Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The battlefield turned chaotic as the riders now on foot clashed against the enemy. Clad in heavy armor, they rushed forward with swords, axes, and maces in hand, determined to break through the enemy lines.

The spearmen , held their ground or at least tried to . Rows of long spears pointed menacingly forward, bracing against the weight of the approaching knights. As the knight crashed into them, the spearmen shoved the points of their weapons into the gaps between plates, aiming for weak spots in the armor, like face and armpit, while men with hammers waited their brave knight to break through the spears to give them a good welcome.

"Push!" one of the infantrymen shouted, sweat pouring down his face as he strained against the weight of a knight pressing forward with his shield.

The enemy proved too strong, some managed to grab the spears with their gauntleted hands, yanking them away from the soldiers before smashing them to the ground with their axes or maces. Wood splintered and cracked, sending broken spears tumbling to the dirt.

With their spears destroyed, the men were forced to rely on their swords, hammers, and maces. The close-quarters combat became brutal, as the knights swung their heavy weapons, aiming for heads and chests.

A knight, swinging his mace, crushed the helmet of an unfortunate soldier, the impact sending him crashing to the ground, lifeless. Another knight thrust his sword into the gap between a soldier's chainmail , the blade sinking deep into flesh with a sickening squelch.

While on horses , Asag's men may have managed to stand their ground, what was happening now could only be described as a one-sided carnage.As deprived of their advantage, the formation Alpheo had so hardily managed to form , was getting smashed left and right.

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Alpheo sat atop his horse, as a slight tremor of nerves betrayed him. His mount shifted beneath him, sensing his unease as he surveyed the battlefield below. It wasn't unfolding the way he had imagined. He had been so confident that his well-trained infantry would swiftly rout the enemy's peasant forces—he'd even boasted about it before the battle. Yet here they were, locked in fierce combat for over an hour nearly two, and the enemy lines still held. Reinforcements kept streaming into their ranks, keeping them bolstered, refusing to break under pressure.

He clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening painfully as he struggled to suppress his frustration. His plan had been flawless—he had thought.

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'What's keeping them? Why haven't they broken?' He asked himself, trying to make sense of it all. He had prepared for everything—or so he had thought.

'If we keep this up, they'll wear us down. The men can't hold this forever. I need to act—need to shift the momentum before it's too late.'

Just when despair began to settle like a weight in his chest, a rider appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping towards him at full speed. Alpheo barely noticed at first, lost in his thoughts of impending defeat. But then, as the rider drew closer, something about the urgency in his approach caught Alpheo's attention.

Things were looking grim; however, it seems fate had other plans for Alpheo , for when everything seemed going badly, he received the good news he was certainly not expecting.

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Egil sat on his horse, lazily chewing a piece of stale bread as his eyes scanned the treeline in front of him. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, but the sight did nothing to stir his excitement. He leaned back in his saddle, bored, feeling like he'd been waiting there forever.

A hundred men, all on horseback, sat with him in silence, hidden among the thick trees. They were meant to be a surprise—a force waiting to strike at just the right moment. But that moment hadn't come yet, and to Egil, it seemed like it never would.

'How long are we supposed to wait?' he thought, taking another bite of bread and tearing it slowly with his teeth. The bread was tough, tasteless, but it gave his restless hands something to do.

He glanced down at his left foot, feeling the familiar throb of pain. 'Damn thing' he muttered to himself, casting a grim look at the limb, which less than a week ago was slightly pierced by an arrow.The wound had healed enough for him to ride again, but every time his foot brushed against the stirrup, a sharp jolt of pain shot up his leg.

From there he could see the battle going on , unfortunately he was too far away to even understand what was going on.

'I will let Alph worry about that , I only have to stick on what I know' he thought as he threw the remaining bread on the ground. ƒreewebɳovel.com

Straightening himself up with a sudden burst of energy, a smile spread across his face as the man rode up, dust kicking up from his horse's hooves. The rider, breathless and wild-eyed, pulled his reins, stopping just before Egil.It was Laedio...

"The captain's given the order," he gasped, pointing toward the battlefield. "It's time. We charge."

Egil's smile widened, his weariness instantly replaced by excitement. He had been waiting for this moment. Finally, the monotony of sitting in the woods was over. With a quick glance at the line of men behind him, Egil's voice rang out with newfound eagerness.

"About damn time! You heard him, lads!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the trees. "We're done waiting—follow me!"

A collective murmur of excitement rippled through the ranks as the men straightened in their saddles, hands gripping weapons in anticipation. Egil spurred his horse forward, the pain in his foot momentarily forgotten as adrenaline surged through him. His steed shot out from the tree line, galloping toward the battlefield, with a hundred riders thundering after him. The ground shook beneath the weight of hooves, and the dull roar of the charge echoed out of the forest and toward the battle.

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Sorza's pov:

Sorza swung his sword with relentless focus, parrying strikes and thrusting back at the enemy infantry with the desperation of a man trying to carve a name for himself on the battlefield. Every moment, every clang of steel, was met with a grim determination. His eyes darted across the fight, studying weak points in the enemy's formation. He watched as some of his men tried to overpower the stubborn infantry, while others struggled against the long spears that kept them at bay.

His breathing was heavy, his arms aching from the weight of his blade, but he pressed on, ignoring the exhaustion creeping into his limbs.They were finally having the better..... In one corner, he saw a knight felling two enemy footmen with a single powerful swing,killing the first and knocking the second to the ground before finishing him off, and in another, his own guards struggling to push forward against the unyielding wall of spears.

Then, a shout cut through his concentration like a blade. "Your Grace! Look ahead!" one of his guards yelled frantically, pointing past the melee while grabbing the heir back from his shoulder.

Sorza snapped out of his battle trance, blinking in confusion. His eyes followed the direction of the guard's outstretched hand, and what he saw drained the blood from his face. A massive plume of dust was rising on the horizon, growing larger by the second.

"Cavalry..." he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din of battle.

The realization hit him like a hammer. The enemy had held back cavalry. That bastard of Arkawatt had hidden part of his forces, biding their time until now. Fear gripped Sorza's chest as he stared at the dust cloud, knowing what it meant.

"They're coming for us," he muttered, panic rising in his throat. He had expected to break the infantry with his own cavalry charge, but now he was caught off guard, vulnerable , this time victim of the style of combat he worshipped.

''PULL BACK!'' he shouted as he frantically went towards one of the many horses laying back ''ON YOUR HORSES GET BACK! RETREAT!''

The prince tried everything in order to regain control, but the unease had already spread through his ranks at the sight of the dust . They had been lured into a trap, and now the trap was closing in.

Egil's cavalry thundered onto the battle , a hundred horsemen surging forward in a well-timed charge. The ground trembled beneath them as hooves pounded the earth.

With a fierce shout, Egil lowered his lance, and his men followed suit. The long, gleaming weapons leveled like deadly spears aimed straight at the exposed backs and sides of the enemy knights, most of whom had dismounted to fight on foot and that did not manage to find a horse.

The impact was devastating.

The knights, clad only in chainmail, were no match for the force of the cavalry charge. Egil's lance plunged into the torso of an enemy knight, piercing through the chainmail with ease. The knight let out a guttural scream as the lance skewered him, lifting him off his feet before the lance snapped from the sheer force of the charge.

For those in heavier plate armor, the outcome was only marginally better. While the lances failed to fully penetrate the thick steel, the blunt force was enough to cause devastating internal damage. Knights in full plate staggered under the impact, their ribs shattered, lungs punctured as they collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

The cavalry pushed through, horses crashing into the dismounted knights, trampling the fallen underfoot as they charged deeper into the enemy lines. Some of Sorza's men, caught off guard, tried to flee, but the suddenness and violence of the charge left them no chance. Egil's men tore through the battlefield, their swords flashing as they cut down the disoriented enemies.

The once proud formation of Sorza's knights was now in complete disarray, bodies and armor strewn across the field. The prince's plan, his bold charge that had seemed to work , had been utterly shattered in an instant.