The Last Banner

Atop the walls, Hadrian couldn't see what had happened. His focus remained on holding the breach, his voice sharp and commanding as he directed his musketeers and spearmen.

"Hold the line!" he shouted, his blade cutting through another goblin. "Don't let them through!"

But even as the defenders began to push the goblins back, the tide of battle shifted ominously. The walls still held—for now—but the loss of the gatehouse would soon make itself known.

The goblins' assault showed no signs of slowing, their frenzied screams echoing off the walls of Thrace. The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood, the once-pristine stone now slick with gore.

Hadrian's musketeers held their ground, firing in staggered volleys that sent goblin after goblin crumpling to the ground. The spearmen at the breach pushed back against the press of bodies, their shields locked and their spears thrusting with grim efficiency.

But the strain was beginning to show. The defenders were tiring, their movements slower, their faces slick with sweat. And the shamans hadn't stopped. Fireballs and lightning strikes pounded the walls and parapets, creating bursts of chaos that disrupted even the most disciplined lines.

"Sir!" one of Hadrian's musketeers shouted, reloading as quickly as his shaking hands would allow. "They're regrouping at the breach!"

Hadrian looked up, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. A mass of goblins was pressing hard against the spearmen, their numbers too great to hold for long. He turned to his musketeers.

"Form a line along the breach," he ordered, his voice firm despite the chaos. "Close range. Wait for my command."

The musketeers moved into position, stepping up just behind the spearmen. The goblins were so close now that Hadrian could see their snarling faces, their jagged weapons raised high.

"Hold!" Hadrian shouted, his hand raised.

The goblins surged forward, their shrieks drowning out everything else. The spearmen braced, shields locking as the enemy crashed into them. Blades clashed, and the line buckled under the pressure.

"Now!" Hadrian yelled, bringing his hand down.

The musketeers fired in unison, the deafening cracks of their muskets tearing through the din. At this range, the shots were devastating. The goblins at the front fell instantly, their bodies collapsing into the mass behind them, creating a bottleneck of confusion.

"Reload!" Hadrian commanded, his voice carrying over the chaos.

The musketeers worked swiftly, their hands moving with practiced precision. The goblins hesitated, their momentum broken, and for the first time, Hadrian saw fear flicker in their wild eyes.

"Another volley!" Hadrian ordered. "Fire!"

The muskets roared again, and the goblins broke, their lines crumbling as they fled from the breach. Cheers erupted from the defenders, their voices hoarse but triumphant.

Hadrian didn't allow himself to celebrate. "Spearmen, hold the breach! Musketeers, to the walls!"

The men moved to reinforce the defenses, their confidence bolstered by their small but critical victory.

From the parapet, Hadrian scanned the battlefield. The goblins were retreating in scattered groups, their shamans struggling to rally them. For the first time, it seemed as though the tide was turning.

A small smile touched his lips, but it was fleeting. Something didn't feel right.

"Commander Darius," Hadrian called, catching the attention of the grizzled soldier. "What's happening at the gatehouse?"

Darius's face darkened, his jaw tightening. "We've had no word. That's not a good sign."

Hadrian's stomach twisted, but he forced himself to focus. "Send a runner. We need to know—"

A distant horn cut him off, the mournful sound rolling over the battlefield. Hadrian turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. From the far side of the city, a new threat emerged.

Orcs.

The ground seemed to shake as the orc warband came into view. Larger and more brutal than the goblins, they charged toward the city's rear, their guttural war cries carrying an almost palpable weight.

"Damn it," Darius muttered, gripping his sword hilt tightly.

Hadrian's mind raced. The orcs weren't supposed to be here. No one had mentioned an allied force. He looked at the men around him, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear.

"They'll head for the weak points," Hadrian said, more to himself than anyone else. "If they hit the walls from the rear while we're focused here..."

He didn't finish the thought.

"Commander," Hadrian said sharply, turning to Darius. "Hold the walls. I'll take a detachment to stop them."

"You can't," Darius said, his voice firm. "We need you here. The men—"

"They'll fight harder knowing I'm dealing with the orcs," Hadrian interrupted. "You can hold this line. I'll make sure the city doesn't fall from the other side."

Darius hesitated, then nodded grimly. "Take what you need, but make it count."

Hadrian turned to his musketeers. "all of you, with me. Bring your weapons and enough powder to last."

The men stepped forward without hesitation, their trust in Hadrian unwavering.

As Hadrian led his detachment through the city streets, his mind churned with plans. The orcs were stronger, better equipped, and more organized than the goblins. But they weren't invincible.

"They aren't expecting us men!," he told his men, his voice steady. "And when they least expect it, we'll hit them with more metal than they can dream of.."

His men nodded, their steps quickening as they followed their leader into the unknown