Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - C.95: Secret weapon

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"We look like one big hedgehog," Asag muttered as he led the men forward, his eyes scanning the dense rows of spears and lances that bristled around him. Unlike Jarza, Asag wasn't on horseback. The strategy they had devised was meant to counter cavalry, and if the enemy spotted a man on a horse shouting orders, he'd quickly become the primary target. The old saying, "Kill the head and the body will fall," held too much truth to be ignored.

For this reason, Asag walked on foot, embedded deep within the formation, surrounded by his men.

To maintain visibility and command, a soldier walked beside him, holding the band's herald high in the sky , fluttering in the cool breeze.

The formation around him was tight, a living, breathing entity made up of hardened warriors and fresh recruits. The front lines were a wall of steel and muscle, each man gripping his four meters long lance with practiced ease, ready to thrust it forward at the first sign of an enemy charge. Behind them, the newer recruits held their positions, their eyes darting nervously, but their resolve firm. They looked to the veteran mercenary for cues, mimicking their calm and steady demeanor as best as they could.

Asag couldn't help but feel a grim satisfaction at how the formation looked from within—a veritable forest of pointed weapons, each one poised to impale the first horse or soldier that dared to approach. He did not know how Alpheo had in thought of such style of fighting , but the training showed how the captain's boasts were actually truthful .This was the ultimate weapon against cavalry....

Alpheo knew the value of discipline in battle, especially among troops who had never tasted real combat. A good portion of his men were green, fresh recruits who had only recently taken up arms. These men, untested and anxious, as such Alpheo gave them a job that did not involve close combat. For this reason, Alpheo had placed them inside the formation, protected on all sides by the more seasoned warriors. Their job was simple yet crucial and it would shine during the fight.

As Asag looked out across the battlefield, his gaze was drawn to the far left, where enemy banners flapped in the cold breeze.

But what truly caught Asag's attention was not the banners, but the rising cloud of dust directly in front of them. It billowed into the sky, a vast, churning mass that obscured the horizon. Asag didn't need to see the soldiers within that dust to know what was coming. His experience told him everything he needed to know—the enemy cavalry had finally arrived.

The sight of the dust cloud sent a ripple of tension through the ranks. The tension hung thick in the air as Asag sensed the rising anxiety among the recruits. He knew that fear could be as deadly as any enemy on the battlefield. He needed to rally them, to remind them of their training and the strength they held as a united front.

"Soldiers!" Asag's voice cut through the murmurs, drawing the attention of every man within earshot. "We have trained long and hard for this fight. You've seen firsthand the power of these weapons and the effectiveness of this formation. "

His words seemed to steady them, and many soldiers exhaled deeply, their nervous expressions slowly transforming into something more resolute.

"I'm not one for long speeches," Asag continued, his tone blunt and to the point, "but let me remind you of one thing. Your greatest chance of survival is to hold the square and trust the men beside you. If any of you think you'll survive by running, then you've got shit for brains. Fear won't make you outrun a horse."

His words were harsh but necessary, meant to cut through the panic and focus their minds on the reality of their situation. "So, brace your asses and stand your ground!"

"USSAH!" The roar of agreement came from the veterans first, their voices strong and unwavering. It was quickly followed by the recruits, their initial hesitation giving way to a growing resolve. The collective shout echoed across the formation, a powerful affirmation that Asag had managed to steady the morale just in time.

Asag took a moment to survey the faces around him. The fear was still there, but it was tempered now by determination. They were ready—or as ready as they could be.

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The banner-holder waved the flag high, its vibrant colors snapping in the brisk wind, while the trumpeter's horn echoed across the battlefield, signaling the advance of the cavalry. The knights and their steeds surged forward, spurred not only by the thirst for glory and riches but also by a burning desire to avenge the insult they perceived from the enemy. From their vantage point, they could see that what awaited them was not an opposing cavalry but a formation of mere foot soldiers.

"This insult shall be answered with blood—theirs!" shouted a young man of barely twenty winters, his voice cutting through the din as he stood tall in the stirrups, making himself appear even more imposing. This young man was none other than Sorza, the heir to the throne of Oizen , leading the charge with a fervor fueled by his ambition and the weight of expectations placed upon him.

Sorza had been given command of the cavalry by his father, the reigning prince, who saw this battle as an opportunity to elevate his son's standing among the lords and knights of the realm. In a world where leadership was earned through bloodshed and valor, no man would willingly follow a leader who had never tasted the dust of the battlefield or wielded a sword in earnest combat. The prince knew that his son's future depended on this moment, on proving himself worthy of command.

The task had been deemed 'safe' enough by the prince, based on the reports from spies who had noted the enemy's low numbers of mounted troops. Sorza, despite his youth and inexperience, was flanked by a cadre of seasoned guards, their sole purpose to ensure that the young heir emerged from the battle unscathed. These were not just any guards, but handpicked veterans, hardened by countless battles, each sworn to protect the prince's bloodline with their lives.

As the cavalry closed the distance, the pounding of hooves drowned out all other sounds, a thunderous drumbeat that resonated in the hearts of the men. The lords and knights riding alongside Sorza shared in his determination, their eyes fixed on the enemy ahead. To them, the sight of footmen daring to stand against their mounted might was nothing short of a grievous affront. They were determined to teach these 'lowly' soldiers the true power of cavalry, to trample them underfoot and send a clear message to any who would dare oppose them.

Sorza's heart raced with excitement and fear. This was his moment to prove himself, to show his father and the realm that he was more than just a prince by birth, but a leader by right. As they neared the enemy lines, he tightened his grip on his sword, ready to carve his name into the annals of history , not knowing that the formation they were going to fight was that of a modified Reisl?ufer created exactly to counter cavalry charges.