As the cavalrymen's figures became clearer, the two were forced to confront a harsh reality.
Abar ordered them to choose strategic locations to defend, but they did not expect to encounter the enemy so quickly, and that they would be facing cavalry.
There isn't even a walled village or a slightly higher earthen slope nearby.
Their newly replenished troops were mostly infantry, and they were terrified at the sight of the billowing dust in the distance. Some soldiers had already taken off running in the direction from which they had come.
Longfellow roared at the top of his lungs, trying to regroup the routing troops.
They were replenished, and the army now numbered six thousand, but at this moment they were in disarray, like a flock of frightened sheep— soldiers shoved each other, and discarded weapons and flags rolled in the dust.
"Form ranks! Form square ranks quickly!" Boyle slashed down a deserter with his sword, blood splattering on his contorted face.
But fear spread like a plague, and in the blink of an eye, nearly a thousand people had disappeared in the wilderness.
The remaining five thousand or so soldiers barely managed to gather together, and the hastily assembled square formation was crooked and lopsided.
The spearmen in the front row trembled as they aimed their weapons forward, but the spearheads were crooked and sprawling, resembling a thicket of reeds. The archers, on the other hand, frantically nocked their arrows with trembling hands.
"Hold on! We outnumber them!" Longfellow galloped back and forth on his horse in front of the formation, but his voice was drowned out by the ever-approaching sound of hooves.
On the horizon, two thousand Watchers cavalry had already formed a charge formation, pressing forward like an iron wall.
A Bradley Family veteran suddenly knelt down, his spear clattering to the ground.
"That's…that's the Watchers' banner…" His cloudy eyes were filled with fear. "The undead have come to collect their debts…"
According to Bradley and the Orcs' propaganda, the Sentinel Legion has been completely wiped out.
Earl Hal slowly raised his right arm, and the Sentinel Legion's cavalry formation immediately dispersed with mechanical precision.
Two thousand cavalrymen were divided into twenty squads and marched in a fan shape to encircle the enemy formation.
The leading cavalry squad suddenly accelerated, and the riders on horseback skillfully raised their short-barreled lances. At a distance of fifty paces from the enemy lines, a burst of rapid gunfire suddenly rang out.
Lead bullets whistled through the shields, tearing the front-line soldiers to shreds. Before the enemy could react, the squad had already turned their horses around and retreated.
Another cavalry force cut in from the southeast. The rider on horseback held the reins with one hand and a carbine smoking with the other. The bullet hit the vicinity of the square's command flag, and a burst of blood suddenly erupted from the forehead of the soldier carrying the flag, and the flag crashed to the ground.
It's difficult to aim at a specific target while firing a firearm from horseback, but due to the dense formation of soldiers in the enemy phalanx, the Watchers' knights don't need to aim at all.
Longfellow roared hysterically from within the ranks: "Raise your shields!"
But the wooden shields were like paper against the lead bullets. One soldier looked in despair at the bullet hole in his breastplate—the bullet had pierced through the armor and was tumbling in his lungs.
Boyle tried in vain to reorganize the ranks, but each shot triggered new chaos. The soldiers huddled together like frightened birds, some even waving their weapons wildly into the air.
The torment of never knowing which direction a bullet will come from is more devastating than face-to-face combat.
As the sun began to set in the west, Bradley's phalanx began to crumble.
The Watchers' cavalry maintained perfect discipline, like a group of elegant predators, slowly eroding their prey's will with repeated attacks.
Earl Hal narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze piercing through the smoke and dust of the battlefield.
Bradley's phalanx was like a wrecked ship in a storm, soldiers huddled together in terror, spears askew and shields scattered.
He slowly raised his gilded arm armor, and the bugler beside him immediately understood, the bronze bugle flashing a golden light in the sunlight.
"Woo—" The long bugle call echoed across the plains, and the cavalry squads that had been scattered and harassing each other quickly converged as if drawn by a magnet, the metallic scraping sound of sabers being drawn into one continuous line.
Duke's mount began to trot slowly, and the cavalry formation behind him adjusted its formation like flowing water, their sabers pointing forward, gleaming coldly.
The buglers kept a close eye on the Earl's gestures, precisely controlling the speed of the entire army's horses through bugle calls of varying lengths.
At 300 yards, the warhorse, which had been trotting slowly, began to quicken its pace.
Two hundred yards... one hundred yards... Duke suddenly swung his arm down.
"Charge!"
With this heart-wrenching command, the bugler sounded the stirring charge tune, and the entire cavalry formation was like a taut bowstring suddenly released. The warhorses instantly turned to full speed and charged, their iron hooves slamming into the ground with a thunderous roar.
The scenario of cavalry charging into rows of human walls did not occur. When the two sides were less than fifty yards apart, Bradley's already panicked army completely collapsed.
Driven by fear, most soldiers dropped their weapons and turned to flee, while only a few remained frozen in place, staring blankly at the oncoming torrent of steel.
Duke charged into the fleeing soldiers on horseback, his saber slicing through a perfect arc, the first thing he did was cleave the flag that symbolized the Bradley Family in two.
...
Sunlight shone on the battlefield as the smoke and dust gradually dissipated. Earl Hal reined in his horse and coldly looked at the prisoners kneeling all over the ground.
Boyle was brought before him by two cuirassiers, the Bradley Family knights, their armor shattered and their faces smeared with blood.
"Your Excellency…" Boyle raised his head tremblingly, but fell silent upon seeing the cold glint in the other's eyes.
As a former "neighbor", Duke recognized Boyle.
His fingers gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, his knuckles turning white, as if he were seeing again the day the fortress fell.
It was the Bradley Family who led the orcs in attacking the rear of Watchers Fortress.
He raised his saber slightly, but stopped just before it came down—he remembered Earl Greiman's warning as he banged on the table at the pre-war meeting.
Any lynching would be considered a violation of military orders.
"Take him away!"
Duke suddenly sheathed his sword, his voice as cold as ice.
"Send him to Lord Glaeman for interrogation."
As he turned, his cloak swept across Boyle's pale face. "Make sure Marquis's interrogator treats this old friend well."
As for Longfellow, another knight of the Bradley Family, he had already fled with a dozen or so cavalrymen and was frantically fleeing towards the orc-controlled territory.
A squad of Watchers cavalry followed him closely, but after chasing him for two miles, they encountered Orc Cavalry's reinforcements.
"Cease the pursuit!"
The captain raised his carbine as a signal, and the soldiers watched Longfellow disappear into the orcish ranks with reluctance, then turned their horses around and went back.