As the Rus waited, the night deepened, and the Polovtsy seemed to be having their late-night snack, with awake herders taking out cheese to eat with wild vegetable soup.
Some even had roasted wild rabbits and deer, which they must have hunted themselves, but most people could only gnaw on cheese and drink wild vegetable soup. Many chatted about their raids, their barbarian words full of pride in slaughter.
Finally, the chief Rostislav had been longing for appeared. He was a big man from the steppe, his body wrapped in lamellar armor, his face covered by a Polovtsian iron mask, and an iron helmet on his head. Seeing him yelling at the herders around him, and the herders obediently following his orders, Rostislav confirmed his identity.
"Good, let's get ready to go."
The Prince rolled off the stone and mounted his red warhorse. Seeing this, the riders, who were either resting or sharpening their weapons, also mounted their warhorses. They knew the battle was about to begin.
The infantry also stood up, many of them with the tension of impending battle. For many here, this was their first engagement.
"Gentlemen, follow me! Let us eliminate these steppe invaders! God will surely protect us and grant us victory in this war against the pagans!"
Rostislav drew his sword, boosting the morale of his soldiers.
"God protect us!"
And the response from everyone was equally firm. Their morale was high, and they couldn't wait to fight the herders.
The Rus cavalry quickly appeared on the ridge, and behind the cavalry, the infantry followed in an orderly fashion. The archers calmly adjusted their bowstrings, and the crossbowmen nervously cocked and loaded their crossbows.
Yan Vyshavich blew the horn signaling war, which made all eyes in the camp below turn towards the ridge. Then the Polovtsy saw the fully armed Rus.
Just as they were surprised by the appearance of the Rus, a volley of arrows rained down on them, instantly killing several people. The rest were thrown into disarray, men and horses tumbling. Those not hit instinctively scrambled to find cover. Some torches, in the chaos, fell onto tents, setting them ablaze, which further intensified the confusion and panic.
However, some responsible warriors and chieftains did not forget their duties and tried to gather the Nomads. Most of them wore heavy armor, and arrows posed little threat to them; even after being hit by several arrows, they seemed unharmed. Under their shouts, the panicked herders found their backbone and rallied around them.
At this point, the Rus cavalry began to charge. They intended to crush the Polovtsy before they could regroup. The infantry followed closely, pressing the battle line into the camp.
The distance was short, and the Rus quickly reached the camp. Rostislav led the charge, raising his cavalry bow and shooting at a fully armored Cuman cavalryman.
The arrow struck the man directly in the face. Before this steppe warrior could do anything, his soul returned to tengri, and the herders gathered around him immediately scattered. The other rallied Nomad warriors wavered even more severely under the impact of the Rus cavalry.
"Forward, Rus! Forward, Christians!"
Rostislav roared the war cry, encouraging his warriors to intensify the fight, and quickly nocked another arrow, shooting it out. This arrow once again hit a face beneath an iron helmet, and another Polovtsian warrior fell.
Rostislav did not continue to shoot. Instead, he skillfully placed his bow into the quiver on his saddle, took out the cavalry spear from the other side, leveled it, and began to charge.
A warrior wearing a lamellar vest thrust a long spear at his chest with both hands, but Rostislav was faster. The cavalry spear pierced the warrior's armor before the long spear could connect. The armor could not withstand such a blow at all, and the Polovtsian warrior was completely impaled, blood splattering everywhere. However, Rostislav's cavalry spear also broke.
The Prince simply discarded the broken cavalry spear, drew his longsword, and raised his shield. Then he raised his longsword high, skillfully making a circle with his wrist, which was a command for his units to fight freely and no longer follow him—because the Nomad battle line had been broken, and now they could scatter and pursue.
Following Rostislav, his cavalry surged into the battlefield. Most of the Nomads had not had time to mount their horses and could only engage in an unfamiliar foot battle with their attackers. Since most of them had no concept of forming ranks, they were naturally routed by the Rus cavalry, just as they had carried out massacres, now they were the ones being massacred.
The Rus Nomad cavalry and Greek horse archers, with their bows, leisurely shot down one panicked herder after another. The Nomad cavalry would not show mercy just because they were also Nomads; killings on the steppe were as numerous as ox hairs. For the Greeks, this kind of battle was like hunting, far less intense than fighting the Normans.
The Rus infantry entered the battlefield, arrayed in generally neat formations, pressing forward with an overwhelming force. Scattered Polovtsy were continuously cut down by them, and no one could stop their advance.
Many new recruits, stepping onto the battlefield for the first time, were very excited, especially as they continuously achieved victories, felling one enemy after another.
Archers and crossbowmen were mixed among the infantry. Wherever stubborn enemy resistance appeared, they would unleash volleys of arrows.
Facing powerful crossbow bolts, even iron-clad men wrapped in heavy armor were difficult to resist. And these iron-clad men were the core of the battle line. Without the warriors and chieftains who served as their backbone, the herders could naturally only flee in disarray.
Rostislav had just stabbed the heart of a herder who tried to cut his reins. This fellow wanted to make him lose balance and fall from his horse, but Prince Rostislav was quicker to react.
The Prince pulled out his sword, and a lot of blood splattered from the leather cap. Then he smashed another herder on the head with his shield, followed by a sword to the throat. Most herders did not have the means to equip throat protection—though it was pretty much the same for the Rus side.
In a lull in the fighting, Rostislav saw his standard-bearer, Yan, cleave open the head of a brown-haired warrior with his battle-axe, then wildly slash left and right, scattering the Polovtsy and sending flesh and blood flying.
And Granval, wielding his two-handed Dane axe, ensured that whether it was an ordinary herder or a warrior armed to the teeth, their only fate before this giant axe was death.
The Nomads did not sit idly by. A reckless Polovtsian warrior gathered some cavalry. Confident in his strength, he mindlessly charged towards the Rus infantry line.
Unfortunately, before they reached the Rus line, a volley of sharp javelins rained down like heavenly drops. Their warhorses were hit one after another, wailing and falling to the ground. Many were either crushed under the bodies of their warhorses or impaled by javelins.
As for the iron-clad Polovtsian warrior, even with his iron armor protection, it could not change his fate of death. Several javelins directly shattered the overlapping iron plates that served as his shield.
And behind the iron plates was his body, his unprotected body.
Although these javelins were very crude, some even just tree branches fitted with low-quality spearheads, their impact force should not be underestimated. Being hit by one of these at this distance, no matter how good your armor, it was useless.
In the melee, Prince Rostislav finally found his target, but the opponent sent a javelin at him first. Rostislav blocked the blow with his shield, but he did not immediately charge forward. Instead, he sheathed his sword, then drew a javelin, and returned fire.
This javelin flew over the chief's shield and struck his helmet. Although the helmet deflected the javelin, seeing the Polovtsian chief clumsily remove his helmet and mask, and the blood continuously flowing from his forehead, it was clear he was in great pain.
This Polovtsian chief was tall and robust, wearing chainmail with chainmail bracers on his arms, and holding a sharp scimitar. His helmet had fallen off due to Rostislav's blow, his hair was black, and blood flowed ceaselessly from his forehead.
Rostislav drew his sword and spurred his horse forward, circling the Polovtsian. The Polovtsian also spun around, continuously swinging his scimitar to protect himself while attacking the Rus on horseback. He swung the scimitar like a windmill, the sharp blades constantly clashing, producing a clear sound.
Rostislav gradually grew impatient during the fight, yet he had to keep his spirits up and fight this man. But it was at this moment that, for some unknown reason, the man suddenly slipped and fell heavily to the ground.
Rostislav would not let such an opportunity pass. He immediately spurred his warhorse forward, driving the red steed to trample over him. The Polovtsian chief was unable to dodge and was thoroughly trampled several times by the warhorse. Blood spurted from his mouth, and he instantly lost his ability to fight.
The Prince dismounted, pressing down firmly on the man. It was then that he noticed this Polovtsian's eyes were also black.
Rostislav kicked away his scimitar, then unholstered his dagger. Then several retainers came forward to restrain the Polovtsian chief, tightly binding him with ropes they carried.
After capturing his target, Rostislav stood up and let out a sigh of relief. The surrounding battle was also coming to an end. The resisting Nomads had fallen to the ground, a small number were captured, and more had mounted their horses and fled.
The Rus did not pursue. Chasing Nomads in the dark was too dangerous. Let them run. The Rus had already obtained what they wanted.
The camp was filled with the bodies of the dead; this was the fate of the vanquished. The victors were either cheering or searching the bodies for anything that could be taken as spoils. Some were busy finishing off the enemy's wounded and collecting the few wounded from their own side.
The Rus also began to extinguish the large fires that had previously ignited on the various tents in the camp, after all, these things were now their spoils of war, how could they let their spoils be burned away?