From ancient times to the present, Estonia's low hills have been dotted with many Mountain Strongholds, built to resist foreign enemies or display power.
They were constructed from wood and stone, and although they could not compare to the great cities in the south, some also possessed the unique artistic style of the Finn, making them a distinctive sight.
Estonians were quite proud of their Mountain Strongholds; an Estonian poet once said that as long as the strongholds on the hills stood, Estonia would never be conquered.
Whether it would be conquered, we do not know, but what we see now is that the Mountain Strongholds failed to protect the people they were meant to protect, and the strongest among them had already had its walls breached by the enemy.
"Forward, kill them!"
A personal guard, holding a sword in one hand and a trident military banner in the other, charged at the front of the formation, with countless Rostislav warriors following him.
Soon, they clashed with the Chud, as spears, swords, and axes continuously struck shields, armor, and human bodies, filling the sky with the sounds of slaughter and clashing metal.
After the Mountain Stronghold's gate was breached, both sides engaged in fierce combat in the streets, and archers could occasionally be seen climbing onto the thatched houses along the streets to shoot, with arrows flying ceaselessly through the sky.
Either to drive away the archers, or simply out of a pure destructive urge, many of the thatched houses within the Mountain Stronghold had been set ablaze, and under the towering flames, the battlefield became even more desolate and cruel—especially with the added howls of those pushed into the fire.
Many Chud fought bravely, understanding that their homes and kin were behind them, but even more threw down their weapons and became fleeing cowards, having forgotten their homes and kin, with only the desire to escape and save their lives remaining.
Even so, the brave ones still tried to form a battle line, creating a shield wall that, though swaying under the allied forces' assault, still stood firm, enduring as long as they could.
But then, the swarming cavalry broke through their line, trampling them like trash under their horses' hooves.
The attackers were the Black Hat Army, and the riders from the steppes now fully displayed the ferocity and cruelty of the steppe's grey wolves, disregarding spears and swords as they simply rolled over their enemies.
The Chud were facing such a concentrated cavalry charge for the first time; their lines were immediately broken, and then the Nomads' scimitars fell upon them.
"What a bunch of beasts."
Watching the Black Hat Army sweep away the Chud shield wall like autumn leaves, Alar couldn't help but click his tongue repeatedly; born in the north, it was his first time witnessing such a wild scene.
"It's a good thing they're our beasts."
Rostislav frowned as he looked at the rampaging nomadic army; nomadic cavalry against loosely organized tribal warriors was indeed a decisive victory, but Rostislav's thoughts did not linger on the present, instead drifting further afield.
Throughout history, the great enemies of Rostislav had always been the tent-dwelling people from the steppes; the Pechenegs had attacked Kiev many times, and for centuries, the war with the herdsmen had been the greatest problem Rostislav faced.
And now, the ancient enemies, the Pechenegs, had been driven further west, and new steppe powers were rising…
"My Lord, let's hurry, or those stinking herdsmen will reach the main stronghold!"
Alar's words interrupted Rostislav's thoughts, and the prince immediately cast aside everything in his mind; what was important now was to claim Alar's head!
Under the scimitars of the Black Hat Army, the Chud fled in disarray; occasionally, a warrior would go against the flow, resisting the swarming cavalry, but there was only one outcome: to be mercilessly trampled to death by horse hooves.
A few Chud archers turned and fired some arrows, attempting to cover their retreating comrades, but the effect was like a tickle; arrows shot in panic could not guarantee accuracy, merely contributing a bit of atmosphere to the battlefield.
The Chud's retreat target was the highest Mountain Stronghold, and Alar's guards were waiting at the main stronghold's entrance with bows and arrows, while archers also filled the various firing positions within the main stronghold.
The fleeing Chud streamed into the main stronghold past the guards, with the Black Hat Army in close pursuit; however, countless arrows then rained down upon them, as Alar's subordinates had been waiting for this moment.
The Black Hat Army, which had been charging so smoothly before, was suddenly stunned by the barrage of arrows raining down on them; dozens of riders at the very front were instantly riddled like sieves, their fur clothing unable to provide protection against the arrow rain.
The Black Hat Army leader was specifically targeted; his warhorse took several arrows and, with painful neighs, threw its rider to the ground. The man himself was hit by several arrows, but thanks to his quality armor, he was unharmed and was dragged back by his tribesmen, saving his life.
Facing such a fierce volley of arrows, the Black Hat Army had no choice but to temporarily retreat, staying out of arrow range, waiting for the heavily armored warriors and infantry who were lagging behind to arrive, otherwise, their light cavalry could not take the main stronghold.
Seeing the Black Hat Army retreat, the bow-wielding personal guards nodded to each other and orderly withdrew into the main stronghold; as the last guard entered, the main gate slammed shut, and the Chud immediately scrambled to reinforce the iron-clad gate, though many more simply leaned against the walls, still dispirited.
Upon entering the gate, the eye was met with a massive hall and bare stone walls; originally, there had been valuable furs and amber on them, but Alar had given these treasures away to win over people, and the impoverished walls combined with the low morale created an especially bleak atmosphere.
Alar stood in his room, donning his most magnificent armor, the helmet adorned with a large ruby on its crest, while on the balcony, his personal guards were burning some important letters.
Looking down from the balcony, one could see the allied forces preparing tensely; the fighting outside the main stronghold had ceased, and the elite of the allied forces were gathered there.
Alar saw Rostislav's personal guards and Norwegian berserkers standing together, and beside them was a felled giant tree—the sacred tree that blessed the fortress, but now cut down by the invaders and transformed into a battering ram that would soon breach the Chud's last stronghold.
I have fallen into this predicament, Alar couldn't help but think, a bitter taste in his mouth; so many schemes and designs, all for naught now.
Suddenly, a rolled parchment appeared at the edge of his vision; the parchment was bound with a silk thread, and instinctively, Alar took it from the hand of the personal guard who was about to throw it into the fire.
"Ah, this letter. Among so many letters, only this one mentioned Kiev. Speaking of which, I was completely used as a probing chess piece this time."
Alar untied the silk thread, and the contents of the letter made many emotions flash across his face: unwillingness, regret, resentment, and finally, resignation, but then the resignation turned into a mischievous expression, and he tied the silk thread back.
"Although I was used as a pawn, I can't just take it completely. I'll influence as much as I can. Leave this letter, put it on my desk. This gift is for the first person to break into the stronghold."
"As you command, Lord."
The personal guard quickly said, placing the letter prominently in the center of the desk.