“FORWARD!” Saint Estelle rushed through the Lotharin encampment at the head of a four hundred strong force which included the reserves.

Edith knew that she was probably too late. She had chased the infidel cavalry all the way to the rear before realizing that it was a feint. Now, as she finally came to the town’s rescue with her infantry, the Caliphate’s flag already flew over Glywysing’s church spire.

Shattered remnants of Lotharin units were now fleeing west in droves. Some of them were pursued by infidel soldiers in Cataliyan colors who poured out of the town. They had breached the Lotharin army camp, leading to a screaming panic among the civilian noncombatants who had yet to evacuate into the woods.

Meanwhile, distant cries revealed that Cataliyan troops also crashed into Duke Lionel’s left flank. His front no doubt began to buckle as his side and rear came under attack. Similar clashes also resounded from the smoke-obscured north, where the remaining men of the Lotharin left wing likely found their own position compromised.

This is my fault, Edith’s inner conscience blamed. I should have been here to help!

Edith knew that the battle was likely already lost. No army could lose its center and still hold ground. Nevertheless, she had to counterattack with her last sliver of hope. She had to at least try to stave off a total defeat, to save the Princess and what she could of the army.

“Please, merciful Lord. Please keep Her Highness safe!” Her whispered prayers to the Holy Father pleaded. “Take my life in exchange, but keep her safe for the future of the Lotharins!”

The Crusader Saint hurried through the camp before she accosted the largest body of several hundred soldiers fleeing west. She could scarcely believe her eyes as she saw the face of a familiar nobleman from among the throngs of defeated and demoralized men.

“HALT! IN THE NAME OF THE HOLY FATHER!” She yelled as anger crept into her voice. Her authority was sufficient that the bulk of the men leading the flight, including their commander, stopped in their tracks.

It helped that her Hospitaller sword-sisters and the towering Galloglaichs who followed them blockaded the road west.

“Count Mikael, you and your men were to hold the town church at all costs,” Edith stressed. “It was supposed to serve as a final strongpoint where other defenders could retreat to and regroup! WHAT are you doing!?”

“The town is lost!” The nobleman in his early middle ages replied in a voice laden with fear. “The Princess has fallen! This battle is a hopeless cause!”

“How do you know that Her Highness has been defeated!?” Edith almost shouted back. Her pitch rose partly in challenge and partly in denial. “Have you seen it with your own eyes? If the Princess is forced back to a church already abandoned, then you might as well have killed her yourself!”

“T-that’s preposterous!” The Count retorted. “We never even had a chance. I will not throw my life away for a meaningless stand! Men–!”

He hadn’t even finished before Edith marched up to him. She rammed her holy sword straight into his cuirass. The dragon-forged aurorum cut through solid steel like it was mere cardboard. Its tip penetrated straight through his heart and almost emerged from his armored back.

“Abandonment is NOT an option!” She declared as Count Mikael slowly slumped over and then fell to the ground. His eyes were still wide with shock as the Crusader Saint looked down upon the dying man and added in disgust. “You have betrayed your country, your faith, your people, and your liege. And by order of Her Highness, I declare your title and lands forfeit.”

Edith paid no more attention to the traitor as she swept her gaze across the rest of the men. Most of them had retreated with their arms, which meant they could still be rallied to fight anew.

“Is this how you wish to end!?” The Oriflamme shouted as challenged the confused-looking crowd of soldiers. “To abandon your own brothers who fought bravely holding the line? To surrender your beloved homeland to foreigners to rape and pillage!?” Edith then pointed accusingly at the men. “Your own kin would be ashamed to see you! A traitor to not just Her Highness’ explicit orders, but to the people who put their faith and trust in you!”

The cries of civilians, of women and children could be heard all around as infidel soldiers stormed deeper into the Lotharin encampment. It only served to reinforce what Edith had said, as the bloodied Cataliyan troops, whose heavy casualties have driven them into a battle frenzy, now sought to take out their anguish on innocents.

“But you are not completely lost!” Edith declared next. “You can still reclaim your courage and honor! I ask you all — take up your arms once more and fight with me! For Her Highness, for Rhin-Lotharingie, and for the Holy Father!” She finished by raising her sword into the air and pointing at the illuminated cross in the sky, which now began to shed a golden light.

For a brief moment afterwards, Edith wasn’t sure if her attempt had succeeded or failed. The men looked uncertain, caught between their fears and their guilt, between the menacing blades of her blockading troops and the invaders who closed in from behind.

Then…

“REFORMMM RANKS!” One of the captains among the retreating soldiers shouted. His orders were soon echoed by others, as the remaining officers did their best to rebuild their formations and forge a new battle line.

“Sisters! With me!” Edith recognized the pivotal moment as she led her Hospitallers forward through the crowd. They would hold the front lines to not only buy time for the others to reorganize, but also to serve as an example for everyone else whose courage hangs by a thread.

They were followed by over three hundred Galloglaichs of the Black Guard, as the heroic formation who fought at Rhin-Lotharingie’s founding would once again earn its fame.

—– * * * —–

“Are you sure you wish to intervene?” A serene voice spoke as two women floated high above in the skies.

“Yes.” The Worldwalker named Gwendolen answered without any doubt as she looked upon her compatriot. “I have always regretted the fact that the final events of my mortality did not play out in a different order. I wanted to leave behind one final gift to protect Rhin-Lotharingie, to aid the descendants of the people I loved. Yet I accidentally ascended to become a Worldwalker first, with all the limitations that the Treaty would impose upon me.”

“But are you sure?” The other woman responded. “Remember, you only get one chance.”

“Yes, I’m certain.” Gwendolen replied as she materialized her arms and armor from extradimensional storage, including the translucent crystal blade that gave birth to her nickname — the Faerie Sword.

“Geopolitics is a game of giants,” she proclaimed next. “Ceredigion’s only chances lay as a responsible member of the Empire.”

Then, as she gazed down and saw a bluish hue which was being dragged west from the town while another charged in, Gwendolen added with a wry smile:

“Besides… I swore an oath to Charles. And his Great-Great-Granddaughters have fought as bravely as anyone could.”

—– * * * —–

Blood spurted from the bodies of her foes as Edith cut down yet another squad of infidel troops. The Saint’s pristine armor and her cyan-and-white battledress were now drenched with blood. Even her exhaustion, compounded by the countless bruises that lay hidden beneath her armor from using the Sword of Charity, was becoming apparent as her breathing grew more and more labored.

Contrary to her initial plans, Edith-Estellise had not held the defensive. Instead, she had cut her way through the Cataliyan ranks until she reached the graveyard behind the Glywysing Church, where she had hoped to find the Princess.

She had not been entirely disappointed, as she did spot the smallest of the royal armigers flying west while half-carrying a wounded Sylviane on their shoulders. It seemed they had taken shelter among the town’s buildings, until Edith’s counterstroke offered them an opportunity to escape.

A group of Cataliyan soldiers had tried to organize a volley against Her Highness, only to be interrupted when Edith smashed into them.

Her forward thrust had thrown the Caliphate’s forces, who had prematurely thought they won, back into confusion. It bought time for not just Sylviane’s retreat, but also for her forces to reorganize and push the infidels back out of the Lotharin encampment.

But… what next? Edith couldn’t help but wonder as she leaned against the walls of an outlying house to catch her breath.

Her counterattack might have caught the opponent unprepared, but the odds were still in their favor. The infidels were now bringing up reserves which she had none to match. Hours of fighting had left the Lotharins both depleted and exhausted. Even Duke Lionel’s men had been forced to withdraw to the camp, which meant the town had completely fallen to enemy hands.

It was then, when she heard a resounding chant coming from the forests to the west. A glowing, bluish-white light seemed to hover just above the treeline. The radiant colors matched that of a phoenix. Yet the spring-green hues which surrounded it couldn’t be Sylviane, Vivienne, or any other Oriflamme she knew.

Emerald rings of mana formed around the luminescent flames. Magic stronger than anything Edith had ever seen coalesced around the mysterious source. The mana congealed into a kaleidoscopic sphere of power beneath them.

It can’t be possible. Edith couldn’t help thinking as she stared in awe at the light. Had it not been for the phoenix-flame colors, she might have mistaken the wings that sprang forth with that of an archangel.

No mortal soul could harness that much raw ether at once. Yet before Edith’s eyes, the unknown light pulled in an entire battlefield’s worth of unspent spiritual energy and sent it into the brilliant globe as mana.

Then, as the chant finished, the sphere collapsed in on itself. A pulse of energy shot down into the forest and spread like a magical shockwave. Even from two kilopaces away, Edith could feel the pressure as the wavefront of intermixed blue-white and spring-green mana washed over her without effect. Yet, the same could not be said for the trees, as their bark glowed upon contact with this strange magic.

The Crusader Saint watched with bulging eyes as the towering trees began to transform. Wooden limbs groaned as they twisted and smaller branches wrapped around them like rope bundles. Forks along the main branches thickened into sinewy joints. Trunk bottoms cracked and split into fours that lifted out of the dirt like stretching legs, while roots erupted from the earth before wrapping themselves into powerful bundles that stood on the ground.

Both the Oriflamme and her soldiers now stood frozen. They stared with a mixture of fright and awe as the trees uprooted. It wasn’t just a few plants or even several dozen, but the entire forest around them. Waves upon waves of trees stood up from the earth like four-legged beasts, their sinewy limbs stretching as wooden hollows groaned.

Then, as the unknown light in the west vanished as swiftly as it had come, the newly uprooted trees turned towards the Cataliyan positions. An entire forest went on the march — one with obvious prejudice as their massive limbs smashed into any southerner they encountered while completely ignoring the Lotharins.

“It’s Leslie’s Blessing…” One of Edith’s armigers remarked in a hushed tone. Meanwhile stronger voices began to echo from the Lotharin camp: “It’s Leslie’s Blessing!”

“It can’t be… can it?” Edith whispered to herself.

‘Leslie’s Blessing’ was the colloquial term for the Samaran Expeditionary Force that had fought with the Lotharins during the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War. It had been sent to repay the aid of an Oriflamme who lived several centuries before. Since then, the phrase had become ingrained in the Lotharin vocabulary, used to describe any unexpected help that arrived during the bleakest and most desperate times.

“Whatever it is, it’s nothing less than a miracle.” Mother Abbess Anne declared as she wiped her bloody countenance and smiled upon her foster daughter. “A miracle that you helped to bring.”

It did not take long before horrified shouts in the southern tongue erupted across the battlefront, as lumbering trees with near immunity to hand-held weapons marched through the town and began driving the invaders out.