Whether to delay Rodney's troops or simply out of cruelty, the pirates had set fire to houses throughout the village before fleeing. Surviving villagers wailed as they desperately tried to pull remaining valuables and injured family members from the burning buildings.
Rodney's face turned ashen. He summoned a swordsman and a shield-bearer.
"You two—take thirty conscripts and stay to fight the fires. Everyone else, with me!"
Those thirty conscripts were essentially "peasant soldiers" armed with farm tools. Rodney had only brought them to pad numbers, but with fires raging and pirates still in the field, he had no choice but to split his force.
Thirty older and weaker men remained in Single Bridge Village to battle the flames. The fully armed veterans and younger conscripts followed Rodney in pursuit.
Thirty minutes wasn't enough for the pirates to get far—especially since many were burdened with heavy sacks of loot they refused to abandon. Gradually they were overtaken and cut down by the closing militia.
When Rodney and his cavalry finally caught up with the main pirate band, the raiders had already formed ranks on a densely wooded hillside.
Fearing hidden archers, Rodney held back. After a brief observation he withdrew to his infantry. Once the foot soldiers had assembled, he barked:
"Form ranks!"
The order rippled down the line. Veterans quickly organized into a tight three-rank square.
Nine archers stood in the front rank, followed by a dozen sword-and-shield men, then spearmen who rested their spear shafts on the shoulders of the rank ahead—points forward toward the enemy.
The conscripts huddled haphazardly to one side of the veterans, waving their mismatched tools and shouting—more for morale than any real threat.
Ethan studied the Northern formation with concern. It looked disciplined, but the line felt dangerously thin.
He didn't push into the ranks or run to Rodney with suggestions.
This was his first time fighting in a cold-weapon line battle. He had theoretical knowledge but no practical experience in formation warfare. So he pulled Kevin aside and positioned them among the conscripts and veterans, forming their own small unit.
Rodney glanced at Ethan's choice but said nothing. Instead he raised his voice to the veterans:
"Archers—draw!"
The bowmen lifted their weapons and drew strings taut.
"Nock!"
Arrows slid from quivers and clicked against bowstrings.
"Loose!"
A ragged volley hissed through the air. Arrows arced toward the pirate formation.
The raiders' line was narrower and deeper than Rodney's. After two volleys most shafts embedded in the front rank's shields. Whether any found flesh, the militia couldn't tell from this distance.
They only saw the dense little square of pirates continue its steady advance—crushing grass and brush beneath their boots.
The pirate formation was thick and resilient. Though only fifty-odd remained, they struck Rodney's long line like a stubborn boulder.
The front rank of raiders roared, raising battle-axes and broad shields, using the shields to deflect the militia spear-points.
Under cover of the shield-axe men the two formations collided. A dozen pirates wielding two-handed axes leapt from the rear ranks and chopped at the veterans' shields. The heavy *thuds*—like axes felling trees—rang across the field without pause.
In moments the militia's once-orderly line began to buckle.
After the front ranks locked, a smaller group of less well-equipped pirates broke away from the main body and charged the noisy cluster of conscripts standing off to one side.
While the veterans struggled to hold the center, the forty-odd conscripts—driven by a dozen howling raiders—scattered like startled sheep.
If the conscripts collapsed, the detached pirate squad would wheel around and hit the veterans from the flank. A pincer would shatter the line—and with it, the entire campaign.
Rodney would have to retreat to his lord for reinforcements. By the time another force could be raised, every coastal hamlet would likely be empty.
Thinking of that hellish scene, Ethan's pupils narrowed. He gripped the middle of his spear and barked at Kevin:
"Stay close!"
Once battle was joined, Ethan's magnificent armor made him conspicuous—but the pirates weren't sure of his strength or allegiance. They neither targeted him nor deliberately avoided him.
As he drew nearer, both the main pirate body and the flanking squad detached several men to surround him.
The fastest and closest was a sword-and-shield man wearing a brimless iron helm and mail shirt.
For his first opponent of the day Ethan decided to show respect—full power.
He raised his spear and drove it straight at the man's face.
The shield-man lifted his shield to cover his head and kept advancing—planning to angle the shield, deflect the spear point as it struck, and close to Ethan's side.
Standard spear counter—but only half successful.
Ethan's spear-tip did strike the shield as expected. Before the man could recover, a second spear—Kevin's—had already punched through his mail and deep into his abdomen.
After Kevin twisted the blade inside the abdominal cavity the pirate's strength drained away in an instant of blinding agony.
He tried to speak; only blood came out. He collapsed face-down.
From the corner of his dying eye he saw two figures—one large, one small—shouting "Attack! Attack!" as they swept past.
Then darkness swallowed him.
Under the combined assault of master and apprentice the fastest-charging pirates—whether sword-and-shield or two-handed axe—fell one after another in a series of feints and lethal thrusts.
Seeing the situation turn, the remaining raiders huddled together—shield-men in front, axe-men behind—forming a small, dense knot that slowed Ethan's advance.
Fortunately seven or eight of the bolder conscripts hadn't run far. Hearing Ethan's shout they grabbed their tools and clustered around him.
With reinforcements arriving Ethan's voice rose.
"Brothers—charge with me! Kill one and break even—kill two and profit!"
The awkward line was delivered with total conviction. Relying on his superior armor Ethan plunged straight into the enemy knot—fearless of close-quarters cuts.
He feared only one thing: losing the battle and being surrounded by dozens of sharp blades while they debated how to open his armor like a can of food.
Not far behind the line Harry rode back and forth, slashing at fleeing conscripts with his sword. In moments three or four lay clutching heads or necks.
"Back! Get back and fight! I'll kill any man who runs!"
The conscripts lacked courage to charge—but they had plenty when following someone else's charge and claiming credit.
Caught between death at their lord's hand and the chance of loot and glory, they had no choice but to follow Ethan.
Ethan led from the front. Kevin stayed close behind. Master and apprentice moved like twin blades—slashing, thrusting, cutting down pirates in their path.
Whenever Ethan wounded an enemy and opened a gap, the swarm of conscripts poured through and finished the job.
Moments later the detached pirate squad was completely annihilated.
Meanwhile the main pirate body—seeing the flank collapse—pressed their attack even harder, advancing despite mounting casualties.
The already wavering veteran line began to buckle under the renewed pressure.
But Ethan's charge—backed by Harry's threats—had rallied the scattered conscripts. They rejoined the fight. Several cavalrymen began flanking maneuvers, harassing the pirate formation.
Though the veterans' square had broken, their high armor coverage kept casualties moderate.
Those knocked down rose again and returned to the fray.
The battle dissolved into chaotic melee.
After a series of brutal exchanges only about twenty tall, powerful Skaggs raiders remained.
The militia had perhaps ten veterans still standing and twenty-odd conscripts who could still swing a weapon.
Both sides were exhausted. Victory or defeat hung on the next few minutes.
At that moment a giant pushed through the pirate line—two meters tall, horned helmet, wielding two short axes.
Ethan's spear shaft had already snapped during the frenzy. Seeing the giant's momentum he discarded the broken weapon, drew "Sea Serpent Strike," and stepped forward to meet the enemy leader.
The horned pirate was taller than Ethan and massively strong. Once in range he swung both axes in alternating, fluid arcs.
Ethan didn't meet strength with strength. He gave ground, creating distance, then thrust at the giant's throat.
The raider deflected the blade with one axe and pressed forward—only for Ethan to withdraw again and stab at his chest.
But the point stopped outside the giant's armor.
From the recoil Ethan realized the raider wore heavy mail beneath his furs—just like him.
Ethan had abandoned shield for maximum lethality, aiming to end the fight quickly. His opponent clearly had the same intent.
Their ferocious duel engulfed a five-meter radius. Veterans and pirates alike scrambled away, afraid of being caught in the whirlwind.
Ethan was agile, his longsword heavy and impossibly sharp. He darted and weaved, constantly probing for openings.
The giant relied on raw power—double axes crashing down with savage force.
His weapons lacked Ethan's reach and cutting power but excelled in tight quarters.
With superior skill and movement Ethan constantly evaded while seeking counters.
The giant used his strength advantage—relentless attacks and unbreakable will—to try pinning his opponent.
But Ethan's armor was vastly superior to the giant's iron mail. Gradually the raider's minor wounds slowed him.
Early in the duel the giant stepped on a corpse and stumbled.
Before he could recover Ethan surged forward—using his armored helm to parry an axe swing—and brought "Sea Serpent Strike" down in a diagonal arc.
Two sharp cracks rang out as the giant's shoulder armor split apart. The pieces fell to the grass.
For an instant the entire battlefield froze. Every eye turned toward the sound.
Then silence shattered.
Terrified, the remaining pirates threw down weapons and fled into the trees.
"Don't let them escape!"
Rodney spurred his horse and led the surviving cavalry in pursuit.
Ethan stopped moving. He planted his sword point-first in the dirt and sat heavily on the grass, breathing hard.
The giant's severed shoulder armor lay beside him, blood soaking the corpse that had tripped him.
That back view felt strangely familiar.
Ethan rolled the body over. Though half the skull was crushed, the remaining half still wore a foolish, lopsided grin.
"Stupid Evan."
Ethan gave a bitter smile.
"Never thought you'd be the one to help me in the end."
"Teacher…"
Kevin—covered in blood—walked over, one hand clutching his shoulder.
"Call me Teacher," Ethan corrected gently. "What happened to your shoulder? Are you all right?"
"Just a blow—no fracture."
Ethan patted the ground beside him.
"Then sit. Rest a while."
After battle only the victors could claim the field—and only their wounded had any chance of survival.
Surviving militiamen moved among the bodies, checking for life.
Comrades were carried aside and treated by those with experience.
Pirates were finished off and stripped of everything valuable.
*Many of those are my kills,* Ethan thought. He turned to Kevin.
"Go collect the heads of the ones we killed. Gather their gear and valuables too—don't let anyone else take them. If you're too busy, hire help."
Collect heads?
Kevin's face twisted as if he'd bitten a lemon.
But he didn't argue. He'd tried disobeying once in the forest and been sharply corrected. No need to repeat the mistake.
Kevin thought for a second.
"Can I ask Stupid Evan to help?"
Ethan pointed toward the nearby corpses.
"No need. He's right over there."
Kevin looked—then said nothing. He lowered his head and walked away.
The sun was setting. The afterglow bled red across the field.
Blood like the setting sun.
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