Chapter 145

Chapter 145

***

Sun and plateaus, wind and sea, and oranges.

It's unknown what influence those have on the people living here, but the Sinatria people had somewhat emotional and passionate sides.

To Rickart, who was from the northern and central parts of the Empire that valued taciturn restraint, diligence, courage, and honor, it looked somewhat unfamiliar and strange.

However, Rickart himself might have also been influenced without knowing. By the sun and plateaus, wind and sea, and oranges, that is.

Heading west from the plains of Valensha, the high-altitude area slowly begins, and although not that high, mountain ranges seemed to stretch out in several branches.

There were five paths through which one could invade from the outside, and therefore defending the mainland was unavoidably difficult. Unless one holed up in the city and waged a siege battle.

But if they waged a siege battle, they had no choice but to have all their freshly ripening food snatched away.

Then the answer was clear. To advance to that field and fight was the only way.

However, no matter how clear the answer, there were truly things in the world where nothing could be done. Just as an individual's life is too.

Especially in a battle where life and death were at stake, acting recklessly was even more difficult.

Nevertheless, Rickart persuaded the soldiers, yelled at them, appeased them, and basically did all sorts of bullshit to barely advance to the field.

Actually, the most difficult thing in military command wasn't brilliant operations or tactics, but persuading and leading people.

Still, fortunately, although everyone was reluctant, the knights and soldiers did as they were told, albeit grudgingly.

The sky was gloomy, as if it was going to rain. The normally scorching sun couldn't be seen.

The wind blew exceptionally harder than usual so flags of various colors fluttered vigorously, but Rickart's expression looking up at the sky askew was not good.

Facing a battle, one's nerves had no choice but to become sensitive due to worry and anxiety. That was no different for Rickart. If there was a difference from others, it was merely seeing a different side of humans, of the world.

However, anxiety and worry could just be overcome on one's own, but sensitive nerves sometimes made one believe in superstitions one didn't normally believe in.

Things like a sudden gust of wind blowing, or the shape of the clouds being strange. Is that a good omen, or a bad omen? If it rains, who will it be advantageous for and who will it be disadvantageous for?

However, now it was largely meaningless to weigh such things here. Because two days had already passed waiting for the battle after pitching camp.

Naturally, the expressions of the soldiers were also not good. They frowned and looked up at the high sky like Rickart, or stared at the horizon far off at the edge of the earth.

The scouts on horseback seemed to fly around the unit like dragonflies. Continuously delivering news and reporting, but as time passed they went back and forth more frequently and faster.

The busier they moved around, the soldiers also knew. That the fight was imminent.

Then a faint rumbling sound was heard. That sound gradually grew louder, and eventually later the feeling of the ground weakly shaking was even felt.

There were anxious horses. Knights and soldiers had a hard time calming the horses.

And finally, the enemies revealed their figures one by one from the ridge far away. At first it seemed like naturally a few, but endlessly coming down the field, it covered the entire field in no time.

The flags of the Salaman people fluttered wildly. Unlike this side, their flags were mostly single-colored like yellow or black, and their crests often had curvy letters drawn rather than depicting shapes or flora and fauna.

Anyway, it seemed too much no matter how you looked at it. The scouts had continuously reported the exact same thing over the past two days so they all knew, but truly seeing it with their own eyes felt different.

20,000 men. That wasn't simply a number. It was a power. A power that could destroy anything in the world.

Even Rickart's heart was trembling, so the soldiers were obvious without even looking. Their hands holding shields and weapons were shaking uncontrollably.

To calm that anxiety and boost morale, Rickart deliberately rode the red horse and ran in front of the encampment. Saying look at me and have courage.

Still, the shaking hands of the soldiers wouldn't easily calm down. So Rickart moved around in front of the encampment and shouted loudly.

"Men of Sinatria! Listen to my story!"

Rickart didn't deliberately speak down to the soldiers.

"For what reason did everyone wear cumbersome and heavy armor, and take up weapons in your hands? Is it because of the King's order, or because of money? As you all know, I am an outsider from afar. Seen through the eyes of an outsider, the men of Sinatria were all brave without knowing fear. Have I seen wrong!?"

Rickart stimulated the pride of the soldiers. Whether it made sense or not, to boost morale he was prepared to sell out anything and spout any words.

Rickart clenched his fist tightly, raised it high to show, and said.

"Just exactly three people! You only have to kill three people per person and we can kill all the enemies! For a man of Sinatria, aren't about three infidels a piece of cake!? Am I wrong!? Try answering!"

Then there were soldiers raising weapons like spears high from here and there shouting no! we can do it!. However, everyone wasn't of one mind and one will.

"I am not giving you a difficult order! Do not retreat! Do not turn your back and run away! And thus ultimately win!"

Because that wasn't easy was exactly the problem right now, but regardless the desired objective seemed to have been achieved at least a little. To change the heart pounding from fear into excitement, and rouse the will to fight.

Actually, what was truly important in a battle was troop deployment, the formation. While Rickart grasped and analyzed the surrounding terrain in advance and finished deployment two days ago, the enemies were at the point of just arriving.

Were they letting their guard down, or was it the difficulty accompanying the operation of a large army? The enemies merely spread out their troops messily far away.

It was understandable since having more than three times the troops but being too cautious might act as poison. Since they merely had to push forward, they didn't want to needlessly pay attention to this and that and get tangled up among themselves.

However, merely spreading out troops also required adjusting the intervals, so it wasn't a task that finished quickly.

Meanwhile, Rickart rode the red horse, holding his lance high, and ran towards the enemy camp alone.

Duguduk, duguduk, crossing the field heading to the enemies alone, it naturally drew the attention of both allies and enemies. Tens of thousands of pairs of eyes gathered on Rickart riding the red horse. And followed that movement.

The reason Rickart approached the enemies was none other than to accurately confirm the target with his eyes.

It was an extremely dangerous endeavor. Because knights could pop out from the enemy camp to attack or capture Rickart.

However, as if not even worried, like a person watching a military parade for himself, Rickart closely approached the enemy camp and drove his horse imposingly in front of them.

Since the troop numbers were so large he couldn't see all the way from left to right, but from the enemies' perspective they looked at him with an expression of what is that guy doing approaching so closely.

However, unlike himself, Sultan Yusuf's figure couldn't be seen, perhaps deep inside the encampment. He merely guessed he was at a place where flashy flags and well-armed troops were concentrated.

Rickart pointed his lance there and shouted.

"Are you cowards unable to even show your face!"

Then a Salaman knight shouted back in an angry voice.

"The Sultan does not have the time to deal with a scumbag like you! Get the hell out of here!"

"Keep hiding then! However, when I return, do not expect courtesy!"

Even though he didn't show courtesy from the beginning, Rickart brazenly reprimanded. And then he turned his reins and returned to his own encampment.

Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, a separate detached force didn't come out to chase Rickart.

Rickart returned to his encampment and shouted at the soldiers.

"Sultan Yusuf is undoubtedly a coward! His subordinates are obvious even without seeing them! Today we win! I am certain! God has already decided!"

Then the soldiers shouted like a military chant, 'Yusuf is a coward! God has decided!'

Whether it should be called showmanship, Rickart's unreasonable actions like this were truly excellent in reviving the momentum despite the numerical inferiority.

Time passed and the enemies also finished deploying their troops. And then they started to slowly advance forward, and the peculiar rumbling sound of their footsteps truly seemed to vibrate the ground.

Rickart's troops had a large boulder on the left so he set up the formation to fill the numerical disadvantage with the terrain, but the enemies separately dispatched troops to go around the rocky mountain. Because once they went around the rocky mountain they could immediately strike the rear.

Of course, even after separately dispatching troops, the main force advancing from the front was still more than twice the current number of allied forces.

Then a nonsensical thing happened. A horn sound rang out long from Rickart's encampment's side, and about 6,000 troops started to advance.

Bwooooooo!

Rumble......!

Perhaps because they never thought they would abandon the advantageous spot and advance, the Sultan's command unit was slightly startled. But even so, would there be variables? Seems like suicide? Are they stupid?

However, this was the winning move Rickart floated. And the soldiers were trusting and following that winning move.

Rickart's winning move wasn't complicated. Exactly, a single-point breakthrough. Putting aside numbers and whatever, it was to concentrate power towards where the Sultan was.

And usually heavy cavalry had to be saved until the very end, but Rickart stood in front of the Flame Knights waiting in the rear. The eyes of the helmet-wearing knights glistened like hungry beasts.

Around that time, rain dropped patter-patter from the gloomy sky since morning.

"Is it a good omen, or a bad omen?"

Rickart asked Raimund.

"It does not matter."

"Right. It does not matter."

Rickart stood in front of the knights holding the lance flag and shouted.

"I know you have suffered emotional distress over the past time. Nevertheless, we are ultimately those who fight. Because we are knights. It doesn't matter how many enemies there are! Winning! That is precisely the reason for our existence! Even if it rains, it is fine! Because we ourselves will become a storm!"

Rickart mounted his massive warhorse, running around in front of the knights lined up sideways, holding the lance flag symbolizing flame, and shouted.

"Let's show the enemies! Our bravery! Our anger! Our justice! Flame Knights! Rise! Raise a storm!"

Then, as one, the 200 robust and sturdy combat machines tightened their stomachs and roared.

"Raise a storm!"

"Flame Knights! Chaaaargeeeeee!"

As Rickart gave the command to charge, he vigorously ran out first from the very front. Raimund and the Flame Knights followed behind him pouring out. It was the right wing of the allied camp.

From the enemies' perspective they thought they deployed their ultimate means too early, but since subduing only the knights would completely eliminate variables, they also deployed their heavy cavalry right away.

However, a strange thing happened. Or rather, nothing strange, but close to something going awry.

Usually heavy cavalry charges dash in a straight line to shock the widest area maximally to disintegrate the enemy's formation, but with Rickart running at the very front as the apex, the knights were running as if racing.

So the shape naturally became like a wedge, and changing direction was freer compared to the Sultan's knights.

At first gentle, then gradually changing direction sharply, it took on the appearance of running towards the center rather than the enemy's left wing.

The enemy's heavy cavalry tried to take on the knights to fight, but the formation itself made changing direction difficult so they got tangled up among themselves.

Rickart simply shook them off. The most powerful unit momentarily became useless.

The main allied force was continuously advancing, and between the enemy and ally, at the contact point of the enemy's left wing and center, Rickart surged.

The roaring shouts of the knights vibrated the entire battlefield. A charge like an intense flame exploded into the enemy's center.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Dudududududududu!

Bang! Crunch! Thwack! Smack! Thwud! Crunch!

The huge and heavy warhorses numbering 200 mercilessly trampled humans. Actually stabbing with lances didn't matter much, but just those skewered on Rickart's lance were two people.

Rickart's fierce and rough red horse truly ran amok smashing enemies as if blowing out fire, as if it was really a dragon.

Dashing while ramming enemies with tremendous power like a galloping bull, they dug into the enemy's center like stabbing someone deeply in the flank with a sharp spear.

Rickart, who had been running while splitting the enemy's formation for a long time, pulled the horse's reins as the charging power seemed to decrease.

Then the red horse raised its front hooves high as if soaring into the sky. Rickart raised his sword high as if piercing the sky, and shouted loudly until his uvula fell off.

Under the ashen sky, the golden flame burning along the holy sword fluttered like a flag.

"Raise a storm!"

The enemies' pitiful screams and all kinds of battlefield noises were truly loud. However, the slowly advancing allied soldiers clearly heard that shout.

Charging all at once, they subdued all that noise.

"Raise a stooooorm!"

Did someone say fighting is about momentum. Momentum varies, but the shock was like a massive explosion occurring.

If scrutinized calmly there was nothing they couldn't respond to. However, Rickart's operation was exactly an unrecoverable, powerful single strike.

And, since everything in the world is done by humans, inexplicable atmospheres or emotions like fear couldn't be easily resisted.

The troops taking the long way around and the left and right wings were dumbfounded and flustered not knowing how things were flowing. On the other hand, the enemies in the center were practically in a state of panic.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Huge shouts were heard from the center, and the left and right wings felt they should turn their advancing steps back while maintaining lines, but that wasn't as easy as saying it. The commanders of the subordinate units also rushed about in confusion.

The center literally became a chaotic mess and a devastated land, and Rickart and the Flame Knights charged endlessly towards the Sultan. And the soldiers supported them from behind.

Patters of falling rain, corpses with bodies grotesquely bent and crushed, and blood. Even Rickart had the excitement of battle filling up to the top of his head, his wide-open eyes glaring fiercely.

In that state, they furiously charged towards where the flashy awning was. Dozens of people were carrying something like a large palanquin, and escort warriors hurriedly fought back on horseback against Rickart.

When the massive speed and power of the red horse and the burning sword combined simultaneously, they could merely become pieces of meat and nothing else.

Whoosh! Thud! Swish!

Rickart merely quickly slashed one or two people and just ran past the rest.

Then the servants or slaves supporting the palanquin were startled and scattered in a heap, and the palanquin ended up crashing down sideways.

Rickart instinctively charged towards the one who fell from the palanquin. Plunging to the ground, he was flustering about and just getting up.

As he passed him like the wind swinging the burning sword, the Sultan raised his head and locked eyes with Rickart. Rickart locked eyes with him completely straightforwardly. What, he's a kid?

He looked about 14 or 15 years old. Of course Rickart wandered the world and fought risking his life at that age, but it was obvious the boy in front of his eyes right now grew up without suffering a single hardship.

Simply looking up at Rickart with innocent and startled eyes, knowing absolutely nothing about war.

It seemed there was a separate political faction that directly caused the war, but the sword already swung couldn't be retrieved.

Around the time the blade touched the boy's neck, for a very short moment Rickart spoke in his heart. Since there wasn't even time to speak, he hoped it would be conveyed at least through his eyes.

Forgive me.

Whoosh! Thwack!

Truly pointlessly simple, easily, the Sultan's head flew off. Then, even while being killed by the Flame Knights following behind, the escort warriors who came running to protect the Sultan somehow froze stiff on the spot.

Rickart returned again and skewered the head of the young Sultan tumbling on the ground onto his lance. And lifting it high so everyone could see well, he led the allied forces.

Wherever Rickart went, all the enemies saw the Sultan's head and fled in great shock, and the soldiers swept the enemies away as they pleased like picking up ears of grain.

Around the time the battle ended, rain poured from the sky in earnest. However, it couldn't easily cool down the heat of the men heated up hot.

There were almost no allied casualties, and the battle scene was pandemonium. Truly, as if raising a storm.

Chapter 29 - Fire Storm. End.