"Stop them!" Uriah's voice rang out, sharp and urgent.
Several miles away, an armored cavalryman yanked at his reins, spurring his horse into a gallop. His target: old Brian, who was thundering across the plains, riding at full speed. The blacksmith, seasoned by years and yet scarred by age, held the reins in his left hand, his knuckles white with the tension of anticipation. He could feel the rhythm of the horse beneath him, calculating the seconds before contact.
Closer and closer. The ground vibrated under their hooves, each heartbeat pulling them toward an inevitable clash.
Ahead, the Kantardar squire aimed his lance, eyes locked on Brian. The squire felt confident, almost arrogant, in his charge. His armor gleamed in the fading sunlight, protecting both him and his steed. In contrast, Brian, clad in a battered breastplate, was woefully under-equipped. His armor protected little more than his chest, and even his horse lacked the protection that warhorses were used to. From a distance, it seemed an uneven match.
But the blacksmith Brian had something that neither armor nor strength could give. Grit. Experience. The kind that etched deep lines on his face and left invisible scars from years long past. For nearly twenty years, the fire of combat had lain dormant in him, but now, now it burned hot in his veins once more.
His heart raced. The odds were against him, his age slowing his reflexes, his equipment inferior. But his mind was sharp, and his memory of the battlefield clearer than ever.
The cavalryman charged, his lance aimed directly at Brian. In a swift motion, Brian yanked the reins to one side, jerking his horse into a sharp angle just as the lance came within inches. His own spear, held tight in his right arm, met the enemy's with a sharp clash. Metal rang out, echoing across the plains as he deflected the lance in a near-instant reflex.
With a practiced twist of his body, Brian leaned into his horse's motion, his entire weight shifting to the right, his spear poised. In one seamless movement, as their horses crossed paths, he struck. His spear found its mark, buried deep into the exposed neck of the Kantardar squire. The force of the blow, amplified by the gallop, sent the young cavalryman flying off his horse, his body crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud.
A sharp crack followed, the sound of armor splitting under the pressure. The young squire lay motionless, his body limp and lifeless.
The old blacksmith Brian didn't have time to celebrate the victory. Another rider was charging towards him. This time, the Kantardar knight followed close behind his fallen comrade, lance poised and determined.
Brian's muscles strained as he barely managed to raise his spear to block the incoming strike. The impact jarred him, nearly throwing him off balance. He gritted his teeth, knowing his strength was waning. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He was running out of time, out of strength.
"Olivia!" Brian called out, his voice thick with desperation. His daughter rode behind him, her sword drawn, her eyes focused. She was strong, skilled beyond her years with the blade, but Brian knew the truth, he had never taught her to fight from horseback. It was a whole different world, one where even the greatest swordsman could falter.
But Olivia showed no fear. As the cavalry bore down on her, her grip tightened on her sword, her gaze unwavering. She understood the limitations of the horse, but so did her enemy. The dance of battle, even atop a steed, was one she was ready to face.
Brian could only hope she was ready for what came next.
Facing the tip of the spear hurtling straight at her, Olivia felt a surprising calm. The rigid, predictable line of attack made it easier for her to anticipate the cavalryman's next move. However, there was one undeniable truth, the spear had reach. Her sword was much shorter, and to make her strike count, she needed to be closer.
Instead of dodging, she urged her horse forward, closing the gap between herself and the charging rider. With a quick decision, she released the reins entirely, trusting her steed to maintain its course. Gripping her sword with both hands, she positioned her right thumb against the center of the guard, her blade held in a sideways "crown-like" grip. Her focus was absolute.
The spear lunged forward, cutting through the air toward her. But Olivia was ready. At the last second, she twisted the hilt with her left hand, tilting the angle of the blade to catch and deflect the spearhead, pushing it harmlessly to the side. In one fluid motion, she bent forward, her body leaning to the left, avoiding the deadly tip as the enemy's horse thundered past her.
In that brief instant as the horses crossed paths, Olivia moved. She rose from her seat, her sword parallel to the ground. With the force of the cavalryman's charge behind her, she brought the blade down in a sweeping arc toward his neck. There was no time for him to react. His spear, still extended from the failed attack, left him exposed, helpless as the sharp edge of Olivia's sword found its mark.
The collision was brutal. The blade struck with such force that it sliced cleanly through the knight's neck guard, severing tendons and bone in one swift motion. For a moment, it felt as though time slowed, the sound of steel against flesh echoing in Olivia's ears. Blood sprayed in a violent gush from the decapitated body, painting the air red as the cavalryman's lifeless corpse tumbled from his horse.
The shock of the impact vibrated through Olivia's arms as she gripped the hilt tightly. She blinked, steadying herself as the head of the enemy rolled to the ground behind her, while the headless body crumpled from the horse, hitting the dirt with a heavy thud.
With a deep breath, Olivia regained control of her horse, her hands firmly grasping the reins once more. She couldn't stop herself from glancing back at the gruesome scene; her first kill in battle. A chill ran down her spine. The sensation of having taken a life weighed on her, leaving an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. But as her gaze drifted toward the roadside, where the bodies of the villagers lay, her discomfort was quickly consumed by a rising tide of fury. Those villagers, innocent and defenseless, had been slaughtered without mercy.
A fire ignited in her chest. Hatred and anger surged through her veins, pushing away any remaining hesitation. She swore silently to herself that if she survived this day, she would make the Kantadar pay dearly for the lives they had taken.
Ahead, old Brian rode hard, the village entrance coming into sight. But before they could reach safety, a sudden, sharp whistle cut through the air; a sound that made Brian's heart skip a beat. Instinctively, he ducked low, flattening himself against his horse's back. His voice rang out urgently, "Olivia! Watch for the arrows!"
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a heavy impact slam into his back, like a hammer striking his armor. The force nearly knocked the wind out of him, but his breastplate had done its job. He let out a shaky breath, grateful that the arrow hadn't found flesh. Cold sweat trickled down his brow as he glanced back in panic, eyes searching for his daughter.
To his relief, Olivia was already reacting. An arrow whistled toward her, but her reflexes were sharp, honed by years of practice. With a swift flick of her wrist, she deflected the arrow mid-flight, sending it spinning harmlessly into the dirt. The movement was so fast, it seemed like lightning had struck. To her, it was nothing more than an exercise in precision, another test of her skill.
Brian's heart swelled with pride and worry. His daughter was quick, no doubt about that. But they still weren't out of danger. And with the Kantadar forces closing in, their chances of survival grew slimmer by the minute.
The archer perched on the rooftop blinked in disbelief. His arrow had been deflected; by a girl. He had never seen anything like it. But his training took over quickly, and he didn't hesitate. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled another arrow from his quiver, nocking it to his bowstring with precision.
This time, he aimed not at the girl but at the galloping horse beneath her. If he couldn't strike her directly, he would bring her down by other means.
Whoosh!
The arrow flew, cutting through the air in a graceful arc, powered by the tension in Uriah's bow. The sharp point found its mark, plunging deep into the chest of Olivia's horse.
Old Blacksmith Brian, who had only just felt a flicker of relief, was jolted by a sickening thud behind him. He turned in alarm, eyes widening in horror as he saw his daughter's horse stagger, its legs buckling beneath it.
"Olivia!" he shouted, but before he could act, Olivia had already reacted. With an agility that seemed almost unreal, she pushed off the saddle, flipping gracefully into the air. Her skirt billowed around her like the wings of a bird as she twisted in mid-air, landing lightly on her feet. Behind her, the wounded horse let out a long, pained whinny, collapsing to the ground, its legs kicking in a desperate struggle.
"Annie!" Olivia's voice cracked as she called out the mare's name. The horse had been her loyal companion since childhood, and seeing it in agony wrenched at her heart. She took a step toward the fallen animal, but the clattering of hooves behind her forced her to freeze.
A knight on a massive warhorse bore down on her, his armor gleaming, his lance poised to strike. Olivia spun, gripping her sword tightly, her mind racing. She had no time to mourn. This was a battlefield, and survival demanded her focus.
The ground trembled beneath the weight of the approaching cavalry, their full armor and powerful steeds turning them into living battering rams. Leading the charge was a noble knight of Kantadar, a true warrior clad in thick, gleaming plate armor. His horse's hooves thundered against the earth, the sheer weight of the charge enough to make the ground shudder beneath Olivia's feet.
Brian saw the danger and yanked hard on his reins, his heart pounding in his chest. "Olivia, move! Get out of the way!" he yelled, his voice hoarse with fear.
But Olivia stood her ground. Her jaw clenched, eyes burning with a fierce resolve. The anger simmering in her chest cooled, replaced by an icy calm. "You filthy cowards," she muttered under her breath, her gaze locking onto the knight bearing down on her. Murderous intent radiated from her like a storm, cold and unwavering. Her hands tightened on the hilt of her sword as she braced herself, taking a defensive stance.
The knight, hidden behind the cold mask of his helmet, raised his lance, his grip firm. He had seen what this girl was capable of. She had cut down his squire with one swift blow, and he would not make the mistake of underestimating her. Even if she was armed only with a sword, he knew better than to treat her as a mere peasant.
A lion never underestimates a rabbit.
Five steps, four steps, three steps; the distance closed rapidly. The knight lowered his lance, the steel tip gleaming as it angled toward Olivia's chest. The lance cut through the air, the sheer force of his charge creating a gust of wind that ruffled the edges of Olivia's cloak.
But Olivia didn't flinch. She planted her feet firmly, eyes locked on the knight, her mind calculating every movement. The heavy warhorse barreled forward, but Olivia was waiting, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to explode into motion.
At the last possible moment, she shifted. Her body twisted like a dancer, narrowly avoiding the tip of the lance by mere inches. The knight, caught off guard by her sudden move, found his weapon skimming past harmlessly, the momentum of his charge carrying him forward.
With a quick, practiced movement, Olivia slashed upward with her sword, aiming for the knight's exposed side as he passed. Her blade connected with a loud clang, but the thick armor absorbed the worst of the blow. She gritted her teeth and adjusted her stance, preparing for the next attack. The knight circled his horse, realizing this was no ordinary opponent.