บท 1: Prologue
The groans and screams traveled across the entire battlefield as blood splattered here and there. A common scene among the continent of Mytheques. Home to many fiends and mystical creatures yet, battle amongst humanity for selfish reasons still frequently occurred as if there was no threat from demon lords and such. Humans dominated most of Mytheques with their superior population bringing war almost everywhere.
Amongst a typical chaotic battlefield in Mytheques, a man barely clad in armor fit for proper battle was just another warrior in the chaotic field. The scratched chest plate and his bucket helmet were the only metal protection this man had. His chiseled arms exposed, holding a mace in one hand. He had swung the mace with his muscular arms, throttling head on with the blade of his enemy in front of him. Disrupting the stance of the mercenary with his heavy blow. The knockback held enough power to force the mercenary to follow his mace.
As he fell, a grunt could be heard funneling out through the slits of that mercenary's helmet. While his non wielding hand reached for the face of the man. The mercenary was plated on the top portion of his body while his lower legs less plated, giving him a balance of mobility while also providing enough protection. His armor lacked luster that plate armor usually had, It had been worn down from the harsh conditions over the years. When armor was dented, it could be pounded from the inside to fix it. His armor had been through that process enough times that it was impossible to hide any future deformity. This was an obvious indicator that he wasn't someone new in his line of business but also revealed that his armor lacked it's integrity it once had, making him more susceptible to attacks. His frame was big and you could tell he was shredded underneath the armor. If you had asked a villager what he had thought of him at first glance, it would be that of brute's half assed attempt at being a knight.
Using the momentum from falling, he exerted his entire weight pushing the man down by the face. The man shocked at his collapse, could not process fast enough to react to the longsword that soon drove down into his visor. The scream he poured his air out of his lung signaled his own incapacitation. This indicated to the mercenary it was safe to move on to the next fight. His knee were shaking as he slowly stood up, puffing and wheezing from the fatigue of a prolonged battle. This battle had waged on for days already as it was a siege.
The adrenaline had already completely been wrung out from the mercenary. He had been fighting for hours now. It had been a slug fest from the start and nothing had changed. Now it felt like eternity as only mere seconds pass by.
Scanning his surroundings, he had immediately sighted a lone soldier wearing a mixture of leather armor and chainmail charging towards him with a short sword. The Soldier had charged. It was sloppy and predictable as he screamed his lungs trying to intimidate the mercenary. The battle-hardened mercenary paid no heed, easing into a defensive stance.
Catching the blade of the soldier with his own. One would say the blade of a warrior would be a proud part of them. He cared nothing about his longsword as his sword had evidence supporting the neglect as nicks covered along the edges. The soldier could not stop his reckless charge as his short sword slid across of the longsword. The mercenary had carefully guided the soldier's blade towards the ground and then leading it away as the soldier had no way to recover from his irretrievable thrust.
The still exhausted mercenary catches the soldier's neck with the guard of his longsword and using the soldier's own momentum against him, he had slammed him down on the ground. Mounting the soldier next, he pins his body weight to lock his enemy in place. Raising his longsword with both hands overhead with his blade pointing down he impales it full force into the neck, completely opening the arteries. Hot blood splatters across the ground.
Just as the life of the soldier slips away from his body, a large sound coming from a horn far off away from the battlefield echoed loudly. Horns were commonly used to signal victory for the attacking force. Multiple of men rejoiced at the capture of the enemy commander. The attacking forces with a surge of newfound moral began chasing the now retreating defenders. The disorganized defenders, breaking off and heading separate ways could only hope to survive the pursuit.
The scene of death, destruction, and conquest was taking place in multiple of sections of Mytheques. This wasn't special. Decimated villages were vast as they had been ransacked for loot from the result of war or had been wiped out by monstrous creatures.
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