The battle had been going on for almost half an hour, but this half hour seemed so long in everyone's minds, it could be called a long time.

"Archers assemble and get ready to shoot! All light infantry! Get ready to attack! The knights begin to assemble! The Count's eyes were slightly red, and his helmet was semi-closed, so his voice could be heard far away.

Since this is already the case, whether Viscount Raul holds out or surrenders, the battle of other troops on the frontal battlefield has become inevitable.

Nearly 5,000 light infantry were thus ready to charge, and at this time, standing in the front row were the archers, more than 600 in all, holding in their hands ordinary bows, which were better than hunting bows.

"Shoot!" The archers were originally cobbled together, and there was no original commander, and now the commander was a knight under the earl.

At the knight's command, more than six hundred archers let go of their bowstrings, and the strength of their bows to restore their original armor gave the arrows unparalleled kinetic energy, and with the advance of the bowstrings, they roared towards the enemy's array.

The Earl of Cearnsville's army of archers, slightly weaker than the four hundred men drawn from Denlenburg, were at the forefront of the ranks, firing at the enemy with their bows and arrows.

This is the most common tactic in this culture, and except on rare occasions, archers who have fired a salvo in the field are often not very useful, followed by hand-to-hand warfare.

The distance between the two sides was only a little more than fifty meters, and at such a distance, the arrow finally hit the enemy at his pitiful range.

Although this bow and arrow is not powerful, it is also quite a lethal weapon for light infantry on both sides who have no armor.

The linen clothes on their bodies were powerless against the arrows, and even if they were not killed by the arrows in the first place, then the trampling of the friendly troops and the infection of the wounds after the battle were a huge threat to their lives.

There is no difference between the light infantry on both sides, crying under the blow of the archer, crying dad and calling mother, the feeling of several arrows shooting into the chest is not something that everyone can experience, but this light infantry does not feel lucky at all, at this time he is falling to the ground and struggling desperately, holding the thighs of the light infantry next to him, hoping that these comrades in arms on weekdays can pull themselves at this time.

But the battlefield is the battlefield, and everyone has no time to care, so who cares about such a seriously injured person?

In the end, the soldier died in agony, not because the arrow went into his chest and broke his internal organs, but because he lost too much blood due to too many arrows, and as a soldier in the middle of the group, this kind of arrow could not penetrate his heart and lungs, and penetrated the ribs was already the limit.

This was a common occurrence on both sides, but even though the light infantry had fallen a lot, they did not break up, because the men here were accustomed to war, and although the scene was bloody and brutal, they would rather die at the hands of the enemy than be killed by the overseers behind them.

Two rounds of arrows went down, and more than 1,200 arrows were fired directly from the Count of Loire's side, and as many as three or four hundred fell in the screams of the enemy.

And the same is true of the earl's side, more than 200 people have fallen in this land forever, and I believe that in the next ten years, this will be a fertile land.

The archers could only shoot two rounds, and the distance of fifty meters was a blink of an eye for these light infantry, and the archers withdrew their short bows and returned to the rear of the array.

The light infantry wielded dung forks, sticks, and everything else they could to attack the enemy.

"Poof!" A two-pronged dung fork was plunged into the chest of the enemy by a light infantryman, a small but very honest looking light infantryman, a serf on the estate of the Count of Loire, after being called up by the count, he said goodbye to his wife and children, took the only lethal tool in his house, the dung fork, and joined the count's team and went to the battlefield.

This is a light infantryman in his thirties, who has also been on the battlefield several times in his early years, and his son is also on the battlefield and is close to him.

After successfully dodging a scythe slashed by an enemy, he saw his son being besieged and killed by several enemies just a few meters away.

"No!!" Heart-rending wails appeared on the battlefield, the pain of losing a son is self-evident for a father, but who is not like this on the battlefield at this moment? They are also sons, fathers, and no one on a noisy battlefield would pay attention to such wails.

"Poof!" The light infantryman felt a sharp pain in his back, and it was a luxury for him to even stand up straight.

An enemy took advantage of his grief to chop a wood-chopping axe on his back, his pupils gradually dilated, although the wood-chopping axe is only used to chop wood, but after all, it is an axe, and many times the lethality will not be much worse than a tomahawk, this light infantry is no longer saved.

And just like that, he fell to the ground blinded, no one noticed, no one grieved, and the team returned to his hometown to inform his family that his family would be in great pain.

The battlefield is like this, people use the lowest and most despicable means to kill the enemy, there is no way, everyone wants to live.

The soldiers on both sides swung at the enemy again and again with the rudimentary weapons in their hands, and the bloody battlefield was quite cruel, this was a melee of nearly 10,000 people! Wars are quite rare in this cultural circle, and can even be called a battle, not a war.

The battle between these light infantry has been going on for more than ten minutes, and during this time, the light infantry lost on both sides has already reached hundreds.

"Lord Viscount! They're officially on the offensive! A knight observed the situation and hurried to the top of the hill to report to Viscount Raul.

"Viscount Cowen's army has begun to climb the mountain, our troops are concentrated in the north, and we cannot put up effective resistance in the face of the enemy coming from the west!" The knight's face was covered with dust, and the cloak he was wearing on his back had long since disappeared, and he looked quite embarrassed.

"Is that so? Then let the army from the north retreat, the further up we go, the less places we need to defend, and then we will definitely be able to draw some out! Viscount Raul frowned, touched his beard on his handle, and thought to the knight.

"Go and herald! Let the troops retreat! ”

"Understood, my lord, I'll do it!" The knight nodded, took the sword in his hand, and ran to the other side of the mountain.

"Soldiers! We must take this high ground as soon as possible, so that we can win the war, and when I succeed, each of you will have a considerable reward, now, go and fight hard, my reward will satisfy you! Viscount Cowen encouraged his soldiers at the foot of the mountain.