Chapter 33
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 033
Chapter Title: Maleshov Battle (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Right on plan."
I murmured softly, peering through the narrow gunports in the steel barricade toward the hilltop.
Everything was unfolding according to the meticulously calculated scenario.
The soldiers' clumsy feint of a rout.
The king's banner, baiting the Cumans' greed.
And the terrain of Maleshov Hill itself—once momentum built, there was no stopping it.
I could see the Cuman vanguard at the crest hesitate upon spotting the densely packed Panzer Wagenburg below.
But it was already too late.
They had crested the hill at full gallop. Even as the front riders yanked their reins to halt, the thousands of horses thundering from behind, blinded by greed, shoved them onward.
And this was a downhill slope. Gravity-fueled kinetic energy hurled them straight into the steel trap we held wide open below.
Newton's first law. The absolute rule of inertia gripped their necks and slammed them into the jaws of hell.
"Now."
Jan Zizka, the one-eyed old warhorse standing beside me, raised his massive mace high, then slammed it down decisively.
"Fire!"
Tatata-tang—!
A deafening explosion hammered our eardrums, like thousands of thunderbolts crashing from a clear sky.
Crimson flames erupted simultaneously from hundreds of gunports, thick gunsmoke blanketing the steel barricade like a cloud.
Hiiihiiing—!
The horses charging down the hill screamed in terror.
Beasts instinctively fear loud noises and fire. Even warhorses hardened by a lifetime on the battlefield went mad before the thunderous blasts and stinging sulfur reek exploding right in their faces.
"Agh! Calm down! Calm the hell down!"
"The horses! The horses won't listen!"
The lead horses reared, shrieking. Froth-mouthed and crazed, they turned the Cuman ranks into instant chaos.
Fallen riders were trampled into paste by the hooves of their own allies. Horses that couldn't stop rammed headfirst into the steel wall, brains bursting.
The hillside devolved into a slaughterhouse.
Even in the pandemonium, the Cuman commander—that masked freak—screamed desperately.
"Don't stop! Stopping means death! Break through! It's just wagons!"
The enemy leader had figured it out.
Turning tail here would make them sitting ducks for the lead balls from behind.
One path to survival: punching through that smoky wall.
Like a cornered rat biting the cat, the Cuman captain drew his saber and charged ferociously.
"Kill them!"
"Waaaaah!"
Beasts at bay lashing out.
With their leader at the fore, the hundreds of Cuman warriors still mounted followed in a frenzy.
They twisted acrobatically in their saddles, loosing arrows.
Piuuung—!
A black cloud of arrows blotted the sky.
Any normal army would've raised shields and stalled.
But.
Kang! Ting! Titing!
Light, crisp metallic pings.
Like hailstones rattling on a tin roof.
Arrows glanced harmlessly off the smooth steel plates. Even those aimed at gaps failed to thread the needle-thin gunports, leaving only white scratches.
"W-what the hell is that?!"
Shock rippled across the Cuman riders' faces.
Their rain of death fizzled against the panzer wall.
Ours, from within, struck true.
Tang—!
Flame spurted from the hand cannon beside me. The lead ball smashed into a charging Cuman warrior's chest.
Leather armor? Chainmail?
Paper-thin against gunpowder's fury.
The ball shredded armor, pulped innards, and punched out the back.
"Keep firing! Blast away as fast as you reload! No need to aim!"
Gunners behind the panzer whooped excitedly.
No need to dodge. From behind this absolute shield, just ram powder, prime the fuse, and fire.
Another volley crashed out.
Tang! Taang! Tangtang!
"Khek!"
"Aaaagh!"
Cuman cavalry surging to the panzer's prow crumpled, spraying blood. Iron masks flew off, twisted faces smacking mud.
But inertia was merciless.
Dead riders or not, the horses didn't stop.
Kuuung—!
Riderless horses—and those that couldn't brake—slammed the panzer wall.
Wooden wagons might've splintered or flipped.
Steel-reinforced panzers merely shuddered, unmoved.
Horses' necks snapped; riders' bodies crushed against steel.
"Khek!"
Pity stirred as I watched enemies vomit blood and tumble from mounts.
This wasn't battle.
Industrial revolution crushing nomadic hordes.
"Uwaaaagh!"
"Kill them!"
A few unscathed Cumans, trampling comrades' corpses, pierced the hail of bullets to reach the Wagenburg.
Using horse speed, they tried wedging gaps or leaping aboard.
One swung an axe at a steel plate.
Would've split wood.
Kang!
Steel sparked but dented not. Recoil snapped his wrist.
"Thrust!"
At Zizka's command, hundreds of pikes thrust from gaps between plates.
Charging horses and riders impaled.
Puk! Puk!
"Gurk..."
Even the Cuman captain, masked man, wasn't spared.
He parried two spears with flashy swordplay, but the third and fourth from all sides pierced thigh and shoulder.
His horse tumbled; he smashed face-first into the Wagenburg steel.
Kung!
Tumbling, he looked up at me through his bloodied mask.
No rage in those eyes.
Just incomprehensible terror and despair at the overwhelming power gap.
I leveled my lit hand cannon at his forehead.
"The era has changed, barbarian."
Tang!
His head snapped back.
Done.
Vanguard collapsed; the rest lost heart.
Seeing the corpse mountain before the steel wall, trailing riders screamed and wheeled about.
But three thousand tangled on a narrow slope.
No escape.
Zizka yanked his bloody mace and roared.
"Let none escape! Show these bastards Bohemia’s wrath!"
The battle ended.
Maleshov Hill’s slope was carpeted in dark red blood, mangled flesh, and riderless horse carcasses.
Panzer steel doors swung open. Taborite infantry poured out with hooks and flails, turning the field into a butcher’s yard.
Cumans unhorsed, slowed, flailing in mud—perfect prey.
Thwack! Thud!
"Die! Die, you demons!"
"Vengeance for my brother! For our village!"
Soldiers were berserk.
They swarmed limp Cuman corpses, smashing grotesque iron masks with flails again and again.
Blood and brains squirted through dented helms, but soldiers’ eyes burned with manic glee and ancient grudge.
Small wonder. These were Sigismund’s hounds who’d turned Bohemia into hell twenty years back.
The nightmare name that silenced crying children.
But today, that nightmare shattered against steel.
Our losses? Minimal. A few hit by arrows or falls in the initial bait—panzer crews unscathed.
Total victory.
Waaaaaaah—!
"We won!"
"The demons are dead! Bleeding out like pigs!"
"Cumans ain't shit!"
The field-shaking cheers. Soldiers pounded shields and steel plates in frenzy, savoring triumph.
I dismounted, wading the blood-stinking field. Blood-mud splattered my boots; I ignored it.
Soldiers spotted me, parting like the Red Sea.
"Long live Lord Ulrich!"
"Long live the Steel King!"
"Long live the new Emperor Charles!"
Their gazes: beyond awe, fanatic worship.
I saluted briefly and headed to the field’s heart.
There, atop a mound of corpses, stood a hulking old warrior.
Jan Zizka.
Tabor’s one-eyed wolf.
Blood and chunks dripped from his massive mace. His single eye gleamed through his visor.
"Perfect timing, General. Without your army, my lands would be ash by now."
I spoke sincerely.
South Tabor fortress to Maleshov: no short jaunt.
Unlike horse-mounted Cumans, Taborites dragged steel-plated wagons.
Impossible without forced march night and day after my missive, soldiers’ feet blistered raw.
Zizka sheathed his mace and bellowed a laugh.
"No thanks needed, my lord. If anything, I owe you."
He nodded back.
There gleamed the sunset-red steel fortress: the Panzer Wagenburg.
Kang! Kang!
He rapped it with a bloody gauntlet. Clear metal rang.
"Lived my life in war, but never fought this easy. All thanks to this beast you sent. Heavy as sin, but well-oiled axles rolled smooth."
His gaze fell to scattered Cuman dead.
"With this, even the Emperor fears me not. Cavalry, elephants—I'll smash 'em all."
"Elephants might be a stretch."
I chuckled, extending a hand.
Fellow warrior's clasp.
But Zizka ignored it.
He stared at my hand, then doffed his helmet, tucking it underarm.
And.
Thud—
The giant knelt in the mud.
Cheering soldiers gaped. My guards Janos and Captain Kuno's eyes bulged.
Jan Zizka himself.
Leader scorning Emperor's writ and Pope's excommunication.
Bowing to none but God and conviction.
"General? What..."
"You were right, my lord."
Zizka bowed his head, voice gravel-deep.
"Frankly, I thought it noble folly at first. But this steel plate outvalues a hundred men."
He looked up.
"But more astounding than steel is you, my lord. Weapons and tactics mean nothing with a coward leader."
His eye flicked to the hilltop, my vantage.
"We crushed Cumans easy today 'cause they lost their heads at the king's banner. Seen countless kings and nobles, but none baits enemies with his own hide."
No doubt in that eye now. Pure soldier's loyalty to lord.
"This Jan Zizka pledges from today: your sword and shield. I'll sweep Bohemia’s foes. Command me."
"..."
Emotion swelled unbidden.
I leaned, offering my hand again.
"Rise, General. It's Sigismund who should kneel—not us."
This time, Zizka gripped firm, rising.
"Cumans are just the start. Much lies ahead for you."
"Entrust it to me, my lord."
That instant, Taborites and Prague militia roared as one.
Steel King and undefeated legend allied.
Confidence surged: even Sigismund's main host, we could face.
But God granted scant time to toast victory.
Dudududu—!
Northward, afar: a horse bolting madly.
No Cuman.
Dust-caked ally courier.
"Make way! Clear the path! Urgent!"
Soldiers murmured, parting.
The rider reined up, tumbling off, gasping.
Breath ragged, eyes wide with terror.
"M-my lord! Disaster!"
"What? More Cumans?"
He shook his head fiercely.
"No! Not south! North!"
"North?"
My and Zizka's brows furrowed.
Sigismund ruled Hungary. Base southeast; strikes from south expected.
North?
"Imperial army! Emperor Sigismund's main force... crossed the Saxon border north!"
Brain blanked white.
Saxon? From Germany?
'The southern Cumans were bait?'
Drew eyes south, then swung north with Empire's princes?
Janos beside me stammered.
"S-scale?"
Courier despaired.
"Saxony, Bavaria, Austria, Hungary... all Europe's banners blanket the border. Emperor's host fills the horizon! At least 100,000!"
Silence.
Cheering mouths shut.
Minutes ago, celebrating 3,000 Cumans downed; now Emperor's 100,000.
Zizka growled.
"Their target?"
Courier gulped dry.
"Prague. The enemy... marches on the capital!"