The amused murmur among the soldiers begins to falter. What starts as scattered grey patches in the sky thickens slowly. Clouds that were harmless moments before drift toward one another, gathering above the battleground like a slow-forming bruise.
Mockery fades into confused glances. Their captain's words — muffled, almost swallowed by the distance — plant doubt in their ears. As whispers rise, the shadows above stretch longer, one cloud merging with the next, darkening the field in an uneasy half-light.
Sir Camillo's grip around the princess's arm tightens. His jaw locks.
- Aack!
- What do you think you are doing?
At the princess's pained cry, Sir Raddick turns toward his captain, uneasy. His sense of justice refuses to hold his tongue.
- It was all a lie! They tricked us!
Sir Camillo shouts his own truth, attempting to decieve his men, his temper shattering.
- What are you talking about? We saw the hostages!
- I am the captain. The call is mine! Step aside, brother.
He retreats dragging the princess with him, being followed by the other two. The dwarves move closer to the knights trying to reach the rest of the battalion. When Sir Camillo tries to push his persuers away, he swings blindly behind him — his blade grazing the girl's arm by accident.
- Aack!
She cries out again as panic spreads through the knight. Now close enough, he shouts to the army:
- Raise your swords, you idiots!
Darian's eyes narrow, the storm reflected in the black of them.
Confused, the soldiers' air darkened, mirroring the soil beneath their boots. Thousands of iron boots pound the ground, shredding the green and grinding it to lifeless brown earth. As if answering to that violence, the heavy clouds above merge into one vast, suffocating shroud.
The clang of metal rises in a mournful symphony, swelling with the dry roar of distant thunder. The battlefield, once bright, is swallowed in shades of iron and ash — lit only by the storm's anger, mirroring the fury burning through Darian's chest.
His voice explodes through the chaos:
- You lying piece of shit! Warriors — to battle!!
Dwarf warriors and human soldiers crash into each other, their iron and metal accessories clanging like the clumsiest orchestra. The sounds are brutal and chaotic — clang, clash, tchss — painting the green battlefield in vivid red with touches of dirt.
Through the chaos, Lord Igion stormed in, booming over the clash of steel, directing dwarves to form ranks where disorder threatened.
Lost in the middle of it all, the three masters stand back-to-back, protecting one another and putting their internal arguments aside. They don't always agree — in fact, their personalities couldn't be more different — but dwarves protect their own. Their loyalty is as unshakable as the roughest mountain.
Two axes and one hammer carve their way through the chaos: Darian's massive one-sided slasher, Cornelious's medium double-edged axe, and Baliot's oversized heavy hammer crush the poor human soldiers around them with brute force.
Two bulky knights jump onto Darian at once. His enormous axe holds back both swords pressing down on him. Cornelious steps behind and frees him with a wide, powerful slash right in front of the knights. They stagger back, startled. Darian kicks one down. Cornelious brings the other to the ground.
- Thank goodness your old axe didn't give up on you!
- Your old bones aren't as bad as I thought either, Cornelious!
- Old?! Watch your old spine!
A soldier sneaks up on Darian as the two argue. Cornelious covers his back once more.
- Ooh, now you asked for it. Let's see who gathers more stinky heads!
Working together to push the humans back, Darian and Cornelious start a little contest to see who takes down more enemies.
The dwarves are fewer in number, but even being small, each can handle two or three soldiers at once. Knights, however, are another story — each dwarf can manage only one at a time. And for their misfortune, it looks like half of the king's coronated knights joined this battle. The dwarves are being pushed back; the humans grow closer and closer to the fortress walls, every single fight tight and desperate.
Baliot has drifted far from the other two masters — not a problem yet. From a distance, he spots the princess surrounded by three knights and heads straight for her. His heavy hammer swings all around him, smashing through the human metal in his path with brutal force.
Before he can reach them, a knight drenched in blood steps in front of him. His sword catches Baliot off guard and slashes his shoulder.
- You shall pay for what you did to the princess!
The golden knight's blade clashes loudly against Baliot's iron hammer. Their fight rings louder than the battles erupting around them. Sir Camillo towers over him, taking advantage of his height. He slashes relentlessly, raining blows down with endless swings and high arcs. Each strike crashes onto Baliot's guard, pushing him back step by step.
Baliot grits his teeth. The weight of the attacks forces him to keep his defense up. Every time he tries to counterattack, Sir Camillo's next strike shuts him down. His heavy hammer isn't meant to be swung upward — it's a weapon built to apply pressure, not endure it. Blocking high slashes is a losing battle.
He tries cutting the knight's swings mid-way, but even that is nearly impossible. Dodging upward blows from below, in the bulky body of a dwarf, is a nightmare. Sir Camillo's sword falls again, sparks bursting between steel and iron, the sound echoing like a bell tolling doom. Baliot's blood begins to paint the ground beneath his boots as wounds multiply across his arms and shoulders. His breath shortens. Fear crawls up his spine. His thoughts fill with regret... with the crushing dread of what will become of his people once his body falls cold and his blood dries into the soil...
A sharp hiss cuts through the chaos.
An arrow whistles past and forces them apart, catching both off guard. The knight staggers back in surprise. A second arrow flies, striking his sword and sending it skidding across the muddy ground.
High on the fortress wall stands Marion, crossbow steady in her hands. Beside her are Lord Igion and the dwarf women who stayed behind — their arrows avenging the heads that litter the battlefield. Another bolt slices off a lock of the golden knight's hair. His hand flies instinctively to his face.
Baliot doesn't waste the opening.
With a roar pulled from the deepest fire of his lungs, he swings. The hammer meets armor with a sickening crash.
The golden knight drops.
A faint, tired smile curls beneath Baliot's fluffy mustache — a spark of triumph glowing through the pain.
His hammer rises high above the fallen knight. A sharp crack echoes as it comes down on another, the dwarf's swing shattering the knight's wooden shield beneath it. He pivots, sweeping the hammer toward a soldier sneaking up from behind.
- Brother...
- Captain, are you uninjured?
Sir Raddick glances back at the fallen knight. Sir Camillo nods, rising to his feet with measured composure. The golden knight, bloodied and fierce, surveys the battlefield. Sir Raddick was tasked with guarding the princess. Sir Neitles, along with two soldiers under his command, now form a protective barrier around her. She remains tied and blindfolded, her only recourse the faith she places in her guardians.
- I shall deal with him. You — see to the princess's safety, Sir.
Sir Raddick casts his broken shield into the mud. The two-handed sword in his hands rises steadily toward Baliot. Tension coils in the air like a drawn bowstring before they charge. Steel clashes against iron, the sound amplified by a booming war horn. Its deep roar silences the battlefield for a heartbeat, cutting through the grunts and cries of men locked in combat.
All eyes snap toward the gate. Marion stands there, crossbow slung across her back, her garments shredded and stained, green hair whipping in the wind — the embodiment of a fierce, relentless, and strikingly beautiful warrior. Around her, the human hostages stand, alive and unharmed, framed by the chaos of the battlefield.
Valerie had been waiting for this signal, quietly biding her moment to step into the light and turn the tide against the human captain's dark intent.
- Sir, please release me.
Her hands rise toward Sir Neitles, who steps forward and swiftly severs the ropes binding her. She pulls the cloth from her head, lifting her chin with defiant grace for all to see. Though her face may be unfamiliar, her confidence alone commandS the field.
- The hostages are safe! Your captain has betrayed you! Not only did he put the hostages in danger by ordering this attack, but he imperiled all of his men as well. He is the reason your blood now colors these once-beautiful fields in a terrible red, shed for no cause. As your princess, I command you: lower your weapons!
Her voice rings with authority, striking each soldier as if her words were aimed at them individually. Confusion flickers across their faces, the tension breaking as one by one, weapons clatter to the ground. The dwarves remain among them, frowns deep, stance unwavering, vigilant as ever.