Knight: Becoming King of the World

The soldiers of the Supervision Team began to waver as well. They hesitated, knowing full well that a collapse of the formation would set off a chain reaction.

It was just as the proverb from the empire’s Northern Lands said: in an avalanche, only the first snowflake falls by choice...

At that point, they would have no chance of escaping the pursuit of Henry’s army.

The officers’ voices grew hoarse, their commands lost in the battlefield’s clamor.

Some soldiers began to lay down their weapons and look for a chance to flee. If they kept fighting, there was no hope of survival.

But why not surrender?

They had seen with their own eyes men kneeling with their hands held high, only to have their throats casually slit by blood-crazed enemies.

Who the fuck would dare to surrender?

What was the difference between surrendering and committing suicide?

Henry’s army pressed forward relentlessly. Henry himself was a god of death on the battlefield, his battle-axe reaping countless lives.

The great horns set into his black armor made him look all the more terrifying and invincible.

The enemy soldiers began to scream and scatter, trying to flee the hellish battlefield.

But Henry’s Heavy Cavalry and Light Cavalry units pursued them relentlessly, like hawks hunting their prey.

Corpses piled up like mountains on the battlefield. The stench of blood that filled the air was sickening.

Henry’s army showed not a shred of mercy. They pressed on, their axes and spears continuing to feast upon enemy lives.

’Not enough! There aren’t enough of them to kill!’

It wasn’t just the Heavy Armor Soldiers; even the Heavy Cavalry and Skilled Infantry who had joined the fray later felt their strength surging. Even their horses seemed to run faster!

They wanted to chop off the head of every enemy they saw!

An indescribable thrill surged through them whenever blood sprayed, whenever their weapons sliced through an enemy’s body.

’What’s happening to me?’

Every soldier had the same question, but seeing their comrades beside them fighting furiously without a moment’s hesitation left them no time to dwell on it.

’For now, let’s just get our fill of killing!’

However, the situation on the battlefield suddenly changed.

Just as Henry’s army thought victory was within their grasp, ready to completely shatter the Anti-Henry Alliance Army’s center line, the Alliance Army’s elite troops finally joined the fray.

Clad in heavy armor and riding stout, tall warhorses, they brandished razor-sharp weapons. Their arrival immediately sent a stir through the battlefield.

The nobles personally led these elite units, their presence a powerful shot in the arm for the faltering soldiers.

How to describe it? The sentiment was something along the lines of, ’Even the noble lords are fighting now, so this won’t be for nothing.’

The Barons led the Heavy Shocking Cavalry, charging toward Henry’s army.

These Heavy Shocking Cavalry were the Anti-Henry Alliance Army’s ultimate main force, their entire purpose to turn the tide at the most critical moment.

It was just that no one had expected this ’critical moment’ to arrive so soon, and so suddenly!

Their warhorses wore heavy barding, and the Knights were completely encased in iron plate, revealing only their piercing eyes.

With these elite troops joining the battle, the situation on the field began to shift.

Though Henry’s army was ferocious, their advantage began to wane as they faced an opponent that was just as well-equipped and well-trained.

The Heavy Armor Infantry began clashing head-on with Henry’s forces. The arrival of the enemy’s Heavy Cavalry also forced Henry’s once-arrogant and domineering cavalry units to become much more reserved.

Henry’s army’s offensive was temporarily checked, and the state of the battle became muddled and unpredictable.

The soldiers of the Anti-Henry Alliance Army felt a renewed sense of hope. They believed that with their elite troops joining the fight, the scales of victory were finally tipping in their favor.

These elite soldiers believed that while Henry’s army was ferocious, their strength and stamina must have been drained by the prolonged fighting.

They, on the other hand—the elite troops who had just entered the fray—were still brimming with energy and fighting spirit.

In their eyes, the enemy was a pack of exhausted, wounded prey.

The Heavy Armor Infantry of the Anti-Henry Alliance Army began to advance methodically. Their shields and spears formed an impenetrable defensive line, gradually suppressing the offensive of Henry’s army.

Many of them began to dream of what might come after the war.

Some soldiers imagined that victory would bring them handsome rewards.

Perhaps they could earn more Dinars, which would not only improve their own lives but also allow them to buy land back home and become respected village elders or minor landowners.

Other soldiers dreamed of promotion, of becoming officers.

They craved higher status and power, which would let them get their own relatives into the army, form a small faction, and bring greater benefits and security to their family.

And still others dreamed of acquiring an extra set of armor and weapons.

They believed such equipment would not only protect them in battle but could also serve as a family heirloom—a symbol of their family’s honor and courage.

Such material security would elevate their families from common soldiers to a generational military family that owned property. It would provide a better life for their descendants and give them opportunities to advance within the military.

However, the battlefield was fickle. Whether any of these fantasies would ever come to fruition remained to be seen.

Although the Anti-Henry Alliance Army’s elite troops had temporarily checked Henry’s offensive, the fighting remained incredibly fierce.

The soldiers of the Anti-Henry Alliance Army had originally thought that after their elite troops joined the battle, Henry’s army would be exhausted from the long fight, but they soon discovered they were dead wrong.

Far from showing any signs of fatigue, Henry’s army fought with increasing ferocity, as if they possessed an endless supply of strength.

To their horror, the soldiers saw that the men in Henry’s army had flushed faces and bloodshot eyes. Their expressions were contorted, as if they were possessed by some unseen force.

Their strength was astounding, like that of a grown black bear or a wild bull, making them impossible to parry.

They didn’t even bother to dodge weapon strikes unless they were aimed at a vital spot, choosing instead to trade wound for wound, blood for blood.

This terrifying style of combat filled the soldiers of the Anti-Henry Alliance Army with an unprecedented dread.

’Are these enemies even human? How can they just ignore our attacks? How can they maintain this level of madness and ferocity in a fight like this?’

’At the very least, shouldn’t you have the subconscious instinct to dodge when you see a blade swinging at you?’

But there was nothing! Absolutely nothing!

Henry’s army attacked with ruthless efficiency. The clang of metal, the splash of blood...

’This isn’t the world of men. This is Hell—the one those itinerant preachers are always talking about!’

The elite troops of the Anti-Henry Alliance Army began to lose their nerve. They didn’t know how much longer the battle would last. They didn’t know if there was any chance of escaping this nightmare.

Henry’s army was like an insurmountable iron wall before them, instilling a profound sense of powerlessness and despair.

The elderly Viscount sat astride his warhorse, his heart heavy. He watched Henry carve a path across the battlefield, a storm of blood erupting wherever he went.

The Viscount felt half his body go numb. Henry’s battle-axe was like a slaughterhouse blade—wherever it fell, it left only death and destruction.

’Dammit, what in the world did that Henry fellow feed on to get like this!’

Merely blocking the enemy’s offensive wasn’t enough. He needed a victory—a complete and utter rout of Henry’s army!

He took a deep breath and gave the order.

"Have the serfs and Auxiliary Soldiers replace a portion of the medium infantry on the flanks. Move them to the central battlefield." The Viscount’s command was quickly passed down.

His gaze shifted to the other side of the field. "Assign all the Light Cavalry and archer units to the right flank," he ordered, "which from Henry’s perspective, is his left."

A glint of grim resolve flashed in the Viscount’s eyes. He had gone from trying to hold both flanks to settling for just one.