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"Huh?! …………"
A dazed, dim-witted sound tumbled out of Xu Ning's mouth. In those few minutes, he had already grasped his situation, but a stubborn thread of wishful thinking held him back from accepting reality from accepting the terrifying truth that he, an ordinary university graduate, was expected to lead a unit of heavily armored cataphract cavalry in a charge against the enemy's battle line. He was to hurl himself into that vast millstone of flesh and blood and be ground to pieces along with it.
This reality was too horrifying and impossible to accept, leaving his usually sharp mind frozen in that moment. If it weren't for the chainmail visor covering his face, every cavalryman around him would have seen the utterly foolish expression on their commander's face. In a strange way, this bought him a rare window of opportunity: a chance to think through the situation he was in.
Except this window was pitifully short. Within minutes, he would have to make his decision.
He slowly and stiffly turned his head and noticed that the cavalryman to his left was resting his fingers on the hilt of a sword at his waist. It was an exquisitely crafted steel blade with a slightly curved scabbard and a clean, sharp design. The brass counterweight was carved into the shape of an eagle's head, with small, layered feathers rendered in fine detail. The rider's right hand, sheathed in a chainmail gauntlet, rested casually on the hilt of the long sword. It seemed like the most ordinary gesture in the world, yet it filled Xu Ning with creeping paranoia.
He began to suspect that the man had already noticed something was off, that he'd realized his commander was no longer the same person. This could explain why his hand had instinctively drifted to the hilt of his sword. It wasn't an impossible thought. After all, he himself had just behaved extremely bizarrely. Surely someone capable of commanding a unit of elite heavy cavalry like this one wasn't some minor figure who'd be rattled by the battlefield. Yet here he was, stiff all over and moving like a fool.
Though the man could never guess the truth of what had happened, he would certainly grow more suspicious of him now.
"Lord Tesolus?"
Xu Ning snapped back to his senses. Whatever happened, he had to say something now. No matter what he said, it had to be enough to put the man's suspicions to rest for the time being.
“Did the Consul not give any explicit orders? Is he leaving it to my discretion? Read the order to me clearly once more."
The moment the words left his mouth, he was startled by how calm and commanding his voice sounded. It was low and hoarse yet carried an air of composed assurance that made anyone who heard it feel at ease.
"His Excellency the Consul has ordered us to charge the enemy's archer and crossbowman formation. We must utterly destroy them and throw the enemy's rear into chaos. This will create an opening for our main army."
The man repeated the order immediately, though his hand remained tightly clenched around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. At the same time, he raised his other hand and pointed toward the chaotic battlefield, indicating a specific section within the dark green ranks.
"That's where the Hols archers and crossbowmen are positioned roughly two gari from here."
Xu Ning lifted his head and looked out into the distance, estimating the distance to that area to be around two kilometers. This world seemed to have its own unique units of measurement, and the enemy appeared to be the soldiers clad in dark green armor, the Hols.
As Xu Ning sorted through information about this world in his mind, he kept a composed expression and continued asking questions.
"Is everyone ready? Have them check their horses' hooves and their own equipment carefully. I don't want anyone tripping and falling during the charge. Should I remind you not to forget to feed the horses extra?"
"We've already inspected everything three times according to protocol; no issues were found. The horses have also been fed their grain ration, which is more than enough to sustain them through the acceleration over this distance."
"Check again. It's drizzling today, so the ground will be even more slippery. What are you staring at me for? Get moving!"
After sending off the cavalryman on his left, Xu Ning no, Claude turned his head to look at the rider on his right. This man was remarkably tall and broad. Xu Ning was already considered tall by most standards, but this man was a good half-head taller. And he wasn't lanky; every inch of him was packed with dense, powerful muscle. The chainmail that should have hung loosely on him was stretched taut across his frame. The lamellar and scale armor layered over it fit him snugly enough to strike fear into the heart of any enemy who laid eyes on him.
"What's your name? What's your role?"
Xu Ning gritted his teeth and forced the questions out. He knew it was the kind of thing that could easily raise suspicion, but they were about to charge into battle at any moment. For all he knew, he could die within minutes, so he couldn't worry about that now. He had to take every possible chance to find a way to survive. He didn't know how to ride a horse or which foot to step with first when mounting one. How was he supposed to lead a charge?
"I am Arka, your standard-bearer and squire."
The towering Arka looked somewhat puzzled by the question but answered his commander's inquiry all the same.
A standard-bearer...?
Xu Ning turned to look at the large banner mounted behind him. It should have been an unmistakably conspicuous object, but he had been so flustered a moment ago that he hadn't registered it until now.
The banner was mounted on a thick wooden pole with a short horizontal crossbar near the top from which the flag itself hung. The banner was black overall, with a golden double-headed eagle embroidered at its center. It was not the crude, heavily stylized sort of design common in ancient depictions but rather a far more realistic rendering. The banner's edges were trimmed with golden tassels, and a tuft of gray feathers was mounted in a metal base at the very top, trembling faintly in the passing wind.
Golden characters had been neatly and elegantly embroidered along the lower edge of the banner, but he couldn't recognize a single one of them. Given his limited knowledge, even if this were a language that had once existed on Earth, as long as it wasn't Chinese or English, he wouldn't be able to read any of the characters.
He guessed it was probably meant to commemorate some past achievement or glory. Strangely enough, though, he found that he could understand everyone else's speech perfectly and had somehow mastered a different language. He was able to speak it fluently.
"What's the size of our unit?"
"There are 1,078 men in total gathered here, fully equipped with armor. Another 54 men whose horses can't be fully armored will follow behind us."
"How many commanders do we have in total?"
"There are 104 squad leaders, 10 centurions, 1 standard-bearer, 1 quartermaster, 1 captain of the guard, and then, of course, you, My Lord."
Xu Ning's heart sank, as he realized he had no good options left. He was a commander of a thousand men, all of whom were watching him closely. There was no way he could simply turn and flee because he had no idea how the others would react. With so little information about this world, he might get cut down on the spot. He had no idea how much real authority he held over this unit. For all he knew, he might be a newly promoted nobody with any standing.
If he were just an ordinary soldier, there might be a chance he could slip through the cracks unnoticed. But with everyone's eyes on him now, was he supposed to run away in full view of the entire unit? That clearly wasn't going to work.
All he could do was hope the preparation time stretched on a little longer, buying him a bit more time to think. In such a short time, his not particularly brilliant mind couldn't come up with a good solution.
"My Lord, we're ready. All equipment has been inspected, and the horses are in excellent condition."
“...?!”
Xu Ning turned his head and found that every gaze was once again fixed on him. They were all waiting for the order to move out. The warhorses snorted restlessly; these hot-tempered mounts were already growing impatient. Meanwhile, the riders either shouted sharply to calm them or spoke to them in soothing tones. Everyone had finished their preparations and was waiting for him.
Suddenly, a strange, inexplicable mix of frustration and shame welled up inside him. Why aren't any of you afraid?! The battlefield is terrifying countless people are dying every second so why are you all so eager to charge in? How can you all stay so calm? Don't you realize you might die out there?
Why can't you all be afraid the way I am? If you were, I'd at least have an excuse to turn around and run.
These thoughts raced through his mind. Just as they were about to leap from his lips, he swallowed them back down. What came out, forced almost from between clenched teeth, was a single phrase: "Move out..."
He raised his lance, gripping the leather-wrapped hardwood shaft tightly. The cold sweat beading in his palm had already soaked through the chainmail glove, leaving his grip slick and unsteady. Arka, his standard-bearer, led over a tall, armored warhorse. The beast stood a full 1.8 meters at the shoulder. Its four hooves were black as ink beneath the barding. Its head tossed irritably. The reins clattered with each violent shake.
"My Lord, please mount up."
He stared silently at the brass stirrup for a moment, and then tentatively slid his foot into it. He reached up to grip the pommel of the high-backed saddle and, with both hands and foot straining together, hauled himself somewhat clumsily up into the seat. The warhorse shook its head in mild discomfort, shifting and stamping its hooves against the ground. Soon, it settled back into stillness.
He raised the lance in his right hand and brushed briefly against the flanged mace at his waist with his left. A kite shield was handed to him. Its purple face bore the emblem of the double-headed eagle, a design so Roman that despite the thousand thoughts churning in his mind, he couldn't bring himself to speak. All he could do was gently nudge the horse's flank with his heel, urging the beast forward.
He made his way down the gentle slope to the foot of the hill. Then, he gave the reins a light tug and turned the horse around to face the ranks of cavalrymen arrayed on the slope above. These men were so disciplined and fearless in the face of death that, aside from the faint rustle of armor plates rubbing against each other, they stood as silent as the dead.
By convention, he should have said something to rally their spirits that was, after all, a basic requirement of any commander. But he wasn't a commander. He was just a student who knew nothing about any of this. So, all he could do was silently turn his horse around and take the lead. He huddled down tight against the horse's back and charged headlong into the chaos of the battlefield.
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