Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

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NachexenPfugzeit-31,2489 IC

"Not so easy to cast spells while your own collar is choking you, right... you damn bitch?" I thought, gritting my teeth and channeling my power.

I was using my arcane gift. Manipulating the metal of the collar around the Bretonnian sorceress's neck. An ornate silver ring, ideal for this. I made it compress slowly, closing like a trap, crushing her throat, preventing her from uttering a word… and therefore, preventing her from casting spells that could turn the battle around.

The sorceress fell from her unicorn, rolling on the ground, her white dress stained with mud as she clutched her neck and desperately gasped for air. Her followers screamed, running around her, not understanding what was happening.

The musketeers didn't waste the opportunity. At every attempt of rescue, a volley of lead rose. Dozens of Bretonnians fell dead trying to help her, confused, helpless in the sight of one of their sacred figures choking in front of them for no visible reason.

Soon, chaos was total.

Many broke ranks. Others retreated. Only the knights remained, clinging to their code of honor as if that could stop the bullets.

The largest of them all, the one bearing the heraldry of the Grail, stepped in between us and the sorceress's body. He stood firm, with his shield in front and sword drawn. He remained there, silent, not stepping back, ready to receive whatever came.

Some tried to lift her… but the gauntlets of those who touched her began to melt in their hands. Several screamed in pain, burned alive down to their bones.

The Grail knight was the only one who didn't step back.

"What an honorable act," I murmured with a twisted smile. Then I shouted, "Let's go, boys!! Give that knight a prize!! Give him all the lead yours muskets can carry!!"

Three full lines were formed. All aiming at the same man. Three hundred muskets.

"¡¡Fire!!"

The sound was deafening. A wall of fire and smoke covered the field. The knight was torn apart. His shield flew through the air, his armor splintered, his body pierced dozens of times before he fell to his knees… and finally to the ground.

I ran toward him after the volley. I wanted to check for myself. The armor was shattered, blood pouring from every crack. He was dead. It would have been miraculous for him to survive that.

She, on the other hand, was still alive.

The sorceress gasped for air. She was purple, her eyes reddened from the suffocation, but alive. With her last strength, she tried to claw at the collar, as if she could still take it off.

"It's a shame you can't live," I said. "Someone like you is worth a fortune, but I'll just collect for your body."

I finally finished suffocating her, and the sorceress died, her face purple and her eyes bloody from all she had endured. I would have liked to let her live. I could have made a lot of money from her rescue, but she could easily say I was a mage, and I didn't want that. Even a rumor from the enemy could be enough to have people investigate me for unauthorized magic, so I had to settle for whatever they would pay me for returning her body to the Bretonnians.

One of ours picked up the body of the Grail knight. We covered it with a cloak and brought it back to the safety of the center of our formation.

Climbing the hill, I finally had a full view of the field.

The right flank remained firm. Our sharpshooters kept tearing apart the Bretonnian formations with a constant rain of lead. But the center… the center was giving way.

That's where the bulk of the enemy army had fallen. Knights, peasants, men-at-arms… and above all, the last Grail knights. The weight of their charge had pushed our men back. I saw our standards tangled with theirs, and blood everywhere.

I didn't sense another sorcerer on the field. We had eliminated their greatest magical threat. That gave us room. I took a deep breath. The battle was still undecided, but the enemy's heart had been broken.

We resumed the march just as our men arrived from the camp, bringing more ammunition and powder for the musketeers. We had to return to the front.

As we advanced, a small group of Bretonnian knights approached us. They were few, far too few to be a threat. We didn't even bother forming a defensive line. Only a few musketeers raised their weapons, just in case.

"I want to speak with your knight," one of them said in a rough Reikspiel, with such a strong Bretonnian accent it almost sounded mocking.

"Bah. Let's finish this. Shoot them," I ordered with a hand gesture, uninterested.

"I am Duke Folcard of Monfort," the knight responded before being turned into a sieve of lead.

"Stop, stop! I want him alive," I immediately shouted, just before the volley was unleashed.

"We know you have a servant of the Lady in your custody," said the duke. "For her freedom, I challenge any Imperial knight willing to face me in a duel."

I walked among my men.

"Does anyone accept the challenge? No one? No knights among you?" the Bretonnian insisted, visibly irritated.

"No one feels like fighting with a Grail knight," I replied, not taking my eyes off him.

"It honors me that you confuse me with one of the Chosen," he replied solemnly. "But I am still in search of the Grail. I have not received its blessing… Do you accept or not?"

"Let's see… if I fight you and win, what do I get? Because you clearly win if you leave with your sorceress," I said, placing my hand on the hilt of my sword.

"You will be able to collect a ransom for my capture," said the duke.

"Deal," I replied, hiding my smile beneath my helmet.

"My lord, allow me. I think I can beat him," said one of my bodyguards.

"Relax," I told him. "This guy won't be able to keep up with me."

I drew my runic sword and showed it to the duke.

"May the Lady witness this duel and protect the noblest of the two," said the duke, getting into position.

"Yes, yes… whatever you say," I replied disinterestedly.

Seeing that I wasn't using a shield, the duke set his aside. Grave mistake. That would have given him a chance against what I was planning to do to him.

We were surrounded in a silent circle. I began the fight with simple cuts, measuring distances. It was evident that the duke had more technique. The way he moved, how he placed weight into each strike, how he anticipated... he was better with the sword than I was.

He began to press, forcing me to retreat. I remained on the defensive, dodging or deflecting the blows.

But I didn't plan on beating him with elegance.

When he raised his sword to search for a gap in my defense, I blocked his sword and lunged. I slid across the ground, knocked him off his feet, and landed on him, all my weight directly on his chest. I didn't give him time to react. I wrapped one leg around his neck and the other around his arm, applying pressure to his torso.

I caught his arm, twisted his elbow against the joint, and with a quick hip movement, forced the lock. His arm cracked. A horrible sound, and the duke screamed like a condemned soul when I broke his arm, and that was music to my ears.

I could have ended it there, but it wasn't enough. I went for the second arm. I looked at him. He gritted his teeth, some tears falling from his eyes. I paused for a second... such a shame... I grabbed my sword from the ground and placed it under his armpit, right at a gap in his armor.

"Yield," I said, uninterested in continuing.

"Never. A knight of the Kingdom of Bretonnia… never yields," he said. He reached for his sword with his good hand, stretching to grab it until his fist closed around the hilt.

I stepped on the blade with force, making the metal screech against the stone.

"Don't make me break your other arm."

But the bastard kept trying. He gritted his teeth, tensed his neck, stretched to reach the hilt. He didn't even have strength left in his hand, but he insisted. Stubborn as a mule.

"You piece of shit… you brought this on yourself," I said angrily.

I let out a snort. I grabbed his sword and threw it far, out of his reach. Then I threw mine too. I wouldn't need it for what was coming next.

I grabbed his broken arm, the one he could barely move. I twisted it roughly, using the pain as an anchor, as leverage to destabilize him. The scream was automatic, involuntary, and his body opened just enough. I knocked him down again. I landed on top of him, knee to his chest, feeling the air escape from him.

With one hand, I held his neck. With the other, I drew the dagger he had at his belt and cut the straps of his helmet, one by one. I pulled off the helmet, exposing his face.

"So, handsome, huh?" I said with a twisted smile. "Let's see what your wife says when I'm done with you."

And I began to strike him.

With a closed fist. I didn't stop hitting him, not when he started choking on his own blood, not when he tried to cover himself with his good arm. I shoved him to the ground, grabbed his wrist, and kept punching with the other hand. Punch after punch. One to the forehead. Another to the cheek. One straight to the cheekbone that sounded like it cracked. I felt the crunch of a tooth under my knuckles.

The blood splattered, hot. Every time he breathed, he spat more. I hit him until his body stopped moving. He was still breathing, but unresponsive.

Only then did I grip his neck tightly, leaning over his ear.

"Yield," I said, tired of hitting him.

He barely opened his eyes. One was closed from swelling, the other half open, flooded with blood tears. It was hard for him to speak. When he managed, he said it with a broken, weak voice, still full of defiance.

"Ne... ne... never..."

He spat blood, this time just a red thread sliding down his chin, staining me with his blood.

"I don't have all day, I have a battle to win," I said, standing up and grabbing him by his black hair and part of his armor to drag him toward my men.

The duke's knights reacted instantly, drawing their swords.

"The duel isn't over! It's to the death!" one of them yelled angrily.

"The duel is over because I say so," I replied, dropping the duke like a sack of potatoes as I fell to the ground, standing straight.

I raised my hand."FIRE!"

It didn't take long to hear the roar. All of the duke's knights fell to pieces under a volley of lead. Their armor clattered as their bodies hit the ground, and the blood mixed with the mud.

We tied the duke's body next to that of his dear damsel. "Take them to the camp," I ordered. "This prisoner and bodys are too valuable to drag them to the front."

With the duel finished and victory assured, we regrouped. "Let's move," I said, pointing toward the rest of the captured duke's forces.

The fight continued, and we joined the fray as quickly as we could. Apparently, the Grail knights had already been eliminated, but at a high price. I saw the shattered bodies of several Imperial ogres among the corpses of the blessed steeds… so it wasn't easy.

We went straight to the front, and spent almost an entire hour annihilating the men-at-arms who were still offering resistance. They didn't want to retreat. They fought like damned souls, though they no longer had direction or hope. But with the close fire of the arquebuses, my musketeers, and the artillery that kept booming, the army of Montfort began to give way. Soon they broke. They fled like dogs, disorganized, trying to reach the safety of their fortress.

When the battle finally ended, and the shouts for loot began, I went to find the Imperial general. I wanted to speak with him directly, to secure my share of the glory. I made my way through the center ranks, walking between Imperial and Bretonnian corpses, and asked for him.

All I found was his assistant.

"The general died a few minutes after the battle began, baron," the man said, nervously.

"What? How?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We had to use the cannons to stop the Grail knights… and well, one of the poorly calibrated shots hit him squarely."

I put my hand to my face, pressing my lips together to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Are you telling me we killed the general... with our own cannon?" I said, unable to believe it.

The assistant nodded silently.

"Shit… what an... Imperial way to die," I murmured, unable to hide a grin.

Before I could say anything else, a shout rose from among our ranks.

"Bretonnian reinforcements on the left!"

I turned immediately. From the not-so-steep slopes of the mountain, a new group of knights descended at full speed.

"Ah, come on..." I sighed as I adjusted my belt. "Still want to keep bleeding?"

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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