Chapter 37: Taking the Enemy General's Head from Amidst an Army of Ten Thousand! First Subscriptions Requested

On a small hillside overlooking the battlefield.

Hosa was extremely cautious not to venture too close to the city walls, primarily because Duncan's previous ballista bolt had left a deep psychological scar on him. In terms of sheer personal prowess, his older brother Hengest was considerably stronger than he was, yet such a formidable barbarian warrior had been instantly obliterated the moment a ballista bolt struck him.

"The enemy is almost at their breaking point."

A Saxon chieftain's guardsman rushed over, his expression quite exhilarated as he said, "Chieftain, let me lead a squad of hearth-guards to make a charge!"

"We can definitely rout them in one fell swoop."

The Saxon guardsmen unit was also referred to as hearth-guards, signifying elite warriors who sat around the hearth with their leader to share food, power, and status.

Hosa's expression was visibly tempted.

He could also see that the enemy was at the end of their tether; the Saxon Viking warband of Enfeios had launched several all-out assaults, which had long since exhausted the defenders within the town. These British militia lacked both physical endurance and combat experience, unable to ever truly relax on the battlefield, remaining utterly fatigued even with other shifts taking over the defense.

If the Saxon hearth-guard unit were deployed at this moment, it might indeed create an overwhelming advantage.

"If only we had a catapult," Hosa muttered with a look of regret.

The British Isles possessed no decent major cities; a bombardment with catapults would easily shatter any fortifications.

Among the barbarians of this era, only the Franks had mastered relatively sophisticated siege technology, while the Huns were equally unskilled in sieges. The true rise of nomadic military might had to await the Mongol armies, whose siege techniques acquired from the Central Plains proved virtually invincible as they swept across Eurasia and Europe.

Charge!

Hosa gazed across the entire battlefield and decisively ordered the Saxon hearth-guards to press forward. As frontline sword-and-shield elites, they had little fear of archers.

"Kirkman, lead the guard unit to make a frontal assault on the East Gate!"

Having spoken, Hosa turned his gaze toward another figure, saying in a deep voice, "Isolt the Decapitator."

The crowd parted.

A hulking giant nearly two meters tall stepped out, standing out conspicuously in this era, making one wonder whether he possessed giant blood. This massive warrior wielded a heavy executioner's axe without a shield, wearing a half-suit of armor somewhat resembling that of a Norse warrior—designed primarily to facilitate charging, as overly heavy armor would restrict his mobility.

Isolt the Decapitator knelt on one knee and declared, "Here! Chieftain!"

Hosa looked at the massive warrior and said in a deep voice, "Take the elite axemen and stand by on the right flank. The moment the enemy shows a weakness, lead your troops to shatter them."

——Saxon Elite Axemen (1-Star).

This was another trump card in Hosa's possession; they lacked shields, wore only a half-suit of armor, and wielded two-handed battleaxes capable of effortlessly penetrating armor. Their frontal charge was exceptionally fierce, allowing them to tear through enemy defenses like a withered tree snapped in autumn. Even the imperial field armies could not stop them, requiring the Eagle Standard legions to intercept them.

However, they also possessed glaring flaws: they were terrified of archers and prone to launching unauthorized, reckless charges.

The two brothers rarely deployed this unit because the casualties on their own side were exceptionally high whenever it was used. It was essentially a mutual destruction unit, serving as the main elite force for grueling breakthrough battles.

Before charging, they would unleash a terrifying battle cry, followed immediately by a brainless charge, rarely routing until nearly half of their number had perished.

From the God's eye view.

Duncan's expression turned grave as he said in a deep voice, "The enemy's elite forces are pressing forward!"

"Have Culin ready to meet the enemy."

In the projected scene.

Two 1-star marked elite units were on the move: one was the Saxon hearth-guard unit, and the other was the Saxon elite axemen. Although neither unit was large in number, they exerted immense pressure, radiating the aura of battle-hardened veterans even from afar.

"Follow me!"

Duncan took the lead, bursting straight out of the South Gate with over thirty cavalrymen following closely behind, presenting a formidable and awe-inspiring momentum.

——British General's Bodyguard (High Morale) (Decisive Moment) (General's Inspiration) (1-Star)!

These elite horsemen were all superbly equipped and possessed exceptional combat skills.

They were essentially the merged personal knights of Duncan and the Duke of Tintagel. Unlike the cavalry charges led by the Duke of Tintagel, under Duncan's inspiration, their morale had risen to the verge of bursting.

On the nearby hillside, Hosa's expression changed instantly.

"What are they doing?"

Clearly, they were the attacking force with a numerical advantage; why would the enemy's general's bodyguard suddenly charge out?

Bad news!

Hosa seemed to realize something, and shifting from extreme anger to laughter, he scoffed, "Madmen! Arrogance!"

"You actually intend to behead me?!"

Taking the enemy commander's head from amidst a myriad of troops!

Duncan's move was utterly abnormal. A squad of elite cavalry had charged out, heading straight for the enemy banner, which clearly signaled an intention to slay the general and seize the banner.

Historically, unless one was a powerhouse supremely confident in their own martial prowess, almost no one would dare attempt such a feat!

"Protect the chieftain!"

A nearby chieftain's bodyguard roared, rallying dozens of Saxon Viking horsemen.

Infantry could never catch up.

At this moment, unless Hosa actively retreated and hid under the protection of the main army, only cavalry could intercept this dragon-like general's bodyguard unit.

Hosa had no desire to flee, as retreating would deal a devastating blow to morale.

"Call over the guard cavalry and auxiliary cavalry! They only have thirty-odd men!"

"Cut them off!"

Just as Hosa was maneuvering his cavalry units, suddenly at the edge of the battlefield, squads of soldiers rushed out from the forest. The British legionaries at the front held large shields and gripped javelins in their hands.

Reinforcements?!

A cheer erupted from the direction of the city gates, this fresh blood joining the battlefield dramatically boosting the defenders' morale.

"Protect the right flank!"

"Spearmen and shield-bearers, form up! Archers, ready!"

Hosa was also a veteran of many battles and decisively altered his formation to meet the enemy. He pushed the Saxon elite axemen forward, preparing to use them to crush this reinforcing troop immediately after the first clash of arms. The first wave of javelin throws from the British legion possessed devastating lethality; without shields, the elite axemen could not possibly withstand it and would have to force their way into close combat.

But at that very moment.

The general's bodyguard led by Duncan had already collided with the Saxon Viking cavalry rushing to intercept them!

Kill!

Wielding his lance and taking the lead, Duncan looked up to the sky and roared, "Form up! Wedge formation!"

——Lance Charge!

Blood sprayed wildly!

Warhorses shrieked in agony!

Duncan held his lance level, and the instant they collided, he impaled and killed the commander of the Saxon Viking cavalry on the spot. Following this, he swung his heavy spear in a sweeping arc, his astonishing brute strength knocking another Viking horseman out of the saddle, where the enemy was instantly trampled to death by the horses of the following general's bodyguard.

The wedge formation was an offensively aggressive formation, typically spearheaded by the most elite cavalry with each successive rank increasing in size to form a triangular assault posture.

This formation possessed tremendous frontal impact, capable of rapidly punching through enemy lines and disrupting their command structure. However, while its mobility was high, its defensive capability was relatively weak; if the first wave failed to open a breach, the flanks might be enveloped and suffer heavy damage.

This battle!

Duncan personally led the charge!

He resembled a sharp blade, carving a bloody path the moment the two armies collided. With unadorned, effortless thrusts, he speared Saxon Viking horsemen one after another, sending them crashing to the ground. Wherever he passed, warhorses neighed and enemy riders dodged, utterly unstoppable!

The general's bodyguard closely following behind rapidly expanded the fruits of victory. The enemy formation had fallen into complete disarray; after being pierced straight through by Duncan's personal charge, the nearly hundred Viking horsemen were torn apart in the middle, entirely incapable of organizing any meaningful resistance.

Warhorses thundered across the ground.

Duncan used his lance to hoist a Saxon Viking horseman straight into the air, the spearhead piercing clean through his chest while the enemy spewed blood from his mouth. Lifting the corpse high above his horse's head, Duncan casually flicked his arms and flung the body several meters away.

On the distant hillside, Hosa's expression was filled with absolute terror.

Was this even human?

It was not as though he had never witnessed natively gifted Germanic berserkers, but a powerhouse like Duncan was someone he was encountering for the very first time.

He now found himself caught in a dilemma where neither retreating nor charging seemed viable.

"Rally!"

Duncan reined in his horse a few hundred meters away from the enemy commander. After a fierce frontal charge, the nearly hundred Saxon Viking horsemen had been shattered. Duncan had personally slain over a dozen men without even drawing his Bow of Noden, relying entirely on his astonishing personal martial prowess and the lord's armor stripped from the Duke of Tintagel to effortlessly grind these enemies to dust.

His combat effectiveness while armored was simply too ferocious!

Duncan barely needed to defend himself; one thrust per man, he had continuously impaled and killed over a dozen enemies.

The setting sun bled across the sky.

On the opposite hillside, the general's bodyguard re-formed behind Duncan. The original force of over thirty horsemen had been reduced to just twenty-eight, with several nursing wounds, yet they remained fiercely menacing as they fell in behind him.

This sight instilled a trace of genuine fear in Hosa.

He urgently mobilized troops to guard his flanks while rallying the chieftain's bodyguard to establish a defensive formation before him.

"Follow me!"

Duncan raised his lance high, shouted a battle cry, and circled around the enemy's right flank. The God's eye view allowed him to spot any structural flaw in the enemy formation; the frontal defensive line arranged by the enemy could not possibly stop him, and for these cavalrymen, detouring a few hundred meters was trivial.

"Chieftain, fall back to the main army," a nearby guard horseman muttered in a low voice.

The pressure Duncan exerted upon them was simply too immense!

A single charge had directly routed a Viking cavalry force three times their number; they had never witnessed such a valiant knight.

Howling winds and thundering hooves.

Duncan led the twenty-eight riders to regroup once more, setting his sights directly on Hosa's chieftain bodyguard.

"Move!"

Hosa ultimately flinched. He possessed a numerical advantage, and as long as he dragged the battle out with the enemy, victory would eventually be his.

However, while his five thousand troops sounded like a large number, packed tightly into a dense formation, they could all fit within a single athletic field. Outside Exeter, the battle was dispersed into squads of dozens to hundreds of men. The moment his chieftain guard moved, the surrounding central army began to swarm inward, attempting to use human wave tactics to intercept the enemy charge.

Within the crowd, enemy units dressed in plain cloth and smeared with war paint approached.

——Germanic Priests.

Duncan instantly detected the anomalous movement as the priests drew closer to their direction. He immediately drew the Bow of Noden and loosed an arrow, striking the priest dead.

Although spellcasting capabilities in the medieval era were weak, Duncan could not afford to take risks.

The distant enemy forces were shocked into a state of panic!

Hosa seemed to recall something as well. Seeing Duncan charge so fiercely earlier, he had assumed the enemy intended to break through by force to take his head; now, seeing Duncan draw a bow, he instantly realized that eliminating him did not require such trouble.

Piercing a willow leaf from a hundred paces!

Duncan advanced alone on horseback, the God's eye view locking onto his target directly. Twenty-eight horsemen followed closely behind, guarding his flanks and escorting him as he steadily closed in on the enemy.

Two hundred meters away.

Duncan nocked an arrow and drew his bow. The arrow whined through the air, piercing clean through an elite chieftain guard and knocking him from his saddle.

Rapid fire.

Without needing to grip the reins, his face neither flushed nor breathless, he swiftly drew another arrow and loosed it. Amidst the dying shriek of a warhorse, Hosa's mount was critically injured, a piercing armor-piercing arrow tip boring straight through the horse's belly. The fierce barbarian chieftain tumbled instantly to the ground, grunted as he rolled back to his feet, and grabbed a nearby chieftain guardsman in an attempt to scramble back onto a horse's back.

At this moment, Hosa felt genuine terror!

The enemy wielded a powerful bow and possessed god-like archery, as if an eagle's eye oversaw the entire battlefield. Even surrounded by numerous chieftain guards, he had still been struck, a reality that completely shattered his past understanding of warfare!

Could war even be fought this way?

Taking advantage of this brief delay, the general's bodyguard led by Duncan rapidly caught up to the enemy. Over a dozen chieftain guards turned their horses around to fight a desperate rear-guard action, using their bodies as a living wall to shield Hosa, while the general's bodyguard charged head-on, carving a bloody path for Duncan with flesh and blood.

They were the personal guard of this era, willing to surrender their lives to the general on the battlefield.

"Is he out of arrows?"

Hoofbeats echoed.

Fleeing for his life, Hosa suddenly noticed that Duncan had raised his bow but nocked no arrow. He instantly realized this was an opportunity and ordered his men to turn and launch a counter-charge, attempting to encircle and annihilate Duncan, who had driven deep into their ranks alone.

At this moment, relying on his exquisite horsemanship, Duncan had already plunged into the enemy formation, with the nearest general's bodyguard dozens of meters away.

Hosa whirled his horse around, and over a dozen elite chieftain guards swarmed forward.

With so many men closing in.

Even if Duncan were a god descended to earth, he would be pierced to death by their spears!

——Wind Arrow!

Invisible winds howled, and Duncan's mana bar was instantly drained dry.

Under Hosa's incredulous gaze, Duncan drew his warbow to a full crescent moon, and something invisible seemed to condense upon the empty bowstring.

"Oh no! It's a trap!"

Gale-force winds shrieked.

Surrounded by his chieftain guards, Hosa stiffened, a bloody hole spontaneously appearing in his forehead as the Wind Arrow pierced straight through his skull.

The surrounding chieftain guards fell into disarray.

Duncan drew his Oathkeeper sword, severed an enemy spear thrust toward him with a single stroke, and then, with a furious roar, hacked off a head frozen in a grimace of horror and shock.

"Protect the General!"

Twenty-one surviving general's bodyguard cavalrymen fought desperately through the fray. Several more fell from their horses, but they ultimately reached his side, forming a protective barrier around Duncan.

The setting sun wept blood, and the biting wind cut like a blade.

Duncan hoisted Hosa's severed head upon his lance, gazed across the battlefield where fighting still raged desperately, and unleashed a terrifying roar toward the sky!

"The enemy commander is dead! Surrender immediately or die!"

Behind Duncan, violent winds swept across the plain. The sixteen remaining cavalrymen stood bathed in blood, warhorses neighing, every single man wounded yet exuding the fierce presence of tigers—resembling executioners stepped straight out of hell.

The entire battlefield fell into absolute silence.

Following that came thunderous cheers and chaotic commotion. Countless Saxon soldiers gazed upon the severed head of Hosa hoisted high upon the lance, their fighting spirit instantly evaporating.

This scene was destined to be passed down in the British Isles as a myth and legend!