Gela stood toward the rear of the Krad People's formation, his hands and feet icy cold as he trembled with nerves.
Though still young, this was not his first invasion of the Redka Empire's Northern Frontier. During their previous raids, they had successfully carried away considerable supplies, and Gela had also been lucky enough to survive several years of terrible winters.
Clutching a wooden club studded with spikes, Gela felt that he was almost frozen stiff. He had to seize enough supplies. Whenever he thought of the Redka People's delicacies and beautiful women that he had enjoyed last winter, a burning heat filled his heart.
After living in a constant state of hunger, he could only occasionally eat his fill after successfully raiding the Northern Frontier. A full stomach was not merely a blessing to him; it was also a luxury beyond the reach of the frontier's commoners.
In this era of low productivity, aside from freemen, few people could retain enough food to last a year after paying the taxes owed to their lords. They had to gather wild vegetables and other food to fill their bellies.
That was why serfs were usually short and frail. Even so, their bodies were still far better nourished than those of the Krad People.
"Kill them!" shouted a tribal minor chief beside Gela, waving his weapon. His face had turned bright red from the cold and excitement.
He watched as members of his own tribe fell one after another beneath the enemy spears. Every time a spear swept out, another Krad person collapsed. Meanwhile, when their weapons struck the enemy, they were blocked by the leather and chain armor worn by Reiner's regular troops stationed here, making it difficult to inflict any damage.
A small amount of blood appeared on the snow, like scarlet pearls dripping onto the ground one by one. It added a splash of color to this monotonous frozen wasteland.
By this point, the close-quarters battle had cost the Krad People nearly forty or fifty men. Sweat seeped from Gela's cold palms. He had to switch the club to his other hand and wipe his right hand against the animal hide on his body.
He licked his pale, malnourished lips. Many of the tribal warriors ahead had already fallen, and it would soon be his turn to face the enemy directly.
Gela had always been confident in his luck and strength. He did not believe he would happen to die at the enemy's hands. He thought he would survive the battlefield as usual, carrying rich spoils home to enjoy with his family.
"For the tribe!" Gela shouted, raising the wooden club tipped with animal teeth. The tribal warrior in front of him had already fallen beneath a Redka spear.
The Morland Army was also having a difficult time. In barely five minutes, they had lost nearly twenty men, with many more wounded. Of course, most of the wounded were serfs and some freemen who lacked armor. Reiner's Morland Army had suffered relatively little loss.
Gela swung his wooden club at an enemy in front of him. He had noticed that the man's leather armor was somewhat damaged and believed this blow would inflict serious harm.
"Uh... what happened?" Gela stared blankly at the unharmed enemy before him, apparently unable to react.
"Damn Krad!" The Morland Family soldier in front of Gela snarled. The blow had indeed hurt a little, but with chain mail on the outside, warm leather armor beneath it, and a thick gambeson underneath that, he had suffered virtually no damage.
With equipment like this, even the Morning Stars used by knights would have difficulty harming them, unless the attacker was mounted and used the horse's momentum to strike.
How could the animal-toothed wooden clubs used by the Krad People compare with Morning Stars? As a result, they had suffered almost no injuries.
The Northern Frontier could not compare with the empire's heartland in population, technology, or productivity. Its one advantage, however, was that it produced large quantities of iron.
A full suit of chain mail could sell for as much as five gold coins in the heartland. Here in the north, Reiner could even equip half of his ordinary soldiers with iron chain mail.
A soldier serving a heartland lord was doing well if he could wear a gambeson. Many knights could only fight in combined leather-and-chain armor, while the serfs could do nothing more than take up manure forks and wooden clubs.
"Go to hell, sinful Krad! Let the Holy Father judge your crimes!" the soldier snarled before driving his spear viciously into the other man's chest.
Gela's face filled with shock. A terrible pain erupted in his chest, then cold air rapidly rushed in. A warm stream flowed over his body, giving him a rare sensation of warmth.
But after that brief happiness, weakness surged through him. His vision blurred, and he quickly lost consciousness, collapsing onto the cold snow.
A young life had fallen on the northern plains just like that. He was only one of the soldiers who had died. After seven or eight minutes, the Krad People had already left more than a hundred and fifty corpses on the ground.
Yet their numbers still appeared immense. In a battle that seemed to be an absolute rout, the assumption that an army would collapse after losing one-tenth of its forces was clearly unrealistic.
The soldier who had killed Gela withdrew his two-meter spear and impassively continued facing the enemies still charging forward one after another, as though that Krad person had not just died by their hands.
The freemen also fought the enemy with the spears in their hands. Only the conscripted serfs held manure forks and pickaxes, nervously circling their opponents. Even with the regular army cutting down large numbers of enemies, the fewer than two hundred of them still teetered on the verge of collapse beneath the Krad People's assault.
By then, Reiner had led the remaining thirty regular infantrymen and the knights to the Krad People's rear flank. The Highlander chief had been watching their movements the entire time, and the soldiers in the rear had already turned around to face them.
The red iris-lion banner of the Moreland Family snapped in the biting wind. Fine snow was swept up by the gale, brushing against the knights' armor, their warhorses, and the heraldic pennants on their lances. They advanced across the snow carrying lances more than four meters long. None of this escaped the enemy's notice. In such a small-scale war, every deployment was plain to see, which was also why nobles placed such importance on personal valor.
Reiner drew a breath and looked at the enemy waiting in formation behind them. His brow furrowed slightly. If they launched a surprise attack on the enemy's rear according to the original plan, its effectiveness would inevitably be reduced.
After some consideration, Reiner said to Sir Valas, "Here! Launch the assault on the enemy!"
Knights possessed immense combat power and did not necessarily need to charge from behind the enemy. The enemy's flank was completely undefended, so striking from the side at this moment would inflict tremendous damage.
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