Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

Gus watched the silhouette of the warhorse gradually shrink, the dust it kicked up slowly settling at the edge of his vision.

He tightened his grip on the greatsword slightly with his right hand, causing the blade to hum and shake off the blood droplets clinging to it. The dark red liquid slid down the cold steel edge and dripped onto the pile of corpses at his feet.

He turned his head and his gaze fell on the knight Yoda beside him.

"The centurion is dead!"

A cry of alarm erupted from the ranks of Yoda's knights, like a boulder crashing into a calm lake.

The knight who first discovered the body spoke in a panicked voice. His words spread like wildfire, and the Yoda Knights, who had been barely maintaining their formation, instantly lost their footing.

"What are you afraid of?"

A deep voice pierced through the chaotic noise as the deputy centurion took a step toward his warhorse.

He didn't look at his panicked subordinates, but stared intently at Gus not far away.

"Fire arrows! Turn that Midlander into a pincushion!"

Several Yoda knights reacted immediately, quickly taking out their crossbows from their waists. After loading arrows, the sound of fingers pulling the trigger rang out one after another.

The crossbow bolts whistled through the air as they flew straight toward Gus, their angle so precise they covered most of the area in front of him.

Without the slightest hesitation, Gus pushed off the ground with his left foot, lunging to the side while grabbing a shield from next to the body of a Midland infantryman.

He held his shield firmly in front of him, his arm muscles tense, enduring the force of the crossbow bolts.

The dull thuds of impact continued, each one causing his arm to go slightly numb, but he didn't stop, charging forward through the dense barrage of arrows.

The distance was rapidly closing, and when the two were less than ten steps apart, Guts suddenly exerted his strength and hurled his shield forward.

The shields spun through the air, hurtling towards the Yoda Knights' formation with a whooshing sound.

The knights instinctively raised their weapons to parry, their vision blocked by the suddenly flying shield, causing a brief moment of chaos in their formation.

In that split second, Guts rushed forward, gripped the hilt of the greatsword with both hands, and unleashed astonishing power from his arms, swinging the greatsword horizontally with a sharp whistling sound.

The ear-piercing sound of steel cutting through armor tore through the air as the greatsword sliced ​​through the bodies of three Yoda knights without any resistance.

Before the knights could even make a proper defensive move, the immense force caused them to lose their balance and fall along the path of the sword, blood gushing out and staining the ground in front of them red.

Is that human being?

The deputy centurion's heart clenched, and a chill ran up his spine to the top of his head.

He watched as Guts reaped the lives of his companions as easily as cutting melons and vegetables, killing as many as came without the slightest fatigue or hesitation.

Their knights were all highly trained elites, but in front of this Midlander, they were like helpless children.

He gripped the sword at his waist, the thought of retreating rising uncontrollably in his mind; if the fighting continued, everyone would die here.

Just as he was about to turn around and order a retreat, a sharp pain suddenly shot through his neck, a piercing pain that instantly spread throughout his body, rendering him unable to utter a sound.

He instinctively reached out to touch it, but only felt a warm, viscous liquid. His body lost all strength, and he fell heavily to the ground. His vision blurred rapidly in the darkness, and the last thing he saw was Gus's cold gaze.

Gus looked in the direction the arrow had come from and saw Jedot behind a small mound not far away, his head bowed as he loaded new arrows into his crossbow.

His movements were steady and without the slightest unnecessary sway, as if the precise and deadly arrow he had just fired was merely a casual gesture.

Jedo looked up and briefly met Guts's gaze. Without giving any signal, he continued to focus on his movements, preparing to deal with any remaining enemies that might appear.

A rapid sound of hooves came from the side, and a white warhorse galloped past. Griffiths, standing tall on the back, held a sword that gleamed coldly.

He didn't look back, but rushed towards the center of the chaotic battlefield, shouting and directing the Eagle Band mercenaries scattered around him.

"Charge with me! Wipe out the remaining enemies!"

Upon hearing the order, the mercenaries immediately gathered and followed Griffith into the battlefield.

Their shouts rose and fell, their morale soaring to its peak. Griffith's sword drew clean arcs in the sunlight, thrusting out from every angle, each swing hitting the enemy's vitals with pinpoint accuracy.

The Yoda knights who approached him were no match for him and fell from their horses, their blood splattering on his boots. But he paid no heed, his gaze fixed on the enemies who were still putting up a fight.

Yoda's thousand-man unit completely lost its command core. The centurion and deputy centurion were killed in action, and the remaining men could only fight independently under the leadership of their respective centurions.

Without unified command, the formation was completely disrupted, and the original advantage vanished.

Meanwhile, on Midland's side, especially among the mercenaries of the Band of the Hawk, their morale soared like a blazing fire after witnessing Guts and Griffith's valiant performance.

They charged toward the enemy with howls, wielding their weapons with even greater force, each attack carrying a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve.

The battlefield situation was completely reversed in a short period of time. The Yoda Knights, who were originally able to put up a fight, were forced to retreat one after another under the fierce offensive of the Midland army.

The wounded knight lay on the ground, groaning in pain, but no one had time to help him; he could only let the enemy's weapons fall on him.

The surviving knights lost their will to fight and only wanted to escape this hellish battlefield as soon as possible. Their original resistance turned into a chaotic and disorderly escape.

Before long, the battlefield was cleared, and the mercenaries of the Hawk Band, carrying the captured supplies and prisoners, returned to Midland's main camp.

Along the way, the mercenaries from different mercenary groups chatted incessantly, each with a look of triumphant joy on their faces, discussing the thrilling moments of the battle they had just fought, and expressing even more admiration for Guts and Griffith.

Back at headquarters, the Band of the Hawk had just settled in when the king's messenger arrived with a decree of commendation, ordering Griffith to proceed immediately to the king's tent, while the other centurions awaited orders outside.

Griffith dusted himself off and, without much embellishment, followed the messenger into the king's tent.

The other centurions, following orders, knelt on one knee in the open space outside the tent, maintaining a respectful posture, awaiting further commands from the king.

Inside the tent, King Midland sat in the central chair, a clear smile on his face.

After entering the tent, Griffith immediately knelt on one knee, maintaining the posture of saluting, without making any other movements.

"You did a great job. You truly deserve to be called an elite among young officers."

The king's voice was approving, and his gaze fell on Griffith with admiration.

He was very satisfied with the battle that defeated Yoda's thousand-strong army, especially since the Band of the Hawk played a key role in turning the tide of the battle when it was at a stalemate.

Count Yuris stood to one side, his face so gloomy it was almost dripping with water.

He watched the king lavish praise on Griffith, but he was inwardly unconvinced. He knew the details of the battle: the White Dragon Knights and the Midland Standing Army had both committed considerable forces, while the Eagle Band was merely following the trend. In the end, they were just a mercenary band, and their victory was only due to the overwhelming momentum.

The king's praise of a mercenary leader from a commoner background was nothing more than an attempt to bolster his own power and suppress the noble generals, which made him very uncomfortable.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails almost dug into his palms, but he didn't say a word. He just coldly watched everything in front of him.

The king offered a few words of praise, and the topic quickly shifted to the current war situation.

He wiped the smile from his face and his tone became serious.

"Yoda's Ram Riders are currently entrenched near the main camp. This force is quite large and powerful, and has always been a threat. What do you think we should do?"

Upon hearing this question, Griffith did not hesitate for a moment. He raised his head and met the king's gaze.

"I am confident that the Band of the Hawk alone can wipe them out completely."

The moment those words were spoken, the tent fell silent.

The king's expression froze slightly, clearly not expecting Griffiths to say such a thing.

Count Yuris, standing nearby, scoffed, his eyes full of mockery.

The Eagle Band has a total of just over 500 men, while the Ram Charge Knights have several thousand, all of whom are rigorously trained knights with excellent equipment. It's simply a pipe dream to think that a single mercenary group could wipe them out.

The other generals present also began to discuss it, their voices not loud, but clearly audible to everyone.

"This kid is too arrogant."

"They really don't know their own limitations."

"He's lucky if his mercenary group isn't completely wiped out."

The king raised his hand to signal everyone to be quiet, and the discussions inside the tent immediately ceased.

He looked at Griffith with a questioning gaze, wanting to know why he was so confident.

"What are you going to do?"

The king's tone was calm, without the slightest hint of blame.

"Do you need other troops to cooperate? The regular army or the White Dragon Knights can send some men to you."

Griffith remained kneeling, his tone calm yet undeniably resolute.

“I don’t need any other troops to help me. I just need to borrow a few things from the King to complete this mission with the Band of the Hawk.”