Aftermath

"Commander!" one of the Novamantus knights called out, their armor looked like Dreadmoore's. The land was almost barren, with the trees already extinguished. Only the large smoke from the burnt bodies of the fallen knights was left. The dead bodies of both their allies and enemies were being carried by a small wagon, dragged by the surviving knights to burn it.

Novamantus couldn't afford to give proper burials to those who had died fighting for their land. It felt very unjust, but considering the state of the soldiers, it had to be done.

The sound of the spinning wooden wheels of Gallahan's troops' carriages and the horses' footsteps were heard. Gallahan was quite popular, that even the Dreadmoore knights respected his presence and position as the Commander of Winthrope knights.

The land where the war occurred felt like despair. The wind was cold, and everyone looked injured, but they still worked their bodies off.

As Gallahan and his men made their way down the road, their passage was suddenly stopped by a knight. The interruption was not of great importance, as the knight was merely informing them that the main troops had already departed and returned to the nearest fortress.

One of the knights, the one that was always besides Gallahan dismounts his horse and handled the conversation. After a short conversation, they both nodded to each other, and the knight returned to his horse.

"We can continue our journey, sir," the knight reported.

"You're doing really well, Sergeant Kaelsa," Gallahan remarked, feeling amused by Kaelsa's passion and determination.

"It is my honor, sir!" replied Kaelsa.

...

Twelve hours had passed since their departure and the weather have already calmed. After a long travel, Gallahan decided to take a short rest by the meadows. They seemed to have already left the Skogzgard border, but the sky was still cloudy, as if it was going to rain again. Although, only a strong breeze gently swept over their skin.

The injured had already been treated well, recovering inside the carriages. And those in charge of the food stock started preparing before distributing foods for the knights who hadn't eaten yet and those that overexerted themselves in the war.

Sitting on the grass, Mikail and Trevan finally had their first proper meal of the day. The leisure time they spent wasn't that much different from what they usually did.

But one thing Mikail noticed was that Yaras was avoiding him, and furthermore, he caught him glancing and glaring at him often.

No matter, Mikail just thought that he'll ease up with him soon. He understands Yaras' anger towards him. After all, Mikail couldn't even forgive himself.

As they ate together, Mikail can't help but remark as he watches Trevan, "You remind me of him."

Trevan full-heartedly ate his food before he looked at Mikail with confusion, "Remind you of who?" He looked eager to know the answer.

Mikail slightly smiled and replied, "Just a friend of mine... No, more like a brother."

Tsss...

As the rain began to fall, the knights hurriedly gathered their belongings and prepared for the continuation of their journey.

Gallahan quickly instructed his men to ensure that all of their remaining supplies were properly secured and waterproofed.

Mikail and Trevan, along with the other knights worked with no slowing, each one taking on the available tasks to ensure that everything was prepared for the long journey ahead.

The others checked the horses and wagons and made sure they were ready to go.

***

"HAAH!" The sound of the massive wooden greatsword slicing through the air echoed throughout the fortress courtyard. The sheer force of the swing alone was enough to make Mikail uneasy, even though the blade hadn't come anywhere near him.

The wielder of the greatsword was none other than Sigfred, lifting the weapon with both of his arms which seems shake as he tried to repress the heaviness. Sweat trickled down his cheeks as he struggled to hold onto the hilt of the massive sword, which was almost as big as he was.

"I couldn't believe you actually made a replica of a greatsword using a thick slab of wood," said Sigfred as he lifted up the wooden greatsword.

Mikail smirked, feeling confident. "Well, my mother taught me how to woodcarve weapon replicas when I was young."

"She seems like a really good person! It's just sad that I couldn't get to see her. But hey, I saw your father once, and he told me I had potential!"

Mikail's face visibly saddened as soon as he heard Sigfred's remark.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I forgot... That was inconsiderate of me."

But he tried not to be affected by suddenly clapping his hands and starting the personal training.

"No, it's all right. Let's begin!"

Sigfred got into a stance. "Yeah... I'm ready when you are."

Mikail began to train Sigfred practice the greatsword as he watched from a distance, leaning on the wall while he read aloud the guide book for greatsword mastery.

He observed Sigfred's form closely, repetitively looking at the description written on the book before looking back again to check his form if it's correct

"HAAK!"

It was going well, but Mikail couldn't help but notice that something was still amiss.

Mikail raised his hands while looking at the book, gesturing Sigfred to pause. "Your form isn't quite right," he called out, flipping through the pages of the book.

"What? I was certain I was performing well."

"...It says here that you need to lower your stance and bend your knees more. This will give you more stability and balance when you swing the greatsword."

"Like this?"

"Yeah, close to that, but it will do. Continue."

Sigfred grunted in response, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tried to follow Mikail's instructions.

He slightly adjusted his stance, spreading his feet wider apart and bending his knees until he felt the burn in his thighs. Gripping the handle of the greatsword tighter, he hefted it up again hoping that he finally get it right.

Mikail watched closely, nodding in approval as Sigfred executed the move fairly correct. "Good," he said, "Now focus on your follow-through. You'd want to aim for a smooth and fluid movement, not just complete brute force."

Sigfred nodded back, "I know, I get it now."

He swung his sword again, feeling the sweat pouring down his face and back. He knew it was going to be a long day of training, but his determination to master the greatsword was consistent, and Mikail had fun with it as he learned more things that are also applicable for his personal training.

Sigfred's compassion was visible at every ounce of strength he put at every swing. This sword for him, it was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of his strength and prowess as a knight.

"Huff... Huff..."

"Hey, you seemed to be improving," Mikail said as he threw a piece of cloth to Sigfred so he could wipe his sweat.

He catches the cloth as he sat on the ground, completely beat and exhausted while he panted heavily. But he didn't feel like complaining at all, rather he felt very proud that Mikail notices his slight improvements.

"Thank you."

"This book is great. I've actually learnt some helpful stances while I was reading it."

"Oh, yeah? What are those?"

Mikail stood up and walked towards the open. He stretches out his arms, holding an imaginary weapon since he forgot his wooden sword at his room.

Sigfred listened to Mikail attentively as he demonstrated the stances and techniques for wielding a greatsword better. As well as pointing the common mistakes he did.

"As a greatsword wielder, these might be the things you need to notice. Compared to longswords which I wield, you would need to use both hands to control a greatsword's weight and power," Mikail said, holding the greatsword in front of him. He rested his hands on the hilt while the weapon stood upright, its tip pierced into the ground.

"Unlike the greatsword, with longswords, you have more flexibility in your grip and can easily switch between one or two hands."

Sigfred nodded, taking in Mikail's words. "So the greatsword requires pure raw strength to wield effectively?"

"Not necessarily," Mikail replied. "It's true that the greatsword is heavier and requires more strength, but skill and technique are just as important. A skilled swordsman can wield a greatsword effectively even if they don't have the raw strength to match its weight."

"How?" Sigfred asked, visibly confused yet intrigued.

"It's all about using your body weight and momentum to your advantage," Mikail explained. "Proper footwork and stance are key, as well as knowing when to put your full weight behind a strike and when to use speed instead. With a decent practice, anyone can become a skilled greatsword wielder, regardless of their physical strength."

"However, it's important to note that strength is still a big help in wielding a greatsword effectively," Mikail added. "While skills and techniques can usually help, there's no denying that a stronger swordsman can deliver more powerful blows and sustain their attacks longer."

"That's why training and physical conditioning are important for any warrior, especially for those who want to specialize in wielding heavy weapons like the greatsword. It's not just about building muscles, but also stamina needed to fight with such weapons for a longer time."

Sigfred looked at the greatsword, feeling a new sense of determination to master this weapon. "What about the common openings and attacks for a greatsword?"

Mikail thought for a while before remembering something. "I guess the best for you to use is the 'overhead chop', where you bring the sword down with all your strength to cleave through your enemy's defenses."

Mikail wipes of the floor, using another piece of cloth and puts it on the ground. He then sat at the padded floor and started opening the book.

"And look here, Sigfred. This Robert person is a genius! I didn't even think of this," he said, pointing out the texts written on the book.

Sigfred noticed that Mikail looked so happy as he pointed out everything he learnt. Even though he was too beat to even understand what he was saying, he still tried to listen to him.

***

On the northern border of Novamantus, the Pendragon Estate, a massive fortress of stone loomed over the horizon. The Dreadmoore banner, featuring a silver sword on a field of blue, fluttered atop the highest tower. Gallahan and his men had finally arrived at the second fortress of Dreadmoore after two days of travel.

The outskirts of the fortress were teeming with thousands of soldiers and tents that dotted the grassy field. Hundreds of dead bodies laid on the side of the road, waiting for a proper burial, while many surviving soldiers had formed their own groups and were either practicing with their weapons or having a party in the open field.

Although the sky was still pale, the rain had stopped. The place was not too dark, but the light and smoke from the campfires near the tents were clearly visible.

As they approached the large wooden gates, the command to open them rang out across the courtyard. The sound echoed off the walls, bouncing back to them in a deafening roar. Slowly, the gate creaked open, revealing the stern faces of the fortress guards.

"The Winthrope third commander has arrived!" one of the overseers called out, his voice carrying through the stillness.

The guards reacted to attention as they formed a line on either side of the massive wooden gate. Their spears was raised firm as they awaited Gallahan's arrival.

Mounted on a white horse, Gallahan's hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, accompanied by several Winthrope knights that are escorting the carriage.

"Welcome back, Commander Wallace," one of the knights said, removing his helmet. But his armor was distinctly different from the normal armor the guards and other Dreadmoore knights wore.

Gallahan nodded in acknowledgement as he dismounts on his horse.

"Commander Pendragon. We met again," said Gallahan as he offered his hand with a smile. Pendragon extends his hands out and took Gallahan's hand.

As they shook each other's hands, Pendragon looked behind Gallahan. Someone amongst the knights at the back caught his attention and made him squint his eyes.

It was Kaelsa, who appeared ashamed as he avoided making eye contact with him, staring at the ground.

He turned his gaze towards Gallahan back and gave an awkward smile. "...I'd prefer you call me Varus instead, sir Gallahan."

Gallahan gave a chuckle, "Very well then, sir Varus."

Royce Varus Pendragon. The first Commander of the Dreadmoore knights. His posture was straight, his stance firm, and he exuded an air of authority that commanded respect.

He wore a cloak of deep blue with silver trim that flowed behind him as the wind swept. His armor plate was tinted in gray and adorned with intricate blue designs, while an insignia carved on his chestplate, similar to the one that was on their fortress' banner.

Varus' helmet was a thick metal that covered his entire face except for the narrow slits for his eyes. On top of it was a feather design added a touch of royal elegance.

A sword with an ornate hilt hung at his side, and his gauntlets were etched with more intricate designs in gold.

As he spoke, his voice was stern but calm, carrying the weight of experience and wisdom.

"I am deeply pleased that you decided to stay here," said Varus with a slight smile as he took Gallahan's hand in his. The grip was firm, yet welcoming, a show of respect for his fellow commander.

However, as soon as Gallahan let go, Varus' smiling face shifted to an expressionless mask as he wiped his hands off with a handkerchief that the knight besides him hands out.

"I have some matters to discuss with you. Shall we?"

"Lead the way, Commander."