None dared approach Grand Pip Berlid on the battlefield. Among the few knights who eschewed shields entirely, he proved this no handicap whatsoever. Unlike Lazette, who cowered behind a screen of his men, anyone foolish enough to challenge--or even think of challenging--the Earl of Halfhill tended to leave the field in at least two pieces. Standard-bearer Bort maintained position at his flank, wielding short sword and round shield in desperate defense. Despite numerical disadvantage, Berlid's forces advanced with unstoppable momentum; excepting Lazette, every Cynthian drew inspiration from Grand Pip's ferocious presence, transforming awe into murderous fervor. The Godman ranks began yielding ground grudgingly, save for the blood-maddened Friezs who fought with escalating savagery. These berserkers methodically slaughtered every living creature within reach—horses included. The more calculating Friez spearmen employed their lances first against mounts, then dispatched unhorsed riders—or simply allowed panicked, wounded steeds to destroy their own masters. Rapidly, this battle-frenzy infected every combatant until all hacked and slashed with mounting enthusiasm, butchering men, horses, occasionally even comrades through misidentification. Blood danced in the air, a ghastly ballet, before it settled to pool on the trampled earth. Each spray was answered by a roar of triumph or a madman's cackle, the sound that marked another life snuffed out. Standard-bearer Bort exchanged bewildered glances with Baron Lazette of Stone Castle—the only two men lacking battle-lust who could still catch fleeting breath amid the carnage. This momentary respite, however, would not endure.

  Luda Friez, firstborn son of House Friez, approached deliberately upon his massive coal-black destrier—a beast whose flaring nostrils suggested infernal fire. Encased in comprehensive plate armor beneath a blood-red cloak once pristine white, he brandished a crude iron greatsword measuring five feet and eight inches, advancing toward the trio with measured deliberation. Lazette first detected death's approach; Luda's towering seven-foot frame so thoroughly terrified him that his normally restless tongue retreated involuntarily into his throat. Standard-bearer Bort's sword-arm elevated defensively while his mount instinctively retreated. Grand Pip dispatched a nearby footsoldier with efficient brutality, severed his head, and contemptuously tossed the grisly trophy beneath Luda Friez's warhorse. Chest thrust forward defiantly, he confronted the warrior who had inspired terror in countless men; "Black Bear" Pip Berlid stood merely half a head shorter than his formidable opponent. The remaining Friezs instinctively created space around the commanders—none wished involvement in Luda's personal combat. "We must render assistance," Baron Lazette urged, maneuvering alongside the standard-bearer, his voice simultaneously tremulous and grave. "Our intervention is essential. Otherwise, the Earl of Halfhill will perish beneath that monstrosity's blade." Bort's anxious nodding resembled a woodpecker's frantic feeding motions. "Your face drips perspiration," Lazette observed, gesturing vaguely. "Don't worry, I'm sweating through my own armor. But we can't let them see us like this. So get your visor down."

  Luda's formidable destrier casually kicked aside the severed head with indifference. Luda elevated his battle-worn greatsword—its blade showing pronounced notches from years of brutal usage. His distinctive dog-head helmet featured unusual design: upper jaw intact while the lower portion appeared violently wrenched away, connecting directly to his gorget. Having raised his weapon, Luda unexpectedly discarded his shield entirely. Grand Pip maintained impassive composure at this development. Luda abruptly snapped his reins, powerfully compressed his mount with armored thighs, propelling his warhorse toward Grand Pip with terrifying acceleration. The Earl of Halfhill responded with a resounding bear-like roar, demonstrating absolute fearlessness. Standard-bearer Bort, quaking visibly, lowered his visor with trembling fingers.

  Their initial engagement consisted of tremendous greatsword collisions, each combatant hammering relentlessly at the other. This thunderous exchange continued through several iterations, metallic impacts generating brilliant sparks with each devastating connection. After this preliminary assessment, Grand Pip recognized his opponent's physical strength matched his own perfectly. Both warriors manipulated their reins, repositioning their mounts for subsequent charges. Each pass endured merely heartbeats; Luda evidently preferred avoiding sustained mounted engagement. Grand Pip penetrated this tactical preference, formulating strategy to ride alongside his opponent during their next pass, compelling Luda into prolonged mounted combat. But to Grand Pip's surprise, Luda didn't meet the next blow. He ducked under the swing, and as he did, brought his own greatsword around in a vicious arc aimed at the thinner plate protecting the Earl's waist. Grand Pip twisted evasively, mentally calculating his safety margin—before experiencing violent disruption beneath him. Luda's blade had scored across Grand Pip's warhorse's eye protection, the embedded metal penetrating deeply enough to permanently blind the creature in one eye. The armored stallion shrieked agonizingly, reared violently, flailed its forelegs desperately, then collapsed sideways. The earl, demonstrating remarkable battlefield awareness, immediately discarded his weapon and landed quadrupedally despite full armor encumbrance, preventing serious injury.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Simultaneously, Lazette, despite limited horsemanship abilities, maneuvered strategically toward Luda Friez, contemplating opportunistic intervention. Luda registered the young baron's presence—clearly an inexperienced recruit—and pivoted to eliminate this minor threat. However, Lazette harbored no illusions of honorable combat; he brutally plunged his longsword into the black warhorse's left shoulder joint. The beast vocalized its agony before collapsing, sending its heavily armored rider tumbling repeatedly across the churned earth. Excellent. （Now we're on even footing. ）A wicked grin spread across Lazette's face. "Standard-bearer!" he bellowed. "Seize this opportunity! Terminate him permanently!"

  Bort would forever regret his compliance with the baron's instruction. He spurred his mount forward, but midway through his charge already contemplated retreat—Luda Friez was regaining vertical position with alarming rapidity. Luda perfunctorily cleared his visor of battlefield detritus, executed a backward evasive maneuver, and effortlessly avoided Bort's ineffectual strike. As Bort's mount decelerated from its rider's evident uncertainty, Luda seized the standard-bearer's leg armor with devastating grip strength, forcibly extracted him from his saddle, and propelled him through space. Bort's consciousness momentarily departed upon violent terrestrial impact. (Bloody hells, the man's a monster.) Lazette swallowed, hammering his mailed fist against his breastplate. (You can do this, Lazette. You're more than just a pretty face who served wine. You can do this. Yes.) Self-motivation completed, he elevated his sword, vigorously encouraged his mare forward, determined to execute the temporarily dismounted Luda. Due to Luda's orientation away from him, the baron failed to observe his opponent retrieving his weapon. Steel flashed blinding white—and Lazette discovered his mare instantaneously decapitated, simultaneously deprived of dignity and existence. His vocal capacity temporarily paralyzed by shock, he could only stare. Luda, disdaining even verbal acknowledgment or visual contact, simply proceeded past him toward Grand Pip. Baron Lazette only recovered voice after impacting the ground and experiencing his mare's headless corpse crushing his right leg.

  From purely technical swordsmanship perspective, minimal differentiation existed between Grand Pip Berlid and Luda Friez—both practitioners supplemented rudimentary technique with overwhelming physical power. Their exchange featured rapid, seemingly chaotic strikes frequently connecting with armored surfaces. Despite Luda's ferocious offensive intensity, the dark green "Roarer's Mail" remained unmarked, displaying not even superficial damage. During one defensive interception, Grand Pip's pale blue steel blade penetrated nearly four inches into Luda's iron sword. Luda exploited this momentary connection, violently disengaging both weapons simultaneously, then employed his helmet as an improvised weapon against Grand Pip's cranium. The Earl of Halfhill staggered backward, losing balance and collapsing. Luda immediately produced a short-handled warhammer from his belt, delivering devastating impact against the earl's chest as he attempted to rise. Ordinarily, such force would catastrophically compromise ribcage integrity and pulverize internal organs, but Grand Pip's extraordinary armor provided miraculous protection—though he experienced momentary respiratory compression, causing him to stumble backward and fall once more. Observing the earl's continued attempts to regain vertical position, Luda's expression registered profound disbelief as he repeatedly applied his warhammer against Grand Pip's breastplate with percussion-like rhythm. Despite blood trickling from the earl's lips, his determination remained unbroken. "I just want to see how tough you really are," Luda said, his voice a strained rasp. "I want to know how long you can last." They were the last words he ever spoke.