When the fiery blossoms of the North Wind Rockets bloomed across the battlefield, the Retalians finally lost and broke.
With heavy cannons behind them, rockets cutting off reinforcements, masses of heavy infantry ahead capable of standing firm against knightly charges, and troops exhausted by half a day of fighting, the knights of Raitelia had done all they could.
The surviving squires and infantry broke first.
They threw down their weapons, screamed in terror, and turned to flee at any cost, desperate to escape this life-devouring inferno. The chaos snowballed, scattering the small pockets of resistance that had still been struggling to hold.
Then, deprived of the cover provided by their squires and archers and crossbowmen, more knights succumbed to panic.
Their warhorses had long since been terrified beyond endurance by the relentless cannon fire and explosions. Now, with their riders' resolve crumbling, they went completely out of control. Some knights were thrown from their saddles and instantly swallowed by the chaotic crowds.
Others were carried blindly toward the flanks or rear by their panicked mounts, only to crash into more retreating infantry, causing still greater chaos and trampling.
The entire southern assault force collapsed like a punctured balloon, deflating and scattering in an instant. Green Hegrande uniforms poured out from the defensive line like a tide, pursuing, dividing, and encircling enemies who had lost the will to fight.
Cries of battle, tearful pleas for surrender, and dying wails replaced the war cries of charging knights.
Yet amid this flood of collapse, a few figures remained, like rocks standing against a raging current.
They were the surviving knight lords still holding their square banners or family coat-of-arms pennants aloft, along with the most loyal and valiant household knights and squires gathered around them.
They saw the collapse and the despair, and