"My lord! The enemy cavalry—two hundred of them—are stationed on both flanks! Their front line is barely a hundred men. It's child's play!" A Mayne scout rode up to Ensel and shouted the report.
Hearing this, Ensel's grin widened, arrogance written across his face. To him, Serris's defenses looked laughably fragile.
No matter the tricks—be it flanking or ambushes—an army always needed a strong front to resist the first impact. But Serris's infantry was pitifully few, barely able to form a line.
One charge is all it will take to break them.
"Hahahaha!" Ensel raised his horsewhip and laughed in triumph. "That brat from the Ailan Hill family has never fought a real war. He won't last a single clash!"
"Then let our cavalry ride them down! Two hundred riders crashing into their line—we'll have victory within the hour!" one of his generals suggested eagerly.
But Ensel shook his head, his arrogance swelling. "No! He still has two hundred cavalry guarding the flanks. I won't risk it."
He raised his whip again, eyes burning with self-confidence. "Infantry, forward! We will crush them head-on. No tricks, no cowardice—let him see what real war is! March!"
Behind him, the drums of Mayne thundered like rolling stormclouds. Spears swayed with each synchronized step, and the clatter of armor echoed like relentless rain.
At that moment, another rider galloped up from the rear. "My lord! Ferry City's Lord Mordrell refuses to send reinforcements. He's rejected our call!"
But Ensel waved it off, too drunk on his imminent triumph to care. "Forget him! When I've destroyed Serris, I'll deal with that coward personally!"
He was still imagining his victory when the heavens split with a deafening roar.
"BOOM!"
A grenade exploded among his cavalry, ripping men and horses apart in a storm of fire, shrapnel, and blood. Screams tore through the battlefield as riders were blown from their saddles.
A second detonation followed, smoke billowing into the sky as shards of iron shredded flesh like paper. Horses reared and bolted, neighing in terror.
"AHHH!" A knight, his leg severed, toppled from his horse with a shriek. But his voice was drowned by the third explosion.
All across the Mayne formation, fire bloomed like hell's judgment. Neat ranks dissolved into chaos as men scattered, clutching their ears, their faces, their bleeding wounds.
"Boom!" A shell detonated behind Ensel himself, the shockwave hurling guards and drummers aside. His proud banner pole shattered, the flag of his family riddled with holes before falling to the mud.
Ensel fought to steady his panicked horse, eyes darting in horror. His infantry phalanx was in ruins. His cavalry—once proud and disciplined—now a broken, screaming mob.
Crater after crater scarred the earth, mangled bodies strewn in grotesque heaps. Soldiers crawled across the ground, moaning, while others stumbled in a daze, ears ringing from the blasts.
Three entire phalanxes—over a thousand men—shattered in minutes. Modern artillery had ripped them apart as easily as paper.
"BOOM!"
A third barrage fell. Shell after shell thundered into Mayne's lines. Chris, unflinching, ordered reload after reload, caring nothing for conserving ammunition.
At last, the Mayne troops broke.
"They have a magician!" one soldier screamed, throwing down his weapon. "Seris has a magician protecting them!"
Panic spread like wildfire. Officers shouted, begged, even beat their men, but no one listened. The terrified soldiers shoved past them, trampling comrades underfoot as they fled.
"BOOM!" Another shell exploded amidst the fleeing mob, scattering limbs and weapons in a rain of gore.
It was slaughter—cold, one-sided, merciless. Industrial firepower annihilating medieval steel.
From his hilltop, Chris watched the black smoke rising, his heart pounding with savage exhilaration. My first battle in this world… victory is mine.
"Cease shelling!" he commanded at last. Three volleys of grenades had shattered Mayne beyond repair. "Load solid shot. Two rounds, then prepare to advance."
His horse reared as he spurred it toward the cavalry waiting on the flanks. Chris unsheathed his sword, its steel flashing under the morning sun.
"Elan Hill is undefeated!" His voice rolled across the field like thunder.
"Elan Hill is undefeated!" roared the two hundred black-armored knights, raising their spears high. Sunlight danced on their tips like a sea of fire.
Chris slashed his sword toward the enemy. "Charge!"
"Kill!"
The ground shook as the cavalry thundered downhill, two hundred ironclad riders crashing into Mayne's fleeing soldiers like a tidal wave of steel.
Chris cut down a panicked soldier with a single blow, blood spraying hot across his armor. For the first time, he felt the raw, visceral sensation of flesh yielding to steel. For the first time, he took a man's life by his own hand.
Behind him, his knights carved through the enemy like a scythe through grass, trampling soldiers beneath their hooves, their blades painting the battlefield red.
It was not battle—it was massacre.
"Kneel and live! Resist and die!" Chris raised his sword high, his horse rearing as he bellowed the command.
The knights echoed him, their voices shaking the heavens. "Kneel and you will not die!"
Broken and terrified, Mayne soldiers collapsed to their knees, dropping weapons and covering their heads as the black-armored cavalry rode past.
Chris guided his steed slowly across the field, its hooves crushing Mayne's fallen banner into the mud.
The battle was over. The victory absolute.
Ensel, Lord of Mayne, knelt trembling before him, face pale, lips quivering.
"I was wrong! We are all vassals of the Arante Empire—spare me!" he pleaded desperately. "I'll pay ransom—ten thousand gold coins, just spare my life!"
Chris looked down at him coldly. "That is your last word? Then say it to the souls of Serris."
Ensel's face twisted with despair. "You can't kill me! I am a vassal of the Arante Empire! If I die, they'll hang you! They'll destroy you!"
"Pfft!"
Chris's blade plunged into his chest, pinning him to the blood-soaked earth. Ensel's eyes widened in disbelief as the life drained from him.
Chris pulled his sword free, raising it high for all to see. Around him, black banners snapped in the wind, and his knights stood like bloodstained statues.
"Too much nonsense," he muttered coldly.
The Battle of the Eastern Forest was over. And the Mayne Principality… was finished.