Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 476 - 256: The Avenger
At this moment, in the open ground between the camps of the two armies.
Two large cavalry forces have already entered the phase of close combat.
Flails, nail head hammers, armed swords, wolf fang clubs...
Riding mounts covered in various horse clothing, the Crusader Cavalry wield a multitude of secondary weapons, engaged in mortal combat with the enemy.
At this time, the role of plate armor was perfectly demonstrated.
To counter the commonly used heavy chain armor of this era, whether Frankish knights or Saracen Cavalry, most of the secondary weapons were blunt weapons, under such assaults, chain armor could only ensure that soldiers died more intact.
But plate armor was different, having padding as buffer, plate armor not only had excellent mobility and defense, its resistance to blunt force was far superior to chain armor and scale armor.
Countless skilled Mamluks fell despondently under the iron hammers of the Crusader Knights.
Fulk narrowly dodged a nail head hammer from the "Brother of Christ" in front of him.
He knew full well that if struck by such a formidable weapon, it wouldn’t be just bruises.
He raised his straight sword to parry an incoming battle blade, feeling a wave of sadness; in this chaotic skirmish, he couldn’t possibly explain his identity, and just by the Saracen-styled armor he wore, the Crusaders could only regard him as the enemy.
The enemy’s attacks grew heavier each time.
Fulk lost his advantage, and even parrying became a strenuous effort.
Then, suddenly the "enemy" in front of him fell from his mount; looking back, it was Ivan who, amid chaos, had found a chance to throw a javelin that pierced the enemy mount’s "front armor," saving him.
This seemed to awaken Fulk.
He realized that in this life-and-death battlefield, there is no need to consider anything extraneous—nothing is more important than surviving!
...
Iron spears sweeping across.
This weapon, forged from celestial meteorite iron, in Losa’s hands, displayed terrifying combat prowess not inferior to Hans in the slightest.
It was as if a hero from a story, adept at wielding heavy implements, had come to reality.
Losa wielded the iron spear entirely like an iron rod, with immense strength in his hands, unconcerned about the burden on his steed, he could crush heavily armored enemies, shattering bones and breaking tendons with a single sweep.
Due to his conspicuous attire, the enemies besieging him were countless, but with Prajna guarding him, he only needed to focus on defense on the other side, almost no enemy could withstand a single clash with him.
Thus, the two charged all the way, and even Losa did not know how many enemies ended up horrifically deceased under his iron spear.
When Losa, drenched in blood, pierced through the enemy’s formation, he suddenly saw Saladin, surrounded by elite knights in layers of black armor, donning golden armor, with a majestic eagle perched on his shoulder.
At this moment, the opponent was smiling and waving at him, as if welcoming him to come closer as a guest, or perhaps mocking him for being so close yet forever unable to cross the abyss.
Losa took a deep breath and then turned his horse back, leading a dozen Winged Cavalry who fought alongside him, launching another charge at the enemy’s rear.
He did not recklessly charge towards Saladin, intuition told him that extreme danger lurked there.
Until now, Saladin’s casters and that giant dragon had not made a move; Losa knew they were still lying in wait, like rattlesnakes commonly seen in the desert, blending into the yellow sand, ready at any moment to spit deadly venom.
...
Saladin’s smile was somewhat stiff.
He murmured softly, "How many years has it been..."
How many years had it been since he last felt fear?
He was somewhat perplexed; had he truly aged?
Not just Saladin, nearby Mudeliji suddenly spoke to Shemir at his side, "Even I feel fear, do you know what magic that is?"
Shemir was somewhat surprised.
He hadn’t expected the usually silent Mudeliji to initiate conversation.
Shaking his head, he replied, "I don’t know; if it’s the Group Fear Technique, it’s impossible that you and I would be affected; the Dragon Might of my Karelian Fire Dragon isn’t as soul-stirring as he may be—is he some offspring of an Evil God?"
Mudeliji paused in silence, then said, "You should also make a move; at least let your giant dragon partner attack the enemy’s camp, it’d be good to see what cards the Frankish casters are hiding."
Master Shemir contemplated for a moment, then nodded: "There seems to be no better choice; Mudeliji, I will launch an assault on the enemy camp with my giant dragon partner, this Losa, I leave to you."
Mudeliji furrowed his brow and said, "Do you have to go together? As a high-level Dragon Species, the Karelian Fire Dragon is completely capable of fighting independently."
Shemir shook his head: "But he doesn’t have the nimble mind of human casters, nor our versatile means—Mudeliji, ’he’ is my close friend, not my pet, I very much care for his safety."
Mudeliji’s face didn’t look good, and he replied coldly, "As you wish."
Then he said no more.
...
On the viewing high ground.
Prince Zahir, leading a few hundred cavalry under his command, looked at the distant figure drenched in blood, unstoppable like a Demon God, and gritted his teeth — that man was the root of his downfall today.
He has become stronger; the minions under his command are more numerous and more elite compared to their past encounters.
Can it be that I will never defeat the nightmare in my heart, and wash away the shame?
Prince Zahir’s heart was filled with dejection. The man he regarded as his nemesis was now a dominant power, commanding an army of tens of thousands, while he had failed to reclaim the territory of Aleppo and was left with only a few hundred cavalry under his command.
How could one be content with such circumstances?
"Your Highness, my King summons you."
The tall Nubian slave came running, bringing the report.
Zahir recognized him as the most trusted court eunuch under his father’s command.
"Ah, oh, alright."
Surprised, Zahir could hardly believe it; since the failure, Saladin had almost never summoned him again, and many regarded this as a signal that he was completely excluded from the line of succession.
Now, he only had a loyal Mamluk Forbidden Guard, but without territory, even these few hundred cavalry were hard to maintain.
Zahir followed the eunuch to Saladin, somewhat confused, and said, "Father."
"Do you have a task for me?"
Saladin nodded slightly, "Zahir, I want you to command the remaining Kasaji Guard."
The total number of Saladin’s Kasaji Guard reached over ten thousand, but not all were brought to the battlefield.
The reason was the same as those Imperial Knights under Losa left in the territory.
As the King’s Mamluk Guard, many members of the Kasaji Guard held important positions in the Ayyubid Dynasty, even provincial governors, which is why Mamluks are called "a disguised army class."
Born from slaves, they were isolated by the monarch from an early age, not deeply entangled with local royal and noble families, and when sent out for official duties, it greatly reduced the risk of enemy rebellion.
Comparable to eunuchs of the Eastern Empire, only they were not castrated.
Moreover, Saladin dispatched three battalions of a thousand Kasaji Guards each to serve under Taqidin, leaving him with fewer than five thousand Kasaji Guards.
Zahir was taken aback, momentarily doubting his hearing, "Are you serious?"
Saladin’s voice was gentle. He held Zahir’s shoulder and said with a smile, "Of course, my son."
Zahir looked up at his nearly fifty-year-old father. He truly was old, his beard was graying, and his face full of wrinkles. How many years had it been since he had taken such a serious look at his father’s appearance?
Saladin continued speaking, his gaze filled with love, "Besides my Guard, I will dispatch another two thousand Nubian Light Cavalry for you to command. Zahir, you were defeated by Losa before. This time, do not disappoint me. You must stifle the charge of the Frankish cavalries and cut them in half!"
The Nubian Light Cavalry refers to the light-equipped javelin cavalry sent by the Lords of the Nubian region south of Egypt, who submitted to Saladin to serve. Their combat strength could only be considered just enough.
Zahir replied without hesitation, "Father, I will give my utmost, even unto death!"
"Child, after this battle, I will give you Aleppo and Northern Syria."
Saladin’s face was solemn; he had actually considered his succession long ago, intending Damascus and the southern region for his eldest son, Egypt for his second son, Aziz, and Aleppo and Northern Syria for his third son.
If they could reclaim the Holy Land, naturally, he would assign his brother Adil to govern it.
"Thank you, Father."
Zahir was filled with joy as he had enough of the rootless life. Without a territory, a prince would not be granted any respect.
He stood up, respectfully saluted Saladin, and under Saladin’s gaze, mounted his horse to take command of the army Saladin sent him.
Watching his son’s retreating back.
Saladin sighed softly.
Under the enemy’s pressure, he was forced to send his elite reserve to the battlefield.
Yet his reserve numbers continued to dwindle. Cards were being played one by one. Could it be that in the end, he would have to rely on the "Mutawiya" (volunteers, referring to militia willingly participating in Jihad) to turn the tide?
"Shemir, Mudeliji, when will you two finally act?"
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