Medieval Gacha Lord
Chapter 96: Heavy Losses

Chapter 96: Heavy Losses

Chapter 96: Heavy Losses

The sun blazed fiercely. The battlefield was saturated with the stench of blood. Fallen warhorses and human corpses littered the ground, attracting vultures that circled in the sky, almost blotting out the sun.

Lothar said in Kurdish, "Eunuch, order your master’s men to stop fighting. Otherwise, I will kill them all. Surely you can see that we already hold the absolute advantage on this battlefield!"

The eunuch’s expression was calm, seemingly unconcerned by the perilous situation he was in. He bowed his head respectfully. "You are more than welcome to do so, because I have no authority to command the Prince’s personal guard, nor do I have any obligation to help His Highness the Prince save the only armed force that still supports him."

Zahir, beside him, his face changed dramatically. Indeed, Aleppo and Northern Syria were now in the hands of his uncle, Sayf al-Din. He had already lost his recruitment base. If he were to lose this personal Mamluk guard loyal to him, he would truly become a prince in name only. By then, let alone vying with his brothers for the right of succession, even retaking his original territory would become an impossibility.

So, Zahir quickly shouted, "I will have them stop! Leader of the Franks, let us immediately cease fighting and talk peace!"

Lothar sneered. "Cease fighting and talk peace? You are mistaken. What I want is unconditional surrender!"

Zahir shrieked, "No, impossible! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re planning! You intend to execute all my subordinates after they lay down their weapons! That’s something you Franks are capable of!"

Lothar’s tone was stern. "I swear in King Baldwin’s name, after you and your subordinates lay down your weapons and surrender, I will not harm your lives. As long as Saladin pays the ransom, I will send you back unharmed."

At this point, the situation had completely tilted in his favor. But this Mamluk personal guard under Prince Zahir was indeed exceptionally valiant. Every second they continued to fight, more Knightly Order soldiers would fall. If this went on, the Royal Knights’ already less-than-abundant resources would be severely depleted, and in the subsequent wars, they would likely only be able to watch from the sidelines.

"If you do not agree, I don’t mind killing them all either—after all, the blood debt for massacring the village must still be repaid!"

Seeing Zahir still hesitating, a fierce glint flashed in Lothar’s eyes.

"Ulm! Tie up this son of Saladin for me! The rest of you, continue fighting with me!"

The effects of Bloodfall had not yet ended. He intended to kill to his heart’s content! Besides, he was about to level up. To hell with benevolence and righteousness, and never mind any ill omens from killing captives.

On such a brutal battlefield, he no longer cared about anything; the baleful energy in his chest made him want to slaughter every enemy before him right now!

"No, no, no, I agree!" Zahir’s face was ashen, his original arrogance completely gone. "I will have them lay down their weapons!"

Lothar took a long, deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging hot blood. He restrained the "Too late!" that had almost escaped his lips and instead said, "You should be glad you made the correct choice."

Zahir said gravely, "I hope you will act as promised." He shouted orders to his personal guard, "Order everyone to retreat! Fall back to that mound over there and await my command! Do not engage these Franks any longer!"

After he spoke, the Mamluk cavalry who had still wanted to charge forward to rescue their master unhesitatingly began an orderly retreat.

Zahir then reminded Lothar, "Frank, you should also order your men to fall back. I swear upon the Holy Fire and the honor of Saladin’s son, I will keep my promise and not let them escape. But I do not wish for my guard to suffer needless slaughter because of this, lest both your honor and mine be shamed."

Lothar nodded. If Zahir had directly ordered his Mamluk cavalry to lay down their weapons, those on both sides who were already seeing red from battle would not have heeded such commands.

Zahir added, "Frank, you still haven’t told me your name?"

Lothar nodded slightly. "I am Lothar von Habsburg, King Baldwin’s direct vassal, Lord of Jorgklusburg, Grand Master of the Royal Knights."

Zahir pondered for a moment, then said very honestly, "Never heard of you. But I will inform my father that it was you who defeated and captured me."

"I am honored that your father will learn my name." Lothar nodded, then turned and left.

Zahir looked at his personal eunuch, whom he had always looked down upon in the past, and said with some remorse, "I’m sorry, Hari. I treated you so poorly, yet just now, you were still offering me counsel." Clearly, the eunuch’s sharp words earlier were precisely to remind Zahir.

Hari smiled bitterly. "You are an intelligent prince. Arrogance destroyed your reason. I hope this time, if we can return alive, you will be able to change."

Zahir said gravely, "I will. I definitely will!"

As the bugle sounded, the scattered fighting on both sides gradually ceased. The Mamluk cavalry retreated in an orderly fashion. Conversely, some Crusader knights, their eyes still red with battle lust, still roared and wanted to charge, but they were soon exhausted.

Napoleon once said that two Mamluks were undoubtedly more than a match for three Frenchmen; 100 Mamluks were equal to 100 Frenchmen; 300 Frenchmen could generally beat 300 Mamluks, and 1,000 Frenchmen invariably defeated 1,500 Mamluks.

This statement was used to describe the Mamluk cavalry’s valiant individual skill but poor organization.

In this era, however, it was precisely the opposite.

Compared to the well-trained Mamluk personal guard, Lothar’s Crusader knights, though somewhat superior in individual skill and morale, were a notch below in terms of organization.

And this was the Royal Knights, who had already undergone some targeted training; if it were other Crusader knights, the situation would only be worse.

"Clean the battlefield. Tally the casualties." Lothar said to Hans beside him, "Don’t just stand there in a daze. Go fulfill your duties as Commander."

"Prince Zahir, you may now order your subordinates to come forward and surrender. I will restrain my men and ensure they do not harm them."

Prince Zahir sighed deeply. "Alright."

He put his forefinger and thumb to his lips and blew a sharp whistle. The next moment, from the flock of vultures circling in the sky, a magnificent falcon swooped down.

Zahir looked at the eunuch. "Hari, bring me my paper and pen." He paused, then said to Lothar, "I will write two letters separately: one to my subordinates, ordering them to surrender, and another to my father, pleading with him to pay the ransom and retrieve me and my men."

"Write it in Kurdish. After you’ve finished, I want to read it over." Lothar warned, "Don’t try any tricks, and don’t even think about having your father send a large army to besiege us. I guarantee, before that happens, I will kill you all with my own hands!"

Zahir smiled bitterly. "My father is the greatest king in the Zoroastrian world. How could he, for the sake of a worthless son who has fallen into enemy hands, dispatch a large army deep into enemy territory to rescue him?"

Lothar nodded and said to Ulm and the others beside him, "Ulm, you take three Winged Hussars and ’protect’ our Prince Zahir closely, step for step. Allow no one to approach, not even our own men."

Though fanatics were relatively few in the Royal Knights, Lothar couldn’t guarantee there wasn’t someone like Raynald, who would rather break an oath and forgo ransom just to kill an infidel.

This wasn’t something that could be simply explained away as "madness."

After a couple of wars like this, enmity between the two sides was already quite deeply rooted. Who didn’t have a few close friends or relatives who had died at the enemy’s hands?

***

Subsequently, the Royal Knights set up camp in an oasis near the village. The battlefield had been cleared. Knightly Order sergeants were wielding iron shovels, intending to give their comrades a proper burial.

To Lothar’s surprise, his decision to make peace with Prince Zahir and have Saladin pay ransom for the captives did not elicit any dissatisfaction from anyone.

On one hand, ending a war honorably by exchanging ransom in this manner was a tradition in European warfare.

On the other hand, Lothar’s feat on the battlefield—personally leading the charge, directly capturing the enemy leader, and decisively settling the outcome—had already conquered all members of the Knightly Order. This was fully evident when he inspected the field hospital. Many wounded soldiers, even those who had a wounded leg, still struggled to stand up and salute Lothar.

’If only Uldin were here,’ Lothar thought with an inward sigh. Then he realized that even if Uldin were present, his spiritual power wouldn’t be enough to treat many people.

Seeing the actions of a "doctor," Lothar couldn’t help but curse, "He has already lost too much blood, and you still want to cut open his wound to let more blood? Are you afraid he isn’t dying fast enough? I warn you, don’t use that unreliable bloodletting therapy! Have you all forgotten the battlefield first aid techniques the Winged Hussar company taught you? The water source is right there! Get some boiled water for disinfection immediately!"

Lothar, furious, berated those "doctors," who looked more like butchers, for quite some time before finally leaving the field hospital.

Hans approached at the right moment, his face grim.

Lothar’s heart sank. "The tally is out?"

"Yes, Milord. We lost a total of eighty-six men. Among them, thirty-six cavalrymen and twelve knights. If the battle had continued, this number would only have been higher."

’Nearly half the cavalry dead...’ Lothar was silent for a moment, then asked, "What about the Winged Hussars and the Axe Guards? Are they included in that?"

"Yes, Milord. We lost four Winged Hussars. The Axe Guards suffered no fatalities, only two lightly wounded."

’Thank God...’ Lothar sighed lightly.

War makes one grow numb to life. If it were in the past, Lothar would have hated those who slaughtered the weak. But this time, the thought of "blood for blood" hadn’t even crossed his mind, even though Prince Zahir had just ordered the massacre of a village.

Maybe because it wasn’t his own fief that he didn’t feel anything.

But Lothar had to admit, compared to before, he had changed.

Hans lowered his voice and said, "Those slave cavalry are probably coming to surrender according to their master’s orders—Milord, when do we make our move?"

Lothar said with some resignation, "Hans, I am not an oath-breaker... at least, not this time."

’Huh? You are not?’ A flicker of shock passed through Hans’s eyes, then he said, "Milord, I understand your scruples. After all, we’ve suffered so many losses; we must get some compensation."

"As long as you understand." Lothar clenched his fists, then relaxed them. He said calmly, "Let’s go. We have to talk to them."

"Milord, should we take more men? That group of slave cavalry might also harbor the same thoughts I had."

Lothar shook his head. "No need. With just a few of us, it will actually be easier to escape if necessary. Besides, they wouldn’t dare to disregard their master’s safety."