Only God
Chapter 352 - 309 Enemy Attack

Chapter 352: Chapter 309 Enemy Attack

Under Nesol’s command, nearly ten thousand elite troops split into three divisions of left, center, and right wings, with the left wing mostly consisting of lightly equipped Archers and Spearmen. Upon seeing Prince Tyrone with a hundred or so Cavalry, he ordered the flag to be raised, and several hundred armored Cavalry rapidly closed in.

"Enemies, too many enemies! They are everywhere!"

Several Scouts beside Prince Tyrone pointed frantically at the swiftly advancing enemy forces.

The Prince’s limbs turned icy cold, his mouth agape, utterly unprepared for an ambush here.

Instead, his adjutant quickly took command,

"Steady! Steady! Raise your shields, Archers, get ready to shoot!"

Facing the approaching Cavalry, the soldiers of Danschel erupted in disorderly shouts, chaos everywhere among their own ranks, accompanied by the thunderous sound of galloping hooves across the plains.

"For the glory of the Gods!"

Nesol, holding his Sword aloft, watched the flag flutter in the wind, as the Cavalry plunged closer, clashing instantly, the thrust of their spears effortlessly claiming dozens of lives.

No one had anticipated this sudden attack.

The organizational strength of the enemy’s Forbidden Army was so formidable, and their discipline so strict, that no Scouts had seen them approaching beforehand.

Prince Tyrone, veteran of numerous battles, clearly saw the disparity.

He was gripped by fear, commanding his forces to reform their lines with a trembling voice.

Danschel’s soldiers frantically reformed their lines amidst the confusion, with scores of unarmored Spearmen seizing the chance to desert.

The enemy troops advanced in tight formation, fiercely assaulting Prince Tyrone’s army.

"Form up, form up! Hold those shields high!"

Prince Tyrone shouted in panic, even grabbing the standard from the flagbearer and shaking it wildly as if possessed.

Here, the suddenness of the raid, the flustered command, and the lack of any prior warning caused nearly ten thousand troops to clog up, those in front slowing down, with the rear unknowingly pressing forward, as tightly packed as a sealed beehive.

Under Prince Tyrone’s chaotic command in the panic, the disarray was compounded for his forces. Although they had experienced a dozen battles, most were simple charges, and now with such extensive disarray, it was nearly impossible to quickly restore normal order.

Nesol’s forces inched closer, bearing down upon them, when suddenly, a shrill horn sounded, distant banners waved, Swords clashed in a moment, and battle cries instantly pierced the air, with the heavy impact of collision spreading across the battlefield.

Dust billowed, and the mighty army of King Nesol pressed forward, the soldiers of Danschel desperately holding their ground. Cries of "the will of the Gods" echoed one after another. The Danschel army, unable to maintain the integrity of their formation, joined battle hastily. Few heeded the commands of Prince Tyrone and his adjutant amidst the chaotic battlefield; Danschel soldiers fought on their own, propelled by battle cries and fierce charges.

The initial surge of the Danschel forces seemed almost overwhelming, but their momentum was scarcely more robust than papyrus. Against the dense enemy formations, the Danschel soldiers quickly found themselves outmatched.

King Nesol personally led his cavalry around to the left rear flank of the Danschel forces. Soon, as the battle flag was waved, the Danschel soldiers suffered a fierce charge from the cavalry units, bodies sprawling under swords, spears, and pounding hooves. The frail left wing collapsed in an instant.

Prince Tyrone hastily led his cavalry to respond, but it was too late. His so-called war experience was trivial compared to that of King Nesol, the victor of civil wars. Danschel foot soldiers, terrorized by the enemy cavalry, immediately began to drop their weapons and flee.

The adjutant tried to grasp Prince Tyrone, but the prince could no longer be bothered. Unaccustomed to defeat and incited by the sight of his fleeing men, he let out an ape-like roar. With a swing of his sword, he ordered his cavalry to ready their spears and charge with him.

King Nesol reversed his lance. Calm and collected, he directed the cavalry beside him to disengage. The charge of Prince Tyrone’s cavalry met with emptiness, killing only a dozen or so enemies who failed to escape.

In a blink, King Nesol led his cavalry on a half circuit, his troops quickly regaining composure. They fixed their gazes forward, and in an instant, cries of charge rose from their throats.

Prince Tyrone looked up to see crows circling above his head.

He frantically organized his cavalry to make a detour, but the enemy’s horses were stronger and their thunderous charge shook the ground while the cries of pursuit were relentless.

In a brief moment of combat, more and more cavalry charged out from both sides of Prince Tyrone. In alarm, he watched as riders and horses from his own side were violently overturned. Amidst the panic, he forgot to steer his battle horse and, at last, an unknown soldier pierced his chest with a spear that snapped with a crisp sound.

Prince Tyrone clearly felt himself being thrown from his horse by the immense impact, then he landed on the ground with blood surging in his throat. Staring at the sky, his eyes widened as he watched crows circle.

The sounds of slashing on the battlefield gradually receded. As the commander, his death at the hands of the enemy army meant all that remained was a one-sided slaughter.

King Nesol ordered his cavalry to shout loudly, announcing the death of Prince Tyrone. His infantry roared with excitement, and Danschel’s soldiers, unable to find Tyrone, revealed their true nature of disarray. The news spread quickly, and the whole army began to collapse on a large scale.

Nesol’s cavalry charged back and forth, violently stabbing with their spears. The defeated and defenseless Danschel army descended into utter chaos. The adjutant, who had accompanied Prince Tyrone into battle, tried to regroup the forces with horn and flag but was besieged by the foot soldiers. He was pierced through by more than a dozen spears, along with his horse, and as the spears were harshly pulled back, he fell from his horse like a puppet and was then beheaded.

The foot soldiers fought over his severed head with the tips of their spears. The Danschel army’s rout intensified, and they fled en masse across the open fields. Cavalry continued to pursue from both sides while archers swiftly drew bows and loosed arrows, showering the Danschel men with volleys.

Whether they were wealthy nobles and citizen-soldiers or refugees who joined the army due to famine, death came to them all without discrimination, regardless of wealth or identity.

They screamed in terror, a sound they had heard from their enemies before, and now they too were screaming as those they had slain, lacking the courage to fight back, scrambling away in retreat. Continuously, people were stabbed or shot down.

The severed head of Prince Tyrone was cut off, his expression frozen in terror as he died, and without dignity, it was brought before King Nesol.

In times of turmoil, even a royal noble...

His life was just as insignificant, mere dust of the earth.

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