Under a clear morning sky, they stood on top of a high grassy hill, the distance between them and the battlefield stretching about 3 kilometers. They wore simple yet sturdy clothing: light shirts and long leather coats.
At the front stood a tall man, his hands clasped behind his back. His white mask covered his face mysteriously, leaving only his mouth, nose, and eyes slightly visible.
Despite this, his eyes were fixed on a specific spot, as if what was happening on the battlefield was directly in front of him.
In the bloody horizon, the fields of ruin stretched out like a mirror reflecting the horrors of the battle that had taken place on its ground. The soldiers' faces were worn and weary, sweat mixed with the blood splattered on their faces, while a lone knight stood, waving his black sword, uninterested in anything else.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of quiet footsteps, followed by a woman appearing behind him. She wore a black leather coat, complementing her sharp appearance. Her thick black hair flowed smoothly, and her eyes carried a clear malice as she spoke in a low voice, seemingly afraid to disturb the man before her.
"The mercenaries will be out soon... Should we send the signal now?"
The leader did not turn to her, but responded in a calm voice, "Not before that man leaves the wasteland."
The man's eyes showed some frown, as if the situation truly bothered him. "Dealing with someone like him is bothersome..."
The woman turned her head to where the leader was looking, then said with a hint of sarcasm, "Oh! Sairon is beginning to lose control... Should we help him?"
The man paused for a moment, still enjoying the sight of the battle from afar. Suddenly, he turned his back. "He's fine."
She seemed to be waiting for another response, but fell silent as the leader prepared to leave. However, he stopped suddenly and asked, "Have you sent the message to the Remiel family?"
The woman quickly responded, as if feeling the need to please him in this matter, "Yes, it has been sent as you requested."
The leader smiled faintly, a smile that seemed like another mask added to his white one. It was hard to say whether that smile reflected satisfaction or was merely a fleeting gesture hiding his true intentions.
...
The battlefield was covered with heaps of scattered bodies, the faces of the Kirthor disfigured, pulsating with the fear that never left them until their last moments.
Blood spread everywhere, falling like a red stream that stained the grassy plains, turning them into crimson fields.
From afar, Barkwa stood firm, focusing intently on the chaos unfolding before him.
His gaze followed every corner of the battlefield—the front, the back—and he issued orders swiftly. In these moments, mercy and compassion were dangerous weaknesses; there was no room for hesitation; they had to act quickly.
He slowly approached the soldiers from behind, then spoke his orders: "Dismount from the horses, climb onto the Kirthor's backs. Distracting them is our first goal."
The soldiers hesitated for a moment, their swords soaked in blood, trembling slightly. Their fingers gripped the hilt tightly, and every strike felt heavier on their hearts than the swords in their hands.
"I heard a scream from over there... What... what if it's my turn next?"
One of them whispered, waving his sword towards the monster's violence, his face a bit confused. "Is it really worth sacrificing my life for him? What if I'm next?"
"We're dying for a mission like this... Should I run away... Can I do that?"
Barkwa gritted his teeth, having fought enough battles to understand his troops' emotions, but he had no choice... he was terrified... terrified that the Remiel family would cut off his head. "So what... I know I'm a scoundrel and vile for doing this and sacrificing all these people for myself... but what does it matter... At least I live for myself, and I'll do it again if it requires that."
The White Banner forces quickly carried out his orders, moving among the Kirthor corpses, climbing onto their backs and delivering swift strikes that disabled their movements in the chaos.
The horses ran wildly between the Kirthor, creating enough of a distraction to allow the soldiers to pounce and finish things quickly.
The archers were positioned at the rear, shielded by some of the soldiers, shooting randomly at the monsters.
Barkwa shouted loudly, "Keep firing the complicated shots! Open us a wide path!"
The arrows sliced through the air silently, striking the Kirthor in their eyes and limbs, rendering them immobile. The soldiers moved forward with heavy steps while Barkwa advanced himself at the front, cutting through anything in his way with his sword.
Suddenly, the voice of one of the soldiers shouted from afar, "We found the knight... We found the knight!"
Barkwa stopped for a moment, feeling true joy. He turned towards the source of the sound and then shouted a new order, "Open that path immediately! We must reach him!"
Although Barkwa's orders seemed simple, they had resulted in several deaths since he arrived in this cursed place. He had lost many men, fought alongside them for years, but would he stop because of that?
Of course not!
On the battlefield, fear is the real enemy. Before a leader deserves to command dozens or hundreds of troops, he must first defeat his own fear.
When they finally reached the knight, everyone stopped in shock.
The scene before them was like one of the stories they had heard before.
Sairon stood alone in the midst of small mountains of Kirthor bodies, his black sword covered in blood that reached his arms and face, making him appear terrifying.
His body was severely wounded, barely able to maintain his balance, with his right arm hanging motionless in the air, but he did not stop. Every strike of his sword was deadly, and every movement resulted in the death of one, despite the exhaustion visible on his face.
One of the soldiers stepped back in shock, whispering with a trembling voice: "Is... is he still human?"
Barkwa raised his hand, signaling for silence, then ordered in a stern voice, "Form a defensive wall. We don't want more Kirthor to reach him. We will get him out of here, no matter the cost!"
Barkwa raised his sword high and shouted, "Swords are forged in fire, and we forge history in these moments. Fight and die with honor!"
The words were enough to suppress the fear in their hearts for a moment.
They began forming a shield wall behind them, some archers shooting randomly, just to protect the knight, who had not stopped fighting despite it all. The sounds of swords and shields mixed with the cries of the Kirthor, who still resisted.
Everyone worked tirelessly, but their eyes were on Sairon, who continued to fight as if he were a machine designed only for killing.
"We'll take him away immediately!" Barkwa ordered, pointing to a group of soldiers. "We'll close this chapter and defend until the mercenaries arrive."
Although Sairon was barely able to stand, his arm trembling slightly, his eyes remained fixed and unchanged, uninterested in what was happening around him. One of the soldiers approached him hesitantly.
Shick!
Sairon swiftly struck with his sword, slicing through the soldier's armor in one blow. He didn't stop there, but pierced his body slightly, causing blood to flow.
The soldier staggered back in shock and trembling, falling directly into the stomach of one of the monsters. "Damn!"
"What's happening?!" shouted one of the soldiers, watching the scene in horror.
"It's... it's insane... he can't tell us apart from the monsters!"
Panic spread among the soldiers around them.
"Damn it! We're fighting from the front, and he's attacking from the back! This... this is madness!"
But Sairon, as if hearing nothing, slowly raised his bloodied sword, standing firm, facing the men who came to save him.