Echoes reverberated through the forest, a cacophony of snapping spears, clashing swords, and shouts of "In the name of the Lord!" and "Allah is Great!"
People cursed loudly, begged for mercy, escaped death, or met their inevitable end; some survived, while others perished.
"Archers, fire!"
Archers hidden among the trees released their arrows, and a merciless rain of arrows struck the heads of Bulgar soldiers who still maintained their fighting spirit and organization, causing a chorus of wails beneath the arrow shower.
Rostislav's surprise attack continued to spread through the Bulgar ranks, aiming to inflict enough casualties before this sluggish behemoth could react!
Around the Prince, Bulgar soldiers were fleeing frantically, but as time passed and as organized and combat-ready units entered the battlefield, the number of brave resistors also increased, and the scales of the battle began to shift slightly.
However, the blood and fire of the battlefield, along with the surge of hormones that came with victory and slaughter, caused the Prince to become overzealous and caught up in the battle's frenzy, failing to notice these subtle, slow changes.
On the chaotic battlefield, the Prince's retainers remained loyal, following him closely and crushing any enemies who stood in their way.
Rostislav, using the Mari's momentum, swung his longsword, striking down a Bulgar. The Bulgar futilely tried to block the descending longsword with his short axe, but it was useless; the longsword plunged directly into the skull beneath his hood.
The warhorse neighed, rearing its front hooves and kicking a Bulgar who was charging forward with a scimitar directly in the chest. The chainmail on the man could not protect him from the impact, sending him sprawling to the ground. The man struggled for a few moments, then stopped moving.
"Quick! Quick! Everyone follow me, don't spread out!"
Pulling back his sharp sword, Rostislav shouted to his retainers. Though his brain was now dominated by hormones, he still remembered the necessity of concentrating his forces; once dispersed, it meant death.
But no sooner had he spoken than a spear pierced the Prince's shield from the side. Rostislav immediately thrust at the spearman's face, and the armored spearman collapsed, clutching his blood-soaked face in pain.
Just as the spearman fell, the retainers arrived belatedly. They rallied around Rostislav, driving away the surrounding enemies with their horses.
A Hungarian's warhorse galloped past them, its owner slumped on its back, an arrow lodged in his back, clearly dead.
Suddenly, a rain of arrows, from an unknown source, abruptly fell. They showed no favoritism, either deflecting off armor or finding exposed flesh and piercing deeply.
Rostislav raised his shield, hiding beneath it, and heavy impacts resounded on the shield, evidently from falling arrows.
"Is everyone alright?"
The Prince lowered his shield, two arrows embedded in it. He casually snapped them off, not forgetting to stroke his warhorse's beautiful red mane, much of which was already stained red with blood.
But before Rostislav could get an answer, he suddenly saw a rider on a black warhorse charging towards him. The rider was a Mari chieftain wearing an old-style nasal helmet and a bearskin cloak.
This chieftain was Xi Wengmei, the most powerful tribal chieftain in the Mari region. He had intended to slip away from the battlefield, but upon suddenly realizing that the Rus' Prince had charged to the front of his formation, the desire to slay a general and seize a banner instantly filled his heart.
If he could take Rostislav's head, the reward would be enough to make this chieftain, who had originally planned to slack off on the battlefield, fight with all his might.
Xi Wengmei brandished his broadsword, first using the Mari's momentum to cut down a soldier blocking his path. The retainer's head was completely severed by him, blood splattering everywhere.
Rostislav raised his shield, but the rider was upon him, and the two warhorses crashed into each other with a thud.
Fortunately, the terrain hindered the enemy's charging speed, and the warhorse was somewhat prepared, preventing them from being directly knocked over, but it still let out a painful whinny and stumbled back a few steps in disarray.
The chieftain's broadsword then swung at the Prince, but the red shield absorbed the blow. The sheer force transmitted to his arm made Rostislav involuntarily pause.
Rostislav returned a sword thrust, but the chieftain was highly experienced in warfare. He skillfully used his right-hand round shield, inlaid with fur, to block the blow and attempted to strike back with the round shield, but Rostislav immediately parried the attack with his sword.
Seeing the Prince under attack, the retainers were about to surround the enemy and protect their lord, but a group of Mari warriors, howling for battle, charged forward. These tribesmen, wearing ill-fitting hardened leather and plundered armor, wielding various knives, hammers, axes, and spears, entangled the retainers with a suicidal ferocity.
Rostislav saw all of this; he understood that this was an attempt to slay a general and seize a banner, but cutting off his head wouldn't be so easy!
Rostislav and Xi Wengmei traded blows, continuously circling on their horses, engaging in successive clashes, searching for any potential openings in each other.
The power of the broadsword made the Prince's arm numb. He continuously counterattacked with his sword, a side chop aimed directly at the opponent's raised arm, but his opponent's scale armor bracer protected his arm.
The Mari warrior also continuously circled on his horse, attempting to get to Rostislav's unprotected side, but the Prince's warhorse automatically turned and even bit at the enemy's mount.
The warrior stood up in his stirrups, wildly chopping with his weight and full body strength. The Prince raised his shield to meet wave after wave of fierce blows, while simultaneously looking for an opportunity to counterattack.
Suddenly, during one downward chop, the broadsword scraped against the iron rim of the shield and then struck the warhorse's neck.
The warhorse shrieked, rearing up. Its eyes rolled back in pain, and the ever-present stench of blood on the battlefield filled the air.
The red warhorse angrily kicked the Mari man with its iron hooves, one hoof striking the chieftain's bearded face, another hitting his shoulder, and then the heavy warhorse crashed into the chieftain's black horse, directly knocking it over.
Seeing this, Rostislav immediately spurred his horse forward, intending to trample the chieftain underfoot.
The chieftain dropped the broadsword from his hand when he was kicked away by the warhorse. As he scrambled to his feet, he could only grab a dented, scratched, and blood-stained shield, raising it over his head.
So Rostislav circled him on horseback, sharp blades raining down on the shield.
Wood splinters flew from the shield for a time, but finally, Xi Wengmei slipped and fell backward to the ground.
Seeing this, Rostislav kicked his warhorse to step on him. The warhorse began to fiercely stomp on the man, and the chieftain let out a series of screams, but soon, the screams quieted, then became fainter and fainter, until they disappeared.
After the chieftain died under the warhorse's iron hooves, the tribesmen who had charged with him also retreated, just as they had come howling, now they left howling. The retainers immediately surrounded the Prince, protecting him in the center.
"God, this fellow was truly strong. If my warhorse hadn't kicked him over…"
Looking at the Mari chieftain lying on the ground, a hint of lingering fear emerged in the Prince's words.