Chapter 5 Part 1

The march was slow but steady. 

Sweat soaked João's body as he followed the long line of Templars. The weight of the armor had begun to take its toll, forcing him to carry his helmet under his arm. Strands of black hair clung to his forehead. 

They soon left the camp, with only four soldiers and old Oto assigned to guard duty. Despite his grumbling and muttered curses, Oto eventually accepted the role. 

João breathed through his mouth, following the path cleared by the scouts and Bruno, who led the group. Something felt wrong. Recently cut logs revealed recent activity. The tall trees formed a dark, narrow corridor — the perfect place for an ambush. 

The path was wide enough for two carts, but the tension was palpable. Any movement among the branches caused dozens of eyes to turn in unison. 

João spotted Miguel further ahead, gripping his long spear so tightly his knuckles were white. Not that João himself was any different. 

The column came to a sudden stop. Smoke rose into the sky in thin black lines. It was the Chemises. They were near Irmy. 

Silence gave way to growing anxiety. As they exited the corridor of trees, they finally caught sight of Irmy. 

The city was protected by a crude wooden wall, built from logs of varying sizes. Branches had been cut and laid systematically on the ground. The entrance was narrow, allowing only one man through at a time. 

The buildings were simple, shaped from wood, clay, and mud. But what stood out was the hill at the center of Irmy. It rose above the walls, and something — indistinguishable — rested at its summit. 

Everything seemed normal… yet João felt an increasing sense of unease. 

"Strange…" someone behind him murmured. "There's no one." 

Not a single living soul. A suffocating dread gripped João's chest. That was when Bruno's voice rang out: 

"Prepare yourselves! They're either hiding or they've fled. Or…" 

"…we're walking straight into a trap," Afonso finished. 

There was no time for anything more. Screams erupted from all sides. 

Men rose from the grass, camouflaged with vegetation sewn into their clothing. It was an ambush. 

João drew his sword and raised his shield. The townsfolk of Irmy crashed into the column with primal fury. 

Hammers, axes, machetes… Blows echoed, armor dented, bones cracked. 

An axe came down at him. João lifted his shield, felt the impact, then a boot hit his stomach. He staggered. A second blow aimed for his head, but this time he was ready: he deflected the axe and shoved the enemy back. 

He was preparing a diagonal strike when something hit his helmet. A buzzing sound. Heat. Blood. His right eye shut. 

Two figures came toward him, but a spear pierced one of their chests. João seized the moment and plunged his sword into the other's stomach, feeling the blade tear through flesh. He twisted his wrist, driving the weapon deeper, and the enemy fell. 

Cries echoed. 

"SHIELD WALL!" Afonso roared. 

João ran, joining the others, shield to shield. He could now see the battlefield: fallen bodies, blood staining the white of Templar cloaks. 

The enemies charged wildly at the shield wall. 

"HOLD FIRM, MEN!" Bruno bellowed. 

The impact came. João clenched his teeth, pushed back. He felt the stench of the enemy's breath, kicks at his legs, and used all his strength to hold the line. 

"SPEARS!" 

A blade passed over his shoulder, piercing an enemy's throat. Another strike, another death. The spears moved in rhythm. Arrows also flew. The ambush was turning against Irmy. 

The shield wall advanced, trampling the dying. They gained ground. 

The enemies retreated toward the gate. 

"NO!" Bruno shouted. "STAY HERE!" 

But a young Templar chased after them. As he reached the entrance, spears struck him from all sides. Dead. 

Bruno stopped. But archers rose within the walls. Arrows sliced through the air. Bruno's armor deflected some, but one struck his eye. He fell on his back, convulsing. 

"RETREAT!" Afonso shouted. "MAINTAIN FORMATION!" 

João, still dazed, obeyed. Shield in hand, blood running down his face. 

The Templars fell back, step by step, moving in reverse. The archers ceased fire. From atop the wall, insults rained down. 

But João barely heard them. The battle was over. He had killed. And now he knew what it meant to live — or die — by the sword.