Chapter Twelve: Strangulation

You can never imagine what kind of scene it is when over ten thousand strong men, each standing over two meters tall, start running frantically across the ground. If one had to describe it in relatively accurate terms, it would be like a herd of mad bison charging in one direction across the plains—a sprint that lasts over an hour.

The yellow dust filling the sky even made Yele, who had been uneasy all along, notice something unusual. Yet he never expected his opponent to resort to such a method to achieve their goals. The battle had reached a critical stage; the Homer Knights were struggling to hold their ground, while the attacks from the sky gave Yele a serious headache.

Those damned Thunder Roc Knights kept causing trouble. He had thought they were the Homer Knights’ only hope, but the dozen or so Earth Dragons that suddenly emerged from the valley terrified the horses ridden by the Attic Knights. Even the Mondell warhorses of the cavalry were affected to some extent. Fortunately, the intensity of the battle made all this seem insignificant.

These two unexpected factors made their situation even more precarious, but they also bought them a brief respite. Yele didn’t think continuing to resist like this would lead to anything good; he was even prepared for the enemy to surrender.

But the rolling yellow dust ahead made him realize the problem was likely not that simple. Though he still wasn’t sure what the dust meant, he couldn’t believe that his scouts and intelligence network couldn’t even figure out whether the enemy had cavalry forces. If that were the case, then Attica would have been acting alone within the Northern Alliance for no reason.

As the sweat-soaked barbarian warriors formed small squares to show off their muscular builds in front of the Atticians, as the grotesque-looking, snorting half-orcs stepped forward with their tanned skin exposed, Yele’s mind almost stopped functioning. What was going on? Where did these barbarians and half-orcs come from? They should have been at least ten miles away, meaning it would take them at least another hour to appear on the battlefield. Yet now they were right in front of him, showing off their strength?

Yeller’s thoughts came to a halt, but Bauling didn’t give him a chance to reflect. Though he knew the half-orcs and barbarians were extremely exhausted, Bauling wouldn’t allow them to rest even for a second. First, the Homer Knights had already suffered heavy losses, and they had done their utmost after holding out for so long. Perhaps with a little more effort, the Homer Knights would collapse. The half-orcs and barbarians also couldn’t afford to rest—once their momentum faded, it would take hours to regain it. The only way out was to press forward with gritted teeth and utterly crush their enemies!

In groups of three or five, the barbarians or half-orcs organized themselves right before Yeller’s eyes—small camps, small clusters—armed with spears and javelins, wielding clubs and large shields. Like streams flowing across a hillside, they surged forward in droves. The Atticans, caught off guard by this sudden onslaught, never expected such a situation. The duel between cavalry and knights turned into a mixed battle of cavalry and infantry. The cavalry, once in the advantage, found themselves suddenly at a disadvantage in this terrain. With the scattered and complex landscape, these small infantry formations became a nightmare for the Attic cavalry.

Groups of barbarian warriors fiercely attacked the Attic cavalry. Their swift movements and desperate attacks, combined with their favorable geographical position, left the Attic cavalry almost helpless against such asymmetric assaults. The Attic cavalry could only futilely spin around on their horses, swinging their swords to defend against the attacks. Without their mobility and speed, it was agony for the light-armed cavalry to fight against infantry.

Yeller watched helplessly as his small group of light-armed cavalry was besieged by several of the enemy’s small attack groups. After just a few rounds, they were utterly defeated, with no chance of escape. Those damned barbarians and half-orcs had already blocked every possible route of escape. Using their spears and javelins, they pinned his carefully trained cavalry warriors to the ground like gourds on a string.

Chaotic yet well-organized, fierce yet methodical—this was Yeller’s conclusion after observing the situation. These half-orcs and barbarians were clearly natural experts at such close-quarters combat, but it was equally obvious that these barbarian and half-orc warriors were soldiers who had received rigorous formal training. Especially in those small attack groups, the role of commanders was quite evident—ensuring strict discipline and orderly movement. Their cavalry was far more flexible and adaptable than the rigid and dogmatic knights, but they still fell far short compared to those even more ferocious barbarian warriors. The differences in military units and geographical conditions meant their cavalry could not leverage any advantages and instead got trapped in this quagmire, which filled Yeller with immense anger and frustration.

Under such circumstances, the wisest choice would be to withdraw one’s cavalry as soon as possible. Yeller knew it would be extremely difficult to issue such an order at this time—it might even cost him his life. Abandoning those poor knights and struggling to escape from those barbarians was a painful and helpless decision.

Bao Ling watched the battle ahead with excitement. The enemy seemed somewhat desperate. The Attic Knights were deeply entrenched, preventing their superior cavalry from escaping. Their heavy cavalry was preparing to retreat, while their light cavalry had yet to withdraw. Clearly, the commander was under immense pressure from the knight leaders. This stalemate was most advantageous for their side.

The enemy wanted to escape, but it seemed a bit too late by now. Bao Ling looked at them with pity. To defeat a snake, one must strike at its vital point; to defeat a venomous snake, one must kill it with a single blow, otherwise it would strike back. That was exactly the situation with the Atticians—only by completely defeating them all could their side rest in peace.