Chapter 13: The King's First Battle
1865 Words
The heavy cavalry of the Gurundi, descendants of the sea barbarians, who are the shadows that roam the earth.
They often appeared as mercenaries on the fringe battlefields of various countries.
With their shadow bodies losing their effect and their whereabouts having been exposed, the heavy cavalry of the Gulundi no longer hid their forms.
The heavy cavalrymen rehung their hardbows on their backs and carried their heavy and chillingly long iron lances in a single hand, not rushing to charge. They were separated from the negotiating delegation by a small patch of wetland. They spread out and skirted the edge of the wetland.
They pulled away unhurriedly, stretching out from each other long enough for the iron lances to be applied without stabbing their companions. It was also to put psychological pressure on their prey.
They could certainly do without rushing into an attack.
Ordinary warhorses simply couldn't stand up to the Gulundi's warhorses. In front of the Gulundi heavy cavalry. Running away would only turn into a pile of mush faster, while meeting the battle was tantamount to throwing one's life onto the tip of that black iron lance.
"Lord ......"
Some people in the negotiating mission let out a cry of despair. Someone had just gotten down from the carriage and sat paralyzed on the ground upon hearing this terrible news.
Some warily took hold of the silver cross and began to pray for divine blessing.
But today was the day of St. Val's death, and today God does not forgive the world.
"Your Majesty! Please leave!"
With a wave of the Knight Commander's hand, the iron-clad sworn knights swarmed around the king, and with their steel shields they erected a seemingly impenetrable wall - in truth, it was clear to anyone who could see how futile the defense was.
"We are here to defend you! Please leave at once! Your Majesty!"
"Leave? Leave where?!"
The king sneered out.
He pointed at the Moon River Fortress behind him.
"Going to wag your tail at Rogaland's enemies!"
The Knight Commander lowered his head and didn't say anything, but his expression already revealed his meaning:
He did wish that he had bought time for the king so that he could fold back under the Moon River Fortress. The treaty had just been signed between Bolesi and Roglan, and as long as he entered the Moon River Fortress, the king would be safe.
--Even becoming a prisoner of Bolesi was better than being trampled into mud by the heavy cavalry!
Almost everyone thought so.
Everyone present was silent, expressing silent approval with silence.
The king burst into a rage.
"The Rosebuds have not produced a captured king before, nor will they ever, and even less now!" With a snap of his reins, the king pointed his longsword at the Knight of Mor in the crowd, "Come here!"
The Knight of Mor drove his horse forward.
The king threw the contract to the Knight of Mor, his face still shrouded in appalling fury, "Take this with you and deliver it to the Duke of Buckingham."
"At your command!"
The Knight of Mohr caught the heavy peace agreement, and suddenly something clogged in his throat.
"You, go that way, around here, down the branch river, not to Tru, but straight for Seln! Now, take these fools and get the hell out of here!"
The king looked down condescendingly on the officials who had rolled woefully off the wagon and climbed onto their horses.
No one knew when the king knew the topography of the roads of the surrounding towns to the letter.
The only ones who were aghast were the three Moors.
At the king's request, they had gone into great detail in that one report, but it was too lengthy. They even mixed all the information that was so detailed that it made people's eyes dizzy out of hostility and indignation ...... No one thought that the king really read all of it and memorized it.
"Your Majesty!"
The Chief of Internal Affairs crashed out of the crowd and heavily knelt on the ground.
"Give me your cloak! Please let me stay in your stead! Your Majesty!"
"What?" The king laughed, his gaze sternly scraping across the pale face of the chief chamberlain, "Do you think yourself more noble than the monarch of Rogaland!"
The chamberlain looked with pathos at the young king he had cared for for over a decade.
"Take him."
The king stopped looking at the chief chamberlain as he ordered the three Knights of Morr. He stood in the wind, his scarlet cloak tossed up by the wind like the wild waves on that sea of blood. His pale blue eyes were seven times colder than ice.
The Knight of Mor dragged the kneeling Chief of Internal Affairs onto his horse with one hand.
"Get out!"
The king ordered.
He turned his horse around and stood alongside his sworn knights without another glance at the crowd that was about to run away.
"To the glory of the Rose!"
The Knight of Morr shouted out the motto and led the others in a charge.
The king and his sworn knights stood as a wall on the crest line of the grassy slope. His courtiers, at his command, shed their wagons and circled around the other side of the grassy slope toward another town far away. Along a tributary of the Dorma River, they would travel as far as Cairn, and from there they would be able to make their way back to the palace by a different route.
The shadows of the torches had become sporadic.
The knights of Morr galloped their horses, and when they turned back they saw only the king under the guard of iron armor. He stood cold and haughty, not moving a step, while the heavy cavalrymen who held him at a distance spread out into a line, they also stood still. This meadow and wetland became a stage and battlefield.
The negotiating missions swept past the edge of the stage.
The chief chamberlain still had a few lingering hopes of being able to distract the enemy for the king. But those dreadful heavy cavalry didn't even share the afterglow with them.
The King, the Sworn Cavalry, the Gurundi Heavy Cavalry.
They were the heroes of the stage, the rest were irrelevant.
The chamberlain could faintly see the wind swirling around the king's scarlet robes, his teenage monarch like he had come from hell.
The figure of William III overlapped the king.
The Chief of the Interior finally realized something:
His allegiance was no longer to the arrogant and extravagant toddler, but to the son of that military genius, the descendant of the rose-crazed blood, the monarch who had raced across the land of Rogaland for generations.
His majesty--
Born to be king.
............
A lion chasing an elk doesn't care about a herd of startled rabbits.
The heavy cavalry of Gurundi, as the king expected, did not bother to intercept the fleeing people. The attention of the heavy cavalry remained entirely on the most honorable prey ever seen before them.
The heavy cavalry had circled around that wetland, they raised their lances high and began to roar beastly.
The wildness of the sea barbarians boiled under their armor.
They were a bunch of beasts, a bunch of ferocious beasts clad in steel. They enjoyed killing and the despair of their prey before they died, and they loved to use the bloodiest means to slaughter their enemies.
The black cavalry line began to push forward, and when their furious aura gathered to its peak, they would charge.
Often, long before that, their enemies were scared out of their wits.
But this night there was an exception.
It was as if an icy iron mask had enveloped the king's face, and he stood solemn in the cold wind.
His head hurt more and more, a million knives were scraping at it, and those knives were hardened with fire. Everyone wanted him dead, everyone wanted him in hell. Those past events that had gritted their teeth and struggled to survive came whistling back. Who wants him to die ...... he wants who to die!
"Come on."
The Knight Commander heard his voice, which was livid and furious.
"Not to kill me?"
"Come on then!"
Heavy rain fell from the sky, as if to set a thrilling enough sonata for the first battle of the night.
Amidst the low muffled thunder and the rain that washed over the earth and sky, the Gurundi Heavy Cavalry merged into a straight line, their armor bearing hideous bone spikes. The rain washed over their black armor and burst forth, the edges of their armor covered in a blinding white light.
Tonight--
The saints sleep long in their graves
Death follows the monarch in his crown.
Roses in armor are forever accompanied by blood!
The lances of the Gurundi heavy cavalry brought up a silver light.
The charge began.
..................
Horses' hooves wrapped in heavy black iron stomped heavily across the muddy grass.
The cavalry of the Gurundi swept across the battlefield in a windy rush, charging up the slightly higher grassy slopes. Their eyes behind the masks of their iron helmets were fierce and merciless, and the hideous bone spikes on their armor were clearly visible. Those bone spikes were not only a decoration to deter the enemy, but also part of a bloodthirsty weapon.
With a command from the king, his knights pushed down all the empty wagons that were side by side on the slope line.
The wagons tumbled through the rain and muddy water, smashing into the enemies who were charging upwards.
The knights of Gurundi let out a mocking shout.
The terrible weapons in their hands, the iron lances, swung up and smashed into the empty wagons toward them in a show-like manner.
The empty carriages had rolled into the ranks of the heavy cavalry and were smashed one after another - those sturdy carriages were like papier-mâché in front of the Gulundi's cavalry. The empty wagons that were shattered were immediately followed by the Gulundi warhorses that took the heavy armor-clad monsters and crashed into them, flying out sideways and falling apart in the muddy water.
The heavy hooves of the horses trampled over those wood and metal.
The king raised his sword high and swung it downward:
"To the glory of the Rose!"
"For the glory of the Rose!"
The knights hissed.
The rain washed heavily over both sides.
By the block and cover of the wagons, the king and his knights rushed out.
The carriage dedicated to the king was made of oak and plated with metal, it held up against the charge of the warhorses and fell across the ground. Blocked by it from charging was the cavalry leader.
The Gurundi heavy cavalry leader's eyes always fell on the king in his scarlet cloak.
When the king arrived with his horse, the chieftain yanked the reins and leapt directly over that oak carriage with his horse. In mid-air, he leaned out, and his spear brought up a spine-chilling wind sound and slashed down towards the king.
- Writer
