Vig made a quick adjustment to his plan. He ordered the 1st Infantry Regiment and the Danish militia to enter the oak forest and create the illusion of a large-scale frontal assault. Meanwhile, he personally led the main force in a wide flanking maneuver around the battlefield's western side, aiming for the Frankish rear.
Along the way, they encountered several hundred Frankish light infantry deployed on the left wing—the western forest edge. These soldiers carried iron axes, iron swords, and oval shields. Some lacked helmets, revealing a peculiar hairstyle: the back of the head shaved clean, with hair left only on the forehead.
"Where did Carloman dig up these country barbarians from?" Vig muttered.
He had no intention of wasting time fighting them and ordered the nearest Marine Battalion to drive them off.
Leif deployed his formation and commanded the units to fire freely while advancing slowly toward the strangely coiffed enemy.
After enduring several volleys of arrows, the light infantry clustered tightly together. When the distance closed to thirty paces, they suddenly roared in unison and charged—hurling their hand axes.
At the same moment, several soldiers in the paired formations cast their javelins. Both sides suffered casualties.
"What in the world was that?"
Leif was startled by the sudden "storm of throwing axes," but quickly recovered and blew the attack whistle.
Once the fighting entered close combat, the light infantry showed fierce determination at first. But as their initial surge of bloodlust faded, they could not withstand the disciplined formations clad in cloth armor. Gradually, they began to fall back.
"Sound the horn—tell them not to pursue!"
Leif's orders had been to drive them off, not annihilate them. With the objective achieved, he regrouped his troops and continued marching south to rejoin the main force.
After bypassing the forest on the battlefield's western side, Vig's main army reached the southwest flank, appearing in the rear of the Frankish forces.
Upon seeing the Viking ranks, Charles the Fat instinctively exclaimed:
"Fast… unbelievably fast."
Within moments, the 2nd Infantry Regiment shifted from four marching columns into a full attack line with seamless precision, surging straight toward the Frankish infantry shield wall.
At the same time, Charles the Fat's cavalry formed up and launched a charge from the southern edge of the battlefield—only to be halted by the spear formations of the 3rd Infantry Regiment, achieving little effect.
Facing Vig's army for the first time, the East Frankish knights realized just how formidable their opponents were. Every infantryman wore iron armor. Even when formations broke and the battle devolved into chaotic hand-to-hand combat, these soldiers still retained the ability to fight effectively. Their endurance and resilience far exceeded that of ordinary militia.
Gradually, the knights' morale began to falter. When they disengaged and regrouped on a low hill to the south, they saw that their own infantry shield wall had already collapsed.
"Good. Excellent work," Vig called out, watching the 2nd Regiment's performance.
He signaled an order:
"2nd Infantry Regiment—hold position and rest.
1st Guard Battalion and Mountain Infantry—pursue the routed enemy. Strike their central formation from south to north. Do not stop until you break through their line!"
Meanwhile, Carloman reorganized his forces.
He positioned most of his supply wagons to the north, forming two defensive lines to block the supposed Viking main force in the oak forest. The remaining wagons were arranged along the eastern and western flanks to guard against cavalry attacks.
After these adjustments, Carloman realized too late that he had exposed his weakest side—the southern flank—to Vig's main army.
The realization struck him like a blow. His vision darkened, and he nearly fell from his horse.
"Send the royal guard to the south! Hold the line until the cavalry can strike from the flank!"
Upon receiving the order, the guards forced their way through the chaotic crowd and hastily piled wagons and equipment into position, forming a crooked shield wall.
Soon after, the fleeing troops from Charles the Fat's army arrived. In panic, they rushed straight toward the newly formed guard line—only to be met with suppressive arrow fire. Dozens were cut down instantly.
Realizing their own allies would show no mercy, the routed soldiers wailed and veered around the front, slipping in through the edges of the formation and spreading fear throughout the ranks.
Moments later, a rain of arrows hammered against the shield wall, producing a relentless drumbeat of dull impacts. Through the gaps between shields, the Frankish soldiers saw the Vikings advancing at frightening speed.
With high morale and sturdy armor, the Frankish troops managed to withstand the charge, stabbing outward through shield gaps with spears and swords.
The struggle dragged on.
Eventually, the Viking soldiers, exhausted, withdrew a short distance south. Front and rear ranks rotated positions—then surged forward again.
War cries thundered. Arrows darkened the sky like swarms of locusts. The brutal stalemate continued, with neither side breaking through.
"These Frankish brutes can really hold their ground," Vig muttered.
From the rear, he climbed a three-meter observation platform and watched the Guard Battalion locked in combat, while Frankish cavalry regrouped on the western side of the battlefield. His impatience grew.
Then his eyes fell on Douglas, who stood nearby with his men, waiting.
"Count," Vig called out, "I need you to tear open that shield wall. Can you do it?"
"The Highland warriors never disappoint."
With that declaration, Douglas led his troops forward.
Their tactics resembled those of the Varangian Guard—wielding massive two-handed weapons and wearing double-layered armor: standardized cloth armor on the outside, chainmail beneath.
Ordinary sword strikes and spear thrusts struck their armor with harsh scraping sounds but failed to penetrate. This heavy protection gave them near immunity to conventional attacks—and the confidence to charge fearlessly.
Crack!
A two-handed axe descended with tremendous force. A wooden shield shattered instantly, splinters and metal fittings flying in all directions.
Douglas and his men ignored incoming blows, repeating the same crushing strikes again and again. Their heavy bodies shoved and trampled through the crowd, carving a path for the troops behind them.
The Frankish soldiers were stunned by the sheer violence of the assault.
A gaping breach tore open in the shield wall—one that could not be repaired.
Panic spread like disease along both sides of the gap. More Viking warriors surged into the opening, widening it rapidly. The Frankish line finally collapsed. Panic turned into a full rout.
At the same time, the cavalry of Carloman and Charles the Fat regrouped and launched simultaneous attacks from north and south, attempting to strike at Vig's royal banner.
They were blocked by the 2nd and 3rd Infantry Regiments.
Spearmen formed dense ranks of leveled pikes while archers unleashed repeated volleys. The sky seemed filled with arrows.
The Frankish knights wore armor, but they rarely equipped barding for their horses. Wave after wave of arrows struck the formation, inflicting heavy losses among the mounts.
Many knights were forced to fight on foot, swinging swords and flails in desperate combat against the Vikings.
After prolonged fighting, as the Frankish cavalry began to withdraw, Vig finally committed his reserve: four hundred cavalry from the Ranger Battalion.
Their shock power and melee strength were limited—but they excelled at harassment.
They rode in and pinned the enemy in place.
With the Frankish cavalry unable to regain speed, two infantry regiments surged forward and crushed them completely.
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