"Your Highness, we've truly struck it rich this time."
Looking at the herd of horses being driven together by the soldiers, listening to their vigorous neighs, the Standard Bearer's voice was filled with excitement.
"And our losses weren't significant; only a few unlucky fellows lost their lives, and the rest sustained minor injuries."
"Yes, this time we've truly made a fortune."
Rostislav rode his horse to these nomadic steeds, selected one, and stroked its sleek, shiny coat; it was evident that it had been well-cared for, making it an excellent warhorse.
Excitement also filled the Prince's heart; this acquisition of so many horses was truly a path to wealth.
Normally, it would be extremely difficult to capture so many at once, and these were all good horses, suitable for both war and plowing, capable of fetching high prices in the market.
While Rostislav observed the horse herd, some warriors were busy stripping the armor from the fallen, a tradition of looting corpses that never ceased after battle.
However, more people gathered around the horses, marveling at their vigor.
"Lead them back," Rostislav ordered, "Let everyone see our spoils."
Rostislav's command was met with a cheer; after all, for a warrior, nothing satisfied vanity more than displaying spoils, and the admiration of comrades was even more gratifying.
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When Rostislav's cavalry, driving the horse herd, majestically arrived before the main army, exclamations of awe arose from the ranks.
Many were seeing such a large herd of horses for the first time, instinctively uttering gasps of wonder, followed by envy for the cavalrymen.
So many fine horses—how much money would they sell for? How much would they earn?
A farmer would think how wonderful it would be to have so many horses for plowing, quickly becoming a wealthy farmer; a citizen, more aware of the value of fine horses, might dream of having enough to be a person of status in Kiev.
And after the envy came a yearning for battle; if they could defeat those damned Polovtsy, they too would have the chance to obtain such spoils and secure an incomparably bright future.
No one considered what would happen if they failed; after all, in everyone's mind, failure was simply impossible.
At this moment, the defeat of the Southwest Rus army and the miserable state that followed were completely ignored by everyone.
The cavalrymen were not at all surprised by the envious gazes; many had been cast by the Black Hat Army riders they had encountered earlier.
These Nomads were most aware of the value of horses; these steeds were all qualified as warhorses, and if all were sold, the money earned would be unimaginable.
They thus rode majestically past the marching columns, enjoying even more envy and jealousy.
When they reached Rostislav's army, the cavalry stopped, and the Prince's warriors erupted in cheers.
They understood that the Prince had achieved another victory and brought back a large amount of valuable spoils.
During this period, Rostislav had achieved many victories in various cavalry battles and brought back numerous spoils.
It was these victories that convinced the soldiers of their young commander's leadership; they now firmly believed that he would lead them to triumph.
After entrusting the spoils to his subordinates, Rostislav dismounted and accepted a cup of kvass from a guard, moistening his somewhat dry throat.
At this moment, Gvaran approached.
"It seems you have achieved another victory, congratulations, Prince Rostislav."
"Gvaran, has anything happened while I was away?"
Rostislav was well aware of his Captain of the Guard's demeanor; he disliked flattery and would not approach without a reason.
"The Grand Prince has sent an envoy requesting your immediate presence."
"Oh? What happened?"
"They found survivors, survivors of the Southwest Rus army."
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Rostislav once again rode his horse through the infantry ranks, his destination the tents pitched beside the formation.
However, calling them tents was a misnomer; they were simply large shelters hastily constructed from wooden poles and canvas, set up every hundred meters.
These tents served many purposes: they could accommodate soldiers with various issues, allowing them to rest, and doctors could provide simple treatments for ailments caused by marching, attend to minor wounds, and store some medicines.
A good amount of consumables were also stored here, such as water, hardtack, and horseshoe irons; anyone in need could take them directly.
As the army passed, the responsible soldiers would dismantle the tents, load them onto waiting wagons, and drive to the next campsite to continue providing services to the soldiers.
These tents were established by the wise man to ensure the army's march, a product of his accumulated experience in battle.
It was due to their existence that the army's straggler rate was halved, and they also greatly aided in maintaining organization and morale.
And now, the tent Rostislav was heading for had been occupied by the Grand Prince's Bodyguard Unit; the wounded and doctors inside had been asked to leave, and the Grand Prince and his sons were within.
The Prince agilely dismounted from his red warhorse, walked through the path cleared by the Grand Prince's Bodyguard Unit, and entered.
He first saw the Grand Prince, then his uncles and the Generals, all gathered around an old man on the ground.
The old man was dressed in rags, covered in dirt, and his hair looked as if it hadn't been cared for in days.
A member of the Bodyguard Unit was now supporting him, carefully feeding him water.
"Cough, cough... cough, cough, cough."
Rostislav arrived just in time; as soon as he stood, the old man coughed a few times, then slowly opened his eyes.
"Ivan Tvorimirich."
The Grand Prince spoke a name, which startled the old man on the ground.
He immediately stood up, then knelt before the Grand Prince.
The Prince also recalled who this person was; Uncle Vishata had once mentioned him.
This man had campaigned with his father to the Imperial Capital years ago, then went to the dungeon with Vishata as fellow prisoners; that was how they met.
"Grand Prince, I am very sorry, I... I failed to fulfill my duty."
"Now is not the time for that, Ivan.
Tell me how you failed."
The Grand Prince's tone was very calm, which surprised the Prince, who had expected the Grand Prince to be angry.
The General then began to tell his story.
His story began with him coordinating with the two Princes to assemble the Southwest Rus army, then leading them to the rallying point.
But problems arose here; because the two Princes insisted on pressing forward, and the nobles and soldiers in the Southwest Rus army supported their decision, the General could not stop them and could only follow their lead.
Initially, they achieved many victories; the harassing nomadic cavalry were easily defeated.
The Rus' even had enough strength to bury the bodies of their fallen comrades and hang the bodies of the Nomads on trees as a warning.
These victories made the General doubt if his previous concerns had been wrong.
But soon, more and more nomadic cavalry attacked; unlike the previous raiding parties that seemed to be on a suicide mission, these Polovtsy fought with great discipline, even annihilating several overzealous Rus' armies.
Their harassment of the main army caused immense suffering, and desertions became constant, impossible to stop even with the harshest methods.
Facing the deteriorating situation, the leaders of the Southwest Rus army finally handed over command to the General they had previously ignored, hoping he could turn the tide and lead them out of their current predicament.
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