Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

On the plains a few miles west of the main camp, a thousand-man squad of the Yoda Ram Charge Knights was stationed. Inside a tent in the camp, the centurion stood in front of a rough map, his gaze fixed on the villages and key roads marked on the map, his eyes solemnly sorting through the information sent back by the various scouts.

The intelligence brought back by the scouts was scattered but crucial. Some of it concerned the number of campfires in the Midland base camp, some the depth of hoofprints left on nearby roads, and others the marching direction gleaned from villages along the way.

The centurion pieced together the fragments, his mind racing, trying to estimate the exact deployment of Midland's army in the vicinity.

He knew that the success or failure of this operation depended entirely on accurate judgment of the enemy's movements; even the slightest mistake could plunge these thousand knights into an abyss of no return.

No one could have imagined that the Ram Riders would come charging in two separate groups.

Both teams were under immense pressure, abandoning their usual marching pace and choosing the most risky infiltration route.

Everyone knew how dangerous this tactic of dividing forces and encircling was. If the main force of Midland's eastward advance did not remain concentrated, but instead split into several routes and spread in different directions, then both the northern and southern knightly orders might encounter enemy forces several times their size along the way.

In the event of a head-on collision, the thousand-man team, lacking reinforcements, would inevitably be swallowed up, and the encirclement plan would completely fail.

More than once during the march, the centurion secretly rejoiced, thinking that the God of Light seemed to be on their side.

They did not encounter a single Midland regular army unit along their journey.

The villagers had already fled upon hearing the news, leaving behind only supplies for the knights to use, which allowed the long-distance raiding knights to maintain their fighting strength and finally arrive at the designated location on time in the afternoon.

The moment the two armies from the north and south met at the designated coordinates, the centurion finally felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. He then immediately began to deploy according to the plan, forming an encirclement of the Midland base.

Outside the camp, the knights patrolled in small teams, keeping watch for any enemy scouts who might approach. Inside, they took the time to rest, clean their weapons, and check their warhorses, making final preparations for the upcoming battle.

The centurion sat on a simple wooden stool in his tent, just about to take a sip of water to relieve the fatigue of days of marching, when the tent flap was suddenly flung open and a scout rushed in, knelt on one knee, and urgently reported the latest situation.

"Chief, Commander Goode has repelled the Midland army that was blocking our way, and the road ahead is clear."

A sharp glint flashed in the centurion's eyes; after days of waiting and preparation, the moment to close the net had finally arrived.

He stood up abruptly, the sword at his waist clinking slightly with his movement, his tone decisive and resolute:

"Pass down the order: all knights, prepare your equipment and assemble in five minutes to carry out the encirclement mission!"

The scouts received their orders, rose, and strode out of their tents. Soon, the loud assembly call echoed throughout the camp.

The knights moved at the sound, their figures, which had been scattered in various places, quickly gathered in the center, the sound of their armor rubbing together into a deep rumble.

The centurion mounted his horse, his lance pointing diagonally at the ground, his gaze sweeping over the resolute faces in the ranks, his heart filled with confidence.

A procession of thousands of knights marched in a mighty procession toward Midland's main camp, their hooves pounding the ground with a deafening roar, as if they were about to shatter the earth.

The centurion rode his warhorse at the head of the column, climbed a low hill, and in the distance, the outline of Midland's headquarters was clearly visible.

The makeshift camp was surrounded by a low wooden wall, and below the wall, Midland's army had already set up a defensive formation.

The centurion carefully observed the enemy's deployment and quickly estimated the enemy's strength in his mind.

Judging from their formation, the Midland army consisted of only about a thousand men of infantry, arranged in a dense square formation, with their spears pointing outwards, forming a defensive barrier.

On the flank of the infantry formation, there was a squad of white dragon knights, riding white warhorses and wielding longswords, watching the approaching Ram Charge Knights warily.

Upon seeing this troop deployment, the centurion's lips curled into a faint smile.

He had long heard of the White Dragon Knights' reputation, but he also learned that the elite main force of the White Dragon Knights had already been taken away by Count Yuris, and the knights left behind at the main camp were far less powerful than those elites.

His own Ram Riders were all veterans who had experienced countless battles, and their combat power far exceeded that of ordinary troops. He was absolutely confident in dealing with such a weak defensive force.

Just then, a messenger rode up at full speed to the centurion and reported loudly:

"Chief, friendly forces on the eastern and southern routes have begun to attack Midland's defensive positions, and some of the troops stationed at Midland's headquarters have been transferred to these two directions."

The centurion nodded; the time was ripe. He raised his lance, pointed it towards Midland's main camp, and loudly ordered:

"Attention everyone! Maintain formation and charge at the infantry square ahead! Break through their lines in one fell swoop!"

Upon receiving the order, the knights roared and spurred their horses into a faster charge.

Thousands of warhorses galloped up, kicking up clouds of dust, like an unstoppable torrent, charging toward Midland's infantry lines.

Although the Midland infantry were prepared, they still showed nervousness in the face of such a rapid charge. They gripped their spears tightly, trying to use the advantage of their phalanx formation to block the knights' charge.

However, the Ram Riders' impact far exceeded their expectations.

The knights' lances were like the Grim Reaper's scythe, piercing the infantrymen's bodies with deadly force, their sharp blades cutting through the air and reaping lives.

Under such a fierce attack, Midland's infantry defenses quickly developed gaps, and the originally dense square formations became chaotic, with soldiers retreating in droves and unable to organize any effective resistance.

Just as the knights were about to completely break through the infantry defenses, the White Dragon Knights on the flanks finally made their move.

They rode their warhorses swiftly in and out, attempting to attack the Ram Charge from the flanks and disrupt their charging formation.

But just as the centurion had predicted, these white dragon knights were far less powerful than the elites; their attacks, though fierce, lacked effective coordination.

The knights of the Ram Charge were already accustomed to various battlefield situations. Faced with the White Dragon Knights' surprise attack, they quickly adjusted their formation. Some continued to charge the infantry phalanx, while others turned around to meet the White Dragon Knights head-on.

The knights from both sides engaged in fierce fighting on the battlefield. Although the White Dragon Knights fought hard, they were quickly overwhelmed by the powerful offensive of the Ram Charge Knights.

With each clash, White Dragon Knights fell from their steeds, and the number of casualties continued to rise. On the Ram Charge Knights' side, although there were also casualties, their overall formation remained intact, and their offensive showed no signs of weakening.

The centurion rode his warhorse, charging across the battlefield, each swing of his lance taking the life of an enemy soldier.

His gaze was sharp as an eagle's, constantly monitoring the situation on the battlefield and continuously adjusting the direction of the attack.

Watching Midland's army retreat in defeat, he felt a great sense of accomplishment. If he could just hold out a little longer, he would be able to completely capture Midland's stronghold and complete the encirclement mission.

Just then, the centurion's gaze was drawn to a figure not far away.

He was a tall mercenary, dressed in black armor, who was holding a greatsword that should have been wielded with both hands in one hand. He stood quietly at the edge of the battlefield, as if the fighting around him had nothing to do with him.

The centurion's first impression was that this person was very peculiar, and then he vaguely felt that this person was very dangerous.

But on the battlefield, he had no time to think too much; any potential threat had to be eliminated.

The centurion spurred his warhorse and charged toward the mercenary.

He had already pointed his lance at the other man, calculating in his mind that with the momentum of his warhorse and the sharpness of his lance, he would surely be able to pierce through this arrogant mercenary on the spot.

The warhorse sped up and got closer to the mercenary; the centurion could even see the cold glint reflected from the mercenary's armor.

Just as the lance was about to pierce the enemy, the mercenary suddenly made a move that the centurion had not expected.

He suddenly crouched down, his body almost touching the ground, and at the same time, his hands quickly gripped the greatsword.

The centurion was startled, but it was too late to adjust the direction of his lance.

Immediately afterwards, the centurion saw the mercenary exert force with his wrist, and the greatsword in his hand swung down towards his line of sight at an extremely fast speed.

The sword was incredibly fast, slashing towards the centurion's field of vision almost in the blink of an eye.

The centurion felt a sharp pain coming from below, so intense that he instantly lost control of his body.

He felt his body suddenly lose its support, and he fell straight off the warhorse.

In mid-air, he subconsciously turned his head to look, only to see that his warhorse was still in a charging posture, carrying his lower body straight towards the mercenary.

He himself fell heavily to the ground, his consciousness gradually fading.