Horizon of War [Kingdom Building, No Harem, No LIT]

Chapter 90

The Reddened Reap

 

The battle had raged for an hour when the Nicopolan vanguard finally breached the Korimor wall defense. In an attack that exceeded expectations, the young Nicopolans demonstrated a fierceness and tenacity shaped by surviving numerous life-and-death conflicts that arose from recent famines. While the Korimor men displayed their stubbornness, hardened from countless wars in strife-ridden Lowlandia, they were outnumbered.

Lord Lansius' wooden walls, built atop half-buried carts, served as a formidable equalizer. His strategy of using irrigation channels to flood the area in front of the wall was a masterstroke, however, it wasn't enough.

Now, the three wooden platforms that the Korimor side had used as crossbowmen platforms were being captured. They failed to contain multiple breaches in their defense, and soon more than a third of the center wall section was overrun.

Watching this intensely, the Lord of Korelia finally gave the order. "Blow the horn."

Deep, resonating trumpet blasts filled the air, echoing repeatedly. Horn blowers atop the city walls amplified the command, ensuring all nearby heard the directive.

In the thick of battle, Hugo recognized the dreaded signal: a call to retreat.

His lieutenant and fellow men-at-arms' faces obscured by visors, glanced his way, filled with question and anticipation. Lifting his visor, Hugo shouted, "Halt, halt!"

The troops instinctively tightened their formation, brandishing their weapons defensively.

"Remember your training!" Hugo commanded. Methodically, they began to step back, pulling in any stragglers to form a solid spear line.

To the Nicopolans, it looked as if they were observing a hedgehog rolling into a protective ball. Impressed by the Lowlandians' discipline, they opted not to fight and instead took the chance to catch their breath. With the immediate threat gone, they fully realized their exhaustion; their limbs felt heavy, burdened by the weight of their soaked clothes and gambesons.

Some turned to scavenge from fallen comrades and enemies for knives, helmets, dry boots, or waterskins, while many others tended to their wounded if only to be present in their dying moments.

The rising sun intensified their thirst. Many considered drinking from the muddy puddles, regretting leaving their waterskins behind during the ascent.

However, the lull was short-lived. Once the young Nicopolan lieutenants caught their breath, they started to give commands to form a line.

Enforcers armed with wooden clubs began making their rounds to ensure compliance. The thousands who had scaled the wall and were not tasked with dismantling it slowly formed into a line formation.

Once the Nicopolans assumed their line formation, their vast numerical advantage over the defenders became evident.

For the Korimor side, despite their impressively orderly retreat, the situation looked dire. They had lost their makeshift wooden walls, their most significant defensive asset in today's battle.

On the other hand, for the hundreds of mercenaries who had survived the siege of Korelia, this initial victory felt like they had broken their curse. It seemed that the reputation of the once-feared Black Lord was finally waning.

 

***

 

Lansius

The Korimor side hastily abandoned the wall and retreated a hundred paces back. The morale took a plummet, but he was grateful that there was no rout. The Korimor people under him had proved to be courageous. Despite all the threats and the major loss, they followed Lansius' command.

Lansius saw Hugo approaching and gestured for his men to make way. Everybody in the center was converging on his banner.

"My Lord," Hugo greeted him with an open helmet. He was drenched in sweat, and his armor had new dents and was stained in various places.

"How's things on your end?" Lansius asked.

"I apologize that the center line failed." His voice held bitter regret.

"Nonsense! You and your men fought courageously. Lift your chin, I expect nothing less than a proud face. Now, tell me about your men, did you manage to disengage safely?"

With renewed confidence, Hugo reported, "We managed to form a wall of spears. No desertion."

"Excellent..." praised Lansius without sounding excited.

"How about on the other sector?" It was Hugo's turn to ask.

Lansius gazed at his captain, Sigmund, who reported to Hugo, "The left and right wings are holding. They're outnumbered but able to form a defense independent from our center."

Hugo could only nod and silently praised the other two commanders. He then gazed at his Lord. "My Lord, I understand that you have prepared for this eventuality."

Everyone could see the bundles of cloth and ropes scattered about, previously used to pack shields and spears. Drinking water and temporary medical aid were also present.

"But is this truly sufficient? Shouldn't we consider evacuating?" Hugo murmured, fearing that the left and right wings could become ensnared.

"I've called upon Batu and his riders," Lord Lansius replied, alluding to a contingency plan they'd discussed.

Hugo's worry deepened. A mere hundred cavalry wouldn't be able to mount an effective counter inside farmland, and he doubted Lansius would sacrifice his crops. Before he could voice his thoughts, yells from the opposite side indicated that the opponent had made their move.

 

***

 

Korimor born, Walter

With fifty years under his belt, thirty of which were spent in multiple battles, Walter and the other townsfolk believed they had seen it all. But watching the Lord lead a battle and personally fight alongside common men was nothing short of spectacular.

The Lord had dispatched his knights and men-at-arms to reinforce other sections of the walls, leaving himself without a regiment of knights for protection. Beside him stood just a lone knight, two squires, a bannerman, and several fighters.

Yet, this did not convey vulnerability. Instead, it fostered a deep sense of camaraderie and inspired all who saw. Here was a Lord willing to shoulder the same risks as the commoners fighting beside him, a leader who stood his ground even when the odds turned against him.

Lord Lansius demonstrated his mettle by plunging into the heat of the battle, leading his small group against the Nicopolan Vanguard at various points along the walls. Naturally, wherever his banner went, the Korimor men flocked to it, rallying around their leader.

Like the other people of Korimor, Walter had never expected outsiders to bleed for them. They were accustomed to being treated as mere commodities by conquerors, to be used and discarded at a whim. Thus, witnessing Lord Lansius and his entire retinue—including the Baroness—take an active role in the city's defense was nothing short of a revelation.

Many had expected the new Lord to loot the treasury and flee. Instead, over the past few days, they had worked tirelessly to establish a solid defense. This image was further reinforced by tales of how the Lord had ridden to the point of illness to come to the city's defense.

When most of Korimor had resigned themselves to the overwhelming Nicopolan forces, it was the Lord's conviction in victory that reignited the people's will to fight.

What the Lord had done during his brief time was unmatched in the war-torn region known as Lowlandia. For centuries, it had seen only wars, occupations, and rebellions, orchestrated and fought by countless usurpers and power-hungry tyrants. There had never been a true champion of the people.

Walter and the Korimor people realized that although their Lord, Lady, and knights had much to gain from holding Korimor, there were simpler methods to benefit from the city without facing the vast Nicopolan army. One such strategy would be to burn the harvest, thereby denying the Nicopolans its yield.

Such a choice would starve the people of Korimor in hopes of driving the Nicopolans away — a tactic other lords would employ without hesitation. Thus, witnessing Lord Lansius' efforts to preserve the harvest endeared him to the people.

This was why, even in the darkest hour, Walter and his comrades refused to flee. They were determined to stand by their champion until the bitter end.

When the Nicopolans finally resumed their attack, the Korimor men held firm. Brandishing their spears and shields, they roared their battle cries and fought fiercely for their families, livelihoods, and a Lord worthy of their loyalty.

From the elderly to young warriors, they traded thrusts and lunges of their spears against the more numerous Nicopolans. But passion alone couldn't substitute for numbers in battle, and casualties began to mount.

"Arghh!" Walter cried as a spear slipped through. The steel-tipped spear penetrated his gambeson. At first, it wasn't too deep, but as he staggered and tried to wrestle the spear out, his opponent thrust it deeper. The final push ruptured blood vessels, causing Walter to bleed profusely.

Amid the pain, a smile formed on Walter's lips, still defiantly wishing for Korimor to emerge victorious.

Suddenly, he sensed a change in the air. Even in his weakened state, Walter noticed a distinct shift in the Nicopolans. Their formation began to crumble, their spear thrusts lacked weight and ferocity, and their shouts became sporadic and confused.

The tide was turning.

With a laugh and a deep breath, Walter mustered what strength remained. He reclaimed his spear, discarded his shield, and gripped the weapon with both hands. He found strength in his legs and with a great roar, lunged at the enemy one final time.

 

***

 

The Nicopolan Vanguard

The young Nicopolan lieutenant watched in shock as his friend collapsed in front of him, his thigh pierced by a low thrust. Like him, his friend was just months away from turning twenty. But now, he would be forever nineteen as his face turned pale from blood loss.

Meanwhile, the perpetrator died with a satisfied expression.

What kind of monster is able to inspire a man to this degree?

But the lieutenant had little time for contemplation as another volley of ranged attacks rained down on their position. He shielded himself, fortunate to be spared, but another beside him fell, an arrow protruding from his shoulder.

Recognizing the long slender shaft, he realized it wasn't a bolt. "Arrows! It's the nomadic bowmen!" he shouted, trying to warn his men.

Many hadn't carried their shields or had lost them, leaving them vulnerable to ranged attacks. And unlike crossbowmen who reloaded slowly, bowmen could release a rapid succession of arrows.

Panic spread among his ranks. "They have nomadic archers!" one cried, echoing the sentiments of others as they began to see whether they were allowed to retreat.

"Lieutenant, the men can't withstand this anymore!" his enforcer shouted, after enduring a relentless volley of arrows.

Before the lieutenant could respond, he felt a sharp impact on his mouth, knocking him backward. Blood poured from his mouth, his front teeth were missing, and an arrow was lodged deep in his throat. He could only gurgle in pain, his body writhing in agony, much to his men's horror.

His closest men and the enforcer tried to assist, but a rout had begun. And they were in no condition to care for anyone but themselves.

The two friends were left lying side by side, neither having reached the age of twenty under the sun.

As the Korimor side began their counter-push, the Nicopolan vanguard hastily retreated to the wall while scavenging for shields or even helmets as protection.

 

***

 

Lansius

While the first part of his strategy failed to deter the opponent, the second phase successfully divided the Nicopolans. Using the wall as if it were a river, Lansius lured a segment of the Nicopolans across, only to mete out heavy punishment once they had ventured far enough into his chosen locale.

Lansius was positioning the enemy in the perfect killing zone. Separated from the main force, the Nicopolan vanguard, though numerous and aggressive, ultimately lacked support from their main army.

The Korimor men, with their phalanx-like formation, successfully kept the Nicopolans' advance in check while the newly arrived archers began their volleys with recurve bows.

Lansius had transformed the Nicopolans' numerical superiority into a weakness to be exploited by his archers. Here, the opponents had nowhere to run, and their retreat was blocked by walls.

While Batu had just over a hundred horse archers remaining, nearly all his tribesmen were proficient with bows. As a result, he could field two hundred archers on foot. Their sure footing made them even more accurate and deadly.

Facing such a densely packed enemy formation, even the younger, less skilled archers found it easy to land damaging shots. Batu personally positioned himself among the Korimor formation, targeting and eliminating the opposing group leaders and commanders, instilling fear in the heart of the Nicopolan vanguard.

Eventually, the Nicopolan vanguard reached their breaking point. Their formation shattered, and they sprinted towards the wall.

The wall, which they had fervently attacked, again became their obstacle to escape. In their panicked frenzy, they scrambled to climb over it. With the chain of command crumbled, many were either too exhausted to fight or paralyzed by fear of the nomadic archers.

 

Lord Lansius ordered his troops to pursue. While he didn't relish the slaughter, he had no other way to secure victory. Without hesitation, he commanded his men to inflict maximum damage upon the enemy.

The fighting reignited near the wall, with Nicopolans perishing in large numbers to the relentless archery volleys they couldn't counteract.

In addition to Batu and his nomadic archers, Lansius accepted reinforcements from the city. Youths capable of wielding arms rushed to assist, having observed the battle from the city walls. To them, the fighters weren't faceless grunts, but kin—fathers, brothers, cousins, nephews, and uncles.

Lansius directed these newcomers to retrieve as many arrows and bolts as possible. He readied his crossbow once again, helping to maintain pressure on the beleaguered Nicopolans as they desperately tried to escape.

The multiple screams and deaths from ranged attacks killed the Nicopolan vanguard's morale. Meanwhile, the Korimor regained their momentum.

The Nicopolans managed to form a shield wall, but they were quickly challenged by Hugo and his veteran men-at-arms. Batu downed another foe with his archery, while Lansius bolt struck into an unfortunate man's gut.

Still, the Nicopolans were a hardy people. Some of the fresher soldiers, having just scaled the wall and yet to engage in combat, rallied to lead a charge towards where the Lord's banner flew.

Shit, I put too much pressure...

Lansius admitted to himself, realizing that cornering the enemy like this would drive them to fight desperately in a life-or-death scenario. But he had no time for regrets as he aimed and released his final bolt, which struck down a man clad in ringmail.

Sir Michael, Sigmund, and Roger stepped forward, confronting those who preferred to die fighting rather than be hunted like animals. Assisted by the men from Korimor, they halted the advancing Nicopolans. After an intense bout of combat, which left Roger injured, the Nicopolans' will to fight waned following significant losses. Many paid for their recklessness with their lives.

"Sigmund," Lansius called, watching as the latter stood with a pilfered enemy shield, "have I spilled too much blood?"

"No, My Lord," Sigmund replied. "We need more to convince them to leave the region."

Only now did Lansius understand what Henry V must have felt during the famed Battle of Agincourt. Facing a significantly larger opponent, despite gaining an advantage, the English monarch ordered the killing of prisoners and hostages, out of fear that they might re-arm and join a possible counterattack.

Lansius was now facing a similar concern. He had barely recovered from the brink of being overrun and lacked the manpower to properly guard a large number of prisoners. Moreover, unlike high-valued knights, nobody wanted to take the Nicopolans as prisoners, as the refugees presented no incentive for ransom. Worse still, if another major assault occurred, the prisoners could re-arm and rejoin the fight.

A young boy, no older than twelve, approached Lansius, holding four retrieved bolts. His helmet was comically oversized for his head.

"Gratitude, boy," Lansius said. The child responded with an angelic smirk.

As Lansius reloaded his crossbow, he found himself wondering how a boy so young could stomach all the carnage that had unfolded around them. Turning to Sigmund, he confided, "If I've taken too many lives, warn me. I don't want to be a murderer."

Sigmund quipped, "If that day comes, I'll gladly take that title from you, My Lord."

Despite the horrifying situation, Lansius let out a chuckle.

The skald continued, "To be honest with you, My Lord, you warned them. You knew your capabilities and tried hard to prevent this tragedy. Yet, they ignored your warnings. Now, they must realize they feared the wrong man. This Tarracan Man's leadership must fail, or our situation will never improve."

Lansius took a moment to survey the scene, noting that many of the yellowing crops now had a shade of deep ochre red, tainted by the spilled blood.

He took a deep breath and patted Sigmund's shoulder. "Let's retake the wall while we still have the chance."

Soon, the trumpets rang excitedly. The order for general attack had been cast.

 

***