The enemy's commander has moved. It's our turn to charge. As long as we defeat the enemies in front of us, the path to the Polovtsian Khan will be clear!
Rostislav saw the Polovtsy, armored in iron, enter the battlefield. The one leading them was richly dressed, which confirmed to him that the commander of this Polovtsian army was there.
Prince Rostislav raised his sword high and kicked his warhorse. The red steed immediately galloped forward, with the Rus riders following closely behind the Prince.
However, the Rus chariots charged directly into the chaotic battle formation because they misunderstood Prince Rostislav's command. After all, those driving them were just ordinary farmers. The moment they heard the command, they galloped madly into the chaotic battlefield, and even the cavalry responsible for commanding them couldn't hold them back. Prince Rostislav was utterly speechless at this sight.
The rampaging chariots overturned many Polovtsy after entering the battle formation, and many Nomads were crushed to death under the wheels and hooves.
But they quickly overturned. The Polovtsy were very experienced in dealing with chariots, as their former great enemies, the Pechenegs, were known for their armed wagons. The Nomads easily pulled over the wagons with lariats, and some even more unlucky ones had their warhorses forced to a halt by the Nomads, and the riders were dragged off and killed.
This scene made Rostislav's ideas about chariots vanish, but it was originally a product of his whim, so their loss didn't matter. However, another idea for using chariots suddenly formed in his mind, but with battle imminent, there was no benefit in overthinking it. He kept the idea in his mind and began his charge.
The Rus cavalry bypassed the chaotic army formation and charged directly at Tugel's forces. When Tugel saw the Saint George's military banner, rage surged into his heart. That brat Rostislav actually dared to come forward to his death. This made him feel disrespected. Wasn't this scoundrel's recklessness a manifestation of his contempt?
"Go kill that disgusting brat! I'll use his skull as a bowl, just like the one of his ancestor in the Khan's tent!"
Tugel's voice was filled with anger, and the elite warriors who responded to him also spoke with fury. The Rus dared to challenge them in cavalry combat and even charged at the prairie elites. This was too disrespectful!
Anger made the Polovtsy's fighting spirit soar, and they swore internally that they would make the Rus pay for their foolish actions.
Under the command of their respective officers, the Rus and Polovtsy orderly formed their battle lines. The knights on both sides held their lances upright, and a fierce battle was about to begin.
Unlike the Nomad cavalry Rostislav had encountered before, these Polovtsian elites clearly had very rich experience in cavalry combat. They were orderly arranged in three battle lines, and the entire process was exceptionally smooth, clearly indicating a seasoned army.
But the Polovtsy were first showered by a wave of arrows. If it were ordinary arrows, it would be fine, as they couldn't harm the armored Polovtsian elites. However, Polovtsian riders fell from their horses one after another.
"Fire! Fire! Don't stop, fire faster!"
Yan Vishatich shouted from among the crossbowmen. He was not with the cavalry but stood beside Rostislav, holding his banner, having been assigned to command the archers and crossbowmen.
Rostislav's arrangement was simple: he needed arrows at crucial moments to clear his path forward.
Under the fierce crossbow bolts, the Polovtsy fell from their horses one after another, like wheat cut down during harvest. Their battle lines became scattered as a result, and this was the most dreaded aspect in a cavalry charge. The side with the weaker battle line was bound to lose the cavalry engagement.
"Despicable Rus!"
Tugel's anger reached its peak. He had hoped for a satisfying, unhindered battle, but his elite subordinates were being harmed by the Rus in such a treacherous way. Was there any battlefield ethics in this?
But the arrow was already shot, there was no turning back. All he could do was face the orderly Rus battle line with his broken formation. Although the odds were heavily against him, he still did not turn and flee, because his pride would not allow such an action.
In an instant, the cavalry clashed.
— — — — — — — —
"Hooray! Victory!"
Tugel's head, along with his horse-tail helmet, was hoisted on a long spear, accompanied by the fervent cheers of the Rus soldiers.
Even the Rus who were in the midst of a chaotic battle with the main force of Tugel's tribe cheered, shouting slogans that the Polovtsian leader was dead. The Nomads looked behind them in terror, seeing the head and helmet impaled on the spear. Most Polovtsy did not know what Tugel looked like, but they recognized what his helmet looked like.
The headmen and warriors were the first to flee. What was the point of fighting when the chieftain was dead? Moreover, many of them had hastily inherited the positions of their fallen fathers and were forced to fight. Many of their fathers had also died under Tugel's command, so they were already unwilling. Now that he was dead, they naturally fled immediately.
When the lower-ranking commanders fled, the ordinary herders naturally had to follow suit. Furthermore, the old and weak among them had no intention of participating in the battle, having been forcibly conscripted.
From the sky, the Polovtsy were fleeing frantically. Some Rus were trying to capture slaves, but those who did so were quickly reprimanded and stopped by the personal guards. The battle was not over, and the main target had not been captured yet. Why capture slaves now? There would be plenty of time to capture them after the battle was over.
Rostislav led his cavalry towards the Polovtsian Khan. Now he had only one goal: to take the Khan's head and end this battle, and even this invasion.
However, before Rostislav's army charged, the pale yellow Polovtsian battle flag fell amidst countless gazes, landing on the ground and then being trampled over like trash by countless boots and hooves, turning into a pile of filthy refuse. All the meaning it once held vanished at that moment.
— — — — — — — —
A few minutes ago.
"Hold the line! Hold! The banner must never fall! Hold to the end!"
Brus Khan and his guards stood before the fleeing soldiers. They could not let the routing soldiers break through the great banner. That banner was crucial for the victory of the entire army. For this, even slaughtering the fleeing soldiers was necessary!
But the disoriented fleeing soldiers didn't care about anything else. Even when facing the curved swords of the guards, they never showed fear and simply charged past. Even if the guards swung their curved swords and cut them down, it couldn't make them retreat.
The Khan himself was on the front line, his entire body covered in blood and filth. What was worse was his mood. Defeat was inevitable, and everything he did was just a dying struggle.
The guards had tried to forcibly remove the Khan from the battlefield, but the Khan refused them and killed the guards who tried to forcibly take him away. He had to hold on a little longer; his son was still fighting the Rus at the front. Defeat was inevitable, but he at least hoped his son could survive.
And as the Khan thought this, he was suddenly knocked down by a Nomad who was running in panic. He fell from his warhorse, and before losing consciousness, he saw the pale yellow banner slowly falling. This was the last thing he wanted to see, but he was powerless to stop it.
— — — — — — — —