Knight: Becoming King of the World

"Yes, my lord!" The Messenger quickly departed to relay the order to the various units.

The other nobles who had not personally led their troops into the fray did not refuse or question the order upon receiving it. They immediately commanded their armies to begin the general assault.

The horns sounded. Fully armed and in peak condition, the Heavy Cavalry began to assemble. Their warhorses were clad in heavy iron armor, and the Knights held their long spears and Heavy Swords, preparing to charge.

The steppe cavalry, like a pack of wolves, spurred their horses, howling as they weaved across the battlefield. Their bows and spears were ready to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy at any moment.

"Forward!" The commander of the Heavy Cavalry waved the long spear in his hand and gave the order to charge.

The thundering of hooves was like the cracking of the earth itself as the Heavy Cavalry charged toward the loosened enemy formations on either side of their own Heavy Armor Soldiers.

"Lord Edmund, we’ve committed all other troops to the central front. What about the flanks?"

"Just hold the line! The left and right flanks just need to stabilize their positions and not give the enemy any openings."

"Yes, my lord!"

The other officers took their leave, quickly adjusting their tactics to ensure the stability of the flanks.

Edmund gripped the Riding Spear in his hand, suppressing the urge to charge into the fray and slay the enemy himself as he constantly observed the situation across the battlefield.

There was nothing to be done. Henry trusted him, putting Edmund and Boras in charge of managing the battle.

Calvin and two Barons were responsible for the right flank, while Selas, Roland, Leon, Philip, another Baron, and nine Knights were responsible for the left flank.

Faced with Henry’s trust, Edmund could only grit his teeth and accept the assignment.

Henry’s sole consideration in this was that Edmund had extensive experience commanding armies. With Boras’s help, they were more than capable of handling the task of deploying troops and reinforcing whichever front needed it.

Among the nobles of the Anti-Henry Alliance, the atmosphere was tense to the extreme.

The nobles’ gazes constantly shifted to the battlefield, their faces a mixture of expressions: some showed terror, others anger, and still others deep anxiety.

"Henry and his Heavy Armor Infantry phalanx are tearing through our lines! If we don’t stop them immediately, our central front will completely collapse!"

"Calm down! We must remain calm! We can’t let fear dictate our decisions."

"Calm down? How can you tell me to calm down? Our soldiers are being slaughtered, our lines are collapsing, and you’re here talking about being calm?"

’Calm down at a time like this? Right, I’m calm. It’s not *your* soldiers who are dying, so of course *you’re* calm, aren’t you?! Why don’t we try transferring the main force from your left flank over here and see what happens? You’d probably be on your knees, crying your heart out in anguish!’

"We can’t be at each other’s throats! We must stand united and face Henry’s threat together."

An older Baron sighed and suggested, "I agree, but we can’t just blindly throw ourselves into battle. We must have a plan..."

Another noble retorted sarcastically, his tone harsh, "A plan? What plan? All this talk of plans, day in and day out! Our plans have already been smashed to pieces by Henry’s battle-ax!"

’This old fool is the one I can’t stand the most right now. He uses his age and his title—just a hair above us Barons—to drone on and on about plans and arrangements. It’s all bullshit! A complete waste of time, totally useless.’

The older noble’s face flushed red with anger, but he insisted, "We must concentrate our forces! We can’t let Henry continue to run rampant like this. We must gather our most elite troops and fight him to the death."

"But what if we fail? Our army will be annihilated. We’ll lose everything."

"If we don’t act now, we’ll lose everything anyway!" the older noble retorted.

"Henry won’t stop. He’ll keep advancing until we are utterly defeated!"

’What the hell are these people doing? When they first gathered, they boasted to the high heavens. Now they’re hemming and hawing, reluctant to commit to the fight. What did they come here for? A picnic?’

"I disagree. We should retreat and preserve our strength. We can regroup and wait for an opportunity to counterattack."

"Retreat? Are you insane? If we retreat now, we’ll lose most of our army in the rout!"

"But if our army is completely destroyed, we’ll lose everything all the same. We need time to reorganize the Alliance Army.

We gravely underestimated that butcher Henry’s strength, didn’t we? Who could have imagined he’d have so many nobles bringing their armies to support him!"

The nobles’ argument grew more and more intense. Each had his own opinion and plan, but none could convince the others.

They had to make a decision, but no one was willing to bear the consequences of failure.

On the battlefield, Henry and his army continued to advance, their assault growing fiercer.

That cluster of Heavy Cavalry was an unstoppable storm, mercilessly washing over and trampling the soldiers of the Anti-Henry Alliance.

Their long spears and Heavy Swords reaped lives without mercy, and a sea of fallen enemies lay beneath their horses’ hooves.

This storm made the situation on the central front even more precarious. Even the soldiers on the flanks were affected, their morale beginning to waver.

Their gazes constantly darted to the battlefield, watching that group of Heavy Cavalry wreak havoc. Every man’s heart was filled with anxiety and fear.

"Look! Our soldiers are being slaughtered! If we don’t make a decision, Henry will completely tear open our central line and then encircle either our left or right flank!"

"We must commit our Heavy Armor Soldiers and Cavalry immediately! This is our only chance! We can’t let Henry continue to rampage like this!"

"But then we’ll have no reserves left to counter Henry’s attacks! I don’t think we should continue this fight!"

The old Viscount who had been advocating for battle all along roared in fury, "Enough! We have no choice! If we don’t act now, we can just wait to die at that butcher’s hands! We must gather our most elite troops and fight Henry to the death!"

The arguing nobles fell silent. Their eyes turned to the battlefield once more. Whatever their decision, the outcome of this battle would change their destinies.

Some even regretted joining this campaign. It was nothing like what they had originally imagined.

’Wasn’t it supposed to be a massive army rolling over everything in its path, being welcomed with open arms, crushing Henry’s forces with ease, and dividing up his countless Dinars and supplies?’

’Men are just too greedy. They could have stayed on their own little patch of land, eating meat and drinking wine every day, occasionally drilling their troops or wiping out some bandits. Life was comfortable.’

But greed for land, people, and Dinars had dragged them from their peaceful lives into this unbearable war!

"I agree. We must commit our Heavy Armor Soldiers and Cavalry immediately. We have to stop Henry’s attack!"

"I agree as well. We can’t let Henry continue this arrogant rampage."

One after another, the nobles began to state their positions, a hint of grim resolve in their voices.

The old Viscount nodded in satisfaction and said, "Then it is decided. We will commit our Heavy Armor Soldiers and Cavalry. We will fight Henry to the death."

With the great enemy before them, Henry’s great-ax felt like it was hanging over their necks, ready to fall at any second and end their lives.

Under this immense psychological pressure, the pro-war nobles immediately rallied behind the old Viscount, appointing him the temporary overall commander for this engagement.

Even the hesitant ones sided with the pro-war faction. They knew that now, there could only be one leader; the chain of command could not be divided any longer!

At this point, the nobles who wanted to flee or regretted joining the campaign could only let the majority rule, ordering their precious elite troops to obey the Viscount’s command.