Chapter 13

His name was Baron Barwheld, the bastard son of some God-damned-Noble-ingrate from Wales who he refused to call a father. He was the first born, true in blood, and created through the contracts of legal marriage, yet his father did not acknowledge him in favour of the second son. Thus, he was a bastard cast away from home.

He trotted to the front of his company on his horse, the very symbol of everything his family had stripped away from him; full armour, long cape, respect, he was a leader, a Baron second only to the King.

Back as a child with chipped teeth, and scraggly dark brown hair, he had never imagined he would one day regain his birth right. It was a sequence of unfortunate events that led him all the way from Wales to Bristol, hiding within the thick piles of hay that traders would often carry from town to town as the seasons grew colder. However, perhaps it was chance, fate even, that he had met a certain Noble family.

His eyes scoured the battlefield placements, but he was getting ahead of himself.

"What are the movements of the enemy?" He asked.

"They appear untroubled captain," was the response.

Baron Barwheld brushed his beard. Strange, based on the reports, he had expected a tenser response to their military presence, yet why?

There were stirrings, word of the creation of Saxon settlements, the first named Wessex to the south of the country. After the former mercenary warrior brothers Hengist and Horsa joined the Saxons, Angles, and Jutes in their invasion near a decade ago, they had begun to lose the war. Long established Romano settlements were being destroyed, their very own people wiped out in favour of the new barbaric races.

The country needed its King, its unifier, now more than ever.

Which stood to reason the cause of his confusion. The barbarians had unified together perhaps a couple years ago, and established themselves as a forceful parasite instigating mass genocide throughout the country, killing all previous inhabitants.

Despite this, Baron Barwheld and the other noblemen, and local Kings had still amassed an admirable rebellion to oppose them. It didn't make sense that there were no traces of anxiety on the enemy's faces. Something was wrong, or perhaps he was simply missing something, but when the war horns blared to signal formation, he knew one thing for certain. He was going to have to charge in blind.

And he Hated it, as a student of Duke Ashton.

LINE BREAK

The units had already been positioned, and he was hard pressed for time. Luckily, he was in charge of the detached unit deployed after the enemy had been lured into their ranks.

"Everyone, listen up!" Shirou called. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about being promoted leader, aside from it being a minor annoyance at best, but for practicality's sake, he would do it. As the leader, his word was final, his commands to be followed, and yet that only held true for experienced leaders who had the trust of their men; he had practically none. The faces in Sir Anders's company staring curiously at him were ones he had never seen before. So, where was the trust?

Regardless, his position as the leader increased the odds of ensuring the lives of those who fought beside him. For even though he may not yet have their trust, he had their honour to rely on: Chivalry, a Knights code of conduct.

"Remove your armour, and lay down all your weapons before me." His command was absurd and he knew it, but he was still the leader, the captain.

He could see the conflicting expressions on the company's faces. Traditional British chain mail and full plate armors took hours to put on and take off. How could they possibly unequip it moments before a war? The answer was simple for him, alteration, an ability that allowed him to change the composition and design of items. Yet still, this probably wasn't what they were expecting from a child called locally as the Beast Hunter. Furthermore, he was sure that he had just crushed any expectations these men had in him, and with it, any trust he had hoped to build.

It was Kay, Sir Ector, and Sir Anders that stripped off their armour and weapons first after he helped them out of their armour, and he was thankful. For them, he would not use his magic sparingly.

Opening his left palm, he closed his eyes and began to imagine.

Armour of vitality.

Swords of durability.

Three blades flickered and appeared hovering above his palm, mystic codes most suited for each individual.

He heard choked gasps, but paid them no mind. Here, was where he had to concentrate.

The first set of equipment, Sir Ector's, was the first to be worked on. The mystic code of increased vitality hovered, and laid itself flat over the steel breastplate of Sir Ector's armour. He opened his eyes-

Structural grasping.

-and the blueprints, the making of the armour, became readily apparent to him. The damage, the chinks, the holes in the structures of the atoms, he could see them all. Thus, came the next step.

Alteration.

At this point, he could no longer hear any noise apart from his own breathing, but he could still feel the incredulous stares.

The blade, the mystic code of vitality, was becoming viscous, seeping itself into the armour as he reworked and reshaped the internal designs of the mystic code. The gaps, the deficiencies of Sir Ector's armour were being filled by the fluid, hardening and strengthening with the properties of the code. This was no longer simply just reinforced armour, but a new mystic code, a mystic mail, an armour of valor, the armour of vitality.

A simple design was left in wake of the process of merging. A small sword grafted hilt-down from the breastplate.

A single bead of sweat trailed down from Shirou's brow before he moved on to Sir Ector's blade, Arturia's wooden sword, and simply reinforced it further. He had already imbued it with a mystic code of preservation for Arturia a couple years back, and he knew from watching Sir Ector that his greatest weakness was his age. Therefore, the mystic code of vitality.

He quickly moved on to Kay's and Sir Anders's equipment. For both of them, he simply reinforced their armour, but imbued their swords with the remaining two mystic codes. For Kay, to compliment his poisoned sword, he fused the mystic code of pestilence, for Sir Anders, a mystic code of density to make use of his muscled arms.

Kay, Sir Ector, and Sir Anders placed on their equipment, but had no time to appraise them as a clatter of noise alerted Shirou of the new and expectedly much higher pile of equipment before him. He sighed, this was why he had to use his magic sparingly.

Slowly, he looked up to the sight of a company of three-hundred half-naked men in disarray as they all rushed to remove the rest of their armaments, their sweat glistening off their chiseled bodies. However, Palamid stood awkwardly, refusing to remove his armour, but he did lay down his two swords.

Regardless, a strained smile spread across Shirou's lips, as he thought of only one thing at that moment as he offered his help.

He was glad Arturia wasn't here.

LINE BREAK

They couldn't allow the battle to deploy by the river, so they set base on the level ground of a moderately large and dry flood plain to goad the enemy to fight on their terms. It was either fight them on the flood plains, or risk a battle of attrition, in which case, their victory was guaranteed. With fresh supplies and rations on their side, it was all but assured.

It had worked, and now both armies stood facing each other in a tranquil stand-off, Baron Barwheld stationed at the front.

He hated charging in blind, and that was precisely what he had to do in this situation. His unit was the vanguard, the arrow that pierces the path for the main blow, and it was made of the most experienced men, those able to survive nearly everything.

Initial preparations complete, the entire army was positioned into a large arched-formation with the very middle formed as a T-shape with the parallel and perpendicular lines representing a different garrison. It was the design of the Eagles formation: The large arch would charge the enemy, obscure their sight, and allow for the hidden detached unit, the perpendicular garrison, to circle around as the vanguard slowly retreated and inverted the arch, encircling the enemy.

This formation depended heavily on the actions of the detached unit. Essentially, it was the turning point of the battle, and often had been lead flawlessly by Duke Ashton. And to think another Ashton lived? This battle would serve as the proof Baron Frederick, no; as the former Lord Amren had envisioned.

"L-Lord?"

He was brought out of his musings by the uncertainty in his aide's voice. He raised a brow.

"The unit lead by the…Ashton," the aide said carefully, knowing how sensitive the topic was for his lord. "They've stripped themselves of their armour?"

….?!

His head snapped to the Ashton-unit positioned behind him. They really did. He felt a vein pop over his forehead before his temper started to flare. Had Baron Frederick been lying to him? Thought him to be a fool perhaps?

He began to yell, but was forced to stop when the enemy army began to stir, ending the stand-off between both armies. The enemy's front line began to move, brandishing their long-spears to ward off a potential cavalry charge, but from their appearance, round wooden shields and dome shaped iron-helms, they were the least experienced of the army. Their rear infantry, and left and right flanks were composed of men carrying axes, swords, and short spears, those were the most experienced enemies. Further on each end, were the cavalry composed of the horses they were able to steal from numerous ravaged towns.

A smart leader is one who thinks about every action of the enemy, and responds swiftly and accordingly.

Why send the weakest unit? They were expendable, he quickly answered himself.

A test then?

How foolish, to waste one's own numbers against an enemy they had faced multiple times. Or perhaps- he was skeptical of this idea, but it was still one to be explored- they had a change of command? It was the only logical conclusion racing through his mind. The previous leader, a man by the name of Alfred appointed by the aged Hengist, would never act so brash. He was a thinker, one who didn't like to take to the front-lines, preferring to remain protected at the back.

Then how should he proceed?

The Eagles Formation had never failed.

But that was because of the efforts of Duke Ashton.

He glanced at the detached unit, and clicked his tongue. At least they were putting their equipment back on.

Should he take the risk? At this point, it was too late to back out after abandoning their position by the river to move to the flood plains.

He had no choice but to trust in the words of that cunning Lord as he charged forward to meet the enemy with his vanguard, beginning the first phase of the Eagles formation: Drawing the enemy in.

LINE BREAK

And so, it had begun.

The Knights of Lord Wolfred scrambled to equip their reinforced armour and weapons. Time was of the essence if they were to keep pace with the strategy implemented by the more experienced Lords.

Despite their rushed pace, they still marveled at the feel of their own equipment. Dull blades sharpened, their mass more equally distributed to produce a lighter weight on the sword-arm, and their armour…they just couldn't believe it.

Latches Shirou had called them? They were small bumps that allowed the armour to open and close, how incredibly convenient, especially time wise. They were astonished, most still unable to voice their sheer disbelief. What had used to take hours to put on and take off was done just as easily as putting on clothes. With this fact, they wouldn't have to march in full armour and bath in the sweat of their own extraneous activities to be fully prepared for a bandit attack. All they would need was the precious few moments just before the main assault to place on their armours. It was as easy as slipping one's arm through a shirt. Which begged the question of how?

A magic beast hunter?

No, that wasn't right. The act of magic, for no one in the company of Knights could doubt what had just accrued, deserved to be separated from the act of beast hunting. A Wizard then? And the Wizard was their Captain?

"C-Captain?" A hesitant voice asked.

Shirou perked up as he stared at Palamid, the only one who refused to remove his armour to be reinforced. "Yes?" he spoke, causing Palamid to straighten his back.

Palamid had made an oath to himself to never remove his armour in the presence of others as he was plagued by rather uncomfortable memories in his earlier years. Therefore, he only had one choice in this situation. "Your magic," he began. "May you place it on my armour as well?"

Nodding, Shirou placed a hand on Palamid's armour and activated his magic circuits. Circuits thrumming to life, he began the initial diagnostic on the armour, finding the parts that needed reinforcement. However, what he didn't understand was why Palmid refused to simply take off his armour like the other men. For what reason?

He patted Palamid's back, and spoke softly. "It's done." Afterwards, he paused in thought as he regarded the young squire, but kept his thoughts to himself. "Keep close to me," was what he said next.

Palamid bristled, instantly understanding the implications of such a statement. "With all due respect, Captain, I am not someone who needs protection."

Shirou shook his head. "That's not what I meant." He pointed at Palamid's gloveless hands. "You're ambidextrous. I can see it from the callouses," he explained.

"Your point?" Palamid spoke.

"I have a use for you," he said instead. "That's why I'll need you to stay close."

Palamid hummed to himself before nodding. He could accept that reason.

Shirou turned back to the war, watching for his signal to move the unit. He was to look for a single flare, a flaming arrow to signal his entrance into the battlefield. Be that as it may, he would first have to maneuver his unit around the enemy to corner them. The thought of killing soon filled his head. He shifted his mindset to his days working as an enforcer. There were times when people had to be killed, this was one such a time. He could not allow them to live for the possible danger they may impose to Arturia, and he could simply not forgive their actions of massacring town after town.

As they began to move full circle, he paused, his shoulders tensing, and eyes narrowing dangerously. He swore in a low voice, so only he alone could hear it. He wasn't imagining it.

Because that was when it began, moments after the vanguard had charged.

A twitch of his nose.

A startling revelation.

There was another Magus on the battlefield.