A squadron of infantry fell back, and the orcs pressing and pursuing them swooped down upon them. In front of them, the squadron retreated toward the gap between the front lines on both sides like water seeping into the sand. They passed the ballista, and the gunners turned with them.
"They retreat!" an orc shouted. His companions immediately echoed in unison.
"Kill all the human dogs!"
The orc warriors were together with their soldiers, executing the tactics they were accustomed to - pressing forward with the entire army, making a central breakthrough with the berserkers as the lead, and then just chasing down the defeated enemy. Once the enemy's front line is torn apart, the warriors with high morale will expand the breakthrough to both wings, crushing the enemy's entire line.
The orc soldiers swarmed forward, and suddenly a bright human wall blocked the way. The squadrons of Bayeran in the rear launched a counterattack with swords and short spears, defeating many of the pursuers. After the berserkers pounced on them, the squadron dispersed like water and retreated to the gap between the squadrons further behind.
The layers of Beyelan soldiers were thin and fragile, and would retreat to the rear at the slightest contact. However, they did not disperse, covering each other alternately, and took turns to reorganize behind the battle line to form a new horizontal formation.
General Modres stared at his army in the battle formation, turned to his adjutant and said: "Look, red wine can certainly penetrate white paper, but can it still penetrate after thirty or forty layers?"
The well-disciplined Bijland heavy infantry carried out the commander's orders meticulously.
They held their positions on both wings, and the berserkers smashed the central front, but they could not break through the entire defense line in a short time. The infantry of the Ninth Legion in the center maintained their formation and began to retreat slowly, as if they could be pushed down with just a little more force.
The clan alliance was never able to penetrate the defenses of Bijaland's army and only pushed the central front back. While the battle lines on both wings remained motionless, the straight line was gradually pulled into an arc with both wings protruding from the depression in the middle.
One brigade after another, Beyeland's reserve troops were sent to the front to fill the weak spots. The orc warriors found themselves advancing and their enemies retreating, but the Byerlan army showed no sign of collapse. They could only send out more berserkers to replace those who had died, gone mad or were exhausted in previous battles.
Gradually, the berserker warriors in front and behind began to lose control due to anxiety and long battles, killing the enemy and their own people indiscriminately. The advancing front also became stagnant.
The clear sky was silent, and the wind had also calmed down, as if it did not dare to damage the beautiful scenery after the rain; water drops still fell occasionally, but they fell straight down. The sun hung high in the sky, then disappeared into a narrow, long cloud. The fighting and shouting of the battle subsided.
After a few minutes, the sun broke through the edge of the dark clouds and appeared in the sky again. Everything is bright and shining. As if in response to the light, tens of thousands of soldiers tangled together on the battlefield heard thunder rolling on the ground.
In the spotless clear air, under the bright sunlight, a silver wall appeared behind the clan alliance. Many shadows the size of sesame seeds are running away in all directions.
The advancing orcs stopped one after another.
They saw the usually unruly and ferocious warg cavalry running across the grass in despair, whimpering and escaping behind like wild dogs with broken legs.
Then, the wall moved.
"Stop and watch!" came the command from the general in front.
"Turn right and walk slowly!" Then another command came.
Cavalrymen wearing breastplates and blue and red uniforms ride on black, brown-red, and blue-gray horses. They move forward following the flags fluttering in the wind, stop and turn at the command of the officer, or line up in a queue at intervals. From time to time, the even rhythmic sound of horse hooves and the clatter of spurs can be heard.
"Lancers, line up front!"
3,000 cavalrymen from 24 squadrons gathered together, the hussars and dragoons got out of the way, and the 320 lancer forwards raised their lances like a forest and lined up in a front half a mile wide.
The small flag on the spear moved in the wind.
The elite lancers with silver breastplates were in front, followed by the ranks of hussars and dragoons with sabers on their shoulders; the gendarmes and horse artillery also joined in, coming to the wilderness and the west of the battlefield, behind the first line of lancers. Stopping, facing the dense infantry rows and phalanxes on the wide battlefield.
All squadrons except the Praetorian Cavalry joined the charge.
The cavalry group advanced peacefully along the gentle slope, passing over the corpses of the wolf cavalry that had just been washed away. The horses began to sweat and the cavalrymen flushed.
Griffith was in the first row of the battle line, and like everyone in this army, the familiar and selfless enthusiasm and indomitable pride burst out.
He was convinced that the powerful transcendent was just an insignificant grain of sand in front of this wall, trembling with the hooves of the horse and palpitating under the lance.
The cavalry general and his chief centurion, holding eagles in golden rings and shouting battle cries, swept past the front of the parapet.
Before the eagle flag was approaching, each squadron was silent and motionless, as if it were an inanimate object; as soon as the eagle flag came close to them, the squadrons became active, noisy, and the eagle flag. The shouts of the officers and soldiers under the banner merged.
The cry is long-lasting and rejoicing. The cheers grew louder and stronger, and finally merged into a roar that shook the mountains.
The general raised his sword and pointed toward the curved battle formation in front of everyone.
A wave of impact is coming.
The orcs stopped fighting and heard the sound of the three thousand horses getting louder and louder. They heard the alternating and neat sound of the horse's hooves galloping on the ground, the friction of armor, the clash of swords and a rough and strong breathing. After the terrifying silence, suddenly a long column of silver lances and steel knives appeared on the wall. Under the swaying iron helmets and flags, all the cavalry crossed the battlefield.
Three thousand people shouted in unison like the earth was shattering:
"Byeland——
"Long live!"
…
The leaders of the clan alliance stared dumbly at the billowing silver iron wall. The time to go to the arms of the ancestors is counting down by the seconds.
They hurriedly pushed the warriors and soldiers to spread out towards the right flank.
“The spear is in front, the bow and arrow are behind.
"Three volleys!"
The legs of all the clan alliance warriors were as heavy as lead. They watched the grand cavalry formation, holding lances and sabers, advancing into the wind amidst flags and bugles. Groups of orcs began to flee sparsely.
The dense columns of cavalry moved in unison, like a person meandering and stretching, with fierce and orderly momentum. Like an indestructible sword, they penetrated deep into the plains where corpses were lying, disappeared in the smoke, and then crossed the smoke and appeared at the other end of the wilderness, always dense. , moving closer to each other, back and forth, passing through the arrows rushing towards them like dark clouds. They were strict, brave, and calm, and made a deafening rumble of hoofbeats.
Among the lances in the forest, there was a knight with a silver breastplate holding a bloody lance high, wings flying behind his back, and his swift and sharp heroic posture was like an extraordinary saint. Just facing him directly set off waves of whirlpool panic in his heart.
It's over. All the brave men and cowards who faced the charge exclaimed in their hearts.
The charging cavalry formation began to accelerate, launching an overwhelming all-out charge.
We are finished——! The orc commanders gave out their final shouts and roars, shouting the battle cry:
"Warriors, the ancestral spirits are embracing us, for..."
"ah--!"
The momentum of riding the wall is amazing. The battle formation was hit head-on by the wall, the shield wall was shattered, the spears were broken, and there was a loud roar like the waves crashing on the shore. Hundreds of people flew backwards amidst the raging cavalry and the intensive sound of bone cracking.
The cavalry rushed through the crowd, and the crackling and snapping sounds under the horses' hooves were more frightening than a summer shower. The orc warriors were horrified, and the thick front line collapsed in front of the wall like an anthill washed away by the flood.
Griffith raised his blood spines and charged at the enemy in front. The moment he rushed into the crowd, the air seemed to be still, and even the sound was frozen.
A moment later, dense explosions roared in the ears. The continuous sound was like stepping into the bush. A berserker came against the trend in the crowd, roaring and charging towards Griffith. The sharp lance penetrated the open mouth and tore open the back of the neck. The severed head was lifted up and flew behind Griffith's face.
One after another, burly figures were knocked out or rolled under the horses' hooves. The thick and endless crowd of people rolled like waves, with densely packed heads rising and falling one after another.
The rolling tide cleared away in the blink of an eye, with scores of defeated soldiers fleeing in disarray in front, and countless bodies huddled on the ground tiredly, wailing one after another. The storm squadron's assault broke through the defense line of a large group. The lance was broken in half, and the cavalrymen drew their sabers and chased the scurrying enemies and hacked at them.
Griffith looked back and found that a quarter of the whole thing was missing. The missing people fell off their horses and got caught up in the melee, or got lost in the rolling tide of rout.
"Come closer to me!" Griffith raised his lance high, and the purple-red blood thorns immediately called the attention of the whole team, who reorganized around him.
Half of the people were silent, and the other half were chattering about who was defeated and who was killed. Their faces were either excited or happy.
"Quiet!" Griffith ignored the soldiers, "Level with me! Desai, blow the trumpet."
On the battlefield of fierce fighting, Erza would not turn around to look for her fallen comrades, and neither would Griffith. He saw a large group of soldiers gathered near a few warriors and a mountain monster, including many capable troll spear throwers. They held their position and remained motionless in the face of the counterattack by the Ninth Army.
Such a determined enemy is the priority target when breaking the formation, and is much more important than chasing down defeated troops.
There were broken troops everywhere. Some of the thousands of clan alliance soldiers who were defeated by the assault fled to the rear, while others gathered in this rocky position. Other cavalry squadrons also discovered this group of enemies who were holding on, and they all turned around and launched an attack.
A tall troll stood out from the crowd. He had six throwing spears on his back and one in his hand. The flowing fire surrounded the gun blade and lit up the tip of the gun. He raised his hand, and a bright light flashed, and a knight who was leading the attack was stabbed from the mouth by a spear and passed through the back of the head. His head exploded under the impact of huge force. Almost at the same time as the headless body fell under the horse, there were six more loud noises, and six cavalrymen were killed.
Either a transcendent or a hero! Griffith clamped his legs and raised his lance towards the group of enemies.
"Follow me to attack!"
The bugle sounded, and the squadron whirled to the sound of Griffith's lance.
Cavalry and infantry from all directions rushed towards the remaining soldiers. Trolls and orcs imitated their leader and threw their spears at the cavalry. But the cavalry's attack speed was too fast, and they were in front of them in a blink of an eye.
The armored cavalry bumped into them hard, knocking them upside down and spitting out their broken internal organs from their mouths.
A surging wall rushed through. Exposed to the outside, the orcs and trolls with the least protection were knocked around like fallen leaves in the autumn wind, and almost all were wiped out upon contact. The troll warriors behind were fighting with the cavalry who had lost their horse speed, and there were desperate curses and shouts everywhere.
The troll warrior who threw the spear no longer had any weapons at hand, and his companions around him had been trampled into flesh. He led a few people around a military flag. He grabbed two battle axes in his hands and rushed towards them like a whirlwind. Griffith didn't wait for the troll to jump, and stabbed him in the chest, pinning him to the ground.
…
Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, the clan alliance's counterattack and defense wavered. The entire army was oppressed by Beyelan's long-range firepower and began to retreat slowly.
The corpses of more than ten thousand orcs, trolls, and orcs were dumped on the battlefield, and many more fled in all directions. The cavalry chased them all the way to the rear positions, and did not retreat until they encountered the resistance of the horses and the trench. But the battle is not over yet. Warlord Wulong is still guarding the road leading to Rum Fortress with half of his army.
Beyelan's army began to gather and advance steadily, preparing to smash the enemy's last line of defense with artillery and trebuchets.
Soldiers scattered throughout the battlefield dragged firewood and dry branches, set up temporary sheds, and chatted and laughed happily. Some soldiers were sitting around the campfire, drying their shirts and leggings, or gathering around the rice pot and cooks to mend their leather boots. They looked at the steaming cauldron with longing expressions and asked from time to time how long it would take for the bread and soup to be ready. Hot is good.
Storm Squadron was also given some cordial and honey. The soldiers filed up to Lieutenant Lean. The lieutenant held the keg and poured wine and honey into the lids of the military kettles that were placed next to him. Everyone put the military kettle to their mouths with pious faces, drank it in one gulp, then wiped their mouths with their sleeves, and stood aside with a cheerful look to see if there could be a second round. Everyone's faces were very calm, as if they were having afternoon tea on a peaceful afternoon.
Griffith took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his head. The control thing is very useful, but it is too depressing. If this continues, becoming like a count will be just around the corner.
He scratched his head and observed the battlefield.
The army had occupied the battlefield where the fighting was fierce, and the cavalry had regrouped. In the far southeast, the shadow of an army was visible in the distance, stopping motionless in the distance of the field of vision.
Whose army is that? Griffith thought for a while and felt that none of the troops looked alike, so he turned around and said to everyone:
"I saw a bunch of black figures over there, like an army. Ace, what do you see over there?"
The young armored cavalry looked at it with a telescope in confusion and replied: "It must be Duke Meyer's army. The road in that direction is close to his fortress."
Everyone stood up and studied the "black shadows", and some said: "They are some teams taking a break."
Most people said, "Those are trees."
Griffith wanted to see if Krista was safe, but the shadow to the southeast also made him uneasy.
"Ace, Desai, you two go there and scout."
