Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The cavalry thundered across the field, a tidal wave of men and horses, their sheer force raising cloud of dusts .The pounding of hooves on the earth reverberated through the air, each beat echoing the pulse of the riders’ hearts.

The horses, sensing the impending clash, were in a frenzy, their eyes wide with the thrill of the charge. Nostrils flared as they snorted and breathed in the dust-filled air, their powerful muscles rippling beneath gleaming coats. They had been at war many times and the smell of blood was not something they were not familiar with.

Above this surging mass of cavalry, the banners of the noble houses fluttered wildly in the wind, each one a vivid splash of color against the dull brown of the dust and the deep green of the distant woods. These banners bore the crests of powerful families, their sigils—a lion rampant, a soaring eagle, crossed swords—making the air above the dust seems like the work of a artist. The banners whipped and snapped in the air, symbols of the lords’ honor and the ferocity of the charge.

---UZZAH---

They shouted albeit the roar was more to be heard by their companions,as the pitiful infantry would certainly not hear such shout covered by the thundering of hooves. Sorza, the young prince, shouted above the din, his voice cracking with the fervor of youth and the desire for glory.

”Cut through them! Smash them and claim victory, men!” he bellowed, his words directed more at himself than the soldiers, who were already committed to the headlong rush. Positioned safely in the middle of the line, Sorza was spared the danger of the first clash, his presence more symbolic than strategic. His father had insisted he be kept from the most dangerous positions—after all, the heir to the princedom could not be risked so easily.

Just few dozen of steps away now, the soldiers could see something strange about the infantry awaiting them. Hundreds of spears, long and wickedly sharp, jutted out from the formation. These were no ordinary spears; they were longer, heftier, held firmly with both hands by the men in the front line.

Sorza squinted in confusion. The sight was unlike anything he had ever seen. The spears seemed almost impossibly long, creating a wall of steel points that shimmered in the sunlight. The soldiers behind them braced themselves, forming a compact and disciplined line, as if daring the cavalry to continue their charge.

As Sorza observed the enemy formation, the unsettling realization that a frontal charge would be disastrous came at him. ’’ If the horses were to charge the front, their momentum would be stopped cold’’ he thought, his mind racing with the implications. ’’Seems the men at the front have no shields... If only I had archers, I could skewer them from a distance and break them without even charging, he lamented silently, cursing his lack of bows.

He shook himself from the daze. He was on a battlefield, and his hesitation could spell disaster. He needed to lead. ”FLOWERS OPENING!” he shouted, his voice carrying over the thundering hooves and clinking armor. The command was quickly relayed through the ranks, knight after knight repeating it until the entire cavalry force began to shift.

The massive formation, which had seemed ready to crash headlong into the enemy, suddenly began to split. Like petals opening of a blooming flower , the cavalry divided into two wings. One group veered sharply to the right, the other to the left, in a well-practiced maneuver. Sorza watched as his knights executed the tactic flawlessly, fanning out to encircle the enemy infantry.

If I can hit them from both sides, they’ll crumble’’ Sorza thought, his mind racing. ’’Once the flanks are broken, the path will be open to send the heavy cavalry crashing into the rest of their forces. They’ll rout, and victory will be ours.’’

-------

Asag pov:

Asag squinted through the haze of dust rising from the battlefield, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the enemy cavalry’s maneuver. The mass of horsemen that had been barreling straight toward them suddenly began to split, the swirling dust clouds dividing into two distinct trails as the cavalry veered off toward both flanks.

His heart pounded in his chest as he realized what was happening. ’They’re trying to flank us!’ The enemy’s intent was clear—encircle the infantry and crush them from both sides. This was Asag’s first time commanding on a battlefield , in normal occasions Alpheo would have never given command to an inexperienced men , unfortunately he was lacking , humanly speaking, everything that could be used to lead men into battle.Luckily Alpheo had explained him well the strenght and weakness of what he called ’’Reisl?ufer’’ and had even explained to him all the things that could happen and on how to respond.And by that he knew exactly on how to respond

”STEADY, MEN! HOLD THE LINE!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. The urgency in his tone resonated with the soldiers, who gripped their spears and weapons tighter, their knuckles white with tension.

”STEADY!” Asag roared once more, his voice raw with the effort. The spears were set, angled forward like a wall of thorns, ready to pierce any horse that dared to charge. The cavalry were coming in , they were so close that he could distinguish the colour of each horses mane and face. Even from inside the formation he couldn’t help but feel scared of such beast, and from that he knew that the men on the first line must be shitting themselves, even the brothers that he had marched with for months must be feeling their knees giving in .

As the enemy cavalry thundered closer, the ground beneath Asag’s feet trembled with the force of their approach. He could feel the intensity of the moment, the air thick with anticipation. The horses were now only two dozen steps away, their riders’ armor glinting in the sunlight as they prepared to smash into the infantry formation.

Asag’s eyes narrowed as he gauged the distance. The moment was upon them.

”JAVELINS!” he bellowed, his voice a command that cut through the noise of the battlefield.

In an instant, the recruits—green but eager—snapped into action. They had been drilled for this for a few hours , and despite their inexperience, they moved as ordered. Arms shot upward, each soldier hefting a javelin and taking aim at the oncoming cavalry. The tension in the air was palpable as the recruits focused, their breaths held for the briefest of moments.

Then, as if by a single breath, the javelins were released. A swarm of projectiles arced through the sky, their deadly tips glinting as they descended upon the enemy. The air was filled with the sound of the javelins whistling through the air before finding their marks.

The first line of knights took the brunt of the volley. Some javelins struck true, piercing through chainmail and into flesh. Knights cried out as the sharpened points drove deep, some falling from their saddles with a pained grunt. Horses screamed as they were struck, their powerful bodies faltering under the sudden pain, collapsing to the ground and throwing their riders violently.

For those armored in heavier steel plate beneath their mail, the javelins might not have penetrated as deeply, but the sheer force of the impact was enough to unseat several of them. The knights found themselves tossed from their saddles, landing heavily on the ground, the wind knocked out of them. Some struggled to rise, only to be trampled by the hooves of their own charging comrades.

The effect was immediate and chaotic. The front lines of the cavalry were disrupted, their advance faltering as the wounded and the dead littered the field. Yet the charge was not over as the lines behind avoided their fallen companion as they advanced to give the footmen a taste of the cavalry’s steel. (MAP IN THE COMMENT)