From the air, Sylviane could see the disaster unfold among sparse trees. The entire Lotharin right wing had collapsed and broken away. Thousands of men fled in panic and terror. They obeyed only the primal instinct of fear as they cast aside their weapons and ran for their lives. Behind them rode at least three battalions of Asawira armored cavalry, whose arrows and sabers plucked lives as easily as hunters who pounced upon packs of helpless prey.

Meanwhile, the remaining dismounted Ghulams on the Lotharin right regrouped. Burdened by their heavy armor, they did not even attempt to give chase. Instead, these soldiers swiveled their attention towards the center. They raised their falchions and charged forward to crush the Lotharin defenders from the flank.

Sylviane was hardly a master tactician. But even her trained eye instantly drew the conclusion. The Lotharin battlefront was now indefensible. There was no choice but for them to mount a fighting retreat.

The only alternative was annihilation.

Yet beneath the foliage of the denser woods closer to her, she could see the green and yellow padding of Cataliyan light cavalrymen. These skirmishers must have rode around the front lines before throwing themselves into melee to entangle the Lotharin withdrawal.

"Ready for charge!" Sylviane ordered her armigers. "We'll tear through those cavalry in the woods and cut open a path of retreat for our troops!"

"Your Highness, Lady Estelle is..." One of her armigers called out.

Sylviane looked towards the black smoke that clouded the main battlefield. She could see a cyan aurora blitz through ranks of charging heavy cavalry. An entire assault wave seemed to unravel and collapse onto the ground in the wake of Edith's blazing flight.

The exhausted Princess could feel blood rushing into her temple as she eyed the 'Saint's Lily' shield that tipped the aurora stream.

Prowess, beauty, virtue, and piety -- Edith-Estellise was the so-called 'perfect lady'. She was the paladin who summoned the greatest of the twelve phoenixes, the venerated saint idolized by army, country, and church alike.

...Yet she dooms thousands of her countrymen to a stand they could not possibly hope to win just to satisfy her own conscience! Sylviane fumed before she retorted in annoyance:

"She can handle herself!"

Though before the Princess could turn away, she heard the wings of inbound air cavalry. The Cataliyan riders flew in on rukhs -- giant eagles known for their fast diving attacks. Each bird carried two bags of torpedo javelins, which were tubes packed full of blast powder with a flint trigger that the cavalry threw down from above.

Their mission was obvious: to harry the retreating troops and pound them senseless.

"Sir Robert, inform Colonel Hammerstein of incoming Cataliyan air cavalry! I leave the task of engaging them in his capable hands!"

Sylviane couldn't tell if the Cataliyans were still holding back reserves. Their famous manticore heavy air cavalry were nowhere to be seen. However she would be kidding herself if she thought she could offer better tactical instructions than the veteran commander. In the meantime, she did not waste another second before leading her armigers into a sharp dive. They soared straight into the chaotic melee between the Cataliyan light horse and the withdrawing Lotharin troops.

"Sent!"

Sir Robert's reply came just as Sylviane dove past the treetops. She timed the release of her spinning meteor hammer and sent it hurling out like a flying mace. It smashed straight into the back of a light cavalryman and shattered his spinal column. The Princess then pulled the chain and spun the weighted end to crush a nearby infidel's chest.

"For Rhin-Lotharingie!" Her armigers roared in her wake as they crashed into the enemy. Their swinging maces shattered bones and smashed skulls on contact.

Cataliyan light cavalry were high-mobility skirmishers who wore little more than a capped helmet, a gambeson, and a brigandine vest. They were known for their cross-country endurance and adaptability with multiple weapons. But in a close quarters melee, they didn't stand a chance against the heavily-armed Oriflamme Armigers.

Nevertheless, there were hundreds of them mingled amongst the withdrawing Lotharin troops. It would take time for Sylviane to help her countrymen clear the path of retreat -- time that equated to the lives of many on the battlefield.

And after this I still have to cover HER withdrawal, the exhausted Princess seethed as her adrenaline and anger pulverized another rib cage. Damn that Edith!

 

----- * * * -----

 

Perceval closed his eyes and concentrated on reconnecting the nerves in his patient's right arm. He had been impressed, as the Lotharin ranger had retained enough composure to bring her own severed arm back as she withdrew from the battlefield. There were even rumors that she clobbered her assailant to death with it before departing... which of course was ludicrous.

Her arm had remained in good shape. It was her long knife which drew enemy blood in repayment.

The young healer did his best to ignore the noise of battle as he focused on the surgery spell. The makeshift hospital had been established near the edge of the 'safety zone', on the backside of a forested hill which the rangers held with their lives. The location had been chosen to render the fastest possible aid for wounded soldiers withdrawing from the battlefield. But he only had to look up through the trees to see action unfold, as Weichsen Knights Phantom plunged into a formation of Cataliyan rukh riders and tore them apart with lightning spells.

It was only in moments like these when he disliked his profession. Here he was, providing aid to complete strangers while his own fiancée risked life and limb beyond his help.

He could only pray that the Holy Father would keep her safe in his stead.

"It's Lady Estelle!"

Perceval's concentration almost broke as he heard his patient exclaim. Her proud voice began with reverence and ended in apprehension.

"Stay still!" He berated even as cries of "Milady!" began to echo all around.

But the awe in their voices soon passed away to anxiety and desperation. Even the worst of patients, as grievously injured as they were, paid heed to the saintly Oriflamme.

"Milady!?"

"Lady Estelle!"

"Healer! HEALER! I NEED A HEALER!" Perceval heard the tearful cry.

"No, don't mind me and go help her, please!" His patient pleaded.

"Five seconds!" He held fast onto her arm. "I'm almost... DONE!"

Without pause, Perceval spun around and stood as he reopened his eyes.

At the center of the medical camp, surrounded by anxious Lotharin troops like a mother by her children, was an unconscious woman carried by two armigers. Their faces were barely recognizable beneath the grime and gore. Their clothes and armor were drenched in blood. But there was no doubt who the unconscious individual was, from the long hair in burning cyan to the blue-white wings that continued to shed embers into the air.

Two Lotharin healers had already rushed over. With the help of surrounding soldiers, they lowered Edith-Estellise to the ground on top of a clean stretcher. The medics and armigers wasted no time as they began to pull her armor plates off and tear away the bloody clothing.

What amazed Perceval as he knelt down to help was that her armor was entirely undamaged. The most he could spot were some scratches from grazing cuts. Yet as the cover peeled away to reveal bare, naked skin, he could see that every centipace of her body was marked black and blue.

It was as if she had been thoroughly beaten by a gang of hoodlums. It left her with severe internal bleeding that easily threatened her life.

"Lord have mercy..." Perceval couldn't help but breathe out. "Just how many hits did she take?"

"None! Those were hits she took for everyone else!" An armiger cried back.

"Dame Edith-Estellise..."

Perceval had barely noticed when Pascal appeared to his left. The young landgrave had been with the rangers on the hill's western face, setting up wards and defenses. Perhaps he mistook the light of the Oriflamme for the Princess before rushing back.

Yet just as he thought that, Sylviane herself landed with her armigers in tow. Bloodied by combat and nursing an injured shoulder, the Princess breathed hard as she collapsed onto the nearest rock.

"Edith... just, WHAT THE HELL were you thinking!?"

Even exhaustion couldn't stop the royal fury as Sylviane lashed out before her breath could catch up.

"You are the front commander, not the town fool who can only see the bread laid before her eyes! Your obligations are to the entire Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, not just a few pitiful peasants who happened to stand before you!"

Perceval could see the armigers and medics bite down in concentration. They suppressed their urges to retort while the princess raved on. He looked up to send back a warning stare. However it immediately became clear to him that Sylviane couldn't possibly see the unconscious Estelle through all the bodies gathering around.

"Pascal," the healer turned to interrupt as he suddenly remembered. "Do you have a Sanctuary rune set?"

"Always."

"Deploy them then!" He exclaimed before appending a quick Telepathy cast: "<And please do something about the Princess!>"

As realization came to his eyes, Pascal hurriedly opened a tiny belt pouch to release twelve rune-engraved pebble stones. They flew out to form a large circle on the ground before activating, creating a hemispherical barrier of translucent, bright turquoise mana that encapsulated the triage group.

Inside, the air soon took on an aqua-blue hue as the curative magic began its work.

Sanctuary was the perfect example of an ancient spell that did not modernize well. It offered powerful regenerative boosts and had a limited ability to bypass mana resistance thanks to its area saturation. However, it also required ritual casting with a long setup time, including the creation of a ring from which the containment field formed. Combined with the glowing barrier that exposed its position on a battlefield, Sanctuary had been deemed 'obsolete' by Aura Magic healers. Yet as ritual spells could be inscribed into rune sets, it was the Runic Magic users who retained this time-proven spell.

Nevertheless, even such an obvious sign of desperate emergency care did not stop the Princess as she berated on:

"...This is the only army stopping the Caliphate from breaching our defenses in the west. Just what do you think would happen if you lost it all! Yet like an idiot you insist on gambling before your reinforcements could arrive, reinforcements that my father paid with his life to send you!"

"Boost power to Regeneration spells," the senior Lotharin healer spoke in a suppressed tone. "She's lost too much blood. Avril, help me close up the internal bleeding."

"Regeneration!"

By now, it hardly mattered to Perceval whether the Princess was right or wrong. He was rapidly approaching the limits of his endurance and the same could be said for everyone else. Such verbal abuse was no way to treat a patient whose life hung by a thread, even if she were too unconscious to hear it.

"Sylv! Stop it!" He heard Pascal's voice try to bring sense to his raving fiancée. But the Runelord might as well be pouring oil onto a wildfire.

"Are you taking her side now too!? Just because she's..."

"Mental Blackout!"

Perceval's eyes bulged as he couldn't believe his ears. Even the Runelord should know the limits of his transgressions. Surely, knocking out the Crown Princess with enchantment spells went beyond illegal to outright taboo.

Yet it did the trick as the Princess' indignation stopped at once. With her own mana reserves depleted and her willpower scraping rock bottom, Sylviane offered almost no resistance against his hostile mana injection.

For seconds, nobody in the makeshift hospital could speak. The only voices not stunned to silence were the moans of the injured and the echoing cries of battle outside.

Then, a quiet, astonished voice came from Sir Robert:

"You're going to pay hell for that later."

Pascal, however, replied with only a resigned sigh:

"She can blame me for it then... In fact," he raised his volume and looked around. "You all can, if it helps. Surely those of you who lost loved ones can understand -- the past days have not been kind to her."