Rout

The next morning, the early summer sun already carried a hint of scorching heat. Though the temperature was not especially high, standing beneath the direct sunlight still left one feeling hot and restless.

Victor was leading a small squad of Light Cavalry as they prowled around the outskirts of the battlefield. They wore light armor and carried spears and shields, vigilantly watching their surroundings.

Their mission was to screen the battlefield and hunt down messengers coming out of Lavork.

These messengers were Marquis Mora's crucial link to the outside world, carrying intelligence and orders from the battlefield.

Victor knew full well that cutting off the messengers' communications would effectively weaken Marquis Mora's fighting strength.

Therefore, he led the Light Cavalry through the outskirts of the battlefield, searching for traces of the messengers.

At times, they stopped to listen for distant sounds; at others, they galloped swiftly to evade enemy pursuit. Marquis Mora had also dispatched his few remaining Light Cavalry to sweep the area. Both sides understood the importance of this battle and did everything they could to improve their odds of victory.

Victor constantly encouraged his men, keeping their confidence and courage intact.

Under his leadership, the Light Cavalry gradually adapted to the battlefield and began to display their combat strength. They crushed two groups of enemy Light Cavalry escorting messengers in succession, but unfortunately, the intercepted messengers carried no useful intelligence.

"Young Master, looks like these were decoys." Santos urged his warhorse forward and caught up to Victor.

"Yes. It seems Marquis Mora has already received news that Baron Colt is moving south." Victor sighed after speaking.

It seemed the Northern Prefectures Coalition had already made contact with Marquis Mora, and the two sides had begun coordinating their intelligence exchanges, Victor thought.

After a brief consideration, Victor gave the order. "We'll head to the northern highlands and find a forest to rest the horses."

"Yes." The nearby Light Cavalry immediately obeyed and passed the order to the rear.

Victor turned his horse around and took the squad north.

Some time later, they arrived at an unnamed small hill roughly ten li from the battlefield.

The Light Cavalry dismounted in orderly fashion to rest and organize their gear. Several soldiers tended to comrades wounded in the recent fighting. Instead of bandages, they used large bamboo leaves, a specialty of the Bitter Bamboo Viscountcy. These leaves had a unique effect on external wounds, eliminating inflammation, disinfecting them, and promoting healing.

Victor fell slightly into a daze at the sight.

He had been in this world for more than five years now, and in most respects, it felt much like Earth. Physical constants such as gravity were also similar.

Yet there were many miraculous plants and animals that could not be explained by natural evolution. Even the humans of this world possessed exceptional physical qualities. Noble children like Victor, who had trained since childhood, could lift two hundred kilograms with one hand, run a hundred meters in under ten seconds, and cover fifty kilometers without collapsing from exhaustion. Every one of them could be called a superhuman.

There was also the Iron Birch native to Baron Colt's territory, a miraculous plant that was half metal and half vegetation. Its bark resembled a light alloy, tough and resilient enough to be used as armor material. A suit of Iron Birch bark armor weighed only a quarter as much as plate armor with equivalent defense. It was thanks to this unique plant that the Baron had built a force of Iron Knights with defense and charging power comparable to heavy cavalry, yet far greater mobility.

Then there was the Golden Sunflower of Victor's family, a plant resembling a sunflower but with an extraordinarily high oil yield. The seeds from one mu of land could produce two tons of Sunflower Oil, usable both as food and fuel. It could truly be called a specialized fuel plant.

And then there were the warhorses they rode, a specialty of the Northern Barbarians known as Wind Howler Horses. Their cries were unpleasant, but their endurance was astonishing. Their hooves were hard and resistant to wear, so they did not even need horseshoes. They could carry a Light Cavalry rider for a hundred kilometers without food or water.

These miraculous plants and animals made Victor intensely curious about this world. If they had clearly not evolved naturally but had instead been artificially altered and optimized, where had they come from? What other secrets lay buried in this world?

Victor then shook his head and took a deep breath. Uncovering the truth of this world was certainly enticing, but what mattered most now was finishing this war and surviving it.

Deputy squad leader James and Santos walked toward Victor.

"Victor, what do you think? Tell us—do we have a chance to kick the Mora Allied Army's ass?" James waggled his eyebrows at Victor.

"We're the ones about to get our asses kicked," Victor replied irritably.

"Young Master, do you mean the coalition stationed in the north has already arrived?" Santos asked with a grave expression.

"This is too abnormal. Marquis Mora sent out his last remaining cavalry, yet they merely traded losses with us. They had no intention of breaking through and getting their messengers out," Victor said.

"That's true. Under normal circumstances, those Light Cavalry should have protected the messengers while retreating. Instead, they neither avoided nor evaded us when they saw us." James stroked his chin as he pondered.

"So we came here to spot the Northern Coalition of Nobles early?" James asked next.

"Our squad has fought twice already. We started with more than sixty men, and now we have barely over forty left. Many are wounded. Taking the initiative to scout ahead would be suicide." Victor looked at James as if he were an idiot.

"So, Young Master, you think the Northern Alliance will not enter the battlefield from the north?" Santos immediately understood.

"That's right. Look at the map." Victor unfolded the campaign map in his hands.

"To the east of Lavork is our main formation, where Grand Duke Jola has stationed his three personal legions and one Central legion. After receiving news yesterday that the Northern Alliance was moving south, the Grand Duke placed the three Eastern Allied Army legions and one Central legion on the right wing, which is north of Lavork, right in our direction. To deal with the enemy coming south, the left wing is at its weakest, with only half a personal legion and one Central nobles legion. After all, there are no forces south of Lavork capable of reinforcing it. This deployment makes it easiest to spread out and encircle Lavork. If I were in Lavork, I would not charge directly south either. That leaves only one direction to choose—the left wing of our army, where we are weakest." Victor's tone was certain.

"That makes sense. It has to be you, Victor. No wonder my father told me to follow you." James laughed heartily.

"But, Young Master, you do not understand Count Colt." Santos spoke seriously.

"Count Colt is exceptionally skilled at using cavalry. The Northern Barbarians along the northern border have caused no major disturbances all these years because Count Colt regularly organizes cavalry raids deep into the grasslands during spring and autumn, sweeping through barbarian tribes near the border. At the same time, he controls several barbarian tribes that provide him with soldiers, horses, and livestock. The cavalry of Count Colt's territory, especially the Iron Knights, are renowned throughout the north." Santos paused before continuing.

"Entering the battlefield from the south would indeed strike directly at the weak point, but south of there lie the Southern Border Marshlands. Its rivers and waterways are densely woven together, making it unsuitable for cavalry maneuvers. The Wind Howler Horses of the northern grasslands are also unsuited to such an environment, which would weaken their overall combat strength. Count Colt would never allow that to happen," Santos continued.

"Did Father gather this intelligence?" Victor asked.

"Yes, Young Master. You know the master has always wanted to advance further and turn our barony into a viscountcy. That was why he responded to Grand Duke Jola's call and joined the coalition this time. Besides their normal trade duties, the territory's merchant caravans are also tasked with gathering intelligence. In particular, every year he sends caravans north to sell oil and trade it for horses, maintaining our territory's cavalry force. Bria County in the north is one of our key intelligence-gathering regions. The master has compiled all this intelligence over many years." Santos spoke with reverence.

"So that's how it is." Victor rubbed his brow.

"In that case, the best point of entry should be the eastern side of the battlefield, striking directly at the main formation. Count Colt has quite the nerve." Victor summed it up.

Suddenly, a cavalryman galloped over from the distance.

"Captain, look to the southeast!" he shouted as he rode.

Victor raised his head and looked into the distance. Thick clouds of dust were rolling across the southeast.

They're here. So soon. His heart lurched.

"Move!" Victor immediately gathered everyone, mounted up, and galloped toward the main formation.

After riding at full speed for roughly a quarter of an hour, Victor led the squad to a highland.

More than ten thousand cavalrymen had appeared behind the main formation, stretching as far as the eye could see. At the forefront were knights in pitch-black heavy armor, raising banners bearing the Iron Birch emblem. They were the famous Iron Knights.

The heavily armored knights brandished spears and shields, their shouts shaking the heavens. Their warhorses were tall and powerful, their hoofbeats like thunder. In an instant, the black knights broke through the formation. After charging through, they split into two groups, wheeled around, and continued battering the ranks.

Under the charge of the black heavy cavalry, the troops of the main formation were cut apart like straw beneath a black sickle, melting away like snow beneath boiling water.

"They've already collapsed? It's only been a quarter of an hour. Too fast." Victor was drenched in sweat.

A quarter of an hour was not a short amount of time, but on a battlefield of such immense scale, it was far too short.