General Wilmot was leading his small army of men through the plateaus of Anatolia. He was on horseback and covered in chainmail from his head down to his torso. His helmet covered his whole face and it had a large yellow plume that stuck out the back of it. Covering his chest was his tabard, colored yellow and black to symbolize his squadron. In the center of it was a large cross signifying who they were: crusaders His horse was draped in large cloth decorated similarly to Wilmot’s tabard. They were on a mission, called forth by Pope Urban II, to take back their Holy Land Jerusalem from Muslim control.

 Wilmot himself was a seasoned general, having been in the English military for 10 years, but most of his men were young and from all over Western Europe. They were fearful of battle that could occur at any second. They knew they would die and there was no avoiding casualties when fighting like this. Wilmot tried his best not to get too attached to his new recruits, knowing that any of them could perish at any moment. He didn’t even know all of their names. 

Although he tried not to get too close to his soldiers, he couldn’t help striking up some conversation with his men, as traveling these great distances could get boring. One of the flag bearers walking beside WIlmot’s horse began to speak. His strong French accent was apparent once he opened his mouth “How long do you think until we get there?”

“I'm not sure,” Wilmot replied. “We still have long ways to go, though, these plateaus have been a pain to navigate”

“I'm not used to this kind of traveling” responded the Frenchman “I’m used to only working with animals on a farm”

Wilmot noticed he was clearly a young man, at most 20 years old

The Frenchman continued “I was settled with being a farmer my whole life. We were all poor. But once I heard the Pope calling for all of our aid I felt obligated to pick up arms and fight”

Wilmot was impressed with this young man. He respected this kind of dedication “I want brave men like you by my side. Say, what's your name?”

“Guicard, sir” he proudly replied.

“Well, Guicard, keep with that dedication and maybe you’ll become as highly respected as-”

 But as Wilmot turned his head back to respond to Guicard, he was gone. He looked down and saw what was once the young and proud Frenchman Guicard by his side, but is now on the ground with an arrow pierced through his head, blood pooling beneath him. In a panic, WIlmot looked around and saw a large group of Turkish archers perched on the cliff above them, ready to rain arrows on his army.

“TAKE COVER!” Screamed Wilmot, as he heard his men scream and scramble around once they noticed the dead Guicard. Wilmot kicked the side of his horse, leading it in a circle around his men. As his horse ran, Wilmot raised his longsword high in the air, and it was now emitting a golden, divine light. The light stayed in place, creating a large barrier in the trail of the sword. The arrows plinked against this barrier, and his men were in awe at this sight. 

“GET INTO FORMATION!” Hollered Wilmot, as he held this barrier. His men rushed into a line, tucked behind their shields.

From behind both sides of the cliff came a large group of armed soldiers, rushing at them with their weapons raised. Wilmot’s own archers nocked their arrows and released them at the archers above, striking a couple of the soldiers. The sudden hail of arrows spooked some of the horses carrying the archers, bucking two of them off the side of the cliff. Wilmot had to think fast, or else the Turkish soldiers would have the upper hand.

Being such a strong believer in his faith, Wilmot is able to harness the power of the divine and manifest it in combat through his weaponry. He thought it to be a gift from God. Focusing his mind into his blade, he made it light up a beautiful gold to catch the attention of his own soldiers. He had devised a simple plan to at least prepare for the oncoming attack. He divided his men into two groups, one to block the left and one to block the right. Each group had a line of spearmen at the front, with a larger group of swordsmen behind them to prepare for when spearmen broke formation. Wilmot had the archers find cover and take out the archers on top of the cliff.

Wilmot’s men listened to him without any hesitation. Both groups got ready and braced themselves for the oncoming attack. Wilmot decided to try and get rid of some of the Turks before they even reached them. He dug his heel into his horse and turned it so his side was facing the left group of Turks. As he rode by, he slashed his sword towards the ground, channeling the divine and unleashing a large golden wave that glided across the ground, striking some of the Turks. The soldiers at the front collapsed immediately, while the soldiers behind them either tripped or completely fell over. Wilmot circled back to face the right opposing army, sending a wave their way as well. These attacks slowed the army down, but eventually they reached his own forces.

The two armies clashed, with the Turks trying to break through the line of spearmen, and the spearmen jabbing into the Turks. Both groups held strong but the Turkish forces were overwhelming, and Wilmot knew the lines would break eventually. In preparation for the eventual collapse of the spearmen, Wilmot ran between his two groups shouting “MEN, REMEMBER WHO AND WHAT YOU’RE FIGHTING FOR!” The swordsmen responded by shouting their warcries, amping themselves up for the combat that was to come.

Wilmot’s archers were making good work of the Turkish archers. He saw the corpses of archers laying at the foot of the cliff with arrows through their hearts and heads. Unfortunately, he saw some of the same with his own archers, yellow and black masses of chain and flesh slumped over where they fought so valiantly. He knew this would happen but it always stung him when it did. He thought to himself “God will reward you in heaven, your services to God will not be forgotten”  

Wilmot turned his attention to the left group of his men. Dozens of dead Turks lay in front of the spearmen, and they were still holding strong. The right group, however, was not doing as well. There were many dead Turks, but also several dead spearmen were among them. Their line was about to break. Wilmot began to rush over to try and help but before he could make it, the Turks eventually shoved their way through the defensive line. They made short work of the remaining spearmen, and began cleaving their way into the group of swordsmen trying to fight them off. Wilmot made it to the group and began to fight his way through the Turks. Wilmot channeled the divine once again, and made a great sweeping motion with his blade. When he swung it, a holy light extended off of his blade, slicing through some of the Turkish men at the front. The ground beneath him was covered in blood, with limbs and corpses strewn about. Faces made unrecognizable by vicious blows. Men sitting on the ground, gasping their final breaths. With Wilmot now fighting with the group, the Turkish forces on the right side were all either deceased or running away. 

The remnants of the group on the right ran over to the left to help. They began to flank the Turkish soldiers, trying to dispatch them as quickly as possible. Wilmot saw that his men stood strong on this side, with few casualties and many dead Turkish soldiers. Before his army was able to finish off the Turks, however, a bright divine light pushed through Wilmot’s men, killing many and causing others to fall to the ground.

Wilmot looked at the source of this light in confusion. What he saw was a Turkish soldier in plate armor beautifully decorated with various stones and colors, marking him as a general The Turkish general swung his sword, casting another light towards his men, killing more of them. “What?!” WIlmot thought to himself. This power was similar to his own. The general swiped his sword against the ground, shooting a large wave of holy divine light. Wilmot dove out of the way, but his men weren’t so lucky with many of them getting hit and killed.

Wilmot ran towards the general, casting holy light waves of his own, with the general looking just as confused as Wilmot was. Wilmot lunged, sending an overhead blow. The general parried it with his curved sword, and swung back, imbuing his blade with holy light. Wilmot tried to block, but when both swords made contact he was sent flying backwards. This power was much stronger than his own. “How could this be?” Wilmot thought to himself “This power was granted to me by God…” But before he could finish, the general ran at Wilmot with his weapon raised and kicked Wilmot’s sword away. The Turkish general placed his foot on Wilmot’s chest, keeping him in place. He then raised his blade, imbued it with divine power, the same power Wilmot wielded, and cut Wilmot’s head off, killing him instantly.