Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

Like a beast breaking free of its restraints, the flames swept swiftly across the ranks of the Ram Charge Knights with an all-consuming momentum.

The knights at the forefront were completely unprepared for the sudden and fierce wall of fire that erupted ahead. The scorching air rushed towards them, and the warhorses neighed restlessly under the intense heat, their front hooves rearing up uncontrollably. In the chaos, the knights lost their balance and plunged into the sea of ​​fire along with their horses.

The scalding flames immediately clung to the knights' armor, the heat from the metal instantly penetrating their clothing and scorching their skin.

The knights' piercing screams were chilling, and they were thrown uncontrollably from their horses.

The moment he landed, flames engulfed him like greedy vines, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. The knights following behind were too busy to care for him, and no warhorse dared to venture into the inferno. The power of the flames was far greater than imagined; even the fiercest warhorses dared not approach them.

The knights behind were lucky; they sensed the danger the instant the firelight pierced their vision.

They witnessed firsthand the horrific scene of their comrades being instantly engulfed in flames, and fear crept up their backs like a cold snake.

Without any hesitation or further instructions, the knights pulled on their reins and scattered in different directions. The once orderly charging formation instantly collapsed, leaving only the chaotic sound of hooves and cries of alarm, spreading away from the sea of ​​fire.

On a high ground not far away, Griffith stood quietly, his gaze fixed on the churning sea of ​​fire in the distance. The light from the flames reflected on his face, creating a play of light and shadow.

Standing beside him was Gorcas, who wore a crown on his head; the cold touch of the metal made him somewhat uncomfortable.

He raised his hand and touched the edge of the crown, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and unease:

"This is the first time I've ever worn a crown."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a hand suddenly reached out from behind him, firmly grasping the edge of the crown. Before Gorkas could react, the hand exerted force and ripped the crown off his head.

Gorkas turned around abruptly and saw Count Yuris standing behind him with a gloomy expression, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt and anger.

Before Gorkas could speak, Count Yuris raised his hand and delivered a resounding slap to his face.

With a sharp "smack," Gorkas was knocked off balance by the sudden force and fell heavily to the ground, his cheek instantly swelling and burning with pain.

"A bunch of lowly people who really think they're kings just because they put on a crown."

Count Yuris's voice was icy and chilling, each word like a blade cutting into one's eardrums.

After saying this, he turned and walked to the king not far away, holding the crown he had just taken off in both hands, and respectfully handed it over.

Gorkas lay on the ground, his lips twitching slightly, his heart filled with resentment and anger.

He looked up and muttered to himself in a low voice:

"Tch, if I don't wear a crown to attract enemy troops, would the king do such a thing?"

He dared not voice his dissatisfaction, for he was surrounded by White Wolf Knights whose eyes were sharp as knives. If he made the slightest move, he would likely be killed instantly.

A hand was extended in front of Gorcas; it was Griffith.

His movements were gentle, without a trace of mockery or pity; he simply wanted to help him up.

"Are you alright?"

Gorcas hesitated for a moment, then grasped Griffith's hand and, with his help, slowly stood up.

Griffith withdrew his hand, turned his gaze to the centurions around him awaiting orders, and spoke in a steady and forceful tone:

"The first phase of tactics is complete. Now we will move on to the second phase. Each centurion shall lead his troops to the designated location immediately."

"Yes!"

The centurions responded in unison, their voices strong and clear, without the slightest hesitation.

They immediately turned around and ran back to their respective teams to relay orders and prepare for the upcoming battle.

Meanwhile, unrest was escalating among the wagons and light cavalry on both sides of the battlefield.

They watched from afar as the center of the battlefield was completely engulfed by raging flames, but their commander had yet to appear, filling everyone with anxiety and unease.

No one knew whether the commander was alive or dead, and this fear of the unknown spread through the ranks like a plague.

On the left side of the battlefield, Commander Yoda frowned, his hands gripping the reins tightly.

His gaze was fixed on the sea of ​​fire ahead, his heart in turmoil. He hesitated, unable to give the order to continue the attack, and the troops were thus stuck in place, caught in a dilemma.

In that stalemate, an arrow suddenly pierced the air, moving so fast that no one had time to react.

With a "thud," the arrow pierced the neck of a light cavalryman with pinpoint accuracy, the sound of the arrowhead piercing flesh clearly audible.

The light cavalryman's eyes widened suddenly, and he covered his neck with both hands, trying to make a sound, but could only squeeze out a "hoarse" sound from his throat. Blood kept gushing out from between his fingers, and soon stained his clothes on his chest red.

His body went limp, and he fell off the horse, dying instantly.

Immediately afterwards, dozens of arrows rained down on them like a dense storm, whistling through the air and landing among the light cavalry.

Screams rose and fell as knights fell from their horses, some struck in the arm, some in the chest, and some pierced through the heart, dying instantly.

The already panicked team instantly descended into even greater chaos.

"Mitland cavalry spotted on the right ahead!"

A scout rode up from ahead on a fast horse, his face full of anxiety, shouting loudly.

The centurion's heart sank, and he instantly came to his senses. There was no time to hesitate now; the enemy had already launched their attack, and any further hesitation would only result in them being picked off one by one.

He abruptly drew his sword from his waist, raised it high, and gave a stern order:

"Fight back!"

The moment the order was given, the remaining light cavalrymen immediately came to their senses, raised their muskets, and returned fire in the direction the scouts had indicated.

Meanwhile, Jiedu, on the opposite side, was hiding behind a low slope, his crossbow already aimed at the coachman of a carriage.

He held his breath, his eyes fixed on the target, and slowly pulled the trigger.

With a "whoosh," the crossbow bolt shot out with a sharp whistling sound, accurately striking the coachman in the back.

The driver's body jolted violently, his hands fell limply to his sides, and he could no longer control the reins.

Without the coachman's control, the two warhorses pulling the carriage instantly became restless. They neighed at the sky and then galloped uncontrollably away from the flames.

Caught off guard, the soldiers on the carriage grabbed the edges of the carriage to try to steady themselves, but to no avail.

The galloping carriage crashed directly into the light cavalry column beside it, colliding with a knight's warhorse with a loud bang.

The knight was thrown off balance by the impact, falling to the ground along with his horse. The carriage continued to rush forward, knocking over several more knights and making the already chaotic scene even more chaotic.

The light cavalrymen were unable to dodge in time and collided with each other. Some fell off their horses and were trampled by the warhorses behind them. Screams, curses, and the neighing of the warhorses mingled together, and they completely lost their formation.

Just then, a figure suddenly rushed out from the sea of ​​fire that had devoured countless knights.

It was a knight whose entire body was enveloped in raging flames. His armor was burned red-hot, his robes had long since turned to ash, and his exposed skin was covered with hideous burn marks.

This man was none other than Goode of the Knights of Yoda. His face was so badly burned that it was unrecognizable, but his eyes remained bright, burning with the flames of revenge as he stared intently at the Midland main camp ahead.

Without the slightest hesitation, he rode his already burned and neighing warhorse straight toward the Midland main camp.

"Stop him!"

The front-line soldiers of the Midland infantry phalanx immediately raised their spears, attempting to block Goode's charge.

Just then, a rapid sound of hooves came from the side, and a troop of cavalry suddenly charged out, led by Guts.

He was clad in heavy armor and held a greatsword in his hand, the blade gleaming coldly in the light.

Seeing Goode charging towards the main camp, a fierce glint flashed in Gus's eyes. He squeezed his legs tightly around the horse's belly, and the warhorse neighed, suddenly increasing its speed and charging straight towards Goode.

Goode sensed the threat from the side and caught a glimpse of Gus out of the corner of his eye. Instead of slowing down, he gripped his lance tighter, preparing to deal with the guy blocking his way first.

The distance between the two closed rapidly, and in the blink of an eye, they rushed to each other.

Gus launched the first attack, gripping his greatsword tightly with both hands, raising it high, and then slashing it down fiercely at Goode.

The greatsword, accompanied by a whistling sound and containing immense force, fell towards Goode's head.

Goode reacted with lightning speed, immediately holding his lance horizontally above his head. With a loud clang, his greatsword slammed into the lance shaft.

The violent impact jolted both of them. Good felt his arms go numb, his hands throbbed with pain, and the shaft of his lance even bent slightly.

Guts' arm ached from the force of the impact, and his warhorse involuntarily took a half-step back.

"drink!"

Gus roared, a fierce glint in his eyes, and gripped his greatsword tightly again, launching a fierce attack on Goode.

His attacks were swift and fierce, slashing and sweeping at Goode one after another, each strike carrying great power, aiming to cut Goode down from his horse.

Goode, taking advantage of the length of his lance, constantly parried and countered.

The lance seemed to come alive in his hands, sometimes thrusting towards Guts' vitals, sometimes parrying the greatsword's attack. The clanging of weapons echoed continuously across the battlefield.

The two men rode their warhorses, circling and clashing repeatedly in place.

Seeing this, several mercenaries in Gus's group wanted to help and surrounded Goode.

Goode caught a glimpse of the mercenaries closing in out of the corner of his eye. He felt no fear, but rather a surge of ruthlessness.

He spurred his horse, and it leaped forward. He then thrust his lance forward, aiming at one of the mercenaries leading the charge.

Before the mercenary could react, the lance pierced his chest with a "thud".

Blood gushed from the lance shaft, splattering onto Goode's burning armor, instantly vaporizing in the intense heat. Goode twisted his wrist, drawing his lance; the mercenary's body went limp, and he fell from his horse, dying instantly.

Seeing this, another mercenary felt a chill in his heart, but still mustered his courage and swung his scimitar at Goode's side.

Goode dodged to the side, and at the same time, fired a shot with his backhand, piercing the opponent's throat once again.

In a short while, the two mercenaries who tried to attack were killed. Seeing this, the remaining mercenaries dared not move forward easily and could only watch from the sidelines, looking for a suitable opportunity to attack.

Seeing how fierce Goode was, Gus's fighting spirit intensified.

He roared and intensified his attacks, swinging his greatsword faster and more fiercely, forcing Goode to constantly parry and gradually fall into a disadvantageous position.

The flames on Goode's body were still burning, the pain of the burns continued to erode his nerves, his physical strength was being rapidly depleted, the soreness in his arms was becoming more and more intense, and his blocking movements were gradually slowing down.

Just then, the warhorse beneath Goode suddenly let out a shrill neigh. Its body was already burned, and it had reached its limit by now.

At that moment, the warhorse's forelegs suddenly buckled, unable to support its weight any longer, and it collapsed to its knees, its entire body crashing to the ground.

Caught off guard, Goode was thrown off by the immense inertia and crashed heavily to the ground.

The flames on his body were temporarily extinguished by the impact, but the intense pain made him groan. He tried to struggle to get up, but found that his legs were pinned down by the warhorse's body and he couldn't move at all.

Gus seized this golden opportunity, a resolute glint in his eyes.

He abruptly reined in his horse, turned it around, and then squeezed its flanks with both legs, sending it charging straight toward the fallen Goode.

When Guts was still a few steps away from Goode, he raised his greatsword again, concentrating all his strength in his arms.

"go to hell!"

Guts let out a deafening roar, and his greatsword, carrying a world-destroying force, slashed down fiercely towards Goode's neck.

With a "whoosh," the sharp blade easily sliced ​​through Goode's neck, and blood gushed out like a fountain, staining the surrounding earth red.

Goode's head was severed, arcing through the air before crashing heavily to the ground and rolling several meters away.

His eyes were still wide open, still filled with resentment and anger, but the breath of life had completely dissipated.

The headless body twitched a few times on the ground, then fell silent. The remaining flames on its body gradually died out, leaving only a charred remains.

"Yoda's general is dead!"

A mercenary was the first to spot Goode's headless body. His face lit up with ecstasy, and he immediately began shouting to those around him.

"Yoda's general is dead!"

The surrounding mercenaries reacted quickly, shouting excitedly throughout the battlefield.

Upon hearing this news, the last hope of the remaining Yoda Knights on both flanks was instantly shattered.

They all looked toward the center of the battlefield, and when they saw Goode's headless body lying on the ground, they were all plunged into despair.

With their general dead, they were leaderless, and coupled with the previous fire attack and the attack by the Midland cavalry, the troops had already suffered heavy losses and their morale was extremely low.

Fear gripped their hearts once more, and no one was willing to continue fighting.

"Run!"

Someone shouted, and the remaining Yoda Knights immediately turned their horses around and fled frantically in a direction far away from the battlefield.

They jostled and pushed each other, making the already broken formation even more chaotic. Some even fell off their horses in the panic and were trampled to death by the fleeing warhorses behind them, but no one dared to stop.

Seeing the Knights of Yoda completely collapse and flee into the distance, the King of Midland breathed a sigh of relief. Standing on the high ground, looking at the scene before him, a weight was finally lifted from his heart.

The king slowly raised his longsword, pointing it in the direction the Knights of Yoda had fled:

"Alright, all troops, attack!"

The moment the order was given, the White Dragon Knights, who were already fully prepared, immediately sprang into action.

The knights pulled on their reins and rode their warhorses like arrows, chasing after the fleeing Yoda knight.