When two 20-man cavalry vanguards approached Pramisburg to conduct pre-war reconnaissance, all the people of Pramisburg realized that war had arrived.
On the city wall, as Blair watched the two cavalry units continuously circling Pramisburg from a distance, his expression grew serious. As a knight, he was well-versed in the rules of cavalry combat. These two vanguard units were not here to spectate; they would carefully record the terrain around Pramisburg, noting where was suitable for a charge and where was unsuitable for cavalry, and strictly report this to the cavalry commander.
Cavalry was a troop type highly dependent on battlefield terrain. Unlike infantry, they could not launch a charge regardless of the terrain.
The galloping of warhorses required suitable terrain, preferably flat grasslands or deserts, and ideally from an uphill position to a downhill one to maximize their mobility.
Once encountering uneven and undulating terrain, the combat effectiveness of cavalry would be halved. Warhorses were not powerful magical beasts; they could carry heavily armored knights and two sets of armor, but they could only maintain speed when going downhill. Once they needed to climb uphill, the charging distance of cavalry would be minimized, and without a rapid charge, cavalry would lose their greatest advantage.
"These are very orthodox troops, but unfortunately, we are short of manpower and cannot drive off these cavalry," Blair said, frowning. As a knight who had received systematic training, he had learned not only battle aura but also battle formations. He clenched his hand on the sword hilt. "My lord, are those little gadgets of yours really useful?"
Arno stood beside him, one hand resting on the battlement, with no trace of anxiety on his face.
The idea of cavalry attacking a city was simply a joke to him. He couldn’t believe that 500 men could capture Pramisburg.
Moreover, he had made thorough arrangements in the past few days. All over the outside the city, large and small horse traps were hidden beneath the withered yellow grass. Arno had mobilized all the blacksmiths in the city to forge a type of slender triangular shovel. This shovel was one and a half feet long, with a pointed front and a wide, thick back. Stamping it into the ground, rotating it, and pulling it up created a conical horse trap. The opening, a little larger than a palm, narrowed as it deepened.
Once a horse’s hoof stepped in and was compacted, it would be stuck and unable to pull out. Even a high-speed car couldn’t control its direction after a sudden stop, let alone warhorses, which were far less mechanically precise and reliable.
Arno turned to glance at Blair. "Just wait and see; they will be more useful than you imagine."
The two cavalry vanguards outside the city soon returned to report with satisfaction. The terrain around Pramisburg was very flat, extremely suitable for warhorses to gallop, especially the main road facing the city gates. After several repairs, it was completely intact, forming a straight and deadly path leading to Pramisburg.
The knight commander responsible for attacking Pramisburg was a loyal retainer of the Bohr family. He was calm and wise, lacking the overbearing arrogance typical of the Bohr family.
Listening to the information feedback by the vanguard, the knight commander named Luos nodded slightly. Staring at the city in the distance, he felt that it should not be this calm, as if something had been overlooked. After thinking for a long time without a clue, he asked skeptically, "Can you confirm there are really no ambush troops around?"
The two vanguard captains looked at each other, stamped their feet, and stood chest out. "We have carefully reconnoitered. There are indeed no signs of ambush troops around Pramisburg. We also entered the distant dense forest and found no traces of people staying there."
Luos stroked the small moustache on his lips, looked at the city from a distance, walked back and forth a few steps, suppressed the unease in his heart, and turned to a burly man behind him. The man was in his thirties, 1.6 meters tall, with muscles like the most outstanding works of a sculptor. His sharply defined muscles were full of explosive power. The short, strong man patted his chest, and two slightly blurred handprints immediately appeared on his sturdy breastplate.
Luos breathed a little easier. With this burly man around, capturing Pramisburg would not be difficult. This man was born a strongman; it seemed his parents had misplaced the talent for height, making him a devilish muscleman. Combined with his Sixth-Rank Knight power, an 80-jin solid two-handed sledgehammer felt as light as a toy in his hands. Neither city walls nor gates could withstand his hammer.
Luos took a deep breath, and his attendant immediately began to adjust his armor for the last time. Every latch was unfastened and re-secured, and the connections between each piece of armor were strictly checked several times. More than ten minutes after the last syllable was spoken, Luos’ armor was finally fully fastened. He held his helmet under his arm and walked outward. "Blow the horn, prepare for the attack."
The short, strong man went to the side, shouldered his extremely heavy two-handed hammer, and followed behind Luos.
After tonight, his prestige would spread throughout Bell Province.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The ready knights left the camp and formed a triangular formation, with the short knight in the lead. He closed his visor, and the 80-jin hammer, which would require two men to lift, was as light as nothing in his hands, dragging diagonally on the ground. The armored warhorse beneath him was taller and stronger than other warhorses, with every muscle fiber visible beneath its shiny fur. As it began to move, its muscular contraction and extension was full of beauty.
The entire formation began to move, and a thunderous roar gradually spread. The short knight shouted excitedly, yelling syllables no one else understood, and charged toward the city gates at high speed.
On the city wall, Arno’s face had turned grim. According to the records in the city lord’s mansion, this former military fortress should still have twelve ballistae. If they could launch a volley at the cavalry column on the main road, the scene would be indescribably beautiful. Unfortunately, these ballistae that should have been there were long gone. The armory was empty, with only some fat rats running back and forth busily.
Needless to say, Arno knew that those ballistae had either been sold by previous city lords for money or secretly transported away by destroyed forces.
Such war materials were never in excess for either the Orlando or Byron Empires.
Arno hammered the wall hard and sighed. "Blair, the rest is up to you."
Leaving specialized matters to specialized people was the correct choice. Arno might be slightly more skilled in plotting and scheming, but he was completely ignorant of commanding wars. He would not rashly instruct professionals on what to do; carefully observing from the side was what he needed to do now.
Blair flexed his wrists, his eagle-like gaze fixed on the short man galloping on the main road. The two-handed sledgehammer in his hand posed a great threat to the city gates.
Without the slightest hesitation, Blair gave an order to the people on the city wall. "Pour the clear oil down! Drop the stones too."
Barrels of oil were thrown down, and after breaking, the pale-yellow liquid splashed everywhere. Large and small stones almost filled the road in front of the city gates. Blair drew the long sword hanging from his waist, leaped up, and stood on the battlement. The battle aura in his body began to flow and circulate, causing the long sword in his hand to be shrouded in a faint red light.
Luos had long seen the man in knight armor on the city wall. He raised his whip and pointed at Blair, asking, "Who is that person?"
The guard beside him immediately replied, "He should be the city lord’s retainer, named Blair, a Fifth-Rank Knight."
Luos shook his head slightly. "No, he is a Sixth-Rank Knight."
As they spoke, the knights galloping outside the main road suddenly fell into chaos, with men and horses tumbling. Luos’ face changed drastically. He clamped his legs hard, and the warhorse beneath him neighed, galloping forward rapidly along the main road.
The horse traps had worked. Thirty to forty warhorses broke their legs and fell to the ground. Their knights were thrown flying, landing and bouncing, unable to even move their hands or feet.
The short knight looked back, showed no sign of stopping, and instead spurred his warhorse with the spurs on his heels. The warhorse, in pain, increased its speed, quickly leaving the knights behind.
As the short knight neared the city gates and the warhorse’s hooves became unsteady, slowing down as it sought a suitable place to land, Blair let out a fierce roar and jumped directly from the city gate.
The short knight, losing the best opportunity, sighed inwardly and swung his sledgehammer at Blair in mid-air. Blair, with no leverage in the air, was not flustered. He stretched his limbs back as much as possible, forming a curve like a bent bow, then suddenly tensed his waist and abdomen, swinging his sword downward with all his strength, leaving a fiery afterimage in the air.
Flame Slash!
He was gambling: being hit by the hammer would seriously wound him, but the short knight would be cut in half along with his horse. The short knight’s eyes flashed with sharp light, and without time to think, he swung his right arm outward, changing the arc of his swing to downward, grabbing the hammer shaft with his left hand and blocking upward with force.
With a loud clang and sparks flying, the short knight’s warhorse bent its four legs sharply, then stood stubbornly on its feet with scarlet eyes.
The short knight’s hands went numb, and a gash was torn in his left palm, blood flowing down his arm.
Blair gained leverage from the slash, stepping on the warhorse’s head with one foot and kicking the short knight’s chest with the other. This kick carried the momentum of wind and thunder; before the toe touched the breastplate, the short knight vaguely felt a sharp pain. He retracted his chest, stepped hard on the stirrups, and leaned back, raising his hand to block.
Blair, losing balance again, twisted his waist and landed steadily on the ground.
All this happened in the blink of an eye; many people didn’t even have time to think before the two separated.
Suddenly, a group of soldiers holding crossbows protruded from between the battlements on the city wall. They took aim and pulled the triggers. Twenty to thirty crossbow bolts hummed and shot out, extremely fast. The short knight’s weapon was powerful but not agile enough to effectively defend against such a dense volley. He could only dismount and hide behind his horse.
Within a 20-meter range, the penetrating power and lethality of crossbow bolts were indisputable. The warhorse whinnied, swayed, and fell like a hedgehog. Its armor could not withstand the crossbow bolts at this distance. Its limbs twitched violently, and tears flowed from its large eyes, looking at the short knight with a human-like gaze of reluctance…
The short knight’s eyes turned red. A mount was a knight’s second life, and for a knight using a heavy two-handed weapon like him, finding a satisfactory mount was difficult.
He glared hatefully at the people on the city wall, only to be met with a second volley of crossbow bolts.
In war, there was no room for reason.
His armor rattled as his bulging muscles pressed against it. He raised his heavy hammer high and slammed it into the ground.
The hammer wrapped in yellow battle aura easily shattered the recently repaired ground. The stone bricks broke into pieces, cracking inch by inch, and gravel was sent flying by the enormous force. Blair lowered his body to steady his center of gravity. When the dust cleared, the short knight, with seven or eight arrows sticking out of him, had run 30 to 40 meters. Blair wanted to chase but, seeing the approaching knight regiment, gritted his teeth, spat, turned, jumped, stepped on the city wall to climb two meters, grabbed the rope lowered from the wall, and quickly climbed up.
Luos looked at the short knight with blood at the corner of his mouth, his face horribly pale.
He looked up at the top of Pramisburg’s wall; these farmers were more difficult to deal with than he had imagined. He ordered the horn to be blown: one long, one short. The galloping knights reined in their horses, slowing and stopping about 100 meters from the city gates.
Now, the only option was to request reinforcements.
