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The distance for the charge was pitifully short, so short that a warhorse could cross it in three breaths. That distance kept shrinking, trapping them like a butterfly in a net. They no longer had enough room to build up full force.
However, their speed could still meet the mark. Tesolus was confident precisely because they stood on a hillside, a slope tilting downward. As long as they spurred their horses forward, charging down from higher ground like mercury pouring across a surface, they could easily reach the necessary striking speed.
The dense rumble of iron hooves striking the earth surrounded him entirely. They surged forward like an unstoppable steel torrent, the ground trembling beneath them. The horses let out labored breaths, their powerful muscles contracting repeatedly, carrying the riders downward in an unstoppable rush. Their sharp lances were already leveled, their shields raised, and their chain maces and flanged rods gripped firmly in hand.
This was their only remaining chance for a charge. After this, there would be no more room to maneuver and no retreat left to fall back on, whether they succeeded or failed. They would be fully committed, locked in close combat within the enemy's ranks, whatever the outcome.
Every man clenched his jaw, holding nothing back as he drove his mount forward with all his might for their final, desperate stand.
The infantry's formation was tight and unyielding. Clad in heavy chainmail, they raised their sharp spears upright and overlapped their shields to form a wall seemingly conjured from thin air.
Yet not a single man among them felt any true sense of safety. Everything that had unfolded before this moment made one thing clear: even a formation like this could be shattered in an instant by human cataphracts. Though the enemy would surely pay a price, too, the sheer carnage, flesh and blood flying, bodies piled upon bodies had already taken a devastating psychological toll on the infantry.
No matter how loudly the officers urged them onward, not a single man was willing to quicken his pace. Everyone advanced at the same slow speed, reluctant to close the distance between themselves and the enemy.
It was not until that terrifying sound returned hoofbeats as dense as falling rain and as heavy as rolling thunder, that the entire formation began to waver once more. The river of steel was already pouring down upon them. The towering rider at its front was already leveling his lance, thirsting to drink deep of enemy blood.
The front-rank soldiers planted their feet firmly against the bases of their spears and raised them upright. Their heavy shields formed a solid wall in front of them. Spears jutted out through the gaps between the shields, turning the formation into an iron hedgehog with spines on every side. With their archers and crossbowmen wiped out entirely, the few survivors would offer little help. All that remained was to rely on their tight formation and unwavering discipline to withstand the enemy's charge. Even for the finest infantry, this would have posed an enormous challenge, and the Hols infantry were far from elite.
Charging down from higher ground and across a short distance, the iron cavalry closed the gap in the blink of an eye. Mud sprayed in every direction beneath countless pounding hooves; the sharp lances were now just three meters from making contact. Under this crushing pressure, the Hols infantry wavered once more, and this time, that wavering proved fatal.
Several soldiers in the front rank, gripped by sheer panic, threw down their spears, acting on pure instinct, and scrambled toward whatever gap they could find. They were desperate to escape the terrifying iron cavalry bearing down on them. This left the once impenetrable forest of spears riddled with fatal gaps.
Tesolus dodged two spear points thrust toward his head, and then drove his war horse forward without hesitation, plunging straight into the breach. In an instant, the world seemed to shatter! The sound of bones snapping and spears piercing flesh rang out without pause. Screams of panic and anguished wails reached their peak in that same instant.
As with every previous charge, their heavy armor deflected blade after blade with ease. The few remaining spears that reached them were incapable of stopping the momentum of their charging horses. The heavy shields were trampled straight into the mud under the crushing force of the warhorses' impact, and the soldiers bracing them from behind let out shrill screams of agony as they were crushed beneath a storm of hooves. The lance in his hand had already impaled two infantrymen, yet his wrist remained steady and unyielding.
Unable to withdraw his lance, he released his grip and let it go, reaching for another spear thrust toward his chest instead. Then, before the disbelieving eyes of the soldier, he yanked the man clean out of the formation, spear and all, in a single motion.
In midair, the man was cleanly skewered through the chest by a spear thrust from behind. Undeterred, Xu Ning advanced with his new weapon, punching through the formation ahead.
Countless blades scraped sparks off their armor and countless infantrymen were crushed and trampled beneath their horses' hooves. A dense thicket of spears sprang up like roadside brush, catching men off guard. Maces cracked open skulls. Thrusting lances tore through armor and pierced hearts.
Rank after rank of infantry was torn apart with ease; countless lives were lost beneath their iron hooves. The warhorses had grown wild with frenzy and were driven forward by their riders in a relentless, desperate charge.
What a magnificent, awe-inspiring spectacle it was!
These elites had long since molded themselves into the very embodiment of war. In this moment, their hearts were filled with only overwhelming fury and unshakable resolve, not fear or hesitation. They surged forward like a pride of maddened lions, tearing apart anything that dared stand in their path. The cavalrymen roared with battle fury, plunging headlong through spraying blood, spilled entrails, and scattered brain matter.
One by one, riders were caught in fatal gaps and pulled from their saddles. Yet, the rest pressed on, indifferent to the losses. Formation after formation collapsed rapidly beneath their assault, casualties mounting at a staggering pace. Blood and thick entrails coated the ground in a slick layer. Fallen horses and corpses piled atop one another. Before long, the horses were trampling not solid earth but a churning mire of raw flesh and blood.
Every Hols officer stood frozen in absolute shock. They thought they were prepared. They thought victory was within their grasp, but what was unfolding before their eyes told them otherwise. What right did humans have to claim these rich, fertile central plains? Why did they always lose in war? What right did the human kingdoms have to command such wealth?
By the time his horse trampled the last enemy, Tesolus or rather, Xu Ning—had already lost his helmet, along with half of his left ear. A jagged scar sliced across his forehead and down his right cheek, narrowly missing his eye.
His short black hair was soaked with blood, and his armor was scarred with countless marks from blades and axes. Several broken spearheads still protruded from his horse's body. The finely forged mace in his hand was caked with thick, congealed blood, layer upon layer.
But they had finally broken through. No one could count how many formations they shattered along the way. The moment they burst free, every rider urged his horse forward without hesitation, continuing the charge. Mingling the joy of surviving against all odds with an anger still impossible to fully suppress, they rode in triumph, cursing freely into the air.
The Hols soldiers could only watch as the cavalry force, now barely half its original size after forcing its way through an infantry contingent several times larger, rode off into the distance. They watched the armor and weaponry, once brilliant but now dull and battered, swiftly vanish from sight, leaving only the wails of dying soldiers echoing from within the devastated breach.
The place had already become a living hell.
Broken and shattered corpses, as well as spilled entrails, carpeted the ground. Wounded men, clinging to life, reached out from this hellscape of mangled flesh. They cried out and wailed in anguish; their minds and bodies were utterly broken. They begged their comrades still alive to drag them away from this place.
Some, with only half a body remaining, clawed desperately at the ground, dragging themselves along and trying to escape with what little strength they had left.
A heavy silence fell over the center of the battlefield. Every Hols soldier stood frozen and wordless.
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