Translator: CinderTL
As the figures of the opposing cavalry became increasingly clear, the two men had to face the harsh reality.
Abal had ordered them to choose a strategic location to hold their ground, but they hadn't expected to encounter the enemy so soon, and it was cavalry at that.
There wasn't even a walled village or a slightly elevated mound nearby.
Their replenished troops were mostly infantry, and the sight of the rolling dust in the distance had already terrified them. Some soldiers had already started running back in the direction they came from.
Langfero shouted hoarsely, trying to rally the disintegrating troops.
They had been reinforced, and their army numbered six thousand, but now they were as chaotic as a flock of frightened sheep—soldiers pushing each other, discarded weapons and flags tumbling in the dust.
"Form up! Form a square!" Boyle cut down a deserter with his sword, blood splattering on his twisted face.
But fear spread like a plague, and in an instant, nearly a thousand men had vanished into the wilderness.
The remaining five thousand soldiers barely managed to gather, hastily forming a crooked square.
The front row of spearmen trembled as they pointed their weapons forward, but the crooked spear tips looked more like a patch of reeds. Archers fumbled with their trembling hands to nock arrows.
"Hold the line! We outnumber them!" Langfero galloped back and forth in front of the formation, but his voice was drowned out by the increasingly loud sound of hoofbeats.
On the horizon, two thousand Sentinel Riders had formed a charging formation, advancing like a wall of steel.
An old veteran from the Bradley family suddenly fell to his knees, his spear clattering to the ground.
"That's... that's the banner of the Watchers..." His clouded eyes were filled with terror, "The undead have come to collect their debt..."
In the propaganda of the Bradleys and the Orcs, the Watchers Legion had been completely annihilated.
Earl Hal Duke slowly raised his right arm, and the cavalry formation of the Watchers Legion immediately dispersed with mechanical precision.
The two thousand cavalrymen split into twenty squads, fanning out to encircle the enemy square.
The leading cavalry squad suddenly accelerated, the knights on horseback skillfully raising their short-barreled Lances. At fifty paces from the enemy formation, a burst of rapid gunfire erupted.
Lead bullets whistled through shields, tearing apart the front row of soldiers in a spray of blood and flesh. Before the enemy could react, the squad had already turned their horses and retreated.
Another cavalry squad charged in from the southeast, the knights controlling their reins with one hand while holding smoking Carbines in the other. Bullets struck near the command flag of the square, and the soldier carrying the flag suddenly had a bloody hole appear in his forehead as the flag fell to the ground.
It was difficult to aim at a specific target while firing a gun on horseback, but with the dense formation of enemy soldiers, the Watchers' knights didn't need to aim at all.
Langfero screamed hysterically within the formation, "Raise your shields!"
But the wooden shields were like paper against the lead bullets. A soldier stared in despair at the bullet hole in his breastplate—the bullet had already pierced the armor and was tumbling through his lungs.
Boyle tried in vain to reorganize the formation, but every gunshot caused new chaos. The soldiers huddled together like startled birds, some even swinging their weapons wildly at the air.
The torment of never knowing from which direction the bullets would come was more devastating than face-to-face combat.
As the sun tilted westward, the formation of Bradley's army began to crumble.
Yet, the cavalry of the Watchers maintained impeccable discipline, resembling a pack of elegant predators, slowly dismantling the will of their prey with each successive charge.
Earl Hal Duke narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze piercing through the dust of the battlefield.
Bradley's formation was like a shipwreck in a storm, soldiers huddling together in terror, spears askew, shields scattered. He slowly raised his Gilded Arm Armor, and the bugler beside him immediately understood. The brass horn flashed a golden light in the sun.
"Woo—" The long, drawn-out call of assembly echoed across the field. The scattered cavalry squads, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, swiftly converged as they galloped, the metallic friction of drawn sabers forming a continuous sound.
Earl Duke's steed began to trot slowly, the cavalry array behind him adjusting their formation like flowing water, their sabers pointing forward in unison, gleaming with cold light.
The bugler kept a close eye on the Earl's gestures, precisely controlling the speed of the entire cavalry with varying lengths of bugle calls.
Three hundred yards, the trotting horses began to quicken their pace.
Two hundred yards... one hundred yards... Earl Duke suddenly swung his arm down.
"Charge!"
With this heart-wrenching command, the bugler blew the stirring charge. The entire cavalry array, like a tightly drawn bowstring suddenly released, instantly shifted into a full-speed charge, the iron hooves pounding the ground with a thunderous roar.
The scene of cavalry crashing into rows of human walls did not occur. When the distance between the two sides was less than fifty yards, the already panicked Bradley's army completely collapsed.
Driven by fear, most soldiers dropped their weapons and fled, while a few stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the oncoming steel tide.
Earl Duke galloped into the fleeing soldiers, his saber drawing a perfect arc, the first to cleave through the banner symbolizing the Bradley family.
...
The sunlight shone on the battlefield as the dust gradually settled. Earl Hal Duke reined in his horse, coldly observing the kneeling prisoners.
Boyle was brought before him by two Cuirassiers. The knight of the Bradley family now had shattered armor and a face smeared with blood.
"My Lord..." Boyle trembled as he looked up, immediately falling silent upon seeing the cold light in the Earl's eyes.
As former "neighbors," Earl Duke recognized Boyle.
His fingers tightly gripped the hilt of his saber, his knuckles white, as if he were seeing the day the fortress fell once more.
It was the Bradley family who had led the Orcs to attack the rear of Watchers Fortress.
His saber slightly raised, but it stopped just before the swing—he remembered Earl Grayman's warning during the pre-battle meeting.
Any summary execution would be considered a violation of military orders.
"Take him away!"
Duke suddenly sheathed his saber, his voice as cold as ice.
"Send him to Lord Grayman for interrogation."
As he turned, his cloak brushed past Boyle's pale face. "Make sure the Marquis's interrogators give this old friend a proper welcome."
As for Langfero, the other knight of the Bradley family, he had fled early with a dozen cavalrymen, desperately racing toward the Orc-controlled territory.
A squad of Sentinel Riders closely followed him, but after pursuing for two miles, they encountered an Orc cavalry reinforcement unit.
"Cease the pursuit!"
The captain raised his carbine as a signal. The soldiers reluctantly watched as Langfero disappeared into the Orc formation, and they had no choice but to turn their horses around and retreat.
(End of the Chapter)
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