Chapter 117:Battle of Ramdas Plain (4)

The tactic proposed by Sir Lothar was a single one: hold out firmly and wait for the right moment to charge.  

“Their mounted archers will be troublesome, so we’ll focus on defending against arrows as much as possible and look for an opening to respond.”  

After some contemplation, the knights reluctantly nodded.  

Indeed, if they launched an offensive first, they’d end up chasing down those mounted archers.  

Then the lightly-armored archers would lure the knights in while continuously firing arrows.  

The honorable charge of the knights would be rendered meaningless. The price of such recklessness would be a dog’s death.  

And not a single knight wanted to die a dog’s death in a place like this.  

Moreover, human tanks known as knights were a valuable force.  

The charge of the knights and cavalry should only be used at the most decisive moment to secure victory.  

Until then, as Sir Lothar said, they must endure and endure again.  

‘Not bad.’  

Keldric was convinced in his own way. His gaze toward Sir Lothar changed a little.  

He clearly had the ability to do well, so why was he always so stubborn about it?  

“If we’re going to defend against arrows, how exactly should we do that?”  

Amidst the atmosphere of general agreement, one knight suddenly asked.  

Sir Lothar blinked at the knight who had asked the question.  

“Well, um… maybe we could set up a formation that defends in all directions or something like that…”  

Even if Sir Lothar had matured a little, if a person could change overnight, they must’ve been a genius pretending to be a fool in the first place.  

Sir Lothar was not that. He was the son of an ordinary noble who had acted like a fool.  

Besides, he lacked experience.  

“Umm… so, like…”  

Because of that, he still had a hard time responding to sudden variables.  

Even now, he couldn’t come up with a proper answer to the knight’s abrupt question.  

Still, this was a remarkable improvement.  

Normally, he would’ve just said something irresponsible like, “We’ll just fight well, that’s all.”  

But now, at the very least, he was trying to think.  

Or maybe… he was just overly conscious of Keldric’s gaze.  

Seeing Sir Lothar’s pitiful eyes sneaking glances at Keldric with increasing nervousness, Sir Rutger sighed and stepped forward.  

“Sir Lothar. How about doing it this way?”  

The more detailed strategy, supplemented by Sir Rutger, was as follows:  

First, soldiers with shields would form the front line.  

They would gather in a circle to form a basic circular formation.  

Directly behind them, a second line would be formed by spearmen.  

This way, they could respond to the irregular tactics of the Liss cavalry, who would harass with mounted archers and then swiftly drive in with light cavalry.  

At the very center of the formation, archers would be placed.  

No matter how fast and annoying the mounted archers were, it would be unrealistic to simply endure while getting hit.  

There was no guarantee of accuracy, but if their own archers could pressure the enemy’s, it would surely limit their mobility.  

Finally, the knights and heavy cavalry—clearly the strongest assets—would charge in at the decisive moment.  

The battlefield would become chaotic, but once they clashed, the knights could cut down the cavalry of the Duchy of Liss quite literally.  

“If we do it like this… we should be able to respond to them, to some extent.”  

As Sir Rutger finished explaining, the knights inside the war tent exchanged glances and fell into thought.  

Fundamentally, knights were not completely foolish.  

Some might not be literate, but they were seasoned in battle.  

“Hearing it now, it doesn’t sound too bad…”  

“But what if they don’t come at us? Facing the river like that, they might be intending to hold their ground too.”  

“They’ll probably just shoot from afar. Waiting for us to become prey! Damn it, cowardly bastards.”

“When their arrows run out, they’ll have no choice but to go on the offensive. That’s when we end it with a glorious charge.”  

The knights could vividly picture the battle unfolding before their eyes.  

Mounted archers stirring up chaos across the battlefield, and soldiers desperately raising their shields to survive amid the fray.  

In other words, all they had to do was endure the storm of arrows.  

At that moment, Keldric raised an obvious and necessary question.  

“…Can our soldiers hold out until then?”  

The knights, who had been murmuring among themselves, suddenly fell silent.  

They blinked at Keldric, then turned their gazes to Sir Rutger.  

“Forcing them to exhaust their arrows sounds good, but surely they’re not fools.”  

“Sir Keldric, what’s your point?”  

“My point is… what if they keep resupplying their arrows?”  

Sir Rutger squeezed his eyes shut after a brief moment of thought. It was something he didn’t even want to imagine.  

“If things go the way you’re saying, and we fail to drain their arrows…”  

And if the knights failed to break through the enemy formation in time—  

“…we’ll be defeated.”  

A heavy silence settled over the war tent.  

Keldric scratched his jaw awkwardly.  

It felt like he’d just dampened the mood but worst-case scenarios always demanded consideration.  

“Nothing ever goes exactly according to plan.”  

Up until now, they’d been lucky.  

Of course, it wasn’t luck alone—  

The circumstances had been favorable, and Keldric had worked hard to make them so.  

But there are things in this world that no amount of effort can change.  

Like how, no matter how desperate your prayers for rain are, the rain will only fall when it wants to.  

“In the worst-case scenario…we may have to consider forcing them into open combat.”  

Sir Rutger murmured quietly.  

He was already trying to refine the strategy in response to Keldric’s well-placed concern.  

There’s no such thing as a perfect tactic.  

Nor is there such a thing as a perfect victory.  

Victory demands blood.  

“And when that time comes… we’ll need your courage.”  

For in the end, knights are battle-hardened warriors who fight desperately to find the key to victory even in the worst of circumstances.  

Keldric found himself lost in thought.  

And it seemed the other knights were no different.

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Two more days passed after that, and Sir Lothar’s army had to endure the mounting pressure of time creeping closer by the day.  

It wouldn’t be long before the early days of summer arrived.  

A snowstorm was coming.  

As if to herald its approach, the weather grew steadily colder, and snow kept falling from the gloomy sky.  

The fickleness of the North was worsening with each passing day.  

So finally, Sir Lothar gave the order to advance. They would set up a new encampment near the Ramdas Plains.  

Leaving Runt, where they had been staying for a few days, just under two hundred and fifty soldiers began marching toward Einhorn, the waypoint before the Ramdas Plains.  

For Keldric, it was nothing particularly special. He’d already been to the plundered Einhorn once before.  

But not so for Sir Lothar. As soon as he arrived at Einhorn, his expression stiffened at once.  

“This place… is where those bastards pillaged?”  

“Yes, sir.”  

He hadn’t really asked Keldric specifically. But it was Keldric who answered.  

Sir Lothar didn’t press the matter further.  

His eyes, clouded with distress, scanned over the now-lifeless landscape of Einhorn.  

A village completely destroyed so thoroughly that the bandits who had come in hopes of stripping anything salvageable had scraped off every last bit.  

There was not a trace of life.  

“The ones who lived here… were my father’s people…”  

Sir Lothar murmured.  

The shock refused to fade from his face.  

Neither Keldric nor even Sir Rutger tried to stop him. They didn’t quicken their pace to move ahead, either.  

They felt it was a necessary moment one Sir Lothar, still no more than a green youth, had to face: the tragic end of the lands he would one day inherit.  

“…..”  

Sir Lothar silently looked around Einhorn for a while.  

The hay piled in the barns had been charred black, crumbling at the touch.  

Each time the wind blew, fine black ash scattered, painting the village in soot.  

Even the dirt road his horse walked on was no exception.  

The hooves picked up black ash with every step.  

“What is that?”  

“That is…”  

Suddenly, Sir Lothar pointed somewhere.  

Keldric turned his gaze that way as well.  

The palisade where the corpses had once been hung when Keldric visited before.  

There were no corpses now.  

Only tattered, shredded pieces of cloth lay scattered beneath it.  

“Shredded pieces of clothing, sir.”  

“Clothing…? Why the clothes…”  

“There were corpses hung there.”  

“Where did they go, then? Did someone come to bury them?”  

“It seems wolves dragged them off.”  

Sir Lothar fell silent again.  

A mess of emotions swirled in his eyes.  

The air turned somber, and the knights riding beside him also grew solemn.  

“…I want to save their souls.”  

“Sir Lothar, that’s…”  

“I know. We cannot stay here. We must move on.”  

If they were not buried in consecrated ground and their souls not blessed by priests, they would not reach heaven.  

The people of his domain, ravaged and then reduced to prey for beasts—where were they to go?  

Would their souls be cleansed in the flames of purgatory? Would that allow them to reach heaven?  

Some priests within Sir Lothar’s army opened their mouths to offer half-hearted solace,  

but Sir Rutger, with a solemn expression, stopped them.  

“Let’s go.”  

Sir Lothar, somewhat deflated, said weakly.  

Even his horse seemed to reflect its master’s mood, plodding forward with heavy steps.  

Keldric, the knights, and the soldiers followed behind.  

None among them felt untouched by sorrow.  

But that sorrow did not become a cause for despair.  

“Shit… this feels fucking awful.”  

“Spit… fucking bastards…”  

On the contrary, the mercenaries and soldiers clenched their teeth and reignited their fighting spirit.  

Even mercenaries who sometimes did turn to banditry themselves couldn’t help but feel disgusted at the sight of a village that may have been defiled by foreign soldiers.  

Keldric quietly let out a heavy sigh.  

Next to him, Alyssa, who was also riding, handed him a piece of jerky.  

As he chewed on the jerky, Keldric’s eyes gazed far into the distance.  

The Ramdas Plains were right ahead.

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Sir Lothar’s camp was established about one lug away from Einhorn.  

It was located a bit away from the center of the Ramdess Plains, stemming from concerns that the unpredictable Lys cavalry might launch a raid on the camp.  

The camp, built more solidly and thoroughly than before, was indeed fortified like a fortress.  

Even if a cavalry unit were to charge in, they would inevitably be met with resistance starting from the sharply protruding wooden palisades.  

Once the camp’s defenses had reached a level that offered some peace of mind, Sir Lothar immediately summoned the knights.

“A letter has arrived.”  

At this sudden remark from Sir Lothar, the knights began murmuring among themselves.  

A letter? At this time?  

“It’s a letter from their commander.”  

“Their commander? Who would that be?”  

One impatient knight asked. Sir Lothar, with a slightly grim expression, gave a reluctant answer.  

“It’s Lord Gottfried.”  

“What?! That means…”  

“He managed to escape alive after all!”  

The command tent was thrown into a commotion.  

Some insisted they should’ve pursued Baron Gottfried more persistently; others argued that the foul weather had made further pursuit impossible. The voices were many.  

“Silence! Be quiet!”  

The one who calmed the uproar was Sir Rutger.  

Thanks to him, the command tent regained its stillness, and Sir Lothar, offering Rutger a thankful glance, spoke again.  

“First, we’d better read the letter.”  

At Sir Lothar’s gesture, Sir Rutger stepped forward and respectfully received the letter.  

He unfolded it, took a short breath, and then raised his voice so all could hear.  

“To the filthy seed scattered by Baron Yaben, and his rabble, listen well!  

Whatever strange trickery you used in the last battle, know that my loyal and honorable knights will never yield.  

I now command a great force once again. And even beyond this, I can bring as many more soldiers as I wish.  

Surrender peacefully. If you do, this snowy field will not be stained red with your blood.  

But if you insist on fighting and wish for ruin, then bring your soldiers to the central-western part of the Ramdess Plains the morning after tomorrow.”

That was roughly the content of the letter.  

The knights’ eyes now burned with fierce anger.  

“How rude! Even if we’re on the brink of battle—”  

“My lord! Grant us the honor of a glorious charge!”  

As the impatient knights clamored in anger, Sir Lothar exhaled a shaky breath.  

But rather than lashing out as he once might have, there was now a visible resolve to focus on the larger issue.  

“…First, we must prepare for a night raid. Sir Rutger, reinforce the defenses thoroughly so we won’t be caught unprepared by the morning after tomorrow.”  

“I will do so.”  

“And… Sir Keldric. I need to speak with you privately.”  

Keldric looked at Sir Lothar with a puzzled expression.  

Privately? Was there such a matter?  

To be honest, he felt a bit awkward.  

It had only been a few days since he’d been slapped across the face, he didn’t expect a private audience so soon…

But the already-angered knights began to file out of the tent one by one, and eventually even the attendants departed.  

Now, only three remained inside: Sir Keldric, Sir Rutger, and Sir Lothar.  

“Sir Keldric.”  

Sir Lothar was the first to speak. Keldric lent him his ear.  

“In the battle the day after tomorrow, I will go out and fight alongside you.”  

And that was something Keldric had never expected to hear.