As the sun illuminated the land, the battle commenced.
The West Bank was already arrayed with various fortifications, mostly arrow-blocking shields, behind which archers waited to loose arrows at the enemy, who in turn returned fire.
Beyond the enemy's range, lines of soldiers stood ready, awaiting the order to charge.
On the Volga River, the construction of pontoon bridges was in its final stages, with strong men laying planks across the linked boats.
The Rus' simultaneously built five pontoon bridges to maximize troop deployment.
A volley of arrows fell, and several unarmored men immediately fell into the water, while others quickly took cover; the supervisors, however, remained fearless, as their armor was sufficient to block the arrows.
The Rus' warships on the river swiftly loosed some arrows, but most landed on the shields or the ground, as the Bulgars had done an excellent job with their defenses and concealment.
The main Bulgar force was mostly hidden behind the sandbar, out of sight of the Rus', waiting for the order to charge out, at which point the sandbar would be stained red with blood.
On the pontoon bridge, the strong men immediately continued their work under the shouts of the iron-armored supervisors around them.
They even killed a few people to assert their authority; these men were strong men conscripted from Bulgar villages, and their lives meant nothing to them.
Finally, as the pontoon bridges reached the shallow banks of the sandbar, the charge began.
The Moscow Prince and his generals were on a small slope on the West Bank, where an earthen platform had been built to allow Rostislav to observe the battlefield.
The moment the pontoon bridges were completed, Rostislav's standard-bearer raised a banner depicting the Virgin Mary; the flag's meaning was simple: charge.
As one of the commanders of the first wave of assault troops, Adam felt very nervous, but outwardly, his expression remained as stable as ever.
Arel had taught him many things, the most important of which was to hide his emotions, not allowing the enemy to see his weakness.
He pulled his chainmail veil over his face, concealing his beautiful features; he did not display a flag indicating his position, a suggestion from Rostislav, as he still could not recklessly reveal his location.
"Advance!"
The order simultaneously rang out among the charging troops, and then they began their assault.
Each pontoon bridge had a unit responsible for it: Adam's Bulgars were responsible for one route, the Nomad leaders Varu and John Sokar each for one route, and the other two routes were given to units from Rostov and Yaroslavl respectively.
These soldiers, some poorly equipped, some well-equipped, thus began crossing the pontoon bridges at the same moment.
Suddenly, thousands of people moved and ran simultaneously, their feet raising clouds of dust from the ground beneath them, a magnificent sight.
On the sandbar of the East Bank, the Bulgars were also active, only that many of the archers who had been exchanging fire with the Rus' on the riverbank had retreated.
This scene made the charging soldiers feel invigorated; look, their enemies had retreated directly under their might!
However, the next moment, a deluge of arrows rained down on the army crossing the pontoon bridges; at this moment, having armor or not immediately decided the fate of many, as arrows either bounced off armor or bit cruelly into flesh and blood.
The arrows landed accurately, all in the middle section of the pontoon bridges; Rostislav was not surprised by this, as Akad's men must have figured out the various firing points during the exchange of battles over this period.
At that moment, many people, either voluntarily or involuntarily, fell into the water; screams and cries for help resounded, but this did not affect the Rus' army's charge, as everyone knew that the faster they charged, the less likely they were to die from arrows.
Soon, the Nomad cavalry reached the sandbar, and the infantry quickly followed; they began to hold their ground as ordered, using the obstacles on the beachhead to control this bridgehead, so that subsequent troops could arrive.
Akad, the commander of the Bulgar army, naturally watched all of this; he was hiding in a well-concealed bunker at the top of the sandbar, from where he could overlook the entire landing site.
Akad understood that the Rus' could not be allowed to consolidate the landing site like this, and the Bulgar Khan immediately issued an order.
As the flag was raised, the hidden Bulgar cavalry immediately moved, emerging from behind the sandbar.
Charging at the forefront were lightly armed Nomad cavalry, mercenaries Akad had hired from the steppes over the years, followed by squadrons of Bulgar heavy cavalry, and finally, conscripted Bulgar infantry.
The Bulgars came with a fierce momentum and began to fight the Rus', who had only just established a foothold on the other bank.
Allah's cavalry first relied on their horses' power to ruthlessly crash into the Rus' formations.
These fellows were extremely frenzied, completely disregarding the risks of doing so, even if it meant dragging themselves to death, they had to break through the Rus' lines.
The sounds of impact, bone cracking, and screams immediately resounded; the landing site had become a slaughterhouse, the Rus' battle lines shattered, and the Bulgars charged in.
However, the Rus' continued to cross the pontoon bridges in a continuous stream, and these continuous reinforcements stabilized the situation.
"Advance! Fight for our Prince! Kill these pagans!"
The Rus' warriors bravely fought the Bulgars under the rain of arrows; death was everywhere.
Rostislav saw a Bulgar Knight first smash the skull of a pikeman, and then he was dragged down by infantry and had his throat slit.
However, not all areas were in such an awkward predicament; for example, at the two pontoon bridges managed by the two Nomad cavalry units, they were engaged in a chaotic melee with the attacking enemy.
These Nomad cavalry had changed a lot since they first arrived in Northeast Rus; many were now equipped with armor, and years of agricultural life and livestock sales had allowed them to arm themselves with some equipment.
John Sokar fought frantically among the crowd; this Nomad chief had always been very grateful for Rostislav's protection.
Moreover, the stable life in Northeast Rus over the past few years had allowed his tribe to prosper and flourish, but unfortunately, he had never had an opportunity to repay Rostislav on the battlefield.
Therefore, for this campaign, he not only brought most of the able-bodied men from his tribe but also swore before everyone that he would achieve military merits in this great battle to make the Prince look at him with new eyes.
So John Sokar charged desperately, his skillful scimitar combat techniques causing one obstacle after another to fall before him.
Even fully armored individuals would quickly have their armor's weak points found by the chief, and then, amidst the shattering of iron rings or plates, their lives would be mercilessly reaped by a single blade.
And his fierce fighting invigorated the morale of his tribesmen, who followed their chief into an even more intense fight; these tribesmen had not neglected their martial training over the years, mainly thanks to their chief.
Thus, amidst a scene of either holding ground or retreating, John Sokar's unit, however, pushed the Bulgars back repeatedly.
And Varu, another Nomad chief, watched all of this and couldn't help but feel a bit jealous.
He also wanted to gallop bravely on the battlefield, just like in the chaotic battles on the steppe for the survival of his tribe, just like every son of the steppe.
But he was now surrounded by layers of his tribesmen's protection, dressed like an iron can, while that Sokar kid went into battle wearing only a chainmail shirt.
Varu now feared the battlefield; he was wealthy now, and the increasingly superior life over the years had made his courage shrink, and the current battle was something he hadn't experienced for many years.
He was surrounded by armored warriors, he didn't know when, but in the past, he would never have flinched even if he faced battle alone.
Moreover, Varu didn't even notice that his hands were still trembling slightly in the face of the fighting, a sight that had never occurred in the past.
Now, compared to fighting on the battlefield, he preferred engaging in verbal battles with the Rus' nobles.
These struggles were gentler and less bloody.
And he paid a price for this; his subordinates were already filled with a large number of forcibly integrated tribes, which he had barely managed to keep under control in the past.
But now, these tribes could be said to completely disregard his authority as a lord, engaging in mutual attacks and killings on their own.
For this, Varu had been reprimanded by Moscow several times, all regarding reports of his Nomads robbing, and Varu found it difficult to resolve this; if it were him when he first arrived in Northeast Rus, he would have already led his tribesmen to slaughter the entire tribe of those causing trouble.
"This kid is too reckless; charging so fiercely will lead to his downfall sooner or later. The enemy is too numerous and strong. At this time, we should hold our ground, and the order is to hold our ground."
Varu muttered softly; he wasn't saying this out of concern for a comrade, but hoping that this kid would indeed head towards death as he predicted.
After all, only then could it prove the "correctness" of his fear of the battlefield and Sokar's "stupidity."
Just as he was deep in thought, suddenly, Varu saw a small stone tower built of stones by his horse's hooves, with red paint marked on it.
This piqued Varu's interest; he hadn't noticed this thing before. What was it for?
Just as the Nomad chief was curious, he suddenly heard a sharp scream from the sky, a scream that made the chief involuntarily look up, curiosity flashing in his eyes; why would a scream come from the sky?
And with that question, Varu saw a person with a face full of despair plummeting towards him from the sky; Varu was stunned by this sight, and just as his brain reacted and he was about to flee, the "flying man" had already crashed down.
"Hahahahaha, Jia Dabi, did you see that scene? Did you see that Rus' man being smashed to death by a traitor? It's hilarious."
In the bunker on the sandbar ridge, Akad was laughing heartily at the scene; as for why he called Varu a Rus' man, it was because this fellow and his guards were completely dressed in Rus' style armor, so he naturally considered him a Rus' man.
"This is all due to your correct guidance, Khan."
The young man Akad called Jia Dabi said humbly, completely concealing that the idea of using the small stone towers to mark positions for the trebuchets came from him.
Moreover, even in armor, Jia Dabi exuded a strong scholarly aura, which matched his background perfectly; he came from a religious academy in Bulgar and had been promoted by Akad during the recent years of warfare.
"Keep launching, don't stop; throw all those traitors out, and then throw stones, so I can thoroughly disgust the Rus'."
Akad issued orders excitedly, and with his eager shouts, the trebuchets intensified their work.
"Khan, your son has sent word that he wishes to move out. What do you think?"
Jia Dabi did not leave the bunker but spoke to the Khan about another matter, to which the Khan replied without hesitation.
"Tell him to be patient and keep waiting. How many Rus' troops have moved out so far? And the current isn't strong enough. Now is not the time to deliver that blow."
"Yes."
However, at this moment, a hint of worry flashed across Jia Dabi's face, but he quickly suppressed it; sometimes it had nothing to do with him, just do his job well.
Just as Akad was confidently commanding his troops, on the landing site, as Varu was smashed to death by the incoming person, this unit also fell into a predicament.
"Varu is dead? Smashed to death by someone falling from the sky?"
Rostislav was stunned when he received this news, but the chaos of Varu's unit was real.
These Nomads either mindlessly charged into the enemy ranks or retreated along the pontoon bridge, then got jammed with the soldiers crossing the river.
The continuous falling "flying men" and stones undoubtedly exacerbated the chaos.
Since Varu's unit was on the northernmost pontoon bridge, Rostislav could see it particularly clearly; the Moscow Prince also saw a volley of arrows rain down on the crowded formation, and he didn't know how many people died under the arrows.
"Damn it, the situation must be turned around."
Although only one route had fallen into chaos, Rostislav knew that if this chaos was not suppressed, it would undoubtedly tip the scales of victory towards the enemy.
He needed a brave cavalry general; Rostislav now desperately wished Yang was here; if Yang were with him, he would definitely send him to charge.
However, he quickly remembered that there was still one person in his ranks capable of accomplishing this task.
"Meshko, bring Meshko here."
Under the Prince's command, the Polish Knight came and knelt before him, and Rostislav said nothing more, only pointing to the battlefield with the hand holding his riding crop.
"I need you to sort out that area. Go and select some troops. As for those blocking the way, you can kill them. Do you have any problems?"
"Of course not, Lord Rostislav."
Meshko's answer was firm and concise, as if he were just going to his house to get something, not to fight on a battlefield.
And at the moment Meshko accepted the order, a terrified clamor erupted behind Rostislav.
And amidst the clamor, Rostislav heard a sentence that made his hair stand on end.
"Boats! There are boats!"
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