I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 325 Varangi

Chris, inside Anvil Fortress, received an urgent letter from Major General Marlowe around 2 a.m. After reading it, Chris kept shaking his head.

Through this letter, Chris learned of another shortcoming of Major General Marlowe... he didn't have much strategic vision.

The messenger team was highly skilled, consisting of over a hundred players, all of whom were veteran players who had fought at least three battles and had a reputation value of over one hundred.

Of the more than 100 veteran players who walked more than 40 kilometers at night, only more than 30 managed to reach the Anvil Fortress alive.

The messenger team was ambushed by a large number of enemies in the wilderness at night. Even with the players' bravery and fearlessness, they suffered heavy losses in these frequent small-scale battles.

Of course, it cannot be denied that there was a small group of players who got carried away and didn't think about completing the escort mission.

There's nothing wrong with sending messages. It's perfectly normal for those on the front lines to seek instructions and support from their superiors back home when they encounter difficulties they can't solve themselves.

The problem is that Major General Marlowe shouldn't have made such a big fuss about sending the message. Sending over a hundred elite soldiers with important information was clearly telling the Retalians hiding in the shadows.

There are important figures from the Kingdom of Bagnia here at Anvil Fortress!

If nothing unexpected happens, starting tomorrow, the Reteria Empire's scouts will definitely be focusing their attention on the Anvil Fortress.

Before Tavitsky even begins his battle, a Retalia force might be lying in ambush between the two cities, waiting to ambush Chris.

I'm really fed up with Major General Marlowe. Couldn't he have waited until tomorrow to send the message, or sent a small team of a few people back?
Alternatively, it's fine not to send anyone back to communicate; Chris can learn about the battle situation at the front through the player, without the messenger having to go through the trouble of running back.

However, upon closer examination, the act of sending the message was actually unavoidable. Major General Marlowe was unaware that Prince Chris possessed such abilities, so upon discovering the threat, he would inevitably send someone back to relay the intelligence to prevent any unforeseen circumstances.

Chris didn't want Major General Marlowe to know about his abilities, partly to keep an eye on him, and partly to prevent the players from knowing that Chris could monitor their movements in real time.

The reason Chris can't let the players know is simple... privacy.

Modern smartphones are constantly consuming personal data. Some apps, if not granted permissions, will rudely prevent users from using their devices, which undoubtedly constitutes a breach of user privacy.

However, while users may be aware of this, most don't really care... But if they were to actually perceive a breach of privacy, they certainly wouldn't stand for it.

Chris knew this all too well; he didn't want the players to feel like they were being monitored, something he could do but couldn't say.

Therefore, Chris has always been careful to keep it a secret.

He pondered the letter for a moment, then decided he should reply, ordering Major General Marlowe to hold out and await reinforcements, while also dispatching small detachments to locate the main force of the Reteria Empire.

Let the player handle the reinforcements and the messenger missions; the First Legion will remain in the Anvil Fortress to defend the rear.

When Chris arrived at Anvil Fortress with the First Legion, due to the haste, there weren't many players who came with him, and there were no top-tier large-scale battle groups like the Mountain Tigers or Ultra Warriors; there were only some small battle groups and solo players.

The larger the group, the slower its reaction time; this is a law that even players cannot avoid.

Therefore, when Chris initiated the war mobilization, the large-scale battle groups scattered throughout Bagnia could not immediately set off.

However, this is not a big problem. Some small groups are actually quite powerful. Being small in number does not mean they cannot fight.

Chris put down his reply, having already made up his mind, and summoned the clerk.

"Pass on my orders: have the First Army Corps begin fortifying the Anvil Fortress tonight. We need to ensure the safety of our rear. Also, summon the commander of the 'Varangi Battle Group' to come to me immediately."

The clerk turned and left. A dozen minutes later, a burly player wearing heavy chainmail and wielding a two-handed giant axe strode into the command room.

The battle markings on the player's face looked particularly ferocious in the candlelight, and his eyes burned with a pure thirst for battle.

This is Olaf, the leader of the "Varangi Warband" and a "Berserker".

The leader of a small, elite battle group whose spiritual totem is the Varangian Guard of the Byzantine Empire.

This battle group is small, with just over two hundred members, but each one is a heavily armored, axe-wielding, and extremely skilled hand-to-hand combat maniac.

This team isn't well-known right now, simply because they haven't encountered any opportunities to showcase their skills.

Now, Chris has decided to give them that chance.

"Your Highness, Varangi awaits your command!"

Olaf's voice was like muffled thunder. As a real-life Nordic player, he seemed to enjoy role-playing more than players from China, and was more immersed in the atmosphere of "loyalty," "honor," and "feudalism."

Chris handed him a sealed letter and a specially made rune badge that represented an urgent military order.

"Commander Olaf, I need you to set off immediately and deliver this letter and this badge to Major General Malo at the Tavitsky front as quickly as possible."

This mission will be very difficult. Of Major General Marlowe's messenger team of over a hundred men, only thirty have reached Anvil Fortress. I expect you to be prepared to pay any price.

Upon hearing words like "arduous" and "at all costs," Olaf's eyes flashed with a sharp light, and his breathing became heavier.

"Victory or death!"

As Olaf received the token and pounded his chest in reverence, he roared, his face flushed, expressing his resolve with a battle cry.

"very good."

Chris actually felt a little awkward, but since everyone was so immersed in their role-playing, he couldn't just laugh out loud and ruin the atmosphere.

So, he braced himself, kept a straight face, and continued speaking in a deep voice.

"You must be careful. Major General Marlowe's previous actions may have already exposed the importance of Anvil Fortress, and the Retalians will surely ambush you on the way."

Your strengths are efficiency, suddenness, and...fearlessness of death. Make good use of them.

"Your Highness, rest assured, there is no word 'retreat' in Varangi's dictionary, only 'advance' and 'victory'!"
For glory and spoils!

Olaf growled, turned and strode away to gather his howling brothers, leaving Chris behind him, rubbing his face vigorously.

At four in the morning, the sky was still pitch black, with only sparse starlight.

Brightly lit and bustling with activity, the side gate of the Anvil Fortress quietly opened, and more than two hundred players from the Varangian Warband surged out like a silent torrent of steel.

They were well-equipped, all wearing heavy armor, and their weapons were mainly long-handled battle axes, greatswords, and heavy flails, with throwing axes or javelins hanging from their waists or backs.

The heavy footsteps of more than two hundred infantrymen sounded exceptionally clear in the silent wilderness, yet they carried an indomitable spirit.

Chris stood atop the city wall, watching the elite squad disappear into the darkness.

He doesn't need to send a large force; that would make him too conspicuous and could easily lead to a repeat of past mistakes.

The Varangian Legion, an extremely elite and warlike small group, is perfectly suited for carrying out such high-risk, high-intensity infiltration and assault missions. Their fighting spirit is the best driving force in itself.

After the Varangian Legion set off, the remaining thousand or so players in the fortress were also sent out by Chris. Their mission was not to deliver messages, but to check on the nearby Minisian villages and towns.

The arrival of the Retalians will surely give the locals some useful information... whether they witness it firsthand or witness villages being burned, killed, and looted, it will reveal some important details.

Time flew by in a tense atmosphere. Chris pieced together the latest developments from the scattered information streams on the player forums.

The Varangian Legion moved at an extremely fast pace, avoiding the main roads and choosing to travel through rugged but more concealed areas.

They encountered several small groups of Retalian scouts along the way, but these were all crushed by the ferocious heavy infantry with lightning speed, causing almost no delay to their journey.

Screenshots of Valanciunas boasting about their victories and excited discussion threads began appearing on the forums, boosting morale.

However, good fortune doesn't always favor players; it might be the corpse of a Reteria scout, or perhaps a footprint they neglected to clean up.

In short, at some point, uncertain to the Varangian Chapter, their whereabouts were exposed.

Around six o'clock in the morning, the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten, casting a hazy gray-blue hue over the vast plains.

The Varangian Legion was crossing the edge of a relatively open wheat field, preparing to enter the woodland ahead, when suddenly a dull, thunderous sound of hooves broke the tranquility of dawn from their flank!
"Enemy attack! Cavalry, heavy cavalry!"

The scout player at the front issued a piercing alarm.

On the gentle slope to the side, a squad of about ten heavily armored cavalrymen appeared like steel monsters emerging from the morning mist, looking down at the players two hundred meters below.

They were fully armed, their rifles gleaming coldly in the morning light.

Following closely behind, like rolling dark clouds, hundreds of light cavalry attendants, equipped with leather armor and wielding bows or spears, surged out from the groves on both sides of the hillside. They quickly spread out to the flanks, intending to encircle the enemy.

Clearly, this was an elite hunting force specifically deployed along rear supply lines to intercept Bagnia's messengers and reinforcements.

They accurately predicted the Varangian Legion's possible route and chose this relatively open area, which was conducive to the cavalry's charge, to ambush them!
"Form a tortoise-shell formation, with spears and axes in front!"

Olaf's wild roar instantly drowned out the thunder of hooves. The players of the Valangi Warband displayed amazing tactical skills, starting to move almost as soon as the order was given.

The heavily armored warriors in the front row quickly crouched down and slammed their huge kite-shaped shields into the ground, forming a low but sturdy shield wall.

The second rank of warriors thrust out heavy spears, halberds, or giant axes, some up to three meters long, from between their shields, creating a terrifying steel jungle!

The entire formation instantly contracted, like a hedgehog curling up its body and raising its sharp spines.

The Norse warriors of the Varangian Legion wisely abandoned mobility and chose to hold their ground, preparing to confront the steel onslaught head-on in foot combat.

A hundred light cavalry squires charged down the hillside at the sound of sharp whistles. They skillfully maneuvered around the perimeter, getting close to the shield wall formed by the Varangi Legion on the flanks. Then, they drew their bowstrings, and a dense rain of arrows swarmed towards the Varangi Legion's formation like locusts.

For some reason, while cavalry in other countries were adopting firearms, this cavalry unit, carrying a white banner of galloping horses, stubbornly maintained the tradition of using cold weapons.

Arrows clattered against the shields and heavy armor, causing some damage, but failing to penetrate the core defenses of this steel fortress.

"fire!"

Olaf roared, and a crouching cannon protruding from the side of the shield wall also roared at the same time.

"boom……"

The roar of the tiger-squat cannon tore through the morning mist, and the shrapnel exploded into a deadly net along the path of the cavalry. The three leading warhorses were instantly reduced to blood and gore.

The light cavalrymen who had planned to harass Varangi with mounted archery suddenly turned their horses around and fled back in a great swarm, like startled birds.

The fact that the enemy's harassment attempt failed and they were instead beaten and forced to flee in a sorry state made the warriors of Varangi roar in unison, laughing at the enemy's foolishness.

Although the light cavalry did not achieve any results, they successfully sacrificed their lives to get Varangi's only Tiger Crouching Cannon into reloading mode. For the players, the real test is the charge from the following dozen or so heavy cavalry!

Boom...

Amid the violent tremors of the ground, the heavy cavalry, two hundred meters away, began to move slowly. They had originally planned to wait a while, but the defeat of the light cavalry made them unwilling to wait any longer.

"For the Empire! Crush them!"

The heavy cavalry commander at the forefront, holding a white banner with galloping horses, roared as he charged forward.

More than ten heavy cavalrymen formed a wedge formation and began to accelerate. Their hooves trampled the wheat seedlings and the ground, producing a deafening roar that made the earth tremble slightly.

Olaf watched the heavy cavalry charge with a calm gaze. He waved his chainmail-gloved hand forward, and a dozen Varangian players rushed out of their shield formation, carrying several large sacks and scattering caltrops a dozen meters in front of the formation.

Olaf had anticipated that he might encounter the Leterian cavalry on his way to deliver the message, so he made some preparations and brought tiger-squat cannons and caltrops.

However, he had no idea that he would run into heavy cavalry.

Are you crazy? Whose scouts and reconnaissance soldiers aren't light cavalry?
Sending heavy cavalry into enemy-occupied territory—is this because they think they have too many elite troops and want to use them as a tool to kill enemy soldiers, saving on military pay and fodder?
After scattering the barbed wire in a dozen seconds, the Varangian player threw the bag on the ground and ran back without looking back, slipping into the formation before the heavy cavalry arrived.

The heavy cavalry charged forward with the thunderous roar of their hooves. They saw the enemy's movements in front of their path and the caltrops scattered on the dew-dampened earth, their edges gleaming with an ominous cold light.

However, they dismissed it with disdain, for in the eyes of the Reteria heavy cavalry, it was nothing more than a desperate little trick by the Bagnians.

"Charge over there and stomp on these toys!"

The commander's voice, hoarse and metallic, came through the visor.

The heavy cavalry did not slow down at all. Instead, they squeezed their horses' bellies tightly, and the warhorses neighed as they increased their speed to the limit. The heavy hooves, carrying immense force, stomped hard on the deadly metal thorns!

"Crack...knock..."

A sharp, piercing sound of metal shattering and the painful neighing of warhorses suddenly rang out. The two leading horses collapsed violently.

Their heavy horseshoes crushed some of the barbed wire, but many more spikes pierced deep into the tender hoof and ankle like venomous snakes.

The immense inertia flung the rider off his horse like a tattered sack, sending him crashing to the ground with his armor twisted and deformed. His fate was unknown.

But the remaining ten heavily armored cavalrymen, thanks to their superior horse armor covering most of their horses' vital organs and the brief passage "cleared" by their comrades in the front ranks with their own flesh and blood, managed to crush through that death zone.

Although several of the warhorses visibly limped and gasped in pain after the charge, the momentum of the charge was not completely broken.

"withstand!"

Olaf, standing at the very center of the formation, roared with a hint of barely perceptible shock and anger. Boom…

The steel torrent crashed violently into Varangi's shield wall.

At that moment, time seemed to freeze.

The massive kite-shaped shield groaned under its strain, sending wood chips and metal fragments flying everywhere.

The spears and axes of the dozen or so Varangian warriors in the front row snapped, and the arm bones gripping their shields cracked with a clear sound under the terrifying impact. They were thrown off the ground along with their heavy shields!

"Ugh..."

The screams were drowned out by the deafening crash.

More than a dozen figures were sent flying through the air like scarecrows struck by a battering ram.

Their heavy armor lost its protective function under such immense force, and some of them tumbled in the air, swinging their limbs like toys in the hands of a mischievous child.

Some were thrown backward, crashing heavily into their comrades in the second and third rows behind them, causing a chaotic chorus of gasps and groans.

In the blink of an eye, the Varangian Legion's formation was torn open by these Retalia heavy cavalry, leaving a huge, bloody gap.

In the midst of such a brutal charge, five enemy horses fell, and three heavy cavalrymen were thrown from their horses.

The casualties were not light, but the heavy cavalry that followed showed no mercy as they penetrated deep into the shield wall through the gap. Their heavy lances, like poisonous dragons emerging from their caves, pierced the chests of the warriors who were trying to fill the gap.

The iron hooves of warhorses trampled the fallen bodies, the sound of bones shattering was sickening.

Just as a Varangian warrior raised his giant axe, a lance pierced his chest, splitting his breastplate. His body was dragged forward several meters by the lance before being thrown aside.

The stench of blood on this small battlefield instantly became so intense it was suffocating. The wheat field had turned into a slaughterhouse, with severed limbs, broken shields, and twisted weapons scattered all over the ground.

"Hold on, plug the gap, and push them out!"

Olaf's eyes were bloodshot. Like a mad bear, he swung his massive axe, as big as a door, and slashed fiercely at a knight who had charged into the ranks.

The axe blade, accompanied by a piercing whistling sound, struck the horse's head, instantly splitting half of the warhorse's skull open. Hot blood and brain matter gushed out like a fountain, drenching the rider and causing him to fall to the ground.

Olaf's most valiant Varangian warriors also reacted and roared as they rushed toward the breach.

They no longer cared about formations, but instead used the most savage and direct hand-to-hand combat methods, using their bodies, battle axes, and teeth to stop the rampage of the steel monster.

Some men clung to the horse's legs, refusing to let go even after being dragged several meters; others used flails to bind their lances and pull the riders off their horses; still others simply jumped up and used their heavy bodies to knock enemies off their horses from the side.

Chaos, carnage, and bloodshed!

One heavy cavalryman charged too far, and his horse was frightened. The moment the man reared up, he was immediately overwhelmed by several giant axes and halberds. Both man and horse were smashed to pieces. Plate armor can stop arrows and thrusts, but it will deform under the repeated hammer blows of heavy weapons.

But this was not enough to stop the rampage of the remaining five heavy cavalrymen. Another fallen knight stood in front of the breach and used his longsword to cut down two Varangi who were trying to block the breach.

In the chaos of battle, the cavalry commander wearing a unique feathered helmet was particularly fierce. Even though his lance was broken, it did not stop him from swinging his armor-piercing hammer left and right, smashing it on the players' heads.

This is definitely a boss. He is skilled in martial arts and has superb horsemanship. Even without horsemanship, he still manages to ride his warhorse and charge left and right in narrow spaces.

Under his command of the reins, the warhorse kicked its hooves backward from time to time, working in tandem with the rider on its back to unleash a fighting force that was equal to five times its weight.

With this boss leading the way, the remaining five heavy cavalrymen disrupted the formation of the two hundred-plus Varangian men.

Olaf stared intently at the boss. That bastard, he must die!

"Follow me! Chop up that guy wearing the chicken feather!"

Olaf roared, his giant axe clearing a path, leading a small squad of his most elite warriors like a raging wave cleaving through a sea of ​​blood, carving a bloody trail through the chaotic battlefield and charging straight at the arrogant commander.

However, Olaf wanted to fight, but the knight leader wouldn't let him have his way. He simply pulled on the reins and covered the retreat of the remaining four heavy cavalrymen, disengaging them from the battle.

The gap in the shield wall had not been completely plugged, and the interior of the formation was in disarray. The light cavalry that had been roaming outside charged up again, taking the place that the heavy cavalry had left behind, and rushed in through the gap, hoping to completely break up and defeat these heavy infantry.

Olaf roared in anger, but could only grab his axe and hack at the light cavalrymen who were charging at him.

The light cavalry of Leteria charged quickly and recklessly; they carried only a light lance and a suit of chainmail, yet dared to charge into the Varangians.

The Varangian warriors were not to be outdone. With their flesh and blood and an iron will, they forcefully pinned the light cavalry's deadly thrust into their formation, and also held back the subsequent charge of the light cavalry.

The price for doing so was the instantaneous annihilation of nearly thirty elite warriors and the collapse of the entire formation.

The battle entered its most brutal and brutal phase. Every second, steel clashed and flesh flew everywhere.

At this moment, the remaining five heavy cavalrymen launched another charge.

At this time, the five heavy cavalrymen were not at their peak. Only the knight leader and one other man's horses were still their original warhorses, covered in chainmail. The other three men's warhorses were clearly light cavalry horses, which were neither tall enough nor armored.

Five heavy cavalrymen formed a triangular charging formation, with those wearing armor leading the charge and those without armor following behind, charging forward fiercely.

Even without their lances, their warhorses still managed to knock three Varangians away, break through the Varangian lines, and plunge deep into the light cavalry.
If it were non-player heavy infantry, being relentlessly rammed around by the Leterian cavalry, with over thirty people flying through the air, these two hundred or so men should have collapsed long ago.

However, the Varangian Legion did not collapse. Even though they had suffered heavy casualties by now, they did not waver at all. They even became more courageous as they fought, roaring and swinging their axes to cut down the nearest cavalrymen, both men and horses.

When Olaf saw the boss with the white feather on his helmet appear in the distance again, he charged forward angrily, roaring.

"Odin, gaze upon me... Varangi, for Your Highness!"

Olaf, like a blood-soaked beast, cleaved through the light cavalry blocking his path with each swing of his giant axe, the sound of bones shattering echoing with each blow, and charged straight at the figure adorned with fluttering feathers.

The commander was wielding a piercing hammer, smashing the helmet and skull of a Varangian warrior who was trying to approach, denting it.

"Bastard!"

Olaf roared, leaping up and cleaving Mount Hua with his giant axe.

"clang!"

The ear-piercing clang of metal against metal was so loud it hurt people's eardrums, but the cavalry commander managed to block the fatal blow with his arm shield at the last second.

But the immense force still caused him and his horse to stagger backward. A flicker of horror flashed in his eyes beneath his visor, which then turned into a deeper ferocity.

"The wild dogs of Bagnia!"

The commander roared and swung his hammer at Olaf with his backhand. Olaf raised his battle axe to block it, but the advantage of the commander's superior position made Olaf suffer a clear disadvantage, and he staggered back a few steps.

"Roar……"

Olaf roared inhumanly, but instead of retreating to create distance, he used the momentum of his stagger to suddenly lower his body, like a pouncing wolf, and swept his giant axe, accompanied by a foul stench, toward the forelegs of the commander's warhorse.

His attack was ruthless and cunning, completely contrary to the style of a heavily armored warrior with wide, sweeping movements.

"mean!"

The commander, filled with shock and rage, yanked the reins in an attempt to dodge, but his warhorse deftly reared up, its heavy hooves narrowly avoiding the axe blade. But this was the moment Olaf had been waiting for.

Ignoring the horse's hooves hanging overhead, he sprang up from the ground like a spring, using the spike at the end of his giant axe, carrying all his strength and weight, to stab the warhorse hard at the relatively vulnerable chest and abdomen joint, where the chainmail was far less thick than other parts.

"Pfft..."

The sharp, conical blade tore through the lock ring and plunged deep into the warhorse's soft belly. Hot blood gushed out like a flood, drenching Olaf's head and face!

"Hissing..."

The warhorse let out a heart-wrenching wail, its massive body crashing to the side. The cavalry leader on its back was caught off guard and was thrown violently by the immense inertia. His heavy armor slammed onto the muddy, blood-soaked ground with a dull thud.

"It's over, you imperial dogs!"

Olaf, like a demon crawling out of a pool of blood, dragged his giant axe and approached step by step. His breathing was heavy like a bellows, and his eyes burned with a pure desire for destruction.

The commander struggled to get up, but the heavy armor and the impact of falling from his horse made him move slowly. He suddenly drew his knight's longsword from his waist, pointed it at Olaf who was closing in, and his eyes under his visor were filled with a beastly madness.

"Come on, you Bagnian bastard!"

Olaf grinned maliciously as his giant axe came crashing down with unparalleled force. The commander, being an elite soldier, managed to parry the blow despite the dizziness.

"clang!"

A tremendous force struck him, nearly causing him to drop his sword. He knelt on one knee, his arm throbbing with pain and numbness.

Olaf pressed his advantage relentlessly, unleashing a barrage of powerful blows with his giant axe. Each strike was so forceful that it caused the commander's hands to split open, forcing him to retreat step by step, barely managing to parry.

Just as Olaf delivered a seemingly inevitable diagonal slash that severed the enemy's longsword, and was about to decapitate his opponent with the next strike, a sudden change occurred!
A glint of cunning gleamed in the eyes of the kneeling commander as he threw the broken knight's sword toward Olaf's face with his right hand.

When the latter raised his hand to block, he not only did not retreat, but instead lunged forward, using his shoulder armor to forcefully ram Olaf's axe handle, knocking the latter's axe off course and preventing it from striking down.

At the same time, his left hand, which he had been concealing behind his back, swiftly drew out the ram's head hammer from behind his waist. Like a venomous snake emerging from its hole, it slammed into Olaf's left arm, which was caught off guard, with a dull thud.

There, he was pierced by a light cavalryman's lance. Although no blood was drawn, it left a dent in Olaf's shoulder armor, which became a flaw that the cavalry commander could exploit.

"Crack!"

A chilling sound of bones shattering rang out clearly. Olaf's left shoulder armor, along with the arm bone below, twisted and deformed the instant the heavy armor-piercing hammer fell.

A sharp pain shot through his body like an electric current, and Olaf's vision went black as he nearly fainted.

"Die!"

The commander let out a beast-like roar, trying to pounce on Olaf and throw him to the ground.

For warriors wearing heavy armor, whether cavalry or infantry, once they are thrown to the ground by the enemy, it is basically no different from a death sentence.

"You're the one who'll die!!!"

The excruciating pain only ignited Olaf's Viking rage. Ignoring his nearly crippled left arm and the agonizing agony, he used his head as a warhammer to smash it down on his enemy.

Caught off guard, the cavalry commander's helmet collided with Olaf's horned helmet, and with a dull thud, the former fell backward, dazed.

Olaf was also dizzy, but he ignored the buzzing in his head and unleashed a power beyond his limits with his only remaining right hand. The heavy giant axe seemed to lose its weight in his hand. Taking advantage of the momentum of his body being smashed to the left, he swung it up from below at an incredible angle!

The axe blade tore through the air, carrying all of Olaf's anger, pain, and determination, precisely slicing through the thin gap connecting the commander's helmet and breastplate!
Time seems to stand still.

The commander's backward movement froze.

His ornate, blood-stained feathered helmet, along with the astonished head inside, slipped silently off and rolled into the mud.

Blood gushed from the severed neck, like a scarlet fountain, splattering onto Olaf's狰狞 (zhengning - ferocious/hideous) blood-stained face.

The headless body swayed and then collapsed heavily.

"Uh... ah..."

Olaf braced himself against the axe handle, breathing heavily. His left arm hung limply at an odd angle, each breath pulling at the shattered bones and bringing excruciating pain. Sweat, blood, and mud streamed down his face.

He looked down at the angry, wide-eyed head on the ground, then at his own twisted left arm, and grinned, revealing a devilish smile that was a mixture of pain and extreme pleasure.

"Odin...witness!"

He growled hoarsely, his voice not loud, but with a chilling, penetrating power.

The sounds of fighting around them seemed to subside at that moment. Both the warriors of Varangi and the remaining Reteria cavalry witnessed this bloody and shocking scene.

Their commander, the man who had won ten consecutive victories in the Knights Tournament like a god of war, had his head chopped off by a berserker with a severed arm!

Fear spread like a plague among the Reteria soldiers. They lost their leader, and their last shred of fighting spirit vanished. The remaining light cavalrymen howled and tried to escape, only to realize at that moment that they had no way out.

The Varangian players were badly ravaged by the cavalry's repeated charges, but even the most devastating casualties could not shake their determination to fight. Even though the tortoise formation had unknowingly turned into a hollow circle during the battle, they did not collapse and maintained their formation.

This resulted in them being repeatedly breached in their formation by the enemy, but never truly being completely overwhelmed. When they finally collapsed, they found themselves with nowhere to retreat.

It's either death or a sneak attack; there's no other way.

Speed ​​is the cavalry's primary weapon. Without sufficient space and without backup, light cavalry would naturally be unable to launch a charge and break through the Varangians' obstruction and axe strikes.

When the battlefield finally quieted down, apart from a few light cavalrymen who managed to escape by sheer luck, the rest of the Leterian people... were left with only the thick, overwhelming stench of blood and the groans of the wounded.

As for Varangi, their numbers have dwindled to about a third.

(End of this chapter)