Otto Apocalypse awoke to a low, chaotic murmur. Stepping out of his tent, he accepted the basin of water offered by an attendant and quickly washed his face.
Seeing no one paying attention, he cupped his hands over his mouth and breathed lightly. An acrid stench, like pig bristles, wafted up, making him frown.
Lowering his hands didn't help; that particular odor was only a minuscule fraction of the overall miasma hanging over the camp.
Otto cast a cold eye over the soldiers stirring sluggishly in the early morning. Most were mercenaries scraped together from the gutters of various cities and villages – ruffians and thugs who paid no mind to hygiene.
Patchwork pieces of armor lay scattered everywhere. Their hastily donned tunics were wrinkled, stained grey and yellowish-brown. Damp, blackened footwraps hung drying at tent entrances, mingling their stench with the droppings of mules and horses. Compared to this putrid cocktail of smells, a night's worth of bad breath was nothing.
And, of course, there was the omnipresent smell of blood, lingering evidence of last night's fighting.
"Truly disgusting. How do these soldiers manage it? Kallen and the others wouldn't be like this, surely?" Otto mused inwardly while brushing his teeth in a secluded corner.
He naturally detested such filth, but he concealed his disgust expertly. As the young master of the Apocalypse family, he already stood apart from these common soldiers. His earlier habit of seeking opportunities to bathe had even earned him the label of "weak and incompetent" among them.
Though... honestly, he was a bit baffled—why did these people equate "weak and incompetent" with "practicing basic hygiene"?
Truly baffling.
Last night, searching the bodies of the captured Ming soldiers, they had found several sets of clean, spare undergarments, a small pouch of tooth powder, and two horsehair toothbrushes...
Er... Otto certainly wouldn't use someone else's toothbrush, but the tooth powder he was currently using was indeed...
According to these soldiers' logic, shouldn't the Ming troops, being so "fond of cleanliness," also be weak and easily bullied?
Clearly, that wasn't the case. The memory still sent a chill down Otto's spine.
Yesterday evening, just before they were about to make camp, they were attacked by Ming cavalry.
Around forty riders, flags furled and drums silent, materialized like phantoms on the right flank of their marching column.
No one had expected Ming cavalry to penetrate nearly eighty kilometers behind the established frontline. Even less conceivable was that a mere forty Ming riders would dare attack a column of over three thousand soldiers.
By the time the trumpeter sounded the alarm, the forty-odd Ming cavalry had already formed a loose double rank and were charging down from a small hillock to their side.
Coincidentally, because a river flowed along their left, Schicksal's only contingent of three hundred cavalry had been positioned on the right flank. Or perhaps, the Ming hadn't even considered those three hundred riders a threat from the start.
Otto had witnessed the battle firsthand... no, the massacre...
As the three hundred Schicksal pistoliers advanced slowly in a dense column, ten ranks deep, the Ming cavalry, still hundreds of yards away, surged forward in an unprecedented charge.
"Do these eastern barbarians even know how to fight on horseback?" Otto had thought, echoing the sentiments he'd heard. "Riding one horse per man, won't their mounts be exhausted after charging hundreds of yards? Besides, such a loose formation should be easily shattered by our dense column, right?"
His family believed Otto neither understood nor cared for military matters, but he actually knew quite a bit. He'd consulted many veteran soldiers and formed his own set of military opinions. That confidence, however, lasted only until yesterday evening.
When the distance closed to about a hundred yards, almost simultaneously as the Schicksal cavalry transitioned into a trot, the Ming riders' speed exploded again. Otto had never seen horses gallop like that, but he suspected it had something to do with the shorter stirrups the Ming used.
The warhorses surged forward, legs pumping furiously, their bellies almost scraping the ground. Otto already had a bad feeling, but he hadn't expected disaster to strike so swiftly—
At a range of roughly seventy or eighty yards, the second rank of Ming cavalry, each holding a bow in one hand and a fistful of arrows by the nock in the other, unleashed a volley with unbelievable speed. In just a few breaths, each rider loosed three arrows through the gaps in the front rank. The effect on the slow-moving, densely packed Schicksal cavalry was devastating.
Nearly the entire first rank of Schicksal horsemen went down almost instantly. Even those protected by breastplates weren't safe; the Ming archers' aim was exceptionally skilled, targeting vulnerable areas like the neck, face, and thighs, as well as the horses themselves.
To be fair, even at this point, Otto hadn't believed the Schicksal cavalry would lose. Once they closed within twenty yards, they could employ their favored tactic: the pistolier's caracole, unleashing a dense volley of fire that would surely shred the Ming riders—such was Otto Apocalypse's naive judgment at the time.
The reality was starkly different. As their comrades behind them loosed arrows, the first rank of Ming cavalry leveled weapons they called "three-eyed guns." Using slow-match cords wrapped around their left hands, they ignited the quick-burning fuses inserted into the touch-holes.
The fuse length and ignition timing had clearly been calculated with meticulous precision. The instant the distance dropped below forty yards, the fuses burned down. Amid bursts of flame, smoke, and the whistle of projectiles tearing through the air, an unprecedentedly dense hail of lead shredded the Schicksal cavalry and their mounts.
Some tried to flee immediately, but the ranks behind them blocked their escape. Even managing to turn their horses only resulted in collisions with those behind who hadn't grasped the situation, causing more chaos and sending men and horses tumbling.
Naturally, some brave souls attempted to raise their pistols and return fire. But these wheellock pistols had an effective range of barely a dozen yards. For horses at full charge, covering that distance took less than a breath. Before the Schicksal riders could even aim and pull the trigger, the Ming cavalry, now wielding their three-eyed guns like iron clubs held high, crashed into them.
The desperate whinnying of horses and the clash of steel merged into a continuous roar. Dimly, Otto thought he heard a few shots fired, but judging by the fact that the Ming left only one body behind afterward, the pistol balls clearly couldn't penetrate their armor effectively, or if they did, rarely caused fatal wounds.
The truly clever ones were those who drew their swords in time, but it seemed to make little difference. The heavy, powerful "iron rods" quickly bent or shattered these "sewing needles," then descended unstoppably, crushing Schicksal riders' heads, helmets and all. Occasionally, a blow would sweep across a horse's neck or head, sending flesh and blood flying, the animal collapsing dead before it could even utter a sound.
"Bloody hell! How are they keeping both hands free on horseback? Don't they need to control the reins?"
Otto clearly remembered those being the exact words of the fifty-year-old Sergeant Major standing beside him.
The Sergeant Major, hailing from Iberia, was clearly ignorant. Otto recalled reading in ancient texts, even as a child, numerous descriptions of Eastern cavalry fighting with both hands.
Of course, such wide, sweeping attacks could be dangerous if bogged down in close combat. But the Ming still had their second rank. At some point, they had swapped their bows for long, curved sabers resembling goose quills. They now guarded the flanks of their front-rank comrades, their sharp blades finding the gaps in the armor of any Schicksal rider attempting a flanking attack, sending them tumbling from their saddles to merge gradually with the dark earth—
Long and short complementing each other. This was a concept Otto had seen in a training manual recovered from the dead Ming rider.
At this point, the advantage of the Ming cavalry's loose formation became fully apparent. The wide spacing between riders allowed the front rank ample room to swing their three-eyed guns without hitting allies. In contrast, the Schicksal cavalry, packed tightly together, had virtually only one option: fire straight ahead. Even swinging a one-handed sword risked injuring a comrade.
Even more critically, the loose formation gave the Ming cavalry a much wider front. Their twenty riders per rank stretched nearly twice the distance of Schicksal's thirty-rider ranks. Upon contact, they effectively enveloped the numerically superior Schicksal cavalry on three sides.
"...Eleven, twelve, thirteen..."
Otto counted clearly. Within thirteen seconds of contact, the Schicksal cavalry had lost over half their number, their formation utterly broken. They turned and fled in disarray.
Incredibly, less than three minutes had passed since the Ming cavalry were first spotted.
The Schicksal infantry contingent was organized into a standard three-thousand-man grand square, but based on what Otto had learned from veterans, forming such a massive square took over an hour.
In just three short minutes, forget a three-thousand-man square, forget even company-sized units of two or three hundred – even the smallest units of twenty or thirty men hadn't had time to assemble properly. Furthermore, with the infantry bunched up chaotically, most didn't even know what was happening as the Ming cavalry sliced through their marching column like a razor.
They charged all the way to the riverbank, driving over a hundred infantrymen, unable to shed their heavy breastplates in time, into the water to drown. Then, they wheeled their horses around and charged back through the disordered ranks.
Most of the Schicksal infantry wielded pikes over three men tall, but bunched together without formation, swinging the long weapons or even bracing to thrust was an impossibility.
For the matchlock men, reloading amidst the crowded ranks was unthinkable, let alone finding an opportunity to fire.
Besides, with most soldiers unable to even locate their own officers, discipline evaporated.
However, the Ming numbers were ultimately too few to inflict truly decisive casualties. Even Schicksal pikes, merely held steady, posed a threat to the Ming cavalry as their horses began to tire.
Soon, three or four Ming riders had their horses killed from under them. The riders themselves were unharmed and quickly mounted up behind comrades, preparing to withdraw.
At that moment, a squad of heavy matchlock gunners intelligently broke free from the confused mass of infantry and set up their gun rests on the open ground. Seeing the Ming cavalry preparing to leave, they ignored the regulation "fire at two pikes' distance" rule and hastily fired off a ragged, inaccurate volley. They succeeded in killing one Ming cavalryman – and thirteen Schicksal infantrymen.
Unable to recover their fallen comrade's body, the Ming chose instead, as they withdrew, to cut down the entire exposed and unsupported heavy matchlock squad before they could reload.
That evening, during the camp muster, the tally for the encounter, which lasted less than ten minutes in total, was grim: Schicksal cavalry suffered seventy-six killed, twenty-five wounded, and three missing. Infantry losses were fifty-two killed (including the thirteen friendly fire casualties), eighty-one wounded, and three hundred thirty-one missing, with about a hundred of the missing presumed drowned.
Fortunately, most of the wounded suffered minor injuries from being pushed and trampled – at least half were just sprained ankles. The actual losses weren't entirely crippling, but morale had clearly taken a devastating blow. The vast majority of the hundreds missing were deserters who had fled during the chaos.
They would soon regret it. The Ming took heads for merit. While collecting trophies during the heat of battle was difficult, routing soldiers fleeing across the open steppe were prime targets for earning military honors.
Even if they evaded the pursuing Ming cavalry, there were few settlements within eighty kilometers in either direction. They would eventually starve or be forced to return, face ten lashes, and resume service.
And after paying such a heavy price, the only confirmed enemy loss they could claim was the single body of a Ming cavalryman.
It was almost unbelievable...
Otto finally understood why the supposedly invincible Crusaders had suffered repeated defeats on the Kipchak Steppe, practically on their own doorstep. Kallen's letters to him contained no exaggeration. Without committing Valkyrie units, Schicksal's conventional army was no match for the Ming forces, even though the Ming were fighting far from home.
And even if they did commit Valkyrie units, what then? The Ming Empire's army also included large numbers of so-called "Jianghu Youxia"—wandering martial artists. The name sounded like common thugs or street ruffians, but like the Valkyries, they utilized the power of Stigmata to wield Honkai Energy in combat.
They came from various "sects" (ménpài) within the martial world (Jianghu). On the surface, they seemed less unified than the Valkyries, who all belonged to a single organization. But that was only superficial...
According to Kallen, compared to the Valkyrie corps, drawn from different nations with different languages and cultures despite belonging to one organization, these "wandering martial artists," while hailing from different sects with potential rivalries, at least shared a common language and culture.
It was hard to say which side was truly easier to organize...
And the most damning fact... their numbers were several times greater than the Valkyrie corps...
In short, if things continued like this, the war situation was bleak.
This was why Otto was rushing to the front lines. He carried something that could decide the war's outcome.
Of course, whether this war was won or lost ultimately meant nothing to Otto Apocalypse personally.
Schicksal's Eastern Expedition was fundamentally about establishing authority, diverting attention from the recently subsided Black Death, and suppressing the ambitions of the European nations newly incorporated into Schicksal's domain.
But he wasn't the heir apparent to the Schicksal Overseer. If they were defeated, what happened to Schicksal, or even the Apocalypse family, was of no concern to him.
He only worried about Kallen.
The flat Kipchak Steppe had become a colossal meat grinder. Although he trusted Kallen's strength as "Schicksal's Strongest Valkyrie," blades had no eyes. Even someone as powerful as her father, Francis, had eventually been reduced to a pile of charred remains. The members of the Kaslana family...
Besides, even if Kallen emerged from the battlefield unscathed, the underlying problems remained—
He foresaw that defeat would inevitably destabilize the fragile unity Schicksal had imposed on Europe. In turn, Schicksal would undoubtedly resort to harsher exploitation of the common people to recoup its losses from the expedition.
It wasn't just pity for the common folk... When weren't the common folk deserving of pity? Besides, his pity couldn't improve their situation one bit.
Otto never wasted effort on superfluous actions. He certainly felt pity for them, but he recognized the limits of his own power. If he truly wanted to change their plight, it would be better to...
He only worried about Kallen... He remembered her words a year ago when she left with the army—
"I hear those Eastern tyrants build their palaces with bricks and tiles of solid gold! After we conquer those Eastern kingdoms and Schicksal seizes all that treasure, Otto, you must persuade the Overseer to distribute the money to the poor and destitute. Then they won't have to be homeless and wandering!"
Such a naive idea, Otto thought. But it was precisely because of its naivety that he admired Kallen so deeply.
For the strange creatures called humans, growth wasn't always a positive attribute, nor was naivety purely negative.
Most of the time, what adults called "growth" was merely the self-congratulatory rationalization of sophisticated egoists compromising with reality.
From that perspective, he, Otto Apocalypse, was actually quite mature for his age.
And precisely because of that, he was intoxicated by Kallen's naive beauty...
And precisely because of that, he absolutely had to... protect that beauty. At any cost. Even at the expense of his own conscience. Even at the cost of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of lives.
Even if... it went against her own wishes.
Otto glanced up at the grey, overcast sky. The waning moon still hung high. Honestly, ever since childhood, looking up at the moon always gave him a strange, unsettling feeling, as if the moon were the eye of a god, its waxing and waning merely the blinking of that eye as it stared down, pitilessly and indifferently, upon the mortal world.
Therefore, Otto wasn't particularly fond of the moon. He hoped the sun would rise soon. Judging by the light, it shouldn't be long now.
Lost in thought, he realized he'd been brushing his teeth for quite some time. Otto rinsed his mouth and handed the implements to the attendant standing silently nearby, who put them away. He then emerged from the corner near his tent.
About twenty soldiers shuffled past him in a ragged line, each carrying a wooden bucket. Clearly, they were heading out of camp towards the river to fetch water for the cooks to make breakfast. None of them wore armor or carried any weapons.
Otto spared them only a glance but found the squad leader interesting—facing Ming cavalry like yesterday's, infantry of this size, even with armor and weapons, would only slow their escape. Yet, knowing this, few were willing to discard their equipment.
In the past, Otto might have offered a few words of praise in his capacity as a nobleman, perhaps build a connection for unforeseen circumstances. But since staying up late last night reading the two books recovered from the Ming rider's corpse, he found such things unimpressive.
Shaking his head, Otto Apocalypse never wasted effort on things he couldn't currently control. He wouldn't attempt to manage what was beyond his immediate reach.
Returning to his tent, he furtively placed a small wooden box into his pack. Then, without a word, he headed towards the infirmary area.
However, he had already tended to the critical wounded last night. Those beyond help likely hadn't survived till now. He was just going to make an appearance, maintain visibility.
But he was doomed to disappointment. After walking for about ten minutes through the chaotic camp, he couldn't find the infirmary's location.
He had walked this path just last night, but everything looked different now. Soldiers waiting for breakfast milled about randomly; some had even formed gambling circles right in the middle of the pathways. Tents all looked alike, and there were few banners to mark directions. Otto found himself completely disoriented.
However... fate seemed to offer him a twisted sort of "pity." Just as he was about to retrace his steps, the ground began to tremble almost imperceptibly. A low rumbling, like distant thunder, quickly spread through the camp.
"Enemy attack!"
-----
Author's Endnotes):
First, two "preemptive shields" (defensive points):
1. About Ming cavalry charging and shooting at eighty yards:
From "Important Memorials on Military Affairs":
"It is necessary to specifically order frontier generals and experienced frontier militiamen, dispersed among the camps, to be trained in methods of charging, close-quarters fighting, direct-head archery while riding, and wheeling sabers while turning the horse.
Horses must often gallop swiftly and freely, with their minds focused solely on killing and shooting, without worrying about stumbling or falling. Shooting must still use round grips, and the target distance must still be beyond eighty paces."
"These are all methods for achieving decisive victory through shock assaults."
Summary:
Elite soldiers and frontier militia were trained to charge at full speed and accurately shoot targets from beyond eighty paces (about 120 meters; 1 pace ≈ 1.5 meters, 1 yard ≈ 0.9 meters).
So if I can shoot accurately at 80 yards, that should be fine, right?
2. About a 3,000-man battalion forming up quickly:
From De las guerras de los Estados Baxos (The Wars of the Low Countries), published in 1622 by Carlos Francisco Coloma:
Prince Ranucho took a long spear and stood with the Spanish infantry.
Two aides from the regiment came to arrange the first line.
The opponents were knights or captains, making the task extremely difficult.
As a result, they spent over an hour squabbling and trying to get into formation.
If the exhausted Prince Ranucho hadn't threatened to march out with the Italians, it could have dragged on even longer.
Summary:
The author (Carlos Coloma) had served as governor of several cities and counties, and was the governor of Majorca, eventually becoming ambassador to England.
So, no issue with credibility here.
Bonus:
Part of the inspiration comes from a Qing dynasty battle:
40+ Qing cavalry met 300 Russian cavalry, lost 9 men, and killed/captured over 70 Russians.
(Details not dug up, too lazy.)
(TL/N: It's a china gaze perspective, but okay. I just don't like the part where the overly hygienic Ming soldier, or Schicksal suffering hundreds of casualties/deserters while losing only one Ming soldier, that is OVER exaggerated.)