A small troop of cavalry galloped swiftly, crossing fields and roads, passing through villages and fleeing peasants, arriving on vast open plains. The flags they bore high identified them clearly.
Gwyneth and his men rode over a small hill and were immediately confronted by several figures rushing towards the direction of the castle. Focusing his gaze, Gwyneth recognized them as the scouts he had dispatched to set up outposts on the mountain. Following his orders, they had lit the beacon fires and immediately retreated, joining other returning scouts on the way.
The scouts, crossing paths with Gwyneth and his group, quickly wheeled their horses around in a large arc, beautifully rejoining Gwyneth under his banner.
"What's the situation ahead? How many are they? What's their purpose?" Gwyneth quickly inquired as the scouts caught up.
However, these scouts, on whom Gwyneth had pinned high hopes, stumbled over their words, unable to provide clear answers. "Sir... we didn't get a clear view. We retreated as soon as we lit the fires, without a chance to observe detailed enemy information... We failed your trust, apologies!" The leading cavalryman apologized to Gwyneth.
"They crossed the mountains on foot, and we didn't notice them immediately. When we spotted them, they were only two or three hundred yards away, so..."
"So you were too busy running for your lives to count their numbers and equipment," Gwyneth remarked, glancing at the scouts who hung their heads in silence.
Riding ahead silently for a hundred yards with a stern face, Gwyneth and his cavalry reached the top of a gentle slope. To their surprise, the enemy was just a few dozen yards away, close enough for Gwyneth to clearly see the thick beards on the faces of the northern men. The two groups had unexpectedly run into each other.
Gwyneth stopped at the top of the hill, overlooking the ascending enemy, trying to quickly form an initial impression of them. They appeared like typical barbarians — tall, burly, and strong, clad in animal skins, some with light armor or no armor. They carried round shields, single-handed axes, and maces, moving lightly.
There was no clear differentiation in their troop types, nor any noticeable supply or siege equipment. They had no horses — not as an insult, but as an observation. Perhaps due to the challenge of crossing the mountains or the harsh northern environment unsuitable for large-scale horse breeding, Gwyneth saw no mounted units among them.
Given their limited numbers, around 100, with insufficient supplies and lacking siege equipment, Gwyneth surmised they were an advance scouting party. If the scouts lacked horses, it likely meant the main force didn't have any either.
The questions remained: how many such scouting parties were there? Where was the main force? Were they planning to assault the castle or just raid the surrounding villages?
But there was no time for detailed contemplation now.
As Gwyneth observed the enemy, they were also sizing him and his mounted followers up. After briefly assessing them, Gwyneth prepared to retreat.
The northern men began to bang their axes against their shields, shouting unintelligible words, likely taunts and provocations.
Gwyneth watched coldly, his gaze filled with disdain.
As if provoked by Gwyneth, the northern men began a barbaric charge, yelling as they rushed towards him and his men. Unfortunately for them, they were ascending a slope while Gwyneth and his group were at the summit.
Gwyneth scoffed coldly, standing unshaken.
As the northerners drew closer, anxiety appeared on the faces of the surrounding cavalry. They looked at each other and then at Gwyneth, awaiting his command.
The moment the northerners charged up the hill, Gwyneth drew his dagger and threw it swiftly, striking the leader in the face. With a scream, the man fell.
It turns out they were human too, flesh and blood, not some indestructible demons.
After this brief encounter, Gwyneth was the first to turn his horse and gallop down the hill, followed closely by his cavalry. On horseback versus on foot, the northerners, no matter how desperate, couldn't keep up and could only watch as Gwyneth and his men distanced themselves.
During the retreat, Gwyneth kept looking back, ready to dodge any arrows that might appear in the sky, but not a single arrow was shot by the enemy even after several hundred yards.
...
Having obtained the information he needed, Gwyneth saw no reason to linger. He led his men back to the castle at a breakneck pace.
On the way back, they still saw many peasants carrying their belongings and pushing hand carts. Their bags and carts were filled with rye and barley – for these peasants, losing their food was as good as death.
Considering this, Gwyneth stopped his horse, pondering his next move. At that moment, he saw a troop of guards approaching from the castle's direction.
After Gwyneth had left with the cavalry, Jervis had led 50 guardsmen and a hundred archers out of the castle, with the rest remaining to defend it. They had just reached the village when they encountered Gwyneth's returning party.
Perfect timing.
Thinking so, Gwyneth decided to confront the northerners head-on and test both their strength and the training of his own forces.
With this plan in mind, Gwyneth quickly gathered his forces and headed back towards the north.
...
After traveling a few hundred yards, Gwyneth reached the top of a hill, from where he could see the approaching northerners.
He instructed the archers to set up a position at the hilltop, while he led the guardsmen to a position halfway up the hill, ready to face the enemy's charge.
The archery unit, commanded by Deputy Captain Cedric, formed two staggered rows, with each archer pulling out ten arrows and planting them in the ground in front of them. They took deep breaths to steady their nerves.
As the enemy approached closer, entering shooting range, Cedric ordered everyone to aim, calculating the angle, trajectory, and lead time.
At 250 yards, the enemy began to shout and charge the hill. Cedric ordered all archers to draw their bows and nock their arrows.
At 230 yards, they held their breath, focused.
At 210 yards, Cedric commanded, "Ready..."
And at 200 yards, he ordered, "Fire!"
With that command, a hundred arrows were loosed simultaneously.