Chapter III : Meadow of Starting Ground

1467
20th June – Summer
Outskirts of France – Tonnerre Front

Allied Nobles of Tonnerre

“Lady Ersa.” Bruce scrammed towards me as he saw a deep blush of roaring red mounted Cavalry; Clotted armoured Knights and Infantry thumbing in gashing tone ploughing through and tearing the very so delicate muddy slab. “Lady Ersa!!!” He stummed, as his face for the very first instance was dropped down with a hint of despair and concern.

“Is it time!!” I mumbled in an adorned loud fashion.
My eyes were droopy with jaws tightened with drops of cold sweat dropping like graves during the plague.

“Lady Ersa…” Bruce repeated himself for the fifth time. I was so confident even prideful, but this was something different. The War that would shake the very essence of power in this continent had just started. “Lady Ersa!!”
Bruce shouted this time, shaking up my shoulders to wake, my pupils were dilated and in all honest sense scared to the core. “Yes, yes…” I replied in a low sense.

“Please, guide us… Use your powers!” He mounted, urging me to do something of the situation. ‘My powers?’ I thought
‘My powers, the ones which I used for play, of what use will that ability play in this gruesome battle.’

My hands trembled as I watched a distant enemy cavalry surge forward, their Crimson banners stark against the light green matted grass.

Bruce stood before me; his face etched with desperation. “Lady Ersa, you must guide us. Your power is the key.”

His words struck me, not for their urgency but for the unshakable faith behind them.
My blessing—

The battlefield before us churned with chaos: Soldiers under Bruce's hands were frantic, furrily arming up, and assembling in their predetermined platoons. Soldiers shouting, mud flying. 
Bruce clearly annoyed shouted in deep disgust. “Damn!! brat”

Reaching forward he took hold of his army, choosing to believe in himself, that than some power blessed by some unknown supernatural entity.

“Eight Flags, two red, three white, one black, and two blue.” He flew angrily, ordering the flag signallers in a fanatic attempt to reach to his sub-commanders and people of power. 
“Drums of Advance March, Horns of Flank Mauver and Trumpets of Halt…” He shouted his commands on the signalling musicians.

Boom-boom-boom-rest, boom-boom-boom-rest  Played the Drums
Sol-mi-do…  Played the Horns
Dooooooo ----- Played the Trumpets.

The Tunes played, repeating themselves every 10 seconds, until the Army was in formation. A set of two flanks, headed by three main forces, led by a Vanguard and supported a backup.

It was too much. My chest felt like it was splitting open, I dug my hands into the dirt, trembling. Stay here. Don’t let go.
I heard. But I could feel it happening—light spilling through cracks in my skin, heat pouring out of me in waves. Terror clawed at me, Gods, it hurts. My scream wouldn’t come,
When,
It hit me all at once—the burn, the pressure, the way the threads clawed at my insides. My stomach twisted violently;
A raw, sickening churn that made everything spun. I dropped forward, my hands sinking into the dirt, nails clawing at it as the bile surged up. I couldn’t stop it. Light and liquid erupted from my mouth, a grotesque, molten mess that burned my throat as it came out. The taste was bitter, metallic, wrong—like something inside me was breaking down. I heaved again, my whole-body convulsing with the force of it, more of the golden bile splattering the ground.

My vision blurred. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging, as the light continued to spill out of me in sickening waves. I gasped for air, choking on it, but I couldn’t stop

STAND UP

I blinked slowly, my lashes sticky, the sharp sting of bile still clinging to my throat. I tried to sit up, but my arms gave out beneath me.

STAND UP

The pain rose, back again, this time almost clamming, enjoying to a fact.

I took a deep breath, my hands curling into fists. “Very well,” I said, my voice wobbly and blurting, from the bile leftovers.

Bruce nodded and turned to rally the troops.

Weaoth Asks, Weaoth t takes, Clement Avenges, Clement Dances, Clement Roars…

I heard, those random words forcing into my head with a deep ache. Unstintingly, I closed my eyes, 

Blessings, do not care… they destroy, they rule, and hollow out….

I stretched out my hands. The air buzzed with tension, the sound of distant horns mingling with the cries of men. It started as a faint shimmer, like sunlight catching on plain glass. Luminous trails of light appeared, their hues shifting from sapphire Amethyst to Gold.

Behind me, I heard murmurs of awe as the soldiers began to notice.

“Follow the lights!” Bruce’s voice boomed across the ranks.

“Lady Ersa Let me Guide you!!”

Free Company of Burgundy

The flagpole felt heavy in my hands, my fingers clenched tighter around it, even as sweat made my grip slippery. Above me, the banner of the army fluttered in the wind, its colour almost blending into the now muddy battlefield.

The chaos of clashing steel and the cries of men swirling like a storm. My heart pounded as I scanned the field from atop my horse, searching for gaps, for weakness, for something—anything—that could turn this madness in our Favor.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this. I’d trained with the infantry, fought alongside them, but now I was their commander. The French forces moved marking paces, their lines shifting like a school of fish. They were stronger than us. Their numbers greater. Their Co-ordination surprisingly perfect. And their men astonishing more skilled.

Instead of bringing a scene of terror in my eyes, it rather brought a sense of burning vigour, 
“I want it...”
I whispered, my eyes momentarily turning a pale shade of gold, staring at the guiding lights.

“Riders, to the left flank!” I shouted, my voice cracking slightly as I waved the flag to signal the move. The cavalry obeyed, peeling away in a tight formation.

I looked back at the infantry, their faces were streaked with mud and blood, their eyes filled with desperation.

“Hold the line!” I roared, thrusting the flag upward. The men tightened their shields, stepping forward in unison.

I wanted to believe we were winning, reaching aspects of glory but alas, it was just a believe: we were being outmanoeuvred. The enemy wasn’t reacting to us—they were anticipating us; their formations were shifting before we even struck. It was as if someone, had a overlooked board look on the field, controlling it as a game of chest.

“What in the world…” I murmured, narrowing my eyes. Streaks of light shimmered in the air, weaving and curling over the battlefield. I could see it now—arrows landing exactly where they needed to.

“A Waeoth”
I mumbled, in utter shock. Since when, did the French, started using Waeoths … ‘Baldwin, surely will love to see it’ I thought at the back of my mind.

“Sir!” one of my lieutenants called, riding up beside me. He looked as shaken as I felt. “Their movements—what do we do?”

What could we do? My chest felt tight as I glanced at the men behind me. I tightened my grip on the flag.

"Keep pressing with my directions!” I yelled to the Calvary and few remaining infantries that still stood on two legs.

I quickly, whispered to the same lieutenant, “Ride back to the Camp, as an arrow, and Inform the Lacking Group known as White Heather, that ‘Winds have bloomed to another Spring’”