Virgin Knight Who Is the Frontier Lord in the Gender Switched World - Chapter 185

“We have no choice but to fight. If we focus solely on that, the odds of victory will naturally shift in our favor.”

The two armies, arranged in diagonal formations, were about to clash.

The battle was about to begin. The 3,000 soldiers under Lady Valiere’s command were about to collide with the 6,000 troops of the Mainz Monastic Knights.

The difference in the thickness of their battle lines was evident, as was the number of armored soldiers in the front ranks.

Even Amelia could see that the Archbishop of Mainz had chosen the same diagonal formation.

Instead of attempting a risky encirclement or opting for an overwhelming offensive to break through at once, the archbishop had decided to simply overpower them with sheer numbers.

He had no intention of winning with flair, leaving no openings for them to exploit.

Of course, if a gap appeared in the battle lines, they would likely have reserves ready to charge and turn the tide in their favor.

“And that’s why there’s still a chance for victory, as Lady Valiere said.”

Lady Valiere may have received a higher education, but sadly, she lacked battlefield experience.

If anything, she was deficient in the acumen needed as a commander.

There wasn’t enough background to declare such a thing with certainty.

Was it Lady Sabine’s judgment?

No, Lady Sabine was certainly knowledgeable in strategy and tactics, but something about this situation felt different.

A child named Martina had whispered into the princess’s ear multiple times during the war council.

Well, it’s unlikely that the child was the one advising on tactics.

So, most likely—there was a knight who had commanded the retainers.

“…”

Amelia speculated that it was the strange knight with the bucket-shaped helmet standing silently before her.

He was over two meters tall, with a large Cologne emblem carved into the center of his plate armor’s chest.

For some reason, he hadn’t spoken a single word.

Yet, he was the official envoy from Lady Valiere’s elder sister, 【Anastasia the Flesh-Eater】.

Even though he went by the ridiculous name “Lord Biggus,” Amelia couldn’t help but feel that he was a person of some significance.

Or rather, the sheer presence he exuded was overwhelming.

I’m still doing alright, she thought.

The black knights who volunteered for the assault unit simply because they could ride horses were struggling to control their steeds.

Under normal circumstances, they would have been able to handle their horses, but the horses were being overwhelmed by the strange heat radiating from Lord Biggus’s mount.

If it were just fear, it would still be manageable.

But the horses were stomping the ground wildly, seemingly on the verge of insanity, eager to charge into the fray.

Aren’t horses supposed to be timid creatures?

The black knights, who had only borrowed their horses from tavern merchants or traveling performers, were desperately trying to control their steeds, their faces on the verge of tears as their horses begged to charge and end this madness quickly.

“That stallion has completely taken over as the leader of the herd.”

For some reason, he wouldn’t reveal the horse’s name.

Just like the knight who hid his true identity behind the ridiculous name “Biggus,” he had no intention of revealing the horse’s true name either.

It was an impressive horse.

While the average height of a great horse is about 1.5 meters, this one easily surpassed 2 meters.

It must have weighed over a ton.

Its legs were unusually thick, as if they were designed to support the weight of a knight.

Its entire body was covered in thick, shaggy fur, like a wild horse that had never been tamed, with hair seemingly evolved solely to resist human arrows.

Is that really a horse?

Where did they find such a beast?

It was clear it couldn’t have been purchased at any ordinary horse market.

“…”

The bucket-headed knight leaned close to his horse’s ear and whispered something.

Perhaps he had grasped the situation.

Amelia felt relieved, thinking that he would calm the horse’s intimidation.

But she was wrong.

Did he signal that it was time to charge? All the horses, including hers, began to “catch” the scent of battle.

Even warhorses fear getting injured when they come into contact with humans.

But now, they didn’t seem to care.

They were ready to trample anything in their path.

Caught up in the battle aura of the stallion before them, they had completely “caught” the scent of battle.

What on earth is this fool thinking? Amelia glared at the bucket-headed knight.

He walked at the front of the line, completely unfazed.

Behind him were six knights.

They went by the incredibly suspicious names “The Disowned,” “Samurai,” “Knight of Cologne,” “The Defeated,” “The Shadowed One,” and “The Loyal.”

“Let’s finish this quickly and claim our reward. Mainz isn’t worth risking everything in a do-or-die battle.”

Amelia overheard one of the six nonchalantly muttering.

It seemed they had no doubts about Lady Valiere’s victory.

This wasn’t some clichéd attempt to calm themselves down out of fear; they genuinely looked down on the Archbishop of Mainz.

“…It’s better than cowardice, I suppose.”

It’s better than being afraid.

Unlike horses, if people are frightened in battle, it’s over.

That’s how I should think.

With our soldiers less trained, if we also lose morale, we’ll accomplish nothing.

The battle has already begun.

The distance between the two armies is closing.

The muskets held by the mercenaries who follow the Cologne Sect can reach up to 200 meters, but that only means the bullets can reach that far.

To penetrate armor and tear through flesh, they must be within 100 meters.

The effective range is shorter than that of a crossbow, the accuracy is low, and the bullets don’t fly straight. However, against old armor, they can pierce through the steel.

That’s all the value muskets have in their current state.

The best thing about them is that lead bullets are far cheaper than arrows.

…However, since the ingredients for gunpowder are not produced in the Gusten Empire, they must be obtained through the Cologne Sect, which keeps the manufacturing process secret. That’s another drawback.

The Cologne Sect began firing their guns.

Not because they were within effective range, but likely to boost morale.

They were shouting things like, “We’ll give the Archbishop of Mainz a chance to repent.”

The Cologne Sect was insane.

“…There’s no time left to think.”

This diagonal formation will begin with the most powerful left-wing cavalry charge.

The weaker right flank will be slower to engage, but it will hold out for a while even after the clash.

No matter how high morale may be, we know it will eventually break.

There is only one way to win this war.

We must break through the enemy’s right flank and overrun them from the side or rear.

Or we must take down the Archbishop of Mainz.

But look at the enemy before us.

Their formation is thicker than ours, even with our concentrated forces.

“These belated insights are pointless.”

We knew this.

We understood this.

We will lose, and yet we have fallen for Lady Valiere.

A warrior dies for the one who understands them.

We likely won’t win.

My corpse will be cut to pieces and hanged.

But that’s fine.

Even so, if Lady Valiere decides to retreat, I will ensure the Archbishop of Mainz is pressured enough to abandon the pursuit.

I will tear a piece from his silk sleeve and carve the terror of illness into his mind and body.

Ah, everything is pointless.

“Prepare to charge.”

I am the commander of this cavalry unit.

In any case, we must be careful to maintain formation.

They said it was fine for that Lord Biggus to handle morale.

I never imagined he intended to raise the reckless courage of everyone to the point of a desperate charge.

In any case, there’s no time left before the clash.

Prepare to charge.

As I was thinking this, I saw something unbelievable.

“Lord Berlichingen! Cannons!”

I can see it.

The enemy ranks parted, revealing a field gun pulled by eight horses.

The people around the cannon covered their ears, looking at us with glee.

With a 6-pounder cannon, they intended to thwart our charge right from the start.

“I can see it! Is that fool from Mainz trying to imitate the Charge of Duke Temeraire?”

Mounted artillery.

In an empire where cannons were becoming fashionable, it was a conceivable idea.

Mainz, being one of the wealthy electors, surely had a trick up his sleeve to either turn the tables or ensure victory.

That trick has now appeared.

“Commence the charge! No matter how many of our cavalry are blown away by the cannon, no matter if their limbs or blood splatter onto our bodies, pay it no mind! If you have the resolve, even if you die, make sure your blood doesn’t get in our way! Do you think this will stop Lady Valiere’s cavalry charge?!”

We must not disperse.

Our cavalry lacks the skill to regroup and charge again after dispersing.

That’s something only a well-trained monastic knight order can achieve.

Just like the Mainz Monastic Knights before us.

All we can do is charge.

Our choices were taken away even before the battle began, and here we are.

We are the fallen gleanings picked up by Lady Valiere.

“I didn’t lose to a cannon. Even if your arms or legs are torn off, I’ll stand in for you!”

I raised my right arm.

It’s a prosthetic hand.

My right arm was shattered by a cannon.

Someone laughed.

Everyone laughed.

The enemy laughed in scorn, and our allies laughed as if saying, “Well, we’ll manage somehow.”

And so they laughed.

Laugh all you want; if this is the end, laugh at me as much as you like.

But don’t forget.

My land, my castle, my custom prosthetic hand, my armor, my sword, and my helmet—everything that makes up Amelia von Berlichingen has already been dedicated to Lady Valiere.

If you’re an ally, that’s fine, but any enemy who insults me will be smashed to pieces by this prosthetic hand.

“Curse the Archbishop of Mainz! Glory to Lady Valiere!”

The resolve of us, the fallen gleanings picked up by Lady Valiere, was determined from the start.

Not a single one of us attempted to disperse.

With a tremendous burst of smoke and thunder, the 6-pounder cannon fired at us.

I didn’t avert my eyes.

All the cavalry focused on my command, preparing to execute a well-ordered charge.

The cannonball.

Even Lord Biggus at the front, despite his ridiculous name, showed no fear.

His expression seemed to say it didn’t matter if his entire body was shattered, as he led the charge.

“The time has come.”

What?

I heard a strange voice that seemed out of place on the battlefield.

It was a man’s voice, likely coming from the great helm of Lord Biggus at the front.

As I was pondering this, there was a loud explosion.

A deafening crash.

The sound of steel striking something violently, and a heavy object, like lead, bursting into pieces.

If you asked why such a sound was so unprecedented, it’s because I, Amelia von Berlichingen, clearly saw what happened.

“Such a trivial toy. Lord Reckenber’s blow is far heavier.”

Lord Biggus, at the front, had crushed the cannonball.

With both hands gripping his mace, he turned the perfectly round cannonball into a useless, misshapen object.

No one said a word.

It wasn’t just shock at the bizarre sight before them.

It was the simultaneous realization, by both ally and enemy, of one simple truth.

Ah, everything will be smashed to pieces.

It was a two-handed mace.

Lord Biggus was wielding an enormous mace.

The Cologne Sect referred to it as the “Holy Mace of Saint Georgius,” an obvious relic of the past, yet a sacred artifact to them.

It was a weapon of the latest design, heavily reinforced with every possible magical engraving, something no ordinary person could wield from horseback.

Perhaps a person who had undergone extreme training could barely lift it, let alone swing it.

But if struck by that weapon, whether it was a 6-pound cannonball, a suit of armor, or a well-trained knight, they would be smashed to pieces.

Everyone on the battlefield who witnessed this strange event understood.

“Die, Archbishop of Mainz.”

The knight at the front made the same declaration as Lady Valiere.

We were about to charge.

But now, there was no one left to stop us.

After all, the spearmen who were supposed to close the gap after the cannon fired were either standing there with their mouths agape or, those with a bit more sense, throwing down their spears and fleeing.