Adrian gained a moment of reprieve after they cleared the area around the docks. As his allies' ships arrived, however, they discovered that the enemy had sabotaged the structures. The moment the first soldier stepped onto the wood, the entire pier collapsed, the enemy had meticulously maintained its appearance just to spring a trap.
Fortunately for them, there were no enemies left in the immediate vicinity to capitalize on the chaos.
Adrian took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to steady. The scratch on his temple and his dented helm felt uncomfortable, but he resisted the urge to remove it in case an enemy archer or slinger was still lurking, waiting for a clear shot.
"Milord, are you alright?" Dexton asked. He approached Adrian after organizing the men to scavenge arrows and supplies, while ensuring the wounded were set aside. It was a pity that proper medical help wouldn't be available until the fighting ceased entirely.
Nearby, uninjured soldiers loitered or looted the dead, though Adrian doubted they would find much of value.
As the soldiers from the ships began the slow process of disembarking onto solid ground, the side gate of the enemy defenses swung open. A surge of fresh hostiles poured out, charging directly toward them.
Adrian exchanged a weary, dry look with Dexton, who sighed and mirrored his expression.
"Form up!" Adrian bellowed.
"Form up!" Dexton repeated. The soldiers immediately surged forward, the shield-bearers taking the lead. As Adrian moved toward the front, the men made way for him, offering nods and slight bows of respect at the sight of his blood-stained figure.
Adrian nodded back, noticing how even the most exhausted, grimy men straightened their backs as he passed.
He knew they approved of a lord who fought in alongside them. Knowing their leader was risking his life just as they were changed how they viewed him.
Adrian was grateful for the respect, though he felt a pang of regret that none of these men were his own.
He could have built real devotion here, loyalty, instead, once the battle ended, they would simply return to their respective lords.
Those thoughts flashed his head, but as he reached the front of the line, he pushed all distractions aside and braced for the new battle.
Adrian saw a blur of movement and threw his shield up, a thud vibrated through his arm as a projectile collided with the wood. He released a sharp breath as the enemy drew closer by the second. Gripping his sword until his knuckles turned white, he braced himself.
Then, the first wave hit.
The impact shook their formation like a storm gale. Adrian nearly buckled under the weight of the charge, staying upright only because of the solid wall of men pressing against his back.
"Rarr! I'll gut you!" The enemy soldier pressed against him screamed, spraying spit against Adrian's visor. The man shoved hard, trying to bring a heavy axe down in a lethal arc. Adrian parried the blow with his sword, the screech of metal on metal ringing in his ears.
The sheer density of the crowd prevented him from pushing back, so he unleashed a series of quick, stinging stabs at the man's face. The enemy flinched, leaning back to dodge the steel.
The movement eased the pressure just enough for Adrian to surge forward in a short, powerful charge.
Squeezed between his own comrades, the man couldn't maneuver out of the way, Adrian's shield slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Adrian moved in for a finishing strike, but a spear-tip suddenly flashed toward his throat.
He diverted his blade mid-swing to deflect the spear, the exchange a reminder that he was fighting a mob, not a single man.
Nevertheless, Adrian fought relentlessly. Every injury he dealt was a boon to his cause, and every bruise or cut he received in return, he quietly mended with his gift.
Just as Adrian wrestled a spear away from a fallen foe and drove it back to them, a rain of arrows whistled through the air, devastating the enemy's backlines. The allied archers had finally reached the shore.
"For the Prince and the Kingdom!" Adrian roared, the cry born more of battle lust than true devotion.
The force roared with him and the line surged. They began to plow through the opposition, Adrian losing himself in the rhythm of the carnage.
Suddenly, a thick spray of blood splattered across his face, seeping through the eye-slits of his helm and blinding him.
Cursing, Adrian stumbled back. He instinctively tried to wipe his eyes but realized his gauntlet only smeared the gore against the metal. He made a snap decision and retreated a few steps, feeling his men brush past him as they exploited the gap he'd made.
He fumbled with the straps of his helmet. The metal was dented and warped from the fray, making the removal a painful struggle. With a groan, he wrenched it off. A wave of cool air hit his sweaty skin, and only then did he realize how badly his head had been aching.
Adrian wiped his face with his tunic sleeve and scanned the area. He knew being sightless on a battlefield was a death sentence, but as the world came back into focus, he exhaled in relief. They had broken the enemy. Only a few dozens remained, some fighting a hopelessly while others fled back. No fresh reinforcements were in sight.
The sounds of victory filled the men, even as there were still enemies in the filled, but Adrian didn't rejoin the fray. His eyes snagged on a familiar suit of armor kneeling on the blood-soaked ground a few meters a head.
"Dexton!" Adrian ran toward him. Dexton pulled off his own helm, he was pale and breathing hard, but his eyes were clear.
"What's wrong? Where are you hit?" Adrian asked.
Dexton gave a strained smile and gestured to his leg. "A bastard managed to trip me. I killed him for the trouble, but I think the fall dislocated my knee…"
Adrian let out a long sigh of relief and managed a dry chuckle. "Then you're out of the fight for now."
Dexton opened his mouth to protest, but Adrian cut him off with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"No. Stay here and watch over the wounded. That is an order," Adrian emphasized, looking Dexton in the eye. "Gather everyone who can't walk into one area. Protect them."
Dexton looked indignant for a moment, but he eventually nodded. He rose gingerly, leaning on a discarded spear for support, and began signaling for some men to assist him.
Adrian watched him for a moment to ensure he was stable, then turned his attention back to the shoreline.
Boats were thick in the water now, and soldiers were wading through the surf in droves. Amidst the chaos, Adrian spied a man in intricate, polished armor barking orders to the newcomers. He wiped the last of the blood from his brow and began to stride toward him.
Sir Wyatt noticed him and raised an eyebrow at Adrian's bloodstained figure. With bits of gore and fresh blood still clinging to his armor, Adrian realized how ghastly he must look and chose not to approach the knight too closely.
"Sir Wyatt, I cannot tell you the relief I feel seeing you here." Adrian began.
"Lord Harrow." Sir Wyatt nodded, his eyes scanning the mess on Adrian's plate. "I see the enemy didn't have it easy with you butchering your way through them, eh?"
Adrian simply offered a smile, trying to hide the grimness but failing, "For the Prince's goals, Sir."
He turned his attention to a carriage-like structure the soldiers were hauling ashore. It was another secret weapon, though not nearly as potent as the Ember. This was a specialized ram, designed not only to shatter gates but to provide a heavy overhead shield for the men operating it. It has been designed by the very Maester who oversaw the new port city's construction.
What truly caught Adrian's attention, however, were the four knights following behind it. They wore the most intricate, expensive armor he had ever seen, draped in vibrant yellow cloaks. They moved in a tight square formation, guarding a central figure.
This man wore a red cloak that, despite being soaked with seawater, looked regal. His armor was a masterpiece of black and gold. As he stepped onto the land, his blonde hair fluttered in the breeze, and a calm, small smile rested on his face.
'Oh hell, the Prince...' Adrian thought, though he kept his expression neutral.
There was nothing quite like having your boss hovering over your shoulder while you were at work.
Adrian tilted his head slightly, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him. 'That's a thought from one of my dreams, I think...'
"Lord Harrow! Haha! You've been busy, I see. Making sure the enemy remembers your name?" Prince Cale said, his arms spread wide as he laughed heartily.
To Adrian, the laughter felt jarringly out of place amidst the fresh carnage, but he kept the observation to himself.
"The dead won't remember anything, Your Grace. I fight for the living." Adrian replied, bowing low.
The Prince seemed to like the response, nodding as he came to a halt before them. "How is the situation?" he asked, his eyes locked on Adrian.
Adrian gave a concise report, how they had committed the mounted force once the ships were in range, the successful clearing of the docks, and Lord Wymond's devastating use of the Ember.
"Well then…" the Prince said, his eyes turning toward the inner defenses. "It is time to fully pluck this thorn from our side, shall we?"
Adrian exchanged a meaningful look with Sir Wyatt and nodded.
Preparations began immediately. The battering ram was assembled with practiced speed. Now that the Prince was personally overseeing the field, Adrian needed more to stay at the vanguard, ensuring the ram reached the enemy gate safely.
Not two dozen minutes later, the final checks were complete. Sir Wyatt signaled a nearby herald, who raised a horn to his lips. The blaring note echoed across the docks.
The time for the final push had come.