Meanwhile, the Northwest Legion's cavalry, led by officers, followed closely behind.
Although these recruits were well-trained, most of them had little experience in real cavalry combat. At this moment, they were both nervous and excited, gripping the reins tightly and following the veterans' charge route.
The human cavalry's proactive attack clearly exceeded Orc Cavalry's expectations.
The battle situation was constantly changing, and the retreating Orc Cavalry were not without hope of resistance. Several Centurions roared in the chaos as they rallied their men, attempting to reorganize their ranks. They knew that simply fleeing would only make them easy targets for the human cavalry.
" Warriors of Zarg! Turn and face the enemy!"
A scarred orc officer raised his blood-stained scimitar, and dozens of cavalrymen immediately closed in on him. They skillfully turned their horses, forming a wedge-shaped charge as they galloped—a tactic most favored by steppe cavalry in desperate counterattacks.
Count Hal immediately sensed the danger and raised his longsword to warn his warriors.
But before he could give the order to respond, deafening cannon fire suddenly erupted from behind the human army.
The whistling shells flew precisely over the heads of the pursuing human cavalry, crashing down on the assembling Orc Cavalry with a deathly shriek.
The cannonballs landed in the enemy ranks, one of them hitting the orc Centurion's mount directly, smashing the horse's upper body to pieces. The flying blood and flesh and the tumbling cannonballs caused the newly formed counterattack formation to collapse instantly.
"Artillery extended firing!"
In the sky, sentries on observation balloons continuously corrected the trajectory of the shells using flag signals. A second round of shelling followed, this time using airburst shells.
The shell exploded more than ten meters above Orc Cavalry's head, and the pre-formed fragments rained down, pinning the orcs and their horses to the ground as they tried to resist.
"Well done!" Schroeder laughed, his gray beard stained with gunpowder. "Keep the pursuit! Don't give them a chance to breathe!"
The Orc Cavalry commanders finally realized how unrealistic a counterattack was, and they tried to escape, but it was too late.
Hal Duke's cavalry swept in like a whirlwind, while the fleeing Orc Cavalry found themselves in a desperate predicament.
Their warhorses were panting heavily and foaming at the mouth—the long, arduous journey and the failed ambush had exhausted these steppe horses.
"Faster! Faster!" An orc named Centurion kicked his mount's belly desperately, but the once magnificent chestnut horse now seemed to be filled with lead, its pace slowing down more and more. He turned around in horror and saw the human cavalry approaching at an astonishing speed.
This is precisely the result of Alda's " Science Breeding Program".
Northwest Ranch's warhorses combine the endurance of the Northern Highland horse, the speed of the Southern Plains horse, and the explosive power of other breeds. Guided by the laws of genetics and bred through generations of selective breeding, these warhorses are not only physically robust but also possess astonishing stamina.
"For Watchers Fortress!"
Hal Duke roared, his black warhorse galloping at full speed, its muscles rippling like waves beneath its glossy coat. The Earl's beloved steed, named "Thunder," was displaying overwhelming speed.
Orc Cavalry watched in despair as the distance closed in. Some tried to turn and fire arrows, but the exhausted warhorses could not provide a stable firing platform, and the arrows fell crookedly into the dust.
Some drew their scimitars in preparation for a final stand, but the human cavalry had already surged in from both flanks like a tidal wave.
The elite Warden cavalry were the first to engage the enemy. Instead of engaging the orcs in close combat, they used their speed advantage to weave and divide the fleeing Orc Cavalry, scattering them in disarray. The Northwest recruits who followed then worked in pairs, skillfully rounding up and eliminating lone enemies.
The Northwest Legion cavalrymen were greatly encouraged. They maintained a loose but orderly formation, driving the scattered orc light cavalry towards the pre-arranged death zone like sheepdogs herding sheep.
Orc Cavalry was driven to despair; escape was no longer an option, and they could only be slowly devoured by the combined attacks of human cavalry.
Hal Duke charged ahead, his longsword flashing, instantly cleaving an Orc Cavalryman from his horse. The Warden cavalry, like sharp blades, plunged into the enemy ranks, completely tearing apart the already chaotic Orc army.
"Don't let them escape!" The count's voice echoed across the battlefield, reminding the new recruits in his unit, "Remember the movements from training! Thrust! Retreat! Maintain formation!"
The new recruits were a bit awkward at first, but they quickly found their rhythm in actual combat. They worked in small groups, using their numerical advantage to surround and eliminate lone Orc Cavalry.
Many human cavalrymen even successfully employed the "turning fire" tactic—turning around and firing the instant they passed each other, with flintlock bullets shattering the orcs' backs.
Abar witnessed all this from a distant hilltop, his nails digging deep into his palms. His proud steppe archery tactics seemed so powerless in the face of humanity's new weapons and tactics.
This light cavalry force, which had flanked the enemy from the rear, was a mobile force he had carefully selected, but now it was being slaughtered by humans like a rabbit.
What's even more terrifying is that he vaguely sensed that this was far from the opponent's full strength.
Seeing his light cavalry suffer heavy casualties under the pursuit of the enemy, Abar could no longer stand idly by.
He drew his sword sharply, his bronze face contorted with rage: "All troops, turn! Rescue our warriors!"
The main orc army began to change direction, with tens of thousands of iron cavalry kicking up clouds of dust.
But at that moment, a stirring sound of bronze horns suddenly rang out from the Northwest Legion ranks, each note like a sharp knife piercing the hearts of the orcs.
"All troops, advance!" Paul commanded, and the Northwest Legion began its overall advance.
The deep blue infantry lines surged forward like rising tides, the soldiers advancing steadily to the rhythm of the drums, the bayonets on their flintlock muskets gleaming with a chilling light in the sunlight.
The soldiers pointed their rifles diagonally forward, and the entire formation maintained a suffocating sense of oppression as they marched.
What terrified the orcs even more was that half of the Cannons were also advancing in tandem. These light field guns were pulled by four horses, with the gun crews trotting alongside. They would stop and deploy every three hundred yards, their dark muzzles always pointed at the orcish ranks.
"Maintain distance! Deploy at 250 yards!" the artillery commander shouted. The well-trained gunners could even load their weapons while on the move, ready to fire at any moment.
Paul Greiman was determined to wipe out the orc light cavalry that had dared to outflank him; he would not allow Abar to rescue them.
Abar had to rein in his horse, facing a dilemma: if he continued to rescue the light cavalry, he would be running head-on into the advancing infantry line and artillery that could open fire at any moment; but if he stopped, the pursuing light cavalry would be wiped out.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The advancing Northwest Legion artillery began deterrent firing, shells landing fifty yards in front of the main orc force, sending up a rain of dirt.