I don't know if I'll survive, I don't know if this parchment will be seen, but it's the only thing I can do for me, to tell everyone what happened here, on this island called Fort Horn.

Today may be the last time I live, but Master Blake Hubble has found me this plumbing pen, and there is enough ink in the castle for me to write for the rest of my life—Radiant Cross blesses, and I hope it will come to pass.

My name is Pierre Goodwin, and I am Sir Edward Witwood's squire. What I am about to write is not my suicide note, but the journals of the three hundred and ninety-nine warriors of the expeditionary force at Fort Clarion, and by the time I write it, one hundred and seven people have already left the earth, and there are no priests to pray for them on their deathbed, but all of them have held a wake for them.

Before I write, I want to tell everyone, whether this story is seen or not, and please believe that these three hundred and ninety-nine warriors, both in life and death, all fought to the last moment—many of them were not from Turine, and did not even believe in our teachings, but now that all of us are the people of the Radiant Cross, may the kingdom of the stars soothe their souls forever.

Shrouded in intrigue and subterfuge, greed and ignorance, the ignorant and self-righteous Otovík family has unleashed the wrath of the Kingdom of Turin, sending thousands of brave soldiers to punish them, and make them understand the value of peace and justice.

Our mission is to defend this sea fortress called Fort Clarion, resist the siege of the main army of Bright Star City, and buy time for the expeditionary force to take Bright Star City.

I was reluctant to admit it, but I did feel relieved when Sir Edward told me I didn't have to fight—may the Radiant Cross forgive me for my timidity.

I have never held a sword, let alone a spear or shield in my life. The shame in my heart kept me in this Horn Fortress, which was probably destined to be breached, only to find that I could do nothing—no amount of words and parchment could bring them back to life, make them easier before they died, and soothe their broken bones and torn flesh and blood.

"You can make their deaths meaningful. These are the words that Master Edward Witwood told me when he gave me his own plumbing: "Do you know what 'history' is?"

"We are all destined to die, and this is the only one that no one can choose. But we also need others to know that such a group of people have lived. If there is no writing and tradition, no one to record what has happened, then what we are doing is meaningless. ”

"The songs sung, the words in the history books, the symbols in the ancient scriptures, every sentence of the "Glorious Proverbs...... These are the cornerstones of the magnificent castle of the Kingdom of Turin, without which the lords who live in the castles and the peasants of the countryside can intersect, and what is the significance of the great deeds of the kingdom in three hundred years?"

"It is these seemingly ethereal things that bind us together and built a glorious and great kingdom and an equally great people - death is easy, but it is a difficult choice to live with what to carry. ”

That's the only thing I can do.

The wind whipped up the flaming eagle banners over the castle, the soldiers stood at their posts in full gear, Lord Edward Witwood's voice echoed across the walls, and the morning sun shone brightly on the armor and weapons of every warrior with the rising sun on the horizon.

Outside the walls, the main army of the House of Otovík had landed on the island, and the warships and hoplites on the sea were closing in on us—they were ten times our number, and the sound of footsteps and the roar of war drums seemed to make the castle tremble and shake.

Hiding in the storage room of the inner fort, I could only see the scene outside through the narrow ventilation window, and the brothers on the city wall who were waiting for me did not have any fear because of the momentum of the Dominic army outside, and all of them stuck to their posts, let alone any deserters.

The battle began with a terrible sound - the fleet of the Purple Sail Mercenary Regiment on the sea quickly approached the castle from the coast in the direction of the cliff, and launched the first round of attacks on the castle with trebuchets. Torrential stone cannons rose into the air and smashed into the walls of Fort Clarion.

A dull roar accompanied the trembling of the earth, and the fiery stone cannons fell from the sky. Although it was like the end of the world, and the earth was trembling and shaking, most of the fireballs landed on the cliffs, and only a few hit the towers and walls of Fort Clarion, and did not pose much of a threat.

The real battle still takes place in the castle. In the face of the overwhelming Dominic army, the soldiers who held on to the city walls did not panic and resisted stubbornly - after the battle the night before, they seemed to have completely mastered the defensive arrangements of the Horn Fortress, where it was strong and where it was vulnerable, and the enemy who was screaming and fighting fiercely attacked the castle gate again and again.

I don't know how to describe the fierce fighting, although every soldier fought bravely, especially Lord Edward, who led his soldiers out of the wall several times, trying to kill the enemy leader on the opposite side, but the other side was clearly prepared, and the breached walls forced him to run back and forth on every defensive line.

No matter how much the warriors on the city walls maintained, the defense line was torn apart again and again. Like a rain of arrows and fireballs of locusts, many warriors were burned alive or killed by arrows before they could draw their weapons, and were killed by the enemy in this very dishonorable way.

Miss Shirrell Letlane, the leader of the Silver Blood Mercenary Regiment, was no less brave than any warrior, and she and the sixty Silver Blood West Coast mercenaries behind her stood firm on the tower, not allowing any Dominic soldier to breach the castle gates.

Before the start of the war, there were many people who were suspicious of this female warrior, and even thought that she would definitely betray us, only Lord Edward insisted that Miss Shrell be in charge of the defense of the city gates, and now it seems that this is the right decision, with her Lord Edward, she can not worry about the front of the castle, and lead the soldiers to fight back the Dominic attacks again and again on the walls on both wings.

From early morning to dusk, the fierce battle lasted for a whole day, and the Dominic army, which had never been able to capture the castle, finally began to retreat. The walls were as red as if they had been soaked in blood, and the broken corpses were piled up all over the gates, and the wailing of seabirds and crows hovered over the castle.

It was a dark day, and we had won the battle, and the flaming goshawk banner still fluttering at the top of the tower in the setting sun seemed to be hunting—and today, it did not fall from the Horn Fort.

The Dominica fleet on the sea was still bombarding the walls of Fort Hornhorn, the retreating Dominic army had formed a blockade on the cliff outside the castle, and the blue of the sky had begun to fade, and I didn't know if my nonsense could convey my thoughts to others.

We won, and tomorrow there will be even more fierce battles, and tomorrow we will sacrifice more people. But today, victory belongs to us, to the Turin Expeditionary Force, to the warriors illuminated by the glorious cross.

Everyone gathered in the hall of the inner fort, laughing and listening to the earth-shattering roar outside, barrels of pear wine were brought out, and everyone was drinking the wine called "Victory", praying for the departed companions, praying that they would have the honor of ascending to the starry sky.

Today, two hundred and ninety-two warriors are still alive and alive, many of them seriously wounded, and many of them are destined not to survive tonight, but like the ancient kingdoms, they are destined to go down in history.

If the city is doomed, may the Radiant Cross protect us so that all these sacrifices will not be in vain, may I live to the moment the Horn Fort is breached, and may this story be discovered by you, even if only a few words remain.

God bless Turin.