Chapter 5: A Vengeance in One Arrow

The French knights spurred their horses onto the decks, charging straight toward the battle’s fiercest front—the ships of the first squadron. The warships were chained together, swaying gently with the waves; the iron chains gleamed with a cold, dark luster under the sunlight. It was precisely due to the warship chaining strategy implemented by Hugh and Nicholas that they could move effortlessly from the deck of one ship to another, turning the battlefield into a complex and ever-shifting arena.

These battle-hardened, expertly armed warriors led the squires—fresh reinforcements—in fierce clashes against England’s heavily armored knights, boarding ship after ship. Luain, undoubtedly a loyal squire, held his massive shield high—a steadfast fortress in the heat of combat. He guarded Lesarite closely, his gaze unyielding as he blocked countless attacks aimed at his lord.

Lesarite himself wore a stern expression, wielding his longsword with sweeping arcs that sliced through the air with a whistling roar. Carlo gritted his teeth, trailing behind the knights, repeatedly firing his crossbow; his focused eyes flickered with tension, fingers trembling ever so slightly as he pulled the trigger. Meanwhile, Roberto, concerned for his cousin, remained steadfast at Carlo’s side, ever vigilant, scanning for danger with weapons ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

The battle raged with brutal intensity. Naval combat was far deadlier than land warfare—there was no retreat or escape at sea. Soldiers had no choice but to fight, surrendering themselves to fate. Every man was compelled to display extraordinary valor. Leading the French knights aboard the Christopher, Lesarite met the English knights head-on. In an instant, knight clashed with knight, squire with squire—a savage melee erupted.

The clash of metal rang sharp and clear; sparks flew like shooting stars where sword met sword. Those on the battlefield seemed swept up in a frenzied storm, their cries rising and falling like surging tides—roars of anger, battle cries of spirit, and the desperate screams of the dying. Those anguished wails were mournful and chilling, the final struggles of life on the brink of extinction.

The waves relentlessly pounded the ships, water leaping like furious beasts only to slam down heavily again. The vessels creaked and groaned under the assault, sprays mingling with sparks from clashing blades to compose a tragic symphony of war. Caught in this maelstrom, Carlo—once fearful—had been transformed by the crucible of battle.

War, the most cruel yet strangely captivating force in human history, magnified the essence of humanity. Cowards grew more timid under fear’s shadow, but the truly brave emerged reborn in flames, their courage blazing brighter than ever. Carlo was unquestionably among the latter. Having overcome initial hesitation and fear, he now fought like a tempered blade, growing ever more formidable with each encounter.

During the fight, Carlo spotted a towering Castilian ship, the Segovia. Calling to Roberto and a few nearby crossbowmen, he struggled to climb aboard, sweat streaming down his face. “If you want to shoot, you’ve got to stand higher!” he shouted, his mind sharpened amid the chaos.

From the deck of the Segovia, Carlo called out loudly, “Castilians! Even if we die, let it be worthy death! Since we’re here on this battlefield, let us be heroes! Everyone, fire together! Support the fierce fighting over there!”

As he spoke, Carlo loosed a bolt toward the Genoese ship Christopher, where knights and numerous Genoese crossbowmen fiercely defended the hottest sector of the fight. His words stirred those around him, lifting weary spirits and igniting a wave of courage. They rapidly fired their bolts into the ranks of England’s armored knights.

The Genoese crossbow’s effective range spanned roughly 150 to 200 meters. Though reloading was complicated and slow, its tremendous power could pierce thick armor and inflict grievous wounds. Armed with this advantage, Carlo and his men maintained steady fire, becoming a feared force on the battlefield.

King Edward III of England noticed the scene and drew his sword, preparing to lead a charge. In those times, the chivalric ideal of courage burned brightly—even kings dreamed of knighthood. Edward was among the finest, and the intense combat before him deeply captivated his spirit.

“Warriors of England! This battlefield is our stage for glory! Their ships will crumble before us. Charge! For England’s honor—let the French witness our might!”

Carlo’s sharp eyes caught sight of a man clad in ornate armor whose rallying cry seemed almost magical, instantly rekindling the fighting spirit of the English warriors. Squinting, Carlo aimed his crossbow bolt at this man, silently praying, “Kiss him, my bolt.”

Alas, the rocking sea caused a slight misfire at the crucial moment. The bolt did not strike a fatal blow but grazed the man’s leg, instantly staining his pristine white boots with blood. Seeing this, the English knights surged forward like a tidal wave, surrounding and shielding him before swiftly withdrawing him from the fray.

On the Segovia, the crew erupted in cheers, praising Carlo. “Amazing!” “What a shot!” “Carlo, you’ve done us proud!” Cries of celebration rang out, fists pumping the air. One voice rang loudest: “Carlo, you drew blood from the English king himself! That’s a feat to remember!”

Roberto beamed, slapping Carlo’s shoulder excitedly. “Your shot might just turn the tide of this battle!”

But Carlo felt no joy amidst the praise. The thought that he had wounded the English king filled him with a nameless unease. He wondered if he should flee immediately—such a wound would surely bring swift and brutal retribution.

Before he could dwell further, a massive English force appeared like a dark wave. Terror gripped Carlo: “No, no, this can’t be happening!”

Yet he steadied himself and shouted, “Everyone, listen! Target the English knights to the east! Fire at will—full speed!”

Forgetful of Carlo’s lowly rank, the whole ship seemed ignited by a shared fiery resolve amid the smoke and flames of battle. Captain Pedro led the charge, swiftly drawing crossbow bolts and straining to reload. The crew followed suit, quickly loading bolt after bolt and firing with every ounce of strength.

Lesarite and the French knights stood firm before the advancing English, their armor gleaming in the sun as they wielded longswords, battle axes, and maces. They fought resolutely to buy precious moments for Carlo and the others to continue their deadly volley.