Even if victory seemed like a distant dream, Konrad hadn't lost yet.
He only had to drag his head out of the gutter and get over his jet lag.
Or motion sickness. Time dilation-disease? Whatever.
A simple flip of a switch in his mind, and—
"Where's the spearmen?" he yelled at Welf's back. "Do we have them?"
He should've known his army composition, but could no longer remember. He knew the place, though, having spent way too long setting up his broadcast. If Maple let it all go to waste—
No, his main concern should've been that if he blundered, the whole world would have seen it.
"Spearmen?" the blacksmith asked, busy plugging a massive breach. "They're at the gate, but—"
"Bring them here," he demanded. "At least a squad. Send a runner. Now."
His friend shot him a confused glance, but couldn't say no to his leader.
He even lost his footing, but Kade was there to cover for him.
Which felt like overkill. Two of his strongest in the same place?
By the time the messenger set out, Konrad's mind was in a mathematical frenzy.
The fort they tried to defend had a motte and a bailey, two palisade rings, and the narrowest space between. The ground was steep, full of debris, creating the perfect kill zone.
But only if they had the weapons to exploit it.
Without archers raining hell down, spears seemed like the next best choice. And if his memory served, the gate was only a hundred paces from this particular breach. Three minutes to beat.
Five, if he was unlucky. Until then, they had to hold.
Hold against an armored swarm with whatever they had.
"Is this their main force?" Konrad asked, unsheathing his sword.
It was a dull, practice blade, shorter yet heavier than his own.
"I sure hope," Welf groaned, pushed back another step. He lost his shield a while back, but Kade's towering figure still covered his side. "They're trying very hard here."
Hopes and guesses. Of course.
It wasn't his fault—none of his men saw the battlefield as a whole. Worse still, he'd already lost his main commander. And two of his best fought at the same breach?
"Where's Bor?" he yelled over the din of the battle. "I need reports. And eyes everywhere."
"The northern walls," the redhead gritted out. "And Sorell held the main gate."
Held, past tense.
It was odd to see Welf so out of breath, but his friend must have been on his last legs. Ten minutes was a long time while he was out, and a lot must have happened.
Now, he needed someone capable to untangle this chaos.
Sorell—now that he finally remembered his name—was already gone.
And even if these two had their wits, one was in the wrong place.
"Pull back, and head to the gate," Konrad barked, pushing past to take Welf's place.
"Wait," he protested, but it fell on deaf ears. "If you're wounded—"
Right. He was the 'duke' of this team, even if only in name.
A scratch, and it was game over.
But if he didn't do anything to get a handle on the events, he might as well surrendered.
Getting his first glance at the enemy, they sure wanted to push through there.
The soldiers he faced wore armor heavier than his knights. Their blunt axes chewed through shields at an alarming rate. Welf hesitated, and he gave him a friendly shove.
"I've got this," he said. "Hurry and send a report once you're there."
He needed to see more. Know more. The situation here was bad, but at least he was aware.
What about the rest?
"If you see the spearmen, tell 'em to run faster," he yelled after the retreating redhead.
That was all the time he had before the axmen reached him. Stopping them with his shield was the easier option. Put his weight behind it and brace. But how long would the wood last?
He chose to block each strike with his blunt sword instead, a tiring and risky tactic.
Still, as long as he could move his arms, he could hold that position.
And if he couldn't—the tournament was over.
One minute, or three. Even he could last that long.
His body moved on its own, his eyes counting the men he faced. Twenty. Thirty. More.
A significant force.
Enough to think it was their main push. Stop it, and he'd won. Unlikely with the few men he had ready, but even if he blunted it and survived, he could continue the fight.
Kade's shield shattered on his left. He was one big target for the enemy to focus on.
Funny, when a single glancing hit on Konrad instead could've ended everything in a flash.
"Rotate out," he barked. "Grab another shield." And now he was the center of attention.
Considering how foggy his mind felt, his body was all rested. Like a well-oiled machine, he never had to think about a block or a strike. As if he had a second brain, his instincts took over.
Mind and body—separated. One was fighting for survival, while the other made plans to win.
And here he thought he sucked at multitasking.
A knight 'fell' on his right.
With hands held high and a nasty cut on his face, he walked off the battlefield.
A tribesman took his place, but he didn't have the same heavy armor as his comrade. Mere seconds later, he had to walk, too; a shallow but bloody gash on his forearm.
But Konrad counted only one minute from the worst-case scenario—unless he was wrong.
Kade appeared by his side again. This time from the right, a fresh shield held high, splinters flying everywhere. Had he stepped up a second later, that strike would've reached Konrad.
There was no stopping these bastards.
"Where are the spearmen?" he demanded at his wits' end.
Not that his plan was strong, but without it—
"At yer service, bossman," a Blood Moon reported, right on cue. "We got yer back."
Fucking finally. But he hadn't won yet. And that wasn't what he wanted.
"To th'sides," he jabbered, thinking faster than he could talk. "Singl'file, three pace'back."
Confusing or not, there was no time for questions.
"Retreat," he groaned, one last stab before skittering away. Kade almost missed the sign, and once the giant leaped out of the way, enemies poured in. "Spearmen, charge~"
The result was chaos and devastation.
The western army, cheering as it pushed into the hole, found itself in a living guillotine.
Spears caught them in the flanks, half their forces having to walk.
In a real battle, this would've only bought them a few seconds to breathe, but here? The 'fallen' warriors were in the way of the rest, ruining the momentum and halting the advance.
Konrad took full advantage, ordering another charge.
He not only kicked the invaders out; he sent twenty of their men packing.
There was a price to pay; he also lost at least five warriors, but the result was much better than he had hoped. The rest of the westerners retreated thirty paces back.
"Do not chase them," he yelled, no matter how eager his soldiers seemed.
They were all out of breath, and he had only ten men left to face the remaining twenty—that he could see. Victorious or not, he still had no idea what went on around the rest of the fort.