Just looking for honest opinions on a dark fantasy novel I'm working on. It hasn't been edited or reviewed yet so please no grammar corrections if any.

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Sweltering heat oppressed the company of militants as they stalked through row upon row of olive trees. This particular olive field was enormous, belonging to none other than House Durzra, one of the greatest among the noble houses now aligned with recent Protectorate authority. Reports entered Acrine the day prior of imperial loyalists harassing the Durzra farming aggregate. It did not take long for lieutenant Itai to track down the culprit's location in the neighboring town of Latilmeir. Setting out without hesitation he was joined by his comrade Lieutenant Hadden. Problem was, so it seemed, the band of loyalists had taken notice of their disclosure and taken flight to the very field Casden was plodding through now. Spear clutched with sweaty grip, he looked about between rows of trees. Dark smog began to fill the air smelling of freshly burnt vegetation.
"They're burnin tha fields! Men, break formation and find'em before all's reduced to ash!" yelled Itai in sharp command. So it was the men and women of Casden's platoon raced about throughout the trees without direction or thought. Very nearly Casden was ran through with one of his confederate's lowered spear. Smog grew more intense by the minute, beggining to irritate lungs and eye. Casden leaned up against a olive tree to catch breathe, sighting a figure stumbling towards him in clothing unlike militia uniform. Drawing closer still, the figure was made out to be a man in dark cloak with hood drawn,remant of extinguished torch in one hand and dagger in the other. Casden crouched and rasied spear vertical to tree, as not to be seen by the approaching foe. The cloaked assailant was still looking over his shoulder as he ran when Casden caught his ankle. Tumbling onto the earth, the loyalist looked upwards and met Casden's eye with spear tip to throat. Relatable was the look upon his face, thought Casden, trying to imagine himself with such an appearance the day militia soldiers held the tip of a blade to his throat. Paradoxical it all was. With nothing more than a bloody gasp the loyalist was put down with a thrust, lifeless eyes rolling to the side. Smog throughout the air was so severe at this point, Casden could see no more than a couple yards in any direction as he contined on. Faint shouting drifted through muted by the raging of flames.
Crossing at an intersection of trees he caught glimpse of a plantation house overlooking the havoc below. It too was engulfed in flame. Eventually Casden emerged from distant end of burning crop, blood from dripping spear tip staining his plaid tunic. There he joined a number of his fellow troops watching over the inferno ahead at safe distance.
" It appears as if we may'ov failed dis one…" stated one of the cadets, soot smearing his face and clothing.
"Ya, sure seems like'et." added another.
Casden continued to observe the spectacle of destruction, smirking all the while. All he was sure of was that slaying that man felt splendid.
Burning men ran out from the far side of the olive trees one by one, flailing and screaminig before collapsing to the ground. Other militiamen or hunted loyalists, Casden was unsure of. More urgently, a deafening crack brought him to shift his view to the right. Foundation crumbling, the plantation house collapsed under flame induced duress. Surely there had to have been more loyalist opposition involved in this assault than what was expected, pondered Casden, mouth agape. Already he was losing confidence in the abilities of his commanding officer. From behind him ten men appeared, all clad in hooded cloaks and armed with shortswords. They made a dash directly for Casden and the other two militiamen.
"Shit! Run!" bellowed the lead cadet.
Running directly for what they considered may be others of the militia, the hooded men kept pace not far behind. Casden joined the group waiting in a clearing parallel to the burning fields, alerting them of the incoming threat. What was three in retreat, was now twenty militiamen turned to face the attackers with polearms at the ready. Clash ensued with the clang of steel and cries of despair. Casden deflected a thrust with spear point and swung the blunt end of it's shaft down upon the skull of his aggressor. With man incapacitated, he lunged for the nearest other, driving point directly through a shoulder. With a twist of the weapon this man too was brought to the ground. As he looked about the struggle was complete. Ten hooded bodies lay strewn about, some clearly deceased, others making hopeless attempt to crawl away in anguish. Thirteen of the militia, among those Lieutenant Itai, had perished as well. That left Casden and seven other militiamen he left Acrine with standing. Surviving rebels spread out to finish off the last of the wounded attackers.
"Tha lieutenant's dead!" cried a militia member as he prodded Itai's lifeless form with end of spear, continuing to ask "So now who's in charge?"
"Sure ain't gonna be me!" replied the last remaining female rebel, bloodstained from head to toe.
"Me neitha'! Ya'know how much shit whoever's in charge is gonna catch when we git back'ta Acrine? More than they're gonna want, thets for damn sure!" retorted another.
"Calm down ya'll, I'll take charge." stated Casden, eye looking about between the remaining band nervously.
"Don't be foolin round' now ya one-eyed runt! Yur what, twelve damn years old arn'tcha?" answered the female. Tanisha was her name if Casden recalled correctly.
" I ain't twelve and I sure as all be killin' more of these impy loving rascals than ya'll be doin." let out Casden with confidence.
"Shut yur mouth's ya'll! He ain't wrong he done killed tha fuckers good! Let the kid take da fall on dis one, shit!" said a gaunt militia member before stuffing wad of chew under lip.
Tension residing, the band of militia departed the scene with sun blotted out by the smoke of surrounding flames. Casden had to ask, "Uh…any ya'all remember how to git back to Acrine?".

Read:  Looking for thoughts on the prologue (3500 words) of a Fantasy book I've written called The Keepers of Sword and Stone. Anything helps :)

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