Princess Piña was completely different from what he'd come to expect. Granted, the nobility he was familiar with were those of the Clock Tower's, which didn't exactly put anybody in a positive light. Regardless, the woman in front of him felt as if she were the idealized vision of said nobility, the ones that would be portrayed in movies and shows.

It was a far cry from the brutality that he'd seen in the histories of the weapons he had Traced.

That said, she was just a princess. Her father, the current emperor, might be the oppressive, slaving dictator that he'd been starting to believe.

As he watched her from the corner of his eye though, Shirou could spot an all too familiar fire burning in her. A desire that had long since been deemed by his future self as futile.

Shirou gave a soft smile.

They wouldn't fail. He was assured of that.

…

Hamilton tensed as she saw the feral smile that appeared on the Celt's face as he looked down onto the map of the battlefield. As much as the man had given them reason to trust him, Chulainn had also given no indication as to how loyal he would be when the time came.

Sure, he'd saved them from those brigands, and the Princess was all too willing to let her own judgment of a person speak for her, but that didn't necessarily mean that he wasn't some sort of spy.

Though, seeing as how he peered over the map with a critical eye with the same feral smile, maybe he just wanted to fight and Hamilton was just seeing things that weren't there. Celtic warriors were always rumored to be battle maniacs, after all.

…that and maniacs in-

"How much oil do we still have?" The Celt spoke up suddenly, a sharp look towards Piña. The Princess, for her part, only took a moment to reply.

"Our last count was around thirty or so barrels, though that was reduced for the defense earlier." She locked eyes with Hamilton, to which the knight nodded and mouthed a number in response, "Yes, I would estimate our stocks to be around fifteen barrels left."

"Hm. Have your men surround the walls with the oil, they'll be of no use when the fighting starts. Light them up once they get close enough." Pointing down at the main gate, he continued, "Keep this path open for them however."

"They may be bandits, but they're hardly foolish enough to fall for such an obvious trap." Grey spoke up from beside them, a frown on his lips. Chulainn nodded, before pivoting his finger to the town walls.

"That's the point. There should be enough oil to cover the perimeter of the town, as well as the top of the walls. Once they take it, light those up as well. WIth luck, we'll manage to kill off most of them." Hamilton had to gulp at that.

This was their first battle as the Rose Order. Already, they had almost died, or worse. The glory of battle that the other knights had espoused back in the capital had been nowhere to be seen. All there was was the uncertainty of when you would die.

There was no thrill of the fight. No hope for another chance. Even then, she still had her honor. Hamilton, alongside her entire order, would not surrender. To do so would be to tarnish the very ideals that they lived by. A dishonorable act that would be remembered well after their deaths.

The very thought of having to live with that dishonor sickened Hamilton, as did the others.

And now, this Celt was saying that they should set their own walls on fire?

"This is madness!" Hamilton blurted out, and she almost slapped her hand to her mouth. The raised eyebrow of Chulainn and the encouraging nod from Piña, however, prompted her to continue. "You would ask us to abandon our walls? That's as good as giving up the city!"

"They've already taken it once, and that was when the walls were fully manned." Hamilton had to grit her teeth as the Celt continued calmly, "With our current casualty count, we don't stand a chance."

"Even so, the fire will only last so long. We won't be able to evacuate anyone if we even wanted to if we followed your idea!" Blood was pounding in her ears. Gone was the happy go lucky, yet guarded, woman that had led the Celt and his companions, replaced by Hamilton Uno Ror, a true knight of the Rose Order.

She knew that Piña agreed with her, as evidenced by how the Princess had no qualms with her outburst. Later, Hamilton would likely be embarrassed with how she raised her voice like that in front of Countess Myui and her retainers. The silent approval from Grey and the smile from Piña would lessen that.

Hamilton couldn't have expected the wide smile, tinged with bloodlust, that appeared on Chulainn's face.

"Didn't I just say that that was the point?"

…

A few hours later, just as evening turned into night once more, the battle proceeded as was predicted. The walls were quickly reached by the invaders, with the defenders only putting up lackluster resistance. The moment they tried to deploy their siege ladders though, the outer perimeter of the wall was quickly engulfed in flames.

More than a dozen were immediately on fire, with a further dozen or so being lit as they tried to help put out said flames.

Grimly, Hamilton beheld the scene as she refused to turn her eyes from it. This was the reality of knighthood, truth be told. No matter what, death would always follow you. It had startlingly little differences in bandirty, she thought.

The thing that separated them from the invaders was that she refused to let herself be desensitized from the carnage.

To bandits, death was just a problem that solved itself. The more of them die, the more the rest can get for themselves. There was no honor to be gotten, it was to live to be greedy, or die because of it.

They watched quietly as the flames around the walls died down, and for the invaders to move forward once more, their ladders deployed. They scaled the walls, not paying attention to the open area of the main gate. Not once did they hesitate when they saw the burnt bodies of their so-called comrades.

That was their mistake.

The length of the walls caught on fire moments after their feet hit it. Even more died this time, having thought it was safe as their allies climbed without harassment. The walls of Italica burned brightly in the night sky, as the howls of the burning dead echoed out.

All of this, Hamilton saw through the looking glass she held in her hand.

They were, after all, not inside Italica.

"Go."

As one, the entire cohort, albeit smaller than normal, moved silently through the forest. Italica was safe for now, with the walls on fire and the invaders refusing to move to the 'obvious' trap in the form of the main gate, they were free to enact their plan.

Norma had been put in charge of the token defense, as his injuries didn't prevent him from commanding. Meanwhile, the rest of the Rose Order - including the Princess, much to everyone's protests - were following Chulainn as they stalked the backline of the invaders.

As the man said, the main leaders were nowhere near the frontlines. Instead, they were watching the entire thing unfold from as far back as they were reasonably able to. It made Hamilton's blood boil. She was no stranger to seeing those in power not doing much other than leading. It happened fairly often, if she were honest.

But that usually was for the veterans, the people who were no longer physically fit, yet were still sharp of mind. The people she saw were bandits through and through, armed to the teeth, and were fully capable of doing what they were ordering others to do.

Maybe she was spoiled with having Princess Piña as her commander.

Silent as the grave, they jogged out of the treeline, the rattle of steel faintly ringing, though muted by the still screaming invaders. None of the ringleaders looked all too worried about it. A hand came to her shoulder. Grey, she saw as she looked back, continuing their silent jog. She saw the message in his eye, and nodded back to her own target - a mage in green, with how they were starting to cast a wind spell.

Damn. She had to bite back a curse.

How was it that bandits managed to recruit the help of a mage? They were clearly powerful enough that they could have gotten away, and there were no indications that they were being coerced. Mages were coveted by the Empire, with legends such as Cato being revered throughout.

Was it possible that some hedge mage was working with them? Perhaps. But then again, the difficulty of training as a mage with no formal education was-

Myuute Luna Sires. That was Myuute. Hamilton could see her now. The mage wasn't wearing green, that was just the color of her feathered hair.

Hamilton knew Myuute. A mage for the Empire, who had been apparently lost even before the Battle of Alnus Hill, when Imperial forces had first stormed across the Gate. Part of the reason why she even knew of Myuute was that there were only a handful of demihuman mages across the entire Empire, and when it was announced that she had perished during the failed invasion, it was a blow to the Princess' plans for eliminating racism within the country.

What was she doing?

As they slowly approached, they were still unnoticed, partly thanks to the muffling spell and the attention-diverting spell that the mage prodigy Lelei and elf Tuka had cast respectively, she could spot more and more about the bandit leaders.

More specifically, the wrapped banners that they had. The other bandits wore them as well, though when they were in Italica, Hamilton had not paid attention to them, more focused on living and whatnot. Now that she had time, she recognized the colors and small bits of design that poked through.

Empire colors. War banners. The weapons and armor they wore? They could have been scavenged from Imperial corpses, but they were too well maintained. Too new. Too sharp. The tactics, the disposition.

They weren't just bandits.

Imperial deserters.

Just as she had that thought, she was startled by movement to her right. Bozes and Beefeater had had the same realization, going by the looks on their faces, and were prepared to launch themselves at the deserters, only stopped by Chulainn grabbing the two of them with a furious look, along with Piña giving them a small frown.

Hamilton could see that the Princess knew why they acted this way, but they couldn't jeopardize their plan.

Slowly, they spread out, with Chulainn reaching the far, far left. Silently, they waited, all in arm's reach of their intended target. Hamilton was poised near Myuute, the pommel of her sword ready to be brought down. Traitor as she was, Hamilton knew that they needed answers, and the former Imperial mage was an ideal candidate.

As soon as Myuute cast her wind spell, Chulainn threw his rounded shield like a discus, impacting the frontmost man square in the chest, before leaping with his gladius towards the stupefied leaders.

Hamilton did the same, only pausing for a moment to watch with satisfaction at the shock on the traitor's face as her pommel impacted her temple. Their cohort made short work of the deserters, having both the element of surprise and the number advantage after most of them were sent to the walls of Italica to storm it. It was almost anti-climactic how easy it was.

"HA! Like any no-good slaver, they fall like puppets when confronted with the truth of freedom!" Chulainn shouted as they rounded up those that surrendered. It made Hamilton uncomfortable, if she were telling the truth. The man could go from calm and formal as he was when he met with Countess Myui, to ruthless and bloodthirsty at a moment's notice.

"Come, we still have the rest of these barbarians to deal with! Onward!" He pointed towards the still burning walls of Italica, and despite herself, Hamilton could feel a sense of camaraderie with his words.

These were still her (former) countrymen, and here she was, on the side of a random Celtic warrior looking to bring them to justice. And, in a strange twist of fate, instead of them defending the walls of Italica, here she was storming her way towards them with a battle cry, not questioning why she was doing it.

Ha. With a grim smile, Hamilton figured that the stories were true after all. Celtic bloodthirstiness really was contagious.

…

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

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