Chapter 286 - 222: The Blacksmith’s Hammer

Knights hacked and slashed. Swords and axes clashed, cleaving open helmets and skulls.

The noise was like the Devil’s own smithy, and blood stained the soil red.

The Knights relentlessly pushed back the Shield Soldiers, compressing their space and forcing them into a constant retreat. Their formation began to fall apart.

When the Shield Soldiers began to advance, the Knights fell back, circled around, and then charged once more.

However, this time, just as the Knights were about to charge up the gentle slope, the outermost Shield Soldiers suddenly parted to the left and right. The Infantry, wielding Short Swords and axes, also scattered. Then came the Long Spears.

Two or three members of the Civilian Militia held each Long Spear, raising them slightly and thrusting at the Knights charging up the slope.

The gentle slope, combined with the fact that the spears were held horizontally by two or three men and concealed by the outer ranks of Shield Soldiers and regular Infantry, made the Long Spears nearly impossible to spot.

The pained screams of Warhorses echoed across the battlefield. They had taken heavy hits. The Knights at the vanguard were thrown to the ground as their mounts stumbled and fell. Despite the pain, they scrambled to their feet almost immediately, drawing the Short Swords at their waists in an attempt to defend themselves.

But they were a step too late. The Shield Soldiers who had just parted to reveal the concealed Spearmen now pounced, attempting to kill the fallen Norman Knights.

"Kill them! Kill them!" the Shield Soldiers roared.

This was the right flank of the Civilian Militia’s phalanx. A similar scene unfolded on the left flank, where the attack was led by Belem himself. His charge began slightly later than the one on the right, but by the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

An enemy Long Spear pierced his Warhorse’s neck. Another tore through his Chain Armor and sliced open his abdomen. He was thrown from his mount.

He tumbled straight down the gentle slope. His helmet strap snapped and the Helmet flew off. The intense pain left him almost unable to scream, the veins on his forehead bulging. He fought through the agony, trying to crawl away and escape.

A wave of immense shame, mixed with the pain, almost made him pass out.

However, the Civilian Militia clearly had no intention of allowing him the leisurely luxury of reflecting on his checkered past. They charged eagerly down the slope and slaughtered the Attendants who tried to come to his rescue.

"Bas... bastards..."

Belem stared at the blacksmith’s hammer descending toward his head. ’So this is how my life ends.’

Suddenly, he felt time slow to a crawl. The hammerhead seemed to fall with incredible slowness.

’Countless strange thoughts suddenly flashed through my mind.’

’My head has to be the most expensive thing this hammer has ever smashed.’

’If my head gets smashed in, I wonder if Dad will end up with a corpse that isn’t even mine.’

’He’d be mourning some other guy’s son. If I could see that, it would be pretty funny.’

’Damn it, I shouldn’t have gone to so many brothels in Canossa.’

’Though that girl with gonorrhea was really skilled.’

’The damn weather in Italy is so hot. It’s probably sunny in Normandy right now. And it’s definitely raining in Shrewsbury.’

’Honestly, I should have listened to Dad and gotten married earlier. Good thing I have a brother, though.’

’That guy Eric... I told him we should have waited until the afternoon to set out!’

’Will he feel guilty about this?’

’And... I’ve got an itch down there. I want to scratch it, but it looks like I’m out of time...’

His thoughts drifted erratically.

’I guess that’s about it.’

Finally, he decided to close his eyes and accept his fate.

But in the next moment, the hammer went flying.

This was followed by the snort of a Warhorse and the sound of a familiar voice in his ear.

A Knight had stopped beside him. The man wore a strange Helmet that covered his entire head. The mouth area was a bizarre, beak-like protrusion. Belem remembered that the faceplate of that odd Helmet could be lifted.

’It’s... Eric.’

"Are you going to make me pick you up myself?"

Eric lifted his Beak-style Mask. Dressed in that mismatched set of Armor, with his Warhorse in its silver Vest gleaming in the sun, he looked utterly flamboyant. He grinned and offered a hand to Belem, who was still lying on the grass.

"How long were you watching this time? You bastard..."

Belem suddenly broke into a laugh. He struggled to his feet and grabbed Eric’s hand. Eric pulled him up onto the Warhorse.

"Ever since a certain someone started confessing his sins," Eric joked with a smile.

"I wasn’t confessing," Belem said, clutching the wound in his abdomen. He then looked at the Vest on Eric’s Warhorse. "I’ve got to get one of these next time. How much did it cost you?"

"A few hundred pounds, maybe?" Eric said nonchalantly.

"A gift from the Marchioness?" Belem asked.

"Er... you could put it that way," Eric said, nodding noncommittally.

Eric took him back to the rear, to where the Archers and Attendants were positioned.

The Attendants rushed to help Belem down, and Eric handed them some bandages.

Then, Eric turned to look at the Civilian Militia’s phalanx.

"They tricked me," Belem said. "He used the other Infantry and the cover of the slope to hide his Spearmen."

"A trick like that only works once. You won’t get a chance to fall for it a second time. They can’t hide many Spearmen that way. And thanks to you, their phalanx is already faltering.

Next time you lead a charge, you need to keep a reserve for yourself. Try to keep them out of sight—be it fifty Knights, or thirty.