We were asleep in the dank, decorated trenchworks on the frontiers with Fioria, the rest of the Fifth was scattered out between various dugout garrisons spread across the two-tiered trenchwork. These were an old design, a true one though, harking back to the great crisis 3 emperors prior. A year of our studies were spent on these trenchworks alone, and it was likely these that spared us the worst outcome of the coming events, among other things.

Chief among them was the fact we slept in armor, swords at our sides. By the time we heard the sharp whistle of the coming company we were on our feet and scrambling to the open line. Moments later several cracks of gunfire sounded off in steady cadence, the berm of the trenchworks quaking and scattering dirt and stone backwards against us as shrapnel flew overhead. We could barely hear the muffled, guttural cries of their command betwixt the growing pace of arms with smaller guns, harquebuses, mortars, and other assorted weapons battering the line we were positioned at. Several teams of men had joined us at our spot with many more clambering over with their blades in tow. Several men of forlorn hope spilled over the peak of the trench, my twitching hand dipping to my hip with fingers tangling at the hilt of my blade in retort. Time seemed to slow as I saw the man collapse down into the drainage ditch at the back of the trench. I drew my sword forth and lofted it overhead, the rest was done without consideration. I took my first life in a single, thoughtless stroke of my service blade.

We moved as a group through the forward trench using only our steel to fend off the first wave of soldiers. Reinforcements quickly arrived from the rear line, heavy infantry from the local Vincola, pavise and crossbows in hand. A handful had heavier weapons, breach-loaded medium guns and foreign wheellock rifles which needed to be supported for firing. The heavily armed mercenaries dropped down into the trenches and set up against the assault platforms, elevated segments of the wooden walkway that allowed access to fortified firing positions. They began returning fire the best they could while the open segments of trench were bounded by the crossbowmen. The heavy, man-sized shields they used were too heavy for direct combat, serving more as a moving fortress to shield them against return fire while they advanced their position. Thin sheets of metal layered over wooden boards and covered in hide absorbed everything shy of a wheeled cannon’s retort testing only the physical resolve of the defender to shrug off the force of the blow. The Vincolati of course, seemed almost unphased by the return fire.

Six of these forces of 25 vincolati pushed on, their width of coverage perhaps a third larger than that of the gathered Fiorian force. One of them was lost early on from an enhanced mortar shell that reduced the entire company to a smoldering, screaming heap. We had a target, finally.

“We need to get down there.” I cried out to the handful of inquisitors beside me, my hand fumbling with the frozen lock at the munitions bunker. My blade hand began to burn white as I struck the pommel down against the sturdy iron lock, a flash of heat reducing it to a bit of scrap and boring a fiery hole into the reinforced bunker door. We pushed in one by one, withdrawing satchels of grenades and slinging them to various hooks and mounts on our service plates. “Alright, faceplates off.” I called out, the lot of us detaching our helmets faceplates to make space for the crude filtration masks we bolted on in place of them. A rough seal was maintained over our faces allowing smoldering herbs and charcoal to filter the toxic air around us.

A few minutes later we were pushing ourselves up behind the vincolati, grenades in hand. “Hold!” I cried out, the pavisiers spreading out and locking their shields together in a single line, heavy spikes at the bottom of them securing them to the earth. With a minor miracle of flame our munitions fuses were all alight, allowing us to cast our bombs overhead and into the gathered force. Thick clouds of white-yellow fog crept out around the force, the returning gunfire growing less sequenced and more haphazard, commanding shouts melting to confused gags and groans. We threw another set of grenades which detonated ahead of them, scattering glowing shrapnel down upon them and elevating their confusion into screams of protest. We moved in under the cover of the chaos and isolated the chemist responsible for ending the vincolati company, forcing ourselves past panicked soldiers bloodlessly to get to him. I dashed ahead, one hand cloaking itself in sputtering slag as the other dug under the chemist’s bevor and singed at his chinstrap, a plume of flame snapping the support as my plated fingers swept up and scattered the helmet backwards. My sorcerous hand arced ahead, the gathered arcane slag connecting with their face in a hiss of protest quickly followed by a shrill screech from its victim. His hands surged up at my forearm in an effort to stop what had already begun, my burning fingers grasped at his skull, my thumb breaking past his teeth as my smoldering fingers pounded past the back of his skull. A surge of magma cracked through his face, flesh bubbling out the other end in a plume of black of smoke urging my hand back, shaking the excess slag off it. I turned to meet the rest of the force; my sword quickly being drawn as the group of us fanned out and struck at the infantry around us. The Vincolati joined in with a volley of heavy crossbow fire and a full charge with their swords and spears. The anxiety of the initial melee melted to a raucous massacre as a handful of local cavalry patrolmen joined in, placing light crossbow shots into the backs of any fleeing revolutionaries they saw seemingly for the sake of it alone.

The battle resolved all together in about 4 hours, with the following assault expecting a far less forward opposition. We seized their guns and munitions and wheeled them backwards against them, crushing the far larger force with only the power of surprise at our advantage. We were here as containment forces to enforce a treaty, we had nobody of significant rank or training, no commanding officers. We worked off instinct alone, moving as a pack of wolves. The best among us likely surpassed 10 victims before the opposing force broke into a hurried route, discarding their arms for us to collect.

We integrated the volume of weapons into our defensive lines, altogether spacing out a single medium field gun every 35 feet across the entire southern section the Fifth oversaw. We met with the Herus in Caglav to report on the encounter, where the fifth was spontaneously reformed into the ‘First Fiorian Sublegion’, with me as its subherus. The third who were overseeing the north trenchwork were also reformed into a sublegion, the Second Fiorian.

Over the coming weeks we were put in command of four other sublegions each, sourced from various local Legionary forces with forces on hand. We received imperial support with knight advisors, strategists, and logistical support.