"What are you speaking off, Captain?" you question him. "How have the Gigantes crossed the river? Had you not destroyed the bridge? Did you not say the waters weren't shallow?!" you say, almost yelling.

"They weren't sire - the Gigantes, they swam. They crossed the river like a geese crossing a pond. We fired on the bastards, but I didn't even see a speck of blood from our volley. Their armor was all too thick. They were wearing plate as thick as a city gate, all of them, and swords about as tall as one, too. I left behind some of the men harassing the lot to slow them down and drove the rest to warn ye as soon and as fast as the horses could gallop."

"Damnation. Damnations all.." you repeat. You had forgotten, after facing giants, of that which made them most fearful of all - not their bows, nor their slings, but their inhuman force. If the plate carried by a knight at arms can oft stop a bullet, what chance doth a horseman's calivers and wheellocks have against whatever metallic monstrosity is worn by what you can only assume are the heavy footmen of the Himmerian kind? What chance doth your own men have against these creatures? You would not be surprised if swords and lances merely clinked off their armor as though pebbles upon a fortress wall.

You shall need to make use of heavier weaponry to deal with these, but to do so, you'll have to pull from your own ranks at the crossing...

"Warn the men in the north! Keep a watch for when they approach. I want to know without a second of waste." you order, before turning to the captain. "As for you - have your men and horses rest and eat. You've no shape to fight, exhausted as you are. Keep an eye on the western flank as you do.

"Aye, your lordship." answers the captain. Turning your horse about, you and your retinue gallop over to the edge of the hill to see how the battle develops after your last orders.

Along the battlelines, little has truly changed. Your arquebusiers continue their reloading to shoot yet another volley at their respective enemies. By now, the smoke cloud from the gunfire has thickened to such a point that even your own Joan has but the smallest idea of what transpires on the other side of the river. It is only thanks to the flashes of fire from the enemy arquebusiers that your own gunners are capable of returning fire in the general direction of the foe. Below, you hear yet the clashing of men, the clash of steel against steel and the screams of those who fight for their very lives. You can only imagine what it is to be on the frontline of this fight - imprisoned by those behind you and limited by the walls of the bridge you are unable to retreat, unable to do anything but fight the men behind you lest you risk being trampled by ally or struck down by foe.