Medieval Gacha Lord
Chapter 95: Kingdom-level Campaign

Chapter 95: Kingdom-level Campaign

Chapter 95: Kingdom-level Campaign

The situation on the battlefield began to descend into chaos.

For the vast majority of cavalry commanders, once they ordered their cavalrymen to charge, the rest had little to do with them. Because on this chaotic battlefield, armored cavalrymen with their narrow fields of vision simply couldn’t keep an eye on the standard-bearer’s flag at all times.

Many Knightly Order cavalrymen, holding lances adorned with square and swallowtail banners, only realized they had already passed through the Saracen cavalry after charging out of the fray and finding their view suddenly clear.

Square and swallowtail banners were marks used by French knights to distinguish between formal knights and squires, which is why the ceremony of "cutting the swallowtail" existed for knighting. But for German knights, there was no such particularity.

Lothar had already cut through the enemy formation by now. Blood dripped down his sword hilt; the weapons of many knights were already nicked and blunted. Only the Winged Hussars’ equipment was clearly superior.

He hadn’t even had a chance to catch his breath when he saw the enemy leader, who had been observing the battle from high ground at the enemy’s rear, now charging towards him with his personal guard.

A trace of weariness welled up in Lothar’s heart. In such a high-intensity combat, where it felt as if one would encounter enemies at every moment without any respite, human stamina was consumed far too quickly.

Though Lothar was relatively well-off; his stamina value had long surpassed the scope of ordinary men. The condition of the others would only be worse!

One had to remember, before this, they had already endured days of arduous marching and were not in peak condition.

He raised the arming sword in his hand and roared, "You’ve come at the right time!"

"Fringilla, Mass Bloodfall!"

"Roger that!" Fringilla, shrouded beneath her robe, her fair, slender hands clasped together, began to softly chant a spell in Old Transylvanian.

Lothar and his men, along with their already somewhat fatigued mounts, felt their blood begin to race, their hearts pounding violently from the high load. Perhaps after the battle, they would all be weak for several days. But right now, they only felt an inexhaustible energy coursing through their bodies.

"Charge with me!" Lothar shouted and, without waiting to see if everyone had heard clearly, once again took the lead, charging towards the enemy.

On the battlefield, actions conveyed one’s commands far more effectively than words. The Winged Hussars, their feather decorations stained with blood, and the other Crusader knights who had followed Lothar to this point, all roared and followed Lothar, launching another charge.

As a Crusader noble, and Grand Master of the Royal Knights, the best way to establish prestige was naturally to lead the charge personally!

A "Charge with me!" carried an entirely different meaning from a simple "Charge!"

At this moment, Lothar had no time to consider how great his side’s losses had been in the previous charge. This was a battle between regular armies; his opponents were elite Mamluks, not a rabble of desert bandits. He could sense that several familiar men were missing among the Winged Hussars, including a young lad who had become a Winged Hussar right after Ulm.

’This battle, I must win!’

He drew ever closer to the enemy. Lothar and the knights under his command, like a pack of wild beasts, smashed hard into the enemy formation.

The sound of steel crashing against steel, the sound of lances snapping, the screams and roars of men, echoed ceaselessly. Blood splattered. Men and horses tumbled. One after another, heavily armored cavalrymen fell, trampled to death by warhorses.

***

Ryan and Moder had undoubtedly chosen the most opportune moment to charge. They each led a small squad of Axe Guards as the vanguard, leading by example, incomparably valiant, bolstering the morale of the ordinary sergeants behind them.

These heavy infantrymen, clad in multi-layered chainmail and wielding two-handed axes, simply could not be harmed by the Saracen light cavalry’s arrows.

Seeing that under the leadership of the Axe Guards, those armored sergeants were about to surge forward and surround the Mamluk heavy cavalry who had just been locked in combat with the Crusader knights, the Saracen light cavalry, who had originally intended to use arrow fire to suppress and delay the Knightly Order’s sergeants, had their plan foiled.

They had no choice but to draw their spears and straight swords and charge towards the Knightly Order’s sergeants. Their mission was to hold back the Knightly Order’s sergeants before the Mamluk heavy cavalry could finish off the enemy’s cavalry, even if it meant sacrificing themselves.

This job should have been done by their own conscripts and armored infantry, but how could Zahir, venturing deep into enemy territory, possibly bring such cumbersome troop types?

"Die, you whelps!" Moder seized an opportunity, dodged the spear of a Saracen light cavalryman before him, ducked low, and swung the two-handed axe in his hands with all his might, viciously severing both legs of the man’s mount.

In an instant, horse and rider tumbled. The light cavalryman had just hit the ground when he was riddled with spears by a swarm of Crusader sergeants.

"Surround them! Surround them! We must tie down those Saracen heavy cavalry! We can’t give them another chance to charge!" Ryan roared, his voice hoarse. "Milord needs our help! All Axe Guards, sergeants of the Royal Knights! For Milord! For the honor of the Knightly Order! Attack!"

Many Crusader sergeants also began to fight desperately. They knew very well that without their cavalry, facing Mamluk heavy cavalry—who were skilled in both mounted archery and possessed devastating charge power—they would only be waiting for death. They had to support their own cavalry!

Moder, roaring in the heat of battle, yanked a Saracen light cavalryman from his horse and, with his fist covered by a chainmail gauntlet, smashed it repeatedly into the man’s face. Five or six heavy blows completely disfigured the man. His two-handed axe had long since been lost somewhere; he simply picked up the iron staff from the hands of this cavalryman and, howling, charged forward.

Behind him, the Axe Guards had truly become like land tanks. Their combat skills were adept, they coordinated with tacit understanding, and they wore heavy armor; they were simply beyond what this group of Saracen light cavalry could handle.

Those armored sergeants formed small, loose square formations, a forest of spears thrusting out, continuously advancing. These Saracen light cavalry simply couldn’t stop their charge.

Soon, the armored sergeants clashed with the enemy’s Mamluk heavy cavalry. They used their long spears to pull cavalrymen, who had lost room to maneuver, from their horses. Immediately, sergeants armed with short swords would pin down the fallen riders, rip off their helmets, and stab down viciously.

One sergeant, his face beaming with joy, had just donned a pointed helmet seized from a Mamluk cavalryman when he was pierced through the chest by another Mamluk.

These well-trained Mamluk cavalrymen, realizing they were being segmented and surrounded by Crusader sergeants, began to consciously regroup and withdraw.

Given even a slight opportunity, these elite slave cavalry were still not something these armored sergeants, who were mixed with a large number of hastily trained new recruits, could contend with.

***

At the front, as Lothar’s cavalry clashed with Prince Zahir’s personal guard, cavalrymen were repeatedly speared from their horses by enemy lances.

It was at this moment that the advantage of Lothar’s Winged Hussars over the knights of this era became apparent. Their movements were more agile, their combat skills more adept. The speed at which they reaped enemy lives even left a huge psychological scar on some battle-hardened Mamluk cavalrymen.

After this battle, they would report to Saladin thus: "Those feather-adorned Frankish demons! They wear no shields, yet they can perform all sorts of difficult maneuvers on horseback with great skill, like the most adept Turkic nomads! But their armor, gleaming so brightly it seems to reflect harsh light like a mirror, is so incredibly indestructible!"

The Mamluk personal guards simply couldn’t imagine how this exhausted army could erupt with such terrifying power, as if experiencing a final burst of life.

Lothar, drenched in blood, under the cover of Hans, Banu, and the Winged Hussars, finally fought his way to the enemy leader’s side. Looking at the other’s astonished expression, he brought his sword down viciously. His strength, enhanced by Bloodfall, combined with the fine sword forged by Marlus, actually snapped the gem-studded straight sword in his opponent’s hand in two right down the middle.

Suddenly losing his balance, the enemy leader stumbled and fell from his warhorse, rolling several times on the ground. Several Mamluk personal guards desperately tried to rescue him but were easily pierced through the throat by Hans’s swordsmanship, which was of almost divine skill.

"Don’t kill him! He is of noble birth!" the eunuch’s sharp voice shrieked, in perfect French although with an accent.

Lothar leaped from his warhorse, kicked Zahir onto his back, and pressed his arming sword against the man’s throat. He said in Kurdish, "Order your men to stop resisting immediately! Otherwise, I will cut this ’noble one’s’ throat!"

Zahir, lying on the ground, his face filled with unwillingness and fury, retorted, "Impossible! Kill me if you want! As Saladin’s son, I will never surrender to you despicable Frankish barbarians!"

He simply couldn’t understand. When he sparred with the court instructors, he could always gain the upper hand, and was even revered by his many Mamluk cavalrymen as "Aleppo’s Best Ghazi." He even possessed the rare falconer’s gift of being able to communicate with the Holy Fire. How could he possibly lose so ridiculously, like a helpless child, before this Frankish leader?

(Note: Ghazi is an Arabic word meaning "warrior" or "victor," particularly one who fights in holy war against infidels.)

He had no idea that he had just faced a terrifying force nearly four times that of an adult male. This strength was not much less than Hans’s in his normal state.

Furthermore, Lothar, drenched in blood, was like a god of slaughter, killing whomever he saw. The terrifying aura he had accumulated during his charge had already unnerved Zahir before he even reached him, preventing him from exerting even thirty percent of his skill. It would have been strange if he hadn’t lost.

Lothar paused. "Saladin’s son? Which one?"

The eunuch said, "It is az-Zahir, His Majesty’s most beloved son! You can exchange him for a high ransom, but please, you must not harm him!"

’Ding—’ The system’s notification sound chimed accordingly.

[You have officially participated in a Kingdom-level Campaign. Belligerents: Ayyubid Kingdom vs. Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Your faction: Kingdom of Jerusalem.]

[Your current contribution in this campaign is: 500. You are currently ranked third, after Count Raymond of Tripoli and Count Raynald of Oultrejordain.]

[After the campaign ends, rewards will be calculated based on whether the campaign is won or lost, and the degree of your contribution.]