After passing through the gate, Prewell was joined by a sizable group of retainers. Armed with spears in their right hand, a hardwood shield attached to their left arm, a mace at their hip, wearing a leather armor with clear marks of wear and tear, and a worn-out Barbute helm.
This retinue's specification is best among those in the same title of nobility. As a noble under the Order, it's of grave importance that all noble lineages adhere to the teachings of the Order.
Following the Order's teaching and not believing it is one thing, but outright disregarding their teaching and openly arming their retinue is another.
The Order of the Three Seas is a monastic organization. Actively arming your personal retinue without the strength to back it up is considered a sign of breaking away from the control of the church.
The best-case scenario is that a band of Silver Knights will be sent to the "rebelling" fiefdom to clear things out peacefully or violently. The worst-case scenario, all the family members of the noble lineage found arming their retinue beyond the allowed specification of the Order, are placed upon a pyre.
Where the church summons a member from each noble household, and makes them watch as a member of the nobility is burned alive, as their shouts and screams reverberate through the cathedral. Their faces full of pain and agony leave a mark in their minds, and their eyes, once brimming with confidence and familiarity, are now filled with everlasting despair and regret.
Leaving a haunting memory for those who were forced to watch the cruel torment of someone who belonged to the same class as them. A clear warning to the nobility, but also a sign of their distrust towards them.
Shaking his head, Prewell mused as he processed the state of affairs of the Order and the Nobility. He pondered his stance on the future with great interest.
'Eventually the church's distrust towards the nobility will spark a conflict. By then, how should I deal with it…'
_
Crossroads
Making their way through the dirt road, the retinue reaches a crossroad, with road signs pointing towards the various locations in the barony.
To the East lies 'Hatr Village,' neither too close nor too far from the Great Forest of Pluma a good stop if you're heading to the forest.
To the South-East lies 'Lawnberg', a former pasture turned into a village after the Wild Beast destroyed a mountain colony of a thousand people. Sympathizing with the refugees, the former Baron of Zalsac, Prewell's father, accepted the remaining refugees as a part of the Barony.
Combining the population of the small community of herders already living in the area and the refugees of the mountain colony to create a new village named 'Lawnberg', making 'Lawnberg' a considerably new village in the fiefdom.
To the North lies 'Reztel' a large fishing village, it's where most of the population of the barony resides.
To the Northwest of Saint Gerald Castle and the West of 'Reztel' lies the 'Port Waldr', which is considered the heart of Salzac. In there lie most of the tangible assets of the territory.
The ships in Waldr served as the most important source of income for the House of Ih Leviathan and the Barony of Salzac for almost three generations.
That's why placing Wiegraf in Waldr is a necessity, after all, the system's manifestation is absolutely loyal, even if one day a rebellion happens in the barony and everything is lost.
There will always be Wiegraf holding 'Port Waldr', either to take the ships away to hire mercenaries to deal with the rebels or to escape from Zalsac bidding time to retake everything. Holding 'Port Waldr' is a matter of grave importance.
_
*Swooosh*
A thin and sharp object passed by Prewell.
"Ugh!" A pained voice sounded to his right. A member of the entourage was hit with a stone. Thankfully, because of the Barbute helm, the damage was minimal, and the soldier was only slightly hurt.
Without a moment of hesitation, he stuck himself as much as possible to his mount. Stuck close to his mount, he drew his arming sword as he shouted at the top of his lungs in that ever-cold and rigid demeanor.
"Form up! Form up! Men form up around me."
As stones began pouring onto the retinue in droves. The men scrambled, raising their shields atop their heads as they began to form up around their lord.
As the men gathered around Prewell, movements were heard in the surrounding bushes.
At least hundreds of figures of small stature began to appear. Armed with sharp sticks, clubs, and dull blades, a ragtag group of goblins is seen.
Screeching and screaming, the goblins charged towards the entourage of Prewell. Mouth dripping with saliva, showing an expression of extreme hunger. Madness and desperation filled the eyes of these feral creatures.
Prewell with his entourage was able to form up before the incoming charge of the goblins. Atop his steed, he ordered.
"Spears! Hold your ground. Maces! Kill anything that passes through the formation." A command was issued, and the entourage of fifty was divided.
Forming a round defensive formation around Prewell. The first group consisted of forty men who had their shields interlocked and spears pointed toward the incoming goblin horde, lowering their posture and preparing themselves to brace for the incoming charge.
Behind the spear wall formation, the second group switched to their maces. Prepared to crush the bones of any goblin lucky enough to pass through the wall of spears.
Prewell got off his steed and hid behind the cover of the shields. Nearly hit by a projectile, he is nervous and frightened.
Unaccustomed to such an environment, he can only act in false bravado so that the men's morale will not break.
A moment later, various sounds echoed.
*Sheeeeeek*
The sound of flesh being pierced resounded across the small battlefield. Goblins pierced by the wall of spears screamed in pain. Agonizing screams and pained cries came out of the feral creature's mouth.
Followed by the sound of a collision. The goblins, without care for their lives, rushed through the formation. Driven mad by hunger, they charged towards their deaths.
Clubs and blades slammed and slashed towards the shields. Spears continue piercing the feral creature's flesh.
Discovering the ineffectiveness of their handheld weapon. They clawed and grabbed the shields. The final struggle, before dying of starvation, made the goblins go berserk.
With crazed eyes, they shook and tugged the shields. Trying to climb through the shields, only to be smashed by the second group's maces.
Grabbing the spears pointed at them. Trying to pull the arms of the humans behind the shields. Some men were forced to loosen their grip on the spears. Giving it up and switching to a handheld mace.
Slamming towards the goblin's outstretched hand. Crushing its bones and ligaments as blood and flesh splattered everywhere.
The goblins' disregard for their lives increased their fighting prowess but also made their casualties rise exponentially.
As the fighting raged on, the men's arms began to tire. A couple of men were dragged by the goblins and were pulled to the ground.
Jumped by the goblins, the men tried to resist, using their arms to block the goblin's bites, but to no avail. Screams and begging soon followed.
*Crunch*
The sound of bones being crushed by the strong bite force of the goblins was heard, followed by a crunched chewing sound. Bones and flesh overlapped in the goblin's mouth as a crazed laugh sounded from the feral creatures.
The Goblins are in joy, as their hunger is being satiated. A chilling sight was before the entourage. Their companion's body was being torn apart, as hundreds of goblins with their hideous appearance and bloodied mouth began to display a mocking grin followed by a screech-like giggle, like a child satisfied with their work.
Horror filled the rest of the entourage. Trained as they may be, but seeing their companion being overthrown by the goblins and devoured alive made the entourage's morale waver.
"Spears, Hold!"
Prewell issuing command behind the formation, saw the goblins begin to overpower his men. Clawing and biting some of the men's arms, overthrowing them and pulling them to the ground to be eaten alive.
Gritting his teeth, he yelled towards the second group. "Maces with me, let's bash these foul creatures' brains!"
Grabbing a spare mace from his steed's side. He led his men and began to join the fighting.
As Prewell and the men of the rear joined the battlefield, the morale of the men in the front stabilized. The long and arduous battle continues.
Prewell slammed his mace towards a goblin, biting one of his entourage's arms. The goblin's head was crushed, eyes bulging out of its socket, as blood splattered around Prewell's face.
Another goblin appeared in Prewell's field of vision, shoulder pierced by a spear yet still tugging at his entourage shield, madness visible in its eyes. Picking up a soldier's fallen mace, Prewell pulled his arm back, holding the mace by the handle. Aiming at the goblin, he swung his arm as hard as he could, letting go of the mace at the angle he judged it would fling towards the goblin.
*Splaaack* The next moment, a sound of smashing was heard, and the mace's head was embedded in the goblin's chest.
After slaying the goblin, Prewell scanned around the battlefield. Goblins, who were once feral and crazed, were now showing signs of extreme fatigue and weakness. Perhaps due to extreme hunger and madness, they were able to burst into a final desperate struggle.
Running out of juice, the goblins are now up for the taking.
With his thoughts and composure gathered. Prewell shouted to raise his men's morale.
"Men of Zalsac, the time of reckoning has arrived! Our foes are tired and weak. It's time to press our advantage."
The men of the entourage focused on the battlefield, but ears pricked at his declaration. Goblins were still clawing and pulling the shields as they listened to what Prewell was about to say.
Seeing his shout was effective, Prewell issued a second command.
"Tighten the formation, keep your shield interlocking! Let go of your spears and switch to your maces."
The men took a step back. Tightening the round formation. The men whose spears were still at hand. Pushed their spears toward the goblins, grabbing it.
As the goblins were focused on grabbing and pulling the spears, they were unprepared for the sudden action of the humans.
Spears were shoved against them, the sudden lack of resistance caused multiple goblins to fall back, hitting those behind them, causing small chaos among the goblins.
The men, letting go of their spears, grabbed the mace at their sides. Listening attentively for the next command.
"Brace yourself, at my signal, pull your shield back with all your strength, then bash it towards the cretins."
Another command was issued, as the men of Zalsac prepared for this counterattack.
Prewell watches from behind his men as they follow his command, staring at the goblins beginning to focus on the corpses of his fallen entourage.
Looking at his fallen soldier's bodies being desecrated. He said to swear in his heart.
'Your sacrifice will not go to waste.'
A small number of the already exhausted goblins began to focus on the fallen soldiers. Seeing some of their kind feasting in jubilation.
They rushed towards the desecrated body. Pushing their kind to join the feast. This caused a small commotion on the goblin's side.
Being pushed away from the food they risked their lives for. The goblins jumped on the interloper, clawing and biting them. Soon fighting came in the goblins rank.
Seeing this opportunity, Prewell shouted at the top of his lungs.
"NOW! BASH!"
Like a lion's roar, his shout full of authority was heard.
A clanging sound was heard as the interlocked shields were pulled simultaneously. The goblins holding on to the shields were pulled along. Some lose their footing, causing them to fall face-first towards the direction of the shields.
As the goblins fell forward, the men of Zalsac bashed their shields toward their foes. Faces of the goblins slamming into the shields made of hardwood from the ancient trees of the Great Forest of Pluma.
As the goblins in front fell, the goblins at the rear pushing those in front were now at the mercy of the Human maces.
Seeing the goblins crushing their kind who have fallen, and his men smashing their maces at those unprepared goblins.
Prewell prepared himself before planning on giving another command. Attaching a shield to his left arm, he unsheathed the arming sword at his hip.
After breathing in and exhaling in succession, Prewell raised his arming sword as he shouted in one breath.
"Kill them all! Smash their bones to pieces! For our fallen! For Zalsac! To victory!"
"KILL!" "TO VICTORY!" "ZALSAC!" "KILL!"
A loud shout from a lone man, followed by the incoherent shout of the entire retinue.
The men charged towards their foes.
Maces smash the goblin's heads, chest, and other parts of their body.
Wide open eyes, bloodied faces, and a feral smile.
Now the tide has turned.
The prey had become the hunter.