Chapter 145

Translator: Willia

The sun and the highlands, the wind and the sea, and oranges.

He did not know what kind of influence those things had on the people who lived here, but the Sinatrians had a somewhat emotional and passionate side.

From the perspective of Ricardt, who came from the northern and central regions of the Empire that valued taciturn restraint and diligence, courage and honor, it felt rather unfamiliar and strange.

However, Ricardt himself did not realize that he, too, might have been influenced without noticing. By the sun and the highlands, the wind and the sea, and oranges.

If one went west from the plains of Valencia, high ground gradually began, not very high, but appearing to be a mountain range branching in several directions.

There were a total of five routes by which enemies could invade from the outside, and therefore defending the homeland was inevitably difficult. Unless they shut themselves inside the city and held out.

However, if they did hold out, they would have no choice but to lose all the crops that were just beginning to ripen.

Then the answer was clear. They had no choice but to advance into that plain and fight.

Yet no matter how clear the answer was, there were things in this world that truly could not be helped. Just like an individual’s life as well.

Especially in a battle where life and death were at stake, doing something reckless was all the more difficult.

Nevertheless, Ricardt persuaded the soldiers, intimidated them, coaxed them, and did, so to speak, all kinds of Bullshit to barely manage to move out onto the plain.

In fact, the most difficult thing in commanding a battle was not ingenious strategies or tactics, but persuading and leading people.

Still, fortunately, the knights and soldiers, though clearly reluctant, did follow orders begrudgingly.

The sky was gloomy, as if it might rain. The sun that was usually so hot was nowhere to be seen.

The wind blew far more strongly than usual, causing the various flags to flap vigorously, but Ricardt’s expression as he tilted his head and looked up at the sky was not good.

Before a battle, one could not help but become sensitive due to worry and anxiety. Ricardt was no different. The only difference from others was simply that he saw different sides of humans and of the world.

Anxiety and worry could be overcome on one’s own, but frayed nerves sometimes made even those who did not believe in superstition start to believe in it.

Things like a sudden gust of wind, or clouds with strange shapes. Was that a good omen, or a bad one? If it rained, who would it favor and who would it disadvantage?

However, at this point, weighing such things had little meaning. It had already been two days since they had set up camp and waited for battle.

Naturally, the expressions of the soldiers were not good either. They frowned and, like Ricardt, looked up at the high sky, or stared at the horizon at the edge of the land.

Mounted scouts seemed to be flying around the unit like dragonflies. They kept delivering news and making reports, and as time passed, they came and went more frequently and more quickly.

The busier they moved, the more the soldiers all knew. That the fight was imminent.

Then a faint dududu sound was heard. The sound gradually grew louder, and eventually there came the sensation that the ground itself was lightly shaking.

There were horses that became uneasy. Knights and soldiers struggled to calm them down.

And finally, the enemies began to reveal themselves one by one on the distant ridge. At first, it seemed like there were not many, but as they continuously came down the plain, before long they completely covered it.

The flags of the Salaman people fluttered wildly. Unlike those on this side, their flags were mostly solid colors like yellow or black, and their emblems often depicted curling letters rather than geometric shapes or animals and plants.

Even so, it was almost too much. The scouts had been making the same reports for the past two days, so everyone already knew, but seeing it with one’s own eyes felt different.

Twenty thousand. It was not merely a number. It was a single force. A force capable of destroying anything in the world.

Even Ricardt felt his heart tremble, so the soldiers were obvious without even looking. Their hands gripping shields and weapons were shaking.

To quell that anxiety and raise morale, Ricardt deliberately rode his red horse and ran in front of the camp. Look at me and find courage.

Even so, the soldiers’ trembling hands did not easily calm down. So Ricardt moved around in front of the camp and shouted loudly.

"Sinatrians! Listen to my words!"

Ricardt did not deliberately talk down to the soldiers.

“Why are you wearing cumbersome and heavy armor, and holding weapons in your hands? Is it because of the king’s orders, or because of money? As you all know, I am a foreigner who came from afar. From the eyes of a foreigner, the men of Sinatria were all fearless and brave. Did I see wrongly?”

Ricardt provoked the soldiers’ pride. Whether it made sense or not, if it was to raise morale, he was ready to sell anything and spout any words.

Ricardt clenched his fist tightly, raised it high, and spoke.

“Exactly three people! If each of you kills just three, we can kill all the enemies! If you are men of Sinatria, is killing three heretics not easy!? Am I wrong!? Answer me!”

At that, there were soldiers here and there who raised spear-like weapons high and shouted, No! We can do it! However, they were not all of one mind and one will.

“I am not giving you a difficult order! Do not retreat! Do not turn around and run away! And thus, in the end, achieve victory!”

It was precisely because that was not easy that it was a problem right now, but in any case, it seemed that the intended purpose had been achieved at least a little. Turning hearts that were pounding with fear into excitement, and calling forth the will to fight.

In fact, what was truly important in battle was the deployment of forces, the formation. While Ricardt had grasped and analyzed the surrounding terrain in advance and finished the deployment two days earlier, the enemies had only just arrived at this point.

Were they being careless, or was it the difficulty that came with operating a massive force? The enemies merely spread their troops widely and messily from afar.

That made sense, since with more than three times the number of troops, being overly cautious might act as poison. They could simply push forward, but if they worried about this and that and got tangled among themselves, it would not do.

However, even simply spreading out troops required matching intervals, so it was not something that finished quickly.

In the meantime, Ricardt mounted his red horse, held his spear upward, and alone charged toward the enemy camp.

Duguduk, duguduk, he crossed the plain alone toward the enemies, and naturally drew the attention of both allies and enemies. Tens of thousands of pairs of eyes gathered on Ricardt riding the red horse, and followed his movement.

The reason Ricardt approached the enemies was none other than to confirm his target precisely with his own eyes.

It was an extremely dangerous act. Knights could rush out from the enemy camp to attack Ricardt, or capture him.

Yet Ricardt, as if he were not worried at all, approached close to the enemy camp and proudly drove his horse before them, as though watching a military review held for himself.

Because the number of troops was so great, he could not see from left to right all the way to the end, but from the enemies’ perspective, they looked at him with expressions asking who that was to come so close and act like that.

However, unlike him, Sultan Yusuf was nowhere to be seen, likely deep within the camp. One could only guess that he was where the splendid flags and well-armed troops were concentrated.

Ricardt pointed in that direction with his spear and shouted.

"Is he such a cowardly coward that he cannot even show his face!"

Then a Salaman knight shouted back angrily.

“The Sultan has no time to deal with someone like you! Go to hell!”

“Tell him to keep hiding! But when I come again, do not expect courtesy!”

Despite not showing any courtesy from the start, Ricardt shamelessly roared. Then he turned the reins and returned to his own camp.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, no separate detachment came out to pursue Ricardt.

Ricardt returned again to his own camp and shouted to the soldiers.

"Sultan Yusuf is definitely a coward! His subordinates are obvious without even looking! We will win today! I am certain! God has already decided!"

Then the soldiers shouted as if it were a military chant, “Yusuf is a coward! God has decided!”

If it could be called showmanship, Ricardt’s reckless actions like this were indeed excellent at raising momentum despite the numerical inferiority.

As time passed, the enemies also finished deploying their forces. Then they began to advance slowly, and the characteristic rumbling footfalls truly seemed to make the ground tremble.

Ricardt’s forces were positioned with a large rock on the left side, forming up to compensate for their numerical disadvantage with terrain, but the enemies detached some troops to go around the rocky hill. If they went around the rocky hill, they could strike from directly behind.

Of course, even after detaching troops, the main force advancing head-on still outnumbered the allied forces by more than twice.

At that moment, something irrational happened. From Ricardt’s camp, the sound of a horn trumpet rang out long, and about six thousand troops began to advance.

Buuuuuuuuuu!

Urrrrrr......!

The Sultan’s command was slightly flustered, apparently not expecting them to abandon an advantageous position and advance. But even so, would there really be any variables? It looked like a suicidal act. Were they stupid?

However, this was the decisive move Ricardt had thrown. And the soldiers were believing in and following that decisive move.

Ricardt’s decisive move was not complicated. It was a single-point breakthrough. Forget numbers and everything else, concentrate all strength toward where the Sultan was.

And normally, heavy cavalry should be saved until the very last moment, but Ricardt stood in front of the Order of the Flame Knights who had been waiting in the rear. The eyes beneath their helmets gleamed like those of starving beasts.

Around that time, rain began to patter down from the sky that had been gloomy since morning.

“Is it a good omen, or an ominous one?”

Ricardt asked Raimund.

“It does not matter.”

“That’s right. It does not matter.”

Ricardt stood before the knights holding the spear banner and shouted.

“I know you have suffered in your hearts during this time. Even so, in the end, we are those who fight. Knights. It does not matter how many enemies there are! Winning! Achieving victory! That alone is our reason for existence! Let it rain! Because we ourselves will become the storm!”

Ricardt mounted a large warhorse, ran back and forth in front of the knights lined up horizontally, and shouted while holding the spear banner symbolizing flame.

“Let us show the enemies! Our bravery! Our rage! Our justice! Knights of Flame! Rise! Raise the storm!”

Then the two hundred war machines, each one massive and sturdy, tightened their cores and shouted thunderously.

“Raise the storm!”

“Order of the Flame Knights! Chaaaaaarge!”

As Ricardt gave the charge order, he himself surged forward powerfully at the very front. Raimund and the Knights of Flame rushed after him in a torrent. It was the right side of the allied formation.

From the enemies’ perspective, it seemed as though the final card had been played too early, but if they could suppress the knights, all variables would be perfectly eliminated, so they immediately committed their own heavy cavalry.

But at this moment, something strange happened. No, it was not so much strange as it was that things began to go wrong.

Originally, a heavy cavalry charge was supposed to charge in a straight line to deliver impact across the widest possible area and shatter the enemy formation, but with Ricardt running at the very front as the apex, the knights ran as if in a race.

Thus, the shape naturally became like a wedge, and compared to the Sultan’s knights, they could change direction more freely.

At first it was gentle, then they sharply turned direction, and instead of heading for the enemy’s left, they ran toward the center.

The enemy heavy cavalry tried to take on the knights, but because the formation itself had difficulty changing direction, they became tangled among themselves.

Ricardt simply shook them off. The most powerful unit had momentarily become useless.

The allied main force continued to advance, and Ricardt surged into the contact point between enemy and ally, between the enemy’s left and center.

The resounding roar of the knights shook the entire battlefield. A fierce, flame-like charge exploded into the enemy center.

“Waaaaaaaah!”

Dududududududududu!

Bang! Crack! Thud! Thump thump! Thud! Crack!

Two hundred huge and massive warhorses mercilessly trampled people. In fact, stabbing with the spear did not matter much, but there were two enemies skewered by Ricardt’s spear.

As if it were truly a dragon, Ricardt’s savage and ferocious red horse charged wildly, smashing enemies as though it might breathe fire.

Charging forward with tremendous force like a stampeding bull, it burrowed into the enemy center as if a sharp spear were deeply stabbing into a person’s flank.

After splitting the enemy ranks for quite some time, when Ricardt felt the momentum of the charge waning, he pulled the reins.

The red horse raised its forelegs high, as if it would leap into the sky. Ricardt lifted his sword upward as if to pierce the heavens and shouted at the top of his lungs.

Beneath the ashen sky, golden flames blazing along the Holy Sword fluttered like a banner.

“Raise the storm!”

The enemies’ desperate screams and all kinds of battlefield noises were truly deafening. Yet the allied soldiers who had been advancing slowly heard that cry clearly.

They charged all at once and overwhelmed all that noise.

“Raise the storaaaaam!”

Someone once said that fighting was about momentum. Momentum had its degrees, but this was an impact as if some gigantic explosion had occurred.

If one examined it calmly, it was not something that could not be responded to. However, Ricardt’s strategy was none other than an irreversibly powerful single blow.

And since all things in the world are done by people, emotions like an indescribable atmosphere or fear could not be easily resisted.

The troops taking a long route and the left and right wings were dumbfounded and flustered, not knowing how things were unfolding. In contrast, the enemies in the center were almost in panic, thrown into a state of chaos.

“Waaaaaaaah!”

A tremendous roar came from the center, and the left and right wings felt like they should turn the steps with which they were advancing in formation, but that was not as easy as it sounded. The subordinate unit commanders were also at a loss.

The center literally became a complete mess and a wasteland, and Ricardt and the Order of the Flame Knights charged relentlessly toward the Sultan. The soldiers supported them from behind.

Rain falling patter patter, bodies grotesquely twisted and crushed, and blood. The excitement of battle surged up to Ricardt’s head, his wide-open eyes glaring fiercely.

In that state, he charged terrifyingly toward the place with the splendid canopy. Dozens of people were carrying something like a large palanquin, and the escort warriors hurriedly mounted their horses and fought against Ricardt.

When the tremendous speed and power of the red horse combined with the burning sword, there was nothing they could do except become pieces of meat.

Whoosh! Thud! Thump!

Ricardt swiftly cut down only one or two and simply rode past the rest.

Then the servants or slaves supporting the palanquin were startled and scattered in all directions, and the palanquin ended up crashing sideways to the ground.

Ricardt instinctively charged toward the one who had fallen from the palanquin. He tumbled onto the ground and was floundering as he tried to get up.

Passing him like the wind, Ricardt swung the burning sword, and the Sultan lifted his head and looked straight at Ricardt. Ricardt met his eyes head-on. What, he is just a kid?

He looked about fourteen or fifteen. Of course, Ricardt had traveled the world and fought with his life on the line at that age, but the boy before him clearly showed signs of having grown up without suffering even once.

He knew nothing of war, only looking up at Ricardt with innocent and startled eyes.

It seemed there were separate political forces that had directly started the war, but the sword already swung could not be taken back.

Just as the blade touched the boy’s neck, for a very brief moment, Ricardt spoke in his heart. There was no time to speak, so he hoped it would be conveyed at least through his eyes.

Forgive me.

Whoosh! Thud!

Really anticlimactically simply and easily, the Sultan's head flew off. As that happened, the escort warriors who had rushed in to protect the Sultan no matter what, even while being slain by the Knights of Flame who followed behind, froze in place.

Ricardt returned and skewered the young Sultan’s head rolling on the ground with his spear. Then he raised it high so that everyone could see, leading the allied forces.

Wherever Ricardt went, all the enemies saw the Sultan’s head, were greatly shocked, and fled, and the soldiers freely swept them away as if gleaning ears of grain.

By the time the battle ended, rain poured down from the sky in earnest. However, it could not easily cool the heat of the men who had grown intensely hot.

There were almost no allied casualties, and the battlefield was utter chaos. Truly, as if a storm had been raised.

Chapter 29 - Flame Storm. End.

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