The left flank was caving in to pressure from the enemy, and the reserves Jeremiah had relied on were already engaged on their own by a flanking force which came from the woods to their left. They were practically surrounded, by the enemy on three sides, and the castle walls on the fourth. It was difficult to keep the men under his command together, and the more brave templars fell to the sword the weaker became the resolve of the remaining few. They did not live together, train together or fight together, but this band of survivors had to rely upon each other for a strong sword arm and a steadfast shield, while looking up to Jeremiah for leadership - he, a mere knight-corporal, whose first approach to a problem would be to have it sit down and have a nice chat with it. None of it mattered at the moment he saw the enemy they faced. 

It was the divine will of the gods, and a lucky chance that another group of straggelers had appeared and attacked their enemy, lifting the pressure somewhat off Jeremiah's crumbling formation. Strange magic took place, and soon Jeremiah was confronted by a Knight-Captain, of all things, wounded and winded and crying out for the templar in charge. Jeremiah stepped forward and tore the captain away from the front lines to a safer distance from the fighting. "I lead us. Did the lightning come from your group? What are your orders?", Jeremiah inquired quickly, keeping one eye firmly on the action.