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Banners blotting out the sky rose from the enemy's ranks like withered arms reaching from an inky sea. Flags fell to the ground repeatedly, only to be picked up again and again; each one was thickly stained with blood and mud. However, the enemy soldiers clad in dark green armor didn't rely on banners to mark their units. Instead, standard poles decorated with multicolored feathers rose among their ranks. The feathers were woven together into unique patterns that guided their warriors into the charge against the enemy line.
Xu Ning led his unit, circling along the fringes of the battlefield. He was uncertain what he was supposed to do. He had been told to destroy the enemy archers and crossbowmen, but they were clearly positioned at the center of the enemy formation, protected by thick ranks of infantry. Could his mere thousand men actually break through that?
Again and again, he rode close to the enemy line, only to turn his horse around and circle back through the storm of arrows filling the sky. Several arrows struck the armor covering his body. Most deflected off harmlessly, while a few managed to lodge themselves in his gear. The sheer impact force of the heavy arrows made him grit his teeth in pain. Yet he kept his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the enemy line, searching for a weakness.
As time passed, his heart grew increasingly anxious. He knew the horses' stamina was finite. If this continued much longer, he would be forced to charge full speed ahead, ready or not. Otherwise, once the horses ran out of strength, they would be unable to do anything at all.
Where? Where exactly is their weak point?!
He felt as though he had become one with his warhorse. He was no longer watching the ground beneath him and was meeting no obstructions. The massive, agile steed nimbly led the entire cavalry formation. They soared across the grassland like eagles in flight. Yet, everyone understood that these thousand-odd heavy cavalrymen could transform into a raging pride of lions at any moment, tearing the infantry and archer formations to shreds.
As they completed another wheeling turn, the enemy ranks ahead suddenly split apart on either side, opening a clear path. But this path wasn't meant for them. It was meant for the Hols' own cavalry.
"Tactics Requirement: 98
Tactics Level: 199
Check passed."
Xu Ning hesitated for a moment, and then a thought struck him. He drove everyone straight toward the opening. A force of cavalry roughly equal in number to their own was charging, but there was no time to build up speed. In the blink of an eye, the fully armored heavy cavalry men and horses encased in steel closed the two-hundred-meter gap. They hurled their combined weight of over a ton straight into the enemy line without hesitating for a moment. He made the decision the instant it presented itself, and no one else hesitated, placing their lives entirely in his hands.
A handful of hastily thrust spears were instantly trampled into a bloody pulp beneath the hooves, their lances snapping clean in two against the thick horse barding. Aided by the enemy commander's foolish decision, they carved their way almost unopposed straight into the infantry formation. The unit of light cavalry, caught without time to build speed, hadn't armored their horses. The riders wore only light leather cuirasses covering their torsos and simple helmets. The moment they collided, the unit shattered, scattering like porcelain hurled into a pile of stones.
At the moment of impact, he thrust the lance in his hand forward as if by pure instinct. The finely forged spearhead effortlessly tore through the hardened leather armor and hoisted the slender enemy soldier clean off his horse. The lugs beneath the spearhead prevented it from sinking in too deep. With a casual twist downward, as though discarding trash, he flung the corpse to the ground.
“Polearm Thrusting Weapon Proficiency Level: 298
Thrust Speed Bonus: 789
Damage Bonus: 564
Check complete."
He thrust his lance again and again, moving as though he had spent decades as a lancer. He gauged the timing of each strike with perfect precision and held the shaft in exactly the right grip to absorb the impact and prevent it from snapping. He deftly shifted the shield in his left hand to block every stray arrow and blade that came his way. Like a hawk swooping down on its prey, he struck down cavalryman after cavalryman and infantryman after infantryman.
The war horses thundered forward at full speed, trampling soldier after soldier who tried to block their path beneath their hooves. The spears that these men thrust out could not stop the charging, armored horses in the slightest. All the soldiers could do was watch helplessly as this torrent of steel crushed their formation to pieces.
The men at the front had discarded their lances and were relying purely on the horses' momentum to force their way into the enemy ranks. They swung their chain maces and flanged rods, smashing the infantrymen's skulls, all while spurring their mounts onward and driving their comrades forward. They were forcibly shoving through the dense crush of bodies to press deeper in.
It was strange. Just moments ago, he had been terrified, wanting to abandon everything and flee the horrifying battlefield. Yet now, having charged into the enemy's ranks, his heart was as calm as ice. No negative emotions welled up within him anymore. It was as if he were merely brushing his fingertips across blades of grass, leaving not a single ripple in his heart.
When he pierced the enemy with his lance, he could feel, with perfect clarity and transmitted straight through the shaft of the spear, the sensation of the sharp blade slicing through flesh and grating against bone.
It was as if he had plunged his own hand straight into the enemy's abdominal cavity and touched those slick entrails and bones himself. It was similar to the satisfaction a skilled surgeon feels when excising a diseased growth. He struck down enemy soldiers one after another with his lance, each one appearing sluggish and easily within reach of his weapon.
Even after killing over a dozen men, he felt no negative emotions. As he listened to their dying wails, he felt a surge of bloodthirsty pleasure in his chest. His thrusts grew ever more precise and ruthless. Half-congealed, viscous blood ran down the spearhead onto his hand and was absorbed by the wrapped leather grip, which kept the shaft from slipping out of his control.
Riding the momentum of his horse, he drove one powerful thrust through a heavily armored enemy, pinning the man to the ground. However, the shaft could no longer withstand such punishment and snapped cleanly in two at a barely visible flaw in the grain. He tossed the broken shaft aside and reached down to draw the flanged mace from his waist.
Riding the momentum of the galloping horse, he swept past one dazed and disoriented infantryman after another. The flanged mace in his hand cracked open their skulls one by one, like a game of whack-a-mole. It caved in and deformed the thick metal helmets with each blow. The ridges along the mace head prevented it from sliding off the smooth surface of the armor, and the thick, leather-wrapped handle absorbed the force of each rebound.
"One-Handed Blunt Weapon Proficiency Level: 256
Swing Speed Bonus: 704
Swing Damage Bonus: 503"
An entire infantry formation collapsed outright, the dazed Hols soldiers fleeing in blind panic in every direction. Even as the enforcement squads cut down deserters one after another, they couldn't stop the rout. The fleeing men crashed into neighboring formations, drawing furious curses from soldiers holding their ground and throwing several adjacent infantry blocks into disarray.
The heavily armored cavalrymen roared and shouted as they swung their short maces and long swords, driving the infantry blocking their path like herding livestock. Within mere minutes, they broke through three infantry formations, cutting through them like hot knives through butter and meeting no resistance. Hot blood pounded through their veins, drawing loud cheers from the men as their confidence surged.
The enemy soldiers let out screams of utter despair. Even before those terrifying weapons and savage cavalrymen reached them, the sight of these ironclad men drenched in blood from head to toe was enough to make their legs tremble and their hands too weak to hold their spears.
The clamor of men shouting and horses screaming filled the area, but Xu Ning paid it no mind. He spurred his horse on again and again, taking the lead once more and charging straight into the enemy's ranks. The rest of the cavalry quickly followed suit. The heavy infantry was too panicked to form a spear wall in time. They didn't seem to know where the cavalry had come from. It was as if the formation ahead of them had simply collapsed one moment, and the next, the cavalry was upon them.
In the blink of an eye, blood and flesh flew once more, and wails of agony spread across the field. Bodies knocked to the ground were instantly trampled beneath countless boots and hooves, never given a chance to rise again. The infantry, their courage utterly spent, scattered like a flock of sheep fleeing a tiger. The resistance before him vanished all at once. After his horse charged forward a few more strides, he finally caught sight of the archers and crossbowmen standing in a loose formation on the open ground.
"Kill! ..."
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