Chapter 3 Part 1

Everyone ran around the main campfire, organizing themselves into six rows of ten men — except the last, which had only five. 

João took his place in the fourth row, beside a short, sturdy young man with long reddish hair. In front of him, he recognized Miguel. 

Despite the exhaustion from the scorching day, the sweat, and the heavy odor that clung to the air, each of the Templars held a straight posture, as if their honor depended on it — and indeed, it did. None dared tarnish the name of the Order with any sign of weakness. 

Vicente had separated from the group and gathered with the five veteran members of the company: 

Bruno, the silent leader, whose presence weighed heavier than his armor; 

Oto, responsible for the wounded — from bandages to amputations, he was the one who treated flesh torn by war; 

Afonso, a man with arms like tree trunks and an impassive expression — João still had no clear impression of him, but the whispered stories spoke only of ferocity and lethal skill; 

Guilherme, more craftsman than warrior, in charge of the carts, animals, and siege machinery — catapults, or trebuchets when luck allowed. 

The five veterans spoke a few meters from the lined-up men, and this silent distance only increased the tension among the younger ones. 

João tried to distract himself by watching the sunset to his right. The sky burned in shades of blood. Bruno's sudden change of plans still weighed on his mind like a stone in his gut. 

At last, the veterans seemed to reach an agreement. They advanced together, forming a line of five in front of the ready troops. 

Bruno stepped forward. His voice cut through the air like drawn steel: 

— Men! — he called. — I imagine the change of plans has caused some uncertainty... 

No one answered, but their eyes said enough. 

— It was a necessary choice. I received new information this afternoon. 

He took a few more steps, expanding his presence, his voice now resonating firmly: 

— The scouts have confirmed: the city of Irmy is now surrounded by a wall. 

A hushed murmur rippled through the ranks. João felt his heart tighten. According to all reports, Irmy was vulnerable — an easy target. This news changed everything. 

— But... — Bruno continued, raising his hand. — The wall is recent. Built in haste. Poorly cut logs, aligned as if fear itself had raised them. 

Afonso stepped forward and, with Bruno's permission, took the floor: 

— Many of you must be thinking that a frontal assault would be suicide. And you'd be right. — His voice was as firm as stone. — That's why tomorrow we'll better assess their defenses. If needed, we'll lay siege to Irmy until the catapult brings down their walls. 

Fear gave way to restlessness. For many, including João, seeing a wall fall before Templar steel was more than war — it was living legend. 

Bruno resumed command: 

— Tomorrow we'll march in formation to the outskirts of the city. We'll separate the squires, spearmen, and archers. I don't expect immediate combat... but the sight of our force should plant terror among them. Even so, be ready. 

The men nodded in silence. 

João felt his stomach churn. Just the mention of the shield wall was enough to make him sick. It was where boys became men — or died looking the enemy in the eyes. 

The veterans exchanged brief glances, and with quick nods, Afonso and Vicente began walking through the ranks. 

— Night patrols will continue as planned, — Bruno announced. — Those assigned to watch will be placed among the archers. Vicente and Afonso will organize the formations. 

João breathed a sigh of relief at not having to stand guard at night — though he doubted he'd be able to sleep. 

Afonso was speaking to a boy in the second row when Vicente approached João. He placed both hands on João's shoulders, analyzing him with a firm gaze. 

— It's time to become a full Templar, — he said, stepping back a pace. — You'll stand in the shield wall. 

— Y-yes, sir... — João replied, feeling his mouth go dry and his tongue grow heavy. 

Vicente moved on. João remained in place, lost in thoughts as heavy as his chainmail. 

At last, the five veterans withdrew, leaving the young men to run back and forth, finishing preparations for the next day — a day that might engrave their names in the chronicles... or bury them in the earth before Irmy's walls.