Despite the warhorse's frantic gallop, the "pendant" attached to its leg continued to limit its speed. No matter how much the squire urged, the rider was unable to join the rest of the Jacob knights in time.
"For honor! Charge!"
Seeing that only two riders remained on the opposing side, Sir Andrew, seething with rage, took the spare lance from his remaining squire, roaring as he spurred his horse into another charge.
Meanwhile, Sir Jacob cursed bitterly at his distant squire, who still had his spare lance. Watching Sir Andrew's knights accelerate, Sir Jacob spat in frustration, drawing his sword and thrusting it forward, urging his horse to pick up speed once more.
The two cavalry units collided again. With their superior numbers and weapons, Sir Andrew's knights dominated the clash, successfully unseating the experienced Sir Jacob and killing his squire in the process.
Having achieved this decisive victory, Sir Andrew felt a surge of relief, as though the cloud hanging over his chest had vanished. The goddess of victory seemed to lift her veil for him. Discarding the broken lance, he drew his sword and charged forward, unrelenting, toward the last of the enemy knights.
Facing the oncoming three knights, the opposing squire, knowing that no matter how well-equipped or skilled he was, it would be a difficult fight, wisely chose to follow the tradition of medieval nobility: he dropped his weapons and raised both hands in surrender.
Seeing the surrender, Sir Andrew lowered his sword, slowing his horse to approach the defeated squire.
"He's so handsome!" Watching the noble gesture of surrender, Gene couldn't help but murmur in awe.
Smack!
Mike Bai slapped Gene across the back of his head, exasperated. "What are you daydreaming for? If you'd been more helpful earlier, it could've been you accepting their surrender."
Mike Bai's frustration grew. Had Gene not faltered, perhaps they could have knocked out the squire and claimed the luxurious knight's gear for themselves.
Gene rubbed his head sheepishly, apologizing repeatedly.
"But there's still a chance to make up for the loss," Mike Bai muttered to himself, quickly pulling Gene toward the battlefield. "Hurry up! Let's claim our spoils!"
And it wasn't just Mike Bai who had this thought. The disbanded allied soldiers, inspired by the display of knightly power, came rushing back from all directions, like beasts unleashed, yelling in excitement.
On the opposing side, however, the enemy infantry, realizing that the battle was lost, immediately turned and fled. Their speed was a sharp contrast to their usual slow, laboring pace.
The fastest of them was, of course, Sir Andrew, who used his sword to knock over a fleeing wealthy farmer as he shouted, "Quick! Don't let any of them escape!"
His impressive display of skill once again bolstered the morale of his soldiers. The three knights, leading a small group of thirty soldiers, chased after the fleeing enemy, ready to capture anyone who lagged behind, their weapons at the ready.
In Sir Andrew's eyes, the fleeing farmers were no longer people—they were walking wallets, each captive worth ten silver dinars, enough to buy half a pig or a quarter of a cow.
However, Mike Bai and Gene didn't join in the capture of prisoners. Instead, Mike Bai decided to safeguard their own victories, prioritizing their loot over chasing after stragglers.
Mike Bai and Gene led the way, running back to the two soldiers they had previously killed. Ignoring any hesitation, they immediately knelt by the bodies and began rifling through the equipment.
A lagging ally soldier, noticing the valuable gear on the two fallen bodies, approached stealthily. With malice in his heart, he aimed a blow at Gene with his spear shaft.
Caught off guard, Gene was struck in the back and fell to the ground.
Mike Bai's eyes widened in shock. Grabbing the nearest spear, he fell backward, thrusting the spear's shaft backward, knocking the would-be attacker to the ground.
Had it not been for the quick reaction and using the spear's tail instead of the tip, this attack could have ended in a fatality.
Seeing the attacker writhing in pain on the ground, Mike Bai approached, his gaze cold and unflinching.
The soldier, now at Mike Bai's mercy, trembled as his image loomed large in his vision, the spear gleaming menacingly in Mike Bai's grip.
Sensing others nearby, Mike Bai barked coldly, "Get lost!"
The soldier, leaving his weapon behind, scrambled away as fast as he could.
Mike Bai retrieved the spear and checked on Gene, who had already gotten to his feet.
"You alright?" Mike Bai asked, concern evident in his voice.
Gene smiled weakly and pointed to his leather armor, signaling that he was fine.
"Good!" Mike Bai nodded, turning his attention back to their spoils. The old leather armor, a tattered suit of armor with a hole, three spears, an undamaged kite-shaped shield, and two round helmets were all up for grabs.
To Mike Bai's surprise, he even found a short blade about 15 centimeters long on the squad leader's body.
As for the personal clothes on the corpses, he couldn't bring himself to strip them. Even in the midst of a deadly battle, he felt it was only right to leave them some dignity.
The clamor in the distance continued, while Mike Bai and Gene scoured the battlefield, ensuring no loot was left behind and waiting for the final end of the battle.
By the time the sun had reached its zenith and began its descent, Sir Andrew and his men returned. They were armed with various weapons and armor, carrying themselves with an air of triumph. A large group of prisoners, bound by ropes, followed, their faces marked by sorrow.
The victorious Sir Andrew, looking at his bounty—two full sets of knight's gear and at least 80 gold dinars in ransom from the enemy family—couldn't help but laugh heartily.
"Back to camp! Tonight, we feast!"
Of course, this feast would be held for Sir Andrew and his father-in-law, the two knights, with only their squires invited. The rest of the soldiers—Mike Bai's group of conscripts—had no hope of joining.
The knights' stone hall echoed with laughter late into the night, while the conscripts, having won the battle as well, could only gaze enviously at the feast. The best they could hope for were big chunks of stale black bread and watery beer.
Gene chewed his bread slowly, his face calm as though lost in thought.
"Gene!"
From a dark corner, Mike Bai waved him over, beckoning urgently.
Gene stood and walked toward Mike Bai, puzzled. Thankfully, the noise inside the hall had distracted everyone, and no one noticed their exchange.
With a gesture to silence him, Mike Bai tapped on the ground beside him. The dirt cracked open, revealing a soft and slippery chicken leg, its aroma wafting through the air.
"You actually went and stole..." Gene began, but before he could finish, Mike Bai stuffed a chicken leg into his mouth.
The explosion of flavors hit Gene's taste buds—tender chicken, spicy onions, and a faint maltiness—overwhelming him in a delightful burst. All thoughts fled his mind, leaving only two words ringing in his head.
"So delicious!"