Looking up with a growing smile Arsanguir steeled himself for one last act out of sheer willpower, picking up the pitchfork and hurling it at a bandit that had hesitated before running. The pitchfork flew through the air gawkily before it caught the bandit in the shoulder, piercing straight through his leather armour and pulling him forward.
Howling out in pain the bandit dropped to the ground crying out like a newborn whilst clutching his now bleeding shoulder. Trevor had always considered himself a survivor, he had very little ambition other than to save his own life, as he had grown up he had always gone with the flow supporting the side that gave him the most benefit. He had previously thought that joining a bandit gang had been his best idea yet but today he came to regret that decision. Clutching his shoulder Trevor scrambled to his feet leaving his sword on the ground behind him. Whilst falling Trevor had broken his ankle, so now with pain flooding his mind, he limped. Trevor limped as fast as he could, he had to run, he had to get away.
Trevor turned around to see if a knight was on his tail. He was sighing in relief to see that no knight was charging in his direction he stopped to lean on a tree to inspect his ankle and pull the pesky pitchfork out of his shoulder. With the pitchfork in hand, Trevor had a thought what kind of knight uses a pitchfork as a weapon, they should at least use a spear no?
Hearing a loud war cry Trevor glanced back just in time to see a peasant swinging his sword straight at his neck before seeing his chest then his feet. Focusing on his ankle he winced in pain reflexively before realising that he had never been flexible enough to see his ankle so close.
Then Trevor died.
Arsanguir stood there staring over the body of the dead bandit, with an initial sense of pride morphing into a mixture of exhilaration and guild, taking in the horrors of battle. Wars and battles had been stories of glory and valour told to him by his mother as a child. Not once did Arsanguir think about the vanquished. But now, with his foe laying there headless, he couldn't help but feel a pit begin to form in his stomach. He thought about a scenario where the knights were not here. He imagined all the villagers mangled and bloody with his body next to Itzima's.
Nichard had been a knight for almost thirty years. Nearing the end of his service as a brigade captain, he had seen many things on the battlefield. Some of which, were miracles, others horrors, but very few things had given him chills. In the nine years he had been a brigade captain only four things had been able to give him chills.
The first time had been just after his promotion while fighting in the war of the Northern gate, a humanoid creature had transformed into a giant with pale white skin. Its mouth drooped down where its chin seemed to meld into the lower part of its chest. Its face filled with hundreds of massive eyes with deep crimson iris's pupils that seemed to be darker than black. Its mouth filled with thousands of human teeth arranged in erratic asynchronous rows that covered every meter of its palette. Its torso and limbs seemed to be skin that stretched over its bones like a tight blanket without any semblance of muscle or organs to be found seen from the surface of its body. The second and third times had also been during the war of the Northern Gate when fighting against other humanoids that seemed to morph into nightmarish monsters.
The fourth time had been on his wedding day when his wife had publicly threatened to castrate him if had any unfaithful relationships. Today Nichard made a mental note, to remember the peasant before him. Never before had he seen such eyes filled with rage and bloodlust, even in the nightmarish beasts he had fought in the war of the northern gate. Whether this was good or bad he had yet to decide but one thing Nichard knew was that if treated coldly, this young peasant could become a threat to the whole nation.
Looking up Arsanguir was met by a calculative gaze from a large knight on horseback, a man with polished armour decorated with a crest of a small plant and inlaid with emerald accents. Quickly bowing, scared to meet his gaze "THANK YOU SIR KNIGHT FOR SAVING A LOWLY PEASANT VILLAGE" Arsanguir shouted, fearful of offending a man of high stature. The large man nodded curtly before turning away to survey the rest of the battlefield.
Another knight walked up to Arsanguir, replying in the place of his captain, "You are welcome young man, now quickly gather your belongings and head back to your village before the bandits regroup."
Obediently Arsanguir gathered his belongings scattered across the ground to head back to the village. Picking up his pitchfork he saw it destroyed the prongs broken into multiple pieces. Picking up the pieces of his shattered pitchfork, Arsanguir sorrowfully began the long trek back to the village.