The rallying cry of faith seemed to be working. The prisoners gradually found their rhythm; the panic subsided, and the number of casualties began to drop.
This battered, ragtag army of prisoners, with nothing but a crude shield wall, was somehow holding back a force nearly twice its size.
They were constantly being pushed back, and the enemy cavalry charges remained a huge threat. The inexperienced shield-bearers on the flanks struggled to hold their own, but every time a man on the perimeter fell, the others would quickly move to fill the gap.
They seemed to be losing ground, but it wasn't a rout.
Hot, red blood splattered endlessly across his face. It was impossible to tell if it was from the enemy in front or the comrade beside him. Eric, standing in the front rank, was already a blood-drenched figure. The pain in his side was a constant, sharp stimulus to his nerves.
The thick, coppery stench made Eric want to vomit.
BANG!
