Chapter 116:Battle of Ramdas Plain (3)

The burly knights sat huddled together inside the military tent.  

Each wore a troubled expression, and the atmosphere was far from pleasant.  

Keldric smacked his lips with clear reluctance. It was because of the uncomfortable gaze being shot at him from Sir Lothar, seated at the head of the table.  

Sir Lothar’s left cheek was still badly bruised.  

Everyone in the tent knew exactly who was responsible for that bruise, and although they all pretended otherwise, many of the knights kept sneaking glances at Keldric.  

There weren’t many thoughts like, 

“How dare he strike his lord’s face?”  

After all, their sworn lord was Baron Yaben, not Sir Lothar.  

Besides, Keldric’s honor was at stake and no knight, regardless of allegiance, would disregard the value of honor.  

They had even witnessed Keldric fighting like a madman back in Schafendorf. No one in their right mind would challenge such a monstrous knight over a matter of pride.  

What’s more, some of the knights had long grown weary of Sir Lothar’s childish behavior.  

Thanks to that, no one stood up yelling. 

“How dare you harm my lord duel me!” 

which saved them from an annoying scene.  

“Damn it.”  

Feeling awkward for no good reason, Keldric cleared his throat.  

Taking that as a cue, Sir Rutger rose confidently to his feet and drew the knights’ attention.  

“Sir Lothar, everyone’s gathered.”  

“Good. Let’s begin.”  

“Send them in!”  

Sir Rutger raised his voice, and a moment later, three or four soldiers entered, bringing a chill wind with them.  

Keldric scanned their gear. Over their warm gambesons, they wore leather half-armor.  

These were the scouts who had been out on reconnaissance for the past few days. The soldier standing in front began to speak.  

“I’m not sure where to start explaining…”  

“Tell us everything you know. Everything you saw, heard, and felt.”  

“Yes, sir. Understood.”  

As the soldier began his report, an attendant stepped forward with a wooden stick and started drawing a terrain map.  

“This entire region within a three-lug radius is all flat plains. It’s covered in snow, but there’s nothing unusual beneath the surface.”  

The wooden stick gently carved lines into the dirt. All eyes, including Sir Lothar’s and the knights’, turned toward the makeshift map.  

Keldric studied the map intently as well. At the center, it showed the military encampment surrounded by nothing but flatland no forests or hills in sight.  

If there was any terrain feature worth noting, it was the river flowing along one edge of the plain.  

Sir Rutger stepped forward and pointed to the river.  

“That’s a tributary of the Ronauen River.”  

“Yes. The locals seem to call it the Senzer River.”  

The Senzer River curved along the left side of the Ramdess Plain.  

Keldric frowned as he looked at the meandering lines of the Senzer River drawn into the dirt.  

Victory in battle always began with how well one used the terrain.  

From that perspective, the river could either be a major vulnerability for Sir Lothar’s army or a great strategic asset, if used wisely.  

“If they choose to fight along the river…”  

One knight muttered under his breath.  

Keldric imagined the cavalry of the Principality of Liss fighting along the river and gave a silent nod.  

One might think a single river wouldn’t make much difference on such a vast plain.  

But if enemy horse archers positioned themselves along the river and focused solely on firing arrows, it would be Sir Lothar’s forces left sitting ducks, sucking their thumbs.

“Dealing with mounted archers is this troublesome. The reason lies in the fact that the Empire barely makes use of such a military unit.”

Since the Empire didn’t use mounted archers, it was only natural for the Empire’s lords to focus more on knights’ charges than countering such units.

“What’s the size of the enemy force?”  

“There are over forty mounted archers, twenty-five heavy cavalry, and just over thirty light cavalry.”

That put the rough estimate at around a hundred. No matter how you looked at it, it was a formidable cavalry force.

“Couldn’t you get an exact count?”  

“The enemy camp was heavily guarded, so we couldn’t get too close.”

Sir Rutger’s expression turned slightly grim.

It wasn’t a completely hopeless situation where defeat was certain, but it had turned into a battle where no one could predict the outcome.

“We’re in trouble. They likely won’t show any signs of discouragement from their previous defeat.”

Sir Henri, sitting beside  Keldric, whispered quickly.

 Keldric, grasping the implication of those words, nodded in agreement.

Back when they fought at Schafendorf, the outcome had been equally uncertain. But the issue now was that, despite achieving a great victory, they were once again faced with another trial like this.

Baron Gottfried’s forces had been defeated before. Likely, only a small handful of survivors made it back.

In other words, the enemy now made up of the Risans and Gottfried’s supply troops cared little about the defeat at Schafendorf.

If you win but fail to capitalize on that victory, it’s as bad as losing.

“Where did they set up camp?”  

“With their backs to the river.”  

“Their backs to the river, huh…”

What did that mean?

The river was a serious obstacle for Lord Lothar’s army, whose core strength lay in heavy cavalry.

If the Risans had set up with their backs to the river, any possibility of flanking or rear attacks was gone.

That meant it would be difficult to create any variables essentially forcing them into a frontal battle.

On the flip side, the enemy, with the river at their backs, had more flexibility to introduce variables into the battle.

Of course, retreating across the river or anything like that would still be nearly impossible. Cavalry crossing a river in the chaos of battle was, plainly put, absurd.

However, the Risans had other ways to create variables.

“Mounted archers…”

 Keldric fell into thought. He wasn’t so ignorant as to be unaware of the power of such a military unit.

Long ago, he knew of a nomadic empire that once ruled the world with its fearsome tactics centered on mounted archers stretching from the distant eastern lands to the fertile western territories.

 Keldric was well aware of that. But knowing it in theory and experiencing it in person were completely different matters.

Mounted archers were unpredictability incarnate shooting and retreating, then shooting and retreating again.

To the relatively slow-moving heavy cavalry and knights, it was a nightmare.

Even if the arrows didn’t scratch the armor, there was always the chance that a stray arrow could slip through the joints in the armor.

And even if none of the arrows managed that, the constant hammering of arrows would create enormous psychological pressure.

Even if, by some miracle, not a single arrow found a weak point, and the rider kept their composure completely, all it took was one good hit to the horse to bring it all crashing down.

“Is that all in your report?”  

“Yes, sir. No other unusual findings.”  

“Good work. You may leave now. Someone! Bring this man some hot water and barley porridge. He’s earned it.”

The scouts, their once-tense faces relaxing, exited the tent.

The tent, now left with only the knights and Lord Lothar, was wrapped in a heavy silence.  

Everyone had the same uneasy hunch if things went wrong, the Ramdus Plains could very well become their grave.  

No one expected the Reissians to respect a knight’s honor.  

They might not kill a captured knight right away, not out of mercy, but because they coveted the knight’s gear and possibly a ransom.  

But if a knight refused to surrender their weapon or armor, the enraged Reissians might slit their throat on the spot, and no one would be surprised.  

“Sir Rutger. Who commands the enemy?”  

A knight finally stepped forward and broke the silence. The others turned their eyes to Sir Rutger, curiosity written on their faces.  

“Uncalled knights under Count Gottfried, and the mercenary captain of the Reissians. That’s about it.”  

“Then… doesn’t that mean their chain of command is weak?”  

“Hm?”  

“Their forces seem to revolve mostly around the Reissians. If we can pin down their mounted archers, the main force could step in and take care of the rest…”  

“…That does make sense.”  

It was a convincing argument. Even Lord Lothar, who had been silently listening, began to pay attention.  

“Besides, I doubt they’ll coordinate well. They don’t have a clear rallying point, do they?”  

Normally, mercenaries didn’t have to worry much about coordination in territorial wars.  

They just followed along with the lord’s army, fighting alongside them as needed.  

Still, there were some minimum requirements, like obeying the lord’s orders to advance or defend.  

But the mercenary cavalry from the Principality of Reiss likely wouldn’t even follow those.  

“If Count Gottfried had stayed behind, things might be different…”  

“Sir Rutger, what’s the status on pursuing Gottfried?”  

This time, it was  Keldric who asked. Sir Rutger turned his gaze to him.  

“No news yet. We’ve lost his trail.”  

 Keldric clicked his tongue softly, disappointed.  

But he understood. Lately, it had snowed every night without fail.  

The strong northern winds scattered the snow, which piled up and erased all tracks on the snowy plain.  

“Nothing we can do, then. All we can do now is crush them and press on to Fort Namja.”  

Having said that, Sir Rutger turned his head. The other knights did the same.  

Their gazes settled on Lord Lothar.  

“So then, Lord Lothar,”  

Sir Rutger spoke first. Lord Lothar blinked slowly, meeting his gaze in silence.  

Even if the enemy command was shaky, the Reissians would still fight effectively regardless of whether Baron Gottfried was present.  

That meant they had to come up with a plan to face them.  

 Keldric thought to himself what did they have that the enemy didn’t?  

“How should we proceed, my lord?”

A commander to lead the army.  

Now was the time for that role to shine.  

☩   ☩   ☩   ☩   ☩   ☩   ☩

He narrowly escaped death several times over the past few days.  

The snow was cold, and the north wind that mingled with it was even colder. His hands and feet were past numb they had lost all sensation.  

Some soldiers had frostbite so severe that their toes had to be amputated. One of those soldiers couldn’t keep up and eventually fell behind.  

Most likely, he died in the snowfield, unable to walk any further.  

If he froze to death, that would have been a mercy. If he had survived until nightfall, surely a pack of wolves wouldn’t have passed by such a weakened, fallen prey.  

Even as the few remaining soldiers began to fall behind one by one, the man continued forward, suppressing the agony that felt like coughing up blood.  

There was no other choice. Not everyone could survive. Someone had to make it, and if there was only room for one, it had to be him.  

Perhaps this was the mindset of the legendary general from long ago, the one who crossed the towering mountain ranges to launch an assault on the ancient republic.  

The man realized it. No  it must be this way.  

Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to believe in the possibility of anything anymore.  

Clenching his teeth, he pushed through the snowy field.  

Running south had been the worst possible choice. Time and again, the thought of giving up tried to take over his mind.  

But each time, a stubborn determination as tough as a bear’s tendon rose up, fiercely battling the defeatist thoughts.  

The man had no army. All his wealth was in his territory, and the troops sent to aid him had to travel a great distance.  

What carried him through every obstacle wasn’t just the will to live.  

“I cannot fall here.”  

He would never submit. Defeat was merely a single failure.  

And when dozens, hundreds of failures pile up, they eventually become the foundation for one decisive success.  

“My lord! Over there!”  

Still called “My lord,” he was, no matter what anyone said, the rightful Baron of Gottfried a man who ground his teeth in regret and relived his bitter past failures.  

“It’s the Ramdess Plains!”  

“Unidentified soldiers over there…!”  

“They’re reinforcements sent by Lord Lassau!”  

And so, using that unbreakable iron will as his stepping stone, the man had finally broken through the vast snowy wilderness.  

His name was Ansen Schultheiss.  

He had walked the razor’s edge of death many times  and he was the Baron of Gottfried.  

“…This time, without fail.”  

‘Survival’ it’s just another word for a second chance.  

And the Baron of Gottfried had no intention of letting that chance slip by.