Chapter 66: Demon Cavalry

“For His Highness the Crown Prince, for General Gutierrez, courage! Glory! Victory!” On the city wall, Carlisle, the commander of the defending forces, fought at the very front without pause. He and his soldiers had made us pay a heavy price before this wall. “Courage,” “Glory,” “Victory” – these were the honors that the warriors facing us desperately pursued. But in the face of such a grand assault, relying only on the sense of honor in their hearts could not bring them the final victory.

“Courage! Glory! Victory!” The soldiers followed their commander and broke apart our attacks again and again. But they had reached their limit. Under Riley’s leadership, the Delanmaya Army had almost taken control of a small section of the wall. Though the section was still narrow and was constantly being squeezed by the defenders on the wall, they were gradually gaining a foothold. If the Winston did not take more effective measures, relying only on those exhausted soldiers on the wall could no longer stop Riley’s advance. The enemy, who were at an absolute disadvantage in numbers, could die standing on their courage, but they could not win and survive by glory alone.

It was not yet time for it to end.

“Courage! Glory! Victory!” From inside the city wall came even louder shouts. A group of fresh troops full of energy leaped onto the wall, shattered Riley’s efforts in an instant, and knocked the soldiers who had been holding their ground off the wall. Following those shouts appeared a banner as blue as the sky. Beneath that banner embroidered with a heroic leaping horse, a young man with golden hair stood quietly. There was no weapon in his hands, yet he had sharpened the weapons of all the Winston. He did not join the battle, yet he had lit the fighting spirit of all the Winston. I stood on the outer city wall, on roughly the same level as him, but for some reason, I always felt that this man stood far taller than me. He was like the light of the sun in the sky, shining down on the entire battlefield.

This man’s name was a legend, a legend that belonged to soldiers.

“Courage! Glory! Victory!” The enemies who had barely been fighting on the inborn pride of their bones seemed to be injected with some kind of mysterious magic after seeing that banner, and they fought with even greater ferocity. With the support of the reinforcements, one scaling ladder after another fell into the dust. No matter how hard Riley tried, no matter how brave the soldiers were, they could not do any better than before. In this battle that had nothing to do with wit or schemes – only momentum and brute strength – Riley touched his own limit, and between the two was the unbridgeable gap between Riley and the born king of this battlefield.

The city gate opened wide, and a few columns of silent riders slowly walked out of it. If their opponent had been anyone else, they would be undoubtedly foolish, for opening the gate wide before a powerful enemy was practically courting death. But now, no one had the courage to seize this chance at victory, because what stood before them was Heavy Cavalry – the Winston “Formation-Breaking Iron Cavalry.”

They began to move, going from slow to fast. After a somewhat sluggish acceleration, they became a column of moving reaping machines. Wherever the light of their blades pointed, there was nothing but a blur of blood and flesh. Though the space between the two city walls seemed a little narrow for cavalry, it was more than enough for our opponents. They were excellent dancers on horseback; as long as they had a little space, they could perform their fierce formation-breaking dance.

On the inner city wall, the Winston soldiers who had just gone through a bloody fight did not use this rare moment to rest well. They leaped and shouted loudly, using their excited voices to fill the silence of these mounted warriors. Those were their pride. Their names inspired fear, and their figures made people shrink back.

“Retreat, defensive formation, cavalry ready.” Fred gave the order, and then we walked down the city wall. Someone blew the horn of retreat. The soldiers of Delanmaya left the battlefield before they completely lost their courage. They had been so close to that beautiful word “victory,” but it had always been like the mountain mist lingering at dawn – right beside them, yet forever impossible to hold in their hands.

Rodrick formed a defensive formation on the inner side of the outer city, lining up Spearmen and Heavy Infantry in more than ten rows. Even though the enemy had only a few hundred men, we could not take risks against such enemies – not even a little.

Our enemies did not charge at us. After cutting down the siege troops below the walls, they lined up in neat ranks in front of the inner city gate, standing proudly to face us. Their position made us uncomfortable: when they stood still, the best way to attack was with bows and crossbows, but behind them were the tall city walls, and the Winston archers on the walls had a much greater range than we did on flat ground. If we attacked the city with all our might without caring about anything else, facing our infantry, the powerful assault of the Heavy Cavalry would surely be shown without anything left hidden. And if we slowly moved forward in a neat defensive formation… approaching the enemy city like that? That seemed no different from walking to our deaths.

They just stood there, doing nothing, but I felt they had already done enough. Standing close to the soldiers, I could not see fear on their faces, but I could feel the unease in their hearts. The new soldiers who had never seen how these knights fought could probably already feel the terrible pressure from the enemies across the field; the veterans who had once met these silent warriors face to face on the battlefield might already be wavering. The longer we stood against them, the more obvious the wavering became, and the more damage it did to our morale.

“It’s our turn.” Fred said softly beside me. He turned around and brought over his warhorse. A hand stopped him – it was mine.

“You can’t go. You can’t take this risk. Everyone here can go, but you can’t,” I said. I knew what he wanted to do, but I did not want him to do it. Those were dangerous enemies, and he was the supreme commander of the whole army. If anything happened to him, our preparations and our plans would mean nothing. He was an irreplaceable leader. With him, we were an army; without him, we were nothing but targets waiting for the butcher’s blade to fall on the battlefield.

“It has to be me. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.” Fred held my hand, and I felt his palm was damp.

“It was them who killed the Captain, Jeff – them. I can choose not to hate my enemies, because this is war. But I cannot choose not to hate them…” He said these words through clenched teeth. There was fire in his eyes, and tears too.

I understood. I could not stop him. In fact, since the day I met him, no one had ever been able to stop him, right?

I let go and brought over another horse.

“Alright. If you must go, I’ll follow you.”

“No. You have to stay. You’re still wounded…”

I mounted the horse and used the reins to bind up my left hand, which was wrapped in bandages and had almost no feeling left.

“You’re right, my friend. It was them who killed the Captain…” I said, tears in my eyes. His words touched the wound in my heart that could never heal, reminding me of that respectable Back. A wave of longing surged in my heart, and with it came a thirst for the blood of those silent knights across from us. It was them – the ones who had taken away the man I would respect for all my life. And now I had a chance to take revenge for him with my own hands. If I still failed, perhaps I could die with Carlson under the same blade – that soldier who had guided my life.

I was proud of that.

A unit of five hundred Light Cavalry stepped out of the formation. Fred, Red Flame, Poirot, Eliot, and I were all in this unit. We rode back and forth along the front of our own formation once, then stopped again in neat ranks, gazing from afar at the quiet knights across from us, striking a challenging pose. These cavalry were Red Flame’s pride – strong warriors trained by his own hands. Their riding skills might not yet be so refined, and their martial arts not so powerful, but that was only when compared with the silent monsters in front of us. Apart from the current enemy, I believed that no matter where this unit appeared, it would be stronger than its opponents.

It seemed that we were precisely challenging enemies we could not possibly defeat.

Behind us, the uneasy soldiers mustered a bit of courage. At first, they muttered quietly, worrying about their leaders. But when they saw our riders galloping with a bearing no less heroic than the opponents, they could not help bursting out in cheers. Rather than cowardly waiting for defeat, they would rather believe that their young commander could win this cavalry duel.

Fred slowly strolled to the middle of the open ground, drew his war blade “Ink Shadow,” raised it high toward the noble figure beneath the blue banner on the city tower, smiled coldly and made a slashing gesture, then slowly returned to the front of the formation, quietly waiting for the other side’s reaction.

The Winston were enraged. Their ranks stirred restlessly. These warriors who valued honor could not tolerate their respected commander being insulted like this, especially when the opponent had clearly declared a fair fight. If I were Crown Prince Louis, even if I knew clearly that this “duel” between armies had some scheme behind it, I probably would not refuse either. He was the soul of this army. If he showed no reaction to such a public insult to himself, the morale that had almost reached its peak would begin to fall, right? And for the defenders, who had no advantage in numbers, morale and terrain were perhaps the only things they currently had that were better than ours.

Beneath that sky-blue leaping-horse banner, the golden-haired commander walked to the edge of the city wall and signaled to the officers waiting below for orders: accept the challenge.

On the vast open square, hot blood and dust flew together, waiting for the battle that was about to come.

The two groups of knights each moved toward their right, going to the two ends of the field that were farthest apart along the city walls. After gaining enough distance to charge, they raised their lances at each other.

I simply watched them, trying to treat them as the ordinary enemies you could see anywhere on the battlefield, trying to ease the heavy pressure that their strength placed on my heart. But it was completely impossible. Just looking at them made me feel like my eyes were burning. Against such terrifying opponents, you could almost never be ready.

But I was not afraid.

Because Carlson was with us. Because Fred was right beside me.

Alright, what was meant to come would always come, and what was meant to leave would surely leave. Today was the day to swing my sword for revenge – my blood bore witness.

They moved. Though it was slow at first, they gradually picked up speed. The enemies silently leveled their lances, pointing them at our chests.

We did not move. We were waiting.

We did not even take a defensive stance. I didn’t know whether this posture that defied common sense surprised our opponents, but obviously these battle-hardened warriors would not go easy on the enemy because of a little strangeness. As the sound of hooves grew louder, they crossed half the distance, getting closer and closer to us.

If the screams and shouts from the city walls on both sides had been quieter, if the vibration of the silent knights’ hooves trampling the earth had been weaker, if the wind whistling past their ears could have stopped and delivered the true sound to them, they might have heard that from our formation, waves of soft chanting were rising.

That was the sound of the respected magic Warlock and the Dark Elf casting spells.

They got closer. Seeing that we still had not moved, the Heavy Cavalry Knights slowed down. After all, behind us was a tall, solid wall. Even warriors as brave as them would never have the illusion that their bodies of flesh and blood could shatter a brick-and-stone wall twenty paces thick.

Right then, with a short soft chant from Miss Eliot, a black curtain of darkness appeared directly in front of the Winston cavalry. This black curtain was so deep and dreadful that no light could pass through it, and it even seemed to be drawing the light around it inward. This was a magic that Dark Elves could naturally command – the Dark Barrier. In a wide battlefield, this narrow black curtain would be almost useless, and it could not last for long. But in this special situation, it was enough to block the vision of the Heavy Cavalry charging in a sharp formation, keeping them from seeing our movements. And, as one could imagine, this unprecedented magical attack appearing on the battlefield was throwing our enemies into complete confusion.

This was not all the strength we had hidden. Suddenly, Poirot’s voice rose sharply, and a familiar milky-white glow evenly enveloped the five hundred Delanmaya riders. The law of gravity set by the gods was miraculously defied in an instant. The weight of armor and weapons alike seemed to no longer exist, and even our own weight seemed to vanish into the flickering glow. Even though our warhorses were still standing on the ground at this moment, I felt that if we wanted to, the next moment they would fly into the sky.

Haste Spell!

At Fred’s order, we took off.

Yes, we were flying. If not for the dust splashing beneath the hooves reminding me, I would have truly thought I was soaring. Almost no acceleration time was needed – the warhorses beneath us instantly passed the peak of speed and were still going faster. The scenery around us rushed backward in an instant. The back of my head felt light, as if my soul had slipped out of my body and was flying gracefully.

This intoxicating poetic feeling did not last long. The mounts of Fred and Red Flame split left and right, dividing the five hundred riders evenly into two groups, leaving the space in the middle facing the enemy empty.

When the first Winston Knight bravely broke free from the disturbance of the Dark Barrier and forced his way out of that black curtain, he suddenly found that the direction his lance pointed to was a lifeless void, and the despicable enemies who should have been staining his lance with blood were racing past on both sides of him at a speed he had never seen before.

Then he died, with the death mark of a lance in his chest.

The cover of the Dark Barrier was successful – not a single enemy discovered our scheme. While the riders in the back rows stared warily at the darkness ahead, puzzling over the screams of their comrades who had gone through the black curtain, the brave Fred and Red Flame passed through the black curtain without any disturbance and drove their lances into their chests. Then came a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and even more lances finding their bloody destination. At this point, even if the Winston had seen us, it was useless. The powerful inertia of the Heavy Cavalry made it completely impossible for them to stop this charge that was doomed to be meaningless. They could only passively accept the invitations of the God of Death sent from both sides.

I drove my lance into the first Knight I met face to face. I only felt a cruel yet wonderful sensation traveling along the lance shaft into my hand – like pushing a needle into the cork of a wine bottle: slippery, yet with a bit of toughness. Then I saw the lance pierce deep into his chest and stick out a long length from his back. The spearhead that came out of his back gathered a vivid color upon it, as if the beautiful Goddess of Death were dancing on the tip of the spear in a blood-red robe.

Even at this moment, the Knight who had died by my hand still sat upright on his horse, holding his lance level in a charging pose, only turning his face slightly toward me.

I was glad that I could not see his eyes.

Passing beyond the enemy’s rear formation, Red Flame and Fred once again led the unit toward the two sides closer to the city walls. After leaving enough room to turn around, they made a big circle in the opposite direction and, without stopping the horses, charged back to kill again. At this time, our enemies, because their formation was packed together, because there was not enough space facing the city wall, and because they were slower, had not yet fully turned around, exposing their weak flanks to us.

Another round of slaughter began. The Winston had not yet adjusted to our speed, and they were extremely surprised by our arrival. Our riders, with the help of magic, had greatly boosted their combat power. If the first strike had caught them off guard and shattered their formation, then this second collision completely sank their pride. In this face-to-face fight, they suffered badly in numbers, morale, and terrain. They probably could not understand why these lightly armored warriors in front of them could unleash such astonishing combat power. Such speed and agility should not belong to this mortal world, and they looked no different from ordinary soldiers.

One after another, the silent Knights were forced to remain silent forever. They had once been gods of death on the battlefield, but now they had to look upon the face of the true God of Death.

The gap in numbers was widening. Under the effect of the spell, our soldiers were fully capable of defeating an enemy who was originally stronger than them, and then there were situations of two surrounding one, three surrounding one, and even, by the end, five or six surrounding a single Winston. When the effect of the Haste Spell wore off, the battle was already decided. Dozens of Heavy Cavalry were cornered by more than three hundred Light Cavalry whom they had once looked down upon. They had no chance left. Heavy Cavalry that could not charge were not true Heavy Cavalry.

When my sword fell upon their heads, I felt my chest tighten and I only wanted to cry out in fierce satisfaction. It was not that I enjoyed killing. It was just that I felt this was the time I had the most reason to swing my sword since the battle began.

I was avenging Carlson.

This hatred ran so deep that at one moment I viciously hoped Fred would not accept their surrender, so I could treat them even more cruelly. Swinging my long sword, I felt a bittersweet thrill.

My sword ran with blood, and my eyes ran with tears.

But hatred could not erase the bravery of the enemy. Until the very end, the surrender we had expected never appeared. When the last desperate Heavy Cavalry knight was sent into the realm of death by Fred’s own hand, I saw his face.

It was the face of a warrior who had resolved to die. We had taken away the honor of “invincibility” from their hands, but we had not taken away their pride and courage.

Everything was over. We were the first army on this continent to face the Winston Heavy Cavalry with equal numbers and to win a great victory with less than half the losses. This glorious achievement was enough to be written into the history books.