Forest

On September 6, the expeditionary force continued its march. Vitus prepared two extra bags of fresh water, hanging them beneath his saddle; whenever he felt drowsy, he would splash his face to avoid falling asleep during the march.

Suddenly, a faint scream drifted from the woods to the northeast. Vitus initially suspected it was a hallucination. The next moment, a continuous swarm of birds took flight from the forest, startling him into full alertness.

"Enemy ambush! Form ranks!"

He drew his longsword, ordered the artillerymen to load grapeshot, and had the infantry push the supply wagons to the sides of the road to serve as barricades. Within moments, the wailing grew from distant to near, and surviving scouts scrambled out of the woods, shouting that the forest was teeming with enemies.

Not only that, but a massive crowd of Milanese soldiers surged down the hillside to the west of the road, sweeping down like a mountain torrent.

The artillerymen scrambled to load grapeshot, but the enemy had already charged within ten paces, close enough that the ferocious expressions on their faces were clearly visible.

Bang!

The cannons fired in sequence. Scorching projectiles tore through breastplates and iron helmets. The Milanese soldiers at the forefront fell in rows, and the momentum of their charge plummeted instantly.

As the line stabilized slightly, Vitus climbed onto a wagon and discovered that the expeditionary force was mired in chaos. Some units had formed defensive circles on the spot, while others had been routed. Commanders shouted until their voices grew hoarse, but the fleeing soldiers paid no heed, desperate to escape in whatever direction they deemed safe.

At the rear of the column, the Rotten Herring Mercenary Group instinctively formed a defensive circle, their spears and halberds creating a hedge of steel, yet their formation was disrupted by the stampeding supply train. Frightened mules and horses dragged wagons in a wild frenzy. Wine barrels tumbled to the ground, and dark red liquid mingled with blood to form eerie streams.

"Artillery, continue loading and fire at will. Reorganize the routed soldiers fleeing into the wagon fort into squads of ten."

As more cannons were brought into the fray, Vitus temporarily defused the crisis. He arranged for half the soldiers to guard the wagon fort, then led the remaining troops in a southward Assault to rescue the Rotten Herring Mercenary Group, who were serving as the rearguard.

Soon, Vitus found a shaken Piero, who was holding a blood-stained longsword. His first words were, "Rescue the magistrate? Or should we run while we can?"

Ignoring the arrows flying overhead, Vitus grabbed Piero and pulled him onto the top of a supply wagon. "Look, most of the enemy is besieging the magistrate's center. Even so, the magistrate's banner still stands. This battle can still be won."

Uniting the Rotten Herring Mercenary Group and the other routed troops, Vitus commanded over two thousand men. He decided to take a gamble and launch an offensive against the Milanese forces on the northwest hillside, where the Visconti banner was raised.

"Venice has been winning consecutive victories on the front lines. Milan has limited reinforcements available, and I don't believe they have any reserves left. As long as we charge up that hill, this battle is won."

Vitus persuaded nearly a thousand men to join his risky endeavor and had the artillerymen drag two lightweight three-pounder cannons along. After walking for a distance, Piero pointed excitedly at a figure on horseback.

"Look closely. That fat man on the white horse wearing the purple cloak is Duke Filippo Maria Visconti. He's worth a massive ransom. Be careful when you strike—don't kill him."

Faced with a fortune worth hundreds of thousands of Florin, the mercenaries' morale soared. Ignoring the rain of arrows from the hillside, they charged forward, spears and halberds in hand.

Bang! Bang!

After two cannon blasts, the mercenaries roared and launched their charge, clashing with the well-equipped Milanese guards. Piero gripped his halberd, eyeing a Milanese pikeman who had overextended his thrust. The moment the man pulled back his pike, Piero stepped forward and hooked the shaft with his axe blade, yanking it hard. As the man stumbled and fell, his comrade to the right drove a halberd tip precisely into the gap in the target's neck armor. Blood sprayed onto the withered grass, carrying a pungent, metallic stench.

"Keep charging! Catch that fat man, and we won't have to work for the rest of our lives!"

Piero led a small group of elites in a desperate push, miraculously breaking through the Milanese guard. The Duke's mount was spooked by these crazed mercenaries and instinctively turned to flee. To escape the pursuit, the Duke tore off his purple cloak and galloped toward the northwest, soon vanishing from sight.

Vitus ordered his direct troops to cease the pursuit; two legs could never outrun four. He established an artillery position on the hilltop, bombarding the remaining Milanese forces until they retreated from the battlefield.

At noon, with the scorching sun hanging high, the survivors silently cleared the battlefield, scavenging for valuables among the piles of corpses. Ravens circled in the sky, calling to their companions to join in the feast.

Vitus headed toward the area where the center had been positioned. They had borne the brunt of the Milanese assault and suffered heavy casualties; winding streams of blood flowed slowly along the terrain, and in some places, the gore was deep enough to submerge one's feet.

Half an hour later, the surviving command staff of the expeditionary force gathered. Everyone's expression was grim, especially Piero, who was still reeling from the loss of the massive ransom.

Having been ambushed, the Albizzi's spirit was severely shaken. He had lost his former confidence and earnestly asked for everyone's opinion. When it was Vitus's turn, his answer mirrored the mainstream view:

"We are about to exit the Apennine Mountains. We might as well continue forward and find a suitable place to station ourselves long-term. Milan's defeat is a foregone conclusion; as long as we maintain a sizable army, we will have the standing to participate in post-war negotiations."

Since the command staff agreed to advance, the Albizzi led the troops in better condition further north. Two hours later, they encountered a Milanese camp. The enemy had already retreated, and numerous birds were pecking at scattered grains of wheat.

At five in the afternoon, the expeditionary force found and occupied a small town. Unexpectedly, a messenger from Visconti was waiting in the church. Representing the Duke, he proposed negotiations, offering terms that were quite tempting.

"No, Milan must surrender!" The Albizzi's command ability was mediocre, but he possessed exceptional political talent, and he found it impossible to trust the Duke of Milan from the bottom of his heart.

Filippo was treacherous by nature; in 1412, he had assassinated his own older brother, Gian Maria Visconti. Furthermore, Filippo had married a wealthy widow to obtain a dowry of 500,000 Florin, only to have her executed on charges of adultery once she had lost her utility...

By comparison, Venice was far more trustworthy.

The Albizzi expelled the messenger and arranged for soldiers to forage for food in the surrounding area, waiting for Venice to launch an offensive on the eastern front. They ended up waiting for three months.

During this period, Venice achieved consecutive victories. The mercenary commander Francesco Bussone felt that the war was ending too quickly, which was detrimental to his profits, so he deliberately slowed the offensive and used various excuses to delay the deployment.

In December 1423, the Venetian Senate compromised, issuing an additional bonus of 300,000 Ducat as compensation for the mercenaries fighting through the winter. The day after receiving the money, Bussone resumed the offensive, traveling upstream along the Po River and capturing Pavia with lightning speed.

With this, the Venetian army was only twenty miles away from Milan.