The Lord Of Blood Hill-Chapter 32: Speed Against Sloth

Initially, the kingdom's border army doesn't want to keep running, but as soon as they show signs of slowing down, Duveen immediately changes direction.
The Iron Wall Legion appears to be maneuvering to strike at the weaker flanks of the border army. The border general has no choice but to order his troops to speed up and seize advantageous positions.
From a bird's-eye view, the two armies resemble giant snakes twisting and turning on the landscape, each trying to strike at the other's midsection. But in less than half an hour, one of these "snakes" begins to widen.
It's not a sign of strength; rather, the border army is exhausted. They struggle to maintain an effective formation, with soldiers falling behind and the ranks becoming disorganized.
Henwell has been closely observing the enemy's condition, and seeing this, he knows their chance has come! He immediately informs Duveen that the time is right.
Duveen orders the entire army to halt, reverse the front and rear, and pivot in place. In just over ten minutes, they form a battle-ready formation.
As soon as the Iron Wall Legion stops, the border general realizes their intent. He sounds the horn, ordering his troops to form a defensive line to brace for the impending assault.
But with soldiers in disarray, many still haven't returned to their positions by the time the Iron Wall Legion's front line begins its advance.
The border army's formation is loose, with soldiers panting heavily, some even collapsing from exhaustion. The border general feels a chill run through him, sensing impending doom.
The Iron Wall Legion's vanguard easily pierces through the enemy's defenses, their spears toppling soldiers and further disrupting the already chaotic formation.
The Iron Wall Legion, accustomed to moving in clusters, has developed several habits.
For instance, during forced marches, any straggling soldiers would immediately merge into the nearest formation. This practice extends into battle, where the Iron Wall Legion typically operates in hundred-man squads, charging and advancing through enemy lines.
Even the smallest units consist of fifty-man squads, and any isolated soldier is quick to join the nearest formation. If a formation becomes too large, officers promptly split it into two standard hundred-man squads.
The border army, numbering in the thousands, is mercilessly slaughtered by the smaller Iron Wall Legion.
In war, numbers matter, and no matter how brave a soldier is, they can't withstand multiple spears thrust at them simultaneously.
The border army's commander, desperate and unable to focus on the Iron Wall Legion's reserve force of nearly a thousand, leads his personal guard and a thousand cavalry into the fray.
Seeing this, Duveen, following Henwell's instructions, refrains from recklessly deploying the five hundred cavalrymen. Instead, he sends several hundred-man squads to block the path of the enemy cavalry's charge.
As these squads enter the battlefield, they trap the border army's cavalry in the chaotic melee.
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In such a battle, cavalry lose their advantage without speed, becoming scarcely more effective than infantry.
Soon, the shield-bearing, spear-wielding hundred-man squads begin to constrict the cavalry's movement space, effectively neutralizing their threat.
Two hours into the battle, Henwell personally leads the last hundred-man squad into the fray. This squad is a special guard assigned to Henwell by Fabio.
These soldiers, originally serfs, have been with Henwell since the days of running drills at the Wilderness City camp.
Henwell frequently commands them to practice various formations, and during the Six Bay Mountain era, they served as his messengers, conveying his defensive deployment orders.
During the great maneuvers, they acted as Henwell's bodyguards in negotiations with nobles. Occasionally, when faced with particularly stubborn nobles, they would deliver a harsh beating to demonstrate Henwell's resolve.
This squad may not be the most formidable within the Iron Wall Legion, but it is certainly the one Henwell finds easiest to command. At the very least, these men have never treated Henwell like a mere child.
Now, they follow Henwell to corner the enemy's main general into a designated position.
Henwell's hundred-man squad is equipped with only short swords for protection, while each soldier carries a large shield and a long spear, making them a formidable unit of long-weapon infantry.
In battle, longer reach means greater strength. On the field, horses have the advantage in speed, armor trumps cloth, and long weapons outmatch short ones.
Henwell skillfully directs the formation, spearing any border soldiers who dare approach, but they avoid unnecessary confrontations, steadily advancing toward the enemy's main banner.
After such prolonged combat, many soldiers are too exhausted to fight effectively. No border army unit can withstand this fresh force.
Currently, around seven hundred soldiers surround the border army's main general, struggling to fend off the encroaching Iron Wall Legion troops.
When Henwell and his men charge in, the previously holding defensive circle of the border army is immediately breached, creating a significant gap.
......
Henwell deftly blocks the opponent's longsword strike with his shield, but as he's pushed back, he thrusts his spear with precision into the gap between the enemy's helmet and armor.
Just as Henwell retracts the spear, another heavy sword slices through the shaft, breaking it in half. The armored border soldier, having severed the spear, swings his longsword upward, aiming to sever Henwell's shield-bearing left arm.
Quick on his feet, Henwell hurls the broken spear shaft at the enemy's face, forcing them to instinctively dodge.
Seizing the moment, Henwell raises his shield to block the incoming slash, steps forward, and draws his short sword from his waist with his right hand, thrusting it horizontally into the enemy's neck.
As he pulls out the blade, a gush of blood follows.
Before Henwell can adjust his grip on the short sword, another longsword comes crashing down, forcing him to block with the sword held in reverse.
The forceful blow drives Henwell's short sword into his own shoulder.
The opponent presses down with their longsword, forcing Henwell into a half-kneeling position.
The heavy sword creates a half-centimeter notch in Henwell's blade.
The enemy soldier twists their longsword, attempting a horizontal slash at Henwell's head, but the blade is stopped by the guard of Henwell's short sword.
The impact reverberates through the guard, slamming it against Henwell's helmet with a dull metallic thud.
Ignoring the dizziness, Henwell fiercely bashes the enemy's arm with his shield. The opponent's wrist takes the hit, causing them to lean forward.
Henwell drops the short sword and swiftly pulls out a compact hand crossbow, aiming at the gap in the enemy's helmet.
He pulls the trigger, sending a five-inch bolt flying, piercing through the helmet with deadly precision.
The armored soldier falls backward, and Henwell discards the now useless short sword. His shoulder's leather armor is cut open, revealing the chainmail underneath.
He moves his left shoulder, feeling a sharp pain, suspecting a fractured scapula. Yet, adrenaline kicks in, allowing Henwell to ignore the pain.
Grabbing the fallen opponent's longsword, Henwell charges at the next armored soldier rushing toward him.
Now it's a race against time, seeing who can endure longer.
His spear-wielding guards will soon break through and rescue him.