At the same time the Pecheneg chieftains decided to attack, on the other side, the Ross Army cavalry led by Rostislav and Sviatoslav had already charged into those horse archers.
The charge was Rostislav's idea, and the Moscow Prince chose to charge for a very simple reason:
Under the assault of archers and crossbowmen, the Pecheneg horse archers besieging them grew weaker in their attacks, and they ran further and further away from them.
Most of their energy was spent on avoiding being shot rather than shooting, so the enemy's projectile rate greatly decreased, and their projectiles were basically exhausted.
Facing the Rus' Princes' arrows and crossbow bolts, the Pechenegs were truly utterly helpless.
Their pitiful armor could not withstand the Rus' Princes' strong bows and powerful crossbows; every time the Rus' Princes' bowstrings twanged, they would lose a large number of their compatriots, killed as if slaughtered.
Rostislav couldn't help but feel absurd seeing this scene; he had never encountered such weaklings when fighting the Polotsk people, retreating after being shot for a while. Looking at it this way, they truly deserved to be driven to the west.
So the Moscow Prince decided to charge. As the saying goes, if he didn't squeeze such a soft persimmon, would he still be human?
Sviatoslav also saw all of this, and he had the same idea. So at this moment, these two people, who always seemed to harbor ulterior motives towards each other, now reached a unified opinion.
Izyaslav and Vsevolod also agreed to their offensive. These two were unwilling to continue being passively beaten here; they needed an opportunity to turn the tide, and a cavalry charge was the best opportunity.
So the armies of these two Rus' Princes fiercely charged out. The Pechenegs, seeing the Rus' Princes charge out, were first stunned, then rushed forward with wild joy. They thought a cavalry battle was a sure victory, but then they discovered they were wrong, and ridiculously so.
Neither the Moscow Prince nor the Chernigov Prince's armies were pitiful infantry who couldn't ride but fought on horseback in the Nomads' minds, only capable of performing various farces on horseback, but rather true masters of cavalry combat.
When the Nomad cavalry charged, they instinctively tried to cut the opponent's horse's reins, which is the fastest way to incapacitate an opponent in cavalry combat, because a rider who loses the reins as a leverage point will immediately lose balance on the horse.
But unfortunately, the Rus' Princes' riders they faced skillfully protected their reins, then used the momentum, either cutting the opponent's reins or directly chopping down head-on.
However, more people were directly impaled by cavalry lances. No matter what kind of armor, it could not withstand such a powerful blow, and many Rus' Princes' riders accurately pierced their lances into the enemies' throats.
Meshko's spear skill was the strongest among the many warriors under Rostislav. He could make an opponent unable to turn around on horseback. Facing this Polish Knight, whoever it was, the only outcome was death.
As for the other Rus' Princes, the equestrian combat skills they displayed were extremely professional, clearly achievable only by those who had undergone long-term professional training and combat. This was completely different from the novices the Pechenegs had expected.
Inferior iron is difficult to contend with true gold. The Pechenegs were truly too helpless against those Rus' Princes; they were like lambs to the slaughter.
And what was even more deadly was yet to come. Taking advantage of the time and space gained by the cavalry, the Rus' Princes' personal guards and military servants formed a complete battle line, raising their shields and weapons, and then began to move forward in an orderly fashion.
This undoubtedly squeezed the Pechenegs' battle line. All who dared to ram into the shield wall were either dragged off their horses and cut down, or driven back and forced to retreat.
Moreover, from behind that shield wall, rounds of arrows were shot, and under the arrow rain, the Pechenegs constantly fell, both men and horses.
Facing those valiantly fighting cavalry and the constantly advancing shield wall, the Pechenegs were afraid and began to flee without looking back.
They had not experienced such intense combat for a long time; those iron-clad Rus' Princes made them feel immense fear.
The collapse of his tribesmen caught Tatus somewhat off guard. He hadn't expected these people to collapse so quickly; they should have held on for a bit longer.
But now it didn't matter, because Tatus had already brought the Pecheneg elite. Behind the chieftains were the warriors of each tribe.
Although some chose to retreat due to the collapse of the main force, the remaining people were enough, and these people still followed. Anyway, since it had come to this, they might as well fight it out. Such a force was enough to crush those Rus' Princes!
"Aha, finally some opponents worth fighting."
Chopping off the head of the Nomad in front of him, letting blood stain his body, Rostislav looked at the menacingly attacking Pecheneg elite, a look of joy on his face.
Behind Rostislav, his personal guard captain was hacking to death a Nomad attempting to ambush him, while Yang and Meshko were fighting in formation amidst the enemy, both feeling at ease in such a battle, as the Pechenegs' combat power was truly weak.
These Pechenegs were so weak that he was somewhat disgusted. Now he needed some strong enemies to adjust his mood.
Rostislav made a gesture to his second uncle, who was fighting on the other side, and his second uncle understood. Both then used their loud voices, honed on the battlefield, to shout orders for the scattered troops to assemble.
A fierce cavalry battle was about to take place, so they had to get into formation.
Under their loud shouts, the cavalry assembled around their leaders, and after a brief reorganization, the two led their troops to charge. The Pechenegs were already close! And they were filled with the will to fight to the death.
The Pechenegs understood that if they couldn't take out these Rus' Princes, then their efforts today would truly be in vain, everything would be for naught.
Arrows were constantly exchanged in the air, and beneath the arrows were screams one after another, and then countless clashes of weapons and armor began, with the sounds of men and horses falling and fighting rising simultaneously.
Perhaps by God's favor, Rostislav directly collided with Tatus, only Tatus's martial prowess was far less powerful than his ambition.
Before his scimitar could cut Rostislav, he was pierced through the throat by Rostislav.
Blood was constantly gushing out. Tatus weakly raised his hand, wanting to cover the blood, but how could he possibly cover it.
He felt somewhat illusory. He had so many dreams, how could he just die like this? But dead was dead, this was an ironclad fact.
This ambitious Pecheneg died just like that, and when he died, Rostislav had no idea of his identity, only assuming it was a common steppe nobleman who had died.
Then he shook his spear, the body fell with the momentum, and the Moscow Prince also pulled out his spear.
Then the Prince charged to other places to fight, and the Pechenegs quickly began to rout. Rostislav didn't know who he had killed, but the Pechenegs saw who he had killed. With their commander dead, did they still have any will to fight? They had no choice but to flee in a hurry.
At this moment, whether it was Tatus's confidants or the invited tribes, they all collapsed. Tatus's death was only one part; more importantly, they found that the Rus' Princes' combat power was much stronger than expected.
The Pechenegs quickly disappeared. After all, the leader who had led them here was dead. So amidst a clamor, accompanied by countless distant torches, the attackers' departure was as swift as their arrival.
And the Rus' Princes did not pursue. Rostislav believed that pursuing the enemy in the dark was too dangerous, and his second uncle agreed with this view.
Since these two generals commanding the cavalry made such a decision, the infantry commanded by the eldest uncle and third uncle naturally would not pursue either.
The Rus' Princes did not lower their guard due to the enemy's retreat. They maintained a combat stance until the sun rose again, and after sending out a large number of cavalry to confirm the enemy had retreated, everyone finally disengaged from combat.
The Pechenegs left a trail of bodies, human and horse bodies piled together, the smell of rust assaulting everyone's nostrils.
It was a pity that too few spoils of war could be collected. The dead were mostly impoverished Nomads, and as for the few nobles with armor, their armor was basically trampled beyond recognition by the bustling crowd after their deaths.
But even so, there were still many soldiers rummaging through the piles of bodies; those willing to search could always find good things.
There were also many military servants ordered to cut the meat from the horses' bodies; these things could be made into steppe horse meat.
Although that stuff was incredibly foul-smelling, it was unknown when supplies would become scarce, so collecting supplies had to begin as soon as possible.
At the same time, there were also people specifically collecting arrows and javelins and other projectiles from the battlefield. These things were also very valuable and had to be carefully collected. Those of good quality might even be placed in the Prince's quiver; good projectiles were not cheap.
While the soldiers were busy, the merchants were collecting bodies and checking for cargo losses. Many of them had run around chaotically before, leading to them suffering the greatest losses in this attack, with even a portion of their goods being set on fire.
Although it was a very small part, it still pained them greatly. Merchants are like that; every loss can cause them deep distress.
And the leaders of the Ross Army were waiting. Of course, they didn't need to rummage through piles of bodies like ordinary soldiers or pull arrows from boards; they only needed to wait.
"Damn it, I remember this bastard calling me brother and promising to always be a friend of the Rus' Princes, assuring me that passing through Wallachia would be fine, but this bastard, full of 'friendship,' attacked us last night."
The eldest uncle kicked the body of the Pecheneg chieftain, which was in front of him, directly kicking the man's eyeball into his skull.
But Izyaslav was still not appeased and continued to kick a few more times, until the corpse's face was a bloody mess, only then did he feel relieved.
"Fortunately, the Pechenegs are much weaker now compared to the time of our ancestors. It seems they have had a very comfortable life recently, no wonder they were driven here by the Polotsk people."
The third uncle looked at the armor of those Nomad chieftains. Even if the armor was intact, it wasn't very good; the rust spots on it were clearly visible, showing the Pechenegs' current predicament.
"Aside from those runaway merchants, we didn't lose many people this time, but the consumption of arrows and armor is very severe. Many people's chainmail needs to be re-woven, and the plates of lamellar and scale armor need to be replaced. God, I even lost some warhorses under my command. I need to find someone to make a list."
The second uncle's face was very grim; the consumption of supplies was truly a headache. It was his first time encountering such a large consumption.
However, such massive consumption was also inevitable. After all, what the Rus' Princes didn't know was that the Pechenegs who attacked them numbered five thousand. So many projectiles came like a tidal wave, and so many people were shot full of holes.
This made Izyaslav's face even more unpleasant. He was known for his stinginess—though he was generous to his family—and now faced such a situation.
"This was truly a Pyrrhic victory—though we didn't lose many men—the loss of these supplies is quite vexing."
His third uncle's face was also quite grim; this was truly difficult to accept.
Of course, their troubles would seem like a rich man not knowing the hunger of a poor man to the defeated, and even to many victors.
But who could blame them for achieving such a result? After the relief of no losses to their elite, came the complaints about lost equipment.
The Rus' casualties numbered only about a hundred, most of whom were merchants who had gotten themselves into trouble by running around recklessly.
Moreover, the injured were generally not severely hurt, as wounds caused by arrows are actually quite easy to treat.
As for wounds sustained in close combat, the injured almost all had armor, and their armor was sufficient to protect them from most damage.
"I think we should attack the Pecheneg tribes. This matter cannot be left at that. Plundering their cattle, sheep, and wealth can also make up for our losses. All of you uncles have seen the Pecheneg's weakness, and they also refuse to obey orders, making their forces scattered and weak."
Seeing this, Rostislav immediately put forth his suggestion, his face burning with a desire for battle. Last night's fierce fight had shown him the true weakness of the Pechenegs, and it would be a disservice to his status not to take advantage of it.
The Moscow Prince still remembered how his subordinates had defeated the Pechenegs as easily as cutting melons and vegetables. The elite among these people were so weak, let alone the others.
Moreover, they were disorganized; Rostislav clearly remembered seeing from afar how those Pechenegs had quarreled and then scattered in all directions.
"I agree with Rostislav's proposal."
His second uncle voiced his agreement; he had personally experienced the Pechenegs' combat strength alongside Rostislav.
"Let me think about the timing. That fellow Bela said last time he was going to convene a national assembly of Hungary… Alright, we still have plenty of time. So let's go kill these bastards and get our blood back."
Izyaslav gritted his teeth. This loss had to be recovered. Damn it, did those Pecheneg bastards think it was over just because they ran away? Absolutely not.
"That's good too. Let us recreate the story from 'Anabasis.' We will surely achieve even more glorious accomplishments than the Greeks did back then."
Vsevolod continued to quote allusions. This time, he used the example of "Anabasis," a book Rostislav had read, which told the story of a group of Greek mercenaries who, after the death of their Persian employer, journeyed through the Persian Empire, breaking through layers of obstacles to return to Greece.
Thus, the Rus' Princes present unanimously approved the punitive expedition against the Pechenegs. Those Pechenegs who thought they had escaped were still unaware that a sweeping campaign against them was approaching.
——————
"Ha, I remember this face. He once drank with me, didn't he? I didn't expect him to die like this."
Yang stepped on the deceased beneath him, then lifted the mail coif, and after seeing the face clearly, he made a disdainful remark.
The cause of this man's death was simple: a long spear pierced his heart, pinning this Pecheneg Nomad to the ground, with blood flowing on the ground, almost forming a river.
"Yang, don't mess with those corpses. The valuables here still need you to count them."
Rostislav said impatiently to his old friend, holding a piece of birch bark in his hand, which was now covered with writing, and he continued to write.
In front of the Moscow Prince, various miscellaneous valuables were piled up, including expensive clothes, gold, silver, and ornaments, and his retainers kept piling things there.
"Rostislav, why do you have to count them yourself? Can't someone else do it?"
Yang said as he walked over to the Moscow Prince, took the birch bark from his hand, and began to record as well.
"Just finding something to do, to pass the time, and I don't trust those soldiers to do it; they are too careless."
Rostislav did not like messy accounts, so he and Yang personally came to record the spoils.
Of course, it wasn't that his subordinates lacked Scribes for accounting, but rather because they had all gone to deal with more important things—the herds of cattle and sheep—while "small items" like spoils of war could only be recorded by the Prince himself.
If one were to look from the sky, one would find that Rostislav was in a Pecheneg camp.
However, this camp was now burning, with most of the felt tents set ablaze, and plumes of black smoke continuously rising into the sky.
The camp was strewn with corpses, all belonging to the Pechenegs. The Ross Army had already occupied the area, and their most valuable property, livestock, was being driven and counted by the Ross Army.
After entrusting the work to Yang, Rostislav looked at the camp he had captured, admiring his spoils. This was the third Pecheneg camp he had taken this week.
Like the previous two camps, the Pechenegs had no response to the Ross Army's lightning-fast assault, nor did they organize any effective defense. Ross cavalry easily charged through their fences and entered the enclosure to slaughter.
Facing this sudden attack, the Pecheneg men either resisted foolishly or mounted their warhorses and fled directly. The Ross Army thus easily took control of the area.
Meshko led a team of weeping women and children past the Prince. The women had their upper garments removed to confirm their identity. These captives were tied together with ropes, and a frail old man collapsed to the ground, causing the entire group to be delayed and unable to move forward for a moment.
But the escorting Ross soldiers simply whipped the old man continuously, lashing him until his skin was torn and bleeding. The old man wailed in pain but could not get up no matter what.
To prevent the group from being delayed, the Ross soldier directly untied the old man from the group, then cleanly and decisively killed this rare old man from the Nomad tribe.
Seeing the old man killed, the other Pechenegs began to weep. The relationships within their tribe were very close, so they were naturally sad to see a loved one die, and they were already in such a painful situation, which intensified their sorrow.
However, their sorrow only earned them a whipping. As the whip continuously struck, amidst screams and cries, the group moved forward again.
Rostislav watched all of this expressionlessly. In the past, this scene might have touched his heart and instinctively made him feel aversion, but now, Rostislav looked at all of this completely unmoved.
——————
This month, Wallachia was filled with slaughter, and the reason was very simple: the Ross Army's army of revenge was active there.
The Rus' Princes, according to their plan, launched punitive expeditions against Pecheneg tribes one by one. Those tribes had never expected the Ross Army to launch an offensive to retaliate against them and were completely unprepared for all of this. This was an unprecedented event in this land.
After a series of easy battles, the Ross Army obtained a large number of slaves and livestock, not to mention countless spoils of war.
These acquired goods naturally had to be converted into gold, silver, and supplies, and they indeed had a place to exchange them: the Eastern Empire's territory across the Danube.
The Eastern Empire was extremely wary of barbarian armies, but it welcomed merchants for trade. Whether livestock or slaves, the Empire had a very strong demand for them.
The Ross Army continuously brought large numbers of slaves and livestock, selling them cheaply across the Danube, earning a large amount of gold and silver. Their sales also caused the prices of slaves and livestock in the border regions to continuously fall.
Seeing the Ross Army's sweeping campaign proceeding so smoothly, people constantly joined their ranks, such as the local Wallachians and Bulgarians from within the Eastern Empire's territory.
The Ross Army was also very happy to accept these people; more people meant more swords, and there was so much loot that it was completely enough to share.
The Pechenegs faced these retaliatory raids with extreme panic, as the people among them most capable of unifying them had been killed. How could these remaining weaklings possibly unite? It was a miracle they weren't fighting each other, as there were long-standing feuds between the various tribes.
The Wallachians' attitude towards the Ross Army also changed. They began to willingly offer assistance to the Ross Army, even sending guides, which they had never dared to do before. Local lords even began to establish contact with the Ross Army.
The local clergy were even more enthusiastic. After all, the Ross Army was fighting against Nomads who oppressed Orthodox Christians. As the Ross Army's campaign progressed, even some stubborn pagan Wallachians began to waver in their beliefs in Christian, because the clergy called the Ross Army "God's army" that came to save them.
However, the Ross Army did not promise them anything. Everyone remembered their mission and goal, not to achieve some great undertaking here. They were going to Hungary for a meeting.
Under the Ross Army's slaughter, many Pecheneg tribes even began to migrate, moving towards the steppe to escape the vengeful Ross Army.
These raids and massacres earned the Ross Army a great deal of money; they even purchased more supplies from the Eastern Empire.
The Eastern Empire was also very happy to sell manufactured goods to the barbarians. These things were nothing to the Empire, and the local generals even sent a gift to each Prince.
If giving gifts could avert the troubles of war, then the Eastern Empire was very willing to resolve these matters through gift-giving.
What's more, for years the Empire had suffered from Pecheneg harassment. After the invasion in 1048, although there were only small-scale incursions, these small-scale attacks, though not very damaging, were very annoying.
Now, since other barbarians were willing to help strike these steppe barbarians, that was naturally for the best.
On one hand, this could demonstrate the Empire's generosity to the barbarians, and on the other hand, compared to the expenses required to wage war, this small amount of gift money was truly a drop in the ocean, and the Empire was not short of this money.
And with enough money earned, the Ross Army also ceased their punitive expeditions. They knew that the Nomads in this land were inexhaustible, and as time went on, finding them would become increasingly difficult.
Moreover, their main goal was Hungary. Now that revenge and wealth accumulation were mostly accomplished, they should proceed to Hungary.