Chapter 460: Chapter 72 Battle_3
The Herders clad in double-layered heavy armor still moved with vigor. The weapons in their hands weren’t the characteristic scimitars, but flails, heavy axes, and war hammers.
The elite forces of both armies collided with a thunderous crash. As everyone was clad in heavy armor, it became exceptionally difficult to kill one another.
When the war hammer struck a helmet, the iron was dented inward. Yet the person inside did not die instantly; blood backflowed into their trachea. Choking on blood, the soldier collapsed on the enemy, grabbed a halberd, and stabbed it into the opponent’s mouth, all the way through.
Almost no one received a clean, swift death. The combat turned into a kind of torture. Most who died did so from internal bleeding caused by multiple blunt force strikes.
Friend and foe alike, some soldiers had their limbs broken but were not yet dead, and these iron men begged for a quick end.
In the rear, the encirclement by the Herder cavalry was repulsed by the reformed large phalanx.
Dozens of brave Herder cavalry charged into the phalanx, only to be quickly surrounded and killed by the halberdiers and spearmen inside.
Up front, the Paratu halberdiers and Herder armor-clad soldiers were evenly matched.
“[Herde Language] What madness has Owl Hawk succumbed to?” Little Lion at the Red River Tribe’s main formation, watching the battle, punched the flagpole: “[Herde Language] I told him to retreat! Why hasn’t he?””
The others fell silent.
To everyone’s surprise, Tie Duo spoke a few words of justice for Owl Hawk: “[Herde Language] With men screaming and horses neighing on the battlefield, how could he see your signal? If he retreats, and others think we’re defeated, then what? Once you charge, you can’t retreat, not even if you wanted to.”
At the Red River Tribe’s main formation, half of the cavalry still hadn’t engaged in combat.
“[Herde Language] The will of the Paratu People is very resilient; they can’t be broken in an instant. We need to wear them down a few more times.”
Little Lion noticed that the battle in front of the artillery position had reached a stalemate. He gestured to summon one of the Hong Lingyu and whispered instructions.
A squadron of heavily armored cavalry detached from the main formation and galloped towards the center of the battlefield.
Lieutenant Laszlo saw this approaching heavy cavalry and suddenly realized that this moment was the last chance to seize the artillery.
“Advance! Paratu Knights!” Lieutenant Laszlo stood on his stirrups and roared as he hurled the regimental banner toward the artillery: “Summon your courage! Advance!”
The regimental banner traced an arc through the air and landed next to the shield carts harboring the cannons.
In this era, the Alliance’s Standing Army was one of the few military units that possessed a sense of military honor.
For the Standing Army, losing a regimental banner was equal not only to a court-martial but also to an immense disgrace.
Throwing the regimental banner was a commander’s last resort. It meant the battle had reached its final moment, and everyone had to fight with a resolve to either retrieve the banner or die trying.
Ignoring his own safety, Lieutenant Laszlo charged toward the cannons, and the other halberdiers, eyes red with fury, recklessly rushed towards the banner, ultimately shattering the Herders’ formation.
The Herders’ four cannons were quickly neutralized.
Colonel Laszlo in the large phalanx felt his heart being torn apart. Watching his son disappear like a pebble into the waves, his vision darkened and he fell heavily from the saddle.
“Where are the reinforcements?”
All the senior officers were asking this question in their minds.
Behind a hill on the western side of the battlefield, Winters wiped the sweat from his forehead and said to Colonel Jeska, “They should be right ahead, I can hear something.”
Jeska’s battalion and all other auxiliary troops who could ride a horse—more accurately, who wouldn’t be killed falling off one—were all present.
Fortunately, the horses captured from the Herders were well-trained.
A long “Dragon Cavalry” line ended with two eight-horse-drawn wagons carrying two heavy six-pounder long cannons, each weighing 450 kilograms.
Lieutenant Mason had brought all four of his “daughters”—four light long cannons—into play.
However, two of the wagons broke an axle en route, and in the end, only two “daughters” made it to the battlefield.
“The main battle holds everything. Once it begins, all scattered forces must converge towards the central battlefield.”
Thanks to Colonel Jeska’s unexpectedly strong initiative, reinforcements arrived at the battlefield in a way no one had anticipated.
And there was yet another unexpected development unfolding.
Inside a huge felt tent at the very center of Bianli City, a dozen Shaman Priests adorned with colored woven garments, totemic bone masks, and decorated all over with bones, feathers, stones, and ribbons, sat around a campfire.
The siege outside was reaching a fever pitch, with the deafening noise of gunfire, cannon fire, and blasting,
yet inside the tent, all was eerily silent except for the crackling of the fire.
A Shaman Priest entered from outside, reverently holding a still-beating horse’s heart.
The lead Shaman took the heart, and his hands were stained red with blood.
Another Shaman threw a handful of powder into the flames, and the tent suddenly filled with smoke.
The lead Shaman placed the heart on a golden tray, raised his dagger high, and plunged it down fiercely.
The other Shamans, as if awakened from a deep slumber, began chanting in low, strange guttural tones—a scene eerily entrancing and mystical.
At the same time, a secret door on the northern wall of Bianli City exploded open.
An agile azure horse was the first to charge through the smoke, its rider clad in striking crimson armor.
Hundreds of elite Herder knights followed the red-armored rider, streaming out of the breach in the wall, heading straight for the Confluence River.
All eyes were drawn to this sudden turn of events.
Seeing the red armor and the azure horse, the morale of the Herders on the battlefield surged, and they shouted in fervor: “Yasin! Yasin! Yasin!”
“Is that the Barbarian Chief Yasin?” Sekler’s pupils dilated suddenly, and he couldn’t help but mutter to himself. Follow current novels on NoveI-Fire.ɴet