The thunder of hooves echoed.
Though there were only five cavalrymen, they somehow created the terrifying illusion of an army of thousands.
Hans, wearing a Winged Helmet, silently raised his lance and formed the two rear points of a small wedge formation with three Winged Hussars.
They were drawing ever closer to the enemy.
Yet at this critical moment, a thought suddenly arose in his mind: if his instructor ever learned that he had become the captain of the Winged Hussars, that old fossil's expression would surely be priceless.
No, it would be even more interesting if my lord dragged his instructor over to personally train these Winged Hussars and had them wear cross insignias!
Leonard had only just reached the hillside.
After hesitating for only a moment, he hurriedly began dismantling the carriage shafts behind the packhorse.
"Poor old Leonard, you'll surely die here today, but you can't just stand by and watch the Son of God chosen by the Heavenly Father return to heaven before your very eyes."
"That is something only Judas would do. Old Leonard must become my lord's Saint James—the first of the Twelve Apostles to be martyred."
He muttered incessantly as he struggled to pull a lance from behind the carriage compartment and hoist it onto his shoulder.
"Son of God, I'm coming!"
No one paid him any heed.
Amid the chaos of the battlefield, no one could hear his fear-laced roar.
These steel-clad knights wielding lances were like sharp hot knives, effortlessly carving through the nomad cavalry's formation as though it were butter.
At such close range, the horse archers could only loose a single volley.
And a single volley of poorly aimed arrows could not possibly pierce the cavalrymen's armor.
Perhaps in desert terrain, using guerrilla tactics, Crusader knights truly were no