At the same time on the ridge of the Lecher headquarters…490Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX8k0CuHqX9
The battlefield changed, and the frontlines shifted. The centre, which many thought would have little bearing on the outcome of the battle, had become the gavel in court. A wave of troops appeared to be drifting towards it as reserves from both armies poured into the gap, attempting to break open the other side, as thousands were drawn in by its anarchy and violence. Blood, sweat, and gunpowder formed a heavy mist over the field as the assault on the walls continued unabated. Paying no attention to their distant comrades fighting their battle, the Rus continued to waste their lives, slowly but steadily eroding the defenders’ palisades with their gunfire and sappers.
Looking down on the valley where the enemy had set up camp, the elderly general was certain that the lion had planned to deploy his field guns in a matter of hours, his bombards no doubt being dragged along the riverside road from which he had arrived. He and his men had no idea when the first batteries would emerge from the valley bend, but they could not just sit back and admire their adversary’s prowess.
Snacking on a sweetened jerky, Warneńczyk spectated the battle with half-interested eyes. “You are no fool, Vasilevsky, but your generals certainly are.” The last piece of his snack was washed down with a swig of coffee as he wiped his hand on his jacket, sounding as if he wanted better for his foe, but they need not hear his complaints about them.
The general appeared to have given up on the battle from the perspective of his troops below the ridge as he turned around and marched away, but his back was straight and his face was determined. When the commander set down his mug on the table brought out of his tent, he swept a box of matches into his hand and pivoted around again, marching towards two soldiers pouring buckets of wax, pitch, and lard onto the base of a tower made of wood and sticks. Warneńczyk halted at a distance, struck a matchstick against the box’s striking surface to light it, and signalled his men to disperse. Fearing the inferno’s potential, his officers stood behind him. For a brief moment, he hesitated before he stuck his burning matchstick into the box and tossed it into the air, causing it to burst into flames. It landed on the base of the tower and engulfed it in a pillar of smoke and fire. Peering through the heat haze with his arms crossed, the general patiently watched as minutes passed in silence, his officers unsure what his spell would bring. When they began to question the tower’s purpose, movement appeared in the forest opposite their encampment, where the northern stream flowed.
Birds took flight in flocks. The trees and the ground shook, knocking the enemy rearguard’s smiles from their faces. Colours and banners emerged from the treeline, followed by the sound of hooves and the shine of wings. They charged out, let out a cry, and fired their carbines, cutting down the Confederates while unsheathing their lances and sabres like tides of sparkling waves rolling downhill. The Rus cavalry panicked, still eating breakfast, and rushed to dress and mount their horses. Their officers chased out their squadrons, hurtling past their gates towards the Lecher, but the attack was too swift. The horsemen accelerated and their thunderous gallop broke the Confederates before they had even reached their lines. The crushing twenty thousand hussars rode, pillaging hearts and dispossessing men of souls.490Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG6dzfe89Rf
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