Simon did not notice the sudden change behind him. He turned his horse's head and shouted in the direction of Gabriel: "Charge with the cavalry toward the gate of the town!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Soon, fortunately for the collapsed deserters, the cavalry who were killing them no longer paid attention to them, but turned around and rushed towards the enemy soldiers gathered at the town gate.
"Infantry in front, charge harder into the town! Spearmen, come to the rear!" Count Loon roared angrily.
He couldn't understand why Count Berg's soldiers could hold out at the gate of the town for so long.
In fact, he should reflect on himself. He had already cut off the retreat of everyone in the town a few days ago - he sent people to the town wall to shout that if he did not surrender by today's general attack, , and once they enter, they will kill everyone in the town mercilessly.
So most of the soldiers guarding the town wall thought that instead of handing over their weapons like lambs to be slaughtered and waiting for the less-reputable Earl of Loon to dictate their fate, they might as well take up their weapons and fight to the death. Moreover, according to Earl Berg, they knew that there was a "huge" reinforcement force outside the town that would come to support them, and it was not certain who would win and who would lose.
"Ta da, da da..."
Simon and the cavalry moved faster and faster, gradually throwing away the deserters and the pursuers of the noble coalition, and ran towards the gate of the town.
At this time, a large number of Earl Loon's soldiers gathered outside the town gate.
Because the narrow entrance to the town was not as easy to break as they imagined, they could only move forward slowly and be sucked into the "meat grinder" at the entrance of the town, or climb up the ladder and be hit by the spear waiting for a long time on the wall. "Please" return to the ground.
"Come on, clumsy bastard."
Under the constant urging of Count Loon, some fast-moving shield-bearing spearmen squeezed through the bustling soldiers and came to the rear. They raised their spears in the direction of the cavalry attack and inserted the end of the spear handle deeply. Into the soil.
The other spearmen who were too slow to squeeze out looked at the cavalry who were already close at hand, and directly raised their shields to protect their bodies.
"Bang!"
"Ah ah ah ah ah!"
This time the cavalry charge did not have lances, but its power should not be underestimated - the cavalry avoided the spearmen who had already set up their spears, and like an angry rhinoceros, they crashed into the town gate with short weapons at high speed. Behind the enemy soldiers, many serf soldiers and freedmen soldiers wearing light armor were knocked into the air. After landing, they lay on the ground unconscious and unable to move.
Simon was not interested in fighting. After using his sword to cut down an enemy soldier who tried to get close to his horse and pull him off his horse, he shouted to the other cavalrymen: "Regroup!"
"Son of a bitch!"
As soon as Simon finished speaking, a hussar with a Dorsten collar wearing a padded leather jacket exclaimed. A spear pierced out from the pile of enemy soldiers and pierced the chest of the horse under his crotch. The poor horse let out a mournful cry and fell to the muddy ground with the cavalry.
The cavalryman was knocked dizzy. He wanted to pick up the sword at hand, but a dirty, calloused hand picked it up first.
He followed the picked up sword and saw the owner of the dirty hands - an old farmer with a runny nose. He looked like most farmers, with an honest face, but at this time, this guy's eyes did not have the usual dullness at all. , some are just greedy.
The severely injured horse was bleeding and neighing nearby, and its hooves were kicking wildly, while the unlucky cavalry felt that the sky suddenly darkened... No, it wasn't that it was dark, but that he was surrounded by the serf soldiers of Count Loon.
The malicious faces were also full of greed, and then, these poor peasants and soldiers rushed forward, grabbing his equipment in all kinds of ways. He struggled continuously until a dagger stabbed by an unknown person made him completely lose consciousness.
"Quick, quick!"
The remaining cavalrymen separated from the infantry array one after another before the spearmen could attack, leaving only two unlucky cavalrymen who were stabbed to the ground and the enemy soldiers who were staggered and knocked down.
As soon as the cavalry left, the infantry of the noble coalition rushed to the battlefield.
Many fallen enemy soldiers had just been lifted up by their comrades, and their bodies were still limp, and then they came into contact with Baron Wolfe, Baron Carl, and their brave men.
A free peasant soldier from Count Loon felt that his waist was excruciating pain. As soon as he picked up his logging ax and stood up, he was kicked from behind to the muddy ground, and then the back of his head went numb. , then I don’t know anything anymore.
"Ha, give them a taste of the power, victory is close at hand!" Baron Wolfe pulled out the battle ax from the back of the free peasant soldier's head, and red and white stuff gushed out from the broken skull.
Beside him, the soldiers of the retinue holding two-handed weapons were like wolves rushing into the flock of sheep, slashing the serf soldiers and free soldiers who had just risen from the ground until they howled like ghosts, and their flesh and blood flew everywhere.
The Earl of Loon's army, which was attacked from all sides at the gate of the town, was in commotion, and its morale began to decline.
Correspondingly, Earl Berg's soldiers were like bulls with red cloths on their heads, and they began to fight back.
When the threat to life is not so critical, in their eyes, the enemy is no longer a savage beast, but a copper coin waving to them. The bounty and trophies obtained after fighting this battle can at least make them worry-free. Live happily for a long time.
Count Luo Wen felt that his advantage was slowly disappearing from his fingers.
Suddenly, he saw the bloody Baron Wolfe not far away, breaking through the sword blocked by his loyal inner knight with an axe, and then mercilessly smashed the battle ax into the man who had been following him for more than ten years. The old man's shoulder blade area was suddenly filled with anger.
"Wolf, you are a blood-drinking barbarian, a crazy gangster, and a complete bastard," Count Loon pushed away the serf soldier who was fighting with the coalition soldiers next to him. He cursed and raised his sword towards him. Baron Wolfe walked over and strode forward, "If you don't use frog urine to take a photo, what kind of aristocrat are you?"
Baron Wolfe did not speak, his breathing became rapid, and his face was so gloomy that it could drip water. Everyone knew that he was now a brown bear on the verge of rage.
"Barbarian, go to hell with your ridiculous pagan beliefs, because your gods are evil monsters. Oh no, so you are a soulless wretch, aha, your beliefs and your soul It’s just as worthless, hahaha!”
Only then did Count Loon completely anger Baron Wolfe. For these descendants of the Celts, who not only believe in Christianity but also retain the habit of worshiping Germanic gods, insulting the gods in front of them is tantamount to flipping their scales back and forth.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
Baron Wolfe's extremely angry roar made Count Loon's heart tremble, but he, who boasted of his excellent swordsmanship, did not choose to back down, but looked excited.
Count Loon thought that Baron Wolfe was always at the forefront, which could be said to support most of the morale of these noble soldiers. If you irritate him at this time, expose the flaw array and kill him when he loses his mind, there is still a chance to turn the battle situation into victory.
It would be foolish to directly block a two-handed battle ax with a short sword or shield. Count Loon nimbly avoided this angry blow, and then wanted to get close to Baron Wolfe and slash his throat with a sword. .
But what he didn't expect was that maybe what he just said was too much. Baron Wolfe did not choose to retreat or block as he expected, but instead directly used the thick deer without caring about the injury. The big hand in the leather glove went to grab the sword that was cutting straight at him.
"Madman!" Count Luo Weng secretly screamed.
Although the sharp iron sword cut open the deerskin glove without any surprise, cutting Baron Wolfe's left hand until blood flowed, his other hand had already grabbed Count Loon's throat and was squeezing him. , lifting him in the air like a bag of trash.
"Woo, woo!" Count Luo Weng felt a sense of suffocation and pushed him directly to the door of hell. He felt that the God of Death was blowing on his cheek.
In a hurry, he quickly thrust the sword held by Baron Wolfe forward in an attempt to make Baron Wolfe let go.
But the cross sword grid that he spent a lot of money to have Frisian craftsmen carve patterns on has now become the nuisance waste that he wants to throw away the most - the sword grid effectively stopped Count Loon's iron sword from thrusting forward. .
Apart from making the wound on Baron Wolfe's hand a little deeper, there was no harm.
Count Loon's behavior clearly angered Baron Wolfe.
After exerting all his strength, the muscles on Baron Wolfe's arms were strong and the blood vessels were clearly visible. The rock-hard iron hands clamped the fragile throat of Count Loon like a pair of pliers, and the latter's struggle became more and more intense. The more intense it is.
Suddenly, Count Loon stopped struggling. His tongue hung out long, his head drooped uncontrollably, and the iron helmet on his head fell to the muddy ground with a thud.
His face was full of resentment and unwillingness.
Overestimating his own strength and overconfidence gained from long-term pampering were the main reasons that killed him - he simply couldn't beat Baron Wolfe, and defeating him was just wishful thinking on his part.
"Bah, it turns out that God favored me, not you." Baron Wolf spitted thick phlegm at Count Lowen's body, and the phlegm and spittle stuck firmly to Count Lowen's body. Very beautiful blonde hair.
"The count is dead!"
"I surrender!"
"Stop, stop! You won! Damn it."
"Stop fighting, stop fighting!"
Most of the enemy soldiers who witnessed the entire process of Count Loon's death were impressed by Baron Wolfe's force.
Encountering such a terrifying enemy, surrendering is really not a shame. Fighting to the end is full of honor, but it will cost your life. Now that the monarchs have passed away, there is really no need for that.
"yeah!"
"we won!"
Next to Count Loon's soldiers who put down their weapons in despair, the noble coalition troops roared loudly and vented their ecstasy.
Today's story will become their lifelong "medal of honor". This battle of defeating more with less will spread like a plague in taverns, markets and firepits, and they will also become "heroes" passed down by word of mouth.
In addition to the smiles of the surviving Dusseldorf garrison, there was something even more pleasing to them - they had fewer competitors, which meant that they were selected by Count Berg as private soldiers. The possibility is greater.
"Sir Simon!"
When Simon was also immersed in this sea of joy and shouted loudly along with the soldiers, a low shout that was incompatible with the environment made him turn his head somewhat displeased.
The visitor was a knight wearing only a leather turban, and his blue robe vest was stained with blood.
His throat moved, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't know the safest way to say it, so he took back the words that came to his lips.
Simon had an ominous premonition.
"Sir Simon, your father wishes to see you one last time." The knight said, taking off the leather turban from his head.
"What!?" Simon's eyes widened in disbelief.
You are a genius, remember in one second: Red Oasis:
