These heavy cavalrymen were the ones Rostislav had ordered to wait, and now was their time to enter the battle.
The Magyars and German fought with immense fervor; after witnessing Rostislav's performance on the battlefield, they all yearned to display their capabilities and prove themselves.
After all, for a warrior, showcasing one's martial prowess before the assembled army was a great honor; how could they let the Norse steal the spotlight?
Facing these formidable heavy cavalry, the outcome for the Nomad cavalry, already reduced in numbers and completely suppressed in morale, was naturally self-evident.
Rostislav's cavalry was as sharp as a hot knife slicing through cheese; the Nomad battle lines shattered in that instant, followed by a satisfying slaughter.
The scene before them was like a giant wave crashing against a dam; it failed to breach the dam, instead breaking itself into countless splashes, then dissipating into the air, passing away meaninglessly.
Swords and spears easily dispatched one Nomad after another, while their weapons struggled to penetrate the enemy's armor.
Thus, the battle did not last long before the Nomad collapsed; they were not skilled in battle formations and could only break under such an assault.
Scattered across the battlefield were riderless warhorses, their saddles and bodies stained with blood; beneath the horses lay corpses and more blood, these fallen by the sword proclaiming the victor's martial prowess.
As everyone cheered and prepared to continue the pursuit, Rostislav called back those subordinates intending to chase, stopping their advance.
Now was not the time for pursuit; they had only defeated a portion of the enemy's cavalry, and the enemy's main force remained large and full of fighting spirit; those fanatical Christian would not be swayed by such a minor defeat.
The infantry in the rear had already formed ranks, cheering Rostislav's name; nothing could uplift morale more than martial prowess, and the spirits that had been slightly dampened by the chaos now recovered.
Rostislav's side was filled with cheers, while Yanos's side was shrouded in gloom.
Watching the retreating Nomad cavalry, Yanos's face was extremely grim; so many Nomad had been defeated by an enemy far fewer in number, which was truly unacceptable.
But what had happened, no matter how unwilling he was to accept it, he ultimately had to.
Moreover, Yanos noticed something unfavorable: a certain degree of wavering had appeared among his subordinates.
The defeated Nomad cavalry, of course, needed no mention, but the mountain folk became active, their heads constantly looking around; Yanos knew these fellows were preparing to flee.
That's how mountain folk are; they flock to the scent of blood, but if they discover they can't taste flesh and blood and instead get beaten, they start to scheme.
After all, war was just business to them, and if this business was going to lose money, they would naturally flee at the first opportunity.
Fortunately, these fellows were only scheming for now; as for fleeing the battlefield, the battle had not yet progressed to that stage.
The will of the Christian, however, remained firm; their hearts were still filled with a fearless devotion to their deity, and these failures had not significantly affected them.
Looking at those who reassured Yanos, in the end, he could still rely on his own people.
After observing and assessing the situation, Yanos decided to advance with the entire army; no matter what, he had a numerical advantage, which was enough to crush any enemy blocking him.
Thus, the melodious horn sounded once more, and the pagan army began to advance under its call, a sight like the spreading of the sea.
And from the mouths of the pagan, the ancient battle cry of the Magyar was shouted, making the battlefield seem to return to several centuries ago; Rostislav even had the illusion that he was facing a wave of a pagan army in a pagan era, but now, none of the brave ones facing this wave showed fear.
Compared to the pagan's four thousand strong army, the combined forces in Rostislav's hands barely reached two thousand.
However, although they were half the size of the opposing force, Rostislav's side still had a very clear advantage: most of them were elite, truly elite, the essence of various nations, each one supported by exploitation and plunder.
Now, these elites, having endured many battles, formed a solid shield wall; they calmly watched the approaching enemy, while the cavalry hid behind them, constantly awaiting orders to support the front line or flank the enemy.
For Rostislav's side, this army before them had some rather "novel" aspects; it was not unusual for some to wear armor styles from centuries ago, which at least allowed them to fight.
But the almost naked Christian truly made the soldiers burst into joyful laughter; were these fellows fighting bare-chested asking them to chop at them? And it was deep winter now, truly laughable.
Yanos's army was a mixed bag, with followers of various deities, and of course, among them were some eccentrics who believed in fighting naked, and now they saw this group.
These laughs infuriated the Christian; they would not allow their deity to be insulted in such a way, so they charged out of their lines, carrying their motley weapons towards Rostislav's side.
Of course, the Norse would not hesitate against these naked men; archers and crossbowmen directly unleashed a volley of arrows, causing many to fall, but this did not affect their morale, and they stubbornly continued their charge.
When they reached javelin range, many javelins were launched at that moment; the power of those javelins somewhat exceeded Rostislav's expectations, as many shields were directly pierced, showing how strong these men's arm strength was.
Next, their swords hacked at the shield wall; these fellows were fighting with a suicidal abandon, even if their bodies were riddled with holes, they would still take down a few enemies.
Facing such a fierce assault, new recruits would undoubtedly be flustered, perhaps even allowing the enemy to seize an opportunity to break through the line, but here were battle-hardened soldiers who had long refined their skills on the battlefield.
Following the experience summarized in blood, they firmly raised their shields, blocking wave after wave of attacks, then seizing gaps in the enemy's attacks to deliver fatal blows.
This was the style of veteran warriors, steady and swift, and because of this, the furious assault failed to shake the shield wall.
The veterans in the shield wall were not facing powerful barbarian charges for the first time; they were experienced in dealing with these reckless fellows.
"These guys are really something, Edward, do you know where they come from?"
Watching the naked men fight with such abandon, the Moscow Prince couldn't help but wonder about their origins.
"I've heard of them; they seem to be monks who worship one of the Magyar Gods, a reclusive religious order that usually lives deep in the mountains; I didn't expect Yanos to call out these tough mountain folk. It seems this pagan Chosen One's influence is no less than his father's."
Edward's face was also tense at this moment; the prestige Yanos displayed truly made him a little afraid.
Although he had not personally experienced the pacification of Hungary decades ago, he had read the books and heard descriptions from those who had been there, and now Yanos's prestige was clearly similar to his father's decades ago, just as he had understood.
As the two talked, the pagan army also arrived; earlier, due to the unauthorized actions of those fanatical naked men, they had to speed up their support.
They pressed forward with a battle line much wider than Rostislav's, cutting off even the possibility of flanking maneuvers.
Moreover, Rostislav was unwilling to use his heavy cavalry to charge the pagan's shield wall; that was simply impossible. How could he exchange the lives of elites for the lives of such trash? No matter how favorable the exchange rate, it was unacceptable.
And with their arrival, the cruel and prolonged shield wall battle would unfold; the struggle between pagan and Christian once again began on this land.