Translator: CinderTL
However, the charge of the Orc cavalry did not cease—the riders in the rear pressed forward over the bodies of their fallen comrades. They had endured countless brutal battles and knew that only by breaking into the enemy's formation could they neutralize the advantage of human firearms.
The most ferocious unit of heavy cavalry even closed within a hundred meters, their long blades thrusting forward, determined to tear through the human infantry's defenses.
Yet, they were met with another volley of Flintlock Musket fire.
"First row, fire!"
"Second row, fire!"
"Third row, fire!"
The infantry of the Northwest Legion continued their three-rank rotation, maintaining an unrelenting barrage of fire.
Lead Bullets pierced the armor of the Orc cavalry, and the horses, driven by momentum, charged a few more steps before collapsing. The charging cavalry seemed to crash into an invisible wall, falling in droves under the hail of bullets.
Finally, the first wave of Orc light cavalry's advance was halted, and they retreated to the sides with reluctance and fury.
Abal watched from a distance, his expression so dark it could drip water. He had never seen such an efficient killing machine—the human army seemed tireless, their artillery and volley fire rhythmically precise and terrifying.
But he knew that even the strongest army had its limits.
Paul stood on the command platform, his eyes fixed on the distant advancing formation of Orc heavy cavalry.
Even from nearly a kilometer away, the sense of oppression was palpable—thousands of heavily armored Orc cavalrymen were arrayed in neat echelons, their horses clad in a mix of leather and metal armor, gleaming coldly in the sunlight.
These heavy cavalry were not charging in disarray but maintained an almost perfect spacing and formation, like a moving steel wall. They held long spears, their tips slightly lowered, forming a deadly forest of metal.
The steps of their horses were remarkably synchronized, each hoofbeat causing the distant dust to tremble slightly, as if the earth itself was making way for this army.
"Truly unbelievable..."
Paul muttered to himself. In his previous life, the military pulp fiction he had read always depicted the "Wall-riding Charge" as the exclusive tactic of modern European cavalry, as if ancient cavalry only charged in chaotic swarms. But the Orc heavy cavalry before him completely shattered his prejudice—they not only understood dense charges but were even more disciplined than many modern cavalry units.
An adjutant hurried over: "Lord Grayman, the enemy heavy cavalry is nearing the artillery's firing range. Should we prepare the artillery?"
Paul took a deep breath, suppressing his astonishment, and calmly ordered, "Order the artillery to switch to Solid Shot and aim for the center of the cavalry formation. Fire only when they enter the confirmed range."
Within the Orc formation, Abal personally oversaw the battle. He knew that the heavy cavalry was the key to victory, so he had reserved the most elite Royal Iron Cavalry.
These warriors had grown up on horseback, not only individually valiant but also rigorously trained to maintain tight formations during charges, crushing the enemy with an overwhelming force.
"Maintain formation!" Abal's voice cut through the battlefield's clamor. "Do not rush the charge, advance steadily!"
The pressure from the Orc heavy cavalry grew stronger, and the infantry of the Northwest Legion unconsciously tightened their grip on their muskets. Despite their rigorous training, facing such a massive cavalry charge, some began to swallow hard, beads of sweat forming on their foreheads.
Paul keenly sensed the tension among the soldiers and shouted loudly, "Remember your training! The cannons will weaken them first, and then we'll fire in unison once they're within range! No one can break through our defenses!"
The officers immediately relayed the leader's command, and the soldiers' breathing gradually steadied. The gunners adjusted their angles, solid cannonballs loaded into the barrels, waiting for the Orc cavalry to step into the kill zone.
In the distance, the Orc heavy cavalry suddenly accelerated, their warhorses first breaking into a trot, then charging at full speed. Yet, they maintained an astonishing level of discipline, like a massive hammer about to strike the Northwest Legion's defenses.
Paul narrowed his eyes, silently calculating the distance—five hundred meters, four hundred and fifty meters, four hundred meters...
"Fire!" The commanders at each cannon position gave the order almost simultaneously.
In an instant, dozens of cannons roared, solid cannonballs screaming through the air, directly smashing into the steel tide of the Orc heavy cavalry.
Deafening explosions rang out one after another, dozens of solid iron balls tearing through the air and crashing into the charging ranks of the Orc heavy cavalry.
When the first round of cannonballs hit the ground, the terrifying impact instantly tore bloody gaps in the orderly cavalry formation.
One cannonball directly hit the cavalry captain at the front, crushing both man and horse into twisted chunks of flesh. The cannonball, still carrying momentum, bounced and pierced through three more cavalrymen before embedding itself deep into the soil.
Another cannonball skimmed the ground, sweeping through the ranks, breaking horses' legs and sending riders tumbling. The once orderly charge quickly descended into chaos.
The momentum of the Orc heavy cavalry's charge faltered, and the following riders had to tighten their reins, dodging the suddenly fallen bodies of men and horses and the wailing wounded.
The tightly coordinated Wall-riding Charge, once disrupted, was prone to a chain reaction—several panicked warhorses ran amok, turning the once-perfect charge into disarray.
"Don't stop! Charge through!"
The Orc commanders roared, brandishing their battle axes, but the second round of cannon fire was already upon them. Amid the smoke-filled battlefield, the Orc heavy cavalry's charge was forcibly "nailed" in place.
Abal's voice exploded across the battlefield, his bronze face twisted with rage. He suddenly drew the gem-encrusted scimitar from his waist, its blade pointing skyward.
"Cowards retreat! Brave warriors, follow me in the charge!"
His voice thundered, cutting through the roar of the cannons, "The first warrior to break through the human defenses will immediately be promoted to a thousand-man commander, awarded ten of the finest warhorses, and a hundred fat sheep! His family will be exempt from taxes for three generations!"
Under such immense motivation, the chaos among the Orc heavy cavalry gradually subsided. The survivors gritted their teeth, gripping their spears once more, and spurred their horses forward, trampling over the bodies of their fallen comrades to continue the charge.
But this time, they no longer maintained the orderly Wall-riding formation. Instead, they broke into smaller, looser wedge-shaped formations, attempting to reduce casualties from the cannon fire.
The Northwest Legion's artillery continued to fire round after round of cannonballs.
The Orc heavy cavalry's charge persisted, but their formation was now fragmented, torn apart by the cannon fire into scattered clusters.
The cavalry and their warhorses instinctively spread out, attempting to reduce casualties from cannonballs and bullets, but this inadvertently greatly diminished their most formidable impact—the charge.
Abal, watching from the rear, felt the veins on his forehead bulge. He knew full well that the power of heavy cavalry lay in the overwhelming force of a dense, concentrated charge. This loose and scattered advance significantly weakened their effectiveness.
But since the arrow had already been loosed, there was no turning back now!
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (FF) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c907. [+1]
🔑Early Access at $5.
✍Translated (6) Series, (3.5K+) Chapters, (4.9M+) Words.