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Mikasa stared at the note, trying to make sense of it. She saw the letters, surely, but still it seemed so strange to her. It made no sense. The seal was another noble house, a smaller one, than those who gave commands to the armies. With quick words, she muttered under her breath, repeating the sentences. It spoke of a deal, of an arrangement. The names were all but erased from the recent battle, the note being cut and burned during the battle, most likely. The wind blew yet again, causing Mikasa to look up and around on the battlefield. She saw nothing and grimaced. The night was making her uncomfortable, especially being alone with the horse.

The woman looked back to the face of the dead boy. She furrowed her eyebrows, wondering what in the world he had gotten himself into, that ultimately had led to his untimely end. The note was swiftly stuffed into a pouch, as she rose back up. She tugged the horse along, once again continuing to scout the battlefield. In the middle of the stench of already rotting corpses and dried blood, a single groan repeated itself not far from the woman. “Hold here.” She muttered to the horse, completely aware it was not going to respond nonetheless. With steady steps, she drew her blade, approaching the groaning carefully. A man lay upon the ground, staring up at the approaching woman.
Without a word, he swiftly grabbed her foot, trying to force her down to the ground. Mikasa kept her ground, though almost slipping. In response, the man jumped up, drawing his sword and eyeing his opponent. It was another foreigner. Mikasa observed him, considering his actions. He may have done it out of surprise, or actually tried to gut her. Whatever reason, he was standing. His face was a mess. The man had most likely spent hours lying in the dirt – for whatever reason.

“Stay your blade! I do not wish for another fight!” Mikasa shouted out, still in the Western language. The man paused, quirking an eyebrow at the woman. He spat out, cursing at her.

“I will not hear your words, lying wench! You slaughtered us!” He shouted out, on the brink of attacking. Mikasa knew her words would not hold him back, and the seconds were counting. She had to think of something.

“Please! I am here to prevent any more fighting! I wish for peace for both our kingdoms!” Mikasa lowered her sword, holding up her other hand at the man, to try enforce her words. Raindrops started to fall upon the ground, quickly picking up their pace and wetting the ground beneath them.

“Liar!” The crusader shouted out, charging at her. Much to her surprise, he rose his sword and shield, with no intention of listening to the woman. He certainly seemed more eager to fight than the crusaders she had met earlier. Though, seeing the battlefield Mikasa did not blame him. Not that she had time to, either.

Mikasa brought up her blade, meeting his sword with a clash. He threw his shield forward, causing Mikasa to stagger back. The Crusader did not hold back and yet again swung his sword. Mikasa quickly stepped towards the side, trying to deflect the blade coming straight for her. The two exchanged blows, a song of steel ringing throughout the otherwise silent battlefield. Both of the fighters released loud screams as they swung their weapons, one of them aiming to kill.

The woman send her blade forward several times, using the momentum as force for the attacks. Finally she twisted her foot 45 degrees, and send a kick straight for the man’s lower stomach. Her hip turned with her, speed not being favored in the armor. The plated shin guards did most of the damage, as the kick flew straight into the chainmail of the man. Quickly using the brief moment of surprise, Mikasa slashed her blade down towards the man. It cut straight into his neck, causing his eyes to widen as he dropped to his knees and his weapons equally. His hands flew straight to his neck, in an attempt to stop the blood oozing. Stunned by the cut, Mikasa dropped her blade as well, rushing to put her hands on the wound.

The man looked up at her, panic having struck him as life faded with haste.

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The crusader gurgled, blood spilling out of his mouth as his world faded to black, slumping into the dirt. The battlefield was now silent once more, with an eerie moonlight painting it like a dramatic piece in an epic. The raindrops were steady and constant, ever so slowly washing the blood off Mikasa's hands.
Moments slowly passed as the realization washed over her like the rain. It was broken only by the sound of stumbling to her left. If she turned, she'd see Soka with a head caked in blood stepping slowly from the side of the battlefield, his face grim as his eyes were dark.


"That bitch." Rylen seethed, seeing what had just transpired below. Mel had told him to stay put, and for a moment he was going to tell his friend to shove it up his ass. He wasn't his commander! But in his head, he knew that Mel had been right. Swordfights did not often last long in real time. By the time he rode down there, one of them would have been dead already. Better to stay hidden. He swore though that if any other crusader made a movement, he would gallop down there even if he was ordered to stay put by the King himself.

"Seems you didn't hit that one hard enough." Mel noticed, nodding over to the left of the battlefield. Rylen squinted, before it dawned on him that a familiar figure was shambling towards the murderess. "I don't think I'll ever make that mistake again." he promised, his voice full of the promise of death and vengeance. That had been one of his men down there. Someone he might have shared a meal with in the past and had a laugh with. He couldn't see his face from so far away and to his back but...
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Mikasa stumbled backwards, barely staying on her feet. The crusader had collapsed on the ground, Mikasa’s attempt at stopping the bleeding being for naught. A swift sensation of guilt rushed over her, as she watched the lifeless corpse on the ground. She had killed before, yes, but it was years ago – and in war. Within her was a sea of emotions, a strange happiness that she had gotten away unharmed, but sorrow for ending a life, as it was not her intention. He was furious, and once again spoke of putting the blame on Heroshida. Along with the note in her pocket, the confusion grew within. A light sulking overcame the girl, perhaps without herself even noticing, as she stood there on the battlefield, surrounded by death.

Finally Mikasa looked up, at the sound of the approaching man. It was hard to see him in the dark, but the attire gave Soka away. He approached with heavy steps, silent in his arrival. The young girl grabbed her blade again, rising up as her temper followed suit. Furious, confused, angry, Mikasa could not quite decide. She wiped her face, letting lines of blood take their place upon it. She shouted out, her voice almost cracking as she spoke.
“Why?! Why would you do this?!” Mikasa spoke in her native language, barely getting a response from Soka. He stopped, looking to the dead crusader, and then back up at the woman.

“Would’ve spared me the trouble if those crusaders had not been so good-hearted. And if that one had done his job.” His voice was hollow and cruel, almost hissing towards Mikasa as he spoke. A grip tightening on the blade in his hand.

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Meldarion's eyes squinted a bit in recognition of something occurring below. Rylen felt his demeanor changing more than saw it, and he glanced to his half breed friend. "What is it?" he asked him. Meldarion didn't answer at first, holding his gaze to the battlefield below. He saw the figure of Soka approaching Mikasa, holding his sword in one hand, his other arm almost limp, blood dripping off his fingers from his hand holding his head steady.

"Don't you get it, Mikasa?" Soka seethed, walking towards her in a steady but slow stride. "The war between our nations is inevitable." His words fell upon her like a portcullis, signaling an unspoken fear aloud for the world to hear. "Better it begins on our terms, and brings the right people into power. The Westerners will be used like the weapons they are, and we shall reap the benefits once this conflict is over. But first, it has to start. We are now on the brink..." He was very close now, his dark eyes promising her a swift death.
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”You’re mad.” Mikasa whispered back at him, almost in shock as she spoke. Soka was standing dangerously close, with his sword resting in his hand. She could see the rage in his eyes, as he stood right before her. The limping man grinned at her, shaking his head. “I am not mad, dear Lady. I will be known as one of the few who started our path to victory. And you, you will be known as the catalyst that sparked it all.” Soka almost whispered at her, with a dark and gloomy voice. Mikasa hoisted up her blade, staring at the approaching man, with a clear intention in his gaze. With a sinister smile planted upon his bloody face, the cold blade by his side was raised up with determination to kill.

The cold battlefield below them was almost like wet mud by now. At least it felt as so to Mikasa, as if the ground had clawed into her feet, holding her in place. Still, her body took control, preparing for the worst. Soka continued his taunting, having his blade ready with the only good arm. “You are no better yourself. You cut them down just the same. You pretend to hold love for them, yet you fought them as well!” He almost shouted at this point, anger filling the air around the two. Mikasa’s breathing became quicker, as she felt the adrenaline beginning to surge throughout her veins. She spoke again, loudly and frustrated. “Don’t pretend like you know what I’ve done! I hold no love for them, but I do not want another war!” Mikasa barely finished her sentence, before Soka charged – or well, limped forward. The blades clashed again, and the cold steel blade found it’s way towards Mikasa’s stomach, digging through the armour and causing the woman to scream out in pain, as she almost helplessly attempted to defend herself.

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Soka gave her a mad grin as he twisted his blade within her. He had expected a better match from her, but it seemed her lack of spirit drained the strength of her arm as well. "Our cause cannot be stopped." he told her with finality, and he pulled his sword out of her one last time, before raising his blade up. It would be the last words he ever uttered, for an arrow punched through his neck from the tree line. It was an arrow that Mikasa would recognize. It was one of Soka's that he had lost when they had charged after the foreigners.

If she looked out to the trees, she'd see Meldarion there holding Soka's bow. His face grim and the bowstring still slightly shuddering from the power of the shot. Rylen rode up from out of the trees, his horse halting with a neigh. "Oh for God's sake." he uttered, very tired of this farce. Meldarion said nothing to his companion. He only tossed the bow to the ground, and rested his hands on the sash belt at his waist. Soka collapsed to the ground, blood gurgling from his lips and neck.

"Why would he attack you." the Swordsmaster asked, his voice brooking no argument or denial. He gazed at her, straight into her soul with his penetrating eyes. He seemed to care very little at the moment that she had been wounded, perhaps grievously.
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The pain was searing in her stomach. She had barely managed to stay standing upon her feet, as her hand had also stormed to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Her gaze went to the man as he approached. She frowned at him, looking over her shoulder for the horse. Surprisingly, it had not fled yet. Behind the Swordmaster, Mikasa could see the crusader approaching. When she did not answer at first, Meldarion repeated his question. His gaze was cruel and of no compassion, piercing straight into the mind of the young Swordmaiden.

“Hrmph!” Mikasa started, as she looked towards her even bloodier hand. She looked up towards Meldarion, as she rose to full figure. “What does it matter to you?” She continued, seemingly with full intentions of interrupting Meldarion, should he decide to speak again. “He and I do not share the – Argh! Bloody-.. !” She cursed out at her stomach, scoffing heavily. “We do not share the same ideals.” But she stopped, looking down towards the dead man. “Did.”

Meldarion squinted his eyes at her, speaking again. “Why?” his voice had not changed, still inquisitive and cold. The Crusader had approached, looking at Mikasa with a hint of anger in his eyes. Gods, they had probably seen the fight, if they were here now. She sighed to herself, talking reluctantly. “There are some people who would rather see House Shuenaii in the ground.” Mikasa sighed, stuffing her fingers through the broken plate, pressing on the wound.

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Meldarion gazed at her with an unreadable look. He could be filled with suspicion or just contempt it looked like. His body did not move as he regarded her, and without second thought, he snapped his fingers. The man's horse trotted over to him. He pet the beast's mane as if he truly cared for the creature, then brought it over to Mikasa. "Here." he said, handing her the reins. He expected her surprise.

"Take this and go back from whence you came." he told her. "Do what you can, where you can. Perhaps we shall meet again." Rylen's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What are you doing, Mel?" he demanded. Meldarion ignored him, giving her a nod, before turning his back to her and walking away. Rylen hesitated, then followed Mel into the wilderness, leaving a very confused Mikasa.

"Mel, what are you thinking?" he asked. "Why give that bitch a horse!? Tell me!" Meldarion sighed, then glanced at Rylen. "Because she is not one looking to harm us. And when war does come...it would be better to find an east that is divided than an east that is united against us."
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With a gasp for air she forced herself unto the horse, huffing as she sat in the saddle. The horse trotted onwards, with the bleeding woman on top of it. Her hand was still locked on the wound, trying to cease the flowing blood much as she could. The time passed as she rode back towards the Fort, her eyes flickering every now and then. Mikasa did not have time to consider the events, not with the wound at her side. The gaze of the Swordmaiden wandered towards her stomach, causing a frown in the night. The Dorochai Point lit up with a few torches in the distance. She was close now, though it did not feel that way at all.

“Bring the mender!” One of the soldiers shouted, as Mikasa sat hunched over on her horse, barely staying awake after the loss of blood. A few men assembled around the courtyard, to catch a glimpse of the on-going events. The girl slipped off her horse as slammed unto the ground with a thud, barely staying conscious in the night. The faces of the people were blurry, and all their words mixed together in a stream of voices. Time was still hard to grasp, but she did feel the weight of her armour eventually being removed, and the sensation of a stinging liquid pressed against the wound. Mikasa caught the sight of some elder man, staring at her with a grim expression planted on his weary face.

*

Her tired eyes admired the rays of the sun dancing through the glass window. The infirmary was less filled than the night before, almost only being occupied by Mikasa and a few other soldiers. She glanced carefully to her stomach, once again setting her eyes upon the bandage covering up the wound. The former night was still a blur to her, but she could at least make out the small bits and pieces that had planted themselves like a seed in her mind. The sound of steel and plate being treated could be heard outside, and Mikasa had been told they were preparing for another attack, should it happen. Moreso, she had had no say in the matter, much as she wanted to protest against another fight. But a wounded Swordmaiden, and a Lady at that, would not simply be tossed aside.

She wet her lips carefully, nudging her forehead before running a hand through her mildy messy hair. All she could do for now was look through the window, awaiting the inevitable

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Meldarion and Rylen made it back to the keep in the dead of night, making it back without any incident. Rylen went up to his rooms and had trouble getting to sleep, sweat and blood needing to be wiped off himself as he prepared himself for the sleep he knew he needed. His dreams were filled with violence and blood, and he awoke to the sound of a great horn being trumpeted across the plains that would precede further into the forest and the Dorochai pass.

He took a quick few gulps of water and poured the rest of the cleaning bucket atop himself, before suiting up and making his way down the stairs and into the castle courtyard, Knights already getting prepared for war. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked the Lord of the Castle, who turned to him and answered imperiously. "We've received information on the strength of the enemy fortress. We're going to attack then and take the fortress by nightfall. Mount up, Commander."
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The day passed on, and the constant sound of preparing troops were slowly taking its toll on Mikasa. She frowned at the sight, but did not protest. It was not in her place to do so, and no one would accept it even if she suggested it. There had been no words of reinforcements yet, and it would most likely be two days after the letter had been sent, that they would arrive. There was still at least a day, and the Fort could not wait. Mikasa had placed herself upon a crate, staring at the soldiers passively, as she sat there, with rags around her stomach and one around her forehead. The breeze waved through her dark hair, bringing a calming sensation to her. Calming as it could be, under the circumstances. The soldiers did not even give her a single gaze, being far too focused on the preparations. They had dug trenches all day, prepared spikes outside the Fort and stacked up on arrows.

The sky had cleared up. The few white clouds sitting lonesome in the blue sea above them. There had been no sightings of the Westerners, but everything was to be expected. Mikasa dwelled on the evening before, trying to make sense of what all of them had said. As the sun began to wander down, the noises dulled away. Silence overtook the Fort. Few men even spoke, but kept to themselves. No one spoke, indeed, but they all knew what was about to happen. They were few at the Fort, and had to count on the defenses to even stand a chance. But a chance there was, Mikasa convinced herself as she skipped away from the crates, walking up towards the wall. A man offered his hand for the final step, with a stern smile along with it. The Lady dipped her head as she pulled herself up with his aid, groaning. The landscape became darker by the minute, and thus, it was then she could sense it. Peace was about to be forgotten.

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Rylen gazed at the contingent of troops now marching toward what would be nothing short of a world war. Five Hundred men in all marched or rode, every one of them grim faced and sweating from the heavy armor and warm heat of the noonday sun. About 25 men and 15 mules pulled along engines of war to help them fell the walls of the fort they were now approaching. At the center of the procession was Lord Herbet's carriage. The Lord was hidden within it, but it was what lay strapped on top that drew the eyes of the men. The prisoner they had captured and tortured had been stripped naked and tied atop the carriage to demoralize the troops of the approaching fort.

Rylen felt sorry for the man, Easterner though he was. It wasn't a fit way for anyone to be handled. But then again, after watching his own comrades killed, he had a bit less sympathy for the people who would be his enemies by night fall. He turned around to face forward again, his steed at a reasonable trot that matched the marching men around him.

Beside him walked a burly Knight wielding a huge warhammer name Kerler. The man had a strong jaw and short cropped beard and head of hair, and a signature, hearty grin upon his face. He was so tall that he couldn't quite equip a regular suit of armor on. Instead he simply had a chest piece on his torso, and hip guards strapped to his waist to protect him down to his knees. "Gonna be a fight tonight, eh?" he asked Rylen, his voice coarse and gruff. The Crusader had to agree, and nodded. They were now passing through a thinner part of the forest, and were nearly to the spot of the battle the day before.
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The mud splashed loudly beneath the hooves of the horse that stormed through the night. The Heroshidan quickly peered over his shoulder, his breath fast and heavy. He could still sense the lights in the distance, the sea of fire resting calmly by the end of the forest. With a gulp he turned his head back towards the way of the Dorochai Fort. The horse galloped onwards, until the fort was finally in sight. Quickly the gates were opened, and the scout trotted inside, catching his breath just as the comrades were approaching him eagerly. The faces all had hope on them, though fear of his words were hidden in between. Reluctantly, the scout shook his head, before talking to the officer.
“Hundreds. They’re prepared for siege and a full army. They’re not going to stop at the Fort.”
He said, sighing. In return, the Officer grimaced, before nodding. “The tunnels are prepared. Should all go wrong, we’ll retreat through them.” A voice interrupted him, before he could continue.

“If?! They have hundreds! What do we have? Forty? Fifty? We can’t hold more than an hour!” A young man shouted, sounding defeated already.

Mikasa observed the gathering in the square, furrowing her brows. The Fort was crucial, and the battle seemed impossible. But as she stood and watched, it was still the City her mind went to. Her mother, brothers and Naria were probably worried out of their minds. The news had to have reached the townsfolk by now. A group of soldiers scurried into the fort, breaking her line of thought as they did. They came with empty buckets, which they refilled with some liquid Mikasa could not make out what it was. But the last hour they had been going out there, pouring it on the ground.

“Approaching lights!” a shout came from the tower of the Fort, instantly making every man, and the only woman in the fort run about to their positions. Bows and crossbows were prepared, swords were drawn and silence once again overcame them. Mikasa peered over the wall, the sound of hundreds of horses and men marching towards them being dominant in the night. A heavy dullness rested on every shoulder within a few miles, with only the sound of strings being pulled within the Fort. Whispers came from a man, and spread to the end of the wall.

“Release as soon as they move.” They muttered besides Mikasa, who simply held the end of her blade, taking in a last breath before the storm.

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Like a tide of flame, the men of the west marched out of the forest with torches with gleaming helmets and swords. It was slow and ominous, but make no mistake, for they were here. "Get those engines in place!" one voice could be heard from far off. "Get moving! Form ranks!" another called. Just out of bowshot, the men began to form up in rough lines. 40 men across, and 10 men deep were the ranks. The Cavarly stayed to the side, ready to take any advantage they could from the coming battle.

One single torched moved out of the army of men below the walls, riding up closer to the gates. It was Rylen the crusader. He reined his horse in, and to those watching, they could see he simply looked up at the battlements. "Hail! Fortress of the pass!" he called, his words echoing across the valley and walls. "We come to take this pass in the name of our God and people! It was not we who cast the first stone, but that very stone has begun an avalanche that will bury your world if you oppose us!"

He let his words sink in, before continuing. "You need not die today!" he explained. "We give free passage to any who wish to leave. We want to the pass, not your lives. Flee, and you will be spared. Stay, and once we break through, those who attempt to flee later will be given no quarter. Choose now."
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A haunting silence had overcome the Fort. The soldiers were considering the offer, but the sense of duty held them in place, even in the face of defeat. Mikasa eyed the sea of flames before them. Soldiers, structures for siege and riders were ready to charge them down. They had spent the entire day preparing for the arrival, and their plan just might work to at least take some of them out, and perhaps give them enough time to flee with some honour intact. One of the officers next to Mikasa had folded his arms, observing and certainly considering their opportunities. He was an experienced man, perhaps in his forties or so. His voice worn and coarse.

“They’re too far away. Our bows cannot hit them.” He muttered, perhaps to Mikasa, or perhaps to himself. Nonetheless, the Swordmaiden answered.

“You think attacking is our best option?” She turned her head, adjusting the bandage on her head. She was in doubt herself. Was fighting truly the best option? For honour, surely, but would it even benefit them? The woman looked back to the possibly soon-to-be battlefield. The Westerners most likely had no idea what had been done to the ground in front of them. Buckets of oil had been poured unto the ground, and once within range, it was the plan to ignite it with arrows of fire. It would hopefully create a huge wall of fire, taking enemy soldiers with it, and allowing the Heroshidans to escape through the tunnels meanwhile. But it was a long shot, and dangerous.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the courtyard with twenty or thirty soldiers running about. “I do not wish to lie down and surrender myself to these lunatics. But we’re risking what few soldiers we have left.” He nodded, placing his hands on the walls as he squinted his eyes.

A larger figure stood on the wall, in the centere of it. He had a long cloak resting from his shoulders, and his hand clasped behind his hands. With a loud voice, he answered the Westerners.

“You have trespassed into our sacred lands! Defiled our traditions, and now you come to claim our world in the name of your fraudulent God! Turn back, lunatics of the West, or face the fire of Heroshido! Even if you take this fort, your lives will be claimed in our lands! They are unforgiving, and you have angered the soil itself!” The Commander finished, scoffing in the dead of the night.

The Commander of the fort waved the officer next to Mikasa to him, and whispered lowly. Upon the officer’s return, Mikasa simply looked up at him, hopeful in her eyes.

“The archers will remain on the wall. We’ll fire upon the enemy, and ignite the oil as soon as they’re close enough. The swordsmen will flee through the tunnel meanwhile.” He wasn’t very convincing in his voice, but Mikasa quickly answered.

“And me? What will I do?” She looked to the battlefield, nervous in her mind.

The officer’s dark eyes settled upon her, eyeing her figure and person equally. Slow in his tone, he spoke.

“Pray, perhaps.”

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"Very Well" Rylen called, and galloped back toward his lines with an arm in the air. With a nod from the Lord, he cried out "Forward!" and waved his hand down to signal the time for advance. The soldiers marched forward, as did the siege engines. The lines that moved forward were rough, with shields up to deflect arrow fire. Perhaps an arrow or two would make it to the siege engines, but they were created to have bits of shields welded to them to deflect incoming missiles at the men who were manning the machines.

Still, the soldiers up front who were holding their shields up to deflect missile fire were as much as distraction from the siege engines as they were closer to the fort to be able to charge once there was a breach. "Come on!" the huge Kerler called, hefting his hammer, obviously itching to charge forward into the castle. Rylen sat stone faced as the mangonels began to rain stones at a section of the wall left to the gate. The rocks hurled there cracked against the set stone, causing small dents in the structure. It would only take time for it to break.
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“Now!” The officer shouted out, just as another stone was tossed into the wall. The archers stopped their fire briefly, instead dipping their arrows in oil and lighting them upon the braziers on the wall. Now, burning arrows were rained upon the invaders, but not with the intention of hitting them. Instead, it was aimed at the ground beneath them. A single arrow flew straight through the formation, digging into the ground beside two soldiers. The ground was lit up beneath them. Flames burst out from the ground, as the oil was set aflame. Though the flames were not big, they were spreading on the oiled ground. Mikasa observed the spreading flames with a heavy frown. It was clear that they had not had enough oil to cover the ground for so many soldiers, but still an area was lighting up. Few of the enemy soldiers panicked, and retreated a few lines back. The tactic would barely kill more than a few of them, but it was something.

Behind the breaking wall soldiers were retreating through the tunnels. The archers on the walls shoved containers of stone down towards the attackers, and ran down from the wall. There were so many. The only hope they had to defend the Fort would be to force them into a bottleneck. But alas it would be hopeless. Mikasa stormed down, barely in her armour. “Assembled in the courtyard! Prepare bolts and arrows!” the officer shouted as he followed Mikasa down. The wall was on the brink of breaking by now. The few soldiers left in the Fort had prepared crossbows loaded with bolts and lined them up, ready for the breach. The only woman there drew her blades, consumed by her mind. Mikasa stood further back, closer to the tunnels. A shattering final blow to the wall forced a hole in it, followed by cheers from the Crusaders.

The first wave stormed in, but was met by a flurry of bolts fired straight their way. Screams of the dying and whistles of arrows and bolts filled the courtyard. All of it was such a horrifying sight, the dying, and the soon to be dead. A few Crusaders broke through, forcing the Heroshidan fighters to draw steel. Talented as they were they managed to hold off the Crusaders for now, but it was only a matter of time. Mikasa charged forward in her light outfit, still with bandages wrapped around her. She caught a soldier off-guard, knocking him down with the pommel of her sword. And as she looked out through the breach, she cursed out. Beside a huge giant she spotted a familiar face.

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The fire hurt their morale more than their numbers, but that was quickly overcome. The Eastern Archers were fierce, but the Crusaders sent volley after volley to answer the attacks. All in all, the siege was going quite well at the moment. It was not a quick affair, and no siege was without casualties to the attackers, but their concentrated firepower and well disciplined ranks held up fine here. Rylen had to remind himself it would be harder to deal with later when they pushed further into Eastern territory. This was merely a fortified outpost at best.

The walls before them crumbled. The fires had since been put out with dirt, and Rylen ordered the regiment to move forward. "Shields up!" the Sergeants cried as the men stepped forward and marched into the breach. They waded into a sea of arrows. Many of them bounced off shields and armor, but others pierced flesh and the dying began. Soon a melee broke out, and Kerler grinned as he gripped the haft of his warhammer.

Rylen dismounted from his horse, strapping on his shield and making his way in with his men. Kerler strode with him, the man a head taller than Rylem (and Rylen wasn't a short man). The huge warrior crushed a man's skull with a back handed swing. "Filthy heathens." he cried. Rylen blocked a sword thrust and returned with one of his own, slashing next and taking a man in the throat. All around them the melee commenced. The Easterners fought with a desperate fury, but the Crusaders were armored and no slouches. Their numbers would win out soon if nothing else.

Rylen suddenly spotted Mikasa knocking a Crusader to the ground, and the man stopped for a moment, his eyes a warning glare. They screamed 'flee or die'. Why he did not attempt to attack her right there he didn't know. Perhaps it was because he knew she wasn't particularly mean spirited at heart.
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The Swordmaiden met the gaze of the Crusader. Her own eyes were filled with a surge of adrenaline and perhaps fear. Not a fear for dying, certainly, but a fear of what would come for both of them after this one battle. Surely many would follow, and with battles came death. Yet the man did not charge her like his comrades had. This puzzled Mikasa more than calmed her. She had been reluctant to fight, but were not about to abandon her people, not while there were still some standing. The small breach prevented too many crusaders from charging in, but again, it was only a matter of time.
“What are you doing?” Mikasa muttered to herself, panting in her place.

“Look at that! A woman with a sword, hah! I’ll get her!” One of the crusaders shouted out, and while she was rusty on her Western, she knew it did not bode well. Mikasa gave a last glance to Rylen, almost an apology. She knew her own position and his. He had given her chances to run, for whatever reason. But how could she? The shouting crusader had gathered two more soldiers to come along with him, running slowly in their heavy armor for the woman.
Without hesitation Mikasa turned around and darted for the infirmary, seeking to lure them into an enclosed area. That was the plan so far, at least.

“Come on!” the officer shouted out in his native language, nonchalantly dancing around with his blade, landing several blows and cuts to the crusaders. The cold night was as relentless as the battle in the fort, with screams and shouts everywhere. The Heroshidan officer caught the sight of the taller crusader, smirking to himself as he held his blades at the ready, challenging the giant where he stood.

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One Heroshidan warrior was unfortunate enough to have his head caved in by Kerler, brain matter and hair flying as the body fell over limply. The huge westerner hefted his warhammer again, turning to see he was being challenged. He chuckled darkly. "Saves me the trouble of having to find you..." he said, approaching the officer and bouncing the haft of his weapon on the palm of his hand.

A few of the crusaders broke off and chased Mikasa into the infirmary, or towards it before they were halted by their Captain. "Stop!" Rylen called. "I'll take care of this." Somewhere, even the midst of battle, a laugh could be heard from within the maelstrom. Meldarion the half breed stepped out, his sword bloodied. "Allow me." he said to Rylen. The Crusader looked at Mel oddly. He had not known that his friend had rode with the column. A hidden message of understanding passed between them. "Alright."

Meldarion ran after Mikasa, hacking down another warrior before he stepped into the Infirmary with drawn steel.
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