The crossbowmen are ready, the first team will attack the forefront, the second team will take over the shooting, and the artillery squad will attack the middle of the formation as they approach.
The army of Maston has already appeared within sight, first, a black line crossed the horizon at the end of the line of sight, then more and more, as if a moving mountain and sea, marching in formation, with weapons bristling, battle flags ablaze, iron armor reflecting specks of light under the setting sun.
The Milanía army was already prepared in advance, only the scouts found that the enemy was closer than expected.
The battlefield cleanup was still incomplete, all they did was extinguish fires burning everywhere and clear obstacles blocking the roads, they hadn't even had time to move some dropped weapons and the bodies of fallen soldiers, many soldiers in the formed battle line still sported bandages hastily applied, white strips of cloth tainted with dark red blood.
But none of this mattered, for the Milanía army, as long as their leader still stood, even if only one person remained standing, they could still raise swords and follow that silver figure.
This was the prestige War King Granzon had won in the Homeland War eighteen years ago and still remained untarnished today.
Granzon ascended to the high platform in the center of the Maston camp, standing proudly with sword in hand, his steady gaze exuded an aura as heavy as a mountain, as if his mere presence there could not be overcome.
The camping position chosen by Maston was strategic, this slightly sloped hill was the highest spot in the vicinity, and the temporary platform erected there offered a sweeping view of the surroundings for several kilometers.
—Although this position was also the most conspicuous and vulnerable to attacks.
But that didn't matter, for Granzon, it was essential for all soldiers to see him now, even if it meant facing greater risks.
The Maston army advancing from both sides was not expecting Granzon's proactive strike, they had already planned to organize another large-scale offensive, but they had not anticipated losing one of their attack paths before the planned deployment.
For both sides, this was an unexpected battle, but now that they were thrust into this situation, none had a reason to retreat.
"Cavalry!"
The Maston army attacking from the left flank first launched the assault, a dark iron tide surged beyond the range of the crossbowmen and cannons, speeding under the fading sunlight directly towards the Milanía formation.
Just as using magic against magic, in the time of cavalry warfare, the best way to deal with cavalry remained using cavalry charges— at least during the Cold Arms Era, this was the most viable and least costly tactic.
However, the Fifth, Sixth, and Eighth central infantry corps brought by Granzon were all pure infantry corps, with the limited cavalry gathered to flank and serve as scouts, neither in numbers nor equipment were sufficient to counter the heavily armored cavalry head-on.
Of course, using the heavy Italian artillery to blast the lot of them would be ideal, but the weight of those things made it impractical to bring into the field, not to mention the old-fashioned muzzle-loading cannons, both in range and power, were barely adequate.
Thus, they had to settle for the next best thing, using crossbowmen, artillery, and dense infantry formations to ensnare the cavalry and drag them into the battle lines.
The only thing to be grateful for was the scarcity of heavy cavalry.
Though formidable, the cost of maintaining these expensive troops, with their intricate iron armor, heavy lances, well-trained riders, and sturdy warhorses, was astronomical. Even for a formidable power like Milanía, maintaining a Royal Guard of heavy cavalry was already at its limit.
Therefore, it was no surprise that the presence of heavy cavalry here was limited. At a rough estimate, the size of the triangular assault formation should be around two thousand, a squad.
As the cavalry charged within shooting range, the observers immediately began shouting orders for the signal soldiers to open fire. A volley of continuous cannon and bowstring sounds mixed with the scattering of shrapnel-loaded cannon shots fell first, blossoming across the cavalry array, followed by a dense rain of arrows and the firing of large crossbow bolts.
However, against heavily armored cavalry, the effectiveness of the old-style cannons was still somewhat lacking. Except for at extremely close range or a stroke of misfortune where a cannonball hit directly, the bursting shrapnel struggled to penetrate the iron-clad suits, at most causing harm to the exposed parts of the horses under the armor.
In contrast, the efficacy of the arrow rain was more remarkable—Milanía's archers switched to using armor-piercing arrows once they confirmed the cavalry's heavy armor. These heavy arrows could directly pierce the armor, except for the chest and helmet, as well as take down the horses upon impact, not to mention the heavy bolts from the crossbows.
The ability to defeat heavy cavalry was a testament to the elite troops within the military; this was true for Maston as well.
Even in the face of Milanía's continuous barrages, the cavalry pressed on, their hand-held lances low on their horse's back to minimize exposure, unfaltering even as they saw their comrades pierced by arrows, blood splattering on their faces.
Before the enemy onslaught reached them, the Milanía army had already completed three rounds of volleys, but the damage done to the heavy cavalry remained minimal. Despite the artillery and armor-piercing arrows, the casualty rate had not exceeded a quarter.
The thundering of hooves and the heavy breathing of the warhorses were now just within reach, the cavalrymen mounted on their steeds appeared as giants to the soldiers standing on the ground. Newly arrived fresh troops, who had just joined the Central Army not long ago, almost all showed signs of fear, their hands gripping their weapons trembling slightly.
"Grip your weapons tightly, hold the formation steady! Don't panic! Spearman, prepare!"
The frontline commanders loudly suppressed the panic among their soldiers, using their long swords to strike their shields to prompt the frontline soldiers forming the shield wall to hold their positions steady.
And then, the first heavy cavalryman crashed into the shield wall.
A fully armored soldier and horse combined weighed hundreds of kilograms, the momentum of their high-speed charge was formidable. The cavalryman, merely raising his lance, easily impaled the front two layers of the shield wall and the bodies of the soldiers, tearing through even the cast-iron shields and armor like paper before their sharp lance tips.
The warhorses trampled the infantry underfoot as though they were mere grass, the air was filled with the thick scent of blood mixed with the acrid smell of scorched earth, permeating the whole battlefield.
The first wave— the heavy infantry Banner Group tasked with withstanding the initial charge of the heavy cavalry— instantly crumbled, Milanía's infantry fell like blades of grass, but immediately, a reserve formation rushed in to take their place, with the bowmen and artillerymen positioned slightly elevated in the rear continuing to harvest lives of the heavy cavalry.
Five minutes passed, and another heavy armoured formation collapsed. A new unit of a thousand men was rallied for battle, meanwhile, the left flank of the Milanía army began to retreat layer by layer, squeezing the formation to create enough space to slow down the heavy cavalry's charge.
To the core of Milanía's formation, the heavy cavalry was akin to a sharp knife for cutting meat, even if every strike hit its mark, with each step forward of the warhorses, this sharp knife would inevitably be dulled by the grease and flesh and finally, blunted.
When the third formation of a thousand men approached the edge of collapse, the charge of the heavy cavalry was significantly restrained, more and more of them were being dismounted by the plunging spears from all sides.
Cloaked in over a hundred pounds of armor, they charged forward without fear, but the weighty equipment also meant that once dismounted, unless they were strength-based knights, they couldn't even get up on their own, and could only wait helplessly to meet their end.
The battle against the heavy cavalry had completely descended into a slaughter, more spearman surged forward to pin down the fallen cavalry on the ground to end them once and for all.
Granzon watched all this from above, feeling no fluctuations in his heart. This was just a partial of this battle, even if the enemy's heavy cavalry was wiped out, the left and right wings of their own formation had swiftly swung into action when the first formation on either end had engaged the enemy.
Due the left flank being charged by the heavy cavalry, the archers and artillery of Maston were overwhelmed and had no time to deal with the imminent Maston light infantry approach, while the melee infantry formation at the forefront had been disorganized by the charge, making it difficult to form a solid line of defense.
In comparison, the situation on the right flank was relatively intact.
Here, the Maston army seemed to consist of more standard infantry units, with soldiers in standard shielded armor continuously advancing under a barrage of arrows. Milanía, on the other hand, was using traditional front-line heavy infantry matched with spearmen and rear archers, under the command of frontline officers, maintaining an unyielding defense.
"Mobilize the reserve to reinforce the left flank," Granzon issued the command, "Notify the camp at Kent Mountain to volley in the same direction."
The second command was a move made out of necessity, to distract their opponents.
He was well aware that a prolonged stalemate was of no benefit to his side; although the combined forces of the Maston battle on the left and right wings were roughly matched, continued fighting would only result in both sides sustaining heavy losses.
A breakthrough had to be found.
Granzon glanced down at the sword in his hand, recalling the scene of himself leading eight hundred riders to charge against the ten thousand rebelling army's main camp eighteen years ago, his body drenched in blood when he beheaded the rebellious Duke Brin.
"Even at this old age, I'm still doing these heroics?" he couldn't help but smile bitterly.
Despite his flawless disguise that disguised his feelings from others, Granzon could sense the signs of weakness in his grip on the sword.
The heroic feats from the war eighteen years ago had come at a cost, while Granzon's strength undoubtedly stood at the peak of a ninth-level knight, he was not invincible. Sustaining until the reinforcements arrived, successfully winning the defense battle against Gusteberd, left him nearly skinless when he was found, with almost no intact skin on his body, even Temple Church's top priest could only heal his external injuries.
More hidden ailments brewed in subsequent battles, as the years passed, slowly taking their toll on his body. Even though he still appeared young on the outside, each night when he fell asleep, he could hear the sounds of his muscles, bones, and organs crumbling little by little.
And yet here he was, working like a 996 work culture employee at the palace every day under Delua. Could one really live to this age working a 996 schedule?
Well, can anyone truly live to this age working a 996 schedule?
