Nora twirled like a whirling dervish, her handaxes ignoring the armor and shields of the Trelawney Kingdom’s soldiers like a guillotine passing through thin air. With each movement, body parts were sent spiraling through the air and blood flowed like a macabre fountain. As she moved, the lines that were once prepared to face off against the Tyrant’s forces blossomed into red flowers of blood and gore.

If Vaile had watched the reactions of the Kingdom Soldiers, he would have been impressed by their ability to adapt, because mere moments after Nora got to work on the army it and its commanders realized that Nora was a problem that needed to be dealt with. Trumpets sounded to signal movement orders and the rear half of the army turned about face and tried to stop the crazed woman that was tearing them apart.

However, Nora’s attack had sent ripples through the whole army and, with it being as small as it was (roughly 3,000 men strong at most), the impact was intense. The moments of confusion that the army experienced were just enough to allow the rest of the Red Mountain convoy to seemingly form a wall with the wagons, either between or behind which the Red Mountain infantry stood.

“Bah! They think to use carts as a breakwater! Advance, and don’t worry about our rear! The men behind us will deal with the pest.”

One of the commanders, a relatively high ranking noble, spurred his horse forward and the rest of the other commanders and men followed closely behind. They stepped towards the Red Mountain line in a march that slowly sped up the closer they got. When they reached four hundred meters, they broke into a disorganized sprint with the horse-mounted commanders rushing ahead.

The Red Mountain line raised some bizarre wood and metal object and pointed them at the advancing line of Kingdom soldiers. Then the rear of the wagons, which as facing the advancing line of Kingdom troops, opened up.

And then, there was thunder and death.

The Red Mountain line spewed out a loud cracking sound and billowing smoke and, for some bizarre reason, over 300 men fell to the ground in either their death throes or in mortal agony. The large, tube-like objects in the carts did the same not too long after and with an even louder roar and plume of smoke, more of the soldiers of the King fell. This time, they were not bleeding from relatively smaller holes, but now they had massive chucks torn away. The object in the wagons turned and a second metal tube billowed out smoke and death. Then it rotated again and unleashed the same.

After the first volley had been fired, the Red Mountain Bandits had pulled out two more of the strange thundersticks, albeit much shorter and smaller versions. With one in each hand, they held their fire until the soldiers were nearly on top of them before unleashed their fire into the mass of troops. Holstering their smaller thundersticks, they drew their mix of various weapons and countercharged the soldiers.

Of the roughly 1500 men that began the charge, only about 700 made it to the Red Mountain Bandits. Against the uneducated brigands they were facing, who numbered only about 200, it should have been an easy victory.

But it wasn’t.

…

Red Mountain Bandits generally fought harder and better than any soldier of the Trelawney Kingdom. Years of learning their craft taught them how to deal with multiple, well-armed, well-armored and well-trained opponents. Besides, even without that, these were Seivalt’s personal guard. Seivalt had only ever picked the best of the best of the best for this position and personally broke anyone among them who got lazy. They were more disciplined than the soldiers, more tactically and strategically minded than the soldiers and had far more experience dealing with dangerous situations.

Compared to the glorified town guard they were facing; it was no contest. Seivalt’s Personal Guard were kitted out to make the best use of their capabilities. Their specially made studded leather armor was not only more durable than the standard steel that made up the armor of most of their foe’s defenses, but far easier to move in. Unlike the one-size-fits-all breastplate worn by the soldiers, each one of the Red Mountain Bandits there had custom fitted equipment and fought not with mass produced and cheaply made iron spears, but with weapons and tools that suited each of their styles personally.

The soldiers had expected that there would be no resistance worth noting.

What they got was fight worth seeing in an action flick. The 200-man force of Red Mountain Bandits not only held the line but began to push back. Ideally, the Trelawney Kingdom’s soldiers would have gone for an encirclement, but the Red Mountain Bandits had cleverly positioned themselves between a small, yet deep and fast flowing river and a bunch of rocks that seemed to stretch deep into the beastman-infested forest.

The soldiers could navigate neither, and thus were funneled to a killbox and then to an unsustainable, Thermopylae style battle.

…

“Where are the commanders?!” “Where are the nobles?!” “We need to retreat! Someone, give the order to retreat!”

The meat grinder churned through the bodies of the Trelawney Kingdom’s soldiers as they were pushed from front and back. From behind them, their own comrades surged towards the Red Mountain Bandits, heedless to the fact that they were doing more harm than good. From in front, the small group of brigands reduced anyone who got close to a broken or shredded corpse.

Suddenly, a wave of horrible sickness swept over the lines of the soldiers. It was as if something truly abhorrent, something so twisted and monstrous that the very air putrefied in its presence stepped forth into the world.

Then the sound of an instrument began to sound out, if something so disgusting could be called one. More abominable instruments began to join in and the voice of some hideous mockery of all things in existence boomed out over the sounds of soldiers vomiting.

“And now, a song for you, my foes! Sung by yours truly, me, Vaile!”

By the love of the Gods, what kind of monster made that…

The Trelawney Soldiers looked up, and then nearly passed out due to the sheer ugliness of what they saw.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! Your king’s a bitch! He’s a big fat bitch! He’s the biggest bitch in the whole wide world! He’s the shittiest bitch if there ever was a bitch and he’s a bitch to all the boys and girls!”

…

Vaile had decided to actually participate in the fight, to some degree. He had managed to get his Bard secondary profession up to maximum in the game, so he knew how to play and how to sing. He clambered up on top of the carriage he was in and surveyed the battlefield. There it was, in all its glory, a sight he had seen many times in the game. The broken bodies of multitudes strewn about like autumn leaves, the red stains of blood seeping into the land. It was all so… nostalgic.

Of course, he only experienced this when he was forced to use his Tamed Beings to fend off groups of PK’ers and NPCs, but the sight did make him remember the good old days.

“Well, time to get to work." Vaile popped a skill from the Bard secondary profession that let him use multiple instruments, [One Man Band], and then began to partially disrobe. First, off came his mask, then came most of his other ability sealing garments. The smell of vomit soon accompanied the other scents present, but Vaile paid it no mind.

He had a show to perform.

With a few simple bars and a mere 39 words, the whole of the Trelawney force, even those still fighting the crazy lady, passed out with foam spilling from their mouths, their ears bleeding and their eyes having rolled back into their heads.

Vaile surveyed the damage his inherent ability had caused and shrugged.

“What? Am I that bad? I didn’t even get to finish the song! What a terrible audience.”

The Red Mountain Bandits, who were entranced by Vaile’s singing and appearance, only began to move once Vaile put his outfit and mask on again and deactivated the skill.

Seivalt stepped out of the carriage and looked at his personal guard, then at the bodies of the unconscious soldiers.

“What are you waiting for?!” he bellowed in his old and horse voice, “Kill them! They dare to show that kind of reaction to Lord Vaile’s performance? What do they deserve?”

The cry of “DEATH! DEATH!” echoed out from all still conscious (aside from Vaile himself) and the slaughter began anew.

“Gotta kill ‘em when they’re down, I guess…” Vaile muttered as he slipped back into the carriage.