90.
[This is part 1/2]. You must maintain the narrative flow with the previous chunks while following all system prompt guidelines previously mentioned.
90.
It was true that our capabilities had not yet risen to the level of a cavalry charge.
This was not merely a matter of men, in truth—the fact that the horses' physiques and training were not yet up to the task also played a large part.
But that conclusion stemmed from my own standards having grown too high. Looking more closely at reality, the enemy's level was no different from ours. Equally small horses, clumsy horsemanship.
Thus, the first mounted battle that would be long remembered in Norse history came to pass... though to be honest, it was something closer to an unavoidable accident.
When cavalry meets infantry, one must swiftly leap down from the horse, but when cavalry meets cavalry, there was not even a moment granted to dismount.
This was a battle pattern I had never imagined, but there was no pulling back now. Turn your back first and you would die.
"Raise your spears! Warriors! Raise your spears!"
"Raise your spears!"
"Follow behind the Konungr!"
[Dugudugu- dugudugu-]
"Hoo- hoo-"
"Hoo hoo-"
[Purureuk- pureuk-]
We hurtled toward the enemy like arrows, while the Mercian riders, having spotted us belatedly, veered away in a wide circle.
'Numbers roughly 300. The one at the head is the commander.'
Riding a white horse, wearing the cleanest armor and a sword decorated with gold at his waist, that one was unmistakably the captain.
'First objective confirmed.'
My riders' breathing grew ragged, and their hands, rigid without their knowing, roughly tightened the horses' reins. Accordingly, the horses, reading their riders' tense gestures, grew nervous and vented their full-body excitement through harsh snorts.
"Fear not, warriors! Death is but a moment! In Valhalla! Or in Hel's domain, we shall meet again—!"
In dire moments, what always surfaced in my mind was the phrase my father had spoken like a mantra. We shall meet again in Valhalla.
This was not merely my father's belief, but a conviction treasured in the heart of every Norse warrior.
Soon, the warriors, having overcome the terror gripping their bodies, let out a war cry born from a state of extreme spiritual exaltation.
"Yiaaaaaa—!"
"Val-ha-lla—!"
"Hel!!!"
"To death—!"
[Dugudugudugudugu—!]
In that instant, a feeling came over me as if the stern gaze of the gods looked down upon our cavalry from behind, and the 200 horsemen, united as a single heart, formed an arrowhead shape with me at the tip and charged.
With the sole intent of piercing through the enemy.
"Rwaaaaa!"
"Long live Helgi!"
"Yaaaa!"
[Dugudugudugudugu— ... Kwang—!]
The collision of the two mounted groups that had raced like the wind, that intense violence, was over in a single moment.
'Hup—!'
[Shwiiiiik— Kwajik!]
"Kuak!"
My spear, cutting through the wind, brushed aside the enemy spear thrusting toward me and drove precisely into the eye-hole of the face-concealing visor.
[Peoseok!]
The moment the spearpoint pierced the head and reached the enemy's hard back of the skull, the shaft, unable to withstand the monstrous force of impact, shattered, and simultaneously, the enemy cavalry captain's body lifted into the air.
[Kung! Kwajik! Peok! Puk! Ihihihing—! Kwajik!]
The clash between cavalry and cavalry, human bodies flying every which way. In truth, few were harmed by edged weapons; it was a situation where they crushed one another purely by the power of speed and weight.
Having let go of the splintered spear shaft, I shifted the greatsword in my left hand to my right and cut down every enemy passing by on either side with a single stroke.
[Huung— Chak! Huuung— Chareureuk! Huung! Peoseok!]
"Eok!"
"Keuk!"
"Keok!"
Camembert, maintaining a straight path against the force cinching tight around his waist, increased speed with all his might, loosing harsh snorts.
The enemy horses brushing past his sides screamed long, terror-stricken at the sight of their falling riders.
[Hihihing— Pureureuk! Kung! Kwajik! Peok!]
Behind me, I still heard the sounds of bodies smashing into one another, but at the thought that stopping here would mean certain death for all, I continued pressing forward.
[Huuung— Seogeok! Huung— Peoseok! Chareureureuk—]
Before the greatsword, which seemed to differ even at the molecular level from ordinary iron swords, iron and bone split with equal ease, and vivid flowers of blood bloomed wherever I passed. At last, when I cut down two enemies who stared at me with expressions that seemed on the verge of tears, an open space revealed itself before me.
[Dagak! Dagak!]
"Whoa, whoa. Whoa—! Camembert. Steady now."
[Pureureuk! Pureuk!]
I loosened the pressure on Camembert's sides once, then tightened again, patting the beast's neck. My hands were already slick with the enemy's blood, and on Camembert's jet-black hide and coat, the marks of my red palms stood out clearly enough to leave their trace.
[Dagak— dagak—]
From a full-tilt gallop to a canter, then again to a fast walk, Camembert gradually slowed his speed step by step while steadying his breath. Soaked utterly in sweat and blood, I faced the coolly blowing wind. The number of those who had followed my charge from behind was roughly 150.
Those who had ridden behind me, Styrbjorn and Thorbjörn among them, were relatively unharmed; the warriors on the outer flanks of the formation seemed to have fallen from their horses first.
'We broke through.'
About 50 of our own had died or were wounded, but every one of their 300 was combat-incapable. Even the few survivors were frantically turning their horses' heads and fleeing senselessly.
Having smashed the enemy's main force in a single stroke and accomplished a tremendous feat by thwarting their flanking attempt, the cavalrymen's faces were filled only with expressions of disbelief at what they had just experienced.
"Styrbjorn! We go in once more! Thorbjörn! Have you still the wits left to ride!"
I deliberately raised my voice so all could hear. Styrbjorn and Thorbjörn nodded their heads breathlessly at me.
"Good! We retrieve all our brothers, and take only those among the enemy who show a chance of living as prisoners! Let's go!"
"Aye!"
[Dagak dagak—]
The steps returning to the battlefield we had swept past in the blink of an eye were heavy.
Dying by edged weapons was a sufficiently horrible thing, but being rammed with full force by beasts several times heavier than a man's weight and several times faster than a man's speed killed people in a manner far more gruesome than that.
However, after I confirmed that the surviving enemy riders had completely withdrawn from the field, I immediately ordered the wounded and dead to be tended. Soon, my horsemen, scattered across the fierce battleground, put an end to the lives of enemies barely breathing, and hastily lifted onto horses the identifiable bodies of allies and the wounded who still gasped for breath.
Those who screamed in agony, and those who had already lost even the presence of mind to do so.
I hurried with them to the rear of the front line where fierce fighting still raged, to the tent situated behind the hill, and after hastily unloading the wounded and dead, I ordered everyone to take a Hugh-style breather.
"Same goes for you, Camembert."
[Purururu- pururuk-]
I gave the beast's mane one more stroke for having borne my weight, and, leaving behind the warriors who were finally slumping down or retching from the release of tension, I mounted my horse once more.
This one was a spare assigned to me specifically for being gentle and fast. It had a brown coat and mane.
"Konungr! I will come with you!"
Seutorolpeu hurried up to me as I was about to head straight for the front, but I shook my head.
"Then who will take charge here? The enemy might attempt another flanking move, so someone must guard this place. Seutorolpeu. I am counting on you."
"...! Not a single enemy shall pass this place!"
"Good. Then I will see you shortly, Seutorolpeu."
Where did you think you were going with your hands and feet trembling like that, Seutorolpeu.
As I pulled the reins and climbed the hill, the entire cavalry troop rose from their positions and saluted me.
[Kung!]
I waved a hand at them and spurred my horse on; the blade of the sword in my Örn hand was shining a brilliant blue, just as on the day I first saw it.
*****
"...What did you say? Say it again."
"...Eorl Coenred... has lost his life, and our cavalry has shattered. Cyning..."
"..."
[Iyaaaaaa-!]
[Chaeng! Peok! Sswaeeeaeak- peobeok! Aaaak!]
The sun, which had been hanging midway across the sky, was slowly sinking, and in the rear of the Mercian army, the sounds of flesh and blood collapsing dimly reached their ears while the battlefield fires still burned hot.
Burgred Cyning, upon receiving the utterly unbelievable news, lost his words entirely.
'What in the world is this?'
"Where the hell did they flank? How in the world did Ealdorman Coenred die!"
[Taeng!]
What followed the momentary stupor was fierce rage and denial.
Unable to overcome his emotions, Burgred hurled his helmet with all his might, and all around him bowed their heads to avoid meeting the enraged Cyning's gaze.
"The surviving... how many riders survived?"
"About a hundred riders, Cyning..."
"What...?"
Three hundred went out and only a hundred returned?
And if a hundred was just the number who survived, then there would be wounded among them as well.
'Is this a dream? Just a moment ago I had three hundred riders, and now they are gone.'
As his head throbbed and his breath grew short, a dizzy feeling came over Burgred and he squeezed his eyes shut. Then, a calm, almost cold voice reached his ears.
"The loss of Eorl Coenred and the cavalry is painful, but their own losses will not be small either. Cyning."
At that voice, like a ray of light in deep darkness, Burgred painfully opened his eyes and drew a deep breath, gathering his wits.
"Alfred. My wise and brave kinsman. I wish to hear more of your counsel."
It was a sight of Burgred desperately clinging to his brother-in-law in the face of great pain, but young Alfred remained unshaken.
"The problem was that we did not know they had cavalry of this caliber. Now that we know, it is all the better. We must thicken the defense of the main camp where you, Cyning, reside and press them even harder. No matter how well they fight, they cannot keep fighting like that for days on end."
"Yes... that is so... My strongest sword and their strongest sword have met; neither side could remain whole. Earl Alfred's words are entirely correct. Is that not so, everyone?"
As Alfred's calm voice continued, the dark shadow that had hung over the place seemed to slowly lift.
The deep darkness that had veiled Burgred's eyes gave way to light once more, and as he quietly retraced Alfred's opinion, his voice gradually regained its strength.
The earls who had bowed their heads all nodded in agreement.
"That is right, Cyning! They may have had one trick, but in the end, our strength is greater!"
"Eorl Coenred is unfortunate, but he fought in God's name and will surely have entered heaven...! We must not let his death be in vain!"
"Hear, hear!"
"Death to the outsiders! Death to the traitor Beodericsworth!"
As the lords, the King of Mercia, and the Prince of Wessex turned the atmosphere around in an instant,
Edmund of East Anglia quietly swallowed his bitter fury.
'Hunta. I will surely avenge you.'
The Northmen, of course, but also those jackals of Mercia and Wessex who had pushed them into this—all of them. He would punish them all.
'If I cannot, then there is only death...!'
"I will go to the front line myself! Will you all come with me!"
"Long live Burgred Cyning! Long live Mercia!"
Amid the roaring cries of Mercian warriors rising like flames, Edmund resolved himself to death.
*****
As the Mercian command, including the king, all headed to the front to renew the battlefield spirit, a markedly different atmosphere was already taking shape at the front.
[Huung- huung- seogeok! seogeok! chararak! peoseok!]
After the tearing sounds that seemed to rip the air apart, the great arcs were invariably traced by the blood of Mercian warriors.
[Chwak! Chararak! Chwak!]
Amid the oddly harmonizing sounds of blood pouring and chainmail being rent, there was a warrior with a great sword slung over his shoulder.
"Shields forward!"
"Shields forward—!"
"Do not fall behind!"
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok!]
Wherever the ranks wavered, the warrior plunged in, swinging a great sword as tall as a man. At that awe-inspiring sight, impossible to believe without seeing it with one's own eyes, the Northmen cast aside thoughts of their own lives and followed their king.
The warriors of Árós, trained according to an ambitious plan yet still somewhat raw, were being forged ever stronger, ever harder.
Like the sword their king swung.
"We will not retreat a single step from this place today! Is that not so!?"
"Of course!"
"Iron wall! Iron wall of Árós!"
"Long live Helgi Konungr!"
"Aoo-ooooo!"
A resonant, majestic voice that shook the surroundings. The warriors responded with all their might, and the Mercian warriors felt their feet would no longer carry them forward.