This is my first story that I've published here. As I get used to formatting things, it will look nicer. Maybe.

My writing will also hopefully get better as this story goes on.

This story will be a mix of serious and.. not serious. Nothing extremely serious, mind you, but there will be violence and death. In case of anything extra heavy, I will add an additional warning at the top of the chapter.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story! :)

"Harlaus, sir! There have been sightings of Nord scouts out by Elberl!" An armored, short, stubby soldier reported.

Harlaus, quite lazily, repositioned himself to sit upright. With a yawn, he looked over the soldier.

"That's KING Harlaus to you… are there no lords to protect it? How did they even get this deep, anyhow?" mumbled Harlaus drowsily.

"They are, ah… spread thin around our realm, sir. I can send a messenger, if that would please his high-"

Harlaus dismissed the notion with a wave. "Nonsense. I'll handle it myself."

Slowly, Harlaus rose to stand. The soldier performed the most deep salute in his arsenal, then took his leave. Harlaus looked to the scabbard tied to his waist and the hilt on top of it. "You will have blood today, Quincy." He let out a soft chuckle. "Though it may be too crude to enjoy."

The small Nordic scout force stood just outside the village, presumably scouting. One soldier stood out from the rest, wearing a deep crimson scarf around his neck and a brownish-gold crown upon his short white hair. He turned to the force and spoke up.

"Okay, boys, keep in mind that we're only here to scout, so… don't do anything stupid." He took a moment to adjust his crown. "We're scouting this village's resources to see if taking the surrounding territory would be worth it… it would take something pretty rare and sparse to fight this deep within enemy territory, so be sure to look for Ragnar's generosity."

"No raiding? Did I hear that right, Ourus, sir?" Ourus looked to the soldier.

"...yeah. We don't need to attract attention to ourselves and have to fight in, I repeat, enemy territory. The denars we get paid will be enough to satisfy even Gold-Diggin' Vadskr." Ourus made a gesture towards an enormous gold-plated man, head concealed by more opulence. The man waved in return.

Ourus looked around the area. The village was entirely average. Nothing remarkable whatsoever. Slightly hilly, lightly forested, small size, armored knights staring them down…

Ourus froze. Armored knights? Staring, too? There weren't that many of them, but they could still easily take down the scouting force.

"Vadskr, take the archers and whoever and camp them on that hill." He pointed to the large hill to the force's left. "I will take charge with the infantry. God, why does there always have to be a problem…"

As Vadskr lead the ranged unit to the hill, Ourus lead the melee unit to the knights. The knight in front sported a grand winged helmet, and he tensed up as the unit approached.

"Hello, sirs. To whom am I making my acquaintance?" Ourus performed a light bow, and peered into the dark opening in the helmet.

"None other than the King of Swadia." Harlaus laid a hand on his sword's hilt. "And who might these men be, who trespass on Swadian land?"

"My apologies, sir. We are but a scouting party sent by King Ragnar to survey the area. We mean no-" Ourus was interrupted by the unsheathing of Harlaus's sword. "-harm, but it seems you do. Right, well, I tried to resolve this peacefully, but if I must…"

Ourus reached into his quiver and pulled out an arrow. Simple and wooden, unremarkable. "This is an arrow. I have plenty of men who use these for killing. Currently, they are…" Ourus motioned toward the hill. "... aiming at you and your men, ready to strike of anything happens. You all are also wearing heavy armor, which means-"

Ourus took one step backward. Then another. Soon, he was running full speed away from the Swadians. "-you won't be able to catch up to me! Ta!" The entire melee unit followed suit while the ranged unit fired volley after volley into the knights.

Harlaus waved his arms in agitation. "Ourus, you swine!" Unsheathing the sword Quincy from its leathery home, he yelled, "Knights, charge!", voice cracking.

One of the knights tapped Harlaus on the shoulder. "Your highness, we have an… an issue." He gestured to the village stables. Below the opened ceiling were the knights' esteemed horses, now with a few extra accessories. "The horses have, ah… been made into pincushions, your highness."

Harlaus, gripping Quincy tightly, took a step forward, towards the fleeing mercenaries. "I do not care." The sound of the mercenaries' hastened footsteps filled the air, and arrows continued to rain down upon the knights.

"I believe I gave an order." Harlaus placed both hands on the knight and shook him silly. "I BELIEVE I ORDERED YOU TO CHARGE!"

Harlaus's knights looked to each other, then raised their fists high in the air with a grunt of affirmation.

Harlaus knew that they wouldn't catch the mercenaries. They were evidently well trained in guerilla tactics; his knights were simply not trained for that kind of combat.

Though, his knights did have a certain affinity for pincer attacks. Harlaus laughed as he calmly marched forward, his knights leaving him in the dust. Outside the village, a larger force was en route to the mercenaries, who were unwittingly marching into their craziest battle yet.