[color=goldenrod]"Understood."[/color]

His dismount was immediate, swinging off of his steed with practiced ease and drawing his longsword upon landing. Sliding free of scabbard upon his back (hitched up in the transition from mounted to grounded to facilitate this), it glinted dangerously in the evening light, well-kept but otherwise... nondescript. He was neither the caliber nor pedigree of knight to name his blade.

However.

[color=goldenrod][i]Seize the initiative. Take it and press it for all you're worth. Fight in The Before.[/i][/color]

He surged forward, blade floating above his shoulder in a muted form of the High or Roof Guard, covering distance between the road and the nearest bandit who had appeared from the treeline that he had moments before been eyeing to enter as a scout within moments. The man was somewhat scrawny, wearing a patchwork armoring of layered hide and mail near his joints, and upon his countenance was an expression that suggested a note of trepidation at the idea of facing the Iron Rose Knights in open combat. Understandable.

He held in his hands a sword. It was short and shoddily made, the type Gerard had seen and faced often in those seven years before knighthood. Chipping ran its length, and the knuckles squeezed white as the highwayman's grip attempted to strangle whatever wood was beneath the pommel's leather. The blade was covered in a brownness that suggested not rust— but blood. Recently dried, lining up with the attack they had stumbled into. Unforgivable.

The knight's eyes shone and his guard raised higher, now overhead. He had neither caliber nor pedigree to his name, true, and his sword had no title bestowed upon it— But when the order was given, neither he nor it would hesitate. The Before and The After were a wellspring to all skills, and he had learned to [i]always[/i] seize The Before. When you have initiative, you control the fight, and your opponent wilts under having to defend himself from you.

The bandit stepped back, raising his sword high—

And Gerard was upon him.

From the Roof Guard, the brigand made a natural assumption: the knight was to strike upon his head like hammering an anvil. He had a decent chance of deflecting such a blow if his blade wouldn't break from the force— yet no such blow came. Instead the knight drew a glinting arc, stepping out to his right and bringing the blade around to bite into his skull, top hand now leading and thumb pressed against the flat of his blade. Driven by the full rotational chain of his legs and hips, this Thwarting Strike was one of the master cuts he had repeated thousands of times against any manner of foe, real or imagined.

The Bandit fell.

Onto the next. They were not far.

Now in the Ox Guard after that initial hew, Sir Segremors spotted the bandit's fellow charging him, before the first's corpse had even hit the ground. Trying to use his comrade as a sort of concealment or distraction, then. With his woodsman's hatchet held high, ready to split the knight's skull in two, the man let loose a war cry. He had merely one or two strides left to be in range for such a feat. Cunning, after a fashion.

Gerard's rear hand re-positioned, pushing against his pommel as he stepped into the man's advance with a thrust. Simply extending his lead arm and putting his weight into it was almost natural from Ox. Startled by the sudden shortening of the space between them, his foe wrenched his arms downward, trying to capitalize or even just react—

But fell short and limp, bouncing off of the crossguard of the sword he had run himself onto.

The young knight kicked the body free, taking in the battlefield that had emerged as he did so. Dame Larette had set to one flank, Sir Jodeau another. The Vanguard was engaging the bandit's in earnest. He spied Druncarde, Knight of The River, moving towards the rear of their group and caught up with what seemed to be a bunch of harassing crossbowmen. Too far now for Gerard to help without passing through most of the others.

[color=goldenrod][i]Perhaps lend more strength to the front, then.[/i][/color]

He set off again. It was as always.

Onto the next. They were not far.