Reinforcements and the Final Battle
The early chill of the grassland seeped into his armor. Victor licked his chapped lips, tasting the rust and scabs. Three days and nights of fighting had left the gentle slope in front of the camp covered with a carpet of corpses. When the autumn wind blew, the Barbarians round shields, studded with arrows, emitted a mournful hum. He raised his hand to press the lacerated wound on his left shoulder, finding that the bandage had long been soaked brown with blood.
"Our arrow reserves are running low and will be exhausted next time. However, our crossbows are mostly ruined, with many strings broken. Fortunately, our archers can still carry the weapons and serve as infantry, which can provide some fresh troops." Pim walked over, leaning on a broken spear. The fierce man's upper body was wrapped in blood-soaked burlap.
"The Heavy Crossbow units aren't doing well either. Of their last seventeen Bed Crossbow, thirteen strings broke, and the rest... Iron Birch Territory has used up all the Heavy Crossbow they've accumulated over five years. But my soldiers are also excellent; they're competent Pikemen when they pick up a spear. Give us some spears. The Second Legion's infantry must have suffered heavy losses as well."
"Our Cavalry is doing alright. The First and Second Regiments are unscathed, but the Light Cavalry of the Third Regiment suffered heavy losses. Baron Brown was also wounded and is currently in the wounded and sick camp."
"That's enough." Victor interrupted the report, the hands of his brass pocket watch stopped at 6:15 PM— Count Colt's main force should have broken through the Barbarians's last line of defense. He looked southeast at the billowing dust, a sandstorm raised by the fierce battle between the Barbarians's 30,000-strong blocking force and the Northern Alliance Army cavalry.
Beside the wreckage of Viscount Benjamin's carriage, Viscount Benjamin was peeling an apple with his broken sword. "Young man, this old bone of mine can still serve as bait," he tossed a piece of apple, his right hand, missing a ring finger, trembling slightly. "Back in Rose Valley..."
"Your era has ended." Victor suddenly drew his sword and cleaved the incoming arrow, the apple blossoming in mid-air with blood. Twenty paces away, three Barbarians scouts, just rising from a pile of corpses, were riddled with arrows by crossbowmen.
After the leader of the Barbarians central army was replaced by the Blood Scorpion Chieftain of the Scorpion Tribe, the offensive became even more intense.
As twilight, like blood, soaked the wasteland, the horns of the Barbarians all-out attack once again ripped through the sky. Victor mounted his horse, and Grape's steel visor reflected the towering flames— the Barbarians' newly made siege towers, their Catapult hurling burning grass balls at the wagon formation.
"Pour the rest of the Fire Oil over the corpse!" Viscount Benjamin roared, his voice booming, showing no sign of injury.
The burning corpses formed a wall of fire, temporarily halting the Barbarians infantry. Victor seized the opportunity to ride through the hidden gate of the wagon formation, where eight hundred Heavy Cavalry were already arrayed in the shadows. Ron was bandaging his severed arm with his teeth when he saw Victor, grinning to reveal his bloodstained teeth. "The Second Regiment still has seven hundred and seventy-three riders left, enough to rip out the Blood Scorpion Chieftain's intestines to use as reins."
"The First Regiment can still field 1,481 riders, all good lads, capable of ripping the Blood Scorpion Tribe's barbarians out of their guts." Raymond's left arm was empty, but the look in his single eye remained fierce.
"We don't want guts." Victor raised his sword, its blade reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. "We want time."
The chaos within the Barbarians main force was far greater than anticipated. When Victor's cavalry pierced the flanks like sharp blades, the steppe warriors who had been fighting for three days didn't even have time to turn around. Grape's Iron Hoof crushed the skull of a Legion Commander, and Victor, in the process, deflected two curved swords. The mantra for changing formations from Qi Jiguang's Mandarin Duck Formation from his previous life suddenly exploded in his mind.
"Arrowhead to Crane Wing formation!" He swung his sword, drawing an arc of light. The cavalry instantly split into two, the armored torrent carving crisscrossing trenches of blood into the enemy ranks. Raymond's mace shattered bronze shields, and the burly man even wielded a severed enemy's intestines like a meteor hammer.
"Southeast!" Ron suddenly roared. Victor turned and saw the Barbarians banner retreating, and the commander under it, wearing a golden nose ring, was none other than Blood Scorpion Tribe, chieftain of the Scorpion Tribe. He immediately turned his horse around, his sword slicing through the rain of arrows. "Capture the king!"
Two thousand cavalry charged forward like a venomous dragon, their hooves crushing the wounded soldiers' entrails into the frozen ground. James's Heavy Cavalry suddenly emerged from the flank, a contingency plan Victor had prepared—the two iron torrents converged before the royal banner, scattering the Guard Corps into disarray.
"Golden Sunflower!" Blood Scorpion Chieftain's sword cleaved through two Cavalry, the blade just half an inch from Victor's throat. The Grape Man reared up, his Iron Hoof striking the warhorse squarely in the eye socket.
With the help of the Combat Assistance System, Victor activated all his muscles, leaping directly off the Grape and thrusting at the Blood Scorpion Tribe. The sword pierced through three layers of leather armor and plunged into his heart.
The moment the Scorpion King's banner fell, the entire battlefield seemed to freeze. Then, a tsunami-like roar came from the southeast— Count Colt's main force had finally broken through the blockade, and the Iron Knights of Iron Birch Territory surged over the hills like a silver tide.
"Change horses!" Victor kicked aside a Barbarians warrior and leaped onto his spare warhorse. The black horse belonged to Baron Brown, and a half-empty bottle of ale was still tied to its saddle. He ripped the rope from the ale flask, pouring the liquor onto his sword. "Second Legion! Arrowhead Formation!"
The final charge unfolded under the moonlight. The Barbarians troops, like sheep driven by wolves, fell in droves amidst the pincer attack from the main force. Raymond, caught up in the frenzy, even ripped open the throat of a Centurion with his teeth; Ron, with his battle flag tied to his arm, terrified the Barbarians wherever he went.
At the darkest hour before dawn, Victor stood before the golden tent of Chieftain Bloodhoof. Inside, piles of gold vessels reflected the firelight, and in the center lay the jewel-encrusted coffin, where he had pierced the heart of Chieftain Bloodhoof.
Suddenly, Pim's roar came from outside the tent. When he rushed out, he saw the last Barbarians assassins lighting a gunpowder barrel. The blast wave knocked him over, and memories of his past and present lives flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.
When Victor awoke amidst the pile of corpses, the rising sun was scorching the eastern clouds. His chainmail was tattered, but his pocket watch was still ticking. Not far away, Raymond was skewering horse meat with a short spear; the burly man's wounds were already scabbed over.
"How much is left?" The voice was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own.
"The Iron Birch Territory's Cavalry quickly helped us scatter the Barbarians army, and many of our brothers who lost their horses and were wounded survived." Ron walked over carrying a water bag. "However..." He pointed to the horizon, where the surviving soldiers of the Second Legion were regrouping their wagon formations, and the Golden Sunflower battle flag fluttered in the wind atop the Barbarian King's Tent.
Viscount Benjamin's carriage wheel was down to half its original length, so he simply rode a packhorse and patrolled the camp.
Baron Brown's maniacal laughter suddenly erupted. He sat on a wooden barrel, drinking, his Silver Fox cloak torn into a fishing net. "Victor! I never thought I'd survive to continue drinking fine wine."
Victor struggled to his feet. The Sun was slowly rising. The most difficult moment was finally over, and now it was time to enjoy the comfort of victory.