Chapter 5: Iron and Fire (Part 2)
The battlefield was filled with the smoke of muskets and cannons, making visibility poor as if covered in fog.
Krumil observed the scene from horseback.
The thunderous sounds never ceased, drowning out even the screams.
Bonaparte rode up beside her and took her hand.
“We have repelled the knights. But the battle is not over yet.”
“Bonaparte, what is this sound?”
“This is the sound of guns and cannons.”
“It is a terrifying sound.”
“The sound is not the only terrifying thing.”
Krumil stared intently at Bonaparte’s face.
Her black hair still resembled a rain-soaked stray dog, and her expression remained gloomy, yet her eyes seemed unusually large and shining.
General Zodaf, commander of the Axe-Striking Country, returned to his infantry with the diminished knights.
The sight of their finest warriors retreating helplessly spread unease among the infantry.
It seemed that around a hundred knights had been lost, and twice that number wounded.
Yet his fighting spirit remained unbroken.
He drained the water handed to him by a servant and replaced his broken spear.
“Sir! The enemy infantry is advancing!”
A knight reported.
If they were coming, then so be it.
The French army advanced in square formation, prepared for another cavalry assault.
Their movement was not fast, but their unified pace and the rhythm of their marching music intimidated the enemy infantry.
The two sides’ infantry gradually closed the distance.
When they reached about a hundred paces, the French muskets fired in unison.
The infantry of the Axe-Striking Country collapsed with screams, as if struck by a sideways rainstorm.
Under the intense gunfire, they could no longer advance.
The French soldiers prepared their next volley.
They bit open paper cartridges, poured powder into the pan, loaded powder and ball into the heated barrels, and rammed them down with the paper using ramrods.
Completing this process in about thirty seconds under the stress of battle was the result of constant training and experience.
Skilled soldiers could do it even faster.
The soldiers fired continuously at the enemy.
Individually, their aim was inaccurate, but with dozens and hundreds firing together, the bullets tore bloody gaps into the enemy lines.
The Axe-Striking Country quickly retaliated.
About a hundred crossbowmen and archers stepped forward and fired at the French lines, beginning a ranged exchange.
Unlike the untrained conscripts, these were mercenaries with proper skill, hired by nobles to fight.
Arrows pierced through the French soldiers’ cloth uniforms, and several fell.
The muskets fired again in response.
“Do you see that?”
Bonaparte pointed toward a section of the battlefield obscured by smoke.
“I do. That large red banner must belong to the enemy commander. And those knights…”
Murat answered.
“The enemy cavalry has not yet reformed properly. Their infantry line is already cracking. I will concentrate the artillery and tear a hole in them. Take your men and wash your sabers in blood.”
“Understood!”
“Queen Krumil, my cavalry will scatter their infantry. Have your knights advance as well. My cavalry will struggle against heavily armored knights. Your knights must protect them.”
“Understood. Abidod, prepare the knights.”
“At once.”
Krumil called for a servant to bring her helmet.
“Bonaparte, release my hand.”
“You intend to charge yourself?”
“Is that a problem?”
Bonaparte shook her head.
If anything happened to Krumil, even capturing the City of Swordsmiths would not secure them food.
“You should remain here.”
“…Understood. Abidod will accompany your cavalry.”
“That would be best.”
“Move out!”
Murat drew his saber and shouted to his men.
The chasseurs under Murat were light cavalry, skilled in reconnaissance and pursuit, not typically used for direct charges.
However, the heavy cavalry that normally performed such roles had not been brought due to poor horse conditions.
“We charge straight into the enemy! Do not falter!”
“We fear nothing!”
The chasseurs responded in unison.
Clad in flamboyant uniforms rivaling the brilliance of knights’ armor, they were among the most reckless soldiers in Bonaparte’s army.
Zodaf saw the enemy cavalry advancing.
His infantry was already half broken and could not withstand a cavalry charge.
If the infantry collapsed, there would be no recovering the battle.
“Knights, gather! We will meet their cavalry!”
Though their formation had been disrupted by artillery fire, they had no choice but to fight.
Abidod and his ten knights advanced at the forefront of Murat’s cavalry.
Zodaf’s knights moved to intercept them, attempting to block the charge.
Murat’s cavalry maneuvered around them while Abidod’s knights collided head-on with Zodaf’s forces.
“Is that Abidod of Kusanaga I see!?”
“Indeed! And you must be Zodaf!”
“Why have you brought such people into your land!?”
“That is none of your concern!”
As they passed each other, Abidod’s lance pierced through Zodaf’s breastplate.
Zodaf fell from his horse without a sound.
Though the knights of the Axe-Striking Country outnumbered them, the fall of their commander shattered their morale, and they began to retreat.
Meanwhile, Murat’s cavalry plunged into the infantry.
They forced their way through gaps in the already crumbling formation, tearing it apart.
Though fewer than two hundred in number, their charge was enough to break the enemy’s last will to resist.
Soon, like ripples spreading across water, the entire army of the Axe-Striking Country collapsed.
“Commander-in-chief, victory is ours.”
Berthier approached Bonaparte with a report in hand.
“Send the reserve regiments in pursuit. But do not overextend.”
Bonaparte’s expression was slightly dark.