Brock woke up, the sounds of yelling and steel clashing. He cursed under his breath as he started to quickly get dressed, strapped on his breastplate and grab his axe and shield. He pushed out of his tent and saw his men fighting off an enemy force. By the look of their coat of arms, they are soldiers of Lord Hill.

“An enemy raid”, he thinks to himself calmly. He'll have to make an example of whoever was on guard duty tonight. “Men, on me!” He yells throughout the night, grabbing the attention of both his men and the enemy. He batters his axe against his shield as several soldiers wearing his symbol, an axe with its head engulfed in flame, join his side also banging their shields with their weapons.

Furthermore, he and his small group of soldiers begins to tactfully strike at any lone stragglers, saving as many of his men in the progress. He, however, knows he can't save everyone, but doesn't lament their deaths as he walks by their corpses. “All men must die, they knew what signed up for.”, he thinks to himself, justifying his lack of empathy.

A group of enemies wielding spears began to charge at him and his men. The spears clatter against their shields as the enemy tries to poke weaknesses in their shield wall. A few of his men get jabbed, so he leads a charge and using his shield and armor pushes close enough to the enemy that their spears become useless. He slams his axe into one of their heads, the man dropping after the clatter of steel against his helmet.

His men follow and they quickly start cutting through the men. Their morale broken, they retreat and Brock has to stop his men from giving chase. Brock and his men rallied and drove away the enemy forces throughout the rest of the night, losing no men after the initial surprise assault.

After the battle, he is taking reports of losses and injured when one of his men approached. “Sir, you'll probably want to see this.”, the soldier says. Brock raises an eyebrow and follows the man into the area of the camp where the non-soldiers were housed.

He follows the soldier into a tent and sees Micheal, one of the camp medics, standing over a woman with a baby in his arms. Micheal looks at him with a sad look on his face. “She started to go into labor when the battle began. I tried to do what I could, but alas there wasn't much I could without my supplies.” the man says solemnly.

Brock nodded. He had known the woman. Savanna. She had been a camp follower of theirs for nearly two years now. He and his men freed her and several other women from a group of bandits, and she was the only one who went with them. She had been… broken, and continued to serve as a prostitute for the men.

He had heard some of his men complain that they weren't able to buy her services because she was with child. There was no certain way to ascertain who the child's father was. It could be as many as twenty different men, if not more.

Micheal gives him a look and begins to speak again. “What should we do with the boy?” Brock considers for a few moments. The best option would be to leave him at an orphanage, though with how war torn this area was, that just wasn't an option.

Brock looks at Michael and deeply sighs. “How well do you think you could care for the child?”, he asks. Micheal gives him a quizzical look and replies, “We should have the necessary supplies I'd imagine, but why sir? A child has no place with a band of mercenaries.”

“If the boys' mother had lived, do you think she would've left? I doubt that heavily. For now, he'll be your charge, understand?”.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I still have things to attend to. And so will you, once you're done tending to the child, begin mending wounds.” Brock commanded. Micheal saluted and began to walk off with the boy, Brock assuming to his tent.

He looked down at the dead woman. She had surely been as much of a casualty of this battle than any of his men. Had she had the proper care during birth, she almost certainly would've lived. A bit of sorrow entered him, but he pushed it out.

Something about the child surprised him, though. He had been around newborns before. They cried at the simplest thing, yet that boy didn't. Instead of tears, the child sat that with a calm look on his face. In the midst and aftermath of a battle.