With the coordinated roar of the Persian and Median horns, the first wave of Median infantry, with shouts that made the earth tremble, charged towards the silent and orderly lines of the Persians.
They advanced like a flood of men, with large leather shields and bronze swords that glinted under the sun.
Their commanders, mounted on horseback, rode among them, inciting them towards slaughter and plunder with their cries.
"For the king! For the glory of Media! Trample these shepherds!"
This roar, which had emptied the hearts of enemies with fear for generations, was now directed with all its might towards the human wall of the Persians.
They expected this fledgling and outnumbered army to collapse at the first impact and scatter like a frightened herd.
In the face of this roaring wave, the central corps of Pars, under the command of Arash, stood like a silent rock.
Ten thousand men, in ranks so orderly and dense they seemed to have been arranged by an architect.
Their silence was more terrifying than any shout.
In the first rank, the soldiers knelt, locking their large, round shields together like a wall of steel.
From between this wall, a forest of long cast-iron spears, like the teeth of an iron beast, was aimed at the enemy.
In the ranks behind, the soldiers stood and held their spears forward over the heads of their comrades.
This was the phalanx formation; a killing machine that Kourosh had perfected with Persian steel.
The impact was massive and deafening.
The first wave of Medes crashed into the Persian shield wall with all their force.
The sound of thousands of bodies hitting wooden and metal shields mingled with the sound of breaking bones and pained screams.
But the wall did not break.
The Persian soldiers, with a strength born from months of training and iron discipline, held their ground.
Then, Arash's command echoed through the field like thunder: "First rank, strike!"
The soldiers of the first rank, with a coordinated movement, thrust their cast-iron spears forward.
The result was horrific.
The Persian spears, with deadly force, pierced the leather shields and bronze armors of the Medes like paper.
The victory cries of the Medes turned into moans of pain and terror.
The soldiers in the front line had no chance against this forest of steel.
They were either impaled on the tips of the spears or crushed under the pressure of the crowd coming from behind.
The Median front line collapsed in an instant, turning into a mass of corpses and wounded.
With the chaotic retreat of the first group of attackers, a shout of victory rose from ten thousand Persian throats.
This shout was not one of blind excitement, but an orderly and powerful cry that shattered the enemy's morale.
This initial success, like a sweet wine, multiplied the pride and confidence in the hearts of Kourosh, who was watching from the command hill, and his young commanders.
He looked at his father, who stood beside him with a face full of admiration.
"Did you see, Father? Order triumphs over chaos. Our weapons, our tactics... they have no chance."
Cambyses nodded with pride. "This was beyond my imagination, my son. They were like sheep before wolves."
On the battlefield as well, Bagpat, who was commanding the right flank, roared upon seeing this victory, "Brothers, did you see? Our center is as steadfast as a mountain! It is our turn to bring these cowards to dust and blood!"
This initial success, though brilliant, planted a dangerous seed in the heart of the Persian army.
The seed of pride.
They now believed with their entire being in the superiority of their new tactics and weapons and thought the final victory was near and easy.
They had forgotten that the seventy-thousand-man beast of Media had only suffered a small wound, and its heart was still beating with a devastating power.