With the appearance of that blue spruce battle banner and the echo of blaring bugles, the balance of power on the battlefield was instantly turned completely upside down.
The Sauron soldiers, who moments ago had looked like ferocious demons ready to drown the remnants of Carnford's forces, collapsed in an instant.
"Run! Carnford's reinforcements are here!"
"It's the Dragon Cavalry! Run!"
"Horses! Where are my horses?!"
On the road and among the hills, the cries of battle did not cease, but their prevailing rhythm had already changed.
Those Sauron soldiers lucky enough to survive at the front no longer spared a thought for the corpses and wounded comrades carpeting the ground. Like birds flushed by a hunter's gun, they cast aside their helmets and armor and fled for their lives.
There was only one thought in their minds: find their horses and escape this valley of death, which had been full of hope for victory moments ago but had now become a graveyard of flesh and blood! Honor, rewards—before cold death, all of it vanished into nothing. When an army was defeated, it truly collapsed like a mountain.
The first to sweep into the battlefield like a torrent of steel were the Dragon Cavalry led by Lyon.
Traveling light and riding without pause, they had finally arrived at the very last moment.
Yet when Lyon charged up the slope at the head of his men and reined in his horse to look down upon the small fan-shaped position below, even this veteran general, who had endured most of Carnford's bloody battles and seen death in every form, could not help sucking in a cold breath. He was stunned where he sat.
What battlefield was this? It was clearly a slaughterhouse of flesh and blood, freshly ravaged by the most violent