The clearing at the edge of the forest was like a meticulously arranged execution ground.
Viken and his forty-odd Ironborn were completely exposed on the flat grassland, surrounded by four hundred soldiers who had completed their encirclement; spears like a forest, shieldmen like a wall, trapping them firmly in the center.
"Form up!" Viken's roar was hoarse; he should have left here earlier, a moment of underestimation had led him into this situation, all thanks to these damn brainless idiots numbing his senses.
The remaining Ironborn did not hesitate; well-trained, they stood back-to-back, quickly forming a tight circle, holding their round shields high, the edges of the shields interlocked tightly, forming a moving shield wall, with spears and longswords protruding from the gaps in the shields, like the quills of a hedgehog.
Then they let out beast-like roars, stomping their feet heavily on the ground, striking their shields with longswords and spears, attempting to use the most primitive display of might to scare away these enemies, who were different from the previous ones and appeared overly orderly.
But their enemies showed no reaction, instead looking at them with curious expressions.
Rosso Brun rode his horse to Arthur's side, his gaze fixed on the roaring circular formation, his expression solemn and somewhat awkward, as he had just told the Lord that he wanted him to inspect the results of his training.
"Lord Arthur."
"Although the Ironborn's round shield formation is simple, it is very solid, and each of them is a master of close-quarters combat. If we let our accompanying Knights charge directly, there will inevitably be unnecessary casualties."
Arthur gave Rosso an approving look; this newly-joined Knight had not let his earlier words and his desire to achieve meritorious deeds cloud his judgment, causing his accompanying Knights to make needless sacrifices for his personal ambition.
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over Rosso's shoulder to the desperate yet sturdy formation: "I didn't intend for them to charge."
Arthur's voice was calm, and he raised his hand: "Have the crossbowmen advance!"
"Tell them! Don't conserve crossbow bolts! Shoot them for me!!"
The order was quickly relayed, and behind the encirclement, one hundred crossbowmen in light leather armor immediately advanced; their range was not far, but their penetrating power was astonishing, and they took up positions forty paces from the round shield formation.
"Raise crossbows!"
"Fire!"
There were no earth-shattering shouts, only short, sharp commands, and one hundred crossbow bolts instantly left their strings, whistling as they cut straight trajectories through the air, fiercely assailing the small round shield formation.
Clang, clang, clang, a dense series of impacts rang out as the Ironborn desperately protected their heads, faces, and chests with their shields.
Arthur was in no hurry to attack; he used this method, wave after wave, to cruelly and mercilessly torment the trapped prey, with crossbow bolts constantly penetrating through the gaps in the shields.
"Ah!!" An Ironborn screamed as a crossbow bolt pierced his calf, and he collapsed to his knees, immediately creating a gap in the formation; a nearby comrade quickly covered it with his body and shield, but more crossbow bolts followed.
Screams began to rise and fall within the round shield formation; the Ironborn's round shields could not protect their entire bodies, leaving many holes and gaps, only able to guard vital areas, with unprotected parts exposed to the relentless volley.
The round shield formation began to falter; Viken, inside the formation, cursed loudly, wondering whose army this was, why they had so many crossbows! Hadn't it been said that these people who believed in the Seven Gods hated crossbows!
The Ironborn were forced to constantly move, depleting their already scarce stamina; this feeling of being beaten without being able to retaliate was a torment more painful than dying in direct combat for the Ironborn who revered brave charges.
Their morale, under the continuous volley, was like a flame doused with ice water, quickly extinguished; another Ironborn was shot in the shoulder, and the axe in his hand fell to the ground.
Viken's eyes were bloodshot; he watched his subordinates fall one by one, yet he couldn't even touch the enemy's clothes. He knew that if this continued, they would be slowly bled to death here.
He let out a dying beast's roar: "The drowned god is with us!"
"Charge out! Break through to the forest!"
This was the final command, a desperate cry; the forty-odd Ironborn abandoned their crumbling formation, and like enraged beasts, they launched suicidal charges from different directions towards the forest.
Arthur had been calmly observing all of this, and seeing the enemy formation in disarray, he looked at Brin and gave the order: "Brin, it's your turn."
"Push forward! Don't let a single one escape!"
"Yes, Lord!" Brin roared, drawing the longsword from his waist, pointing forward, "Square formation! Advance!"
The soldiers roared in unison, their heavy footsteps like a drumbeat; they held their spears, raised their shields, forming an insurmountable wall of shields, meeting the Ironborn who were already wounded, exhausted, and out of formation.
The battle instantly turned into a one-sided slaughter; an Ironborn swung his axe, charging at a young soldier, thinking the opponent would be afraid and retreat.
But he didn't expect the opponent to stand firm, quickly raising his shield; the axe struck the shield, while two comrades beside the soldier simultaneously thrust their spears through the gaps in the shield, the spear tips accurately piercing the Ironborn's chest and abdomen.
Such scenes played out in every corner of the battlefield; Arthur's soldiers were all veterans tempered by the fires of war, some having experienced more battles than the young men in the Ironborn ranks.
Arthur rode slowly behind, discovering that the Ironborn did not seem as powerful as he had imagined, at most they were natural soldiers with morale and fighting spirit, capable of crushing farmers, stronger than most ordinary soldiers, and their armor also didn't seem that good, only some wearing chainmail.
He looked at the fiercely contested area, where an exceptionally tall and strong Ironborn leader, despite being hit by several arrows and having his left arm hanging limply, was still incredibly ferocious, using only a longsword in his right hand to continuously cut down several soldiers, like a cornered tiger.
Arthur's gaze swept over Brin and Rosso beside him, and he asked in a loud voice: "Who can cut off this man's head for me!"
"I...!!!" Brin let out a thunderous roar.
However, before Brin finished speaking, a figure had already shot out like an arrow from a bowstring.
It was Rosso Brun.
Rosso leaned down, clamping his legs, and his warhorse whinnied, its hooves flying as he steadily leveled his heavy Knight's lance, the tip pointing directly at Viken who was in the thick of the fight—a perfectly standard, impeccable Knight's charge.
This newly joined Knight did not hesitate for a moment; he knew this was the best opportunity to prove his worth and courage to his new Lord, and nothing could prove one's strength more than the battlefield.
Viken had just kicked a soldier flying when the thunderous sound of hooves made him turn sharply.
He only saw a cold, gleaming spear tip rapidly enlarging in his pupils; the lance penetrated Viken's chest without suspense.
The immense impact of the Knight's charge lifted his burly body entirely into the air, tracing a brief arc before he fell heavily to the ground like a broken sack, raising a cloud of dust.
Rosso dismounted, drew his sword, grabbed Viken's disheveled hair, lifted him, and cut off his head.
A moment later, the battlefield fell silent; in the clearing, only the bodies littered the ground and Arthur's soldiers, who still maintained their formation, remained.
The soldiers looked at all this, then at each other, their expressions first disbelief, then turning into an almost ecstatic excitement.
One soldier wiped the blood splattered on his face with the back of his hand, and looking at Viken's body, pierced by the lance not far away, he shouted excitedly: "Ironborn are nothing more than this!!"
"They're not as terrifying as others say!!!"
These words were like a spark, instantly igniting everyone's emotions.
"Yeah! I just killed a perfectly intact Ironborn all by myself! His sword wasn't even as fast as mine!"
"Haha! Look at that guy! I knocked him over with one shield bash!"
"That kid just now, I cut him down! He even seemed to beg for mercy from me!"
The soldiers' echoes rose and fell; previously, their hearts were filled with fear of the legendary, incredibly ferocious Ironborn, but this clean, overwhelming victory completely shattered the dread in their hearts.
Ironborn were nothing more than this; a powerful self-confidence welled up in their chests.
Rosso Brun, carrying the severed head, rode back to Arthur, dismounted, and knelt on one knee:
"Lord, I have cut off his head, I did not disappoint you!"
Arthur dismounted and personally helped him up.
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