bookandnovel Chapter 11: A Defense Line of Mud and Flesh
Chapter 11: A Defense Line of Mud and Flesh
The oppressive winds of the Blue Fork Valley made it almost impossible to breathe.
The setting sun had sunk behind the treeline, its afterglow casting a dark red glow over the riverbank. The muddy ground in front of the camp gate, repeatedly flooded by Matt and his men, appeared only soft and damp; beneath the surface lay layers of mushy mud strong enough to swallow a horse's hooves. Two shallow ditches stretched across the muddy ground, their bottoms paved with gravel and sharpened short wooden stakes, covered by a layer of cut weeds and a thin layer of mud.
The sound of horses' hooves grew closer in the distance.
The fifteen Blackwood Rangers carried no official banners, only black raven stripes sewn onto the breasts of their cloaks. They were common border rangers, fully equipped with chainmail, leather armor, short spears, and longswords, and their horses were strong, but they were not the heavily armored cavalry of the battlefield. Their strength lay in pursuit, plunder, intimidation, and small-scale skirmishes, not in charging a prepared wall of spears.
But they clearly didn't take the Hohenzollern territory seriously.
Seri Blackwood rode at the front, and before his horse had even fully straightened its head, he had already raised his longsword.
"Charge! Crush these peasants!"
The herd of horses began to accelerate.
Otto stood slightly behind the center of the formation, his left hand on the edge of his shield and his right hand gripping his sword. He didn't utter any unnecessary words, only watching the distance before the horses' hooves entered the first shallow ditch.
In front of him, ten veteran soldiers from the training corps stood with heavy shields, their knees slightly bent and shoulders hunched. Behind them, thirty semi-full-time militiamen were pale-faced, their spears trembling slightly.
The fear has not disappeared.
Otto never expected the fear to disappear.
All he needed was for them to stay in their positions despite the fear.
"Stay calm," Otto whispered.
The sound wasn't loud, but it pierced the ears of the soldiers in the front ranks like iron nails.
"Watch the shield, not the horse. Listen to the whistle, not the shouts."
When the first warhorse stepped onto the muddy ground, its speed was noticeably slower.
The second horse stepped into a shallow ditch covered by grass, its forelegs lurching forward, nearly throwing the rider off the saddle. The cavalry behind had no time to adjust, and their formation began to crumble. The already incomplete charging formation was instantly torn apart by the muddy ground.
"Now!"
A sharp bone whistle rang out.
The ten shields in the front row pressed down simultaneously, their bases firmly embedded in the mud. The spears in the rear row protruded diagonally from between the shields, their tips not aimed at the knight's chest, but at the horse's chest, neck, and the rider's thigh.
This is a rule that Otto repeatedly emphasized: prioritize speed over killing.
The real impact followed.
It wasn't the magnificent scene of knights charging in the ballads, but a dull, chaotic, and ugly collision.
When the first runaway warhorse crashed into the shield wall, the force was still terrifying. The two militiamen on the far left were jolted back half a step, their heels sinking into the mud, their shoulders almost giving way. The veteran in the front row roared, bracing the horse's neck with the edge of his shield, while two spears pierced the horse's shoulder at the same time.
The warhorse neighed in agony, its front legs buckled, and it knelt heavily in the mud.
The cavalryman on its back was thrown from his saddle, and before he could even get up, he was pinned down by three spears. The spear tips searched for an entry point through the gaps in his chainmail, eventually piercing his thigh and abdomen. He let out a short scream, then choked on the muddy water.
The second horse couldn't stop, crashing into its fallen companion and tumbling sideways into the mud. The rider, with one leg pinned down, frantically swung his sword, severing a spear, but was immediately forced back by the spear tips that followed from behind.
The formation began to shake.
Among the thirty militiamen, some turned ashen-faced from the neighing of the horses and the screams of their comrades. One young man instinctively took a half-step back.
"Fill in the gap!"
Otto didn't roar, but simply gave a stern order.
The hunters at the rear immediately stepped forward, braced the militiaman's back with wooden poles, and pushed him back to the shield line. Otto had made it clear before the battle: anyone who deserted on the battlefield would be dealt with according to military law and tried after the battle. No one would waste arrows shooting their own men while the phalanx was still under pressure, but no one could leave their back to their comrades.
The militiaman's teeth chattered, but he put the shield back up.
The third group of Blackwood Rangers finally realized something was wrong.
They tried to flank the mud pit, but Otto had already hidden Old John's two successors as hunters behind a low slope. Three long arrows shot out from the side, their target still not the knight's chest, but the horse's neck and unarmored arm.
A horse, startled, leaped sideways, disrupting the path of the cavalrymen beside it.
Seri roared as he tried to rally the team.
"Scatter! Go around to the right!"
But the right side is worse.
What appeared to be a relatively dry riverbed was actually a path paved with half-buried logs. The gaps between the logs were covered with mud, so the infantry knew where to step, but the horses did not. When two warhorses charged forward, their hooves got stuck in the gaps, and the riders were thrown off by the momentum and crashed heavily to the ground.
"push!"
Otto's second command was given.
The front-line shield wall didn't pursue, but instead moved forward half a step as a whole. The spearmen in the rear used this half-step space to thrust forward in unison. The ten-second interval proved valuable at this moment: no reckless pursuit, no one-on-one attacks, and no scattering of formation for a fallen enemy.
Push, stab, retract.
Push again, stab again, then pull back.
The Blackwood cavalry's advantage was gradually worn down by the mud, shallow ditches, falling horses, and narrow contact surfaces. Once they lost speed, they could only squeeze together in the mud against a wall of spears.
This is not a duel between heroes.
This is a stone mill for grinding bones.
A Blackwood cavalryman finally charged to the shield wall and swung his sword at Bob's shield. Bob, a miner by trade, was incredibly strong but had never actually seen battle. He took the blow, the shield cracked, and he was forced to his knees into the mud.
The warhorse immediately charged forward.
Bob didn't have time to retreat. His thigh was caught between the horse's body and the shield, and he let out a painful growl.
Otto immediately stepped forward and braced his shoulder against the back edge of the shield, covering Bob's momentary opening.
"Back row, spur the horse!"
Two spears pierced Otto's shoulders, one into the horse's neck, the other into its chest. The warhorse struggled violently, blood gushing into the muddy water. The cavalryman lost his balance and was chopped off his horse by an axe from the side with an iron shovel.
Bob lay in the mud, his face pale, his thighs crushed and deformed, clearly severely injured.
Otto only glanced at it.
"Drag him away, stop the bleeding. Replace the shields."
Two reserve militiamen immediately dragged Bob to the rear. It wasn't because Otto was cold-blooded, but because the battle wasn't over yet. If an opening appeared in the front, Bob wouldn't be the only one to die.
Seri finally understood.
He brought not a tax intimidation, but stumbled into a quagmire that had been laid out long ago.
"Withdraw! Withdraw!"
His shouts slowed down.
Of the fifteen riders, the seven at the forefront were already tightly bound by the fallen horses, shallow ditches, and spear formations. The five behind them barely managed to rein in their horses, bumping into each other as they tried to retreat from the edge of the muddy ground. The last three, seeing the situation was dire, began to flee back the way they had come.
Otto did not send anyone to chase him.
"Crossbowmen, shoot the horses!"
This was the first time he had officially put the five heavy crossbows that he had previously repaired in Frey's old storehouse to use.
The crossbowmen had already wound their strings behind the breach in the stone wall, and upon receiving the order, they pulled the triggers. The heavy bolts flew out, not far, but with enough force to pierce a horse's neck. Two fleeing horses fell to the ground, their riders tumbling into the mud. A third rider, by sheer luck, broke through the firing line and, with a cavalryman on his flank, escaped south.
Seri also fled.
He didn't break through the formation with valor, but instead used the chaos caused by a fallen horse to force his way out from the edge of the muddy field. He was hit in the shoulder by an arrow, but he didn't stop, and together with three other surviving cavalrymen, they galloped wildly towards the southern woodlands.
Otto watched them escape without ordering a pursuit.
He had no cavalry. If exhausted infantry pursued into the woods, they would only be killed.
"Maintain formation."
His voice was hoarse.
"Don't chase. Check downed enemies. Disarm the living, kill those who resist."
These words calmed down the militiamen who were already bloodthirsty.
The battle lasted less than fifteen minutes from start to finish.
But for the person standing in the mud, it felt like a whole night.
The riverbank was littered with fallen horses, broken spears, shattered shields, and groans. Blood flowed slowly down the muddy ditches, blocked by shallow pits previously covered with quicklime, preventing it from flowing directly into the water source. This was something Otto had specifically instructed him to do before the battle.
War not only kills people, but also pollutes water.
More people may die from polluted water than from swords and spears.
Pollifer came stumbling and scrambling over. His face was deathly pale, but he was still clutching the tent planks in his arms.
"grown ups……"
"statistics."
Otto didn't look at him; he kept his eyes fixed on the battlefield.
"Count the living first. The count of the dead can be done later."
Pollifer paused for a moment, then immediately understood.
The living need to stop the bleeding, but the dead don't.
"Martha! Boil water! Bring out all the clean linen!" Otto turned and ordered. "Cole, bring the firewood. Matt, take some men and carry the wounded to the longhouse, making sure they don't go near the well. Jack, take two men to the southern forest line and see if the fleeing cavalry have turned back."
The orders were issued one by one.
The camp, which had just been gripped by panic, has finally begun to function again.
Half an hour later, the first battle damage report was presented to Otto.
Seven men were killed in the Hohenzollern territory, including two veterans from the training corps and five part-time militiamen. Six were seriously wounded, with Bob suffering the most severe injury; his thigh was crushed, and even if he survives the fever, it will be difficult for him to return to the shield line. Thirteen men sustained minor injuries, mostly contusions, lacerations, and muscle tears.
Three people who deserted their posts during the battle were taken into custody by the rear enforcement team and are awaiting post-battle military law proceedings.
On the enemy side, eight Blackwood Rangers were killed, three were captured, and four escaped, including Serry.
Four warhorses were captured; two were lightly wounded and could be saved, while the other three were severely wounded and had to be slaughtered. Several chainmails, longswords, and short spears were also seized, most of them damaged and requiring repair by Cole. All horse tack and amulets bearing the Black Raven's mark were collected and sealed away.
Otto stared at the numbers, remaining silent for a long time.
This is not a victory.
Or rather, it was an incredibly expensive victory.
His territory had a total population of only 150, with a limited number of able-bodied men capable of heavy labor. This battle directly wiped out nearly a third of his available fighting force and rendered several core veterans unusable.
"Sir...did we win?" Pollifer asked in a low voice.
Otto looked up and gazed south.
The four escaped cavalrymen will bring the news back. Blackwood won't admit it was a formal attack; they'll say it was a patrol going missing, or an ambush. Seafront City also won't want to be immediately drawn into a conflict between the lords.
What will determine life and death now is no longer the spear in the mud, but the words on the parchment.
"We survived."
Otto said slowly.
"This is more important than winning."
He pointed to the three captured Blackwood Rangers.
"Don't kill them. They're worth more than the dead. Bandage them, separate them into different prisons, and don't torture them."
Pollifer was taken aback.
In the original manuscript, Otto might have planted them all on stakes.
But this Otto won't.
He needed testimony, he needed to exchange bargaining chips, and he needed to get the fact that Blackwood had overstepped his bounds onto Earl Jason's table.
"What about the dead enemies?" Pollifer asked.
"Strip the armor, register the insignia, and inventory the personal belongings. Sprinkle lime on the body and temporarily bury it in a shallow pit on the south slope. Do not cut off the head yet."
Otto's voice was calm.
"The wooden stake is the final warning, not the first word. Let's let the law speak first."
He turned around and looked at the families who were crying around the wounded.
"The families of the fallen will receive half of their compensation tonight. The remaining half will be paid after Pollive has verified the list. All families of the fallen will be exempt from five years of heavy labor. Those who are seriously wounded or disabled, if they survive, will be supported by the territory and shall not be expelled."
The crying from the crowd gradually subsided.
This is not kindness.
This is a contract.
They held off the cavalry for the territory, and the territory would have to provide for their livelihood thereafter. Otherwise, when the shield wall was erected again, no one would believe Otto's orders.
Otto walked over to Bob.
The burly man, a former miner, lay on the wooden plank, his face ashen and his forehead covered in sweat.
"My lord... can I still defend the shield?"
Otto remained silent for a moment.
"cannot."
Bob's eyes darkened slightly.
Otto continued:
"But you can also teach others how not to drop their shields. Starting tomorrow, if you survive, you'll be the shield wall instructor for the reserve militia. Your rations will be the same as the training corps."
Bob froze, then his lips trembled, and he remained silent.
Otto stood up and said to Polyver:
"Write a letter to Haijiang City. Be precise in your wording."
"How do you write it, sir?"
"Written: An unmarked armed cavalry force crossed the border this evening and attacked the territory of Hohenzollern, a vassal of the city of Haijiang, attempting to extort silver mining taxes. The people of Hohenzollern defended themselves in accordance with their garrison charter, suffering heavy casualties. Three armed men have been captured, and several pieces of horse tack with black raven patterns have been seized. Please send someone to verify them, my lord."
Otto paused for a moment.
"Don't write about the Blackwood family's regular army. Let Earl Jason see the evidence for himself."
Pollifer quickly scribbled it down.
Otto took one last look at the blood-red mudflats.
"No one is allowed to drink untreated water tonight. Wounds must be washed with boiled water. The dead horse meat must be cut up and salted, and all the internal organs must be burned. The mud pit will be covered with lime tomorrow morning, and children are not allowed to go near it for three days."
He turned and walked toward the longhouse.
Behind them, the double-headed black eagle flag fluttered low in the sultry night wind.
This battle did not make the Hohenzollern territory stronger.
It only proves one thing.
This muddy ground was no longer a mess that any cavalry could trample at will.