[@Psyker Landshark][@jdh97][@Crimson Paladin][@Raineh Daze][@VitaVitaAR] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjUzWvUjCvA]Ebb and flow.[/url] Action and reaction. Impacts against the blade resonating with the pumping in his skull. The rhythm through which he experienced this loud, bloody, and unforgiving world. Many likened it to a dance when they romanticised it, the constant give and take of force and space. Gerard Segremors could not bring himself to agree. There was nothing so whimsical here— warfare could only be warfare. It was simply too discordant to be anything else. Even dueling had enough order, enough regulation, enough elimination of meddling outside forces to still step one foot into the realm of dance in his mind, but not warfare. He surged forward, his longsword biting deep into the clavicle of an axeman. As the tip of the rightward spear, he had met the forefront of the slapdash defenses their enemies had managed to mount, and was by now deep in the thick of the camp after the mere moment it took for the full weight of his detachment to crash through behind his lead. It was as if the battle before had been a sample of that of now... There were no more elite forces here than out on the roads. The routing of the king's men could not have been done by these bandits. He ripped the blade free, kicking him as he fell and fully disregarding the spurt of blood that fell upon his boot. Such was expected, but less so was one of your fellows suddenly falling beneath your feet— the final lesson learned by a charging spearman before the knight he had set to impale cracked his skull with their warhammer. It had to be this King Jeremiah. The knight barked their thanks, receiving a simple grunt of affirmation as their impromptu "commander" dashed forward, scooping up the dropped polearm. Gripping the eight-foot oaken shaft by its end, he stepped in deep and thrust forward, breaking through the boiled leather over another's ribcage as he was attempting to turn towards the approaching noise. With his dying breath through the punctured lung, the malcontent managed to bring his crossbow to bear upon the knight's furrowed brow— But Segremors's instincts and experience proved too savvy. As the bolt was fired with a thankfully labored motion, he was already ducking out to the side, and the projectile struck home into the shoulder of another bandit who had the thought of trying to split Gerard's skull with a club from behind, while he had been busying himself with a little spearplay. "AGH! KEITH, YOU [i]FU—[/i]" He was not allowed the time to finish his reprimand, as the vengeful Reonite came out of the roll in a turning, two-handed cleave that drew a murderous line right through his neck, very nearly decapitating the man outright. In severing two major arteries, this hew had a naturally spectacular effect. The crack of a burning, falling tree drew his attention towards the front. A shout, high and stern, cutting through the din of his fellows righteous slaughter. In the personal lull of combat, all enemies in the immediate area accounted for, he found himself returning to his own mind. [i]"Nobody try blocking him!"[/i] Paladin Tyaethe. If she was spitting out a warning, that could only mean they had encountered something worthy of it even in her eyes, more battle experience behind them than he had in simply living. These bandits were getting torn open all the same. For the one exception to have shown himself, in cutting down that massive, burning log— From the rear, he saw Sir Jodeau racing past him, directly towards that now cordoned off section of the camp. All the confirmation he needed. [color=goldenrod][i]Jeremiah.[/i][/color] He wiped the warm and wet crimson from his eyes with a sleeve. Well, if the man's blade couldn't be blocked, then he simply needed to engineer an offense that negated the need. Planting a boot in the corpse of the crossbow-wielder, he ripped the spear free from the man's midsection. Eight feet or so, all told... Almost certainly longer than whatever the hell Jeremiah was carrying. Harassing with this, baiting out wide swings, then closing the gap in their wake... It could work. It could definitely work, especially if he had the help of such experienced fighters as Paladin Tyaethe and Fleuri Jodeau at his si— "Y-you..." He looked up, a small squeak wrought with terror penetrating his rudimentary plan and bringing him back to the present in full. This being a battlefield, he couched it into his armpit on reflex at the sound— before he truly saw where it had come from. Within one of the tents, tucked away as deeply into the shadows as her quavering form could muster itself to be, was a girl. A young girl, dressed in plain, disheveled clothes of brown and tan cotton— likely barely older than their captain. Her hair was a mess of brown curls, and her eyes wide and white, ragged as her breathing. One of the prisoners their interrogations had revealed, there was no doubt in his mind. A peasant. An innocent. Someone stolen from her home. From her family. From her life. The pulse rose again within him. "You're one of the Iron Rose Knights, right? Th-The bandits were shouting that when the fighting started..." A plea. [color=goldenrod]"I am."[/color] An answer. She flinched as he knelt after approaching with those words. They had unfortunately come out rougher than he had meant, still wrestling with the righteous fury within his heart that [i]screamed[/i] at him to head for the Bandit King. He desperately wanted to, there wasn't any sense denying that fact... But he could not simply leave this defenseless girl to her fate. [color=goldenrod]"You hurt?"[/color] "No, I tucked me'self away when the screamin' started..." [color=goldenrod]"Okay,"[/color] he said, glancing down to the weapon his left hand and then back to her. [color=goldenrod]"Do you know where the other prisoners are?"[/color] She shook her head. So he couldn't sweep for the rest quite yet, nor could he send her to gather them up anywhere safe. There was no telling if there were more bandits lurking the forest, and the battle was still being fought fiercely elsewhere within the camp. He didn't want this kid catching a bolt or arrow, stray or otherwise. Dammit, not many options were left after all that. She had survived this long here... [color=goldenrod]"Alright, then I need you to stay put and out of sight. We'll get you out of here once this is over."[/color] He amended every plan he had tried to make in the past two minutes. [color=goldenrod]"Ever use a spear before?"[/color] "N-No, Sir." [color=goldenrod]"It's easy."[/color] he stated, inverting his grip and holding it out to the opening. [color=goldenrod]"Put the sharp part through whomever's trying to hurt you."[/color] Slowly, over the course of an agonized and tentative minute, a pale, thin hand emerged from the shade and wrapped around the haft, followed by another, and he let go. It wobbled and shook a little in her grip, but she nevertheless took a hold of the weapon. Her newfound protection. [color=goldenrod]"Atta girl."[/color] Gerard rose, favoring her with a hopefully reassuring, bloodsoaked smile before turning back towards the center of the camp. [color=goldenrod]"Now, I have to go help my friends. Stay silent, stay safe, and stay steady, understand?"[/color] He gripped his longsword with both hands, returning to familiar form. His previous plan to abuse a likely reach advantage on Jeremiah now firmly out of the window— [color=goldenrod]"May Reon's light protect thee."[/color] —He nevertheless raced forward without a second thought nor a second of doubt, propelled by boiling blood and following in the wake of Sir Jodeau towards the center. Towards the lynchpin of all this. Towards the Bandit King.