"Oh. It's you," Walter said.

Sir Eugene's boisterousness, by itself, could fill the open field. "With you at our side, it'll be a slaughter! Who would think I'd be on the frontline here?!"

Walter cleared his throat after realizing his concern about Sir Eugene holding a grudge was misplaced. "Well, I'll be counting on you."

"Don't leave us out," Ragnar said, testing the edge of his sword with this thumb. Composed, he said, "I have to admit, I'm also excited. Sir Walter, we were hired by a certain individual, and we'll be your personal guard."

Sir Eugene grasped Rangar's hand.

Sister Lora approached, smirked, and nodded.

"The Odinic Paladins were charged with stopping the Rangville cavalry from reaching Camp Wolf," Sir Eugene said, "I suggest we break away from the main battlefield. The closer we are, the easier it'll be to defend."

"We can't," Walter said, "We chose this field for the battle for a reason. I've prepared it ahead of time. If I go too far, then it won't work, and if I'm not helping you, then you don't have the battle-power to stop them."

"Prepared? How?" Ragnar said.

Walter took in a breath and made his explanation. When he finished, both men were flabbergasted.

"Is that possible?" Ragnar's disbelieving face refused to recover.

Sir Eugene roared, "I can't wait to see their faces! It's an honor to fight alongside you, after all! Nay, for you!"

"Sir Walter," Sister Lora shook her head, "That's beyond comprehension. Nothing like that has been done before."

"First time for everything," Walter said.

"If this is what we have to do," Sir Eugene said, "then I have a plan."

Ian kicked his horse and forced it to pick up the pace. Hundreds of cavalrymen raced at top speed behind him. If only a mere hundred could reach Camp Wolf, then they could wreak enough havoc to disable the camp and destroy it.

The soldier riding near Ian called out to get his attention, "Sir! Odinic templars are riding to intercept!"

They only sent dozens, though that might be the entirety of their Odinic Templars? Is this a blunder on their part? That's not enough to stop us, and why not Gaiatic Templars? They're much better on horses, with their 'Spiritual Mount' ability, and could probably harass us freely. Why leave them with the main army and send these berserkers? It's hard to believe Prince Wilhelm, the same man that stymied General Tybalt time and again, is this moronic.

Goosebumps prickled Ian's skin. It had to be a trap. Though he admitted to himself, the main army seemed much more haphazard than he expected. There's nothing to gain from that level of disorganization.

The Odinic Templars raced, without cover, straight down the road.

"Should we turn on them, sir?"

"They're desperate and baiting us," Ian's chilly voice stated, "Don't be distracted. Split the cavalry, send only enough me to stop them, and push through to our objective. The splitting unit needs to fight until we're away. The rest of us will cut through the wheat field."

Good luck, men. We need your sacrifice to finish this task.

Ian didn't want to turn his head at the cavalrymen racing down the road to stall the blood-lustful berserkers. He hoped some might make it. As long as the Odinic Templars were fighting, then they wouldn't leave their combatants until someone died.

Then, the completely unexpected happened.

His horse whinnied in pain, wobbled from a buck mid-stride, and tumbled to the ground. Ian flew through the air, the ground and sky alternated in his view as he spun, until he slammed into the snow and slid to a stop. The impact made his body forget how to breathe, and it took a moment for him to suck air into his lungs.

What happened. I didn't see any attack nor a trap!

Ian turned and expected it necessary to dodge the riders behind him. Yet, he was safe, because the same thing repeated to those behind him. Their horses died and tossed them, and Ian turned to face the aftermath.

Warhorses trembled and jerked on the ground. Horse chests tore open, some had mangled legs. An unseen force killed or crippled their animals. A mere few of the cavalrymen managed to keep their steeds intact, but nowhere near enough to raze Camp Wolf.

What happened?!

"Rally up! Mercenaries are attacking!" one of his soldiers shouted. Many of his men were too banged up to muster a defense.

Darkly clad men ran at them. One, in particular, their leader, carried dual swords, and he cut Ian's soldiers down with the precision of a pure killer.

Ian notched an arrow.

If I must die here, then I will complete my other objective!

"The Gruesome Hatchets are routing them. I'm going," Sister Lora said, "Are you sure you want to be the bait?"

"It's my idea, isn't it?" Walter grunted, working his injured arm, "Besides, the bastard will key in on me, anyway."

"If you're killed--"

"I won't be."

Sister Lora nodded before she sprinted at the fight.

"Hey!" Walter shouted.

The archer turned. As fast as the archer's hands could nock an arrow, he loosed them at Walter.

"You're fast, but I cast faster. I won't even need 'Magic Missile V' for this."

,,˙ǝlᴉssᴉW ɔᴉƃɐW,,

Arrows and orbs collided mid-air, splintered shafts, feathers, and arrowheads scattered in pops of light.

The archer tucked three arrows between his four fingers, notched them simultaneously, and loosed them as one.

"Neat," Walter muttered, "This feels a little unfair. Sorry about this."

,,˙II ǝlᴉssᴉW ɔᴉƃɐW,,

Four orbs streaked at the archer, and three decimated the three arrows on the way by. The fourth orb exploded on the archer's chest and sent him flying. His armor glowed.

"Magic armor, just like Sister Lora said."

The moment Walter invoked her name Sister Lora closed in on the archer. After one swipe of her dagger, the archer stiffened, trembled, and collapsed.

"Poison."