Unlike the deep, mournful tones of the Saracen horns, the Crusader's battle horn blared loudly and triumphantly.
Mike Bai turned toward the north in surprise. A massive golden crucifix gleamed in the distance, surrounded by a hundred knights of the Templar Order, each clad in the white and red of their holy insignia. They advanced slowly, like an unstoppable wave.
At the forefront stood King Baldwin, his majestic figure atop a golden chariot, his armor reflecting the light from the cross, making him appear almost saint-like as he faced Saladin's royal banner from afar.
Seeing that Saladin's elite Mamluk cavalry had been entangled, Baldwin finally played his trump card—the Knights Templar.
The Templars were made up of noble knights who had sworn to abandon all worldly desires for the glory of God. They devoted their lives entirely to combat, training relentlessly every day. Unburdened by the distractions of secular life, their martial skills were unparalleled. Armed with the vast wealth of their order, their fighting ability had been significantly enhanced. Furthermore, their vows of chastity meant that their focus in battle was singular—they fought only for their Lord, with no distractions.
The Templars formed a perfect battle line, their lances raised high as they chanted praises to the Lord, charging with the force of a tidal wave toward the heathen forces.
The Mamluk cavalry, already in full motion, had no chance to alter their course. They could only watch helplessly as the Templars slammed into their flank with devastating force.
In an instant, chaos erupted—horses and riders were thrown into the air as Templar lances pierced through Mamluk chests. When the lances snapped, the Templars drew their signature weapon—flails—and swung them with deadly precision.
The heavy flails, swung with tremendous force, crushed through the Mamluk armor, turning their vulnerable bodies into a bloody pulp.
The triumphant blast of the battle horn sounded again, signaling that the Kingdom's knights had reformed their lines after their breakthrough. Some advanced to support the Templars in their fight against the Mamluk cavalry, while others veered south to attack Saladin's royal banner.
Now, the battlefield was filled with the deafening clash of swords and the war cries of men fighting for their lives. The Mamluks and the Templars were locked in a fierce and bloody struggle.
Mike Bai watched the battle unfold. The Mamluks had been effectively pinned down by the Templars, and the royal guard, surrounded by the Kingdom's knights, was losing its attention on the flag. The road to Saladin's banner was now clear of major enemy forces.
Mike Bai knew his own army was at its limit, but in front of him was the most vulnerable target—the heart of the enemy: Saladin himself.
"Saladin is just ahead! If we take him down, we win this battle!" Mike Bai shouted, his voice hoarse from the exertion. "The head of Saladin, 10,000 gold nomi!"
The mercenaries, weary and on the brink of collapse, were suddenly invigorated by the promise of gold. Those who could still move scrambled to pick up their weapons and rushed forward, no longer concerned with formations, just charging blindly toward Saladin's banner.
Mike Bai let out a sharp whistle, and the horse, Rollo, trotted up from behind. Despite the brutal battle, it seemed little worse for wear. Mike Bai mounted and, with what was left of his guard and a handful of knights, led a charge straight toward Saladin's banner.
Underneath the royal flag, Saladin surveyed the battlefield with hawk-like eyes, his expression grim. The tide of battle had slipped beyond his control. His infantry had scattered, his cavalry was engaged in a bloody stalemate, and crucially, the Kingdom's knights were closing in on his position.
"Emir, you must leave now," one of Saladin's advisors said urgently. "The battle is already lost. Please, allow us to cover your retreat. We are strong, and in a few years, we can rebuild our army."
Saladin paused, glancing over the battlefield, then looked back at the Emir. "You have done well," he said calmly, resting a hand on the man's shoulder. "Your father would be proud of you."
The Emir smiled, the pride evident on his face, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Thank you, my Sultan."
"Go," Saladin said, his voice soft yet firm, before he turned his gaze toward the golden cross on the battlefield. "Baldwin, you win this round."
The Sultan looked one last time at his army, the weight of defeat settling on him. "But not the war."
Turning to the Emir, he nodded. "Go now, and take our forces with you."
With a final glance at Saladin, the Emir mounted his horse, his expression hardening as he put on his helmet. Raising a horn, he blew a long, mournful note.
At that moment, every remaining Mamluk cavalryman surged forward with a final, desperate charge. They cared not for the lines of spears or the knights' flails in their way—they simply charged forward, determined to fight to the death.
"Saladin, you coward!" Count Reynard shouted, watching as the royal banner began to retreat. His fury surged, and he longed to take flight and challenge Saladin to a final, decisive duel. But the Mamluk cavalry was still making their last stand, and Reynard had no time to pursue.
"Baron Godfrey!" he barked, his face twisted in rage. "You and your knights must stop Saladin's retreat, no matter the cost!"
On the opposite side, a similar order was given to the Templars, who, despite the growing chaos, split off in small groups to chase after the royal banner.
Mike Bai's group, seeing that their forces were weakening, managed to shake off the few remaining Mamluks who tried to block their way. He and his remaining knights charged straight toward the flag.
As he drew closer, he could see the Mamluk guards surrounding the royal banner, fighting fiercely with a handful of Kingdom knights and Templars.
In the midst of them was a towering figure, a bearded man wearing golden armor, with a massive ruby embedded in his helmet. His presence radiated authority and wealth.
"Saladin!" Mike Bai muttered to himself, his heart pounding. "Kill him, and the war ends."
He spurred Rollo onward, despite the meager number of knights he had left.
The golden-armored general saw Mike Bai charging and led his last few guards forward to intercept him.
Mike Bai raised his sword, ready to meet the challenge. The Mamluk general responded, drawing his curved blade. Both men had their reasons to fight; only death could end this battle.
This time, luck was not on Mike Bai's side. The Mamluk general was a master swordsman. In the blink of an eye, he deflected Mike Bai's sword and slashed across his back with a vicious strike.
The impact sent Mike Bai tumbling from his horse. He landed hard, but the ground was soft enough to soften the blow. He rolled a few times, still dazed but not severely injured.
Stars danced before his eyes as he struggled to shake off the dizziness. Blood seeped from the wound on his forehead, and his vision blurred. He could barely make out the chaotic scene around him, the knights fighting valiantly as they were pushed back.
Raising his sword to prop himself up, Mike Bai groaned in pain. He had just fallen off his horse, and every inch of his body hurt. But as he struggled to regain his balance, he saw the golden-armored general riding toward him, two more cavalrymen at his side.
Mike Bai thought of moving, but his injuries held him back. "Is this how it ends?" he wondered, an eerie calmness settling over him as the battle raged around him.
Then, out of nowhere, an arrow whizzed past Mike Bai's ear and struck one of the approaching riders in the eye. A dark figure emerged from behind, moving with a speed that defied belief.
The figure, faster than the eye could follow, passed between the two oncoming horses, avoiding the deadly blades of the cavalrymen. In the blink of an eye, the figure slashed at their horses' legs, bringing both down in a crash.
Before the fallen riders could even rise, the figure was already on them, a blade flashing as it slit the throat of one of the Mamluks.
Now, only the golden-armored general remained.
Mike Bai, still reeling from his injuries, watched in stunned silence as the figure engaged the general. He could barely process what was happening, his mind overwhelmed by the speed and skill on display.
The golden-armored Mamluk general swung his curved sword down at the shadow, but it was no use. The dark figure dodged effortlessly, slipping behind the general and striking with a quick, deadly motion.
A slash of the blade severed the general's armor at the armpit, and a deep, fatal wound appeared.
Before the general could even scream, the figure was behind him, a blade pressed to his neck.
"Silence." A cold voice cut through the chaos.
Mike Bai, still in disbelief, watched as the Mamluk general's life was swiftly ended by the shadowy figure.
The figure turned, revealing a face stained with blood, but still hauntingly beautiful in its deadly calm.
"Master, do you have any further orders?" came the familiar voice.
Mike Bai, eyes wide, muttered under his breath, "Who is this girl? She's a demon!"