Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

"What? You've been defeated?"

Goode's voice boomed in the makeshift tent, trembling slightly without him even realizing it.

He stared at the three centurions standing before him, their armor stained with sword marks, their cloaks ripped open in several places, their faces covered in dirt and dark red blood, their eyes filled with lingering fear.

Goode's heart sank, and a strong sense of unease crept up his spine.

This operation was a desperate gamble from the very beginning.

His decision to lead the Ram Riders to bypass the main defenses of the Midland army and head straight for their base was a risky move that risked everything.

With a disparity in troop strength and limited supplies, their only hope of survival lay in a surprise attack.

But now, the team responsible for the feint attack and to attract the enemy's attention has been defeated. Both of the centurions, the commander and the deputy commander, have died on the battlefield. These two men were veterans who had followed him for many years. They were brave and meticulous in battle. Even they could not hold out, which shows how fierce the battle was.

The annihilation of the feint attack force created a huge gap in the already fragile battle plan.

Not only did they fail to accomplish their mission of containing the enemy, they may have also exposed their overall offensive intentions. Good felt a chill run down his spine and his palms broke out in a cold sweat.

He had originally planned to advance along two fronts, supporting each other, so that even if one front suffered setbacks, the other could provide timely support or adjust its strategy. But now, with a third of the feint attack force gone, the uncertainty of the entire operation has suddenly soared.

"What is the situation in the other two directions?"

Goode tried to keep his voice steady, but his fingers gripping the sword hilt had unconsciously tightened.

He needs to know about the other two teams; they are his only remaining hope.

If the other two routes can advance smoothly, they might be able to make up for the losses caused by the defeat of the feint attack force, or at least distract the enemy and give them more opportunities for a surprise attack.

The three centurions looked at each other, their faces filled with guilt and confusion. In the end, the one standing at the front shook his head.

"I don't know."

Those three simple words hit Goode like a boulder in the heart.

This fear of the unknown is more agonizing than a definite failure.

Good paced back and forth in silence, the only sound in the tent being the heavy thud of his footsteps.

He knew very well that there was no turning back now. There was no turning back once the arrow was released; the cavalry had already penetrated deep into enemy territory. If they retreated now, not only would all their previous efforts be in vain, but they might also be pursued along the way by the Midland army, resulting in even greater losses.

More importantly, the fortress in the rear was still under fierce siege by the Midland army. If he could not capture the enemy's main camp as soon as possible and force the enemy to come back to reinforce, once the fortress was breached, the soldiers stationed there would either be killed in battle or captured. As the commander who launched the raid without authorization, he would only face the most severe military law punishment.

At best, they would be stripped of their military command; at worst, they would be executed, and it might even implicate the entire Ram Riders.

Goode thought of the knights who had followed him through thick and thin, and the soldiers who held the fortress. His hesitation was instantly suppressed. Even if there was only a sliver of hope, he had to take the gamble.

"Order everyone to mount their horses and follow me to Midland's main camp."

Goode's voice remained unwavering. Upon hearing this, the three centurions immediately knelt on one knee to accept the order, turned around, and strode out of the tent. The order was quickly relayed throughout the camp.

The knights mounted their horses in quick succession, their armor clanging against each other, their lances gripped tightly in their hands, gleaming with a cold, sharp light.

Moments later, the Ram Charge Knights, like a black river, surged southward in a mighty torrent.

After the caravan had been galloping for about an hour, as they crossed a low hill, the scout in charge of reconnaissance suddenly spurred his horse back at full speed, his face full of anxiety, and rushed to Goode to rein in the horse.

"Commander, enemy cavalry has been spotted on the hill ahead! Quite a few, and judging by their equipment, they're from the White Dragon Knights!" "Hmm?"

Goode's brow furrowed instantly, a great deal of doubt rising in his mind.

They had already defeated this team in a previous encounter, and the enemy suffered heavy losses and fled in panic. How could they appear here so quickly?

Goode immediately spurred his horse to climb a nearby high ground, raised the binoculars at his waist, and looked at the opposite mountain.

His pupils contracted slightly at that glance.

On the opposite hilltop, a densely packed line of cavalrymen stood in perfect formation, their silver-white armor gleaming in the sunlight—the very signature equipment of the White Dragon Knights.

The number was far greater than he had expected. At a glance, the entire hilltop seemed to be occupied by this cavalry force, exuding an imposing aura.

What caught Goode's attention the most was the figure in the center of the group.

The man wore a dazzling crown adorned with several large gemstones that shimmered in the sunlight. He was draped in a wide purple robe, and even from a distance, one could sense his extraordinary aura.

"Commander, it's the King of Midland!"

A centurion standing nearby also saw the figure clearly and couldn't help but shout out in shock.

He had followed Goode in battle for many years and had seen many high-ranking officials and nobles, but this was the first time he had seen a king-level figure so closely.

"I saw it, but could it be fake?"

Goode slowly lowered the binoculars, his voice calm. He had never actually seen the true face of the King of Midland, but only knew his general situation from some intelligence.

The person in the telescope did look quite old, with a mature appearance.

But could this be a scheme by the other side?

Goode was filled with doubt. Why would the King of Midland, a ruler of a nation, personally appear on the front lines and stand in such a prominent position? This was simply illogical.

Could it be that the other side sensed their intention to launch a surprise attack and deliberately set a trap, having someone impersonating the king distract them so they could then surround them?

This is highly likely. On the battlefield, it is difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion. Strategies such as feinting to the east while attacking in the west and luring the enemy deep into our territory are common. If it really is a trap, they may fall into an abyss if they rush in rashly.

"How could it be fake?"

The centurion next to him thought for a moment and then spoke up to refute, his tone full of certainty.

"The other side is wearing a crown. Which king would allow an outsider to wear a crown? That is a symbol of supreme power. Who would dare to overstep it? Besides, I have heard that the king of Midland is quite old, and the other person looks about the same age. Perhaps the vanguard was defeated before and morale was low, so the king personally led the expedition to try to boost morale."

The centurion's words made some sense; the crown was indeed not something an ordinary person could wear casually. Goode pondered for a moment, his inner struggle intensifying. If the other party was indeed the King of Midland, then this was absolutely a golden opportunity.

To catch the thief, first catch the king. If we can capture or kill the King of Midland, the Midland army will be leaderless and collapse without a fight.

At that time, let alone conquering the main camp, it is possible to relieve the siege of the rear fortress, or even completely defeat the Midland army.

But if this really is a trap, then their lone knightly order, which has ventured deep into enemy territory, may be completely wiped out. They have no reinforcements, and once surrounded, they may not even have a chance to break out.

Goode looked up at the sky; the sun was already gradually setting in the west, and time was running out.

They have already wasted a lot of time here, and every minute they stay increases the pressure on the rear fortress.

He knew very well that he didn't have much time to hesitate; regardless of whether the person opposite him was really King Midland, he had to keep moving forward.

Even if it's a trap, he has no choice but to bite the bullet and rush in. Retreating now would mean a slow death; charging forward would at least offer a glimmer of hope.

Moreover, he believed in the fighting prowess of the Ram Riders, whose knights were all battle-hardened elites who might not be without a fighting chance even when faced with traps.

"The whole army obeys the order and charges!"

Goode abruptly drew his longsword from his waist, the tip pointing directly at the opposite mountain peak, his voice loud and resolute. At the same time, he turned to a centurion beside him and gave the order:

"You will lead your light cavalry and wagons to flank the enemy from both sides and encircle them from behind. Make sure to cut off their retreat and coordinate with the main force to attack!"

"understand!"

The centurion immediately accepted the order, turned around and rode away. Soon, a group of wagons and light cavalry deviated from the main force and sped towards the valleys on both sides, preparing to implement a pincer movement.

With Goode's command, the main force of the Ram Charge Knights charged down the opposite hill like an arrow.

The knights roared, and the sound of their horses' hooves echoed like thunder, shaking the ground slightly.

Just as Yoda's knights charged down the hillside, the Midland cavalry on the opposite hilltop also moved.

They roared back, spurring their horses down the hillside. Their silver armor stretched out as they moved, forming a continuous silver torrent that surged toward Goode and his men.

The two cavalry units, like two unstoppable torrents, were about to collide on the plain below the hillside.

Good gripped his longsword tightly, all his muscles tense, ready for battle.

He noticed that although the cavalry charging down from the opposite side were aggressive, the purple-robed figure on the hilltop remained motionless, standing in place as if he were an observer detached from the situation.

This scene made Goode even more convinced that the man was very likely the King of Midland.

Only a king could remain calmly in the rear and command the overall situation during such a life-or-death battle.

However, just before the two teams were about to make contact, a sudden change occurred.

The Midland cavalry, who had been charging towards them, suddenly turned their horses around and retreated along both sides of the hillside.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized, clearly indicating that it was premeditated.

At the same time, the purple-robed figure on the hilltop slowly retreated and soon disappeared from Goode's sight.

Good felt a sudden sinking feeling in his heart, and a strong sense of unease surged up again.

The other side's reaction was too strange. They had clearly adopted a posture of fighting to the death, so why did they suddenly retreat? This doesn't make sense. Could it really be a trap?

Just as he was filled with doubt and uncertainty, he caught a glimpse of the valleys on both sides and saw that his 6,000th men had already engaged in combat with a portion of the enemy's cavalry.

The light cavalry and soldiers on the wagons raised their muskets, and gunfire erupted in waves, filling the air with smoke. Midland's cavalry, under the musket fire, appeared somewhat disheveled and retreated continuously.

Seeing this, Goode's tense nerves relaxed a little.

Perhaps the Midland cavalry didn't set a trap, but simply wanted to avoid their sharp edge.

After all, muskets are quite powerful, and the enemy probably didn't want to suffer too many losses in a frontal charge, so they chose to retreat and readjust their formation.

"Chase!"

Without much thought, Goode immediately gave an order to one of the centurions beside him:

"You lead your thousand-man squad to pursue the retreating enemy forces on the left! I will lead my personal thousand-man squad to pursue them on the right! We must not let them escape, defeat them as quickly as possible, and then join forces to attack the main camp!"

"Yes!"

The centurion immediately accepted the order and led his troops to gallop to the left.

Goode led his personal thousand-man unit in pursuit of the retreating Midland cavalry on the right.

The two pursuing forces, like two black lightning bolts, relentlessly pursued the retreating Midland cavalry, speeding all the way.

The Midland cavalry seemed to have no will to fight and just kept fleeing backward.

After they rounded the hill, the view ahead opened up. Apart from the Midland cavalry still retreating, not far behind them was a tall wooden wall surrounding the Midland main camp. Near the wall, rows of Midland infantrymen, armed with spears and shields, stood ready for battle.

Seeing this, Good breathed a sigh of relief. He had already defeated several Midland armies and knew the fighting capabilities of these Midland soldiers very well.

Although their infantry were well-organized, their combat strength was not particularly formidable, especially when facing cavalry charges, where they often struggled to withstand them.

If they can break through the infantry's lines and breach the wooden walls, they can directly enter the Midland base camp.

Goodler reined in his horse, surveying the defensive line ahead, and quickly calculating an attack strategy in his mind.

Although the infantry defense line was strong, it was not invincible.

By concentrating our forces and breaking through at one point, we can create an opening, allowing our main army to surge in.

Just then, the adjutant beside him suddenly spoke, his tone tinged with doubt:

"Commander, why are these Midlanders carrying torches during the day?"

Goode looked in the direction his adjutant pointed and immediately frowned.

A strange sight—a row of cavalrymen at the rear of the Midland cavalry holding torches aloft—rekindled Goode's recently relaxed vigilance.

What bothered him even more was the pungent smell that filled the air, growing stronger with the wind.

The smell made him inexplicably uneasy, and an ominous premonition kept spreading in his heart.

"Stop! Everyone stop immediately!"

Goode immediately shouted, trying to stop the charging knights, realizing that they had likely fallen into a trap.

However, it was all too late. Just as his shout fell, the cavalrymen behind the Midland cavalrymen, who were holding torches, suddenly threw their torches forcefully onto the grass at their feet.

As soon as the torches touched the grass, the seemingly normal grass instantly burst into flames.

The fire spread at an alarming speed, like a wildfire, rushing towards Goode and his group. A wave of scorching heat swept over them, instantly engulfing their path and completely blocking their advance.

Goode stared at the raging sea of ​​fire before him, his pupils shrinking in shock. He was filled with endless regret and disbelief. Everything had been a setup to lure them here and then devour them in flames.