Herald of Steel

Chapter 715 Lord Ponticus's Demise

Lord Ponticus's force really lived up to its elite status given that it took three consecutive cavalry charges delivered to their flanks to finally snap them.

Any lesser force would have shattered far, far ago.

But regardless of their pedigry, and whether they would have run before or were running now, the fact was that the 3,000 cavalry managed to decisively destroy the formation there, forcing the 10,000 strong unit to break and rout.

"Stand! Stand! Keep still!"

"Hold! Hold! The enemy is about to collapse!"

"Do not run! Think of your family!:

And even such urging from the officers and even from Lord Ponticus himself failed to restore order, for the wound inflicted on their flanks was too grievous, going many, many echelons in.

There was literally no sort of coherent formation left there, and when after completing their charges the cavalrymen started to engage in melee with their spears, even the hardened men lost heart facing these huge losses and ran.

While the 4th and 5th legions seeing this easy prey all up for the taking started to give chase, eager to hunt them down and exact revenge.

"Stop! Don't run! Maintain formation! You will get lost in his darkness."

Which was actually against the express wish of their commanders, who urged them not to do so.

Because chasing a fleeing enemy exposed oneself to a possible counterattack.

But the soldiers were of no mind to listen.

The two legions were mostly composed of recently trained farmers and when presented with such a delicious meal, these men were unable to maintain discipline, and disregarding all orders from the higher ups, they initiated this needless chase.

For in the minds of these men, they had come so close to being killed, and now that they were given such a good opportunity for revenge, they would be a fool not to take one.

So quite similar to how Lord Ponticus's men ran like headless chickens, the legionaries blindly chased them too, almost like mad dogs chasing their own tails.

Hence soon that part of the battlefield devolved into a kind of deadly game of tag, one where the 'it' tried to stab the other with spears, swords, and halberts.

And this macabre game was being played by nearly twenty thousand men right in the middle of the night!

What a sight that was!

"*Tsk!*"

And looking at this very mess from a distance, Alexander furrowed his brows and clicked his tongue in anger.

That part could no longer be called a battlefield.

The darkness and the general chaos of the battlefield had it turned into a quagmire of unruly mobs where one side tried to mindlessly massacre the other, and though Alexander did not really care about his men killing the enemy, he did dread the number of friendly kills this was going to result in.

Because everyone was running in every direction, and though at least during the day the soldiers would be able to distinguish their own from the enemy, but now, the soft moonlight made it very difficult to separate the red uniform of the Tibians from the blue of the Zanzan.

So unless one got really close, it was impossible to separate friends from foes, thus inevitably causing a lot of needless deaths.

But even though Alexander very much wished to restore order, he lacked the resources.

The breakdown had been too severe despite the best efforts of the officers and would have needed a massive effort using a large number of troops to bring these unruly men under control in a short time.

Alexander both lacked the numbers and after the cavalry charges, his horses were too tired to conduct such a large operation.

Never mind there was also the fact that even many among his own ranks had left their ranks to run amock on the battlefield trying to score some kills.

So Alexander simply stood by on the side and laid witness to how his two legions voluntarily disintegrated.

It was a weird sight to behold and Alexander felt an unfamiliar bitter feeling in him.

Clearly he had won, yet somehow he had also 'lost' two of his legions as an effective fighting force.

So the happiness and relief Alexander had felt upon saving his army was somewhat buried by the sight of this completely avoidable loss.

It seemed that even in defeat, Lord Ponticus was able to accomplish at least half his objective, removing ten thousand soldiers enemy soldiers from the active battlefield and somehow even making them inflict injury on them from friendly kills.

And speaking of Lord Ponticus, the man himself had unfortunately died!

Killed in battle!

It had happened not so long after the rout began, as at that moment, the military general had found himself facing attacks from numerous legionaries from all sides.

Normally he would have never faced such a situation as the general of the army would always be at the back, quite safe from enemy attacks even if his own army was routed.

But this time, due to his eagerness, the older man had placed himself near the very front, wanting to see the destruction of the enemy army with his own two eyes and personally lead the charge.

And to give credit where credit is due, this position did help him out at times.

For instance, if he had not placed himself near the frontlines, he would have never spotted Remus through the woods, and if he had taken his sweet time fully preparing his lines, that would have given Alexander plenty of time to slowly turn around and counter attack even before his own flanking attack could begin.

That would have been a disaster for the man.

So that position back then had really paid its dividends.

But just as with the pros, Lord Ponticus had to also bear the cons.

And that was the fact that now that his forces had been routed, he had become a magnet for everyone's attack.

Lord Ponticus atop his horse right on the frontlines was very conspicuous, especially where the main fighting force was the infantry, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

And his case was not helped by the fact that he wore very eye catching armor which loudly announced his status, taunting every soldier in the vicinity to take a shot at him.

"There! He must be an officer! Big fish!"

"Kill him! 100 ropals! Kill him!"

"*Shoo* ahh! Missed!"

Although the legionaries did not know of Lord Ponticus's exact identity, they certainly understood that he was someone much higher up the chain and so the animosity directed towards him was overwhelming.

Spear thrusts, sword swipes, and even a few pilla throws were all sent toward him.

While Lord Ponticus and his small number of bodyguards tried their best to either defect or in the worst case absorb these blows using their very bodies, while at the same time attempting to cut their way through this mess and escape.

An endeavor that quickly proved futile.

For Lord Ponticus had put himself right in the thick of the formation, so clearing a way with all the men running in every direction and getting in the way proved too challenging.

Especially when there was an avalanche of legionaries trying to kill them with little regard for themselves.

Lord Ponticus was just too juicy a target, and no matter how good the bodyguards, the men could only do so much.

So over time, each of these warriors could be seen falling steadily one by one, and the protective circle around Lord Ponticus shrunk more and more, as at one point along the line, the men were forced to do only one thing, defend and pray for some sort of miracle.

While on the side of Zanzan, this visual confirmation of weakness of course worked to encourage the legionaries to continue their assault, and with each successful hit, Lord Ponticus was driven closer and closer to dispear.

'Should I surrender?' Facing this hopeless situation, a thought that should have never entered this proud man suddenly bloomed itself.

As the enemy commander and a noble, if he were to surrender, the enemy was bound to spare his life.

This was after all the convention of warfare of the current times.

But the humiliation that such a thing would cause forced Lord Ponticus to pause, and the words seemed struck in his throat like a fishbone.

He was one of Tibias's most accomplished generals and moreover the king's uncle.

So for him to shout out surrender and be at the enemy's mercy, even the thought was too mortifying.

He had been fantasizing about what he was going to do to Alexander when he fell on his hand, but now that the situation was reversed, now that it seemed he might be the one to end up in Alexander's hand, Lord Ponticus faltered.

He found he did not have the guts to go through it.

The realization that things he planned to do to Alexander might fall on him too was too much for the noble.

For the proud man, death was far more preferable to such humiliation.

And as the city lord mired himself in such thought and took too long to make a decision, finally at one point his luck ran out.

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