Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 73 Torrent
During their advance, Vig encountered a small group of fleeing Anglo soldiers. He strictly forbade his soldiers from leaving the ranks and only sent archers to disperse the enemy.

Half an hour later, the troops reached the foot of the mountain. Vig jumped off his saddle, took a round shield from someone, and shouted, "Follow me and charge up! Get ready for battle!"

His guess soon came true; just as he was about to reach the summit, a group of Anglo-Saxons appeared in his field of vision. Seeing their exhausted state, bent over and panting, Vig no longer hesitated and decided to seize this high ground before the enemy could establish a firm foothold.

He charged into the enemy ranks, brandishing his longsword, followed closely by a group of light infantrymen wielding shields and axes. As for the shield guards clad in iron armor, they were still struggling uphill halfway up the mountain due to severe exhaustion and could not be relied upon for the time being.

Surprisingly, the Anglo-Saxons, who were outnumbered, did not retreat but instead fought the Viking warriors to a standstill, and the two sides were locked in a fierce battle for a time.

“Strange, Mercia’s royal guards were wiped out at Tamworth, and the remaining conscripted militia could not possibly have such fighting strength.”

Vig poked down an Anglo-Saxon wearing an iron helmet, who looked like a junior commander, and stared at his light gray cloak, which depicted a yellow dragon with wings on its back and bared its fangs.

Oh no, that's the coat of arms of the Wessex royal family!

Vig knew the situation was dire, but he had no intention of retreating. He had to seize this high ground, observe the Wessex army's formation, and then relay the information to Ragnar's main force to gain more initiative.

"Follow me and charge forward! The gods are watching us!"

In desperation, Vig charged deeper into the enemy ranks. He used the edge of his shield to catch a spear thrusting at him, then cleaved open the enemy's throat with a backhand, the warm, rusty smell filling his nostrils.

Under the cover of a group of Viking warriors, the seemingly mad Vig reached the mountain peak and casually chopped down the commander next to the flagpole.

At his signal, a tall, muscular Viking warrior swung his axe and struck. Amidst flying splinters, the flagpole snapped in two, and the royal banner embroidered with a yellow dragon fell into the filthy earth.

The Wessex soldiers finally collapsed and retreated down the hillside like a receding tide.

"Huh, huh."

Vig was panting heavily, his chainmail soaked in blood, making it impossible to tell whether it was Anglo-style or his own.

Standing atop the hill and looking south, he saw thousands of Wessex men emerging from the forest trails and lining up in formation in the clearing.

"Quickly, inform His Majesty that we have encountered Wessex's main force, at least four thousand men!"

He selected a nimble young man to run back and report the news. Vig anticipated that the war would last a long time, so he had the heavily armored shield guards, who were exhausted and arrived late, sit on the ground to rest, while the rest of them searched for equipment and prepared for a long-term defense.

After repelling two waves of attacks by the Anglo-Saxons, Ulf arrived with over three hundred men to reinforce them.

"At least four thousand men, with over a thousand heavy infantry. Damn, that idiot Gunnar almost got us all into serious trouble."

After grumbling and complaining for a while, Ulf saw hundreds more Angloss men emerge from the woods. They were wearing chainmail and cloaks over it, and they were leading their warhorses on foot, forming a wedge formation at the westernmost end of the battlefield.

"So many cavalrymen?" For the past six months, Ulf had often heard Pascal, who was in charge of logistics, complain about the high cost of cavalry. One warhorse could eat the rations of seven people. If you included the riders, the blacksmiths who shod horses, and the servants, a hundred cavalrymen needed the same amount of food as a thousand light infantrymen.

Based on this, Wessex's cavalry numbered over four hundred, and their food consumption alone was equivalent to that of four thousand ordinary infantrymen.
Wolverine marveled at the wealth of this southern country and a thought began to form in his mind that perhaps he should apply for a fiefdom in Wessex.

Suddenly, Vig interrupted his reverie, "Damn it, when did the Anglo-Saxons learn to equip their horses with stirrups? And they've even formed a wedge formation suitable for charging. We're doomed, completely doomed. You stay here, I'll go find His Majesty to change the deployment. Hopefully, it's not too late."

"A last-minute change of tactics? Are you crazy?"

Before Ulf could dissuade him, Vig ran down the hill as fast as he could, took the reins from the groom, but it was too late. A continuous tremor ran through the ground, as if a giant beast were writhing deep within the earth—Anglo-Saxon cavalry were charging in a mass attack!

Even more critically, the vast majority of their soldiers were equipped with round shields and short axes, lacking the ability to withstand cavalry charges.

Vig was extremely anxious. He spurred his warhorse toward the nearest Niels unit and shouted at the top of his lungs to warn his allies:

"Enemy cavalry are coming! Quick, hide in the woods!"

The voice reached Niels' ears as a faint murmur; he couldn't hear anything clearly and shouted back, "What did you say? I can't hear you."

".forest!"

This time, Niels heard the last word clearly. He looked at the woods to the east, thinking that the other person was reminding him that there were ambushes hidden in the woods.

Surely not? Several teams of hunters have already been sent in. Even if there are Anglo-Saxons lying in ambush, the hunters will issue a warning.

Looking at Vig riding towards them, Nils shook his head. The next moment, he was shocked to see countless riders wielding longswords and chain hammers rushing out from behind the gentle slope, like a raging tide sweeping in.

"Deus adjuva (God help me)!"

"Pour le roi (For the King)!"

Faced with this thunderous roar, Nils was shaken to his core. He swallowed hard and ordered his five hundred men to form a shield wall, with one hundred heavy infantry in front and four hundred light infantry behind.

The ground trembled more and more violently, and the armor plates of the cavalry reflected the blinding silver-white sunlight. Amidst the fearful eyes of the soldiers in the front ranks, the iron hooves roared in.

Soon, the leading warhorse crashed into the slightly loose shield wall, sending two Viking warriors flying. Splinters of wood and drops of blood were still flying in the air when the cavalry behind them squeezed through the gap into the crowd.

Shouting the king's name, the Frankish knights swung their longswords left and right, or wildly swung their chain hammers—weapons naturally suited for melee combat, capable of inflicting considerable damage even on enemies wearing iron helmets with blunt force.

Caught up in the intense yet bloody atmosphere, the warhorses charged and kicked wildly, and the Viking infantrymen who stood in their way reacted in various ways. Some were knocked down and trampled into the mud by the heavy hooves, while others fought back fearlessly, sharp metal weapons slicing open the horses' soft bellies, spilling large clumps of steaming entrails onto the grass, which only fueled the horses' ferocity. Driven by excruciating pain, these creatures lost all reason and continued charging deeper into the crowd until their last ounce of strength was exhausted.
(End of this chapter)