Under the guise of a midday sun and a gentle snowfall, Elena Isotta and her armor-clad companions on their mighty steeds were overlooking a small hill near the desolate village of Farville, as the winter's cold breeze flowed through the vision slits of their helmets.
"Let's go introduce ourselves to the folks around here," Elena decided, and all her colleagues immediately nodded in agreement, as if competing to see who could agree the most.
They then galloped down the hill toward the village below, like a tidal wave of blood flowing down from the slope as their deep crimson armor sharply contrasted against the blanket of snow.
The villagers began moving around in panic, probably thinking they were a band of bandits setting out to raid.
Seeing how things were going, Elena pulled off her helmet to reveal the fair maiden beneath, her face so perfect it made several male villagers freeze in awe for a moment, much to the dismay of their wives.
"I, Elena, leader of the Red Lion Mercenary Company, have been employed by the lord of this land to protect and aid you people of this village for a month," she declared, scanning the area to find a place suitable for her men and their steeds.
"Is anyone living in that house?" she asked a nearby villager, pointing toward a house at the edge of the village. It was a small pinewood Fachwerk house, with a modest patch of field and a ransacked sheep stable nearby.
"I don't think so, lady knight," one of the villagers' wive replied with a disgruntled expression.
"Great. Then my men and I will lodge there. No need to send us food or drink, we have everything covered. If there are any tasks we can help with, please inform us at our lodging," she said with a smile.
With that, she and her companions immediately galloped toward the house at an unbelievable speed.
----
After arriving, they tethered their steeds at the sheep stable, leaving two men on rotation to tend the horses, while the others entered the house and immediately rearranged the place to their liking.
Tables were shifted to make room for piles of food and drink, organized in a messy, chaotic fashion. Chairs were broken apart for firewood. Even the basement was explored, revealing a massive quantity of preserved food, which the men quickly indulged in as if it had been left there specifically for them.
Amidst this chaotic scene, Elena smiled as she watched her men enjoy themselves while ravaging the uninhabited house. She rocked back and forth in a rocking chair beside the fireplace, but after a long while, she grew bored.
She signaled her men to assemble using a whistle made from orc bone.
*Fweeeet!*
The sharp sound rang out, and her men immediately abandoned what they were doing and gathered around her, their faces growing surprisingly pale.
"Adorn your armor and pick up arms! We're going on patrol!" she shouted, reminding them of the duty they were paid to fulfill in the first place.
Armor donned. Weapons armed. Horses standing ready.
It took no more than ten minutes.
They had done this so many times before that it had become second nature to them.
And once more they rode out like a torrent of blood.
----
Beneath the shade of pine trees and falling winter snow, Alrick Ulrickson stood at the edge of the forest, plotting his revenge against those who had slain his father. Far away in front of him, a scene of village rebuilding and repopulation unfolded before his eyes, filling him with nothing but anger.
Around him were eighty other snow leopard beastmen of similar origin, first and second sons of those who had fallen. Armed with anything they could scrounge up within a couple of days, they were ready to descend upon this unfortunate village at the edge of civilization once more.
"Charge!" he shouted, and they surged forward like a rampaging blizzard.
But as fate would decide, they would not even reach the outer rim of the village.
"Boy! Looks like we've found our prey!" a high-pitched voice roared, as a tidal wave of crimson-clad horsemen appeared out of nowhere, immediately intercepting them.
Crimson-clad couched lances crashed into beastmen flesh as blood splattered across the snow, painting the ground around this unfortunate village red for the third time in this season alone.
Then the combat devolved into a slog of raw brutality. A horse had its head smashed in by a bone mace, sending its unfortunate rider tumbling to the ground before being curb-stomped to death by a herd of rampaging beastmen. A beastman was decapitated in a flash by a sword swing, his head tossed through the chaotic mess of battle like a kicked ball.
And amidst the carnage, Alrick now found himself facing his foe, as the rhythm of battle decided to grant him a duel against a warrior clad in crimson armor, whose steed had just been slain by one of his kin.
Yet whenever any of his warriors attempted to attack this specific fighter, their blows were blocked, parried, or riposted in a flash by a gigantic zweihänder greatsword as long as the crimson warrior herself. Anyone who dared challenge her was sliced in half in a matter of seconds. It was as though this warrior was not human at all, but a bestial spirit of the battlefield given flesh.
Then their eyes met, and as the battlefield conveniently opened into an empty gap with only the two of them standing within it, they knew exactly what must be done.
He raised his wyvern-bone greatsword, a spare to the one his father once wielded, holding it high as his enemy mirrored the motion.
They lunged at each other to trade blows. In the blink of an eye, two greatswords clashed, sending bone-chilling clangs reverberating through their bodies. Slews of sparks erupted from the collision as both stood on equal footing.
Until he seized the moment and swept the feet out from under his opponent, sending her falling backward. In that exact instant, he lunged forward and drove his sword toward her helm, aiming for a killing blow.
Yet somehow, his opponent moved her head with an unnaturally extreme vertical bend, and his blade only managed to knock a helmet free rather than deliver death.
As the helmet flew away, it revealed a fair human maiden so beautiful it made his heart skip a beat, if only for a moment. Yet he steeled himself.
Fair maiden or not, an enemy was still an enemy.
The maiden stepped back and recovered her stance, raising her greatsword high, ready to strike down at his head.
Naturally, he raised his own greatsword to block.
And that was when he fell for the feint.
The zweihänder did not descend. It froze midair, motionless, and what followed was an indescribable shock of pain as a steel-clad knee smashed directly into his groin. He flinched in response as instinct overwhelmed him.
Only now was his fate sealed by a split second of decision.
The pommel of the gigantic zweihänder smashed repeatedly into the back of his head, sending blood and brain matter splattering outward like mortar grinding raw egg. A twisted smile of pleasure formed on the fair maiden's face as she slew him.
As his body fell to the ground, twitching before going still, she immediately tore her gaze away and searched for her next victim. The crimson beast had been unleashed, now fully within her natural habitat.
----
Meanwhile, on the dirt road leading toward Farville village, an ornate and luxurious carriage painted pine green strode through a blanket of snow. It was flanked and surrounded on every side by heavily armed knights bearing the heraldry and family crest of a black bear standing upright upon a pine green background, the symbol of "House Ursun", of a marquis level household.
Inside the carriage sat a young noble lady clad in long brown fur-lined clothing sewn with golden thread. Her brilliant emerald-green eyes, hidden behind cloudy glasses, pierced through the carriage window as she gazed upon the tundra plains beyond. Her skin, fair as ivory touched with cream, reflected a gentle beam of sunlight, while her short ginger hair swayed in rhythm with the turning wheels.
"Focus on the mission. Diplomacy. Diplomacy," she muttered to herself, her hands shaking with nervousness. Her freckled face was so full of stress that she felt she might vomit.
As she whispered to herself, a voice erupted from the driver's seat in a thunderous roar of alarm.
"My lady! The Redlion Company has been spotted battling beastmen ahead. Permission to engage!" the driver shouted, as the knights surrounding her carriage brandished their blades in readiness.
The Redlion Company.
Those words sent chills and hatred crawling up her spine. They were the ones who had killed her father and brother, thrusting the title of marquise upon her, a position she had never wanted, all because of their own mistake in ravaging the precious bear population.
She had spent years trying to hunt them down for execution, and now they were right in front of her diplomatic caravan, battling beastmen at the northernmost corner of the kingdom.
Her nervous thoughts of diplomacy in some minor barony-level fiefdom called Vindia evaporated instantly, replaced by indescribable rage and an illogical lust for revenge. Like a fool whose reason had been stripped away, she commanded her knights to intercept the battle.
----
And in the middle of this unfurling event of random bullshit chaos and coincident, John and his knights were about to arrive at the scene.