Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

In the winter of 1464, a cold wind mixed with snowflakes swept through the city of Rhône.

Camps were everywhere, both inside and outside the city. Outside the city, wagons carrying supplies kept coming and going under the city gates, their wheels kicking up fine snowflakes as they rolled over the ground. Inside the city, the streets and alleys were full of soldiers, their footsteps and shouts mingling with the howling wind and snow, weaving a tight, impenetrable net.

Gus leaned against the window, his elbows resting on the windowsill, his fingertips tapping lightly on the wooden edge, one tap after another, the rhythm slow and conveying an endless boredom.

He looked at the swirling snowflakes outside the window, a lazy smile curving his lips. He then yawned, a white mist escaping from his lips, only to be swept away by the cold wind in an instant.

Since the Band of the Hawk was hired by the King, they no longer have to live in cold tents.

The army assigned them several houses with thick walls that could block out most of the cold wind. The houses were a bit crowded, with more than a dozen people crammed into one space. The sounds of breathing and turning over rose and fell, but compared to the cold and dampness inside the tents, this crowding was nothing.

Gus stared blankly at the snow outside the window, his mind a complete blank. He even started counting the falling snowflakes, one, two, three... When he counted to over a hundred, he heard hurried footsteps behind him, followed by a loud bang on the door.

"No, why did you open the window!"

Gorkas's voice boomed at the door. He had just entered when he was hit head-on by a blast of cold wind, which made him shiver and his teeth chatter.

He looked up and saw Gus with his back to him, looking bored at the snow outside the window. The window was wide open, and the wind and snow were pouring into the room, leaving a thin layer of snow on the floor.

Gorkas rushed over and slammed the window shut. The wooden windowpane made a dull thud, and the cold wind inside the room instantly subsided.

"Are you trying to freeze me to death?!"

Gorkas turned around, glared at Gus, his brows furrowed, and his tone full of complaint.

Gus withdrew his gaze, turned to look at Gorkas, his face expressionless, and simply spoke:

"No, it's just that I'm too bored."

He's really bored.

Since he, Griffith, and Casca returned from outside, the Band of the Hawk hadn't fought a single battle all autumn.

The last time he wielded his sword was when he occupied the city of Rona, when the commander of the Yoda Empire, Atun, led his army in a counterattack, and a dark, overwhelming force pressed down on them.

Later, Aten's army was unable to capture the city after a long siege. The area beneath the city walls was piled with corpses, and the blood flowed like a river, freezing into dark red ice.

When news arrived that Midland reinforcements were on their way, Atun led his troops in a swift and decisive retreat before they even arrived, leaving the camp barely tidying up.

After that battle, the city of Rhône was completely at peace.

Now, almost all the towns within the territory of the Earl of Ronna have been recaptured by the Midland army, and the Yoda Empire's army can no longer be seen within its borders.

Griffiths had analyzed the situation with them a few days ago, saying that the Midland army's next target should be the Dordore Governorate, where Dordore Fortress had been occupied by the Yoda Empire for a full century. The Midland king had long wanted to take back that land, and this recapture of the Earl of Rhona was just a warm-up before the big battle.

Gus leaned against the windowsill, his brow furrowing slightly as he pondered Griffith's words.

He disliked this idle life; the feeling of rusty swords was unpleasant. He would rather fight on the battlefield every day than be trapped in a room like this, counting the snowflakes outside the window to pass the time.

Gorcas looked at Gus's dejected expression, pursed his lips, and said nothing more.

He knew Guts's temperament; he was a natural-born fighter, and being idle was worse than death for him.

Gorkas walked to a stool and sat down, picked up a piece of dry bread from the table, and started munching on it. The crunching sound was particularly clear in the quiet room.

Time ticked by, and the only sounds in the room were Gorkas munching on bread and the howling of the wind and snow outside the window.

Guts started to drift off into a daze again, reminiscing about the old days when the Band of the Hawk was just a small mercenary group, fighting alongside Griffith. Although they were often hungry and cold, every day was meaningful.

Just as Gus's thoughts drifted far away, a series of hurried footsteps suddenly came from downstairs, the stairs creaking as if they were about to collapse at any moment.

Immediately afterward, the door was flung open, and Jedo appeared in the doorway, panting heavily, his chest heaving, his forehead covered in sweat, but he didn't bother to wipe it away, shouting at Guts and Gorkas:

"Hurry up and put on your armor and come downstairs, the king is coming!"

Gus snapped back to his senses, the confusion in his eyes vanishing instantly, replaced by a hint of surprise.

king?

King of Midland?

Why would he suddenly travel all the way from Wyndam?

Guts was filled with doubt, but he didn't have time to think about it and immediately got up. His movements were swift and decisive. He picked up his armor from the bedside and quickly put it on, shoulder armor, breastplate, leg armor, one piece after another, with extremely skilled movements. Years of fighting had made him used to this speed.

Upon hearing Jedo's words, Gorkas abandoned his bread-eating and threw the rest on the table. He stood up and hurriedly put on his armor.

His movements were a beat slower than Biggs', and he kept muttering to himself:

"Why did the king suddenly come? Is he going to lead an expedition in person?"

Jiedu stood at the door, watching the two of them frantically trying to do something, and stamped his feet in frustration:

"Hurry up, stop dawdling! The king's entourage is almost at the city gate, and Griffith is already waiting there!"

Guts put on his armor, stood up, and stretched his arms and legs, the armor clanging together with a crisp sound.

He nodded to Jiedu:

"Okay, I'll go down now."

After saying that, Guss turned and walked downstairs, with Gorkas following closely behind.

Stepping out of the house, a cold wind rushed towards me, stinging my face like a knife.

Gus looked up at the sky. The snow was falling even harder, and the dense snowflakes obscured his vision, making distant objects blurry.

The main street was originally crowded with idle mercenaries, who gathered in groups of three or five, some drinking, some gambling, making a lot of noise.

But now, all these mercenaries have been driven away by the Midland soldiers, who, with halberds in hand and serious expressions, are driving the mercenaries one by one into the alleys on the side of the street.

The once crowded main street instantly became incredibly spacious, with a view that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Guts met up with Golkas and Jedo, and the three of them walked together toward the city gate.

More and more Midland soldiers were lining the streets, standing in neat rows, weapons in hand, their expressions solemn, clearly preparing for the king's arrival.

Gus's heart was pounding faster and faster. He could feel the tense atmosphere in the air, the kind that only appeared before a major battle.

The three walked for quite a while before they finally spotted Griffith in the crowd.

He stood tall and straight among a group of officers, wearing a white cloak.

A faint smile played on his lips, his eyes calm, revealing no sign of tension. Griffith was speaking to several officers beside him, all generals in the Midland army, who looked at him with eyes full of admiration.

Clearly, Griffiths had distinguished himself in the battle to capture Rhône, earning the respect of these generals.

Gus quickened his pace, wanting to go forward and meet up with Griffith.

However, just as Guts was about to get close, two Midland soldiers suddenly rushed out from the side. They were wearing heavy armor, carrying halberds, and had cold expressions.

One of the soldiers frowned when he saw the mercenary armor on Guts, and immediately held his halberd horizontally in front of Guts, blocking his way.

"Mercenaries cannot go!"

The soldier's voice was cold, leaving no room for negotiation.

Guts abruptly stopped, his brows furrowing instantly. He looked at the halberd held in front of him, then at Griffith not far away, a flash of anger in his eyes.

Guts' hand unconsciously reached for the two-handed sword behind his back. An impulse rose within him, wanting to charge straight through, the soldiers' halberds unable to stop him.

Just as Guts' hand was about to grasp the hilt of his sword, he suddenly saw Griffith in the distance raise his head and look directly at him.

Griffith's eyes were calm and unwavering as he gently shook his head at Gus.

That single head-shaking gesture instantly extinguished the anger in Gus's heart.

Putting aside the fact that Griffiths completely disagreed with him doing so, the king was now in power, and the rules were strict, allowing no room for error. If he forced his way through now, he would not only cause trouble for himself, but also implicate the Band of the Hawk and Griffiths.

Gus took a deep breath and slowly lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword.

He looked at Griffith, the anger in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by a hint of helplessness.

Guts turned around, shook his head at Golkas and Jedo behind him, and whispered to the two of them:

"We can't go over there, so let's just wait here."

Golcas and Jedo looked at Guts's expression, then at Griffith in the distance, their faces showing disappointment, but they didn't say anything more.

Everyone in the Band of the Hawk knows that Griffith's words are orders, and no one will disobey them.

The three of them turned around, walked to the other side of the street, and found an inconspicuous corner to stand in.

They gazed into the distance toward the city gate, toward Griffith's figure, waiting for the king's procession to arrive.

The wind and snow continued to howl, and snowflakes fell on their armor, quickly accumulating a thin layer of frost, but they were completely unaware, all their attention focused on the direction of the city gate.