The heavy arrows, fired with tremendous force from the hilltop, pierced through everything in their path. The northerners instinctively raised their shields for protection, having learned from the previous volleys. However, their wooden round shields were inadequate to cover their upper bodies, only able to protect their chests and heads. Those less fortunate were directly penetrated by the arrows, which entered through their chests and exited from their backs, leaving the shafts embedded in their bodies. Though not immediately fatal, their remaining moments were clearly numbered.
Some, luckier, had arrows hit their shields, but even then, the heavy arrows penetrated at least two inches into their bodies. The barbed arrowheads lodged in their flesh, causing excruciating pain with the slightest movement.
After this round of arrows, nearly twenty more northerners fell. Although many of them were not critically wounded, the prospect of them continuing to fight was now impossible.
"Everyone, charge!" Gwynnis commanded as the archers released the fourth volley. Leading his cavalry in a flanking maneuver from the left, they quickly covered the short thirty-yard distance and confronted the enemy.
"Kill!" Gwynnis shouted, slashing diagonally from above at the neck of the lead northerner, nearly severing it halfway. Arterial blood sprayed up to two or three meters high.
Without pause, he and his horse, propelled by their massive momentum, slammed into a second opponent. The northerner, along with his shield, was sent flying three or four meters. He spat blood and, before he could rise, was trampled in the chest by the pursuing warhorse.
With his chest caved in and ribs shattered, his survival seemed unlikely.
Beveril, following close behind Gwynnis, had previously fallen off his horse during a raid due to his shorter stature and limited reach. This time, he wielded an elongated poleaxe, splitting an enemy and his shield in half with a sinister grin, then charged into the fray with his comrades.
As the cavalry plunged into the northerners' ranks, wreaking havoc and cutting them down, the rear guard was not idle. Gwynnis's order to "charge" included them too. Fifty fully armored guardsmen rushed into the northerner group, now reduced to fewer than thirty.
Perhaps these northerners, being the vanguard, were the elite of the elite with extensive combat experience. However, Gwynnis's fifty men had also undergone rigorous training for several months.
A hastily sharpened spear can also be effective. Moreover, with the continuous success of their attacks, the guards' morale soared, and with the advantage of numbers, the outcome was no longer in doubt.
The battle ended quickly, with the entire northerner contingent annihilated. However, Gwynnis was surprised that these enemies fought to the very end.
There was no such thing as a collapse after a thirty percent casualty rate in the era of cold weapons. In the latter part of the battle, the remaining ten or so northerners, surrounded by Gwynnis's fifty men in an overwhelmingly disadvantageous situation, did not surrender. Instead, they stood back to back, wielding shields and axes, roaring in defiance. For a moment, even Gwynnis found it hard to directly face their fierce resistance.
Their moment of glory was fleeting. Gwynnis called forth the archers from the rear, encircling them. At a mere ten-yard distance, it was almost point-blank range. They were riddled with arrows, turning them into porcupines.
The rest, wounded in the earlier volley, were methodically finished off by Gwynnis's men, sparing not a single one. Well, except one. A man with a knee injury, his leg pinned to the ground, was disarmed and easily captured.
Gwynnis considered taking him back for interrogation, hoping to extract some useful information. But does anyone here even speak the language of the Northerners?
After the battle, they cleared the battlefield. Gwynnis's forces annihilated 102 enemies and captured one, seizing a batch of short axes, shields, and other weapons.
There were no deaths on Gwynnis's side, though more than a dozen were injured, some seriously. Especially Bevil, who charged into the enemy ranks, seeking to redeem his earlier humiliation, only to be pulled off his horse and nearly disemboweled.
Quickly rescued by comrades, Bevil's intestines were nearly strewn across the ground. Gwynnis could only shake his head in dismay. Seeing that Bevil wasn't dying immediately, Gwynnis decided to try his luck and had him carried back to the castle along with the other wounded, while the remaining guards and archers returned on foot, collecting the spoils of war.
After making all the arrangements, Gwynnis glanced back towards the north. The previously pristine white breach in the Arctic Mountains was now covered in a mass of dark dots.
...
That evening, Gwynnis and his cavalry were the first to return to the castle. When the Red Lion flag and the yellow-white chevron flag appeared at the foot of the hill, the guards on the tower shouted, "The Lord is back! Open the gate!"
The drawbridge was lowered, and the cavalry charged into the castle. As soon as they entered the courtyard, they brought down the wounded, including Bevil. He was barely clinging to life, his end seemingly imminent.
Gwynnis urgently called for Rosalyn, who seemed to have recovered from his earlier reprimand. Facing Gwynnis's request, she slapped her face to wake herself up and got to work.
Starting with the most severely injured, Rosalyn applied her healing techniques one by one. As for Bevil, his condition was so severe that even Rosalyn found it challenging.
With no choice, she first cleaned the dirt from his intestines with water, put them back into his belly, and then applied healing magic to the wound, hoping for a slim chance of survival. Now, only Agnes herself could save him, or rather, it was all up to him.
She said as much, and Gwynnis decided to leave it to fate.
After dealing with his men's injuries, the foot soldiers and archers also returned. They brought back the only prisoner from this expedition, a Northerner bound tightly. He struggled furiously as Gwynnis threw him into the dungeon.
Initially, they planned to capture a prisoner for interrogation, but only after capturing him did they realize, including Gwynnis, that no one around seemed to speak their language. For now, they would keep him locked up, later seeking a translator within the domain. If they couldn't find one, they would simply kill him.
What concerned Gwynnis now was the last glimpse he caught from the hilltop - the massive army of Northerners. He climbed to the tower, looking towards the north.
The castle was only about a league, less than five kilometers from the Arctic Mountains. Gwynnis could clearly see from the tower that a vast Northern army had already crossed the mountain pass and was heading south.