It was dusk. The routed Locke people fled in blind panic, driven together from all directions by the Holy Cross people's armies.
The blood-red setting sun was almost glaring.
The spring wind still carried a trace of chill.
Iron armor clashed, rattling loudly.
The noble officer rode his Warhorse to a rise and began surveying the battlefield.
At least one or two thousand routed Locke people—no small military achievement.
Among the Locke people's banners were a few Triangular Flags, swaying crookedly in the spring breeze.
Several groups of routed soldiers from different units were mixed together in utter disorder, even worse than peasant levies.
The only pity was that he could not claim all this credit for himself.
The Holy Cross people's forces drawn in by the routed soldiers actually outnumbered the Locke people two to one.
Not far away, his colleagues had already begun beating their war drums impatiently.
The pounding drums made people restless.
Several knights rode on Warhorses, shouting as they drove the soldiers forward.
The soldiers, who had been running for half the day, were somewhat exhausted, but the coming victory and the officers' promise of extra food still lifted their morale somewhat.
"We have to attack too. We can't let them take all the heads."
The noble officer ordered his knights to beat their war drums as well.
In an instant, the commanders of several forces all impatiently directed their troops forward.
Meanwhile, concealed by the lingering glow of dusk, the few cavalry in the woods behind the routed soldiers were making their final inspections.
Under the Holy Cross Kingdom's tight blockade, it was impossible to conceal a large force in ambush.
Grand Duke Fernandez was no fool; he could easily detect the movement of armies.
But an elite Knight Order of several hundred men