Twelve imperial knights.
One hundred and twenty mercenaries.
The difference in numbers was tenfold. The scales seemingly tilted toward the more populated group. However, one would come to learn that in a fight, numbers weren't everything.
"Kill them all!" Borgos commanded his goons.
He was infuriated by the sudden death of one of his right hands. The fresh corpse still lay on the plains as he looked at it.
"How dare that bitch! Women are merely toys to be used as I please. Yet she dares to-" Borgos gritted his teeth.
The tough-skinned mercenaries roared as they charged forward to kill their foes. They paid no heed to the dead body of their fallen comrade, their heels stomping it as they rushed to fight.
"Heh, unlike those noble beasts, mercenaries do not fear death since they live their lives on the battlefield. They live to kill," Borgos smirked.
