Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

On the hillside, Peter gently raised his right hand, palm down, signaling to remain calm and allow the enemy to penetrate deeper. Beside him were sixty combat team members, also known as the Red Griffin Guard because of their blue robes with red griffins. They held their breath, like arrows poised to be released, watching the knights below, who were engaged in lively conversation. Their eyes held no fear, only burning fighting spirit and absolute trust in Peter.

Jan Jessica stood as steady as a rock, surveying the slowly creeping ranks below, calculating the optimal moment to strike. He led over a hundred Nebakov bandits, clad in white shirts with black stripes resembling ravens, also known as the Raven Army. The scene from the previous night flashed through his mind: Catherine had risked her life to deliver the intelligence, and Jessica knew he couldn't withstand the lord's army alone, so he rushed to the Griffin Camp under cover of darkness for help. Peter, as an ally, hadn't hesitated at all; with a simple "Unity is strength," he began gathering his men to cooperate. This warmed the heart of Jessica, who was accustomed to deceit and treachery.

A friend in need is a friend indeed; Peter the Red Griffin truly lived up to his reputation.

At the bottom of the ravine, Ulrich seemed completely oblivious to the impending catastrophe. He even urged impatiently, "Hurry! Hurry! Stop dawdling! We need to get to the foot of Nebakov Castle before noon! We need to catch them off guard."

Busek Dub was still shouting, "Once we take the castle, I'm going to use that fake Nebakov's head as a wine glass!"

Only old Sir Sammy's unease grew ever stronger...

"It's time," Peter thought to himself, and made a simple gesture to the messenger beside him.

"Boom! Boom!"

Two loud explosions rang out from both ends of the army descending the hillside. Many trees were uprooted, and carriages overturned, blocking the lord's retreat route.

"What happened?"

"Were those two claps a sign that it was going to rain?"

Ulrich and the knights in the middle were still unaware of what had happened.

"Woo-woo-woo-woo—" Three short, mournful horn calls suddenly rang out from the hillside, shattering the false tranquility of the ravine. The calls were like the call of death, making the hearts of all the lords and soldiers below leap into their throats.

"Enemy attack! Raise your shields!" The experienced old Ser Semih roared almost instinctively, raising his shield high above his head.

However, it was too late.

Like a sudden summer downpour, a dense barrage of arrows poured down from behind the trees and rocks on both sides of the hillside! These were not the standard longbows of the lord's army, but rather arrows from hunting bows and crossbows, yet they were fired from above, carrying deadly accuracy and force.

"Pfft pfft pfft pfft..."

Arrows pierced leather armor, embedded themselves in wooden shields, and even pierced some weak points in chainmail. Screams instantly replaced the previous laughter and marching footsteps, echoing and amplifying in the narrow ravine, sounding particularly mournful.

The lord's archers attempted to retaliate, but their position at the bottom of the ravine put them at a significant disadvantage, and most of their arrows either struck the hillside futilely or disappeared into the dense forest. Meanwhile, the ambushers on the hillside held a decisive advantage in terrain.

The heavy infantrymen frantically tried to form a shield line, but the road was too narrow and the crowd too dense. They pushed and shoved each other, causing even greater chaos. The warhorses, startled, reared up, throwing their riders off. The fallen knights, clad in heavy armor, were immobilized and instantly became easy targets.

Chief Constable Ulrich's smugness was utterly shattered, replaced by incredulous terror. One arrow clattered against his breastplate and bounced off, while another grazed his cheek, leaving a bloody gash. He nearly fell from his horse in fright, screaming shrilly, "Hold on! Hold on! Archers, suppress them!"

But his orders seemed so pale and powerless in the chaos. His robe was torn by arrows, and the new bloodstain on his face made him look wretched; where was the "majesty" he had when he went to war?

"Damn it! These rats in the gutter!"

Sir Busek Dub brandished his sword to parry the arrows, roaring repeatedly, but his mount was struck by several arrows, fell with a mournful cry, and slammed him heavily to the ground.

"I knew it! Something's not right here!"

Hanco the goat-headed warrior shouted belatedly, trying to control his frightened warhorse while protecting his vitals with his riding shield; his goat beard trembled slightly with tension.

Sir Samuel remained relatively calm. Using a protruding rock as cover, he loudly commanded the surrounding soldiers: "Don't panic! Move closer to the rock face! Raise your shields!"

However, panic spread like a plague, and his voice was drowned out by more screams and the sound of arrows piercing the air.

Just as the lord's army was being suppressed by the rain of arrows, huddled together, trying to find cover or organize a counterattack, an even more terrible blow came.

"Bang bang bang!"

The Nebakov Ravens, lying in ambush on the hillside, carried long iron pipes from which thick white smoke and deadly bullets spewed forth. These were a batch of matchlock muskets sent as reinforcements after Jessica wrote a letter to Sir Sokol in the south.

The matchlock gun was invented in China in the 14th century and spread to the Ottoman Empire and Europe by the Mongols.

It has a firing tube made of cast bronze or wrought iron, with a touch hole at the bottom to ignite the gunpowder. The end of the firing tube is attached to a wooden stick or spear called a "steer stick," which is convenient for the archer to hold, aim, and control.

To fire, black powder is loaded into the muzzle, followed by a projectile such as a stone, iron, copper, or lead bullet. The gunpowder in the touch hole is then ignited with a red-hot metal wire or charcoal, propelling the projectile out. Firing a touch hole gun typically requires two people working together, one responsible for aiming and the other for igniting.

One person can operate it, but its reload speed and accuracy are shockingly low. This is why it's less commonly used than the crossbow.

However, the arquebus could be enlarged to a caliber of over 30 millimeters, allowing it to penetrate plate armor at close range, and later it proved its worth in the Hussite Wars.

Indeed, there are no useless weapons, only people who don't know how to use them. These matchlock guns, in Yanjeska's hands, became the perfect weapon to defeat the knights.

One by one, heavily armored soldiers fell under the barrage of musket fire, witnessing the power of this weapon.

The flintlock musket brought not only casualties, but also fear of the unknown. They began to run around like headless flies, completely disorganized, until the final, fatal blow arrived.

Peter led his sixty-strong Griffin Guard, charging down the hillside like a wedge, their soldiers carrying the Griffin banner high, striking the very heart of the long, serpentine formation. Jan Jessica personally led the Raven Bandits of Nebakov Castle, fiercely penetrating the retreating routs.

"For Lord Peter! For freedom!"

"Kneel down and you'll be spared death; surrender and you'll be spared!"

Deafening battle cries erupted simultaneously from both ends of the ravine and from the hillside!

"Counterattack! Counterattack!"

"Stop them! The one in charge! Grab him!"

Seeing his retreat blocked, and especially seeing Peter's attire and imposing presence, Ulrich screamed as if grasping at a straw, ordering the soldiers around him who could still move to launch a counterattack against Peter. He fantasized that capturing the leader first might turn the tide of the battle.

Several heavily armored infantrymen, loyal to their duty and led by a squad leader, charged toward Peter, wielding long halberds. They wore studded leather armor and chainmail, and their eyes beneath their helmets held a desperate madness.

Peter's eyes remained unmoved as he faced the several halberds thrusting towards him. He stepped to the side and advanced, his movements fluid as a dance, the griffin claws in his hand drawing a cold arc of light.

"Clang! Snap!"

The sword's edge precisely severed two halberd shafts! Then, Peter flicked his wrist, and the sword tip, like a venomous snake, shot out, instantly piercing the squad leader's throat! The latter clutched his bleeding neck and collapsed in disbelief.

Seeing this, Chief Steward Ulrich was terrified and turned to run towards a crowd to find cover!

"God bless the griffin!"

Behind Peter, Squad Leader John, with a roar, led several shield bearers forward to block the attack coming from the side. Squad Leader Andrei, with his red beard, swung his battle axe, hacking and slashing like a whirlwind; his red beard, covered in blood, looked even more ferocious.

Peter didn't stop, his sword flashed again, and two more infantrymen fell. Their attacks, in Peter's eyes, were full of flaws. His swordsmanship wasn't the brute force slashing common in this era, but rather a fusion of more efficient and precise techniques. Each strike aimed directly at a vital point, without any superfluous movements. To onlookers, his fighting stance was not only powerful, but also carried an indescribable elegance and composure.

"Is he... is he even human?"

A young soldier who was trying to ambush Peter from the side froze, his eyes filled with fear, as he watched his comrade fall like wheat being harvested.

Peter didn't even look at him; he swung his sword backhand and struck the side of the man's helmet, knocking him unconscious.

"Tie him up."

"Kneel down and you'll be spared death; surrender and you'll be spared!"

His command remained clear even amidst the clamor of the battlefield.

This scene was witnessed by many prisoners and Peter's own soldiers. Seeing no hope of breaking out, many chose to lay down their weapons and surrender.

Meanwhile, a fierce battle was raging on Jesca's side. His warriors might be poorly equipped and their formation scattered, but their morale was soaring. The lord's army, on the other hand, had long been demoralized and could barely muster any effective resistance.