On the southern edge of the steppe, the wind swept by, carrying pebbles, as the Alda army, having just emerged from the mountain pass, advanced into the depths of the steppe, treading on the soft black soil.
The 30,000-strong force stretched out in a column several miles long, their dark gray uniforms drawing a neat straight line across the withered meadow. These were two army divisions personally led by Paul Greiman, the best-equipped and most well-trained main force in the Northwest Legion.
Paul reined in his horse and stopped it on the high slope, his gaze sweeping over the handsome figures below: soldiers in dark gray uniforms, carrying breech-loading rifles and short knives at their waists, moved slowly across the steppe like a long steel dragon. The artillery corps' Cannons followed closely behind, their wheels leaving two clear tracks in the grass. The supply wagons were loaded with ammunition and compressed rations, each escorted by infantry.
He raised his hand to his forehead and looked into the distance. The grassland stretched to the horizon like a piece of silk smoothed by the wind, with only the occasional eagle leaving a fleeting shadow in the blue sky.
Such a vast land awaited his conquest, and for a moment his heart was filled with excitement.
Chief of Staff Owen Schroeder rode closer, the map unfolding in his hand trembling slightly in the wind.
" Lord Glaeman," he said, his finger landing on a spot marked with a river, his voice lowered, "if we maintain our current speed, we will reach our designated campsite in four hours, where there is water to rest."
Paul nodded slightly. "Send more men to scout around the area, making sure there are no gaps. Although the grasslands offer a wide field of vision, the Orc Cavalry are highly mobile, so we can't give them a chance to launch a surprise attack."
"Yes, sir." Schroeder immediately turned and gave orders to the communications officer beside him. Before long, another twenty scout cavalrymen broke away from the column and headed in different directions, quickly shrinking into small black dots in the distance.
The army continued its advance, and the air gradually carried the scent of grass. The river on the planned marching route was just ahead. Just as Paul was about to have the signalman relay the order for each regiment to take a short rest, a sudden, urgent bugle call came from afar—a warning from the scouts.
"All troops on alert!" Paul immediately issued the order.
Several cavalrymen galloped in from afar. The officer in the lead nearly stumbled as he dismounted. He didn't bother to brush the grass off his body and rushed to Paul's horse: " Marquis! Orc Cavalry spotted five miles to the east! They number about two thousand cavalry and, judging by their direction of travel, are heading this way!"
close."
Paul raised his binoculars and looked toward the eastern side of the grassland, as indicated by the scout. On the distant horizon, a hazy cloud of dust, like a sandstorm whipped up by a gale, was already visible, rapidly approaching.
That's the kind of noise that only arises when a large-scale cavalry raid takes place.
"Order the entire army to immediately transition to battle formation!" Paul pointed his riding whip at the front of the ranks. "Have each battalion line up as quickly as possible, and have the supply trains concentrate in the center, surrounded and protected by infantry!"
As signal flags were waved rapidly in the hands of messengers, the 30,000-strong army sprang into action. Soldiers from each battalion quickly put down their packs, gripped their rifles with both hands, and deftly checked the chambers and confirmed that the bullets were loaded. The short knives at their waists were also drawn halfway and then sheathed again. Their movements were so fluid that it was as if they had practiced them a thousand times.
The Ausser Army quickly formed neat rows of lines, organized by battalion. The wagons of the supply train were swiftly pulled to the center position, and the Coachmen jumped off, forming a circular defensive position with the infantry responsible for escorting them.
The infantry on the outer perimeter faced all four directions, forming a temporary defensive perimeter to ensure that ammunition, rations, and medical supplies would not be seized by Orc Cavalry raids.
Paul rode his horse and patrolled between the defensive lines. His gaze swept over the tense faces of the soldiers. He raised his binoculars again and this time he could clearly see the Orc Cavalry charging towards them. They were brandishing spears or battle axes, and their warhorses were running at breakneck speed. The hooves of the horses pounded the grassland with a dull thud, and the ground seemed to tremble slightly.
"Three miles away!" the scout at the front shouted.
The first line of soldiers, closest to Orc Cavalry, began to change formation. Soldiers, in company units, quickly moved inward, with the front-line soldiers kneeling and the rear-line soldiers standing with their rifle butts on their shoulders, forming tight, hollow squares.
Although the breech-loading rifles they are equipped with today have a much higher rate of fire than the muzzle-loading flintlock muskets, and their firepower density is sufficient to suppress cavalry charges, their long-standing experience fighting Orc Cavalry and their cautious consideration of battlefield risks have led them to still choose this classic formation that is most effective at resisting cavalry charges.
Around the perimeter of each hollow square, soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, rifles pointing outwards. Gaps were left inside the squares to facilitate subsequent ammunition resupply and the evacuation of the wounded.
The sunlight shone on their dark gray uniforms, reflecting a cold, hard sheen that contrasted sharply with the Orc Cavalry galloping towards them in the distance.
Paul reined in his horse, stopping at the highest point of the central army, watching the Orc Cavalry approach. His fingers lightly rested on the hilt of his sword beside the saddle, his heart calm. He was no longer a novice on the battlefield.
The roar of the Orc Cavalry could already be heard in the wind, and the grass on the prairie was being whipped up by the horses' hooves, flying everywhere.
The sound of hooves grew closer, but suddenly slowed down a hundred paces away from the hollow square formation of the Ausser Army. More than two thousand orcs dispersed into a loose arc, constantly moving around the Ausser Army's defensive line. Their weapons gleamed coldly in the sunlight, and their roars rose and fell, but they never launched a charge.
Clearly, the firearm phalanx left them with painful memories from their last invasion of Aldor.
Paul stood on the high platform of the central command vehicle, watching the orcs' movements through binoculars. The cavalry would sometimes approach a few steps closer, as if to launch an attack, causing the front-line soldiers of the Ausser Army to grip their rifles tightly and put their fingers on the triggers; at other times, they would suddenly turn their horses around and retreat, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
This was repeated several times, but they always maintained a safe distance from the defensive line, as if they were testing the Ausser Army's reaction.
Schroeder whispered beside him, "These orcs have learned their lesson; they know that charging straight into the phalanx is suicide."
But as soon as he finished speaking, a small group of about thirty people suddenly broke away from the main force in the Orc Cavalry on the right flank of the Ausser Army. The orc in the lead raised his blood-stained battle axe and roared as he charged toward the square formation.
"Prepare to fire!" the officer in the right flank shouted, and the soldiers immediately leveled their rifles, aiming them at the charging Orc Cavalry.
"put!"
At a command, a barrage of gunfire erupted across the grassland, bullets whistling through the air and instantly striking the first few orcs charging forward.
Some orcs were hit in the chest, their massive bodies falling straight off their horses; some warhorses were hit in the legs, whimpering as they fell to the ground, throwing the orcs on their backs far away.
In a single volley, most of the charging orcs fell. The few remaining orcs who were lucky enough to escape were too afraid to charge forward and hurriedly turned their horses around, fleeing towards the main force.