“The way some races are just better than others at certain things is a fact that cannot be disputed. You would be hard-pressed to find a human who could match an orc or dwarf in strength, or match an elf in agility, or swim better than a merfolk.

When it comes to applying these differences in a military unit, the practice often proved difficult. Such great differences in physicality made it harder for people of different races to act together as a unit. Naturally, this is undesirable, since discipline and cohesion is key to success in any military endeavor.

To date, only some mercenary units and barbarians continued this sort of foolhardy practice of mixing soldiers from different races into a single unit. Most nations had seen the wisdom that different people work best when paired with more of their compatriots, rather than mixed with others who were far too different from them.” - Sol Jacinqt Evos, military scholar from the Clangeddin Empire, circa 391 VA.

Mischka Bænfinn was old for a mercenary, having started her career at the tender age of twelve and continued fighting in various battlefields for six decades since. Despite her advanced age, thanks to her race’s physiology, she was just as hale and hearty as when she was but a wee lass barely two decades of age.

Arguably, she was even more hale and hearty compared to back then, as her well-trained body had only improved in the years since.

The breed of therian she belonged to was known for their huge size and powerful bodies that were practically built for battle. What many people not part of their breed was aware of, however, was that they also barely show any deterioration from age. In fact, to Mischka’s knowledge, those of her kind always either died in battle or just suddenly passed away without any prior warning in their old age, often being just as active as usual prior to their deaths.

Which was to say that the old therian matron could likely live to a hundred – it was rare, but not too uncommon for older matrons of the breed to live that long – or more and remain as fit as she had always been.

That night, she led her family – though now the platoon had grown beyond the less than fifty members that had survived through Theodinaz to nearly a hundred strong – as usual as they charged directly through the enemy lines. Their numbers had been bolstered in the years that had passed since they joined the Free Lances, as Reinhardt directed the largest and strongest few applicants they inducted into the company every year her way.

In fact, most of the company’s members who had such a great physicality to the point that they could manhandle the average adult human as if they were children were in Mischka’s platoon. A few were in other platoons, but the vast majority was with her. Apparently Reinhardt considered having a platoon that could be trusted to be able to break through even the sturdiest of defenses to be a great asset, rather than diluting that force by spreading it over many platoons to strengthen all of them by a smaller margin.

One such new recruit to her platoon acquitted himself well in the frontline, though he was stationed closer towards the side rather than the center, where Mischka’s family led the charge themselves. The large-bodied lizard therian man brutally tackled two enemy soldiers, sending one stumbling back while the second fell on his back and promptly had his torso squashed by Rubor’s booted foot.

At the same time Rubor also struck a third enemy soldier with his mace, his blow so forceful that it directly shattered the soldier’s wooden shield as well as the arm behind it. As if he had something to prove, Rubor also dropped a fourth enemy soldier at roughly the same time with a swing of his long tail. He had a metal weight custom-made so he could hold on to it with the tip of his tail, and said weight directly crushed another enemy soldier’s face.

“Nice going, boy!” shouted Mischka at the lizard therian man as she herself struck down four soldiers with her great blade. Two of the soldiers were directly torn asunder into halves by her blow, while the third one was literally folded over her blade. The last two were slightly more fortunate and were only blown away, though it would be a miracle if they didn’t sport a broken bone or ten from her strike.

Unlike their usual mission where they had to strike directly through the enemy lines, Mischka’s people needed to hold the line against the incoming enemies tonight. As such, once their advance reached the rough center of the enemy camp width-wise some of her people continued pushing forward while others fanned out to the side, forming a defense line even as the mercenaries led by Lars in person formed up behind them.

Mischka’s troops would be the posts of the fence while those under Lars would be the boards that went between them. While losing the momentum of their charge did reduce their deadliness somewhat, the members of Mischka’s group were in their element as they used their sheer physicality to simply overwhelm the enemy soldiers that were starting to head towards the vanguard they attacked as reinforcements.

Lars had chosen the enemy vanguard as their target for safety reasons. He had reasoned that this fight wouldn’t be a short and decisive one, and therefore preserving their own forces should be their top priority. As it was, Given the slaughter happening behind the blockade Mischka’s unit formed together with Lars’s own unit, the enemy would have plenty of casualties to sort out after the fighting ended.

Meanwhile, while attacking the vanguard reduced the damage they could have done to the enemy army, it also made it far easier for the mercenaries and volunteers to escape once the opposition grew too heavy or they were done with the slaughter, whichever comes first. Until that time arrived, however, Mischka and her platoon would go wild against the enemy soldiers, both causing great amounts of casualties that belied their small number, and disturbing enemy morale at the same time.