Before Meshko was a precarious "bridge" made of broken driftwood, various sizes of damaged boats, and fishing nets.
Such a "bridge" was far too dangerous; a normal person would never dare to cross it, but the people here were warriors who held their lives by a thread.
Facing the dilapidated "bridge" before him, Meshko showed no fear; he bravely stepped across these pontoon bridges and charged with his sword towards the oar-sailing ship entangled by driftwood and fishing nets.
With their commander so courageous, the Polish Knight's subordinates naturally followed with valor; they bravely "crossed the bridge" behind him, undeterred even as catapults occasionally sent up large splashes nearby.
The Bulgar on the ship naturally noticed these enemies and immediately took them seriously; they could still deal with the scattered enemies climbing onto the ships, but if that formidable group came up, it would be entirely different.
Amidst the panicked shouts, a team of archers finally moved under cover to the nearest firing platform and shot at the Polish.
Meshko raised his shield, and arrows came at that moment, but even without raising his shield, it was fine; the Polish Knight's armor was enough to block arrows, but Meshko disliked the feeling of arrows sticking into his body.
Just as the Polish Knight lowered his shield, a Bulgar longship suddenly crashed into the pontoon bridge in front of him.
The pontoon bridge was directly broken, and Meshko was almost knocked off the ship by the aftershock of the impact; the Polish looked closely and realized that this longship was fully loaded with Bulgar soldiers, and these matters were bravely rushing towards him.
He raised his shield, deflecting the scimitar of the man wearing a full-face helmet, then Meshko kicked the fellow into the water; his armor would drag its owner into the abyss.
"He's a brave warrior, daring to wear iron armor onto a ship."
Meshko thought this to himself; almost no one on those ships wore iron armor, as falling into the water with iron armor made escape impossible, and this gave Meshko an advantage.
"Forward! These are all cowards without armor! Forward! Go kill them!"
Meshko roared, simultaneously striking the head of the enemy in front of him with his longsword, cleaving the entire skull off.
Meshko's subordinates mustered the greatest courage of soldiers; their lord's performance boosted their morale, and then the group, like a whirlwind, swept across the longship that had crashed in front of them.
The storm of blood and swords came swiftly; leveraging the advantage of armor, in a short while, the entire deck was covered in blood and death, and the survivors jumped into the water, unwilling to face these gods of slaughter who seemed to come from hell.
Meshko pulled his sword from the dead man in front of him, then he saw a crossbow bolt-fired rocket hit the sail of their longship, and the sail immediately caught fire.
Meshko then looked around, only to see that the vicinity had completely turned into a world of blood and fire; some Bulgar warships were burning, but no one was extinguishing the fires; the battle was taking place in this world composed of ruined ships and broken bridges, with people falling into the water and dying every moment.
Meshko's subordinates all looked to their leader, waiting for orders, and Meshko did not disappoint them.
"God protects the brave! Follow me! Let us take that oar-sailing ship!"
Meshko was immersed in the frenzy of battle; he hadn't felt this way in many years, and now that feeling had finally returned, he wouldn't let it go.
"Yes!"
Then, this storm swept towards the large Bulgar ship.
"Ho, Meshko is quite fierce; this reminds me of when he charged head-on into Bulgar heavy cavalry back then. I thought after that he wouldn't be so reckless, but I didn't expect him to still be so crazy in battle."
Rostislav watched Meshko's heroic figure fighting from the high platform, recalling some past scenes in his mind.
At that time, Meshko was filled with hostility, and thus fought with extraordinary madness.
Since then, he had rarely seen Meshko like this, and now, seeing it again, he couldn't help but feel deeply moved.
Clearly, the situation on Meshko's side no longer needed attention; those Bulgar could not defeat the Polish.
"Prince Rostislav, how should we deal with that warship in the middle of the river?"
Robert, who had come specifically to consult Rostislav, asked; that largest oar-sailing ship clearly had an important Bulgar general, which was why he asked, as the Prince might want to capture such a person.
"Destroy that ship. I don't need any prisoners. The most important thing now is to neutralize its offensive capability."
Rostislav, of course, understood the German Engineer's meaning; he gave the order decisively. The battle was still ongoing, and he had to give his all in every area, never relaxing, so there was no thought of anything good.
"Understood!"
The Engineer immediately went to carry out the Prince's order.
And on that lonely oar-sailing ship that had smashed through the pontoon bridge, Selim looked at the situation before him, and his usually relaxed face finally showed tension.
He had thought that no matter what, the fleet could successfully destroy the Slavic pontoon bridges, cut off the Slavic's retreat, and successfully devour these fellows, but now the situation had developed into an incredibly awkward one.
He was now alone on one ship floating on the river; the fleet was blocked by the first pontoon bridge, and now he truly couldn't advance or retreat.
Moreover, arrows were raining down on them from all directions; Selim personally saw that after a crossbow bolt rocket hit the deck, a sailor who rushed to put out the fire was shot dead on the way, fortunately, others immediately took his place and extinguished the flames.
Most people hid behind the bulwarks; those who dared to show their heads to counterattack died, and even the slaves in the ship's hold instinctively lowered their heads, fearing arrows would hit them, and the overseers who usually lorded over them with power of life and death could do nothing, instead lowering their heads like the slaves.
"Prince Selim, should we beach the ship directly? After beaching, we can cut a bloody path, and this is the only way for us to return to our own lines right now."
The captain, who had come to Selim's side at some point, offered his suggestion; this was also their only viable plan at the moment.
And in his heart, he sighed, thinking he would have to say goodbye to his good comrades; this was one incompetent general causing the death of an entire army.
"Beach it? No, that would be too much of a waste for this ship."
But Selim's words startled the captain, and there was a hint of madness in his voice.
"Rather than that, why not make this ship more valuable? Captain, immediately ram the pontoon bridge in front of us, then we all charge down!"
Selim was not a good-for-nothing; he had truly messed up his father's strategy. Although he was now certainly doomed, he had to do something to make amends.
Otherwise, with his father's personality, even if he survived by the skin of his teeth, he wouldn't have an easy time.