The Last Banner

The golden light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields outside Thrace. Hadrian stood atop the battlements, his hands resting lightly on the cold stone as he surveyed the vast goblin horde stretching into the distance. War drums pounded in an unrelenting rhythm, sending vibrations through the ground, while guttural war cries rose in waves, a chaotic anthem of violence.

His men lined the walls—archers with arrows notched, spearmen clustered behind for reinforcement, and his own musketeers standing in perfect formation just behind the parapets. Their polished barrels gleamed faintly in the morning light, a faint comfort amidst the growing unease.

Hadrian's eyes narrowed. This isn't just a battle; it's a test.

He turned to face his musketeers. Fifty men, disciplined and resolute, stood ready for his command. Their faces were a mix of determination and fear. Behind them, archers watched silently, their fingers twitching against their bowstrings.

Hadrian raised his voice, letting it cut through the noise like a blade. "Men of Thrace! Today, they come for us—like rats gnawing at the walls of our home! But let me tell you something: rats only win when they find weakness. We are not weak."

The men straightened, their eyes fixed on him now.

"We hold these walls because we have discipline. They have chaos, we have unity. Follow my orders—follow them whether they make sense to you or not—and we will not just survive this day. We will destroy them."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks. Hadrian stepped closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "When they come within range, you fire. When I say reload, you reload. If we falter for a moment, we die. If we stand together, we win. Thrace stands. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir!" they shouted, the fear in their voices muted by resolve.

Satisfied, Hadrian turned back to the parapet. Alexander's voice carried from the gatehouse below, his booming confidence impossible to miss. "They think they can outnumber us! Let them come—we'll break them like waves on the cliffs!"

Hadrian smirked faintly despite himself. Alexander always knew how to rile up the men. He watched as his brother gestured toward the cavalry assembling near the gates, their polished armor catching the first rays of sunlight.

The goblins' war cries grew louder as the horde began its advance. They surged forward in an uncoordinated mass, their crude weapons gleaming like jagged teeth.

Hadrian's heart quickened, but his mind remained calm, focused. The whites of their eyes. He glanced at the archers standing ready. "Hold," he ordered, his voice steady.

The goblins drew closer, their guttural cries filling the air. Hadrian raised a hand, waiting until the chaotic mass of green and gray was within striking distance. "Archers—loose!"

A wave of arrows arced through the sky, the deadly projectiles finding their marks with sickening precision. Goblins fell in clusters, their bodies piling on the bloodied earth.

"Ready muskets!" Hadrian shouted.

The musketeers raised their weapons, the barrels aimed directly at the oncoming horde.

"Hold... hold..." Hadrian's voice was low now, his hand raised as he waited for the perfect moment.

The goblins crossed the fifty-yard mark, their shrieking faces twisted with rage.

"Fire!"

The volley cracked like thunder, smoke billowing as lead tore through flesh and bone. The front ranks of the goblin horde collapsed, their charge faltering.

"Reload!" Hadrian barked.

His men moved with practiced precision, powder and ball loaded swiftly into the barrels. Another volley followed, and then another, each wave of fire cutting down scores of goblins.

Hadrian glanced to the side where Commander Darius stood, directing the spearmen. The older man's scarred face was set in a grim expression, but his voice carried across the wall like a hammer. "Hold the line! No one steps back!"

Hadrian's focus snapped back to the horde. Despite the carnage, the goblins kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless. In the distance, he spotted a cluster of shamans gathering near the rear of the horde, their guttural chants rising above the chaos.

They'll break the wall if we don't take them out.

"Archers!" Hadrian called, pointing toward the shamans. "Focus fire on the magic users! Stop them now!"

The archers adjusted their aim, arrows sailing toward the chanting goblins. Some found their marks, but the shamans pressed on, their crude magic forming flickering fireballs in the air.

Hadrian's chest tightened as he watched one of the fireballs arc toward the wall.

The fireball arced through the air, a glowing orb of chaos and destruction. Hadrian's eyes followed its trajectory, his breath catching as it slammed into the wall just to his left. Stone shattered with a deafening roar, and a plume of smoke and dust erupted into the air, forcing Hadrian to shield his face.

"Sir!" one of his musketeers called out, coughing as he stumbled back into position. "The wall's cracking!"

Hadrian's gaze darted to the fractured stone. It held—for now—but another strike like that would bring it down. "Reload and fire at will!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The musketeers moved in disciplined unison, their volleys punctuated by the rhythmic cracks of musket fire. Each shot cut down goblins, but the horde pressed on, their shrieks and taunts rising in defiance.

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"Break their stone houses!" one goblin shrieked, waving a jagged blade as he scrambled over the bodies of his fallen kin.

"Humans can't stop us! We take this city, we take their food!" another bellowed, his green face twisted into a manic grin.

From the rear of the horde, a shaman's guttural chant rose above the fray. "Stone will fall! Fire will eat their flesh! Push, push, push!"

The goblins surged forward with renewed fury, their ranks fueled by desperation and bloodlust