Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 108: Fight for survival

Edmund, still atop his horse, watched the chaos unfold as the northern infantry wreaked havoc on the enemy cavalry.It was true that the enemy riders far surpassed them, yet right now the infantry was the one outnumbering the riders. They divided themselves two, three man fighting against men on horses. While some enemy riders might have been able to fend off one man, facing two or three was another matter entirely. One soldier would distract, parrying the blows or forcing the rider to retreat, while the others seized the moment to strike—either the rider or the horse. The riders made for harder targets, but the horses were prized for the spoils they would bring, so most time they aimed for the rider

Edmund's heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline surged through him. He raised his sword high into the air, the blade gleaming in the sunlight.

"CHARGE!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with urgency, desperate to capitalize on the confusion spreading through the enemy ranks. "FOR THE PRINCE! FOR MAESINIUS!"

At Edmund's command, his men sprang into action, energized by the sight of their comrades gaining the upper hand. The ground beneath them quaked as the cavalry surged forward, their war cries mingling with the clash of steel and the final, anguished screams of their enemies. Horses charged across the battlefield, their riders wielding swords, maces, and spears as they hurled themselves with relentless fury into the thick of the battle.

Edmund rode at the forefront, leading his men, his sword raised high and aimed directly at the heart of the enemy's lines. The wind whipped against his face, and the ground beneath his horse blurred into a whirlwind of motion, the long grass flattened in their wake. 

The impact was ferocious. Edmund's cavalry crashed into the enemy with a savage force, steel biting into flesh, and the air filled with the piercing screams of horses and men alike. Edmund swung his sword with brutal precision, cleaving into a mercenary's shoulder and sending him tumbling from the saddle. Without hesitation, his horse's hooves came down, crushing the fallen soldier beneath them. All around him, his men tore through the enemy ranks with relentless momentum, cutting down their opponents like a scythe cutting through a field of wheat.The footmen were not the normal peasants taken from thefield, they were the huscarls of the various northern lord put together to increase the shock and awe's effect.

The enemy, already thrown into confusion by Uther's wild rampage, faltered further as the Northmen's cavalry joined the fray. Edmund, adrenaline surging, slashed again and again, each strike driving the enemy back.

"FOR THE NORTH!" he shouted, the words spilling from his lips with raw emotion as he fought, his sword cutting through the chaos, leading his men into battle with everything he had.

Edmund scanned the battlefield, his eyes falling on a grizzled Northman locked in combat with an enemy knight clad in full armor. The Northman, on foot, swung his axe low, targeting the legs of the mounted knight's horse. The knight tried to parry the blow, but the axe found its mark, sinking deep into the horse's side. The beast let out a piercing scream and collapsed, throwing its rider to the ground with a heavy thud. Before the knight could recover, the Northman's axe came down with a sickening crunch, smashing through the knight's helmet like a cracked egg. Blood sprayed into the air as the knight's skull split open, and the Northman roared in triumph.

Not far ahead, Edmund spotted Uther. He carved through the enemy ranks with terrifying precision, cutting riders down with brutal efficiency. One rider, not a mercenary but a knight charged at Uther, lance aimed squarely at his chest. With a swift motion, Uther knocked the lance aside with one axe and brought the other crashing down with bone-shattering force. The blade struck the rider across the chest, tearing through his plate armor and flesh as if the metal was made of paper. The man toppled from his saddle, his torso laid open by a gruesome gash at least twenty centimeters wide. "MAESINIUSSS!" Uther bellowed, his voice booming across the battlefield as he barreled toward his next target, a force of nature wrapped in human form.

Meanwhile, Edmund found himself locked in a fierce fight. An enemy horseman swung at him, and though Edmund managed to parry the strike, the force nearly knocked him from his saddle. Pain shot through his arm from the impact, but he gritted his teeth and twisted his blade, swinging at the rider's exposed side. The sword didn't cut through the chainmail, but the force of the blow made the rider grunt in pain. Sensing his advantage, Edmund didn't hesitate—he rammed his shield into the side of the rider's helmet by turnign his torso around , the impact jarring the man, before swiftly following up with a backslash from his sword. This time, the blade found its mark, slicing cleanly across the rider's unprotected neck. Blood poured from the wound, and the man crumpled from his horse, lifeless.

Around him, the battle raged on, the cries of men and beasts mingling in the air. The Northmen fought like wolves, taking down the disorganized enemy cavalry piece by piece. Edmund's strategy had worked—the enemy's overconfidence had led them straight into the ambush, and now they were paying for it.

As the chaos of battle unfolded around him, Edmund raised his sword high, glancing around at the carnage. Northmen warriors, with their wild eyes and bloodied axes, cut down enemy riders left and right. The sound of clashing steel and the cries of men filled the air, mingled with the terrified neighs of horses as they buckled and fell. Edmund's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing could stop them.

But then, through the haze of combat, Edmund saw something he never thought he would witness—a rider, one of the enemy cavalry, had turned his horse around. The man, likely a mercenary, seemed to have had enough, not having any use for the gold promised if he was dead, he took his stead and with eyes wide with panic kicked his horse into a gallop, desperately trying to escape the slaughter. He weaved through the chaos, avoiding the Northmen's blows, and sprinted away from the battlefield.

Moments later, more riders followed. Another horseman broke away, then another, and another. Edmund watched in amazement as what had started as a trickle became a flood. The enemy cavalry, the supposed hammer of Conte's army, was breaking. They were fleeing the battlefield. It was as if a wave of fear had washed over them all at once, causing them to abandon their comrades and their fight.

''THEY ARE ROUTING!" Edmund shouted, almost in disbelief.

Within moments, the entire enemy cavalry force was in disarray, turning their horses to flee. The mercenaries and knights who had charged with such confidence now raced to save their own lives, trampling over each other in their desperation. The once-organized mounted unit was reduced to a panicked stampede, horses kicking up dust as they fled across the field, retreating back toward the hills from where they had come.

"After them!" Edmund roared to his men, raising his sword once more. "Don't let them escape!" 

As the enemy cavalry routed, chaos spread through the battlefield like wildfire. Those enemy riders caught too deep in the fight, surrounded by Northmen warriors, had no chance of escape. The infantry, took full advantage. Men closed in from every direction, their movements quick and efficient.

One rider, desperately trying to swing his sword to defend himself, was dragged off his horse by a Northman's hooked spear. He hit the ground hard, his armor clattering, only to be finished off by the swift strike of a waiting axe. Another rider, cornered by two infantrymen, tried to raise his lance, but it was too late. A spear pierced his side, and he collapsed from his saddle, blood staining the earth beneath him.

The Northmen, sensing the collapse of the cavalry, showed no mercy except for those who threw their weapons down in surrender. The field was a swirl of slashing steel and panicked cries as the enemy riders found themselves trapped, outnumbered, and overwhelmed. 

Edmund watched as the last few riders still tangled in the melee were cut down one by one. The infantry moved through the battlefield like wolves hunting a wounded deer, taking their kills quickly and ruthlessly. Blood splattered on the tall grass as swords slashed and spears thrust, ending the lives of those who hadn't fled fast enough. Bodies, both of men and horses, littered the ground in gruesome heaps.

Above the din of battle, Edmund could hear the thundering hooves of his own cavalry now in pursuit. The remaining enemy riders, those lucky enough to break free of the slaughter, raced across the field in a desperate bid to escape. But Edmund's men followed closely behind, their horses snorting as they chased down the fleeing enemy with relentless speed, while their commanders wrapped things up in the middle.

The sound of steel slicing through flesh, the desperate cries of men begging for mercy, and the victorious roars of the Northmen filled the air. 

This is what victory tastes like, the boy thought as he now charged forth following his men.