Chapter 92: Chapter 91: A Steamroll
Despite the long gallop, the charging formation largely held its shape thanks to their disciplined ranks and the soldiers’ expertise.
The Human Race’s cavalry was now in a full charge, with men roaring and horses screaming.
The Franks even had a slight terrain advantage, charging down from a hillside.
Viscount Leo could only hear the endless thunder of hooves around him. Finally, in the distance, purple figures came into view.
Centaurs.
"For His Majesty! For the kingdom! Long live the fearless Franks!" Viscount Leo raised his lance and used his aura to project his voice, making it echo across the plains.
Viscount Leo relished this feeling—not being cooped up in a cramped castle, but thundering across the vast plains on his mount.
’This is what a Knight should be doing!’
A clash like this would normally happen later in a war, after allied reinforcements had arrived on the battlefield.
Now, Robson was letting them enjoy it ahead of schedule.
"Long live the Franks!"
"Long live the Franks!"
In response to the Count, endless roars erupted from those around him.
Their previous victory had bolstered the soldiers’ courage. Those who had hunted down the Centaurs had seen the enemy flee in disarray and naturally felt little fear.
Their chests were filled with nothing but inexhaustible courage.
In an age where cavalry charges decided battles, this courage would determine everything.
Although the Human Race’s Knight Team was only a few hundred strong, the earth-shattering roar they produced had the force of a tidal wave, seeming to sweep across the land.
As the one directly facing this tidal wave of sound, Daimon felt its impact most keenly. His purple face had gone pale.
The noble Knights at the forefront of the human cavalry formed an iron wall. Though Daimon knew that behind this wall were men in more vulnerable leather armor, the glint of sunlight off the iron still struck fear into his heart.
"For the Beast God! For His Majesty!" Daimon had no time for other thoughts. He was beginning to regret accepting this mission, but the state of the battle left him no other choice.
Though Daimon roared himself hoarse, the answering cries were sparse.
The Centaurs’ memory of that night had not yet faded. The image of the human cavalry charge was still seared into their minds.
They had been resistant to this mission from the start, and that was before they saw that the enemy’s vanguard was composed of *these* particular warriors.
Daimon knew the enemy’s rear guard consisted of Light Cavalry, but his warriors didn’t. As far as they could see, every enemy rode a tall steed and was clad in heavy armor.
The entire Human Race Cavalry Corps was like the scythe of the Death God from Hell, and the sunlight glinting off it was enough to make one’s blood run cold.
The reaction of the warriors behind him only deepened Daimon’s uncertainty. A cavalry charge was a battle of morale, a contest of pure, fearless courage.
’This battle is off to a very bad start.’
Daimon had no more time for thought. He could already make out the armor of the enemy’s vanguard—the family crest of a crossed sword and shield, representing the Fengman Clan.
Daimon’s heart sank. It really was the enemy’s Knight Order. He no longer dared to hope for victory, praying only that Marin’s forces would move a little faster.
’No, he was praying Marin wouldn’t just cut and run.’
Watching the enemy draw ever closer, Daimon raised his battle-axe.
"My hand! Damn it! The enemy... UGH..."
"Zulmat! It’s the soul-reaping Zulmat from the Earth Realm!"
It all happened in the blink of an eye. The clash of cavalry is often decided in an instant; it’s immediately clear which side has been broken.
The human vanguard used Extraordinary Cavalry as the spearhead for the Cavalry Corps. Their V-formation was like a sharp dagger, plunging deep into the enemy’s heart.
The power of the Human Race’s Extraordinary warriors was something these mortal-grade Centaurs could never hope to match, to say nothing of the vast disparity in their equipment.
A single thrust from a human Knight’s lance could often skewer several Centaurs at once. The power of the Extraordinary was on full display.
The Centaurs’ supposedly sharp axes could only leave an unsightly dent on the Knights’ armor—a dent that would become a story for the Warriors to tell later, a mark of honor for their families.
The human assault was overwhelming. The Centaurs were cut down like stalks of wheat before the relentless, overwhelming tide of the human attack.
"Shit! Damn it!" Though Daimon couldn’t see the entire battlefield, he could see the writing on the wall. There were precious few of his own forces left around him. If the elite guard surrounding the Chieftain was being decimated like this, he didn’t need to imagine the state of the rest of the line.
Of course, Daimon was angry now only because he couldn’t see the full scope of the battle.
If he had, he would have realized that this was not the time for anger, but for survival.
However, the humans had already noticed him. Of course, it wasn’t like last time, when only a dozen or so had ganged up on him. This time, there were dozens.
Daimon couldn’t help but curse. Ever since he’d first faced them on the battlefield, he’d never seen these humans display any so-called knightly chivalry.
Daimon even suspected these humans were less civilized than his own goblins. At least goblins didn’t stare at their enemies like a pack of ravenous wolves.
"General, we can’t hold on! We have to go, now!"
"General, the humans are about to surround us! If we don’t leave now, it’ll be too late!"
Hearing the pleas of his guards, Daimon finally snapped back to reality. There were hardly any allies left around him.
Meanwhile, the enemy was pouring in like a flood. If he didn’t leave now, it would be too late.
At this thought, Daimon felt a wave of tearless frustration. He knew from the start he was no match for these humans.
But he’d thought he could at least hold out for a while, buying enough time for the main army.
Unfortunately, reality does not bend to one’s will. Time was a brutally objective and real master.
"Fall back! Retreat!" Daimon bellowed, his voice booming in an effort to reach every last Centaur.
"Damn it! The beasts are trying to run!"
"The one in armor! The big one!"
"The one with the red mane!"
Those familiar voices rang in his ears again, and certain... unfriendly memories made Daimon feel like crying.
Daimon was, after all, an Extraordinary of Silver-level strength. His voice was naturally deafening, spreading across the entire battlefield.
Every Centaur—whether they were in the middle of a charge or merely preparing for one—stopped in their tracks and began to scatter to the sides.
They had long since lost the will to fight. Even the Centaurs at the very rear had caught glimpses of their comrades’ tragic plight.
Those silver Heavy Armored Knights... they were simply not something that ordinary warriors like them could hope to fight.
Extraordinaries should have their own battlefield. Before those Extraordinary Knights, they were no different from helpless, naked infants.
As the Centaurs retreated, the entire battlefield devolved into a chaotic melee.
After the Extraordinary Knights’ display of power, it was finally time for the cavalry Robson had arranged to take the stage.
A chaotic melee is the ultimate test of a cavalry’s training and organization, and it was here that the superiority of Robson’s elite troops was on full display.
In the thick of the fighting, the human cavalrymen often used their superior skill to dodge fatal blows.
When the Centaurs swung their battle-axes, they looked like monkeys waving clubs in front of Robson’s cavalry—wild and utterly without discipline.
But when the human cavalrymen struck, their blows were almost always fatal.
The Centaurs soon discovered that these seemingly vulnerable human Light Cavalry were not nearly as weak as they had imagined.
’It seemed *they* were the easy targets!’
"Devils! It’s these devils again!"
Until a bloodcurdling scream rang out.
