Your heart is pounding in your ears. Adrenaline courses through your blood. Your visor obscures much of your vision, but still you charge.
A trio of rebels faces you, shocked and terrified by your sudden attack.
A slash across the throat dispatches the first man. You turn on the second, slashing across his chest with your axe. As he stumbles back, dying, the third strikes you on the left side with an axe of his own.
You reflexively bring your arm against your side, trapping his weapon between the chainmail of your armpit and arm. You spin around to face him, tearing the weapon from his grasp. You slash across his chest, dropping him to his knees. His own axe clutched in your off-hand, you donate it back to him, embedding it deep in his neck.
With the three rebels dead at your feet, you gesture with a bloodsoaked hand for your men to follow.
The ranger whose kills you witnessed earlier is the first to join your charge.
Sprinting forward with his falchion, he bellows, "Death! Death for all of you!"
And soon, all two hundred of your rangers are charging down the hill from all sides. The air is filled with shouts and the ringing of steel on steel. The enemy siege artillery roars, its thunder eclipsing all else.
For a few long seconds, you charge at the head of your army. High on adrenaline and bloodlust, you're among the first to make contact with the terrified rebel infantrymen.
Within moments, you've struck down two, and then a third. And then a forth. Blows rain down on you from the sides, but they deflect off of your armor.
Rangers fight with horrific brutality. They even charge the enemy horsemen, who are utterly unprepared for such sudden, violent recklessness.
Soaked with blood, the battle continues on.
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