Martin shivered slightly as a small part of the army split off and continued marching.
He turned towards the rear of the long line of soldiers, where the supplies rested on wagons carried by horses, and began walking.
His hands shook slightly, mind wandering.
"Are you feeling okay?"
A man with light brown hair trailing down his neck padded up to his side and looked down at his hands. His voice was deep but soft, and the man held his head high with each step he took.
"Yeah, just fine."
"What's your name?"
"Martin, and you?"
"Christopher, nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Christopher."
The man smiled.
Martin smiled back.
With a heavy sigh, he stopped beside a wagon and gazed up at a soldier standing atop it.
Multiple small bags were dropped down into his arms until he could carry no more.
Another soldier quickly took his place as the young man began walking again.
The area around them was quite open compared to the dense forest surrounding them.
Barely more than a hundred yards in each direction were open enough to make camp.
A few trees were spread out in the area but not enough to impede the soldiers' view.
The cool wind blew against Martin's face and caused his nerves to calm.
Dropping the bags near another soldier, he quickly made his way back to the many wagons carrying their various necessities.
Slowly opening his mouth and tasting the air, Martin inhaled.
Focusing on the senses flooding inside him, the young man could taste the fresh scent of the forest.
If not for being engulfed in a war, this spot would've been nice to visit.
Though if this war ever ended, he couldn't imagine himself coming back to France. It was far too much of a trip away from his mother and sister.
He looked up towards the clear sky.
His hands began to shake again.
"Hey, focus down there!"
"Ah, sorry."
"Catch!"
Snapping back to the real world, Martin barely managed to catch a large bag dropped by a man standing on one of the wagons.
Hastily, he brought it to another man.
The process of carrying bags from man to man was enough to occupy his mind. Though annoying, this simple task caused his body to relax for the half hour or so it took to unload enough supplies for the night.
He stood idly while watching another soldier spark a fire.
Bright rays of sunshine still beamed down high in the sky, but the fire wasn't being started to provide a source of light.
"I don't think lighting a fire is a good idea…"
"Mind your own business, kid. I'm hungry, and I'm not eating some slop. I want fresh meat, REAL meat!"
Martin shook his head before backing away.
The man was much more hostile than John and Christopher had been.
"I wonder how the scouters are doing…"
Carrying himself over to a secluded spot in the clearing, he sat down and placed his sword on his lap.
Drawing the blade, he held it up to block the sun.
The sword was clean and void of any blimishes.
It was like him, curious towards what a real battle could bring.
Both his father and older brother had been soldiers in this war.
He smiled while clenching down on his own teeth, clutching his eyes with one hand in the process. A bit of his hair was ruffled in that small moment.
Lowering his blade, Martin sheathed it back into his side before planting both hands on the grass behind him.
France was a beautiful place in his eyes.
Compared to his hometown, this country didn't seem as evil as the rest of his English brethren told him.
"Maria would love it here."
Chuckling softly to himself, Martin's mind began to drift.
Part of him wanted the rest of the army to quickly return, while the other part of him wished they never returned.
His hands began to shake slightly which caused his elbows to buckle and his back to hit the grass.
Arms slowly crossing behind his head, the young man watched the clear blue sky. Nothing was changing however staring into the sky seemed to always calm him.
The sound of soldiers laughing and communicating loudly with one another filled his ears. Though rowdy, the band of soldiers, for the most part, seemed to share a strong bond.
"Maybe one day, I'll be able to share that feeling."
John was a start, and Christopher seemed like a nice man. Both of them reminded him of his father.
A flash of light reached into the corner of his vision as wind blew in his face. The flash shot over his head as a loud thud echoed out from behind.
Martin snapped his head up and glanced behind.
Another young man's voice, coated in an accent that didn't match anyone from the army, boomed out.
"Ghhk-… HELP… ME!"
A French accent?
Martin rose to his feet as quickly as his armor allowed.
The voice sounded as desperate as his brother's voice had been.
"HELP ME!"
Definitely French.
Was someone in trouble?
Should I go and help?
"I-…"
It was happening again.
His own voice was quiet and shallow, lacking any strength or resolve, like a small child.
The young English man's hands jittered and grew warm while he reached for the handle of his sword.
"Surround him!"
A powerful voice.
It seemed oddly familiar.
"Christopher…?"
He watched as his fellow soldiers flocked towards a small crater in the ground. Their bodies quickly covered up any chance at a glimpse of whoever was calling for help.
Christopher stood behind a small wall of soldiers as his dust-colored hair brushed back over his back slightly.
Had an enemy troop found their camp?
"How did you find us?"
Martin slowly made his way towards the commotion, hands still shaking along with the rest of his body.
A few seconds of the soldiers confused and worried mummering softly passes before Christopher's voice calls out once more.
"He won't speak, kill him. We can't let anyone know we're coming."
Despite seeming friendly earlier, Christopher gives the command to kill someone without a shred of hesitation.
He guessed that was how most soldiers were.
It seemed as if Martin wouldn't have the chance to join a fight today.
His body relaxed slowly as the grip on his sword's hilt weakened.
Martin gripped his chest, closed his eyes, and let out a small sigh.
"What the hell!? Get him!"
His eyes reopened quickly.
A soldier falls backwards towards Martin, blood leaking from a slice across his neck and running down towards his chest, causing his voice to shake.
"W-What…?"
Chest exposed to the elements and leaking blood from a small wound, a young man falls to the ground right after, only a few yards from Martin.
The young man didn't look like a soldier.
Only his hip and below was covered by cloth and a belt.
He had been standing atop the spear of the now dead English soldier before it fell.
No sheathe to the sword he held in his right hand.
No armor.
Nothing.
A small frown grew on Martin's face as he mumbled.
"He isn't a soldier…?"
Multiple swords and spears swing just above his head as the young man catches his breath quickly.
A long sword was all that he seemed to possess as the young man rolled along the ground, but he quickly recovered now only a few feet away from Martin.
"You're trained soldiers, KILL HIM!"
Staring into the eyes of the young man on the ground in front of him, Martin notices a small amount of blood running down his face, most likely from somewhere around his forehead.
His eyes, though partially blocked by his long brown hair, meet Martin's own for a moment before Christopher quickly slashes at the French man's back.
He lurches forward slightly as another soldier cuts his waist.
Christopher quickly steps between Martin and the intruder, readying his blade as more soldiers stride forward.
A sword slams down towards the young man, but his eyes shoot open just in time to block the blow.
One of the soldiers thrust their spear down towards where his heart would have been however at the last moment he kicks off the floor and dives closer to Christopher and Martin.
Christopher raises his sword and strikes down at the intruder, yet again the blade is blocked at the last second which causes a loud clanging sound to ring in Martin's ears.
Quickly covering his ears, the young English soldier backs away slightly while watching the ongoing clash.
After a moment, Christopher's blade is repelled along with multiple thrusts and slashes from the other soldiers crowding around the man.
Not a single soldier was hesitating to strike down the intruder, but all of their attacks seemed to do little.
Martin noticed how the young French invader would clutch his eyes for a split second before continuing his continuous repelling and dodging of attack after attack.
There was no doubt in Martin's mind.
This man wasn't normal.
Though he had never seen true battle, constantly fighting off over 20 soldiers at once was something only a fairytale hero could do.
Yet, this young man, younger than even Martin, was doing so.
His hands trembled harder than ever before as with each step he took back, the intruder took a step forward. It didn't seem as though Martin was his target, but Christopher constantly put himself between the two young men.
He was shielding the young soldier from the animal in front of them.
"DON'T LET HIM REST! THIS MAN ISN'T HUMAN! KEEP SWARMING!"
Christopher's voice kept putting out commands as he met each attack head on.
If not for the soldiers pressuring the intruder without a moment of rest, how many would be dead?
The only thing seemingly keeping them alive was their constant attacks. An attack was only thrown back at the English troop every few seconds when there was a small window of opportunity. But for some reason, no other soldier besides Christopher would receive a blow.
This monster was focused on the man standing in front of Martin, and he had no idea how long until either side made a mistake.
Battle was already enough to terrify him, but if people like this were littered amongst the French army, could he ever hope to raise his sword against them as the rest of his family had been doing for generations?
"Ghh…"
Martin let out a small scoff, attempting to shatter the doubt in his mind. His body shook profusely, but if there was ever a moment to overcome his fear, now was that time.
"Father…"
Drawing his blade with jittery hands, Martin patiently waited behind the older soldier protecting him.
"Brother…"
The more he watched, the more Martin grew amazed at the young intruder's speed.
At least 30 trained soldiers were constantly attempting to strike the man down, and yet none of their blows would connect.
The amount of turning and spinning the intruder was doing in order to block every blow was enough to give Martin whiplash at the very thought.
A small circle of around a few yards had been created around the intruder. His feet would quickly dash towards whoever was closest, clash his blade against theirs, and then dodge the next few attacks before retreating into an open space and repeating that process.
His swings seemed to carry little skill, but the shockwaves he looked to be sending through the bodies of anyone he clashed with was slowly halting the English soldiers' attack.
Martin intook a final breath and stepped forward.
Every fiber of him was screaming.
Run.
Run away.
Run home.
Run to your mother.
Run back home to your sister.
Run as far as you can…
He couldn't run.
Not now.
Not here.
Not ever again.
If one French peasant struck this much fear into him, how much fear would a real soldier cause him?
"I can't run. I WON'T!"
Raising his blade, throwing all of his training into the wind and relying on pure idotic instinct, Martin ran forward and pushed passed Christopher.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"
Ignoring the shouting and pushing past another soldier, Martin clenched his sword tighter.
The intruder quickly turned towards Martin and slid forward with such speed that his eyes refused to keep up.
His stomach grew queasy as he launched his blade downwards toward the boy.
With a single swing, Martin's blade was forced into the air.
"W-What…?"
"IDIOT!"
The shockwave of the intruder's blade clashing against him caused Martin's hands to shake with such force that they threw his sword.
A flash of light grazed past his eyes as his body was sent spiraling back a few feet.
Blood splattered all across his body, but the blood raining down wasn't his own.
Christopher coughed softly while gripping his stomach and neck.
Two quick motions came from the intruder.
Without another word, Christopher's head slid off his body as multiple stunned gasps erupted from the now fear-struck soldiers.