Chapter 3

Just as the Orc army was getting into rifle range, around 250 yards, they stopped. All of their yelling, the pounding of their feet, the snow and dust being kicked up, they all stopped. The only thing which continued forwards was a single horseman. The Baron heard a rifleman raise his rifle.

“Hold! Do not fire! Hold fire!”

He heard the rifleman lower his gun and sit down. Oscar and Jenkins rode over to the Baron.

“We’z gotta discuss the duelin’.”

“The what?”

“The duelin’. You know, ‘fore every battle? You ‘ave your best ladz duel before a battle…do you not do dat in de Empire?”

“No, we don’t.”

Jenkin’s scratched his head.

“Well…wez is gonna ‘ave a quick gab ‘bout it, yeah?”

Oscar and Jenkins rode off towards the other Orc. The Baron shrugged his shoulders and followed after the two Orcs. The enemy Orc who rode out to meet them was wearing plate armor, most likely a commander. His armor was a dull gray, and so were the furs which poked out of the openings.

“Roight den, let’s get to business. I count free armies, so free duels? Sound good?”

Oscar and Jenkins both nodded yes. The Baron’s shoulders fell and he sighed audibly. Well, I’ve gotta get something out of this duel.

“Fine. But, can you have your army move back, say, another 50 or so yards?”

“Sure, but why?”

Didn’t think he’d agree to it so quickly. Doesn’t he realize that means my men get to shoot off more shots?

“Just to give our duelists peace of mind. Makes it easier to focus when your enemy is too far away to retaliate should you win.”

The enemy commander looked almost offended.

“No self respectin’ Orc would ever fuck wiff da winner o’ a duel! Dat’s sacred!”

“Yeah, well, self respecting humans do that all the time. Even if your men won’t do it, the threat of such a thing tends to weigh heavily on the fragile human mind.”

The enemy commander, along with Oscar and Jenkins, nodded their heads sagely.

“Roight, makes sense. We’ll move back 60 yards, but not a step furver!”

“Sound’s good to me. Do I just…pick a duelist?”

“Yeah. Or you can do it.”

Oscar and Jenkins both nodded.

“Well, whatever. I’m sending Fergus.”

All three Orcs shrugged their shoulders. The Baron rode back to his lines. As the Baron got closer, Ludwin yelled over at him.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

“The Orcs want to duel before battle. They made it sound like the obvious thing to do, just part of the decorum of war! Whatever, if they want a duel, I’ll give them a duel. Fergus! You’re up!”

After a moment of confusion, Fergus shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the Baron, who helped him onto the horse.

Fergus’s opponent was, obviously, an Orc. He was wearing a brigandine vest over a mail shirt. On his legs he wore simple canvas pants under sturdy segmented chausses. On his head was a simple kettle helm, kept in place by a strap which went under the chin. It was the same thing that Fergus’s allies wore. As far as Fergus could tell, there really weren't any regulations which stated what color an Orc’s armor had to be. Sitting snug in it's sheath at the Orc’s side was a simple longsword. At both sides of Fergus was another duel. It looked like his allied commanders had decided to duel personally, and it seemed their opponents were about the same as Fergus's. The Orc in front of Fergus drew his longsword and rested it on his shoulder.

“Oi, what’s your name? Mine’s ‘Arry.”

Fergus drew his knuckle dagger and hatchet.

“Fergus, Fergus Ulpagahn.”

“Ah, came all da way from da Offer Manland just to die in the snow?”

“Offer Manland?”

“You know, like Manland, but not actual Manland. Offer Manland.” Fergus shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I ken not what you say, Ork.”

“Come on! What do you call it? You’re not from Manland, from da islands next to it, roight?”

“I hail from the Orkney Isles, Ork. Betta' 'meber it!”

Fergus was kind of annoyed at this Orc. He spoke Reikers, with an accent to be sure, but it was mostly understandable. Empiresmen still had trouble understanding Fergus, and he was trying his hardest to flatten his accent.

“I will. Probably. I’ll remember youz as da little man from Orkney who tried to fight me!”

Fergus shouldered his ax and held his dagger in a reverse grip, crouching down into a deep stance.

“Þegiðu, trúður. Just come at meh.”

Harry grabbed the sword with his other hand.

“Roight den. Let’s ‘ave a go!”

Harry shot forward, slamming his longsword down with enough force to cut Fergus in half. Fergus sidestepped the strike and responded with downward strike of his own, which Harry quickly parried, letting the ax head slide down the length of his blade before raising his longsword and striking at Fergus’s head with the pommel. Fergus tilted his head to the side and quickly delivered three quick strikes to Harry’s exposed flank with his knuckle knife. Harry kicked Fergus away, patting his side a couple times before rushing again.

“Ain't even break a rib!”

Shouted Harry as he aimed a stab at Fergus's head. Fergus caught Harry’s blade in the beard of his ax, twisting the ax to keep it locked in place and slashing his thigh with the knife. Harry pushed forward, knocking over Fergus who was forced to release the sword or lose his ax. Fergus tumbled backwards, rolling over his head and landing in a crouch. Harry raised his sword to his shoulder, chambering a devastating slash. As soon Harry’s sword touched his shoulder, Fergus sprang forwards, hooking the beard of his ax behind Harry’s knee and pulling him off his feet. As Harry tried to figure out why he was suddenly on his back, Fergus dragged him closer and planted his dagger firmly in Harry’s chest. Harry tried to yell, but the blow had driven the breath out of him, only managing to wheeze a bit as he tried to grab Fergus’s neck. Fergus rolled back to avoid his grasp, coming back up on his feet and throwing his ax, which wedged itself squarely in the Orc’s face.

The Baron’s men and their Orc allies cheered as Fergus retrieved his weapons. And, shortly after, cheered again as Oscar and Jenkins both won their duels at roughly the same time. The Baron came to retrieve Fergus, and Oscar and Jenkins both mounted their horses. Fergus was roundly congratulated as he retook his spot in the formation. The Baron yelled to his riflemen to ready up and drew a pistol of his own. After a few more minutes, the time it took for the Yorksburg vanguard to retrieve the bodies of their duelists, a horn was blown and the Orcs began to advance. The Baron made a show of lifting his pistol and aiming it at the Orcs, which told the riflemen behind him to do the same. As the Orcs entered what the Baron assumed to be rifle range, he shot, followed by the rest of his men a couple seconds later. The sound of 24 guns firing at the same time was deafening. It hurt the ears of whoever was close to them, but, to the Baron’s men, ringing in the ears was nothing but a sign of sure victory. In the distance, Orcs fell. Not every bullet hit its mark, about 1/3rd of the men hit their intended targets, most either missing or pinging of armor and shields, but that ratio would become better the closer the Orcs came. As the first rows lowered their rifles, and the Baron assumed the first row would kneel, but one of the men instead moved to the back row. As the rest of the men noticed him move back, some of them mid kneel, they followed suit, and the second row stepped forward.

Hm, I didn’t tell them to do that. That’s a good idea! I want all of them doing that! As the Baron holstered and drew another pistol, he turned to his riflemen, yelling as loud as he could.

“Riflemen! Follow his lead! Fire, then head to the back and reload! Stay with your ranks!”

The riflemen yelled to acknowledge what the Baron said, the men on the other platforms doing as the Baron ordered, and the second rows fired, dropping more Orcs. Only four rows of Orcs were charging, the rest hung back. The Baron couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling there were many more Orcs behind them. And, the Baron noted with not a small amount of anxiety, he couldn’t spot their cavalry. He also noted weapons the Orc infantry had. Most of them were armed with thick falchions and round shields. Some, however, had hatchets and round shields. The Baron noted that those with the hatchets were in the back of the formation.

The third rows fired, dropping more Orcs, and allowing the fourth row to take their place. The Orcs were reaching the first barricade. Most of them ran through the opening, with the Orcs in the front falling into the pit and being impaled, but some of them stayed behind, chopping at the wall with their axes.

“Riflemen! Target the Orcs attacking the wall!”

As the fourth rows fired off their shots, there was the addition of arrow fire from the allied Orcs. Some of the arrows hit true, but most of them either missed or stuck in the round shields of the Orc infantry. Unlike the bullets, these heavy duty arrows would weigh down the shield, forcing the user to either remove them or discard the shield, with the distinct possibility that some of the less well made shields could be pierced or disabled entirely.

The charging Orcs passed the second barricade, and again, a couple of them at the front fell into the spike pit, and most of the hatchet wielding Orcs stayed behind to hack away at the barricade. The fifth rows fired, hitting around half of their shots. As much as the gunfire must have hurt their ranks, there were only 24 men shooting at a time. They could only kill Orcs so quickly. As the charging Orcs neared the frontline, the Baron’s men levied their pikes. The sixth rows formed up and shot, dropping even more Orcs. The charging Orcs sped up, howling at the top of their lungs, shields in front, swords and axes chambered on their shoulders. As the seventh row was forming up, the two sides clashed. Orc shields pushed aside pikes, pikemen thrust at exposed Orcs, and the Baron’s swordsmen readied themselves to protect the pikemen. The sounds of weapons striking shields, piercing armor, breaking pikes, the general uproar of hundreds of bodies ramming into each other, was completely deafening. If the Baron, or Ludwin, wanted to give orders, it would be a struggle to be heard over the din of combat. However, the Baron, and Ludwin, had a good set of lungs, and were used to making themselves heard over a chaotic battlefield.

“Hold the line! Thrust in time with your fellow men! Rifles! Fire!”

The riflemen fired, their bullets crashing into Orcs with the force of, well, a speeding bullet. At this range, the unenchanted armor of the Orc frontline was easily pierced by the high caliber rifles. As the swordsmen joined the fray, attacking any Orc who pushed far enough to possibly threaten the pikemen, the Baron heard more rumbling in the distance. A second wave of Orcs was charging. This one, so far as the Baron could tell from the distance he was at, had a higher percentage of axemen than before, though the overall number of Orcs was the same as the first wave. What's their plan here? The Baron thought to himself with a not insignificant amount of anxiety welling in his chest.

“Riflemen! Fire at the new wave!”

The eighth rows fired, dropping more Orcs. The fighting at the frontline was hard. The Orcs were strong, well trained, fought with the fanaticism you would expect from men fighting a holy war. And to Orcs, all war was holy war. The Baron briefly checked to see how his allies were doing. And, as he expected, they were doing just fine. Not only were they Orcs, but they were used to fighting Orcs. Even though the fighting was rough, the Baron’s men were holding their ground. The rifles were doing a number on the enemy Orcs, the pikemen were keeping the Orcs at bay, and the swordsmen cut down any Orc who made it past the pikemen. Their allies were doing about as well, if not better, than the Baron’s men. Everything was going their way so far, but that only made the Baron more nervous. He looked over to Ludwin, who, judging by his face, was also feeling the same anxiety as the Baron. The Baron, while feeling pride that Ludwin was a competent enough commander to sense something was wrong, was annoyed that he let his feelings show on his face. The Baron mimicked putting a mask on, and Ludwin, after a couple of seconds, got what he meant and quickly composed himself, putting on a neutral expression.

They have sent two waves of infantry now, but there is no sign of their cavalry, and I can see their archers just standing there, right outside of rifle range. Something about this feels wrong.

The ninth rows fired their volleys and the second wave passed the first barricade, leaving behind more Orcs to chop away at the barricade. They were making progress there, sections of the barricade were already down and being dragged into the woods. The new activity the Baron spotted the Orcs doing, however, worried him. Some of the Orcs attacking the barricade were grabbing the Orcs who had fallen to rifle fire and were jamming them into the pits.

Ah, I see it now. They are smoothing out the area so their cavalry can charge. They’re holding back their cavalry so my riflemen can’t reach them until they can charge properly. My only problem now is that I can’t really do anything to stop them.

The tenth rows, incidentally the final rows, formed up and fired at the charging Orcs. The frontline fighting had slowed down, but the second wave would arrive in around 25 seconds. The first rows lined up again, and the Baron waited for them to fire. And he waited. And waited.

“First rows! Fire!”

There was no fire. The Baron turned to see what was happening. The first row was still reloading.

“What? They had nearly a minute! Why are you not reloaded!?”

The gunner closest to the Baron answered, but did not slow down his reload process.

“Sir, the rifles reload slower than the muskets! You gotta get the bullet in right with the grooves! Takes time!”

The Baron growled and ground his teeth in frustration.

“Just-just reload!”

The Baron raised his voice to reach the rest of the riflemen.

“Fire at will! Fire when you’re loaded! Just fire!”

The Baron faintly heard Ludwin parrot his instructions to the riflemen near him. After a few more seconds, the riflemen sporadically fired as soon as they were ready. The visceral impact of volley fire was gone, but, bullets fired sporadically are still bullets.

As the second wave continued to be peppered with sporadic gunshots, their charge never faltered. They quickly joined their fellow Orcs, with others fanning out and attacking the wall, being protected by their comrades. Finally, after the Orcs reached the wall, their archers moved up.

“Fire on the archers, men!”

The riflemen fired off shots at the approaching archers, doing decent damage. The archers, when they came into range, fired off a volley, aimed at each of the gun platforms, and wherever the allied archers were stationed. It occurred to the Baron that, since Orcs were stronger than the average human, it meant that they could use stronger bows as well. Their arrows hit everything with the force one would expect from a higher end crossbow. An arrow soared through the air, right at the Baron. The Baron deflected the arrow with his saber, however, it moved faster than he was anticipating. He hit the tail end of the arrow, which simply angled the tip, which entered his bicep. If he hadn’t smacked it, the arrow would have hit him square in the chest. It would not have pierced his chestplate, but it would have hurt. The Baron turned to a rifleman behind him.

“Fetch Geidpfeld. Now.”

The rifleman hurriedly saluted and jumped off the platform, running off towards the camp. The Baron sheathed his saber and drew a pistol. He was down to two loaded pistols. He aimed at the archer’s line and concentrated. After a few seconds more of lining up his shot, he fired, adding spin and weight to his bullet using gravity magic. The round ripped right through his target, and through the Orc behind him, and the Orc behind that man as well. The Baron nodded, satisfied, and holstered his pistol. Another three arrows flew past him, and he took that as his queue to dismount, looking over and noticing Ludwin had already dismounted. When he looked at his formation, still holding strong despite intense pressure, he felt nothing but pride. And then, he saw one of his men, crawling away from the formation with part of his own pike sticking out of him.

“Hold the line, men!”

The Baron shouted encouragement as he rushed over and grabbed the crawling man, pulling him to his feet and helping him walk back to camp, or, to Geidpfeld, who had just arrived, torch in hand.

“Treat him first. My wound is superficial. He’s got a pike in his chest!”

Geidpfeld nodded wordlessly and began work on the soldier, taking out a strip of bark and lighting it up, placing it on the soldier’s chest. He began signing with his hands, his eyes glowing a pale pink.

“Sorry son, but this is going to hurt. I have no poppies.”

As the fire on the bark intensified, Geidpfeld ripped the broken pike out of the man’s right pectoral. The man screamed, but his wound did not bleed. Geidpfeld touched a hand to the torch, and then to the man’s wound. The man’s screams intensified as his wound slowly began to knit itself together. The Baron watched with interest.

“God damn, that’s gnarly.”

“That’s what?”

“Nothing. Never really seen that before.”

“Well, when I did it to you, you were out cold.”

“And thank you for that, by the way.”

The soldier’s wound finished knitting itself together. As soon as he was satisfied, Geidpfeld turned his attention to the Baron.

“Well, you are paying me for this. Let me see the wound.”

The Baron showed him the injury, the arrow lodged in his left bicep.

“Aw, that’s not so bad. I won’t even need to use the rest of my cedar. Oh, like I said to the other man, this will hurt.”

Before the Baron could say anything, Geidpfeld ripped the arrow out of his bicep. The Baron didn’t even flinch. Geidpfeld quickly worked to close the wound, again touching his hand to his smoldering torch, and then to the wound.

“Wow. Not even a quiet moan? You’ve got quite the tolerance.”

“I’m a gravity mage.”

“Ah, I see. How’d you convince your father to let you learn that, anyway? Gravity magic? I can’t imagine he was happy with the prospect of his only son being eaten alive by a black hole, or, whatever you gravity mages do.”

Geidpfeld finished stitching together the Baron’s wound. The Baron flexed his bicep experimentally.

“Well, I didn’t. He died not even knowing I could do any form of magic. I didn’t want him to know, he was all stuck in the past. He would enjoy it too much if he knew I was learning traditional warfare. Too bad for him, though, I mostly use it to make my guns more accurate!”

The Baron turned to go back to the front, and was followed by Geidpfeld and the soldier. The Baron put his hand to the soldier’s chest.

“Woah there. You go rest, soldier. You just had a hole in your chest.”

The soldier simply nodded to the Baron and headed back to the carts.

“And why are you coming? Don’t you work better when men are brought to you on a silver platter?”

Geidpfeld shrugged.

“Figured I should do my job better. Just keep me alive, will you?”

The state of the battle was better than the Baron feared, what with one of their commanders just running off. The pikewall was holding firm, the riflemen were still firing, with only a few dead men lying dead and dying around the platforms, quickly being patched up by Geidpfeld. The Orc archers were fairing worse. Their bows were extremely powerful, and when they hit their target it killed just as well as any gun, but it was much harder to dodge a bullet than an arrow. In front of the pikemen lay the bodies of many dead and dying Orcs, and a few unfortunate pikemen who had seemingly been ripped out of their formation. The swordsmen were protecting the pikemen well, and it seemed their numbers had not thinned very much at all.

What wasn’t fairing nearly as well, in stark contrast to the pikewall, were the inanimate walls. The first and second wall had been completely brought down and cleared. The Baron would be incredibly impressed if he wasn't incredibly annoyed they had undone all his men's hard work. The third wall was missing a large portion of it, which was plugged by both pikemen and Orc warriors. The axes the Orcs were using to break apart the walls were, coincidentally, also great for chopping through the much thinner pikes, meaning that the defenders had to use swords to defend the wall, much riskier. As hard as the men tried, there was only so much they could do to stop the Orc onslaught. But, just as the Baron was beginning consider taking drastic measures to stop the Orcs from further tearing apart his wall, a horn sounded in the distance. All of the Yorksburg vanguard stopped fighting, and retreated. As the Orcs ran, the Baron yelled at his riflemen to cease fire and reload. He knew what this meant.

“Riflemen! Prepare to fire off your volleys! After you have shot you are to affix bayonets! The enemy cavalry will be charging us!”

A few moments after he gave the order and most of his riflemen were fully loaded, a great cacophony of noise came from the enemy. It was louder than the infantry charge, and kicked up more dust as well. The Yorksburg cavalry had joined the battle. They spread out across the highway, filling in the entirety of the space available to them. The amount of cavalry would have given anyone pause, but these riders were also huge, legendary, world renowned Orc cavalry. The Baron knew this would result in a lot of dead men, whether they win or lose.

“Ready yourselves men! It’s just a few fools on horses, nothing new to us! Hold the line! Thrust in time with your fellow man! And trust! Trust in your comrades! Your weapons! Your faith! And finally, trust in me! And remember that I fight alongside you! Rifles! Fire!”

The first rows fired, and Orcs fell from horses. The cavalry were 200 yards from the front. The second rows formed and fired, dropping more Orcs. The cavalry were 150 yards from the front. The third rows formed and fired. Cavalry were 100 yards from the front. Fourth rows fired. Cavalry 50 yards from the front. Fifth row fired and affixed bayonets. The pikemen levied pikes, aiming for the horses. The swordsmen shifted uncomfortably. The Baron and Ludwin shared a glance. They knew this would be the last engagement for the day.

The sound that the Yorksburg cavalry made when they crashed into the lines was deafening. Screams of Orc, man, and horse could be heard from miles away. The clashing of metal on metal, metal on wood, metal on flesh, it was a cacophony of noise loud enough to rupture eardrums. Pikes stuck into horses, and Orcs, or were deflected by shield, spear, and ax. Some of the cavalry smashed past the lines entirely, engaging with the riflemen. An Orc charged at the Baron, who in turn charged back. Both were shouting battlecries as they reached each other. The Orc’s ax flew just over the Baron’s head, while the Baron’s saber opened a gash across the entirety of the Orc’s neck. The Orc slumped in his saddle, slowly falling out and leaving his horse to run around freely. The Baron drew a pistol and shot, nailing an Orc through the eye. The Baron reared his horse and charged to the front.

Near the backline, the riflemen were having trouble dealing with the few Orcs who made it past the frontline. They thrust their bayonets in unison, but the riders easily batted away their combined attacks. Some of the men near the back fired at the Orcs, but the nerves had obviously gotten to them with the cavalry this close. Many of them missed, and many of the shots that hit only grazed, or gave nonfatal wounds. But, they soon regained their composure, allowing their training and battle experience take over. Six of the men surrounded a rider who had been shot through the shoulder, all thrusting at his horse at once. The rider could only defend from so many attacks, and was soon dismounted from his dying horse and held down by four of the six riflemen. The other two finished him off, a bayonet to the gut, and the neck. Helmut jumped from his platform and onto the horse of a distracted Orc, slitting his throat with a parrying dagger and pushing him out of his saddle. He grabbed a bayoneted rifle from a nearby rifleman and got to work killing Orcs, running one through as his weapon was stuck in a rifleman.

The middle of the pike formation was barely holding on. Much of the front had been killed or wounded, and the rest were steadily being pushed back. The Orcs defended themselves, as well as their nearby comrades, with blinding speed. Mounted axemen and swordsmen chopped through pikes, and mounted spearmen skewered the now pikeless pikemen. The Baron’s swordsmen assisted as well as they could, swatting away spears and blocking or parrying swords and axes, but they fell just as easily as the pikemen. The only things keeping the men from breaking were their intense training, and the Baron’s lieutenants bringing down riders. Fergus jumped onto a horse, grabbing the rider and ripping him out of his saddle, slamming him down on the ground where the pike and swordsmen finished him off easily. Fergus again, jumped to another horse, jamming his dagger into the Orc's exposed neck, ripping it out and leaving a massive wound, causing the Orc to bleed out almost immediately. Udo exchanged blows with blinding speed, managing to catch the throat of a handful of riders as he desperately tried to keep his comrades safe. Gaius seemed right at home fighting the Orc cavalry. His massive two handed falchion cleaving right through Orc and horse like they were made of paper. Gaius laughed and chanted loudly in his native tongue.

The Baron sliced an Orc’s hand off at the wrist, following up with a thrust clean through the Orc’s neck. He turned and parried spear thrust aimed at his chest, turning his horse and charging the mounted spearman as he desperately tried to skewer the Baron. The Baron dodged a thrust and brought his sword down on the shaft, increasing the weight of the blade as it sliced clean through, continuing on to take a clean chunk out of the horse’s skull. As the horse fell forward, so did the rider, and as he attempted to get up, the Baron’s horse kicked his brains out. The Baron surveyed the battlefield, checking on his allies. The right side was holding well, but the left flank was thinned out considerably. He could see Oscar dueling a rider, and he was obviously being overwhelmed. The Baron quickly drew his final loaded pistol and fired, nailing the Orc in the neck. Oscar reeled back and chopped off his head, giving the Baron a nod before going back to fighting. The Baron turned around and found a sword flying at him. He parried the strike at the last second, but the Orc’s slash held enough power to bash past the Baron’s parry, opening a gash in his bicep. It was shallow, but it hurt. He could see what the Orc was going to do next, raise his sword above his head and slash. As soon as the Orc started raising his arm, the Baron thrust forward. The Orc tried to block, but was too slow, only moving the Baron’s saber from the middle of his neck to a little to the left, which still severed an artery, causing him to bleed out immediately.

The riflemen were mostly clear. Helmut had done a lot of work, and the normal men quickly surrounded and overwhelmed the Orc cavalry. There was a reason the Baron trained his men so rigorously, and that reason was plain to see. The riflemen immediately formed up again, leveling their guns and firing, dropping Orc cavalry all around them. The left flank, so close to collapsing, was suddenly doing much better as a dozen riders fell at once. The riflemen who fired off their shots quickly ran to reinforce the pike formation, and the riflemen who were loaded quickly unloaded on the enemy cavalry. The orc cavalry was now being driven back, and the main pike formation was properly forming up again. Anyone could very easily see the tides had turned. The Orc cavalry had thinned out considerably. And, after the pikemen threatened to completely surround the remaining cavalry, a horn sounded in the distance. The Orc cavalry quickly disengaged. Some were shot by riflemen as they fled. The Baron neglected to tell them to hold fire. A few Orcs simply dropped from their saddles as they fleed, the wounds they sustained during combat finally ending them. The remaining men cheered as the cavalry fled the field. The Baron simply sheathed his saber, his eyes fixed firmly on the bodies of his men lying dead and dying on the battlefield. As he gazed at the riflemen going through the slow, arduous process of reloading in case the Orcs came back, he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault they took so many casualties.

My modern bias may have gotten my men killed! I didn’t know rifles reloaded so slowly! All I knew was that modern armies used rifles, I didn’t even think to question why we used muskets for so long after rifles were invented!

Ludwin rode over to the Baron.

“We won, sir. Why do you look so glum?”

“We lost so many men. These men would still be alive if not for me.”

“That was their choice, Baron. You didn’t force them to do anything, they volunteered of their own volition. You trained them, without you, they could have never repelled a cavalry charge from the finest cavalry in the world. And, more importantly, we won! Our first victory in Orcland! This is cause to celebrate!”

The Baron sighed, and rubbed his eyes, putting on a smile as he gripped his reins.

“You’re right. You are. The men deserve time to rest, and to celebrate their first victory over a new foe. But first, we must see to the dead and dying. And, we must remain vigilant. It is possible that they come back. Though, with their losses, I highly doubt it.”

“Right! Then, let’s get going!”

The Baron gazed at Geidpfeld healing an injured man and sighed.

“We need more healing mages.”