Clang!!
A metallic clang rang out. Just before the sword, still stained with some kind of dark brown blood, could cleave into Hermione's forehead—she had just Apparated out of the shadows and was caught completely off guard—a massive warhammer intercepted it at the last possible moment.
Then the warhammer's owner gave a gentle push, sending the utterly bewildered Darrowshire militiaman staggering backward several steps. He had no idea what had just happened.
"Soldier!"
"Your alertness is excellent. That's a good thing... but you nearly cut down the only witch currently able to lead us Silver Hand Paladins in rushing to Darrowshire's aid!"
With a snort, Uther's body began to radiate dazzling golden Holy Light. After reprimanding the reckless militiaman in a tone that mixed reproach with praise, he abruptly unleashed the vast power of the Holy Light within him, making himself shine like a golden figure descended from the heavens. At last, the Darrowshire soldiers around them—just as tense and confused as the militiaman—came to their senses and let go of their hostility.
They had arrived by teleportation without warning anyone in advance, so it was only natural for Darrowshire's defenders to surround and attack them at once. Still, Uther figured that unleashing his Holy Light now would surely let the defenders caught in the fighting recognize who they were.
But after surveying the desperate battlefield, he decided that probably wasn't enough. He needed to do more.
"I am Uther! Uther the Lightbringer!"
"We are blessed by the Holy Light, and its radiance shines upon us!"
"Knights of the Silver Hand! Champions of Darrowshire! Attack with me! Destroy those evil Undead!"
He looked around, taking in the front line, which was on the verge of collapse beneath the Undead assault. Then he glanced at the twenty Paladins who had come