[The British Isles, Wessex, Cerne — March of 793]
The rams had splintered the church door but not yet broken it. The ram was a hastily chopped tree, and honestly, Beorhtric still wasn't insane enough to abdicate the throne by burning the church. Hopefully, the bandits would surrender soon.
Suddenly, and finally, heaven heard his prayers , and for once in his life, something went right , as shouts came from the church "WE SURRENDER! WE BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS, O MERCIFUL AND GLORIOUS KING!"
Beorhtric closed his eyes and sighed in relief. He didn't have to burn the church or destroy it. Then he looked at his royal herald and nodded. The herald nodded back and rode forth.
The herald rode forward a few paces and shouted, "If you seek mercy, lay down your arms and exit the church at once! The king offers life to those who submit peacefully!"
From his saddle, Beorhtric raised a mailed hand. "Tell them," he said coldly, "that no harm shall come to any man who yields. But if they flee , kill them all."
The herald nodded and repeated the words, his voice echoing across the field.
The soldiers began forming a ring around the church, tight and unbroken. pitchforks and spears lowered. Archers nocked arrows. The king's horse snorted and stamped in the trampled mud.
Beorhtric's face was set like carved stone. "If they truly surrender," he muttered, "God grant they mean it."
[Inside the Church]
"Please! Don't harm him! For the love of God, surrender! If you spare Thegn Oswald, the king will forgive you! You'll all live if you just, "Abbot Benedict was on his knees, begging the bandits to spare Oswald.
Oswald was kneeling in front of them, shaking so badly his fat made sounds as he trembled. Beside him lay his dead huscarls, and the villagers stared helplessly at their fallen lord.
Joffrey stood over him with a sword in hand, the blade half-raised.
Abbot Benedict kept pleading with Joffrey, hoping he would spare Oswald. The two of them had known each other for more than thirty years, and he had heard this decision was just an abrupt whim, but he also knew these were dying men, and that terrified him as well.
"Joffrey, stop playing around. Either kill him or stop wasting time and get in line. Prepare to charge," said Augustus.
Joffrey lowered his blade and said, "You're lucky I'm Joffrey. I'm a benevolent and gentle person, otherwise I'd have killed you already. How can useless trash like you be a lord and not me? Beg me to spare you."
Oswald let out a shaky sigh of relief and began thanking God. He clung to Joffrey's leg, sobbing and muttering prayers of gratitude, his voice breaking with fear and shame.
Joffrey stared down at him, disgust flickering beneath his grin. "You call that gratitude?" he muttered. "Fine then, let me leave you something to remember my mercy by."
The sword flashed. Blood splattered across the floorboards. Oswald's scream tore through the church as his left arm fell to the ground.
Joffrey wiped his blade clean on his cloak. "There. A reminder that I spared your life. Don't forget who your better is."
With that, he turned back to the others. No one said a word. One by one, they lowered their visors , the sound of metal clicking shut cutting through the silence. The abbot was still on his knees, whispering prayers over Oswald's screams.
Augustus adjusted his grip on his sword. "We're done here. Form up," he said flatly.
They moved together, pushing the benches and tables aside. The doors groaned, then gave way under their hands. Light spilled in, dust dancing in the air. None of them looked back as they stepped outside.
[Outside the Church]
The church doors opened at last. The six stepped out, slow and steady, The army waiting outside tensed , pitchforks lifted, bows drawn, but the bandits didn't flinch.
In the front walked Augustus and Joffrey, shoulder to shoulder. Behind them, Jason stood in the center and behind him Mark, On the flanks moved the two shielded warriors Axel and Felix, each carrying a heavy warhammer and round shield
The herald rode a few paces forward and shouted, "In the name of King Beorhtric, lay down your arms and surrender! You will be shown mercy if you yield now!"
The six didn't answer. Augustus looked toward the king's host "Ready" he said simply.
"Ready"
"Ready"
"Ready"
"Ready"
"Ready"
With that Augustus riased his sword at the army and shouted "Morior invictus"
"Semper invicti!"
"Semper invicti!"
"Semper invicti!"
"Semper invicti!"
"Semper invicti!"
The first rank of fyrdsmen broke before the charge. Spears splintered against steel, some shattering outright when they struck the strange armor. The bandits hit like a thrown axe , a single blow that opened the line.
The heavy hitters swung wide, the air cracking with each strike. A warhammer crushed a shield and the man behind it in one swing; the second hammer took two men off their feet. Each time they struck, Jason and Joffrey stepped in, their swords snapping out to guard the openings left by those slow, brutal blows.
The fyrd swarmed them, shouting, grabbing, stabbing. Blades scraped against their armor, axes stuck and were torn free.
For a time, the two hammer-men held the flanks like walls, every swing breaking bone and shield alike. Men fell in heaps before them, but the line behind only pushed harder. Desperation took hold. When blades couldn't bite, they threw themselves bodily at the armored giants—grabbing at arms, legs, anything they could reach.
It worked.
Like wolves that had smelled blood, the fyrdsmen piled on, dragging one of the hammer-men down beneath their bodies. He kept swinging until the last, his hammer vanishing under a wave of men. Felix was the next to go, swallowed by the press,his roar drowned beneath the crush.
But their fall left a gap, a narrow path torn open through the chaos. Jason saw it,the way straight to the king's banner snapping above the melee.
"Now!" Augustus shouted, his voice raw through the din.
He lowered his sword and ran. Mark and Jason followed, the three cutting through the broken line like an arrow of steel. Mud and blood splashed with every step. The fyrd saw them coming and tried to close ranks, but they were too slow.
The wedge struck home. Jason's blade split a man from collarbone to belly; Mark's flail shattered a shield and the skull behind it. Augustus carved a path ahead, every swing brutal and precise.
But there was no time to breathe.
The rest of the fyrd,those who had killed Joffrey and the heavy hitters saw what had happened and came running, hundreds of them, roaring like madmen. They weren't soldiers anymore; they were a mob, a flood of bodies charging to drown what was left.
"Go!" Augustus shouted. "Get the king!"
He turned back toward the oncoming mass, planting his boots in the mud, sword raised.
"GO!"
Mark grabbed Jason by the shoulder. "Move, damn you!"
But Jason hesitated , just long enough to see Augustus vanish under the swarm right after his first swing.
Then Mark pushed forward, sprinting ahead of him, flail swinging. He threw himself straight into the men around the king , smashing through men and horses alike, his armor dented and covered in blood.
Jason followed, close behind, cutting down anyone who came near.
Mark looked back once, eyes flashing behind his visor. "Don't stop!"
Then a dozen hands clung to him. He went down fighting, the flail still spinning until the weight dragged him into the mud and vanished under the weight of bodies.
Jason broke through what was left, roaring, his sword red to the hilt. Ahead of him, the king's horse stumbled back, Beorhtric's eyes wide with terror.
Ahead, the royal circle was collapsing. Horses bucked, riders shouted, and the banner of Wessex dipped and swayed amid the chaos.
Beorhtric's destrier reared, foam flying from its mouth as the king fought to control it. The Archbishop had already turned his mount, fleeing through the press, his cloak flapping behind him like a white banner of surrender.
Jason lowered his shoulder and ran straight into the fray. A guard thrust a spear — Jason batted it aside and drove his blade through the man's nose.
Another swung an axe , he parried, twisted, and shoved the dying body into the next man's swing.
He was through.
The king's eyes met his. For an instant, both froze , the Saxon king and the armored stranger who had just carved his way through his retainers.
Beorhtric kicked at his horse's flank, but the destrier stumbled on the churned ground. Jason reached the saddle, grabbed the reins, and yanked. The king toppled with a cry, crashing into the mud. His crown rolled from his head.
Jason stepped forward, raising his sword. "Got you," he muttered.
A blur moved to his right, a thegn in gilded mail, sword drawn, charging in blind fury. Jason turned, swung, and met the strike halfway.
Steel rang against steel, sparks bursting in the rain. Jason caught him across the side of the head , the blade split the man's helm and sank deep.
Too deep.
The sword jammed in bone. Jason pulled once, twice , it wouldn't move. The thegn corpsee and he both toppled into the mud.
He barely had time to curse before the world crashed in on him.
A dozen men hit him at once, dragging him down, shouting over one another. Hands clawed at his helmet, his shoulders, his legs. He kicked and swung, but for every one he threw off, two more took his place. Someone slammed a mace into his back; another smashed his visor with a shield.
The king was being dragged away by his guards, half crawling, covered in mud, staring back in disbelief at the man who had just nearly ended him.
Jason tried to rise, got one knee under him ,then a spear shaft caught him in the ribs and another in the neck joint. His arms buckled.
Beorhtric's horse surged up again, hooves flashing. He was hauled into the saddle by his retainers, bloodless and shaking. "Take him!" he shouted hoarsely. "Take him alive!"
Jason roared "DAMN IT ALL, YOU FUCKERS!" and threw one last elbow , someone's teeth shattered under the blow , but it didn't matter. A club struck his head from behind, then another. His vision narrowed to black.
He fell face-first into the mud, swordless, buried under the weight of the men he'd slaughtered.