Translator: Nox

Ch#215

215

With that cry as the signal, the soldiers began to move in perfect order.

Varkas took Toruk’s reins from a squire who had come running in haste and immediately mounted the saddle.

Just as he was about to gallop through the barracks and out past the checkpoint, the second son of the Blestone family, who had chased after him, shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Your Excellency, we will join the battle as well!”

Gripping the reins, Varkas looked down at the man’s face and gave a slight nod.

“You, join the right wing.”

Without a word of complaint, the man charged straight out past the checkpoint.

Varkas followed, advancing toward the front lines. Seeing the enemy swarming like a herd of buffalo, he halted his horse halfway up a hill.

Beyond the wide-open castle gates, massive warriors clad in heavy armor were pouring out in an endless stream.

Gauging their numbers, Varkas extended a hand toward the squires who had rushed out to assist him.

Immediately, a heavy halberd measuring 8 kvets (approximately 240 cm) was placed in his hand.

As he raised it high to signal the attack, the ballistae positioned along the ridge of the hill unleashed iron bolts all at once.

With a sharp, tearing sound, hundreds of giant arrows sliced through the air, mercilessly piercing the bodies of the soldiers charging like rabid boars.

In an instant, hundreds of soldiers lay sprawling across the snow-covered earth.

But the Northerners did not shrink back in the least. As if prepared for death, thousands of shock troops leaped over the corpses of their comrades and collided with the infantry spread wide across the hill.

Varkas immediately ordered the firing to stop. Continuing the barrage would only result in friendly fire.

He turned his horse’s head and signaled the cavalry waiting on the left to charge. Simultaneously, the mounted warriors carved into the enemy’s flank.

As the enemy scattered in confusion, pushed back by the surging wave of warhorses, the central unit advanced. Under the weight of the multi-pronged assault, the enemy formation collapsed in an instant.

At this rate, the battle would be decided within half a day.

Sniffing the wind thick with the scent of blood, Varkas surveyed the battlefield before spurring his horse directly into the fray.

Even with their lines broken, the Northerners maintained a fierce offensive.

Varkas charged toward them without hesitation. A warrior swinging an axe haphazardly was crushed beneath Toruk’s hooves, spilling blood and brains.

Soldiers who witnessed the carnage froze in shock.

Varkas did not miss the opening, swinging his halberd in a wide, diagonal arc.

A single stroke severed the necks and torsos of three warriors simultaneously, spraying blood in all directions.

Trampling over the corpses, Varkas advanced. This time, he used the long, sharp spear tip at the end of the halberd to impale a heavily armored soldier of massive build.

He swung the shaft, hurling the corpse into the heart of the enemy lines. The soldiers charging with their axes were flattened like pins by the body of their comrade flying at them like a cannonball.

Witnessing that overwhelming sight, the warriors began to falter and retreat.

No matter how bellicose their nature, they were merely a militia without professional military training. If their morale was completely shattered, they would disintegrate in an instant.

Varkas raised his blood-stained blade high and ordered the entire army to advance.

It was then. A heavy thundering of hooves echoed from beyond the gently sloping hill.

Feeling a cold chill run down his spine, Varkas turned his head to look behind him.

A cavalry unit clad in heavy black iron armor was charging toward his forces, making the very earth tremble. There appeared to be at least several thousand of them.

Varkas immediately turned his horse to join the right wing. At that moment, the vanguard of the black iron cavalry slammed into his ranks.

The heavy roar of iron clashing against iron and the desperate screams of warhorses tore through the air.

Gripping the shaft with both hands, he quickly scanned the formation of the sudden intruders. Their movements were unusual. They were undoubtedly professionally trained soldiers.

Having made his judgment in an instant, Varkas charged through the lines toward the front. He swung the axe blade in a reverse arc at the lead rider; the blood-slicked edge sliced through the horse’s neck and tore upward through the rider’s chest without resistance.

However, the rider reacted with agility. Throwing himself backward to avoid a fatal wound, the knight snatched a spear planted in the ground as if catching it mid-air and hurled it at him.

Varkas immediately swung his halberd to deflect the spear and charged his horse toward the enemy.

The Northerner displayed movements so swift it was hard to believe he was clad in heavy armor.

Rolling along the ground to evade the hooves flying over his head, the man drew a longsword from his waist and lunged with the speed of a lightning bolt.

Varkas instantly brought his shaft up to parry.

The longsword, flying at a terrifying speed, collided with the steel-reinforced shaft, letting out a deafening roar. Varkas’s teeth clenched at the heavy impact that vibrated through his wrists, forearms, and all the way to his shoulders.

This was no ordinary opponent.

Gripping the shaft firmly with both hands, Varkas peered keenly at the soldier’s face, hidden behind a visor.

Through the gaps in the helmet, he caught a glimpse of glowing red eyes.

Is this man Bjorn Blodar Heimdall?

Varkas spurred his horse forward, shoving the man back. After a brief stumble, the man quickly regained his stance and retreated out of striking range.

While Varkas lowered his spear tip, watching the man’s movements warily, a lone cavalryman who had broken through the lines launched a surprise attack from the flank.

Varkas immediately spun his spear to parry the blow, then shifted the direction of the axe blade to bring it down hard onto the rider’s shoulder.

Just as he was about to recover his weapon and check the enemy leader again, a numb sensation spread through his fingertips.

He forced strength into his fingers, which had begun to tremble slightly, and hastily took a defensive posture.

However, that split-second delay created a fatal opening. The man had closed the distance before he knew it and thrust his sword toward Varkas’s chest.

Though he managed to avoid being pierced through the heart by instinctively twisting his torso, he could not stop the long blade from skewering his side.

He grimaced at the chilling sensation of cold metal tearing through his body.

But his movement stopped for only a heartbeat. Raising his arm, Varkas swung the axe blade toward the opponent’s head.

The man, whose eyes had been flashing with triumph while his sword was buried in Varkas, flinched and leaped back.

Varkas felt blood gushing from the wound where the sword had been withdrawn. Yet, he paid it no mind, swinging his halberd with ferocious speed.

The man parried the attack and desperately increased the distance between them. Just then, someone blocked Varkas’s path.

“Stop, Your Excellency! Your wound!”

Varkas brushed aside the subordinates trying to restrain him and pursued the enemy.

At that moment, he felt his body slump forward. He managed to avoid the disgrace of falling from his horse by planting the spear tip into the ground, but the enemy leader had already escaped the fray.

Clutching his bleeding side, Varkas glared at the retreating back of the man. Bjorn Blodar Heimdall, who had retreated to the rear in an instant, was mounting a fresh horse and signaling a withdrawal.

Had he launched the surprise attack from the start just to create an opening for the Amasec rebels to escape?

Watching the enemy forces scatter quickly after throwing the battlefield into chaos, Varkas grit his teeth and straightened his posture. He raised his halberd to order a pursuit, but suddenly, his vision turned white.

“Grand Duke!”