The Little Lamb

Militiaman Peter followed his equally elated comrades, all eager to return home, along the familiar dirt road leading to the newly built residential district at the foot of Carnford Mountain.

The setting sun stretched their shadows long, while the air was filled with the summer evening breeze and the warmth of homecoming.

As he walked, he could not help recalling once again the chaotic yet blood-pumping battle beneath Tyrol City, a fight that had been like a nightmare.

At the time, Sauron Regiment Commander Acton had personally led the Heavy Armor Infantry of the main force, charging straight at the defensive line held by their Militia Camp like a raging herd of wild bulls.

Peter had been standing in the Third Platoon then. He had clearly heard the sound of bones shattering and the dying wails of comrades in the front rank when they were struck by the heavy weapons of the Sauron soldiers. He had even felt the warm blood splashing across his face.

He had been so frightened that he could barely keep hold of his spear, and his legs had gone weak.

Fortunately, the first and fiercest wave of the Sauron soldiers' assault had been forcibly held back by the veterans in front and the regular soldiers farther ahead. By sheer luck, he had not had to face those deadly blades directly.

Later, the maces and throwing axes hurled by the Sauron soldiers had whistled over his head and slammed into shields with terrifying thuds. Some people had fallen with anguished cries, but once again, Peter had luckily avoided being hit.

When Carnford's reserves finally came up to reinforce them and stabilize the line, even beginning to push the enemy back, Peter had finally broken free of his fear under the hoarse shouts of the officers and