Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Chapter 162 Slaying Generals and Seizing Flags

The three mercenary groups were spread out in a fan shape, their chainmail gleaming with a dull gray luster in the sunlight.

"For the silver coins!" the mercenary captain shouted, leading the charge up the hillside.

"Hold on!"

The voice of militia company commander Meng Qi echoed across the front lines. He walked behind the trenches, his rough hands gently patting the shoulders of the young militiamen. "Remember the training: keep your rifles level and your heels firmly planted!"

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The mercenaries at the front had already stepped onto the slope, brandishing their battle axes and longswords, their狰狞 faces drawing ever closer. Suddenly, the mercenaries in the front rank screamed in agony as they tumbled into a cleverly disguised pit, sharp wooden stakes piercing their boots.

"Release the arrows!"

At Peter's command, the Griffin Guard in the rear ranks unleashed a volley of arrows. The sound of arrows piercing the air was like the whisper of death, the bolts easily penetrating the mercenaries' leather armor. One mercenary, struck in the eye by a bolt, fell backward with a piercing wail.

When they finally climbed the slope and approached the trench, they were met with two hundred men armed with spears and flails, ready for battle.

"prick!"

Following the militia captain's order, these militiamen, fighting alongside their fellow villagers, mechanically thrust out their long spears, the dense array of sharp spearheads keeping the enemy several meters away.

Some fearless mercenaries crawled on the ground beneath the spears and charged forward, intending to kill the spear-wielding militiamen with daggers or short swords.

"shoot!"

The flailmen in the third row slammed their two-meter flails down from between the gun barrels, the iron-bound flail heads slamming heavily onto the heads of the soldiers, each blow silencing them.

After half an hour, the mercenaries were still unable to break through the militia's defenses, and instead left behind dozens of corpses.

Count Turnov was enraged and lashed his whip at the fleeing mercenary captain. "Useless!" he shouted, turning to the knights beside him. "Gustav, William, Henry, take your squires and cavalry and raze these peasants to the ground!"

Three fully armed knights raised their lances, and a deep roar came from beneath their visors: "For glory!"

'

Thirty warhorses began to accelerate, their iron hooves crushing the grass and sending mud flying. Their heavy armor gleamed in the sunlight, like a moving steel fortress. The thunderous sound of their hooves shook the ground slightly.

Sprinting over a hundred meters and successfully climbing a slope more than ten meters high is not difficult at all.

"Spears, prepare!"

The front-row militiamen braced the butts of their four-meter-long rifles against the ground, the tips forming a deadly forest. The second-row militiamen extended flails from between the gaps, the iron-bound chains whistling in the air.

In front of the trench, there was a row of wooden stakes and barricades buried in the soil.

The charging cavalry charged without hesitation, thinking they could break through, but they clearly underestimated the power of the lances and chevaux-de-frise, and overestimated their own strength. The mournful cries of warhorses mingled with the sounds of bones breaking, and the lead knight, horse and rider, were pierced by multiple lances. A warhorse was struck in the foreleg by a flail, fell to its knees, and flung its rider several meters.

"Fill the gap! Fill the gap!" Monchi roared, directing the militia to fill the gap.

The fallen knight struggled to his feet, but the heavy plate armor slowed his movements. Several militiamen seized the opportunity, drawing their daggers and stabbing into the gaps in the armor; blood quickly stained the grass.

The remaining cavalrymen retreated with neighing, and several more were shot down by arrows during the retreat.

Count Turnov, witnessing this, gritted his teeth. "Heavy infantry, advance! Castle guards, flank them!"

'

Two more vassal knights, leading ninety elite castle guards and sixty heavy infantry, began to move to the left and right sides of the hillside, advancing over the corpses of their comrades in heavy armor.

"The pressure on both flanks is immense!" Blackbatos reported to Peter, holding up the military flag.

Peter squinted as he observed the battle. The militia on the left began to retreat under the fierce attack of the castle guards. A young militiaman was struck in the shoulder by a battle axe and fell with a scream.

"Griffin Guard, cover the gap!" Peter ordered. "Ace, Klaus, take your men and reinforce the flanks!"

The two squad leaders put down their bows and arrows and immediately led their heavily armored warriors to quickly fill the gap in the defensive line. Armed with swords and shields, they quickly regained their footing.

Seeing this, Count Turnov personally led the last thirty guards forward.

"Give it your all! They're about to collapse!" the count shouted excitedly. If the captain of the guard hadn't stopped him, he would have charged forward himself. But the count, eager for victory, pulled out twenty men from his side and sent them into the battle.

At this moment, only ten guards remained by the count's side. This was the opportunity Peter had been waiting for.

"Prepare the powder keg!"

'

Five burly warriors emerged from the Griffin Guard. They were handpicked strongmen, carrying baskets filled with earthenware jars that emitted the smell of sulfur.

"cast!"

The fuse was lit, and the black terracotta pots wrapped in linen were thrown out by the strongman. They flew in arcs, across their own lines, and landed in the most densely populated area of ​​the enemy.

Deafening explosions rang out one after another, flames shot into the sky, and thick smoke billowed. Shards of broken pottery and iron nails flew everywhere, piercing unprotected faces and arms. A warhorse reared up in fright, throwing its rider off its back.

Several of the fuses that had been lit landed in the most densely populated areas.

"What is that?" A young soldier stared blankly at the dark shadow falling from the sky.

"Get out of the way!" the veteran shouted at the top of his lungs, but it was too late.

"BOOM!!! BOOM!!!"

Deafening explosions rang out one after another! Sparks flew, shrapnel flew everywhere, and the thick smell of gunpowder instantly filled the air.

These granular black powder clay pots, though less powerful than hand grenades, caused devastating psychological and physical harm in the confined space and densely populated area.

"Devil! They used witchcraft!"

"Divine punishment! This is divine punishment!"

"Devil! This is the power of the devil!" A Turnov soldier dropped his weapon, retreated in terror, and kept making the sign of the cross on his chest. The attacking Turnov soldiers fell into a strange daze.

"Open the passage! Griffin Guard, follow me!"

Peter dismounted, drew his longsword, and, taking advantage of the chaos caused by the explosion, strode forward. Black Bartosh, holding a large banner in one hand and a sword in the other, followed closely behind.

The front-line militiamen quickly parted to the sides, making way. Peter led the way, followed closely by the griffin banner and the griffin guard. His longsword drew a silver arc in the sunlight, and with a single thrust, it precisely pierced the throat of a heavy infantryman.

The Lion Guard discarded their bows and crossbows, drawing longswords, hammers, and axes, and charged forward, hacking and slashing with all their might. The Turnov Guard, who had already wasted a great deal of energy in the previous attack, could not withstand this onslaught and retreated in droves.

"BOOM!!! BOOM!!!"

The five strong grenadiers continued to create chaos, and the Turnov soldiers began to retreat in disarray.

"Don't retreat! These are all heretics' tricks! Charge! You cowards!"

Count Turnov was still shouting, he too had been shocked by the earlier explosion, but he had heard of the black powder used by the southern heretics, and he tried to explain to the soldiers. But his words only made them more afraid.

"Sound the horn!"

Peter parried the oncoming battle axe, followed up with a powerful knee strike that severed his opponent's hamstring, and then ordered a full-scale counterattack.

Waaaaaah~ Waaaaah~

The bugle call resounded across the battlefield. The Griffin Guards swung their weapons even more fiercely, and militia members leaped out of their trenches. The retreating enemies before them were clearly walking examples of their battle achievements.

George and his men, who had been conserving their strength and horses' energy at the back of the hill, were growing impatient. They watched as the civilians below Petermo repeatedly repelled the enemy's attacks with impressive skill, and they felt both admiration and frustration.

They are clearly the elite, these noble cavalrymen are the kings of the battlefield, so why are they just stuck here watching the show?

Upon hearing the pre-arranged attack horn sound, the cavalrymen, who had been holding back their energy, immediately mounted their horses and drew their weapons.

"For Trotsky!"

"For Seidleitz!"

"For the glory of the knights!"

"charge!"

Sir George and his twenty Seidleitz cavalrymen charged out from behind the hillside like arrows. They plunged into the enemy heartland through the gap Peter had opened, their hooves trampling over the wounded, the sound of bones shattering chilling.

"Cavalry? They actually have hidden cavalry hidden there?"

The arrival of this last remaining force completely sealed the fate of the battle. The cavalry trampled the infantry, utterly crushing them.

George and his men roared with joy, this was the kind of work cavalry should do: charge straight in and decide the outcome!

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