“My Lord! Enemy forces have appeared in the rear!”
“…The rear? How on earth and from where? Who are they?”
“It’s hard to confirm without military insignias…”
“No military insignias? How dare they charge without any indication of their identities?”
Upon Count Étienne’s words, the lieutenant hesitated for a moment. Logically, the appearance of enemy forces should be reported, but it seemed rather trivial to explain the numbers.
“Sixty… Sir. All cavalry, and from the reports, they seem to be knights.”
“Sixty? Did you say sixty, not six thousand or six hundred?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Ha, hahaha, hahahaha!!”
Étienne burst into laughter, pounding his knee. It had to be either Guillaume or Jean Beltoir who had failed.
Except for the route he had advanced, one had to assume that in some other area, a few nobles had hastily led cavalry in response to the crisis in Saint Mathilde.
Foolish. With just that number, they couldn’t be of much help, could they?
After the rebellion was quelled following the battle, it must have been decided to make an example within the royal court. Quite a strategic move. A petty trick to reach into the central politics. Probably not more than a country baron.
However, the insignificant nobles from the countryside, unable to read the tide, merely lingered in their positions. Étienne chuckled and said,
“Let’s go, let’s see it for ourselves.”
Étienne walked out of the command tent and mounted his horse. The lieutenant and the knights surrounded him.
In the distance, the cavalry charging against the rising dawn seemed small. Between them and the cavalry stood numerous soldiers armed with spears and swords.
“With this, we can rid ourselves of the disloyal ones opposing my authority. Conduct their funerals solemnly. Isn’t it the final act of those rotten patriots?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
With a nod from the lieutenant, the cavalry waiting in the rear marched out. There were about two hundred of them. They were mere things that would disappear with just one clash.
The old royalists and leeches clinging to the state would crumble like candles, and now his reign would rise like the sun.
Étienne watched with delight as the last struggles of the leeches in this country unfolded.
And finally, the leader of those leeches began the clash with his knights.
***
A skilled cavalryman is one with his warhorse. Because the acceleration time to reach a gallop drastically decreases when the rider’s movements and the horse’s responses are perfectly synchronized.
They move in the intended direction and gallop as desired. Smart horses often act before the rider commands.
A skilled rider knows how to ‘convince’ his horse. Since the one you’re riding is the most powerful being in this world, you don’t need to be afraid even if you’re leaping around.
Since these timid creatures easily panic just by running towards the enemy, this process is essential.
However, the extermination unit does not ‘convince.’ He proved that in that moment.
-Crack!!
Not even a chance to scream. The collision of two cavalry charging at each other was so fleeting.
Even if there were more time, it wouldn’t have been different. The shock is too immense for human ribs and organs to withstand. Since the lungs had no time to exhale, the death of the cavalry was silent.
-Kaaaaaah—!!
With each flash of the sword reflecting the sun, the cavalrymen crash roughly onto the ground. The fallen cavalry collided again with those following behind. In between, human and horse were becoming a finely minced pile of flesh.
He tramples over all of them.
“Charge.”
Ivan whispered lowly in the horse’s ear. He lowered his posture deeply and, holding the saddle only with the strength of his two legs, he swung his arms.
To the left, he rises on the lance of a charging cavalryman and forcibly takes it away with strength. His horse staggered for a moment. The pressure was so great that his legs almost gave way.
But he didn’t stop. His horse trusted his rider completely. Even to the point of being afraid.
Ivan’s left arm grasped the lance and tore the opponent’s cavalryman away from his horse. The rider floated in the air with a dazed face.
A muscular adult male wearing full-body armor easily surpasses 150kg. Considering the acceleration, the impact force is concentrated at one point, surpassing that by far.
He lifted the rider from the horse with one hand. In this surreal levitation, the unnamed knight was thrown with an astonished face.
-Crack!!
The fallen knight is crushed under the hooves of the following cavalrymen. Ivan swung his left arm without even giving him a glance.
-Kaaah, fuuck—!!
He carried the force of the charge and thrust the lance like a bolt into the approaching knight. One approaching knight was shattered by the lance that pierced his helmet visor. His skull exploded like a bomb.
At the same time, he swung his sword with his right arm. Towards the approaching knight’s pauldron. The strap of the pauldron was neatly cut, and beneath it, from clavicle to humerus, the knight was shattered in a single blow.
His arm was torn off by that impact. The rider would have died instantly, losing balance the moment he lost the reins.
“Trust me.”
Ivan shook his numb head, struggling to regain his scattered focus, and whispered incessantly. The horse ran, foaming at the mouth without reply.
What you should fear isn’t the approaching spears, cavalry, or the countless soldiers.
Only the person riding behind you.
Impress it into this beast’s small mind. Whisper that under my protection, you are completely safe.
And prove it only through action.
***
“What—?”
Étienne’s expression hardened as he watched the knights charging in wedge formation. His cavalry was being torn apart.
Even though they were positioned in the rear, they were still knights. Each one was a minor noble, well-trained in battle.
They were the knights of Tylesse. Renowned across any nation of the alliance, they were the demons of the plains.
And they were being broken. Quite literally falling apart. Though the charge of about sixty cavalrymen was a futile gesture that surely wouldn’t reach him, still.
A sickening terror dug into his heart. Like being hit by an arrow.
Arrows launched by the last dying breath of this nation were flying straight, shaped like small wedge formations, straight toward the figure on horseback.
“Defend! Defend—!! Cavalry! Hold them back!”
“Hold your ground, My Lord! They’re just a handful of troops!”
The lieutenant appeared rather composed. It was partly because of the distance and the numerous tents of the camp, but also because the lieutenant’s judgment was lacking compared to Count Étienne’s.
He hadn’t seen the faces of those knights charging head-on. It seemed their sight didn’t reach that far. Perhaps it just looked like a cloud of dust on the horizon.
But Étienne saw clearly. The image of his knights being literally crushed as they charged. Even the burning red glints under their helmets.
Helmets.
He needed to open those helmets. He needed to see those faces.
“Jill Ber de Etarique… was he alive…!?”
“Your Highness, hold your ground! If that’s Jill Ber, there’s no reason for him to lead a special force! Those chasing behind him are not Eastern Knights!”
“Open your eyes and look! Who else in this country fights like him?”
*
The cavalry dispersed, and the plain came into view again. All he could hear was the rough pounding of his overheated heart in his ears.
He couldn’t hear the soldiers’ shouts, the horses’ struggles, or anything else. The end of his vision was tinged with darkness. Only the front was visible.
His senses, which had been keen enough to read even the slightest breeze, had become dull, feeling only the cumbersome weight of his armor.
He was exhausted.
He was definitely on the brink of exhaustion. He had barely eaten or drunk, had little magical energy left in his body, and his nervous system’s endurance was minimal. If he closed his eyes, he would faint and sleep for a good ten days.
So, he just had to keep his eyes open.
Ivan ran, staring straight ahead with bloodshot eyes.
‘How much longer.’
How many of those who followed him had survived? It was difficult to know without even a moment to turn his head. But presumably, half of them would have died in the clash just now.
Even he, who had been exposed to the most attacks, couldn’t escape injury.
‘It’s getting annoying.’
He cut off the lance that had pierced his abdomen with the edge of his hand. He couldn’t pull it out. He didn’t know how damaged his internal organs were, but excessive bleeding could kill him.
At this point, not even a drop of blood was too much to lose. With the energy and magical power that the blood contained, he could swing his arm one more time.
Every injury quantitatively reduced combat endurance. It was unforgivable. So he had to charge only with the injuries that were absolutely necessary, in a meticulously calculated combat situation.
His vision blurred.
-Swish.
He chewed his cheek and quickly shook his arm, downing a mouthful of healing potion. A tingling pain spread in his mouth. In the meantime, he could regain his senses for a moment. Let’s call it a decent emergency treatment.
Anyway, if he wasn’t dead yet, there was no reason to stop.
