I killed one such bandit with a vicious hack through the clavicle and another with a straight stab in the nose bridge. They died easily thanks to their lack of armor. Even those who wore sturdy gambesons and leather corselets could not last long against the onslaught. I could see the fear in many faces realizing that their frontal attack was suicide, but they could not move in any direction but forward thanks to the human stampede that packed the bridge and pushed them into the meat grinder. The slaughter raged until the bandit crowd finally melted away in near panic, leaving their dead and dying comrades behind. The archer sections released another volley as soon as the bandits cleared the bridge, dropping yet more bodies.
Ivar's platoon had soundly beaten back the first enemy attack. The survivors pathetically licked their wounds in the safety of numbers while the bandits who did not charge simply stared in shock, but Ivar and I had fought against enough bandit hordes to know they would not stay idle for long. Bandits are highly susceptible to volatile groupthink.
I quickly sheathed by seax, flipped up my visor, and shouted to Ivar, "Call it!" By Ivar's command, first platoon made a hasty tactical withdraw from the bridge while our enemies were too stunned to retaliate. As soon as first platoon cleared the kill-zone, second platoon advanced to take our place.
"Second platoon, forward!" Pierre bellowed and his men ran into the bridge in formation.
Now that Ivar and I had an opportunity to catch our breath in the security of our line, I assisted him in taking accountability of his men. We lost three dead and four wounded, reducing first platoon from twenty-five to nineteen. A monk stabilized the three who were most critically wounded with Heal spells, the fourth man was restored to able-bodied strength. A few of our men wrapped the dead in linen, we would bury them when the battle was over.
First platoon then sat down together in a rest formation beside third platoon, who were also resting right behind the bridge but were prepared to mobilize as soon as the chokepoint was open. Ivar's men took the opportunity to refit in this improvised assembly area of ours. Erich was right behind us with the supply stores, furiously setting aside arrow bags for the archers. The eight orderly boys worked like busy bees rushing the arrow bags to the palisades, clutching two in each arm. The archers relaxed their fire now that the hostile charge had been repulsed, but still maintained an overwatch, shooting any bold bandits that wandered too close to the bridge or riverbank. Claude stood next to Edward in the left-flank section and I saw him straight-shoot a man right in the head. Claude was not a particularly large man, and I was impressed by the strength he possessed to draw his longbow far enough to make such a shot.
After supplying the archer sections with more ammunition, the orderly boys abruptly switched their full attention to first platoon and began rushing us water skins and food rations. Everyone gladly took advantage of their break to eat and hydrate. Fatigue was finally setting in as the battle high wore off, I myself finally became aware of the sweat film on my face when I took off my helmet. I sat down next to Dimitri and Edelgard to check up on them. Dimitri was casually chewing on a ration while wiping the blood off his spear-blade while Edelgard was chugging down her water skin. I noticed her axe was bloodied and her brigandine was cut over the right shoulder. I had initially not wanted these young nobles to fight at all, yet still brought them close anyway and here they were cutting their teeth with the rest of my seasoned mercenaries.
"How are your two holding up?" I asked.
Edelgard gasped for air after chugging multiple gulps of water and put down her skin.
"That wave retreated faster than I expected," she said.
"Hotheaded bandits tend to lose their mettle after a good bloodletting," I said. "But they're far from finished, they'll psych themselves up and charge again."
"Then I don't imagine it will be particularly difficult to kill more," Dimitri remarked as he wiped the last streak of blood from his spearhead.
I took a spare cleaning cloth from Edelgard and began wiping blood off of my seax, shield, and helmet visor. I was so focused on that momentary task that I did not think to take any water or food for myself until an orderly named Tancred shoved some in my arms and sternly said, "Eat." I then realized I was just as hungry and thirsty as the rest of the men, none of us had eaten breakfast, and started wolfing down the rations.
Then some of the bandits found their spines again. Another group gathered in front of the bridge, much smaller than the first group. They made the second charged and Pierre's platoon stood firm in phalanx to meet them. I ran over to the palisade and observed as the bandits let out a howling battlecry, more to motivate themselves than to intimidate second platoon, and rushed to meet their deaths. The second wave was repulsed even faster than the first, a dozen of them fell from an arrow volley and the rest were quickly decimated by Pierre's platoon while trying to scramble over the pile of bodies in vain. A wounded bandit was tossed over the side of the bridge. He tried to swim but succumbed to blood loss and the archers watching on the palisade laughed as he panicked and drowned. The second wave was all but wiped out by the time the survivors limped away from the bridge and were felled by another volley.
"How may drinks are you willing to bet we'll send these piss-lickers running before Jeralt gets here?" Nicholas asked me.
"Not even one mead," I said.
"Are you sure, ma'am? At this rate my platoon alone will have them beat before the horse boys get some."
He had a point. By now the corpse stack in front of second platoon had reached neck level. The men thus began clearing away the bodies while they had an opportunity to avert a potential avalanche that could break their formation. They had to have hefted well over two dozen corpses over the sides of the bridge and their blood filled the water as they floated on the surface. The color was illuminated by our torches to create a sickly shade of blackish-red, more visible thanks to the pre-dawn grey that filled the sky. I could not clearly make out the expressions of the many distant bandits who had yet to fight, but the silence that engulfed them plainly indicated their horror at the grim sight. No trace of rowdiness left.
Second platoon reformed phalanx in short order anticipating another charge that did not come. The enemy party still clearly outnumbered us, but the decimation of the first two waves demonstrated to the unbloodied bandits exactly what would happen if they tried to attack the bridge. Still they didn't retreat, they were stuck between wanting our blood and not wanting to die, right where we wanted them to be. Jeralt's Mercenaries were firmly in control of the battle tempo. Then the heavy cavalry arrived.
The woods in front of the bridge curved to the east, our right, and made an excellent concealment for their approach. The infantry company, for our part, had focused the bandit's attention on us so well that few of them seemed to initially notice Jeralt's horses cantering out of the treeline. They definitely noticed when the standard-bearer blasted the trumpet signal to form wedge. Within moments, the troop positioned themselves as such with the imposing form of Jeralt leading from the apex.
"I stand corrected," said Nicholas.
Across the river, some of the bandits attempted to arrange themselves into something that vaguely resembled a defense formation, if one were to squint, but it was far too late. The standard-bearer blasted the trumpet again and the horsemen spurred into full gallop, lances down, and smashed into the mob of bandits. The effect was every cavalrymen's dream. Jeralt's wedge broke through the crowd like a splitting tide. They sent the enemy into complete pandemonium as they speared any bandit in their way. Many others they didn't kill with their lances were trampled under hooves. The psychological shock of a surprise heavy cavalry charge struck the outnumbering bandits with such terror that most of them ran in any direction to save themselves. This only caused many of them to bunch up and fall over each other, and there was more death. And the cavalrymen still relentlessly carved their way right through the whole mob. I saw some of them drop broken lances and draw their swords, axes, or hammers to keep hacking as they still charged, leaving our enemies scattered in their wake.
The infantry company let out a loud cheer at the sight. Now that the enemy was shattered, I knew that we had to exploit the initiative before the bandits had any chance to recover. I ordered my standard-bearer to blast the signal for company advance. All platoons immediately reacted. Pierre's platoon rushed forward from the bridge, Devon's platoon followed close behind, and Ivar's platoon scrambled to their feet and brought up the rear. The archers left their positions on the palisades and brought of the rear along with the monks. Claude naturally fell in with the archer platoon next to Nicholas, but I quickly ran to him and ordered him to stay behind with Erich and the orderlies. He was surprised by the order and just stared at me for a moment.
"Stay here!" I yelled.
He then reluctantly fell out of the platoon.
I then ran to the front rank of Ivar's platoon as they were following Devon's platoon onto the bridge.
"Go to back to the supply stores and stay there!" I shouted at Dimitri and Edelgard as we moved.
"What?" Edelgard exclaimed.
"Miss Byleth-" Dimitri started to protest but I cut him off.
"No arguing! Go!"
Both of them were plainly disgruntled by my stern order, especially Edelgard, but Dimitri switched his spear to his left hand and pulled her off to the side so the rest of the platoon could pass them by. Ivar noticed the exchange but did not say anything, he understood my reason for sending them back. We were no longer fighting a defensive battle in a chokepoint where we held every advantage, now we were pressing an assault that greatly increased their chances of death or wounds and I still did not want that blood on my head.
The company fanned out in our offensive formation as soon as we cleared the bridge. Pierre's leading platoon stayed center while Devon swung his platoon to the right side and Ivar to the left while the archer sections hung back on the wings. This created a mobile phalanx with the entire company abreast. We had rehearsed this exact formation so many times that executing it was second nature. I had my sword drawn for this one.
The bandits were too disorganized to react and we broke straight through them, spears forward, cutting down every enemy in our path and trampling over the bodies of the wounded. The fractured gaggle that remained in front of us wildly ran for cover in the treeline, still ravaged by our horsemen who relentlessly rode down every bandit they could possibly kill. They broke off their pursuit as the infantry chased the bandits right into the woods. I then ordered the company standard bearer to blast the call for a static shield-wall. I stepped back from the company as the straightened the line and the archers formed a new firing line in the rear. Father Timothée and the monks were among them. Meanwhile, the cavalrymen were reigning their mares in to regroup behind the infantry company. Jeralt trotted his own mare around the archers to find me at the rear of the company. We both raised our visors to identify each other and he slung his lance into the holder on Eva's flank.
"Nicely done, kid," he said
"Should we pursue or hold here?" I asked.
"Pursue. We've definitely scared the Hell out of them, but they're likely to try to rally in the woods or the clearing beyond," Eva twitched and whinnied with excitement from the shouts and battle cries that still filled the air, Jeralt patted her neck to calm her down. "Easy, girl. Keep the company together and push the bandits into the clearing as much as you can. I don't imagine that they have much nerve left to resist."
"And the troop will circle around through the path?"
"Correct, and when we charge them again. Until then, exploit their disarray with extreme prejudice."
That was Jeralt's more articulate way of saying 'go kill as many as possible.'
"Understood."
"Keep 'em bleeding. Heeyah!" And with that simple instruction Jeralt spurred his mare back to the rest of the heavy cavalry.
I immediately relayed the order to the standard-bearer who blasted the signal to advanced, and the infantry company steadily pushed into the treeline. Meanwhile, the cavalry troop reformed around their own standard and swung around our rear towards the open wood path that was further to our left. They rode like a truly effective cavalry unit, gone just as quickly as they had arrived to strike again at just the right moment.
But my company still needed to drive the enemy out of the woods; the undignified business of infantrymen. Our shield-wall naturally unraveled as we pushed into the trees and brush. I quickly lost track of my platoon leaders and even my standard-bearer in the chaos. With no feasible way to issue orders, I could only fight the men immediately around me. Multiple groups of bandits that remained rediscovered their spines and engaged the mercenaries in a dozen small fights in the thick of the woods. Order was effectively gone, but the bandits had little chance of turning the tide now.
One bandit group attempted to charge the gaggle of Blade Breakers I stood with. Two of them broke into the staggered shield wall only to be dragged to the ground and butchered by the men behind the first rank. They squealed like pigs. A bandit armed with a bill lunged at me as I raised my shield and he hooked the rim. I pivoted with the blow, throwing him off balance, and shield-bashed him into the tree on my right side then killed him with a sword thrust to the chest. Another bandit, profusely bleeding from the head, struggled to his feet to see his comrades dying. He let out a cry of rage and raised his spear. Then a monk pushed past me, stretched his connected palms out, and created a Nosferatu glyph. A bright aura flashed around the bandit and his whole body shriveled and collapsed, drained of all blood. The monk then stepped back behind our shields and put his glowing hands together in a prayer sign, converting the defused blood into mana that could heal a wounded mercenary when needed.
"Push forward! Push forward!" I hollered to however many Blade Breakers could hear me over the din of primal screams and clanging metal.
Just as I shouted, I led my small group forward through the brush and continued brawling with the disorganized hostiles. As my men charged through a larger bandit gaggle, another group of Blade Breakers appeared at our right and attack our enemies. I turned my head just in time to see an axe-bandit chop a mercenary in the side of the head. The mercenary's helmet flew right off her head and her long white hair fell down.
I actually stopped in my tracks, dumbfounded to see the noble girl Edelgard in the thick of the combat. Exactly where I ordered her not to be. Her attacker tried to finisher her with another blow to her now unprotected head. She barely raised her shield in time to block the axe but was still knocked back several steps from the force. As she stumbled, the bandit saw the opening, raised his axe, and lunged.
In an instant I bolted to Edelgard and tackled her. I felt the axe hit my back, then felt an unfamiliar pulse. Then the world was engulfed by a dark aura. And time itself froze.
So, this is the first real chapter. I had originally intended for the game's whole prologue stage and cutscenes to constitute the first chapter, but the draft was way too long, so I decided to break it up. This chapter is still longer than I intended it to be, but I don't feel like wasting what I've already but a lot of time into writing. The next chapter will wrap up the battle fairly short length then we can get to the proper introductions and get things moving.
First Blood part 2 is on it's way, peace out.