Chapter 18 18: Bretonian counteroffensive

I'm thinking of setting a goal of power stones per extra chapter. Are you interested? ------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. ------------------------------- "That's it... that's it, nice and still, nice and still and..." I was murmuring to myself as I aimed at the Bretonnian archer watching one of the paths. I pulled the trigger on the arquebus, feeling the weapon's kick against my hand as it fired. There was a jolt, but the sound faded quickly—my ears were completely blocked with the improvised plugs I'd made. For a moment, I was blind, wrapped in a thick white smoke that slowly cleared around me. I spent a few seconds trying to wave it away. "Ugh, I missed!" I muttered in frustration, watching the Bretonnian archer sprint back toward his comrades, likely to warn them of the incoming attack."How did I miss that? Damn it...!" I kept grumbling while watching him vanish down the road, powerless to stop him. "Out of nearly twenty shots, I've only landed two? Dwarven quality, my ass..." I cursed under my breath, starting to reload the arquebus with quick, practiced movements, frustration buzzing through me. The process was repetitive, but necessary. Powder—laid in carefully. Ball—placed with precision. Finally, the match—secured and ready. The last week had been insane. We'd managed to hit three Bretonnian camps before they even realized the Margrave had sent retaliation for the raid. When the Duke of Montfort found out he'd lost about five hundred men and several knights in a swift strike, he wasted no time sending a large force of knights and men-at-arms. Since then, we'd been stationed in the first Bretonnian camp we attacked. After clearing out the corpses and shoveling the dirt to remove the stench of death, we fortified the place. We knew we weren't alone in Bretonnian territory—a still-unknown force was lurking, trying to drive us out. Hard to tell if this was escalating or cooling down. Trade between the two realms was still going, but it was harder now to assist merchants if bandits or greenskins struck. Daily skirmishes between Imperial and Bretonnian troops kept the tension high. The fights were quick. A few soldiers clashing with another group during patrols. We'd taken some losses, but the Bretonnians had lost far more. The state pistolier regiment, apparently, was very good at these engagements. They always carried multiple pistols, which allowed them to drop several threats quickly. Not long ago, I saw one of them shoot down four Bretonnian men-at-arms without much trouble. The speed and chaos of the shots made them terrifying. Even if the pistols weren't the most accurate, firing at close range left little room for defense. What baffled me was the confidence of the Bretonnians. I couldn't understand where they got the idea that a sword gave them any kind of edge against a firearm. Even if the pistol's accuracy was poor, at close range there wasn't much a swordsman could do but die. They didn't seem to realize how big the gap was—and that made them all the more vulnerable. Not long ago, my main job had been tending to my knight's armor, making sure it was always in top condition. I had to clean off the blood, repair the sword, and sometimes bring it to the camp blacksmith to get it sharpened. It wasn't easy. I had to constantly pressure the smith to keep the edge perfect. It was one of those routine tasks that I thought would never be an issue... but they ended up taking most of my time. Something I never imagined I'd have to do was fight other squires for supplies. Even though the right amount always arrived, a few bastards made sure to hoard more than their share, leaving the rest of us short. Horseshoes, oils, straps, cavalry lances... everything started becoming scarce because of those bastards. So, it wasn't rare for me to "adjust someone's teeth" a few times, making it clear I wasn't going to let them screw us over. Despite the problems, my work had been decent. Still, there were times when I failed to notice dents or strikes on the armor, which meant I didn't repair it before the next fight. That earned me a few beatings with a stick, but nothing I couldn't handle. All of this earned me permission to join the patrols. And even though my main job was still to serve and maintain, I took the chance to test my dwarven arquebus. But I quickly realized it came with serious problems. My own size was a problem—the weapon was big, heavy, and the recoil was nasty. Its effective range wasn't great, barely 150 meters, so I had to get close to the enemy. The real issue was that between the smoke and the sound of the shot, I was instantly spotted. No matter how accurate I was, what truly put me at risk was the attention it drew. Once I fired, I had to run like hell to avoid getting skewered by some Bretonnian knight. They didn't mess around—one mistake, and you'd end up with a lance through the ribs. "Alright, here comes another one... the patrol coming to hunt me down," I muttered, aiming again, focused on the figure taking shape on the horizon. I called my horse to be ready and quickly prepared my arquebus. But when I saw the Grail heraldry on the approaching knight, my blood ran cold. "A bloody Grail Knight!" I shouted, panicked, as I saw his sword glowing with an almost mystical light. He was one of them, clad in radiant armor, wielding a blade that looked like it was forged from sunlight itself. I saw his helmet turn, his eyes locked on me through the slits in his visor. Fear shot through me, but I didn't waste a second. I wasn't about to sit there waiting for some glorious death. I jumped onto my horse and kicked its flank, forcing it into a gallop. The sound of hooves behind me made my heart sink, but the noise quickly began to fade, and the pressure on my chest slowly lifted. I didn't know if he was really chasing me or if I was just imagining it in the heat of the moment, but my mind was racing just as fast as my horse. As the distance grew, the sound of his horse vanished completely, but the echo of my pounding heart kept ringing in my ears. The adrenaline shot through every fiber of me, and I couldn't shake the image of that glowing knight. I reached the camp at full gallop, pushing the horse to its limit, barely managing to stop in time. I was gasping for air, too afraid to look behind me, though I kept glancing around, paranoid someone was following. My blood was still pumping hard I made straight for the expedition commander's tent, wasting no time. Even the guards stationed at the entrance couldn't stop me. I barged in, cutting through whatever discussion they were having—everyone turned to look at me. "Albrecht... I hope this is—" the commander began, but I cut him off before he could finish. "There's a bloody Grail Knight out there!" I shouted, pointing in the direction I had seen him. The commander's eyes widened, staring at me like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard."What do you mean... that can't be... this is bad. Are you sure it was a Grail Knight?" he asked, his disbelief thick in his voice. "Of course I'm sure! Huge horse, huge rider, glowing weapon, and several Grails on his crest and armor. If that wasn't a Grail Knight, then I don't know what is," I said firmly, still seeing the glowing figure in my mind. "This is serious... maybe we should retreat," one of the knights muttered, clearly worried. "My lord! Bretonnian forces are approaching!" someone shouted as they rushed into the tent. "Shit!" the commander swore, his face hardening at once. "Too late! Prepare for battle! Sigmar will be proud when we drive back these horse-loving bastards," he said, giving the order. I ran toward the wooden walls, my heart pounding. From up there, I could see a large number of Bretonnians forming ranks, preparing for the assault. "Shit, they've got a battering ram! That gate's not going to hold long!" I said, bracing myself for what was coming as the weight of the situation started to hit me. The battle was about to begin, and there was no turning back. I went to where my knight was, ready to help in any way I could before the Bretonnians charged, but he ordered me to assist on the walls with my arquebus. The more guns on the walls, the better. I didn't hesitate. The sound of war drums and Bretonnian shouts was getting closer—every second counted. I loaded my arquebus, made sure it was charged and ready, and took my position. The Bretonnian drums thundered as waves of infantry moved toward the walls. Most were men-at-arms, but there was also a large group of poorly armed peasants dragging axes and pitchforks. I aimed at the mass of enemy troops. First, I made sure to put in my earplugs—without them, the blast would leave me half deaf. I aimed carefully, pulled the trigger, and felt the kick, but held steady. After firing, I ducked behind cover and began to reload. While doing so, I watched the other Imperial soldiers—reloading crossbows and pistols, firing nonstop into the Bretonnian lines, unleashing a storm of projectiles that tore into them. As expected, it didn't take long for the battering ram to reach the wooden gate. They started pounding on it hard, trying to break through. I didn't hesitate—I fired again. I blew the face off one of the ram operators, but he was quickly replaced. Even with all the gunners targeting the ram, the gate began to crack under the relentless blows. After a few more hits, the gate finally gave way—but the Bretonnians were met with a wall of Imperial halberdiers, bracing their weapons with unwavering resolve. The resistance was strong, but the number of attackers flooding in was overwhelming. As I watched the clash unfold, I suddenly felt a sharp blow to my chest that nearly knocked the wind out of me. I looked down quickly and saw an arrow lodged in my mail. I ducked at once, heart pounding. Bretonnian archers had begun harassing our lines with a rain of arrows, and the first one had found its mark. The pain was sharp, but when I saw the arrow had barely pierced my mail, I realized only the tip had gone in. The armor had stopped the worst of it, though the hit still hurt. Either way, it wasn't the time to stop. "Kid, this isn't the time to cry. Keep shooting," said an Imperial arquebusier next to me, reloading quickly. I nodded without a word and got ready for my next shot. ------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. -------------------------------