Ah, Andorhal (6)

Maxwell did not have the knights fight on horseback. The cramped terrain and the crush of enemies made a mounted charge impossible.

Even dismounted, the knights of the Silver Dawn were first-rate warriors. Clad in fine armor and armed with sharp weapons, they lowered their visors and became hulking steel cans—or rather, metal killing machines.

Eglier Dawnbringer and Augustine, the two strongest fighters, held the front line. They could cut down the Undead before them with ease and still had strength to spare for the comrades beside them.

Most of the Undead guarding the outskirts of Andorhal were low-level Ghouls or ordinary Undead soldiers. They feared no death and hurled themselves at the humans, but apart from a few knights who pushed too far ahead and were overwhelmed, they struggled to make headway against the elite knights.

The fierce fighting forced every knight in the front rank to give everything he had just to survive. Many soon grew too exhausted to strike cleanly and had to spend longer struggling with each enemy. The human advance slowed noticeably, and their killing rate began to fall.

At Maxwell's command, the battle Priests behind them hurled their bottles of holy water in unison. Infused with Holy Light by the Priests, the water dealt devastating damage to the low-level Undead, tearing through their crowded ranks in an instant.

Some Undead were drenched from head to toe and turned straight to ash. Others stepped onto the wet bridge, and before long the Ghouls' feet had corroded away completely, leaving them balanced on bloodied stumps.

The holy water opened a gap in the Undead assault. The knights in front withdrew calmly, and fresh knights from the middle ranks took their places. Another storm of bloodshed was brewing.

The narrow bridge could fit only two or three