The remaining enemy soldiers split into three groups as they ran, each group forming a wedge as they charged this way.

The enemy came on fiercely. The Dark King's soldiers forming the first line of defense were outmatched, and one section of their defenses was torn open. The enemy troops poured through the gap.

『Hold the line! Front-line soldiers, do not leave your defensive positions without orders! Central troops, move in to meet them!』

After issuing a new order, Dracula swung the strand of blood extending from her hand and went to stop the fierce warriors of her own kind who were charging toward her, taking her place as a soldier.

Once you get used to your own kind killing each other, it stops feeling like much.

It’s like a soldier fighting the enemy on a battlefield. When they charge right up to you, your body will always react faster than your thoughts.

Dracula relied on that almost instinctive reaction to cut down hundreds of targets in the blink of an eye.

Her main reason for staying on the front line was to buy her side time—to wait for the unit they were counting on as their trump card to arrive.

To do that, she had to keep her side going until the moment came to turn the tide.

Of course, simply holding the enemy back wasn’t quite enough.

Some things were meant for Dracula to do.

And just as surely, there were things in this world that only Wang Yafu could do.

As they’d agreed beforehand, Wang Yafu now moved from the center of the formation to the front.

She endured the stench of blood that made her stomach turn, faced the enemy, and struck a pose as imposing as a king’s.

『You weaklings, only daring to fight when you’re all bunched together! If that’s all the strength you have, you won’t be able to satisfy me!』

One thing needs to be understood:

Every member of the Third Clan’s army, from its officers to its soldiers, was a professional warrior.

That was why they didn’t charge ahead on hot blood alone like reckless fools. They used their heads before a fight.

Wang Yafu carried herself in an extraordinary manner, and the soldiers around her clustered close.

From those two clues, the enemy soldiers worked out who she was. The enemy commander was right there before them.

The thought thrilled them, but it also struck them as strange.

Why would the enemy commander come to the front line herself?

If she were an idiot, there’d be no point in thinking so hard about it.

But they could tell:

Wang Yafu wasn’t an idiot. She looked young, but she might be a true powerhouse who’d kept her strength hidden.

Otherwise, why would she come to a place like this?

Why show herself now unless she was deeply confident in her own strength?

After thinking it over, the soldiers serving as the vanguard decided to halt their advance. Using the authority their commander had granted them, they fell back more than a hundred paces.

They were professionals.

To a large extent, that was what did them in...

Wang Yafu made herself look dangerous to scare the truly dangerous people in front of her. She did it to buy her side time.

She did everything she could to stall for several minutes. After nothing unusual happened for a while, the enemy soldiers began to realize something was off.

Just before they could figure out what it was, a heavy sound rolled across the world around them: the thunder of armored cavalry charging, hooves pounding like rolling thunder.

At that moment, even the earth seemed to tremble.

Dracula let out a breath.

The trump-card unit, whose mobility had slowed its march, finally appeared on the battlefield.

By the human standards for classifying troops, the army Dracula had spared no expense to build could be called a heavy cavalry unit.

Cavalry clad in black armor surged forward like a black tide.

Beneath that raging tide, who could survive?

Only a rock!

“As solid as a rock”—those words were now the truest description of the Third Clan’s warriors.

The soldiers in this army remained calm and showed no sign of wavering. The first two ranks raised their crossbows, while those behind lowered their spears.

『One hundred and fifty paces! Ready the crossbows...』

Lao San raised his hand.

In this battle, the enemy had only one choice: charge straight at them.

So even though he knew the crossbows were unlikely to hurt cavalry in heavy armor from a hundred paces away, he still ordered a volley.

Even if they couldn’t wound the enemy, surely they could disrupt their formation a little?

At the very least, a volley could test the enemy and reveal whether they had any trump cards or weaknesses.

He believed that

the enemy cavalry’s frontal charge was most likely a feint.

Scouting reports alone weren’t enough to reassure him. With reliable subordinates providing support from the rear, he could focus all his strength on the enemy and fight without holding back.

『One hundred paces...』

The lookout’s warnings came faster and shriller, like a siren blaring without pause.

『Aim high! Loose!』

Lao San barked the order in an instant.

Thwang! Thwang! Thwang!

Eight thousand crossbows fired as one. Eight thousand bolts converged into a storm, shrieking toward the armored cavalry’s ranks.

The volley made a tremendous noise, yet stirred no visible reaction. Only the crisp, pleasing clatter of metal rang out, like a set of chime bells playing a solo in the middle of a grand symphony.

It was no surprise that the volley failed to do any damage, but Lao San’s heart sank all the same. The enemy formation hadn’t wavered in the slightest.

He’d specifically ordered this volley aimed high, so the bolts would strike higher and threaten the enemy’s upper bodies, even their heads.

Even through armor, even when they know they won’t be hurt, living creatures instinctively dodge objects flying straight at them at high speed.

It’s a natural reaction, not something you can simply overcome.

But from what he could see, not a single cavalryman in the Dark King’s army reacted.

No one dodged. No one raised an arm to block. Their dark faceplates hid their faces, too.

Silent, without sorrow or joy, this surging army seemed less like a host of vampires than a force of iron puppets forged by the gods.

They were more terrifying than cavalry screaming as they charged, and they crushed their own soldiers’ morale all the more.

『Don’t stop! Reload, now!』

With no time to think, Lao San immediately issued a new order.

『Hold steady! Hold steady! Keep your spears level! Keep them level!』

In all his years as a soldier, he’d almost never had to shout like this to raise morale.

But what could he do? He’d never faced an enemy this terrifying.

『Eighty paces!』

『Fifty paces!』

『Forty...』

The lookout’s warning sounded like a frantic reminder—or a scream of terror.

Lao San had no attention to spare for it. He kept his eyes fixed on the surging enemy, silently counting and waiting for the perfect moment.

Their crossbows were limited. Even with desperate soldiers willing to risk their lives, there weren’t enough to keep firing in volleys.

So this would be their last chance to fire a volley—and the most crucial one!

『Thirty paces!』

The dust kicked up by the cavalry had already swallowed the Third Clan’s vanguard. The lookout was practically shouting himself hoarse.

『Ready the crossbows... Loose!』

Lao San shouted the final command. At last, the Dark King’s heavy cavalry opposite them made a move.

The front-rank cavalrymen reached beneath their saddles, grabbed something, and straightened up with enormous black shields in their hands!

The clash of spear and shield began with the attackers bearing shields and the defenders holding weapons.

Thudthudthudthudthudthudthudthud.

Boomboomboomboomboomboomboomboom.

Crash!

It was hard to put into words how many different sounds rang out together in the instant before the two armies met at close quarters.

Setting aside the quieter, deeper sounds, the first came in order: the powerful crossbow bolts striking the shields.

Though he’d seen the shields, there was no time for Lao San to change his orders. The crossbowmen had no time to ask or hesitate, either.

They could only make their own judgments, raising or lowering their crossbows as they pleased, trying to shoot around the enemy shields and hit either rider or horse.

In truth, Lao San thought they should keep aiming straight ahead, even after the enemy brought out their shields.

The Dark King’s cavalry were already wearing thick armor. Whether a crossbow could pierce it from thirty paces—and whether a bolt that did pierce it could inflict enough damage—was anyone’s guess.

Rather than hope the volley would kill many, he’d rather hope the crossbows’ impact would knock some riders from their horses and throw the formation into chaos.

For that purpose, it made little difference whether the bolts hit shields or armor. By trying to avoid the shields, the crossbowmen had only weakened their volley.

The shields they carried were enormous. Held in front of the horses, they covered the horses’ heads and half the riders’ bodies. How could anyone hope to avoid them?

The eight thousand bolts flew either too high or too low, making the volley pointless.

In this exchange, the side that had come prepared won a decisive victory.

The crossbows’ failure didn’t discourage Lao San.

He had a comprehensive plan for countering cavalry. The crossbows’ main purpose was to throw the enemy into disarray.

Reducing the damage dealt by the enemy vanguard wasn’t what would decide the battle. The real solution lay with the polearms and spears behind them.

Spearmen countering cavalry was just a rule in games; it wasn’t something to rely on.

If spearmen were so powerful, why bother spending all that time and effort training cavalry?

Still, a dense spear formation could indeed hinder an enemy charging head-on.

In Lao San’s strategy, the real counter to the enemy’s trump-card cavalry was the halberdiers.

Most long weapons on the continent had evolved from spears and halberds.

The spear needed no explanation: weapons like the guandao, the lance, and the pike were all variations on it. The halberd’s descendants, meanwhile, included unusual weapons like the ji, the poleaxe, and the hooked sickle spear.