"Rise, my liege! We must retreat!"
Amidst a whirl of dizziness, a hurried shout reached Henry's ear as a firm grip pulled him up, allowing his senses to gradually return. In a fleeting moment, he was greeted by a heavy scent of iron permeating the air, followed by a chorus of agonizing screams cutting through the surroundings. The icy wind also seemed to be a cruel host, burning his skin, while the soft ground beneath him greeted him.
After that whirlwind of information, Henry's vision cleared, allowing him to witness the most chaotic scene he had ever seen in his entire life. He found himself on some sort of ancient battlefield. The blanket of snow covering the ground was painted red as hundreds of corpses spread across the horizon, while hundreds of living other crazily battled.
On his side, he could see warriors clutching swords, scythes, and spears. They were clad in furred garments that seemed more suited to resist the cold temperatures than fending off the sharp blades. On the other side of the battlefield, stood seven feet tall towering figures with half of their bodies exposed, seemingly unaffected by the cold wind licking their skin. Intriguing bloody tattoos were drawn on their skins. Unlike those over Henry's side, these individuals brandished weapons hewn from bones and rocks, like Stone Age's humans.
"What is this? Where am I?" – Henry asked himself, unable to fully process everything happening around him. Suddenly, he felt something warm trickling from his forehead to his eyes. He lifted his trembling hands and touched it, realizing that blood was flowing from a wound on his head.
The last thing he remembered was jumping into that mysterious river as the sounds of battle neared him. Now, he found himself in what appeared to be an ancient battlefield, with corpses lying all around him and bleeding all over. It was frightening.
"MY LIEGE! GET HOLD OF YOURSELF"- The voice reached Henry's ears again, jolting him to the urgency of the present situation.
Henry was the type of person capable of adapting to numerous situations, bearing a mindset that focused on solving immediate issues before concerning himself with other problems surrounding him. He had to solve things first.
Henry turned his gaze towards the owner of the voice, spotting an old man with a pristine white hair and a face devoid of wrinkles, holding a long sword in his hands as he stood beside him. The man was draped in a long black fur mantle over an iron chainmail top, like those nobles from Middle Ages.
"Careful!" – Suddenly, before Henry could reach, the old man shouted and pulled him backward. Within a mere millisecond, a stone axe embedded itself in the snow, exactly where Henry had been standing moments before.
Without a second thought, the old man grabbed Henry's arm and swiftly pulled him out of the battle front, allowing Henry to see the towering walls of a castle. Whether due to his injury or because he was still trying to process the situation, Henry found himself devoid of the strength to resist, allowing the old man to lead him.
He didn't understand how, but even though he seemed heavily injured, Henry had never run so fast in his entire life. He covered a large distance in a time that only an Olympic athlete would be able to, as he was being led by the old man. He felt like a superhuman.
When they were safe from the battle front and in a favorable position, almost reaching the stone gates, the old man screamed at the top of his lungs, loud enough to be heard by everyone- "RETREAT!"
At his command, the soldiers turned and ran, hoping to reach the safe grounds behind the walls. Those who exposed their backs too soon were killed without mercy by those towering individuals holding stone weapons. Henry had never witnessed such a mindless massacre. He couldn't help but feel grateful that the old man had taken him out of there, otherwise, he would have been one more body in the growing pile of corpses.
""CLOSE THE GATES!" – The old man shouted at the soldiers, who immediately began pushing the heavy stone doors and preparing to reinforce them with wooden struts.
Fortunately, most of the retreating soldiers made it back in time. As soon as their feet touched the seemingly safe heaven, they dropped to the floor, tired, scared, and, above everything else, relieved.
"TREAT THE INJURED!" – The old man ordered, his gaze shifting to several women and men holding wet towels and buckets in their hands - "PROVIDE WATER AND FOOD TO THE REST."
Henry stood to the side, absorbing his surroundings, attempting to adapt and fully internalize the situation. He took deep breaths to remain calm, making sure that he wasn't dreaming and everything was real.
He found himself in what appeared to be a medieval town. The streets were paved with cobblestones, and the houses were built from either wood or old stones, smoke was drifting from a few chimneys. At the city's heart stood a castle with four towering spires, where one had a view of the entire city. The walls safeguarding the city didn't seem secure, being a mere line of piled stones.
"Winter must be knocking on the door." - Henry thought, noticing the snow already covering the roofs of the houses and the streets below. - "These people's living conditions..."
Henry wasn't sure if this was a result of the harsh living conditions or the ongoing war outside, but every person he had seen so far was dressed in rags and appeared severely malnourished. Their eyes were also devoid of any hope.
"My Liege, are you fine?" – After delegating orders, the old man approached Henry, his gaze filled with concern as he carefully examined Henry's body for any signs of injuries. – "You are bleeding! We must get a look at that!"
Henry turned his gaze to the old man, studying him with a mixture of doubt and confusion. He had no idea why this man was addressing him as 'My Liege.' After all, he was merely someone who enjoyed reading about the conquerors of Earth and playing online strategy games. He wasn't a king or a noble, just an ordinary player. He couldn't understand why this man seemed to be speaking to him as if they were close or had loyalty.
"I'm fine, Luther!" Henry responded abruptly, dismissing the man's concerns and gently pushing his hands away. However, he paused as a realization struck him that the man's name had rolled off his tongue naturally. How on earth did he know the man's name?
Henry had no time to decipher it, as a powerful headache struck him, followed by a flood of strange memories assailing his mind. Memories of a young prince assuming the leadership of a small yet ancient northern kingdom after his father's untimely demise. Recollections of nobles betraying him. Memories of a reckless, arrogant, foolish, and self-centered young king who disregarded everyone, before ultimately meeting his end from a powerful attack to the head.
Henry von Stahl, the name of the young and foolish king of Stahl. These were the words left in his head as he lost consciousness.
"Liege!"- Luther's voice was filled with fear and concern as he shouted, watching incredulous to the falling man.
(Edited)