The warhorse slammed into the shield, sending the shield-bearing soldier flying straight up, a great mouthful of blood spraying from his mouth in midair. But the horse's chest was immediately pierced by spears. It fell with a mournful cry, throwing its rider from the saddle. After hitting the ground, the rider never rose again.
The cavalrymen in the first rank had essentially perished alongside the enemy infantry, but their sacrifice had meaning. The arrowhead formation of cavalry successfully crashed into the enemy ranks and continued driving deeper like a sharp blade.
Watching the cavalry ahead have their horses killed by spears before the riders themselves were hacked to death by the enemy, Ronan did not waver in the slightest. He was extraordinarily calm, lowering his body, clamping his arms tight, and firmly controlling both his warhorse and lance.
His leveled lance drove straight through an enemy soldier's body and burst out the other side. Ronan's arm remained as steady as a mountain, without the slightest tremor, as he continued forward. Only after the lance had skewered four enemy bodies like a string of kebabs and finally snapped under the strain did Ronan unfasten the spiked Chain Mace at his waist and the shield hanging from his saddle, then continue charging with the main force.
Yet the cavalry ultimately failed to punch straight through the enemy formation. After charging more than halfway through, the momentum of their assault was finally spent, and they ground to a halt. The infantry behind them had also followed the cavalry into the city, pouring continuously through the breach torn open by the riders, poised to split the enemy forces apart.
The cavalrymen ahead fell one after another, and Ronan soon became part of the new front rank. He swung his Chain Mace twice through the