中文译文
我是迪特赫尔姆。那座雪山上的战斗已经烙进脑海；只要闲下来，我就忘不了。鲜有人能有足够的意志和胆量，顶住兽人的冲锋。高贵的弟兄莱昂哈特面对那怪物，也禁不住牙齿打战。兽人简直就是毁灭的化身。铁甲下面獠牙毕露，还有那双眼睛——诸神啊，那双眼睛！漆黑得骇人。站在一个披着锁甲的兽人面前，“凶猛”二字都显得太轻。
左右各有一名弟兄：阿尔布里希特和莱昂哈特。阿尔布里希特还在为一场大家早已忘记的争吵耿耿于怀。他就是那样的人。但在那个兽人扑来的雪夜，我需要他守在身旁。我压低声音说：“阿尔布里希特，你我改天还有的是机会去见祂。今天不行，阿尔布里希特。阿尔布里希特，你还跟着我吗？”他才鼓起勇气，第一个兽人就全速撞了上来。铁器猛砸木盾，混乱之中，一柄兽人的长刃挥来，在我肩上豁开一道长长的口子。
盾牌猛地被顶了回来，快得让我一时失神。这些绿皮可真够沉的。
我头昏眼花，肩膀撕裂，却还是及时清醒过来，低头躲过另一把斧子。心跳狂乱，肾上腺素猛冲上来——老天，再没有什么能让人清醒得这么快。我挥起斩刀，直直劈向兽人，把它们的恨意原样奉还。一下，再一下，露出了甲片下的皮肉。原来它们也是会流血的。
哈瓦德从我身后某处投来一把斧子，击中了最先撞我的那个兽人战士。这些东西，这些恶臭的孽畜，挨了什么都不退缩。阿尔布里希特正用锤子招呼另一个，莱昂哈特则挥舞着他的“精工杀人者”，证明那武器杀起兽人来也一样在行。
我又挥出一刀，再一刀。贴得这么近，那野兽就显得太慢了。但敌人还在涌来。
其中一个吼得又响又沉，仿佛就在我背后；光听声音，就知道那家伙庞大得惊人。这样的吼声准能把汉斯那个迷信的蠢蛋吓得拉进裤子。难道是莫特古尔？
不，绝对不要，求你了。
我及时收住心神，继续劈砍那些铁板后面的一切——也只有兽人才会把那玩意儿叫盾牌。它从自己扛着的铁墙后出手时，我终于看清了它：浑身是血，头盔也没了。希望它已经撑不住了。没空多想。
躲开，再躲开。感谢命运，它这么笨拙，这么迟缓。
盾牌上缘突然炸成碎片。转眼间，我赤裸裸地暴露在风暴面前。
我把斩刀送向它的喉咙。没了盾牌的负担，斩刀干净利落地砍下了野兽的脑袋。
那庞大的身躯屈膝倒地，我却只来得及得意一瞬，因为一个更可怕的家伙顶了上来。准是它了，莫特古尔。换作阿尔布里希特，此刻也许会动摇。但只要身后还有一名弟兄站着，我就绝不退缩。
莫特古尔拎着一根勉强能叫棍棒的沉重家伙，上面钉满了长钉。它的铠甲也让我倒吸一口气。诸神啊！那东西竟拿人头当装饰。新鲜的人头，血还没流干，恐惧的神情僵在脸上，直直瞪着我。
一把斧子从头顶飞过，正中目标，接着又是一把。汉斯？
管不了那么多。我压上全身重量劈出一刀——该死，偏偏砍空了。
四肢已经乏力，再次挥刀时，肩膀也撑不住了。该死的身子，怎么就不能再强壮一点。
眼前仿佛尽是漆黑的铁墙，一条胳膊忽然从后面伸出来，划出一道我完全没料到的凶狠弧线。
呃！肋骨断裂的痛，被人狠砸却无力还手的滋味，可悲地熟悉。但这一击格外沉重，我真怕自己到底还是要去见造物主了。
命运啊，我的主，我的天使，一定在看顾我。又或是左右的弟兄终于解决了各自的丑八怪？只见吉斯贝尔特一锤砸中莫特古尔的侧身，甲胄凹裂，鲜血从里面涌出来。另一柄锤子砸上它背后挂着的人头，穿过断颅，打进下方结着硬痂的锁甲。西格弗里德，我的救星。
斧子也接连劈来。一共三下，也许还赶得上第四下。
我不知从哪里又挤出一股力气，挥下了致命的最后一刀。
莫特古尔踉跄着，又踉跄了一下，倒了下去。
没有欢呼，也没有拥抱。阿尔布里希特也倒下了，还有另一个人。那个新人的名字和面孔，我已经记不清了。
佣兵的生活就是如此。
英文原文
I am Diethelm. Marred into my mind I will not forget long as I am idle the battle on that snowy hill. There is narry a man with will and boldness enough to withstand the orc charge. A noble brother, Leonhart chattered his teeth against the monstrosity. A visage of doom, the orcs were. Their teeth bared beneath metal and their eyes - Gods the eyes! A fantastic blackness in those eyes. Ferocity is an understatement when standing 'fore an orc clad in his mail.
A brother to my left and a brother to the right - Albricht and Leonhart. Albricht is still discontented about a quirrel long forgotten by my brothers. That was his way, but on the snowy evening the orcs fell upon us, I needed him close. I spoke underbreath 'Albricht you and I will have the time to meet Him another day. Not today, Albricht. Albricht are you with me?' The man bolstered seconds before the first orc came at me in a full tilt. Metal battering on wood and between the violence a long orcish blade swings and leaves a tall gash on my shoulder.
My shield was thrust back so quick, I lost myself a moment. There is a lot of weight in those greenskins.
Dazed and gashed I regain clarity fast enough to duck another's axe. Heart racing and adrenaline hit and oh my, nothing will light your lantern quite as quick. With my cleaver I swung straight and true, repaying the orcs their hatred. One, two. Exposing skin underneath. They can bleed after all.
Havard threw an axe from somewhere behind me, catching the first orc warrior who hit me. These things, these wretches - so foul and odorous - take everything without flinching. Albricht hammers another one while Leonhart works his Masterwork Manslayer, and shows that it's also good at slaying Orcs.
Another swing of the cleaver and another, the beast is too slow when he's up close. But there are more.
One in particular howls so loud and so deep he might be behind me and his immensity couldn't be mistaken. Sound like that liable to make Hans shit himself, the superstitious git. Mortgul, could it be?
No definitely please no.
I catch myself before losing focus. I cleave and I cut at everything behind those iron slabs only an orc could call a shield. I see him finally as he attacks from behind the wall he carries. Bloodstained and lost helm. He is hopefully broken. No time to think.
Dodge. Dodge. Thank the fates he is so clumsy and slow.
Suddenly the top of my shield splinters. Then I am naked before the storm.
I lead my cleaver to its throat. Unburdened by my shield, the cleaver does it's job taking the beast's head.
Accomplishment is short lived as his mass buckles and falls, for a terrible one takes his place. This must be him, Mortgul. Were I Albricht, I may have wavered here, but as long as there is one brother kicking behind me I shall never falter.
Mortgul carries a heavy excuse for a thumper, nails throughout its length. I am taken aback also by his armor. Gods! The thing adorned himself with heads. Fresh heads of men, blood still in, they leer with looks of terror.
An axe flies overhead. It catches the mark, and then another. Hans?
No matter, I bring my metal down with my full weight and damnit I had to miss.
My limbs are tired, and my shoulder gives when I attempt again to strike. Damn my body that it shouldn't be stronger.
Before me it seems are black iron walls and from behind an arm extends in a wild arc I didn't anticipate.
Ugh! the pain of ribs breaking and clobbered without being able to do anything is saddly too familiar. But this one was especially blunt and I feared I might meet my maker after all.
And the fates oh my lord oh my angel must've been watching. Or is it that my brothers on left and right flank had the best of their ugglies? Wouldn't you know it that Gisbert took hammer to the side of Mortgul. A clean dent breaks the armor and blood pools from somewhere within. Another hammer meets a severed head on the back of Mortgul, goes through that and into the crusted mail beneath. Sigfried, my savior.
And there are more of the axes. Three axe swings total and maybe a fourth in time.
I find strength somewhere within and cleave a coup de gras.
Mortgul staggers and staggers and falls.
There are no cheers. There are no hugs. Albricht is too fallen along with another. I don't remember the Greenhorn's name or his face.
Such is the life of a sellsword.