I Became The King Of Crusaders [EN]: Chapter 93

The Scent of the Cross (3)

* * *

In Last Crusaders, each ethnicity, tribe, and region possessed its own distinct characteristics.

The defining traits of the Germanic knights and cavalry were simple:

‘Courage like a bull.’

They boasted higher morale and courage compared to the knights of France and England.

The Teutonic Knights and the knights of the Holy Orders from Germany, who would later rise to prominence, inherited these very traits.

However, such characteristics weren’t always advantageous.

Once a battle commenced, they proved difficult to control.

And they possessed a vulnerability to being easily lured into traps.

That was precisely what I was counting on.

Count Hartmann might have harbored suspicions.

But what about the knights and lords under his command?

They would have undoubtedly grumbled about hesitating to attack after the army of Jerusalem had retreated.

The princes of the Holy Roman Empire enjoyed considerable independence.

Moreover, this was a unit led by a mere count, not the emperor himself.

‘He couldn’t risk being branded a hesitant coward.’

In the warrior culture of the Middle Ages, cowardice was utterly unacceptable.

It was a legacy passed down from the barbarians who had once clashed with Rome.

‘The result is this.’

I surveyed the battlefield.

The Imperial knights, emboldened by their initial victory, had pursued the allied forces relentlessly.

The horses were weary and their pace had slowed, and the formations had become stretched and disorganized.

Now, it was our moment to intervene.

“Spread out as wide as possible! Encircle them!”

“Move as you’ve been trained! You sluggish bastards!”

The warhorses surged forward, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

The familiar rumble of the earth vibrated through the air.

I watched the unfolding scene with keen anticipation.

Hundreds of horses charged in perfect unison.

As I gently urged him forward with my legs, Bullt surged ahead.

He moved like a fish in water.

I carefully held the reins, preventing him from bolting too far ahead.

Even with my heightened senses [referring to a sixth sense or heightened awareness], I couldn’t afford to charge headlong into the enemy lines alone.

Now wasn’t the time for reckless close combat.

As I reined in my horse, the knights aligned themselves beside me in perfect synchronization.

Advancing ahead of us were the Turcopoles [lightly armed, Turkish or mixed-origin cavalry often employed by European armies].

In other words, the Turkic horse archers.

“Maintain your distance from them! Horse archers, forward!”

Wigg bellowed.

The vibrant flags representing each unit fluttered in the wind.

Responding to the command, each horse archer unit swiftly maneuvered into position.

A beautifully coordinated dance of war.

It was a testament to the grueling training they had endured.

Both the allied forces and the Imperial army appeared taken aback by our sudden appearance.

A mixture of emotions rippled through their ranks.

The allied forces, recognizing our banner, erupted in cheers.

“It’s the Holy Cross!”

“It’s Lord Baldwin’s army! They’ve returned to save us!”

They waved their arms and shouted with renewed hope.

Now it was the Imperial army’s turn to be thrown into disarray.

The sudden emergence of an enemy force from the forest.

And the imposing sight of a giant cross emblazoned on our banners.

It would have been strange if they hadn’t been caught off guard.

That was precisely the effect I had hoped to achieve.

There was no time for hesitation.

I signaled the attack.

“Reverse! It’s time to return the favor!”

The Turkic mercenaries, who had feigned retreat, wheeled around and charged towards the enemy’s front lines.

The horse archers, who had been concealed within the forest, emerged to encircle the flanks.

They enveloped the Imperial army from all sides, forming a deadly pair of wings.

It didn’t take long for the initial bewilderment to morph into sheer panic.

Wigg lowered his telescope and remarked.

“From this vantage point, it appears as though we’re observing Saracen horse archers in action.”

“It’s practically the same strategy employed by the Saracens [a term used in medieval Europe to refer to Arabs or Muslims].”

The famous Parthian shot [a military tactic where archers on horseback shoot backwards while retreating].

A tactic of loosing arrows backward and sideways while in full gallop.

The Turkic mercenaries were renowned masters of this technique.

Hundreds of years prior, the Roman legions under Crassus had been decimated by these very Parthian horse archers and cataphracts [heavily armored cavalry].

In reality, we didn’t possess a sufficient number of horse archers to execute a complete encirclement.

However, the knights and Holy Sepulchre knights effectively filled the gaps in the wings, reinforcing the formation.

‘To effectively counter this tactic, you need to deploy horse archers on the outside and knights at the rear….’

The Holy Roman Empire knights were caught completely unprepared.

The horse archers calmly maintained their distance, unleashing volleys of arrows whenever the Imperial knights attempted to charge.

The enemy’s horses were already showing signs of exhaustion.

Slowed horses were practically stationary targets.

The horse archers circled the enemy, showering them with a relentless hail of arrows.

Units that exhausted their supply of arrows would fall back to the forest, replenishing their quivers from the supply wagons.

Repeating this cycle endlessly.

“Don’t stop, keep shooting! Don’t give them a chance to recover!”

Arrows rained down, embedding themselves in the ground all around.

The scene resembled a hedgehog rolling across the prairie, leaving a trail of quills in its wake.

No matter how robust your armor, it offered little protection if you couldn’t even reach your adversary.

It wasn’t just the horse archers who were working tirelessly.

I constantly scanned the battlefield, issuing commands and adjusting our strategy.

“They’re going to attempt another charge. It appears they’re targeting the right flank this time.”

“I’ll dispatch additional reserves to reinforce that position.”

Wigg nodded in acknowledgment.

As he signaled, the flags were raised high, conveying the orders to the troops.

As the reinforcements swiftly moved into position, the enemies abandoned their attempt to break through on the right flank.

I relied on my heightened senses to anticipate their next point of attack.

All I had to do was bolster the defenses in that area.

If you can predict their movements, you can effectively counter them.

“We’re ready to finish them off. Just give us the order, Lord Baldwin!”

Some of the knights eagerly stepped forward, their voices filled with anticipation.

The Holy Sepulchre knights were even more vocal in their eagerness.

“We’ll join the fray as well!”

“Not yet! All you’ll accomplish is providing them with an opportunity to launch a counterattack.”

“Lord Wigg is correct! Everyone, maintain your positions! I will personally punish anyone who deviates from the line, even slightly!”

Wigg and Ruark both shouted in unison.

It’s a rare sight to witness those two in agreement.

“When the time is right, the Lord will issue the command!”

They all fell silent, returning to their designated positions.

I could sense the undercurrent of frustration and dissatisfaction simmering beneath the surface.

“It’s no wonder they’re so eager to engage.”

I commented.

They must be concerned about missing out on the spoils of victory.

That was the prevailing mindset in this era.

Being excluded from the battle was tantamount to being denied their share of the rewards.

They would inevitably be relegated to the back of the line when it came to distributing the spoils.

Even the knights and guardians, who adhered to a strict code of discipline and chain of command, were susceptible to such concerns.

“But individual actions are absolutely unacceptable.”

“Of course, Lord Baldwin.”

“The Holy Sepulchre Guard will also follow your orders without question, Lord.”

Wigg and Ruark affirmed.

I nodded in acknowledgment.

Each unit had to function as an extension of my own will.

That was the primary reason I had subjected them to such rigorous training in Jerusalem in the first place.

Reserves were crucial to thwart any potential breakthrough attempts or counterattacks.

A few hours.

In just a few hours, they would be utterly exhausted and their formation would crumble.

Would the Imperial knights willingly surrender?

That seemed highly improbable.

Eigg stood beside me, muttering under his breath.

“The outcome will be decided soon.”

“The outcome will be decided soon.”

I cast another glance across the battlefield.

Soon, I would know.

Whether we emerge victorious or suffer defeat.

* * *

“What the hell are you doing?! Break through the encirclement quickly!”

“Their encirclement is too dense! I can’t find any openings!”

The horses struck by arrows shrieked in agony, rearing up on their hind legs.

“Everyone who isn’t injured, gather in the center!”

Count Hartmann bellowed, brandishing his sword.

His chainmail was drenched in sweat and blood.

“Everyone to the center! Protect the Count!”

The knights converged around him.

They all looked to their superior, Count Hartmann, for guidance.

Even as they rallied, more knights succumbed to the relentless barrage of arrows, falling beneath their horses.

Chainmail offered limited protection, preventing arrows from penetrating but failing to mitigate the force of the impact.

“Oh, Lord! Have mercy!”

Some knights were dragged along the ground like discarded baggage, their feet entangled in their stirrups.

The stench of blood mingled with the acrid odor of fear, assailing the senses.

The princes and knights cried out in desperation.

“They’ve completely surrounded us! The rear is just as impenetrable!”

“To be humiliated in this manner by a handful of barbarians. And they don’t even wear proper armor!”

“The Italians brought in those filthy Saracens! Otherwise, how could this have happened….”

“Everyone, shut your mouths!”

Count Hartmann roared, silencing the dissent.

The men fell silent, their faces etched with fear and frustration.

The arrows continued to rain down, thudding against the ground.

“That’s the army of Jerusalem, led by Lord Baldwin. Can’t you see those warriors with wings on their backs?”

He shouted, his voice laced with anger.

“That’s undoubtedly the Holy Sepulchre Guard. They were lying in wait for us here.”

Count Hartmann’s brow furrowed in frustration.

It was now undeniable that they had fallen into a carefully laid trap.

His knights had routed the allied forces and immediately given chase.

The city couldn’t escape anyway.

The priority was to annihilate the fleeing enemies.

But the sudden appearance of a new enemy had thrown everything into chaos.

The Count waved his hand dismissively and shouted.

“Yes, as you pointed out, those horse archers aren’t wearing armor. That means they can move faster than us. How are we supposed to catch them when our horses are already exhausted?”

Each time they attempted to charge, the enemies widened the distance with even greater speed.

And the constant barrage of arrows was an added torment.

It was like chasing an elusive rainbow.

Moreover, the enemy moved and shifted positions with incredible speed.

It felt like confronting a constantly shifting wave.

“Then what course of action do you propose?”

A knight from Saxony interjected, his words tinged with desperation.

“If we remain stationary, we’ll be annihilated. Unless we surrender to them….”

“Surrender!”

“The Holy Roman Empire never surrenders! There are still thousands of knights among us!”

Other knights and princes vehemently protested.

Their voices rose in a chorus of defiance.

“What if we wait until they run out of arrows? They can’t sustain this barrage indefinitely.”

“No, they’ve clearly planned this in advance. They should have exhausted their supply of arrows long ago.”

Count Hartmann shook his head, dismissing the suggestion.

“They brought wagons laden with arrows.”

“Let’s charge north. If we maintain our momentum, they’ll eventually be forced to break the encirclement. They won’t be able to pursue us all the way to the Alps.”

“So, you’re suggesting we charge headlong into a storm of arrows.”

Count Hartmann retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He glared at the Turkic horse archers encircling them.

Even under a hail of arrows, the heavily armored knights could endure the assault.

The enemies wouldn’t be able to replenish their arrows while maintaining the pursuit.

He reached a decision.

“Instruct the knights to affix shields to the sides of their horses. We’ll break through to the north and return to the city.”

“Attach shields to the horses!”

“Prepare to charge!”

The knights raced through the ranks, relaying the orders.

The squires retrieved the shields from fallen or deceased knights, securing them to the sides of the saddles.

The standard-bearers raised their flags high, signaling the impending charge.

The horses foamed at the mouth, their muscles coiled and ready to unleash their pent-up energy.

“Charge, everyone! Break through the encirclement!”

The knights of the Holy Roman Empire roared, their voices filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

They had dedicated their entire lives to preparing for this very moment.

The charge.

Charging head-on towards an enemy lying in wait.

The ground trembled beneath the thunderous hooves.

“Lord Count, look there!”

“They’re moving!”

Count Hartmann noticed a change in the enemy’s formation.

The enemies weren’t retreating as before.

Flags bearing various patterns rose and fell, signaling a shift in strategy.

Soon, knights clad in chainmail swarmed into view.

From warriors adorned with wings on their backs,

To knights cloaked in green, white, and black.

They converged on the side where the Imperial knights were preparing to charge.

The weakest point had instantaneously transformed into the strongest.

A wall of iron.

Even the most seasoned knights hesitated at the sight.

“Change direction!”

“No! Maintain the charge!”

Count Hartmann bellowed, his voice cutting through the din of battle.

“We can’t abort the charge now! We’ll break through the encirclement head-on!”

No knight faltered.

They continued their relentless advance.

Shouts echoed from all directions.

“For His Imperial Majesty!”

“For His Holiness the Pope!”

“For the Holy Land!”

“Deus Vult! [God wills it – the battle cry of the Crusaders]”

The will of God clashed against itself. [referring to both sides believing they are fighting for God]