CHAPTER 58: WINGED HUSSARS, CHARGE!

Chapter 58: Winged Hussars, Charge!

Castellan Leonard, driving the wagon, uneasily scanned his surroundings. The temperature was dropping rapidly. After the desert had released all its accumulated heat, the air here had chilled to the point where one longed to wrap oneself in a thick sheepskin blanket.

And the Winged Hussars had indeed done just that. Their equipment included a leopard skin, wolf skin, or bear skin cloak to be worn over their armor, which they now had draped over themselves for warmth.

Ulm, holding his bearskin cloak, wanted to offer it to Lothar, but was refused. Lothar did not fear such a minor chill; having mastered blood magic, he was no longer a mere ordinary person.

The night wind blew, sweeping away a layer of sand, revealing a skeleton lying supine on the ground beneath, only white bones remaining. A black scorpion had taken up residence in one of its eye sockets, burrowing deeper within.

Leonard, while driving the wagon, freed a hand to clutch the silver cross he wore around his neck.

"Heavenly Father above, please protect us! May we not encounter that band of infidel robbers! Only six of us are combat-capable—no, it should be five. I’m already getting too old to even lift a sword properly. And Ulm and these other two, these brightly armored cavalrymen, were just a bunch of infantrymen before this. They haven’t even been on a battlefield! They can’t possibly be a match for those damned infidels!"

Thinking this, Leonard’s expression grew even more desperate. He began to regret why he had tried to be brave and taken on the duty of escorting the wagon himself, instead of his five sergeants.

"Leonard, have you been to Kerak Castle?" The voice of his lord, somewhat lofty, came from nearby.

"Y-yes, Milord."

Looking at Leonard, who was so nervous he could barely speak coherently, Lothar felt somewhat amused.

Leonard was a timid man; that much was undeniable. But for the sake of preventing Lothar from pursuing the responsibility of the five soldiers who had lost the money along with him, he had still resolutely stepped forward at this time. One could only say that human nature was always complex.

"What do you think of Kerak Castle?"

Leonard recalled, "Kerak Castle is a magnificent fortress. Compared to the... ahem, dilapidated... no, but Jorgklusburg truly cannot compare to it. Count Raynald has renovated it to be very sturdy, and the garrison is very elite. The walls are lined with towers and stone throwers. I’m afraid it would take an army ten times their number to conquer it."

Lothar chuckled lightly. "Indeed. As the heart of all Count Raynald’s territories, Kerak’s defenses must be very tight. After all, he has offended Saladin so much, and Kerak is situated on the eastern frontier of the Kingdom, liable to suffer Saladin’s attacks at any time."

He paused a little, then added, "Count Raynald’s territory is not far from Jorgklusburg, but his lands are rich and fertile, abundant in salt and warhorses, with over a hundred knights loyal to him. My fief, however, is so remote and barren that even merchant caravans don’t bother to visit, and I only have six villages that can serve as fiefs for knights."

It was like a siphon effect; what little development potential Jorgklusburg possessed was being drained away by Count Raynald’s domain.

"Milord, you are a Holy Son, blessed by God! You need not dwell on this barren land of Jorgklusburg. You will sooner or later acquire a richer fief, and your status will be far beyond what Count Raynald can compare to," Leonard said fawningly.

"I’ve told you, do not use that title for me again." Lothar paused, then added, "But you are right about one thing. The footsteps of war are drawing near; whether a fief is fertile or not is no longer important."

This fief of Jorgklusburg, to him, was merely a springboard, a means to increase his own strength. In the future, Jorgklusburg would likely be just an insignificant part of his many territories and titles. If not for the Winged Hussar Barracks and the Lord’s Hall being located here, he would even prefer to enfeoff it to a subordinate lord loyal to him.

Lothar suddenly looked up, watching the falcon overhead gradually descend in the distance. He raised his hand and signaled, "Prepare for battle! The enemy is very close!"

Rolling clouds of yellow dust soon appeared on the horizon.

Ulm, his hand gripping his lance tightly, looked excitedly at his comrades, then at Knight Hans, the cavalry commander at their front.

Though it was his first time on a battlefield, he wasn’t nervous at all. He raised one hand, made a sign of the cross before him, then glanced back at Lothar and murmured a prayer, "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, Amen!"

The people of Jorgklusburg still stubbornly believed Lothar was a Holy Son, distinct from the Heavenly Father, yet unified in divine nature—the Trinity.

Lothar donned his chainmail shirt properly and put on his cold great helm. He glanced at Banu and Fringilla and smiled. "Stay behind me."

Then, he was the first to turn his horse and ride forward to meet the enemy. Leading his cavalrymen, he took up a position on a small hillock, seizing the advantageous terrain first.

The figures of the desert bandits gradually became clearer amidst the wind and sand. They were Zoroastrians, clad in dusty grey-white robes and headscarves. Their attire had a distinct Bedouin style. They rode Arabian horses and dromedary camels, their equipment varied: cavalry spears, straight swords, scimitars, bows and arrows, and round shields.

The bandit chief had a conspicuous scar across his face, running from left to right like a centipede. He sported a thick black mustache, and his skin had the characteristic roughness of a desert nomad. On his left shoulder, which was covered with a thick leather pad, perched a magnificent falcon, standing proud and tall.

Lothar urged his mount forward slowly. The bandits were startled, and some raised their bows, aiming at Lothar. Lothar paid no mind to the bandits’ cavalry bows. He placed his right hand on his left shoulder and said in Kurdish, "Thank you for having spared my soldiers previously. May I know your name?"

Castellan Leonard, still driving the wagon at the rear, hadn’t noticed that his ’Holy Son’ had just performed an infidel salute to the holy fire! The Winged Hussars, however, were completely unfazed. They merely gripped their weapons tightly, ready to charge an enemy ten times their number at Lothar’s command.

The bandit chief was somewhat surprised, then also placed his hand on his left shoulder. "Truly unexpected! You actually speak Kurdish and even know our salute?"

Lothar’s voice emerged from beneath his great helm, "It is because I once fought alongside a great Kurdish knight."

The bandit chief’s expression changed slightly. He tentatively uttered that name, "Is it Saladin?"

"Certainly not." Lothar had no intention of using Saladin’s name to intimidate his opponent.

The bandit chief gave Lothar a deep look and said, "I am Abd, chief of the Birbut clan, and also the leader of these plunderers."

"I am Lothar von Habsburg, lord of Jorgklusburg. You and your subordinates plundered the wealth I gave this man to buy horses. This is an act of injustice."

Abd looked at his men and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. "Lord Lothar, we Bedouins have never cared for justice! Wealth belongs only to the strong!"

Beneath his great helm, Abd and the Bedouin bandits failed to see the cold sneer that appeared on Lothar’s face.

"You once released my soldiers; I express my gratitude for that. If you are willing to return my wealth, I will forgive your transgressions and permit you to settle on my lands."

The bandits burst into uproarious laughter.

"Is this fellow an idiot?"

"It is we who forgive you now!"

"Not only did we rob your wealth, but we’re also going to rob you a second time!"

Abd, however, subconsciously felt a pang of unease. He said, "Leave this cart of goods for me, and I will invite you to drink the water I have brought."

In Zoroastrian doctrine, inviting someone to drink water was to swear an oath to the Holy Fire that one would not threaten their personal safety.

"Chief!" someone whispered a reminder, "Their armor is also very valuable!"

Abd angrily retorted, "Silence! I make the decisions here!"

Lothar sighed lightly. "I’m sorry, Abd. My bottom line cannot be crossed. Since we cannot agree, we have no choice but to fight."

The enemy was numerous, nearly five times their number. But Lothar wasn’t worried about how to defeat them; he was worried about how difficult it would be to annihilate them on this open plain.

"A pity. I grant you the right to return to your troop." Abd raised one hand, signaling the Bedouin bandits, who already had arrows nocked, not to attack for the moment. Only after Lothar had returned to his ranks did he lower his hand.

Instantly, a volley of arrows rained down, covering the small hillock. Lothar’s men occupied the high ground, so Abd would never initiate a charge first.

This was also the primary use of cavalry bows in this era—harassment, not killing.

But Lothar had no intention of utilizing the terrain advantage. He rode his horse back into his ranks, raised his lance, and shouted, "Winged Hussars, charge with me!"

The next moment, those cavalrymen with wing decorations on their backs let out a roar and, following Lothar, charged down the hillside like a whirlwind.