89.
89.
This was the terror of numbers.
No matter how good the enemy's equipment or how thorough their training, as long as they were human, there was always a physical limit. Wasn't it because the hegemon of Western Chu, Hang-u, could not fight any longer that he ultimately fell to Han's Gojo, Liu Bang?
The reason generals who led smaller forces to crush larger enemies were recorded in the history books was, in other words, because it was an exceedingly difficult feat.
The moment I saw the second charge hammering in continuously from behind the first wave of fleeing enemies who had been utterly shattered, I could not help but furrow my brow.
'Ruthless, Burgred of Mercia. Using Edmund as your shield.'
No, was it shrewdness?
Far in the distance, mounted on a white horse, I could see Edmund, his entire face flushed red as if about to burst. The poor Cyning. Such was the fate of the powerless.
"Warriors of Mercia! Attack! Forward, attack!"
"Do not let the blood of our Anglia brothers be in vain! Push them back!"
"Take aim—! Loose!"
"Shoot!"
[Pyung! Pyu-pyu-pyung! Shwaaaa— shwaaaeck—! Puck! Pububbuck!]
"Gahk!"
"Urgk!"
Arrows now fell upon the heads of the enemy drawing a trajectory closer to a straight line than a curve. But the Mercian warriors were equipped with far superior armor and shields than Edmund's men.
They exuded an aura fundamentally different from the warriors of Edmund, who had been little more than half-peasants until now.
Of course, whether they liked it or not, the unseeing arrows still burrowed into the faces and joints of careless foes, but the momentum of the enemies charging in, lifting their shields in unison, was sharp.
"Loose at will! Cut them down!"
"Rapid fire! Rapid fire!"
"Do not let your fingers idle! Keep drawing the bowstring!"
[Pyung! Pyu-pyung! Pyung! Pyu-pyu-pyung!]
Listening to the chorus of stringed instruments ringing out all at once, I shifted my gaze away from the enemies of the center force who were advancing steadily with their shields raised over their heads, and surveyed the left and right wings in turn.
Had they resolved to truly test their mettle? Unlike the day before, the enemy ranks were pushing in with vigorous force.
In response, arrows flew from every point on the defensive line, and amidst the clamor of horns and drums, I could assess, as expected, that the enemy's strength was heavily concentrated on our center and right flank.
'Burgred would surely be positioned behind them.'
Should I mount a decapitation strike?
But if Burgred immediately wheeled his horse around and fled, there would be no way to catch him. The speed of both our horses and theirs was rather lacking...
There was no way to know what might happen to the main force during that time, so I discarded that plan.
'Then I shall smash your main force to utter pieces, Burgred. So that you have no choice but to withdraw.'
Sacrifice a part of our own forces to deliberately reveal an opening? Or momentarily pull back the ranks as we did in Northumbria? Both were impossible propositions in the current situation.
When fighting Ælla in Northumbria, there had been ample room for maneuver, but this place was a hill. The moment we pulled back, it would be a downhill slope.
Furthermore, our numbers were fundamentally insufficient to sacrifice our men to create an opening. The moment we were breached, the ranks would likely begin to collapse immediately.
If the ranks broke, a terror that neither training nor discipline could control would descend; turning the tide would be difficult.
In the end, all we could do was hold our defense firm and slaughter every enemy who came crashing in.
'You are the first objective.'
As expected, the momentum, equipment, and numbers of the enemy charging headlong toward our right flank were, in every respect, the most threatening. It would also be easier to deploy forces on that front, so they were likely advancing with such confidence despite the obstacles before their eyes.
"Hold the defense firm, Refil! We must defend this position unconditionally! Stórolf! You move with me! Leon, you shall wait here!"
"Yes! Konungr! Leave it to me!"
"Aye!"
"Understood, O great warrior Rex!"
[Purrrk-]
Wasn't 'Rex' Latin?
As if the adrenaline had burst forth under the urgent pressure of the battlefield, Leon was spouting his native tongue without realizing it. Thanks to that, I let out a short laugh, took the reins handed to me by Stórolf, and mounted Camembert's saddle.
"Let us go!"
"Yes!"
"Yah!"
[Dagak! Dagak!]
Camembert moved his feet vigorously, with Stórolf and over ten of my bodyguards falling in behind.
"Long live the Konungr of the Norsemen!"
"Long live Helgi Ragnarsson!"
[Pyung! Pyu-pyung!]
The warriors cheered my name even while fervently drawing their bowstrings.
Following them, as they sweated profusely, a drop of sweat that had trickled from my own forehead down the bridge of my nose scattered upon the wind. Although it was summer, the air itself was cool, so the breeze brushing past my face was not altogether unpleasant.
A little distance away from the din that grew ever stronger, the cavalry force at the rear of the hill, which had been dividing into squads of ten and continuously walking the horses, assembled as one at the sight of me descending the slope.
"Horsemen! We depart! Follow me!"
"Follow the Konungr! There! Maintain the ranks!"
"Any man who charges ahead will be cleaning the stables for a week!"
"Inspect your equipment!"
Beneath the conditioned shouts of the veterans, 200 horsemen stirred, kindling their war spirit in unison.
[Dugudugu- dugudugu-]
Their speed was a peculiar gait between a walk and a trot. At the sound of hooves padding the dirt road with steps that seemed to merely graze the earth, everyone in the area toward which we headed stopped what they were doing and turned their heads to find the source of the noise.
They were people who stared vacantly with slack jaws at a sight they were seeing for the very first time in their lives.
Passing behind the merchants of Beodericsworth who were organizing supplies inside the encampment, we pushed forward vigorously and soon touched upon the Eagle wing of the defensive line, where the sound of battle could be heard.
[Chaeng! Kung! Kukung! Pyung! Pyu-pyung! Shwaaaeck— shwaaaeck— Kwajik!]
[Uwaaak! Aaak! Gahk!]
[Die! Kill them! Forward! Hold them back!]
The place where countless noises mingled and fused into one was, it could be said, a wall of order holding back a wave of chaos.
Perhaps because this was the dawn of the era that would later be called the Dark Ages, even the charge of the enemies who had seemed like elite warriors ultimately dissolved into sheer madness before the shield wall of the Norsemen positioned right before their noses.
This was probably the greatest level of discipline that could be demanded of the warriors of this age. But the sight of my own warriors holding firm before that bestial charge was chillingly calm and professional.
'My warriors are gradually becoming soldiers. They are finally learning how to fight properly.'
Of course, the veterans who had traveled all the way to the Eastern Roman Empire and back surely played an immense role, yet despite their proud struggle, the situation was steadily devolving into a mud-slinging brawl in the face of the enemy's sheer, overwhelming numbers crashing in with brute mass.
"Cavalry! Dismount!"
"Dismount!"
"Dismount!"
'Hup!'
[Shring!]
I put a little weight on my left stirrup, stepped down from Camembert's back, and in one continuous motion, I forcefully drew the greatsword that hung from the saddle.
The greatsword caught the light of the sun suspended midway in the sky and gleamed with a radiant green blade.
I slung this gigantic toy over my Örn shoulder and immediately dashed toward the front line.
[Shring- Shring- Shhk- Shring-]
Right behind me, I felt the entire 'cavalry' following, each one drawing swords, axes, and hammers, and soon the warriors who noticed my charging figure roared with mighty cheers.
"The Dragon of Árós is here! Long live Helgi Ragnarsson!"
"Hel! Hel! Hel!"
"Clear the way! The Konungr has come! Everyone clear a path!"
"Long live Helgi!"
Those in front of me hurriedly opened a path, and those left behind me shouted my name and titles, tried to run with me, and then had to open the path again for the cavalry charging with terrifying momentum.
"Warriors of Árós! Open the way!"
"Make way!"
[Chk! Chk!]
Beyond the shield wall that hastily turned and opened at my thunderous voice, the first rank of warriors had already plunged into close combat, locked in fierce contests of strength with the enemy.
Spears stabbed bodies on both sides, shields were wrenched aside with both hands, and the bodies dragged out were hacked down with swords and axes. Some even tumbled into pits dug beforehand.
By the time they had pushed this far, the Mercian warriors had already seen so much blood that they seemed to see nothing else, throwing their lives aside and striving only to advance.
'Not a chance.'
"What are you-!"
[Whoosh- Thwack!]
"-Gah!"
I brought the sword down with the momentum of my charge, and with a sensation more of crushing than cutting, the enemy who had been clinging to my warrior vanished before my eyes in an instant, slammed into the ground.
"Konungr...!"
"Get up, warrior. The fight has only just begun."
"... Of course!"
I raised the fallen warrior with one hand, and without dodging the spear that stabbed at my blind spot, I instead swung my sword down at its wielder.
[Fweee- Whoosh- Thwack!]
"Gah!"
Because my downstroke was faster than the stabbing thrust, the ownerless spear tip danced in empty air, and only the enemy's corpse remained where the greatsword had passed.
"Kill them all!"
[Whoosh- Whoosh- Clang! Crunch! Slash!]
"Gah! Grrk..."
"Agh-!"
The cavalry warriors, charging hard behind me, swung their weapons with all their might, and the enemy line, hit by the all-out offensive assault, collapsed in an instant.
The peculiar thing was that, except for the battle cry torn from Seutorolpeu, who this time too could not let go of the flag, they all silently concentrated only on slicing, stabbing, and crushing the enemy.
In that terrifying and tenacious appearance was a cold-blooded efficiency I had never felt from the old warriors.
"Warriors of Árós! Warriors of Beodericsworth! Not a single step back to the enemy! All shields to the front!"
"Shields forward!"
"Long live Konungr Helgi!"
[Chk! Chk! Chk!]
The survivors of the first rank, who had been suffocating under the sheer mass of the enemy, and the men of the second rank filled the gaps and once again formed a solid shield wall.
The slight difference was that this time, we had advanced past the pit that was already half-filled with the corpses of both enemy and ally.
"Th-this...! Charge! Charge again! Smash their defense!"
"Sons of Mercia! Attack!"
The Mercian warriors waiting beyond the broken ranks—their momentum had subsided from the initial charge, but they still retained enough morale to answer their commander's orders.
Beyond the enemy ranks, which moved forcefully once more, I suddenly caught sight of an uncharacteristic cloud of dust swirling.
'Cavalry.'
"Warriors, hold this ground! Seutorolpeu! Cavalry! Follow me!"
"Yes! Konungr!"
"Yes!"
As I turned hastily and headed toward where the horses waited, I saw Oleg and Djur, who had apparently been on the far side of the line, running toward me, covered head to toe in blood. It was an urgent situation, so a proper greeting was out of the question, but truthfully, I was a little concerned.
Commanders really shouldn't be fighting at the very front like that...
"Konungr!"
"Oleg, Djur! The enemy's attack is concentrated on the center and here! I've confirmed their cavalry is flanking, so I must go stop them! Can you hold out?"
"We can hold out for a thousand, ten thousand years!"
"When their strength is spent, we will push them back instead!"
"Haha! Fweee-!"
The two commanders wore confident faces and even gave chilling smiles. I grinned back at them, then mounted Camembert, who had come running at the sound of my whistle.
"I'll say it once more, you must not get too far from the center! Think of maintaining our formation rather than excessive pursuit!"
"Yes! Konungr!"
I nodded to them as they raised their salutes in unison, and as I galloped out, I drew the long spear I had thrust into the ground when dismounting.
[Shhk-]
In my left hand, the long spear; in my Örn hand, the long sword.
Communicating with Camembert using only the strength of my waist and legs, I was already, as the Eastern Roman emperor had admired, in a state of total unity with my horse.
"Riders of Árós! Is there any among you who cannot fight!"
"Such a wretch died long ago! Konungr!"
"We can fight all day!"
"Good! We move!"
[Dugudugu dugudugu-]
The wind sliced past, slowly cooling my Örn body.
At my hearty shout, the riders spit out answers filled with equal battle spirit. I heard ragged breaths here and there, but they all still looked untroubled.
They could fight once more.
The enemy cavalry visible in the distance seemed to have decided on a wide flanking maneuver, appearing to cross the defensive line of the hill and move along the small stream situated in the rear.
Then they would all die there.
"Ride! Brave warriors! Glory awaits us!"
"Konungr Helgi!"
"Long live Helgi Ragnarsson! Long live his riders!"
[Bwoooong- wooong-]
Blowing the horn mightily, Seutorolpeu's saddle bore the flag of Hel, fluttering with a furious visage, and the riders cutting through the wind could soon face the Mercian cavalry.