From the Polovtsy's perspective, the enemies were like ships sailing through a vast ocean, breaking through wave after wave as they advanced towards them.
First to arrive was a volley of arrows, felling most of the unprotected Steppe infantry. The remaining soldiers' confidence wavered at this sight, and some even fled directly.
The Polovtsian Khan, overseeing the battle, roared, ordering the slaves and commoners, whom he viewed as lowly, back into the fray. But the oppressed and tormented slaves and commoners responded by thrusting their spears into the throats of their arrogant overseers.
Other infantrymen quickly followed suit in this act of rebellion against their masters. They used their weapons to stab or pierce the mounted men beside them, killing the once-high-and-mighty supervisors and seizing their warhorses, which they had once only dreamed of riding.
The Steppe infantry who killed their supervisors fled directly from the battlefield, which made Brus Khan feel despair. He was now completely unable to contend with thousands of Rus' people. Could he only run away?
The Khan understood very well what would happen if he fled. When it was discovered that the Khan and the great banner were gone, the tide of the battle would turn in an instant. The defeat of the Polovtsy would be unavoidable, and his prestige would be buried with it at that moment. As for his enemies, they would surely come to settle scores with him.
Brus Khan was well aware of how many people he had offended. These people would come one after another to seek revenge. However, he was not worried about his own life. After so many years, he had enjoyed glory, power, and women. The only thing he feared was his son's future.
He was still too young. The young wolf had not yet accumulated everything he should have learned to survive on the steppe. His pampered upbringing had also led to a severe lack of training, which made him uneasy.
The Khan's Bodyguard Unit, however, had never wavered. These warriors, sustained by wealth acquired through exploitation and plunder and countless promises, would never waver in their loyalty to the Khan. They knew very well who had given them everything, so even if that person ordered them to charge at tengri, they would execute it without hesitation. As for giving their lives for him, that was their most basic duty.
However, the presence of the loyal guards still could not put the Khan at ease. The enemy was so massive, and just as the Khan was slowly falling into despair, hesitating whether to flee the battlefield, suddenly a unit of Polovtsian cavalry charged from behind him. The cavalry were numerous and their dust-raising gallop drew everyone's attention.
Seeing this, the Rus' infantry stopped their assault, reformed their shield wall, and began to advance slowly, always ready to counter the Nomads' cavalry charge. The chariots and cavalry did the same; they slowed down to protect the flanks of the shield wall.
"Who is it? Who has come?"
Brus Khan, suddenly rescued, asked in surprise. He looked at those around him, clad in lamellar armor, but no one could answer his question.
The arriving Polovtsian cavalry rode past the Khan's forces, trampling over the betraying and fleeing Steppe infantry. These men had barely had time to cheer for their freedom before they were cut down by the Nomads.
At this moment, a Polovtsian Khan, whose face was covered by an iron mask, arrived before the Khan, escorted by Polovtsian cavalrymen also wearing iron masks.
"Greetings, my Khan."
The newcomer removed his iron mask, revealing an infamous face. It was none other than Tugel, who had been reprimanded by the Khan for his failure. His subordinates, meanwhile, continued to charge at the Rus' formation.
"Tugel, you've arrived just in time."
Brus Khan's face lit up with joy. Nothing was more exhilarating than seeing a comrade at this moment, so much so that his past reprimands now seemed entirely mistaken and regrettable.
"Khan, I will crush the Rus'. I've brought every male from the entire tribe. That boy must die."
Looking at the Saint George's military banner fluttering in the battle formation, Tugel said through gritted teeth. He remembered this military banner, and he remembered the boy who had defeated him—Tugel had already found out that the one who defeated him was a young man.
After that humiliating defeat, Tugel had been sent to various tribes to reorganize the army. However, the Khan was not reconciled to failure. He returned to his tribe, gathered all the male members, and then rushed back to the battlefield at full speed, only to unexpectedly encounter the enemy who had caused him all this—Tugel's drive was thus even stronger.
Right in front of the Khan and the Khan, the Nomad cavalry and the Rus' army formation collided fiercely, thus beginning the slaughter.
The Rus' chariots and cavalry hid behind the infantry, which the Polovtsy viewed as a sign of cowardice. But to Tugel's surprise, the Polovtsy did not gain the upper hand.
Facing the Nomad cavalry's attack, the Rus' responded skillfully. They first used dense long spears to force the Polovtsian cavalry to stop, then used their spears to thrust at the mounted warriors, making them afraid to get close. Those who did get close were knocked off their horses. Furthermore, soldiers in the rear skillfully threw javelins, striking down unfortunate Polovtsy from their horses.
"Advance! Advance! The situation favors us, Rus' people, advance with your long spears!"
Gvaran roared with a loud voice from within the formation, not forgetting to hook enemies off their warhorses with his long axe and kill them.
The Captain of the Guard always remembered the purpose of this battle, and thus led the Bodyguard Unit bravely forward. They struck the Polovtsy's formation again and again like a spindle, while the curved swords and spears in the hands of ordinary Nomads could hardly threaten the iron-armored Bodyguard Unit. They made the Nomads suffer immensely, forcing them to retreat repeatedly.
Following the steps of the Bodyguard Unit, the soldiers fought even more bravely. They formed groups of three to five, holding shields and surrounding the riders, mercilessly cutting them down. If they had previously harbored doubt and wavering, those emotions now receded like the tide.
The fanatical members of the guard unit, relying on their thick armor, fought in a wide-open manner on the battlefield, making no attempt at defense whatsoever. All attacks were endured by their armor, and their trusted armor did not fail, providing protection to their bodies.
Tugel's army was already of mixed quality, ranging from children who had just learned to ride to old men who had lived countless years. They had also endured such an intense march, so their stamina was already insufficient, and they had few heavily armored warriors—most of Tugel's tribe's iron-armored warriors had been lost in that swamp battle—so facing the wolf-like Rus', they naturally fell into a disadvantage.
The Polovtsy's formation wavered even more. They were powerless to counter the Rus' advance. The bloody battlefield terrified them, and their desire to flee grew increasingly intense.
"Just like this, just like this."
Rostislav watched all of this, his heart growing more excited. Every step the infantry formation advanced meant he was one step closer to victory.
The battlefield where the Rus' had advanced was strewn with the bodies of men and horses, most of them Polovtsy.
"No, this is impossible! Everyone, follow me!"
Tugel watched this scene, his composure from moments ago now gone. He couldn't believe such a result.
Anger drove him onto the battlefield. The Khan slapped his warhorse, and the swift horse neighed as it galloped towards the battlefield, followed by the last of the Polovtsian elite.
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