As the march went deeper, the army became more and more exhausted.
The initial impulse for war had been worn away by the endless marching, and many were utterly weary; if leaving the ranks rashly wasn't indistinguishable from seeking death, some would have already deserted.
Yes, leaving the ranks was indistinguishable from seeking death; the Polovtsy had already appeared on the fringes of the Ross Army, and ever since they dragged a group of deserters to their deaths in front of the Ross Army, no one dared to escape.
Horse archers skillfully shot arrows at the Ross Army, then turned and ran; the Black Hat Army, responsible for the flanks, had to expend great effort to drive these guys away.
Prince Rostislav also led his retinue to charge several times, routing the Polovtsian cavalry with fierce charges; those weak arrows couldn't harm his subordinates at all, and upon reaching the enemy lines, it was a slaughter; the Polovtsy fled in disarray before his troops.
These resounding victories greatly boosted his reputation within the army, as Prince Rostislav's valiant figure on horseback was witnessed by many, and in the soldiers' daily chats and boasts, this scene was seen and spread again, with some calling him Alexander and his retinue Companion Cavalry; this was originally the Grand Duke's playful nickname, but it was now increasingly becoming reality.
The Prince was also happy to see this, as for a Prince, reputation is an extremely important resource; with a name renowned on the battlefield, warriors would naturally come to pledge allegiance.
Although the Rus' achieved continuous victories in various small skirmishes, the Grand Duke did not forget to strengthen the infantry's configuration; he placed shield-bearing infantry on the outer flanks of the formation, and had archers ready to shoot under the infantry's protection at any time, to drive away the annoying Nomad cavalry.
The supply train was also reinforced with defenses; each large wagon was staffed with archers and spearmen, preparing for potential charges from Nomad riders. The Grand Duke understood that supplies were of utmost importance; as long as supplies held out, he could wear down the Polovtsy, but if they ran out of food, they would only be able to retreat in defeat.
After all, although the Nomads' incursions were continuous, they were ultimately just harassment; their goal was merely to vex the Rus' and disrupt their march—and that was all they could achieve.
Yaroslav's measures were aimed at these cavalry harassments; arrows shot by Nomad horse archers from too far away were light and lacked power, while getting too close would result in being shot full of holes by Ross archers or defeated by Ross cavalry.
Thus, this land, which had witnessed countless army battles, once again saw scenes of slaughter unfold, adding new chapters to its history of warfare.
At noon on this day, the Ross Army stopped early to set up camp, as they were getting closer to Pei City, which also meant the Steppe army was nearby; the Grand Duke needed to let the troops rest for a longer period so they could enter the battlefield in their most vigorous state.
Their camping spot was a flat area behind a hillside, next to a small river, convenient for the Rus' to fetch water; after setting up camp, many people should have been going to fetch water with pots and bowls.
However, the Rus' saw a scene that surprised them.
"So many crows, it seems there's a battle ahead."
Granval, who was discussing the march with the Prince, stopped talking; he raised his hand to his forehead, looking at the flock of crows flying like a dark cloud.
"Yes, the scavengers are rushing over so quickly, it seems there's a big feast to be enjoyed."
The Prince narrowed his eyes; the flock of crows flew over like a dark cloud, and many soldiers were seeing such a sight for the first time, their mouths involuntarily gaping open.
"Lord."
A Ross rider came up on horseback, "The Grand Duke invites you to come over."
"Where is the Grand Duke?"
"Go over the hill in front, and follow that flock of crows, and you'll see the Grand Duke."
The rider pointed to the hillside.
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Crossing over the camp and the hillside, following the crows, Prince Rostislav saw the Ross Grand Duke and his two sons, as well as a bloody battlefield.
In front of them was a hill that had once been garrisoned by the Ross Army; the reason it was called 'once' was that the Rus' who had held out there had been defeated, leaving behind a ground full of corpses.
The hillside before them was covered in cheval de frise, with sharp spikes pointing forward, each five or six chained together and fixed into the ground. This should have been a fearsome sight, the entire hillside covered in such sharp wooden spikes, but now the sight was severely damaged.
The first row of cheval de frise was crooked, severely damaged, many broken, with scattered corpses of warhorses and Nomads indicating what had happened here, and in front of the breached second row of cheval de frise lay many broken arrows, also covered in corpses, though now of both sides.
The most intense fighting occurred between the third and fourth rows of cheval de frise; layers upon layers of human and horse corpses were piled up, the bodies of Steppe nobles and Ross retainers mixed with those of Nomads and soldiers, with broken weapons and severed limbs everywhere, mingled with blood.
It was clear that both sides had repeatedly contested this area, leaving behind countless bodies, but unfortunately, the victors were the Polovtsy; they had won the final victory in this meat grinder.
Because at the very top of that hillside, fluttering among the corpses of Ross soldiers, was the light yellow banner of the Polovtsy, and on either side of this yellow banner were two heads impaled on spears, and everyone present knew who the owners of the heads were.
Igor Yaroslavich and Viatcheslav Yaroslavich, the Ross Prince's fourth and fifth Uncles.
The Grand Duke rode forward, stepping over a tattered Rurik banner; everyone immediately followed behind the Grand Duke, partly for his safety, and partly fearing he might do something foolish.
Uncle decisively ordered soldiers to secure the entire hill, ensuring safety and searching for survivors, while the Grand Duke came before the yellow banner and the heads of his two sons.
Yaroslav's face was so grim that everyone lowered their heads; in less than a year, the sun of Rus' had lost three sons; this was too cruel for an old man who knew his days were numbered, knowing he had only a few years left, yet sending off three sons consecutively.
Everyone noticed the Grand Duke's back visibly slump, and his imposing aura of authority vanished; the current Yaroslav seemed like just an old man burying his children, not the Grand Duke who ruled Rus'.
"May God bless the souls of my sons, may they ascend to the Lord's dwelling."
After a long time, Yaroslav uttered words of blessing.
"May God bless them."
Everyone responded.
Immediately, Yaroslav raised his head; the sadness from moments before had disappeared; everyone knew the Grand Duke had suppressed his grief, because the Grand Duke understood that he still had a war to fight, and he still had to avenge his sons.
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