Chapter 30

“For the House of Saxony!”

“For the House of Brandenburg!”

Two cavalry regiments, among the most formidable in the empire, clashed head-on. There seemed to be no room for petty tricks to intervene.

Milbas personally led the knightly order’s elite unit… positioned on the right flank with the objective of breaking through the enemy’s flanks and executing an encircling maneuver. Philip, the ‘official supreme commander,’ was placed at the center of the forces bearing the count’s banner. Finally, Baron Pucker’s troops were deployed on the left flank, tasked with tying down the enemy’s right wing.

The elite forces, possessing superior firepower and mobility, were positioned on the right wing, while the remaining infantry and standard forces were deployed in the center and on the left wing.

This was a straightforward strategy: while the powerful right flank attacked the enemy’s flank, the center and left flank held back the enemy’s offensive.

And as the two forces closed to a distance where they could identify each other, the enemy’s left wing finally revealed itself, confronting the elite right-wing force led by Milbas.

The Saxon Knights of the Night Raven, clad in ash-gray surcoats over jet-black armor. The ‘Black Cavalry’.

“Huh.”

Moreover, the one leading the black cavalry at the very front line was none other than the enemy’s supreme commander—the young eldest son of the Saxon House—who should have been issuing orders from the rear.

‘So they intended to decide the outcome with a clash of main forces from the very start.’

By volunteering himself as bait at the very front lines of the battle.

The fact that the supreme commander, who should be issuing orders from the rear, had personally taken to the front lines signified just how critical that particular wing was. This was not a risk that could be handled with mere recklessness or bravado.

‘He’s no ordinary man.’

But there was no reason to refuse this challenge. In fact, this very situation was precisely the scenario Lord Milbas himself had been eagerly awaiting.

The right-wing cavalry, composed of the finest elite within the Order of Saint Magdalena.

There could be no more suitable situation for carrying out his resolve.

──Sir Milbas of Triang.

A high-ranking knight of the Order of Saint Magdalene and the de facto supreme commander of the Count’s forces. He was a battle-hardened knight who had fought countless battles alongside the Holy Sword.

Ten years ago, he was one of the witnesses on the day his lord thrust the holy sword into the hero’s back.

“Charge!”

Leading the right wing cavalry, Sir Milbas bellowed as he charged toward the enemy’s left flank.

Far ahead, beneath a black helmet, the enemy commander gazed this way… toward Dale of Saxony.

Instead of the wedge-shaped tight formation the Order of Saint Magdalene prides itself on, multiple layers of horizontal lines that can spread out flexibly depending on the situation.

“For Saint Magdalene!”

“For the House of Brandenburg!”

The knights of the Count’s House charged forward, all shouting the name of their patron saint, Mary Magdalene.

The cavalry’s preemptive charge signaled the start of the battle.

Simultaneously with the charge, the lances of Sir Milbas and some knights began to glow with an otherworldly light.

An aura as pure white as an angel’s feather. The symbol of the Order of Saint Magdalene.

Wrapping that very snow-white aura around their lances, the pure white cavalry began rapidly accelerating.

Similarly, the Saxon knights charging toward them, toward the black cavalry.

“For the House of Saxony!”

“For Prince Dale!”

Two cavalry units, among the most formidable in the empire, clashed, leaving no room for petty tricks to intervene.

Lance met lance, warhorse met warhorse, steel met flesh. Screams echoed, and blood and bone scattered in all directions.

Among the knights of the House of Brandenburg who participated in this battle, only about fifty could wield the Oru Blade. That number is roughly enough to form a single cavalry battalion.

“The 1st Cavalry Battalion, follow me!”

Leading that very battalion of fifty ‘Aura Knights’, Milbas charged through the enemy lines.

He did not join the frontline cavalry charge, but instead headed toward Dale, who watched them from the rear.

They would break through a single point, subdue the enemy commander, and swiftly bring the battle to a close.

Swift and decisive. Sir Milbas’s aura lance pierced a Night Crow knight like a skewer. Blood and entrails spilled out in a torrent. Sir Milbas, having knocked down one cavalryman, dropped his lance and drew the knight’s sword from his waist.

Sir Milbas, the Innocent Sword.

Following the crimson blade, he swung the pure white ‘Aura Blade’ worthy of his epithet.

Swoosh!

The pure blade traced a snow-white arc, wrapping itself around the enemy soldier’s neck once more. Before a scream could echo, the severed head rolled across the ground.

“…What?”

After subduing two more cavalrymen, Sir Milbas tilted his head at a faint sense of unease.

The right flank cavalry of the Order of Saint Magdalene, which he led… was overwhelmingly driving back the left flank cavalry of the Order of the Night Ravens they had clashed with. It was far too one-sided.

Wasn’t the enemy the very ‘Black Cavalry’, the destroyer of battlefields?

“Retreat! Turn your horses and fall back!”

“Fall back! Retreat and regroup your lines!”

After just one clash, the entire enemy cavalry was already turning their horses’ reins, fleeing like strays.

The battle between cavalry never ends with a single clash. For Lord Milbas, who had anticipated successive charges from the second and third lines, it was a truly anticlimactic conclusion.

‘Is he leading the Saxon House’s Knights of the Night Raven merely to tie our hands?’

When the disparity in strength between two sides is clear, it is understandable for the weaker side to avoid engagement and feign retreat to buy time. But the enemy was Saxony’s famed ‘Black Cavalry’, and their true value lay not in petty tricks or diversionary maneuvers.

It is nothing but a self-defeating move that abandons even their greatest strength.

As proof, the enemy’s frantic retreat, belatedly turning their horses around, was utterly chaotic.

Their formation was in utter disarray, men were falling from their horses—it was nothing short of a hellish scene. Morale had plummeted to the ground, and there was no phased deployment of rear units to buy time for the fleeing forces.

The unwavering precision and iron discipline were nowhere to be seen. It was utterly unbelievable that this was the ‘Black Cavalry,’ the destroyer of battlefields, renowned throughout the realm.

At this rate, they’re no better than the Baron of Greenbelt’s rabble of soldiers.

‘The Baron of Greenbelt’s rabble…?’

Upon reaching that thought, Milbas’s heart suddenly sank. At the true nature of this faint sense of unease.

‘Surely not.’

It wasn’t a sense of unease.

As an enemy, and sometimes as a reliable ally. Having fought countless battles alongside the Knights of the Night Crow, Milbas could be certain.

The eldest son of House Saxon, the enemy commander, had never deployed elite troops to this side from the start.

This was a trap.

On the opposite flank of Sir Milbas’s right wing.

The rabble-rousers bearing the Greenbelt Baron’s crest stood before the left-wing forces led by Baron Perker.

‘Sweeping away Greenbelt’s fools is no big deal!’

Baron Pucker, who had secretly worried about casualties in battle, exhaled a huge sigh of relief at the sight.

Until the tips of the spears wielded by the fool knights commanded personally by Baron Greenbelt… until the pitch-black aura symbolizing the Saxon House’s Night Raven Knight, the very ‘Oro Knight’, began to swirl around them.

“The left flank unit led by Baron Pucker is requesting assistance!”

“Reports indicate Saxon House’s ‘Ogre Knights’ are rapidly breaking through Baron Pucker’s left flank!”

“Lord Milbas stated that the enemy’s main force was clearly on the right flank, where the Saxon House’s eldest son is positioned…”

“Wasn’t Baron Pucker’s opponent supposed to be Baron Greenbelt’s rabble? How then are the Saxon House’s ‘Ogre Knights’ over there!”

Beneath the great banner symbolizing the Count’s house. As two battle lines fiercely interlocked and spun counterclockwise, the lecherous Philip stood at a crossroads where he must make a critical decision.

As the true ‘commander-in-chief’ responsible for this battle.

“……”

A suffocating pressure began crushing his heart. But what squeezed his heart even tighter after that pressure was the cold sneer of a ten-year-old child directed at him.

──In this battle, the one who would lose and ultimately bear the blame for defeat would not be ‘Commander Milbas’.

──but the incompetent, utterly useless eldest son of the Count’s family.

‘Do you think I’ll let that happen!’

That’s exactly right. Commanding this battle and defeating the eldest son of the Saxon family should have been his responsibility from the start, not Lord Milbas’.

I will defeat the Duke’s prodigy, the empire’s foremost genius, and prove myself before my father and the entire empire.

The name Philip of Brandenburg!

Philip, his resolve strengthened, raised his head slightly.

“A message from Lord Milbas! He commands that the central and rear cavalry units join Baron Pucker’s left flank to reinforce the defense…”

Immediately afterward, Lord Milbas, having grasped the situation on the right flank, urgently dispatched a messenger to issue ‘precise operational instructions’.

“Enough!”

To the eldest son of the count’s house, burning with fighting spirit toward Dale, it was hardly a convincing message.

To Lord Milbas, who had weathered every storm, Dale’s deception was nothing more than a commonplace ruse. Nothing would change, and indeed, nothing did.

“Blood! A report states that His Highness Prince Philip himself is leading the rear cavalry to join us here!”

But upon hearing the urgent messenger’s report, Lord Milbas was utterly stunned.

“Didn’t I order you to join forces with Baron Pucker’s left wing, facing the enemy’s ‘true main force’?”

“Well, the Prince was so stubborn about it…”

‘That damn brat…!’

The right flank forces led by Sir Milbas are already gaining the upper hand against the enemy’s weaker left flank. However, deploying additional troops into an already advantageous situation would only lead to unnecessary overcrowding of forces, resulting in reduced mobility on the wings.

Yet, blinded by the single fact that the enemy’s supreme commander was here, they made that misjudgment.

And they ignored the pleas for help from our own forces, who were actually being pushed back!

While the right flank, tasked with breaking through the enemy’s wings through swift maneuvering, loses its purpose and becomes disorganized, the enemy’s true main force—disguised as Baron Greenbelt’s rabble knights—will effortlessly crush our flank and execute an encircling maneuver.

At this point, discussing the outcome of the battle was meaningless.

“…No, not yet.”

But Sir Milbas shook his head almost immediately. He shook his head and looked toward the ‘enemy’s supreme commander’ watching him from beyond.

Hidden beneath a black helmet, the young eldest son of the Saxon family, whose expression remained utterly unreadable.

“First Cavalry Battalion.”

Next, he thought of the fifty Oru Knights fighting alongside him, slaughtering the enemy—the most reliable warriors he could trust.

“We will break through the enemy lines together like this and pursue the enemy commander immediately.”

Nothing would change. Before our own lines became completely tangled and collapsed, we would break through at a single point, subdue the enemy’s supreme commander, and swiftly bring the battle to an end.

Swift victory.

“In the name of Saint Magdalene, may blessings be upon the pure white sword.”

Reciting the name of the Guardian Saint, Sir Milbas of the Sword of Purity and his knights made the sign of the cross.

“May the protection of Goddess Sistina be with you.”

“May the sister goddesses’ kindness and mercy be with us.”

Steeling their resolve, they spurred their warhorses forward.

They forced themselves to push aside the ominous feeling, as if they were advancing into an inescapable quagmire.