WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 33: Battle of the Mountain Pass (2)

Soon, the enemy came into view just as the scouts had reported yesterday and this morning, a force of roughly a hundred emerged from the mountain pass.

This was the detachment Count Matthias Hosenfeld had sent to secure the pass. Their commander, a middle-aged knight who appeared to be in charge, spotted Vincent's forces and quickly issued orders. The enemy troops halted at once.

Though their commander must have sent scouts ahead, intelligence could never be perfectly current. Finding Vincent's forces fully armed and arrayed in formation clearly caught them off guard.

Vincent had no intention of granting them time to recover from their miscalculation.

"Archers, loose! Full assault after the volley! Crush them in one decisive strike!"

The command signaled the battle's beginning. As the archers unleashed a volley to pin the enemy down, Vincent and his forces charged forward.

The enemy vanguard faltered under the arrow strike, then began retreating in marching formation, likely hoping to offset their numerical disadvantage by drawing the fight deeper into the pass.

"Deny them any chance to flee! Break them here and now!"

True, the mountain pass favored the defenders, but numbers and momentum were squarely on Vincent's side. Their morale ran high as the enemy's will was already cracking. A minor terrain disadvantage meant nothing.

This is won. The thought flashed through Vincent's mind as his infantry crashed into the enemy near the pass's entrance, their war cries echoing. He urged his horse forward alongside them.

"Push harder than they can retreat! Shatter their formation! Don't just drive them back, make them rout!"

Vincent spurred his forces onward, swinging his sword from horseback and driving his steed into enemy ranks.

Though the enemy vanguard, their strongest fighters resisted fiercely, they couldn't withstand the momentum of his assault. The clash of steel, roars, and dying screams filled the air as Arelia's advantage grew.

Before long, formations dissolved into a melee where allies and foes became indistinguishable.

The pass's entrance, while wider than its depths, still cramped the fighting. Duel after duel erupted and one-on-one, or outnumbered struggles.

This was a test of individual skill. Though the enemy gained ground in isolated skirmishes, the broader tide favored Vincent. Their vanguard's casualties mounted, while their rear guard teetered on the brink of rout, their ranks fraying with every backward step.

After fighting at the forefront, Vincent now hung back slightly, entrusting the melee to his men while surveying the field. A commander's duty was to judge when to press or withdraw, and he would not falter.

"......"

As he watched the enemy's rear guard retreat, a sense of unease took root.

It made sense to place their elite troops at the front and weaker ones behind, but even so, would trained soldiers really fall back in such disarray? Shouldn’t at least a few rally to reinforce their battered vanguard?

Vincent’s gaze lifted to the sky.

Archers on both sides loosed sporadic volleys, their shots fewer in the chaos of movement. Yet even accounting for that, the enemy’s arrows were alarmingly sparse. Were there even ten enemy bowmen left? A token force.

For a hundred-strong detachment tasked with holding the pass, this imbalance defied logic.

Vincent's eyes swept the battlefield as the realization struck him, conscripts mixed among regulars. The very strategy Countess Cecilia had employed.

If the enemy had done the same…

His head snapped toward the pass's left flank, then right. Movement flickered among the trees. His lips parted.

"Ambush! Watch the ri—"

Arrows tore from the forest before he could finish, shredding into his formation's exposed flank.

・・・・・・

While their hundred-strong unit lured the enemy deeper into the pass, the fifty ambushers had crept forward, closing in near the path's edge. At Oliver's signal, they would strike.

The ambush party comprised twenty archers with arrows nocked, and thirty infantry and knights poised to charge.

"Now, Fire!"

Oliver's command came just as the enemy commander, a knight on horseback wheeled toward them. Whether he'd spotted them or was shouting a warning, it was too late.

Twenty arrows shot through the trees in unison, hammering into the enemy's unprotected flank. Caught completely off guard, nearly ten knights and soldiers fell at once.

Several shafts targeted the conspicuous enemy commander on horseback. Though his reflexes and full plate armor deflected the lethal strikes, his mount which was struck by arrows reared and threw him. Yet he rose immediately, unharmed.

"Archers, fire again! Knights and infantry, charge!"

As ordered, another volley flew before thirty elite fighters slammed into the disoriented enemy's side.

Then, perfectly timed with the ambush, the frontal assault began. The vanguard that had been holding the enemy at bay in the pass now mustered their remaining strength for an all-out push.

The twenty archers still hidden in the forest flank, along with ten more positioned along the path, unleashed a relentless barrage on the enemy's rear, suppressing reinforcements while their comrades engaged in close combat.

Isolated and outmaneuvered, the enemy vanguard which were now reduced to fewer than a hundred including their unhorsed commander, fought desperately against attacks from both front and flank.

Friedrich watched from the forest while thinking victory might be within grasp, but the battle refused to end so simply.

Footnotes: 

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