Chapter 252

She gazed afar at Lucas Botun's battle array, feeling that the crowded central spot she saw was where Lucas Botun was.

Botun finally made a slight move.

The enemy soldiers pushed the skinning frames from the gap between the ditch and the anti-cavalry obstacles to the front line; the soldiers staggered, hugging bundles of firewood and threw them under the frames, then the soldiers holding torches set the skinning frames ablaze. Flames rose thus on the battlefield where they were about to fight, belching thick black smoke, and only after a while did she smell the scent of scorched flesh.

But this wasn't over yet; the originally bare wooden platform now conspicuously appeared in the center of the six skinning frames, as if it had never existed before—then the soldiers erected another, larger skinning frame atop the wooden platform. After that they lifted a struggling person onto it and locked him to the frame…… She found it a bit strange.

"Is this how Botun wages war?" Mei Yi asked the count beside her.

"The skinning frames are fine, but setting them on fire to burn people is not. They like to torture soldiers who violate military discipline—damn it, that's why everyone in Botun loves him!"

"Sir, look well—the ones being burned aren't corpses." Mei Yi was shocked that Botun was becoming more and more unscrupulous: "Is he doing this to make the soldiers fearful?"

"Damn Botun!" After hearing Mei Yi's words, he quietly stared for a while, finally realizing, as if seeing a ghost, that it was a living person; he couldn't help jumping up and down, whip in hand, not knowing where to lash, and the warhorse beneath him grew uneasy, continually trampling the gravel on the hill, stones shattering and rolling down the slope.

After a while he calmed down, but still felt somewhat dispirited.

"As long as Your Highness isn't afraid, your soldiers won't be afraid either!" He pulled the reins with his left hand, "I'll go back first to comfort those inexperienced lads!"

A breeze stirred, the ice‑wolf emblem on the flag swayed its tail, and so Mei Yi rode her horse down the slope, with her guard cavalry following silently to one side.

The battlefield terrain had long been etched in her mind; she had no need to keep looking from high ground, which at most was merely to let the youths beside her understand the formations below.

If they remain indifferent, there's nothing to be done.

"Ruika, sound the horn!" Mei Yi commanded loudly.

"Sir Ruika" was the title he expected. Ruika, though slightly dissatisfied, still took up the dragon‑bone horn slung at his side on his warhorse with both hands and brought it to his lips.

The heroic mare galloped like lightning, phoenix cries sweeping dust and feathers in pursuit. This was her exclusive horn call.

The dark dragon‑bone horn, its mouthpiece and recessed patterns bound in gold, was naturally of great value.

Using such a horn naturally did not bury the meaning of a brave knight; moreover, in the previous battle he had blown the horn promptly and done quite well. Unfortunately, he considered himself a valiant warrior who fought on the front line, not a rear‑guard musician.

The young knight's cheeks bulged, and the sound issued forth.

The dragon‑bone horn was not lower than an ox horn, but clear, far‑reaching and loud, with a distinct character; she added its signal to her own battle formation. Simply put, it signified her intent to advance.

Her guard cavalry swept past the right‑wing infantry and charged straight toward the blazing skinning wooden frame; she nocked an arrow, drew back easily, and shot down an enemy soldier who hadn't managed to retreat, letting him slump limp beside the fire frame. The youths nearby all slumped in dejection, thus losing the initiative.

"Raise my banner!" since blood had already been drawn.

Sir Haerluo unfurled the battle flag with one hand, waving it into the wind; thereafter, on the black field, a blood‑red wolf head unfurled following the direction of their sweeping motion.

Beside her, Sasha rode her warhorse carefully, furtively pulling a slightly smaller pennant from her bosom, imitating Haerluo as she unfolded it; a smaller wolf flag appeared. Mei Yi glanced at her askance; Sasha met her gaze and returned a shy, sweet smile.

"What the hell, throw it away!" Mei Yi snapped; this was a battlefield, not her training ground for play.

Sasha dared not disobey; she made the motion to throw it, yet the pennant slipped neatly into the opened saddlebag on the horse's rear side. She then grabbed the reins with both hands, stared straight ahead, avoiding Mei Yi's reproachful gaze, and galloped off with them. Mei Yi watched her lowered face and smirked secretly. She too was a fun‑loving youth. To keep her from being distracted, Mei Yi stopped staring at her.

She had once used thirty men to hang and pursue the armies of Botun and Tilier. Displaying the flag here left no doubt as to her intent.

Let's see whether this bait of hers can make Botun bite straight away.

Faint drumbeats—this was Botun issuing orders.

Indeed, Botun's coat‑of‑arms bore the long rectangular shield spearmen who, at this moment, were the first to step over the anti‑cavalry obstacles, marching toward them with unusually uniform steps; then a cavalry unit on the flank also began to move, sweeping northwest, naturally to cut off their retreat.

The infantry advanced steadily, appearing more flexible and orderly than the creek‑land infantry that Eriyon Pryde had once led; their whole marching motion and step size were nearly uniform.

She laughed heartily, blew a whistle, leisurely slipped out of range of the infantry's javelin throwers, then charged straight at the oncoming cavalry, quickly putting distance between herself and those pitiful foot soldiers.

"Nock with one hand! Ready!" she shouted.

"Nock with one hand! Fire!" the guard cavalry shouted.

The bowstrings on the horses thrummed, the faint echoes rustling.

The leading few warhorses took arrows and collapsed, yet the cavalry they had dispatched was too numerous.

"Withdraw!" they broke free of the pursuing horsemen at the battlefield's edge and then rode back toward the camp.

The nearby soldier‑stable hands at once brought up the readied warhorses; she seized another chestnut mount, leapt onto it, and then watched the other guard cavalry panting, laughing as they swapped mounts.

It was nothing more than a warm‑up.

"Pass the order: the original plan stands, with Tilier as the breakthrough target." She told the little Gasbanji beside her; then she saw the lad turn his horse and dash aside, and shortly afterward the expected signal drum sounded.

At that moment, Henry Norton's infantry phalanx pressed forward, raising spears and shields, advancing steadily with uniform steps; after moving forward some ten‑odd paces, a sudden mighty shout rang out, the soldiers' steps halted instantly and they let out an even louder roar, the shield wall planted firmly on the ground, each man gripping his spear with one hand and leaning the shaft against the notch on the shield's foot reserved for spears.

"Let's begin!" she said loudly.

Then came the low, mournful wail of the horn.

"Who commands the North?" Sir Mosensaiwen rode forward alone, raised his longsword, and bellowed.

"We are Stark! (Westark!)"

"Screw them!" Sir Mosensaiwen roared, and then the front four hundred horsemen of the left cavalry charged in neat rows toward the left flank of the opposing Tilier army.

Instantly she sensed the vastness of the battlefield, the layered soldiers and warhorses appearing with perfect clarity in her mind; the Benshi warhorses and the great host seemed so slow that she felt her own movements could be swifter, that her claws and bloody maw could easily carry off the fear of the southern soldiers.

She had already, via the little fur‑dog, caught the scent of fear on them.

The wind roared past her ears; she felt like a bull galloping across the plains, its black fur often obscuring her vision, she could sense the wind swirling through her coat, and she felt she had already smelled the stench of the enemy soldiers.

Claws bared, the Tilier soldiers frantically dropped their spears and shields, their trembling hands unable to draw the daggers or swords at their waists…

The little fur‑dog's claws slashed across the exposed neck—he was an unlucky wretch, having failed to wear his helmet properly and having lowered his gorget.

It snapped shut on the panicked warhorse. Poor horse, it sensed danger, but its eyes were too feeble to perceive the Benshi looming like a shadow.

The warhorse reared, throwing its rider, and in the formerly neat and solemn infantry formation it bucked wildly, merely trying to shake off the terrifying creature.

It leapt clear of the dangerous horse in time. It heard the roar, arrows flew again at the horse, and spears thrust toward it.

It did not die beneath the ice‑wolf's fangs, but fell to its master's spear.

The mad warhorse died swiftly, yet this did not calm the soldiers.

She commanded the little fur‑dog to lunge left and right, effortlessly tearing apart the infantrymen's thighs and easily dodging the incoming slow spears.

Under the orders of a few fully armored knights, the Tilier soldiers quickly formed a ring and charged at it.

It wasn't that foolish; it leapt out of the encirclement, struck a knight, then burst out again from the opposite side.

It had no need to steal the limelight from the ice‑wolf‑banner cavalry.

The cavalry, following the position where the shaggy dog caused chaos, charged straight in, the gap grew larger and larger, and the Tyrrell commander's voice also became more urgent and pressing.

It's time.

Sure enough, Sir Mersen Sewin decided to commit his squadron at this moment; in an instant, the Tyrrell infantry formation collapsed and scattered. The cavalry would not pass up such a good killing opportunity, pursuing from behind, spears thrusting one after another into their backs. The remainder surrounded them, pushing them toward infantry in other directions.

"Your Highness, Bolton has moved out." Harlo spoke to her in time, pulling her back from her reverie.

Bolton's cavalry came from the right, facing Sir Mersen Sewin's cavalry.

"What is Sir Mersen waiting for?" She pulled the warhorse's reins, looking toward the Bolton cavalry coming from the opposite side; this was already Bolton's largest cavalry contingent.

"Cavalry, advance!" She heard Sir Mersen's voice loud and clear here.

Huban ordered the infantry to make way for the cavalry's final passage; only to see Sir Mersen Sewin first mount his warhorse and charge toward the enemy.

The blazing sun high above, blue smoke rolling, this truly is a good opportunity for combat; the battle escalates little by little.

The warhorses surged, hooves shaking the earth. Mei felt that the shaggy dog did not like the booming sound of the earth striking filling its ears.

She went with the wind toward the Bolton cavalry, dodging the incoming hostile arrows.

"Ugh..." came the sound from Bolton's side, and there was also movement on the opposite side.

She liked the feeling of provoking the warhorse in combat.

Under the scent of the icefield wolf, the warhorses are too prone to lose control; when they see their natural enemy appear, instinct makes them flee or jump defensively, completely losing their function as warhorses. That is the situation they face now.

She could only help to this extent.

Squadron cavalry wielded spears of fruit wood, thrusting straight at each other; upon encountering any obstacle, the fruit wood would suddenly break. At that point they had to draw their swords and engage in real blade-to-blade combat.

Bolton's infantry at this moment followed from the rear and left sides, facing the cavalry battlefield. The forward-guarding infantry remained motionless, guarding against their surprise attacks and advances.

"Let Huban the instructor lead the infantry to block them. Let Sir Glover drive them out completely."

After the order was transmitted, a dense blast of horns sounded almost immediately behind them. Then Huban, bearing the black-axe battle flag, led all the infantry to press against Bolton's guard infantry on the right center.

Shields closed in, infantry spears thrust at each other; at all times one could hear the piercing cries. This was the most difficult war of attrition.

She gazed at the battlefield expressionlessly. Her guard cavalry had all wiped away their smiling expressions; each person from time to time glanced at her, awaiting the next order.

Her right hand gripped the sword hilt tightly, also waiting for Bolton's next order.

Finally, Glover's vanguard cavalry circled the battlefield and joined Sir Mersen; after that, the cavalry side had already decided the victor. Then she saw part of the cavalry begin to pursue the scattered Tyrrell infantry outward, while another part began to pursue the retreating cavalry.

"Cavalry, withdraw." The cavalry had not achieved its intended goal.

After the order was issued, there were again different drum sounds and wailing.

Bolton's infantry approached again; Henry Norton immediately moved forward, gathering the withdrawn cavalry behind him.

"Damn Tyrrell! Actually deliberately avoiding Bolton's main camp!" Kongqi Kongdun, covered in blood, returned even earlier than Sir Mersen Sewin; upon seeing her off to one side, he immediately reported or complained.

"Harlo, take good care of the guard cavalry regiment. Hand over overall command to Count Glover." She took the icefield wolf banner from his hand, summoned several larger youths and the soldiers who had returned to camp first, and rode down one-handed.

Rika sounded the dragon-bone horn again at this time.

Her heavy cavalry regiment sat steadily in Credos, unmoving like a mountain. When Mei arrived bearing the banner, Credos only then slightly turned his head to glance.

"Break through this infantry fighting Huban from the flank." She gave the order directly.

Credos nodded, then slowly pulled the black horse she had brought from the Hejian region back to the northern borders, following behind her, passing the infantry of the Moore forest clan.

At this moment the iron warhorse began to speed up with her rhythm. She could hear the sound of hooves striking the ground behind her, and the dull clang of iron striking.

"Whoosh!" Giant spears were hurled by the spear-throwers at them. She could do nothing, hearing from behind the occasional whinny of a horse falling.

She gave the enemy soldiers no time to change spears, fully urging her warhorse to charge into the infantry formation bristling with feathered spears. As long as she could break through, Huban's infantry could at any moment break through this typical Bolton infantry!

When she sank into the warhorse and then awoke again, a large fire began to burn on the wooden frame atop the high platform. She seemed to still hear the extremely painful cries.

Amid the cries, she felt her viscera turning cold, her whole body freezing.