The Last Banner

Three familiar faces stared back at him: Helena, sitting upright with her arms crossed in defiance; Sophia, clutching the edge of her dress and looking sheepish; and Cassandra, who immediately broke into a wide grin.

"Hi, Hadrian!" Cassandra chirped, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

Hadrian's jaw tightened, his hands gripping the edge of the cart. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Sophia shrank back slightly, her cheeks flushing. "We... we wanted to help."

"Help?" Hadrian echoed, his voice rising. "This isn't a picnic! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

Cassandra tilted her head, still grinning. "We thought it'd be fun."

"Fun," Hadrian repeated, his tone flat. He turned his glare to Helena, who sat with a calmness that only made his anger simmer hotter. "And you? What's your excuse?"

Helena raised an eyebrow, her green eyes meeting his without a hint of guilt. "I couldn't let them come alone. Someone had to keep an eye on them."

"You're supposed to keep them away from things like this!" Hadrian snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Do you not understand what's at stake here?"

Helena shrugged, leaning back slightly. "You act like this is the end of the world. We'll stay out of the way. Besides..." Her lips curved into a faint smirk. "How are you going to protect anyone, Hadrian? You can barely keep yourself upright."

Hadrian's eyes narrowed. Without a word, he stepped forward, grabbed Helena by the waist, and lifted her off the cart. She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as she dangled in the air.

"What—Hadrian!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and indignation. "Put me down!"

"See?" Hadrian said, his smirk matching hers. "Not so weak anymore, am I?"

Helena glared at him, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. "You're, errghh-I Hate you some times Hadriann."

"You're gonna have to start acting like the older sister," Hadrian shot back, setting her down gently but firmly. He turned to the younger girls, his tone softening slightly. "And you two should know better."

Sophia looked down, mumbling an apology, while Cassandra merely shrugged, as if to say, Worth it.

"Back in the cart," Hadrian ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're staying there until we return."

Helena climbed back into the cart without a word, though her movements were unusually quiet. Hadrian noted the way her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, her expression unreadable.

As he mounted his horse, Alexander pulled up alongside him, barely suppressing a laugh. "I'll admit, I didn't see that coming."

"Don't start," Hadrian muttered, glaring at the cart as the convoy resumed its march.

Alexander chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got your hands full, little brother."

The village came into view as the convoy crested a low hill. Smoke rose lazily from several buildings, their roofs charred and smoldering. The wooden palisade that once encircled the settlement lay broken in places, and scattered debris littered the dirt paths. Despite the signs of destruction, the air was unnervingly still—too still.

Hadrian pulled his horse alongside Alexander's, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. "It looks abandoned."

Alexander nodded grimly. "The orcs probably think they have free rein. They'll be somewhere nearby, celebrating their spoils."

"Let's not give them time to enjoy it," Hadrian said, his voice steady but edged with purpose. "We should position the militia in the eastern fields. It's open enough to give us a clear line of sight."

Alexander glanced at him, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "You've thought this through."

"It's my job," Hadrian replied simply.

Alexander raised his hand, signaling the knights to halt. "We'll split up. The knights will circle around to the west and cut off their retreat once you engage. Keep them busy, but don't do anything reckless."

Hadrian nodded, then turned to his men. "Militia, form up!"

The matchlock militia and spearmen moved into formation, their earlier nervousness replaced by a grim focus. Hadrian rode along the line, his gaze lingering on each man. "This is what we've trained for. Hold your ground, follow my orders, and remember—your strength is in your formation. Break that, and we're all finished."

The men nodded, some clutching their weapons tighter. A few muttered prayers under their breath.

Hadrian dismounted, handing his reins to a nearby squire. He pulled his matchlock musket from its strap, inspecting the barrel and checking his powder and lead. The weight of the weapon in his hands felt reassuring, a reminder of the countless hours spent refining its design and drilling its use.

"Move to the eastern fields," Hadrian ordered. "Spearmen in the front, matchlocks behind. Shields up, and stay alert."

As the militia began their march, Helena's voice rang out from the supply cart. "And what about us?"

Hadrian turned sharply, his glare cutting through the distance between them. "You're staying here."

Helena folded her arms, her green eyes narrowing. "We're not helpless, Hadrian."

"No," Hadrian replied, his tone colder than he intended. "But you'll be safer if you stay out of the way. And right now, that's all that matters."

Before she could respond, Hadrian turned and strode back to his men, his focus shifting entirely to the task ahead. He couldn't afford distractions—not now.

The eastern fields stretched out before them, a patchwork of dry grass and scattered boulders. Hadrian positioned the militia carefully, the spearmen forming a solid line with their shields locked, while the matchlock militia stood just behind them, their weapons ready but undrawn.

The men shifted uneasily, the silence pressing down on them like a heavy weight. Hadrian moved to the center of the line, his voice calm but commanding. "Hold steady. They'll come. And when they do, you'll know what to do."

The fields stretched out in tense silence, broken only by the distant caws of crows and the faint rustle of dry grass. Hadrian stood at the center of his formation, flanked by his matchlock militia and spearmen. His sharp gaze stayed fixed on the tree line beyond the ruined village, where smoke and scattered debris told the story of orcish destruction.

"soon," Hadrian said, his voice calm but loud enough for his men to hear. " when they come, remember this: they're loud, brutish, and terrifying. But they can be broken. If you stand your ground, if you trust your training, you will break them."

The men exchanged uneasy glances, the nervous shuffling of boots betraying their fear. Hadrian paced in front of the line, his musket resting easily in his hands. "We've trained for this. Follow my orders, trust the man beside you, and no orc will lay a hand on you."

He stopped near one of the matchlock recruits, a young farmer whose shaking hands made the weapon tremble. "Look at me," Hadrian said firmly, drawing the man's wide-eyed gaze. "If you run, you fail us all. If you fire too soon, you waste our only advantage. Stay. In. Formation."

The man swallowed hard, nodding as his trembling steadied.

Hadrian stepped back, raising his voice so all could hear. "Remember this: if you break ranks, if you run, you doom the man next to you. And if you do, I'll have you shot myself."

The line stiffened, the murmurs fading as Hadrian's authority settled over them. He turned to face the woods, his voice lowering slightly. "There is a greater purpose to this. Trust it. Trust me."