The soldiers surrounding Castle Marcoir had a somewhat relaxed yet tense attitude towards the siege. On one hand, they weren’t running towards their deaths against the killing fields. On the other hand, they also knew that the northmen were cunning enough to be able to launch attacks any time, anywhere. Though the drones had not launched an attack since the failed Rhankish assaults, the besiegers were still on their toes, anticipating for the next aerial drone attack or worse.

At the backside of Castle Marcoir, Rhankish footmen were making themselves home as they encamped the road leading to the rest of Northwestern Rhankia. If all goes well, the soldiers would only have to wait for a few weeks for the defenders to surrender or until the nobles decide to give up on trying to take the castle back.

“I heard a company of serjents pulled back at sunrise. You think that’s a good sign?” a footman remarked as he ate from his bowl.

Another ragged individual tossed pieces of hare meat into the cooking pot then clicked his tongue. “They’re only here for the money, anyway. If they think it ain’t worth the risk, they run off with their pockets full of silver.”

A man walked up to the boiling pot then peered into the soup. After a few seconds of contemplation, an idea had dawned on him. “Wait, isn’t that company the Flowers of Foes Company?”

“The company with the bald captain wearing an eyepatch?”

“Red eyepatch?”

“That one, aye. What about them?”

The man looked away from the boiling pot and scratched his beard. With a doubtful tone, he replied, “They’re Aviognese, right? Aren’t they allies of the king?”

“Aviognese?” one of the footmen asked.

“It’s the region somewhere far south of Rikkenhotten. What’re they doing here so far up north?” the confused man questioned to no one in particular. “I would’ve thought they’d join the Royal Army as auxiliaries.”

“Maybe the king sent them to help the counts?” someone suggested.

“Doubtful. Didn’t the king say they were going to buy the castle back? I don’t think they’re going to-” the man stopped when he saw something odd coming out from the forest. Confusion made way for shock, and he started mumbling.

Large hulking beasts ridden by men in plates of shining armor rode through the fields, crashing against the siege camp’s far outer defences. Thin stakes pressed against the ground were rendered useless as the beasts ran through them without paying them any heed.

“Alert! The northmen attack!” someone alarmed the entire camp loudly which got everyone panicking.

“Where were the scouts?! Damn it! To arms! To arms!”

“Move, move! Spears form up!”

The commander of the northern siege camp came out of his tent with his weapons at hand. He calmly observed the surroundings and concluded there was something off about this attack.

A horseman rode up to the commander and called out, “Lord, the enemy only number a few dozens. Their small number must’ve allowed them to slip through the scouts, but why would they boldly attack this place while badly outnumbered?”

The commander, with a grunt, ordered, “Don’t underestimate those northmen! Form up properly, and crush them thoroughly!”

The drone cavalry wreaked havoc across the camp, leaving a trail of bodies as they passed through groups of Rhankish soldiers. Javelin throwers and slingers tried to take out the metal beasts while spearmen tried to knock the riders off their mounts, though their attempts proved futile. After all, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to think that the riders were literally bolted to their war beasts.

Just as the Rhanks had thought they had managed to corner the rampaging northmen cavalry into small pockets, scouts had finally arrived at the camp with disturbing news. “Attack! There’s going to be an attack!” a scout shouted.

“You’re already too late, you slow bastards!” a serjent cursed. “The northmen are already inside the camp!”

“Northmen?! But I’m talking about the Vyssians!”

While the drones were busy distracting most of the camp defenders, groups of Vyssian riders emerged from the forest. Luckily, thanks to the competence of the commander, the Rhanks could answer the incoming threat immediately.

Rhankish horsemen rode out of the camp to meet the Vyssians headon. While the Rhanks weren’t confident that they could take down the northmen, they could at least stand a chance against the inferior Vyssian cavalry.

The horsemen at the front from both sides threw their javelins at each other before riding off towards the side to make way for their lancers. The collision was devastating for both sides; lances broke violently, men flew off their horses, and the corpses were trampled under the weight of the raging cavalry.

Both sides began engaging in close-quarters, swords and axes met as most riders lost their lances at the initial charge. Men who were dismounted got back on their feet to brawl with other dismounted enemies. Fatigue quickly built up from the combatants from what seemed like hours worth of fighting, but in reality, they had only been fighting for only minutes.

Although the Rhanks were winning, for some reason, the Vyssians were stubbornly holding their ground. The numbers on both sides dwindled, but it appeared as if the Rhanks were going to be the first one to rout.

“Why aren’t these brainless barbarians pulling back?! They’ll be slaughtered at this rate!” the Rhankish commander remarked vehemently as he observed the battle from the siege camp.

“Lord! Over there!”

The commander looked away from the battle and towards the horizon. Men in full armor sprinted out of the forest foliage and into the fields, their clanking heavy armor was accompanied by the dreaded battlecries of the northmen warriors. A chill went up into the spines of every Rhankish soldier - the northmen hath come!

“Enemy reinforcements?! How could this be?!” the commander yelled.

The Rhanks were quick to respond to the developing battlefield. Noblemen assembled scores of levies armed with spears to face off with the incoming northmen warband, while the rest of the soldiers tried to assemble a shieldwall in the back.

“Levies, spears! Up!” a nobleman ordered furiously as the spearmen moved forward. Despite how poorly equipped the peasant militias were, they made it up for their courage and desire to defend their homes against foreign invaders.

Even though the common farmer had already heard of how fierce the northmen warriors were, they also heard that conquered areas under the control of these savage barbarians would be laid to waste, leaving only empty scorched lands behind. Whether the rumors were exaggerated or not, the Rhankish folk were ready to defend their homes either way.

A drummer dictated the march of the spear levies, marching the formation towards the encroaching northmen. Once they were close enough, the warrior drones stopped in the tracks and formed a shieldwall. The screeching noise of the commanding huskarl drones scared the Rhanks, but they still continued their attack.

Shields clashed against spears, and almost immediately, the Rhanks were pushed back. The men at the front tried to move back, while the ones at the back tried to push forward, creating chaos within the militia ranks. Meanwhile on the other end of the clash, the drones made short work of the peasants as if they were chopping through wheat stalks.

Within seconds, the Rhankish levies were pulling back. In their place, a company of serjents moved forward. The difference between the peasant militias and the professional man-at-arms was like heaven and earth. Clad in full armor and armed with proper weapons, the serjents’ shieldwall managed to put up a better fight against the warrior drones.

However, unlike before, the warrior drones were adapted and improved based on the previous engagements with the Rhanks. Not only that, advancements in processing chips made the drones think faster while supporting a bigger body. This combination made the basic warrior drone a deadly foe to the serjents.

The Rhanks sliced and stabbed at the drones, but they were still being battered back by the relentless Varangian assault. The serjents’ line began to shift backwards as the center was whittled down, and they finally broke when their flanks were suddenly attacked by the battered Vyssian cavalry.

Despite losing against the Rhanks, the Vyssians didn’t intend on winning against them in the first place. Before the cavalry brawl could finish, the Vyssians turned tails and charged towards the Rhankish infantry lines. Compared to the Rhanks, the Vyssian cavalry were lighter armored and armed, allowing them to outrun their foes.

As the second line of defence disintegrated, the Rhanks sent in another shieldwall to continue the onslaught. The Vyssians, now only numbering a dozen, stuck themselves to the back of the drones as the Rhankish cavalry slammed right into the side of Custodian’s forces.

Unexpectedly, instead of the warrior drones flying away from the crash, it was more like the Rhankish horsemen had charged into a brick wall. The drones buckled themselves against the ground, and the ones behind them held onto them tightly. The Rhankish riders were thrown off their horses and fell directly into the swarm of drones, rendering their life span into split seconds.

As more and more Rhanks were thrown to the front, the drones started to buckle under the pressure. Despite their overall superiority in quality, they were still vastly outnumbered by the humans. Luckily for them, they didn’t really have to necessarily fight all the humans by themselves.

“Lord! From the forest!” a soldier yelled at the Rhankish commander.

“What?! More of them?!” the commander cursed. “Where are these northmen coming from?!”

“No, Lord! They’re Vyssians!”

A horn blow was heard across the battlefield, announcing the arrival of the Vyssian warbands. The Vyssians didn’t waste any time loitering around and began charging through the open fields.

“Retreat! Back into the camps! Use the camp’s defences!” a Rhankish nobleman ordered.

The Rhanks broke off from the warrior drones and ran straight into their siege camp while covered by their cavalry and ranged infantry. Though arrows and slingshots did little to the drones, they did good damage against the Vyssians.

“Lord, where did the Vyssians come from?!” a knight asked.

“They must’ve been trailing us the entire time, but why didn’t the scouts report this?!” the commander growled with fury. “Never mind that! Rally the men! We hold our ground!”

‘Smith, report,’ Custodian called out to the drone commander in Castle Marcoir.

‘Reinforcements have arrived. Estimated time until end of siege: five hours,’ Smith reported.

‘Too slow. Speed things up. Our construction drones could be put to better use rather than be used as makeshift defenders.’

‘Affirmative. Making maximum potential use of the humans.’

‘Good. We might as well test out how good the humans would be as vassals,’ Custodian concluded.