Under Valin's lead, the Rus' quickly traversed the swamp, rapidly advancing towards its other end.
Valin was extremely familiar with this marshland; his easy familiarity showed he had walked here countless times and understood every blade of grass and every tree.
He led the team perfectly, avoiding every seemingly pleasant trap, such as the water surface covered with green duckweed, which at first glance looked no different from a lush lawn, but if stepped on, one would immediately sink into the water; and seemingly dense reed thickets that were impassable could be walked through smoothly after the reeds were cut down.
If not for him, the Rus' would have to spend a lot of time scouting, and would have to pay a terrible price for it.
But even with a guide so familiar with the local area, problems still arose from time to time, such as horses suddenly breaking free from their riders to graze on vegetation and then sinking into the swamp. When such situations occurred, they were basically unsalvageable; the horses could only be killed, and some horse meat taken as a supplement to military rations.
The horse meat would be cut into steaks three to five centimeters thick, tied under the saddles of pack horses, and after two or three hours, the steaks would be flipped over, soaked with the horse's sweat, and finally, after another two or three hours, they could be eaten. This was the Nomads' method of preparing horse meat during wartime—very crude but conveniently simple.
Rostislav led his red warhorse through the swamp, occasionally seeing the ruins of small wooden cabins, which must have been left by ancient hermits or residents of the marsh.
Valin was a very talkative man. As he led the team forward, he incessantly spoke of everything about the swamp:
He mentioned the ancient pagan sorcerers, the overlords of the wilderness, and also the remnants of the "Villain" Sviatopolk's army that his father's generation had seen flee into this place, and even Pecheneg invaders who had stumbled in and died here.
Rostislav quietly listened to the farmer's words, learning about the thoughts and feelings of the swamp dwellers from his mouth. He listened very carefully, as this would help him understand the people of Rus'. One day he would become a lord, and understanding the populace was very important.
When night fell, the Rus' could only sleep on the ground in clearings in the swamp under the stars, and before sleeping, they also had to dry their waterlogged boots or woven straw sandals by the campfire.
This was Rostislav's command. Marching in the swamp caused extreme wear and tear on shoes, and if the shoes gave out, the feet would quickly follow. Foot problems meant losing combat effectiveness, and Rostislav did not want his soldiers to lose combat effectiveness for such reasons.
So he told the soldiers to take care of their shoes and also to weave straw sandals as spares.
At night, for new recruits, listening to the distant howls of wolves and the roars of unknown creatures under the night sky would remind them of childhood legends of ghouls and various otherworldly beings, causing them to toss and turn.
Nevertheless, they still had to wake up early the next day, stuffing dry rations into their mouths and continuing their journey.
— — — — — — — —
"My Lord, I've thought about it, and given Tugel's character, he will definitely choose to bypass the swamp and intercept us."
Gvaran walked up to Rostislav, constantly swatting away the mosquitoes that swarmed around him. These things were truly annoying; there were even a few unlucky soldiers in the team who had fallen ill from mosquito bites, and the doctors could only do their best to treat them.
It was also for this reason that the Rus' soldiers tried their best to cover their exposed skin to prevent any possible bites.
"I thought so too."
Rostislav held his warhorse with one hand and wolfed down cheese with the other.
"That vengeful Polovtsian will not spare us. We will most likely have to fight when we get out."
"However, that fellow won't deploy many men at the swamp's edge; his forces simply aren't enough for that. But he will arrange some scouts everywhere, and as soon as they spot us, they'll blow their horns, and with the speed of cavalry, they can arrive very quickly."
Gvaran's expression was a bit grim; even if they got out of this swamp, they would most likely have to fight, there was no escaping it.
"If that's the case, then we'll turn his trick against him."
A countermeasure appeared in Rostislav's mind.
"If we're going to fight, it has to be on a battlefield we've chosen."
— — — — — — — —
After leaving the bowstring, the arrow shot towards its chosen target with extreme speed.
The Polovtsian sitting by the fire had no time to react before the arrow pierced his neck, and his entire body fell to the ground like a ragged doll.
The fellow who had just been complaining about his bad luck could finally rest in peace.
The Nomad opposite the deceased immediately drew his scimitar, and with his other hand, took out a horn as if to blow it, but then another arrow pierced his head.
As the two Polovtsy fell, the Rus' lurking in the surrounding reeds sprang up. They had clear divisions of labor: two controlled the deceased's warhorses, two confirmed the deaths, and one was responsible for extinguishing the campfire.
After doing all this, they took the bodies and horses and left in an orderly fashion, leaving nothing behind except the blood on the ground and the extinguished campfire, as if a brief struggle had never occurred there.
— — — — — — — —
"We've encountered two more scouts, and both have these horns. It seems Tugel's main force is indeed ahead of us."
Gvaran handed the two captured ox-horn trumpets to Rostislav, who examined them. The horns were no different from the ones captured previously.
"We've eliminated dozens of scouts tonight. Tomorrow morning, that fellow will definitely pinpoint our location. Valin, have you found a battlefield?"
"My Lord, rest assured, I have found a battlefield. It will be a death hell for horsemen, I swear by God."
Valin, the guide, revealed a rather chilling smile, indicating that he had indeed found a perilous place.
— — — — — — — —
"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—"
At dawn, as the sun revealed his face in the sky and earth, the sound of horns reverberated through the heavens and earth.
"Quick! Get up! The horn has sounded!"
"Form ranks! Form ranks!"
"The damned Rus' have been found!"
As the horns blew, the previously silent Polovtsian camp immediately became bustling.
Tugel's forces had arrived on this side of the swamp this evening. To maintain speed, both men and horses were in poor condition, so after hastily setting up camp and deploying a large number of scouts, they rested in the camp.
However, after only one night, the horns blared deafeningly, and everyone had to mount their warhorses, pick up their weapons, and prepare to enter the battlefield.
The cavalry mounted their warhorses at the urging of their chieftains or warriors, while the Polovtsian elites were already fully armored, ready to depart at any moment.
As they completed their formation, Tugel waved his hand, and two thousand cavalry galloped towards the direction from which the horns had sounded.