Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

There was no artillery preparation, no artillery fire correction, and no advancing barrage.

Despite the lack of artillery preparation, the infantrymen who began their charge launched a wave-like attack, like a surging tide. The Asur maintained their formation, but failed to maintain a relatively tight formation. Instead of huddling together shoulder to shoulder and shield to shield as they did in training, they appeared slightly loose, spaced apart, like a field of wheat swaying in the wind.

Leading the charge were the cavalry.

They had witnessed the Seven Horsemen's failed charge—a glorious and tragic attempt that was ultimately crushed into fragments of blood and iron by ballistae.

Therefore, learning from the bloody lessons of the past, the Asur cavalry adjusted their formation this time. They did not deploy in the traditional dense charge formation with horses side by side, nor did they display the might of their cavalry with the most tightly packed steel torrent as before. Instead, they spread out extremely wide, creating huge gaps between them.

Each rider was spaced about ten meters apart, like chess pieces evenly distributed but isolated on a chessboard. This formation seemed sparse and empty at first glance, but its purpose was obvious: they wanted to ensure that they wouldn't be crushed into a pile of corpses by a single concentrated barrage when faced with the rain of crossbow bolts that Duruci poured down from the sky and spewed from the slope.

Death is inevitable; I only hope that at least someone can break through this web of death.

From Duruci's perspective, who was guarding the slope, the formation of the Asur cavalry appeared to be meticulously calculated and deliberately designed:
The first rank of cavalry consisted of ten men, who maintained a distance of nearly ten meters between each other. Each warhorse was like an independent wave, surging up the slope together.

The second rank of cavalry also consisted of ten men, maintaining a ten-meter longitudinal interval from the first rank. However, they were not directly behind the first rank, but rather cleverly positioned in the gaps between the first rank, forming a staggered chessboard arrangement.

There was also a ten-meter distance between the third and second rows, and this time, they were directly opposite the first row of cavalry.

The fourth row maintains the same distance from the third row and corresponds to the second row.

Then, nothing more.

The entire cavalry force actually consisted of only sixty cavalrymen, forty of whom were engaged in combat.

Four ranks, then no more reserves. Next came the infantry.

These cavalrymen abandoned their lances, symbols of honor, which in this situation were merely a hindrance against the tearing force of ballistae. They crouched low, hiding tightly behind their heavy shields, attempting to make their way through this death zone with minimal effort.

As it turned out, all of this careful planning did work, effectively countering the deployment density of the Duruch ballistae.

However, this does not prevent the harshness of reality.

A volley of crossbow fire fell, and the first rank of cavalrymen all fell, torn apart on the spot along with their horses. Blood and bone fragments splattered everywhere, staining the hillside red.

Similarly, this did not prevent the remaining cavalry from continuing their charge.

Taking advantage of the brief pause in the ballista reloading, the second rank of cavalrymen frantically urged their horses forward, pushing their way up to a position even further than the first rank, almost touching the middle of the slope.

However, that's all.

The ballista's gears turned again, the bowstring tightened once more, and arrows roared out once more. The second rank of cavalry was instantly engulfed, men and horses alike blasted to pieces by the splitting arrows. Flesh, armor, shattered shields, and horse limbs flew everywhere, the air thick with the smell of blood and burnt metal.

After the first and second rows all fell down, the scene suddenly became complicated.

The warhorses in the third rank, witnessing the horrific fate of their companions, abruptly halted. Their eyes were bloodshot, their nostrils flaring, and they refused to advance another step. Some turned tail, neighing wildly as they fled, while others circled in place, their hooves trembling, refusing to move an inch further. No matter how much their riders roared or urged them on with their spurs, they remained unmoved.

Then, a tragic scene unfolded.

An Asur rider, filled with rage and despair, leaped from his completely turned horse, almost collapsing to the ground. He steadied himself, raised his shield, and roared. The next second, two more riders jumped from their frozen horses, their eyes burning with an almost frenzied light as they stared at the blood-soaked ramp ahead.

The three of them let out a bloodcurdling roar, raised their shields high, and instantly transformed into foot soldiers charging forward, ready to use their flesh and blood to give the fallen cavalrymen their last bit of courage.

Then, two more riders jumped off their horses. The metallic clang of their armor striking the ground was particularly clear in the midst of the noisy battlefield, as if reminding them that their choice at this moment was a gamble between life and death.

Meanwhile, the riders still on horseback displayed superb horsemanship, raising their shields to parry while maneuvering their steeds to leap over the fallen horses. The spacing between ranks and columns was precisely controlled, leaving ample room for maneuver.

But that was all. After crossing the obstacle, they hadn't gone more than a few steps before they and their mounts collapsed. The warhorses fell without even neighing.

The five pedestrian riders, on the other hand, displayed their unique skills and abilities, like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea.

The three riders moved swiftly, and before the ballistae roared, they hurriedly and decisively took cover behind the heavy carcasses of horses, using the dead warhorses as cover and temporary shelter.

As for the other two riders, they weren't so lucky.

One was a beat too slow, and the other's chosen cover was simply not enough to serve as cover. The fragile obstacle was instantly pierced by the crossbow bolt, blood splattered, and the body collapsed in the violent shock.

Thus, seven cavalrymen from the fourth rank finally charged into Duruci's army formation and the ramparts built with raiding ships.

At this moment, although the ballistae operators had their fingers on the triggers, due to the limited depression angle and the threat of the approaching Asur infantry, the ballistae had to abandon their attacks on these close targets.

Four cavalrymen from the fourth rank charged straight into Duruci's formation, only to be treated the same as the two riders of the Seven Knights. Duruci's formation shifted rapidly, as if a hunter had opened a ruthless U-shaped trap, swallowing them whole.

The other three charged directly at the raiding ship. One of them, a dragon prince who had his legs firmly planted on his horse's back, was thrown off his horse by a javelin flying from the side the moment he leaped. He was thrown to the ground with a loud crash, his armor and bones shattering with a terrifying sound.

The other two completed this exceptionally special, all-or-nothing boarding maneuver, scaling the deck of the raiding ship with madness and fighting spirit.

Tyrandor turned to look at Alalos, their eyes briefly meeting. Alalos nodded emphatically, gripping his spear tightly, his entire being seemingly ignited with fighting spirit in a few breaths, before turning towards the raiding ship beside him.

While the Duruch on the ground were engaged in a bloody melee with the cavalry, another dangerous battle was quietly unfolding on the two raiding ships that had been boarded. The gunners had long since abandoned their ballista operations, quickly drawing their personal daggers for self-defense and taking sturdy shields from the ship's side. At their captain's low shout, they formed a short defensive line, standing before the ballistae like a last line of defense, determined to prevent the Asur riders from destroying their heavy weaponry.

The sounds of shields clashing against weapons rose and fell. Once the ballistae were securely protected and the riders' fighting space was restricted, the Duruci men, like bloodthirsty hounds, swung their swords and pounced on the riders.

The cramped deck space made the battle almost brutally suffocating.

When Alaros appeared on the deck, he saw that the riders' longswords were struggling to launch a full offensive, while the shields of the Duruccis were able to achieve their maximum effect.

Three gunners with shields roared and forced the rider to the edge of the ship's side. One of the gunners, who had taken the harpoon crossbow from inside the ship's side, almost shoved the head of the harpoon into the rider's face.

With a crisp "click" as the trigger was pulled, the machine roared instantly.

The harpoon pierced the rider's face, the immense force shattering his skull, tearing his helmet, and splattering brain matter and blood in an instant. The tremendous inertia pinned his head firmly to the ship's side, his entire body convulsing violently. But he didn't slump down limply; because of the harpoon's presence, he seemed exhausted, leaning against the ship's side to rest, unable to even slip off.

Witnessing this scene, Alalos shook his head, feeling little surprise, only a sense of indifference and helplessness.

Immediately afterward, he retreated, his figure disappearing into the clamor of the battlefield like a shadow. As he leaped from the deck of the raiding ship and landed lightly on the muddy ground, almost at the same instant, he heard the deafening roar of ballistae.

Almost instinctively, he pressed his body against the gunwale, because his keen ears not only caught the explosion of the ballistae, but also another sound—a sharp, rapid, chilling whooshing sound.

That was the sound of an arrow cutting through the air, subtle yet sharp, like the whisper of death.

As it turned out, his judgment was absolutely correct.

In the next instant, several arrows whistled and embedded themselves in the ground not far away. A larger barrage of arrows then rained down like a sudden downpour, striking the shields and armor raised high by the Duruqi soldiers with a resounding crack and thud. The crisp sounds of iron against wood mingled with the dull thud of arrows embedding themselves, making the entire battlefield seem to tremble in this rain of arrows.

The Asur cavalry's suicidal charge, with no chance of survival, finally bought their infantry a crucial opportunity.

After enduring two rounds of crossbow bombardment and a volley of javelin attacks, the remaining spearmen gritted their teeth and, braving the hail of crossbow bolts, pressed forward like an iron wall, clashing violently with Duruci's army. Sharp spears clashed, accompanied by screams and the clang of metal, and close combat suddenly ensued.

Unlike their previous battle on the hill, the archers did not form neat ranks and steadily unleash volleys of arrows. This time, they closely followed the spearmen's footsteps, advancing rapidly at a running pace, raising their bows and releasing arrows as they went, the fletching flying between their rapid breathing and heavy steps.

Asur's intentions were obvious, even cruel and direct.

They aimed to use their overwhelming numbers to break through the well-prepared Duruqi army formation on the slope. Even if it meant rivers of blood, they were determined to eliminate as much of Duruqi's forces as possible, creating an opportunity for their comrades on the other side of the passage.

In contrast, Duruci's approach was cool and conservative, without the slightest hint of rashness, because time and initiative were in their hands. What they had to do was delay, block, and wait; it was Asur who was in a hurry.

The officers followed the manual and set up a solid square formation according to the defensive array they had practiced countless times.

At the forefront stood warriors, shields and spears raised high, forming an impenetrable iron wall, their sharpness aimed at the charging enemy. In the middle of the formation were warriors wielding single-handed weapons and shields, standing shoulder to shoulder, ready to fill any gaps or launch a brief counterattack. At the very back were rows of cold, ruthless ranged attackers, their hands constantly manipulating their intricate crossbows behind shields, mechanically unleashing dense rain of arrows that darkened the sky and crushed Asur's offensive torrent before the slope.

The first wave of spear thrusts was like two iron forests suddenly colliding, the sharp metallic clang and the muffled sound of armor being torn apart rising and falling, weaving a cruel war song in the air.

The Asur spearmen in the front ranks gritted their teeth, their breaths heavy like those of wild beasts. They thrust their spears straight forward with such force that it even affected their shoulders and backs; every muscle was taut, as if their entire bodies had become part of the spear. The spear tips trembled under the pressure, gleaming coldly, tearing through the gaps in the shield wall.

Duruci held firm with his heavy shield, which trembled and groaned. They seized the opportunity when the enemy's attack faltered slightly to launch a sudden counterattack.

The sound of shields clashing against shields exploded, the roar more deafening than war drums, making one's blood surge in their chest. The faces of the warriors behind the shields were obscured by visors; their hot breath sprayed fiercely onto the cold metal, their eyes cold and crazed. Some clenched their teeth until their gums bled, the bright red stains soaking the corners of their mouths, yet they refused to retreat an inch, stubbornly holding their ground.

The two sides were pressed tightly together, almost without any gaps. The air was completely filled with the stench of blood and sweat, as if even the wind had been stifled. The faces behind the shields of the Asur soldiers were flushed red from the exertion, veins bulging on their necks and temples, and bloodshot eyes; the Duruqi soldiers bit their cracked lips, blood trickling down their chins and splashing dark red marks on their breastplates.

The shields were repeatedly dented and cracked from the impact, sending splinters of wood and iron flying; and the sharp crack of the spear shafts breaking was particularly jarring amidst the noise, like the sound of bones being snapped.

The entire hillside was no longer a neat clash of military formations, but rather a series of living walls made of flesh and steel, pressing, entangled, and rubbing against each other. The roars, screams, and gasps of the soldiers were mixed together, and no one could retreat an inch.

The spearmen, blocked by the raiding ships that served as fortifications, chose to climb. They were lifted up by their comrades, their armor striking the wooden planks, their boots making dull thuds as they pounded against the ship's edge, like a torrent of iron trying to climb the back of a behemoth.

So, Duruci also made a move.

The officers issued short, sharp commands, their voices echoing metallically within their helmets. The soldiers in the center of the formation, weapons in hand—axes, shovels, and leaf hammers—rushed swiftly up the planks of the deck, shielding themselves from the rain of arrows falling from the sky with their shields. They then raised their weapons high and brought them down upon the Asur soldiers who had already climbed aboard.

A leaf hammer whistled down, denting Asur's helmet. The sound of metal clashing with the crunch of his skull mingled together, and the corpse, instantly losing its strength, tumbled off the side of the ship and plunged into the chaotic fray below. Another Duruch warrior swung his shovel, forcefully prying open Asur's spearman's defenses, pushing him halfway into the air before being struck in the chest by his comrade's battle axe with a dull crack, and tossed him into the crowd below.

But this did not stop Asur from continuing to climb. They kept climbing, and some even risked their lives to leap up the moment the ballistae fired, taking advantage of that brief gap to force their way onto the deck.

The moment they appeared on the deck, before they could even raise their weapons, they were locked in a fierce struggle with the Duruci defenders, using their armor, knees, and elbows to pin them down.

The ballistae operators on the ship continued operating, cold sweat streaming down their cheekbones, yet they didn't stop. In front of them, the warriors desperately held their line, their shields cracked and their armor riddled with arrows, they held on fiercely. They knew that every act of resistance was to buy the ballistae a second more time.

At this moment, the raiding ship resembled a temporary fortress. The hull was the city wall, the deck was the passageway, and the soldiers of Duruch were the defenders on the city wall, their sole objective being to hold the ballistae and keep them spewing destructive arrows.

With each draw of the bowstring and release, the ballista roared like a giant beast, unleashing dozens of arrows at once. Accompanied by a piercing shriek that tore through the air, the arrows hurtled towards the enemy lines, tearing a bloody gap in their defenses. Wood chips, armor fragments, and flesh flew everywhere, accompanied by screams and roars.

Meanwhile, the Asur launched their attack from the direction of the passage, charging forward like a surging tide. (End of Chapter)