An army of over ten thousand soldiers marched forward, consisting of paladins wearing full sets of armor, priests able to heal wounds and cleanse sickness, and cavaliers of men riding on rams; massive beasts larger than most breeds of horse, with curved horns and thick pelts of curled wool perfect for shielding against the cold within the frozen tundras of Serudine.
Their land was massive, taking up almost the entirety of the north, the mountains, tundra plains, and taiga forests, but majority wise, it was an empty and barren land, yet they were wealthy and prosperous because of their religious strength, coupled with an abundance of silver mines.
Within two years of the war, they had already gained control of Highland's borders, taking a massive strip of land and only continuing to push forward over the corpses of Highland men.
It was a battlefield with a one-sided scale, tipping constantly in their favor.
On the clouded sky rode a raven, far enough that the naked human eye would perceive it at a dot, and yet, an archer from the marching army stepped out of line, aimed his bow and arrow, and shot it down.
The abrupt death of the raven was felt by its master, a witch allying with the King of Highland.
She was a witch of the Unwithering Forest, aptly named so by the witches who took up occupancy within the said forest, who formed the Church of the Unwithered.
"What happened?" The king, sitting upon his throne, asked the old witch. "What did you see?"
"Your majesty... They march an army of thousands, the light of their god surrounding them like a fog. Before my familiar was shot down, I saw their commander. I am not sure, but I believe it to be the wielder of the holy blade, the Saint, Gerald."
"The holy blade?" The king muttered with clenched teeth, leaning back in his throne and staring up at the ceiling of his castle. "It's real..?"
The entire court shared in their king's worries, unsure how to act, unsure what to say.
Eventually, after moments of silence, the king took a deep breath and raised himself again. "Where are they?"
"They were... Three days ride from your armies, sire."
"I see. You may leave now."
With a bow, the witch took her leave. The guards shut the door behind her, the loud and heavy sound of the door shutting echoing through the hall.
"Your majesty... Perhaps we enlist the aid of mercenaries. For a sum of a few hundred silver, surely they could help us turn the tide." The king's chancellor proposed, only to immediately be argued against by none other than the king's son, Prince Jacob.
"Father!" The Prince stepped out of line and onto the red rug which ran down the center of the court. "Why do we not just surrender? This bloodshed is needless if we just acce-"
"Silence!" The king shouted in anger. "Impudence! We surrender now, then what?! They will rob of us our believes, converting us to followers of theirs. Then? They will take our wealth in the name of their goddess, take our children in service to their order, take our women, to serve as nuns. The Father has not forsaken us in a thousand years, havin'given us salvation, knowledge, and the chance for any to join as followers. To forsake the clergy is to do more than surrender, it is to spit in the face of the Father who taught us all. I will have no more of this speak. Leave!!"
The Prince grit his teeth and clenched his fist, embarrassed and enraged.
Only when the prince left did the king calm his own anger, before decreeing to his court.
"Hire those mercenaries and send word to the armies to retreat and group with them. We will defend on the border of the County of Cantuck."
At this time, Erik had just arrived where the army was stationed.
He rode on horseback on his own personal steed which he barely ever rode and had actually owned for years.
The sight of the army warranted a grimace look. It was an encampment spanning farther than the eye could see, mud dirtying every soldier's boots, and a look of despair on just about every one of their faces.
Many were young as well as old, and just as many of either were wounded to the point of being either fatal, or destined to be a cripple for the rest of their life.
The mere smell tormented him, the scent of weeks worth of shit having piled up.
"State your name and occupation." Said the sergeant, dipping his pen in ink.
"Erik Chamber."
The sergeant looked up at him. "Chamber... Huh?"
"Yes. My father is Vindor Chamber, son to Duke Gendal Chamber."
"I see..." The sergeant wrote down his name on the list below dozens of others. "No weapon?"
"I brought my sword and shield, sheathed on my steed's saddle."
"Good. We can hardly afford to hand out anymore. You'll be assigned to digging trenches."
Erik leered at the man for a moment. "Digging trenches?"
"Yes. You will dig trenches for when one of our own dies. You'll bury him with the buckets of shit we throw in, then cover it all up."
"I refuse." Erik stated.
With his pen placed down and with a dead eye, he stared at the young man. Too tired to laugh mockingly at his refusal.
"Refuse...? You must be arrogant because of your family."
"No. I simply refuse. It is below me."
"Below you?" The man snarled.
"Yes. Put me down as commander, and make it so I will have my own troops to command. I promise a sure victory."
"Victory?! The arrogance!" The man stood up, his hands planted firmly on the desk and with an expression of disbelief. Strangely enough, he began to back down, letting out a sigh and then smiling. "Ahh... I see. You are trying to get dismissed, afraid you will die or get injured otherwise. Too bad."
"That is not my intention at all."
"Then what is?!"
"I told you. Put me down as a commander, and make it so I have my own troops to command."
"...Fine. You want to be a commander? Then I will make sure you command a, suitable, troop of men."
Erik could already see the meaning behind his words, and sure enough, within less than an hour's time, the men that were assigned under him were a poor sight indeed. Drunkards, men as young as he, and cripples missing at most an arm. Surprisingly, he noticed a familiar face among the dozen or so men, that being Devone Jonrai.
Of course, neither they were happy to have been put under his command either, seeing how young he was, still clean and yet to be dirtied by the mud.
"Tch... The hell ish thish?!" Spewed the drunkard missing many of his teeth and still holding on to his flask full of ale. "Our commanda is a shprout, shtill yet to grow any'air down'dere!?" A bloody fuckin inshult thish ish!! Shending us to die without sho much az a propah burial."
The ramblings of the drunkard were not without its voices of support. The others too, who could barely understand the drunkard's slurred words themselves, felt that what little they could understand was not without reasoning.
Devone stepped forth in defense of his friend who he'd known for years, though with a tone of nervousness in his voice. "Do you know who this is?!" He put out his arms as if showing off an item for display. "This is Erik Chamber, of THE Chamber house. We went to school together and he was top of class in everything, including swordsmanship. He ruled our school as its leader!"
"Shut up boy!" Said one of the drunkards, spitting everywhere and pointing at Devone. "This is a battlefield, not a place for ye'young ones to play'round!"
Devone quickly became enraged, but was pulled back by Erik. "Enough. I am your commander now, so be quiet and fall into line."
"Arrogant brat!" The drunkard spit, only to be met by Erik's fist before hitting the ground.
Erik clicked his tongue and stepped on the old drunkard, pressing down on his face and pushing him deeper against the mud.
One of the men tried to grab Erik to pull him off the old drunkard, but Erik grabbed him first, and twisted his arm on the brink of snapping. He cried out in pain, grabbing his shoulder as he tried to stop himself from falling.
Erik let him go and kicked him away into the mud.
"You fools have been assigned to me because you are the worst of the worst. You have no expectations placed on you, other than deserting in cowardice or dying a meaningless death. You men are worth less to the crown than the rodents scurrying in their pantries. However, I see the value in you all, and I may promise you this. You will obtain notoriety if you follow me, regardless of whether you survive or not. If you do not, your family will be granted your first as a familial name in your honor."
"A familial name? You can do that?" One of the men's eyes lit up.
"Of course. I am a Chamber. That much is simple. I also promise that I am quite wealthy. Enough so, that I can buy barrels of ale for when after the war is over."
The men instantly changed their tune having been won over by Erik's words and promises.
"Well, I see no other man offerin us petty peasants such a treat."
"Indeed! To our new commanda, then!"