"Por Dios y por la Cruz! For the Lord and the Cross!"
On the mighty galleon Santa Clarida, a resounding prayer suddenly rang out. The Castilian veterans who had taken part in the Granada holy war all turned their eyes over at once, whistling in excitement.
"The Lord has bestowed blazing fire! The holy crusade is invincible!"
The fleet's deputy commander, Antonio de Torres, clenched one fist and drew his sword with the other, striking a devout crusader's pose, just like "Fist · España · Fire." And onshore, the noble knight and company sergeant major Pedro Margarit saw this and burst into a hearty laugh. He raised his own fist high, swept his gaze over the four full eighty-man veteran companies in the expeditionary force, and shouted the most classic battle cry of the Castilian holy war.
"Santiago! Santiago!"
"Y cierra, España! Charge, Spain!"
More than three hundred Castilian holy-war veterans answered in unison, that fierce and fearless momentum exactly like the cry they had roared countless times when charging across the battlefields of Granada! In that instant, icy killing intent rushed into the clouds, and the battle cry that had slain countless Moors made even the noisy port of Seville fall silent for a heartbeat.
This was a company of holy-war veterans rolled through blood and fire on the crusade's battlefields, forged through a hundred savage fights! They were killing machines strengthened by faith, their hands long since soaked in the blood of countless Moors. Whether cavalry and infantry in the Moorish armies, or able-bodied men, old folk, and children in the villages, all were Heathens they would kill without fail and never spare!
"Merda! What the hell are these bastards shouting about?! I haven't given a single order—how are they making such a ruckus?..."
On the Santa Cristobal,