One mile long and over five hundred yards wide, the main square was indeed huge. The two regiments, one composed of western archers and one of the Allamain mercenaries, were able to deploy slowly and surely. But that gave Lau time for more preparations. Even the street trees were cut, using a few axes the crowd had left behind, and those trees added to the barricades.

“Try their shield’s resistance again. Catapults, this time,” ordered Lau to the blimps.

However hard they tried, the shields stuck.

“They’ll have to lower those shields, eventually, keep your ammunition for now. HEY! GET OUT OF THERE, EVACUATE THIS IS A BATTLEFIELD, FOR PROVIDENCE’S SAKE!” he followed his indications to the blimps with shouts to the curious people who were opening the windows to look at what was happening.

He was right; the Force Fielder of the westerner archers lowered their shield so they could shoot. Instead of targeting the barricades and the elves, though, they opted for the blimps. The arrows had a considerable range, to the dirigible surprises, and while the cabins resisted, the envelopes were now like pincushions. Eight out of ten attack dirigibles had to fly desperately toward the upper city, to land before the gas was out, while the rest released lest and went higher, losing a lot of their fire precision by this.

The archers had released two volleys, a matter of three or four seconds, then the shield closed again. Some elves and blimps managed to get some shots before that, but not many.

“Mate, we have to do something about those archers!” said Diago. “The Allamains, we can handle, but those bows range is too much for us!”

“I have an idea!” replied Lau.

He took the bullhorn, mounted on a barricade, and shouted something in his language. Immediately, a sort of agitation ensued in the enemy's ranks.

“Let me guess, you told them you are the famous poet whatever and asked them to join us?” asked Diago.

“No, they could not care less about poetry. I told them we’ll pay ten standards each if they switch sides. Our normal pay is three standards per month.”

In no time, the force shield over the archers collapsed, and one of the westerners ran to Lau’s barricade, throwing them a severed head with a startled expression on it, their Force Fielder. He and Lau exchanged a few words, and the commander threw the other a small purse.

“I’ve given him my diamonds, as an advance,” he sighed. “They will shoot at the Allamains, if possible, but are very low on arrows; they used a lot on those poor bastards, the demonstrators…”

Feeling the tides turning, the Allamain regiment headed back to the Citadel.

“If they reach and close the gates, all is in vain!” exclaimed Lau. “We have to attack!”

“I’ll show you you’re not the only one who can use your brain!” said Diago emphatically and went over the barricade. Running toward the retreating enemies, he began shouting.

“Hey, stop! Stop!”

Strangely enough, they did.

“I’m Diago Guerrefido, the Invictus,” he stated solemnly. “Switch sides, and I’ll train you in proper fencing. And we’ll pay you ten standards a month.”

Unbeknownst to him, the allamain pay was twenty standards a month, that added insult to the injury of considering them low warriors in need of training. But the worst part was the shouts who appeared here and there.

“He’s that monster from d’Ornia, who killed our hero, Nanoc! Get him!”

The Allamains rushed forward, making it impossible for the wizard to keep up the shield. Even heroes have to run from time to time, and Diago was no exception. He dashed back as fast as possible, with the mercenaries on his heels, managing to get over the barricade just in time. A second later, the Allamains arrived, furious, and started to battle against the wall of shields and spears. The western archers kept their promise and shot at them, but their few remaining arrows didn't have much impact. For a moment, they tried to attack their former colleagues from the back, using their sabers, but it proved a bad idea. A part of the Allamains turned toward them and showed them that the longer weapon has an advantage and that the greatsword was the perfect tool to keep people at bay. So, the westerners did what Lau himself would have done in their place, they retreated. In a minute, they’ve reached the southern part of the Square and lost themselves in the labyrinth of the Port neighborhood's small streets.

The elven battalion was holding just fine, despite their inexperience and the lesser numbers. Lau's strategy was sound; the barricade was holding well. Demonstrating good initiative, half of the other barricades' soldiers came to join the defense.

They didn’t count on the Centurion, though. Impervious to hits, he escalated the barricade and made a breach, his large sweeps cutting down a few elves at a time. It was time for Diago to join the fray. He landed four hits in two seconds on the Other, managing to not getting hit himself, but his hits felt like he was hitting a mountain. The Allamains followed their Centurion into the breach, and they had to abandon the barricade and retreat on the boulevard.

Pestered by the elven ELB’s, the mercenaries sent small groups into the houses and silenced the archers inside quickly. The only ones who escaped were those on the roofs; they started to jump from one roof to another, trying to pressure the Norse, but their reserves of arrows were diminishing fast, and the sea-monster leather armor of the mercenaries was resisting most of the hits.

“We have to retreat!” shouted Roybert. “We can hold them on the Grand Stairs if we reach them first!”

“Take the ones from the other barricades and go; we’ll retreat step by step, slowing them!” shouted Lau, and the knight obeyed, disappearing into the alleys along with his squad.

But his plans were too optimistic; the situation was dire. With no barricade and with less experienced soldiers against veterans, they were doomed.

“Blimps, shoot them, what are you waiting for!” shouted Lau in his communicator while retreating again.

“We can’t machine-gun the street without hitting you too!” replied a desperate dwarven voice.

Lau was on the verge of giving the order to run, hoping that the elves will prove faster than the Allamains, when he heard a voice.

“Our knights are back; we just met. I’m sending them your way!” shouted Roybert from the communicator. “Keep fighting for a minute!”

But the lines were collapsing; one minute was too long. Diago rushed in front. The boulevard was eight yards wide, yet he managed to cover all that space, flourishing his sword like a mad man. He killed at least ten opponents in three seconds, making even the Centurion halt, and suddenly, the Allamains hesitated.

“What, are you scared?” he shouted, blinded by the adrenaline. “COME! I’ll kill you all!”

But as one, the mercenaries turned and fled, leaving only the Centurion behind.

“Diago, retreat, retreat!” shouted Lau, from behind. Turning toward his friend, Diago saw the line of lancers and horses galloping. Running as fast as he could for the second time that day, he plunged into a back alley. The knights and their war-steads reached the Allamains backs and went through them like a land-mower through the grass. Hooves, lances, heavy armor, they were too much to resist. Following the routed Allamains into the central square, the knights divided into smaller squadrons and began killing those who still felt the urge for fighting or herding the ones who surrendered.

“Where on the Realm did they go?” Lau asked Roybert, who had arrived back, panting from the run.

“They… went to… Ohst Nor… to get horses… we fight much better… on horses… and all the young nobles who… were still home… helped too…”

“Take a break; you’ve run a lot today.”

“Yes… lots of runs… and no fighting… al all…”

Lau let him catch up his breath and followed the knights' trail, stepping over and on piles of bodies, some of his own troops, and many others from the mercenaries.

In the Main Square, only one enemy was still standing: the Centurion. He was carried there by the charge like a cork on a river and looked quite disoriented. He was tempting some attacks on the knights and elves, but those were just ignoring them, running around and minding their business.

“Miserable ants! Stay and fight!” was shouting the Other.

“Finally, some fun," said Diago, preparing to go and fight the armored opponent.

“Stay put!” ordered Lau. “You’ve done us enough trouble for today.”

He gave an order, and a few elves went into the nearby houses, returning with a few ropes used to dry the clothes. Making lassos, they caught here a hand, there a foot, and soon the Centurion laid immobilized on the ground.

“You accomplished nothing!” taunted them the Other. “My armor is unbreakable; I’m invulnerable!”

“I very much doubt it!” replied Lau, examining him. “See if you find a rain-water barrel and put him in head first!” he issued an order.

Soon, his men returned with news.

“It worked, commander. He wriggled a little, but it was over in under a minute.”

“Perfect. Our work is done. Let’s cross our fingers for our friends down there.”