Despite the localized victory, the threat of the goblins still remained. While the humans who witnessed it celebrated the death of the shaman, the spearmen retreated, trying to form a new shield wall deep inside of enemy territory.

  Their original maneuver was brutally effective. Sneaking several thousand elite soldiers deep behind the defenders’ lines and using them to take out the delicate ranged troops. Once that was taken care of, these goblins could then proceed to wreak havoc wherever they wished.

  They could have attacked the thin line of levies defending the side of the valley. Attacked from both directions, it would have collapsed in seconds. Then, the combined might of the goblins would be free to swing around and hit the main human force located in the North.

  There, they’d be faced with yet another choice. They could focus on mopping up the peasants, leaving the better trained halberdiers for later. It wouldn’t matter how experienced these troops may have been if they would have been attacked from three different sides.

  Alternatively, they could have gone after the banner first. Taking out the symbol of Logres would be a clear sign to all of the remaining humans that the battle was lost. Everyone else would have turned and fled, ripe for slaughter by any of the remaining wolf riders.

  This still left the second bank of the river, as well as the cavalry still prancing about harassing the bulk of the goblin units, but the invaders would have the advantage. They’d control the battlefield and they’d have the powerful shaman ready to wipe out entire formations with his mysterious spells.

  Of course, this maneuver wasn’t even their real goal. All of this was just icing on the cake of their real plan. Once Varre reacted, racing down from the relative safety of his hill down to the trenches, he could be taken out in person.

  Without him, not only would the battle be lost, but the entire war. The goblins would be free to spread out across the entire kingdom, conquering every settlement and taking as many captives as they wished. It would take months for any new resistance to form.

  Even then many of the humans would squabble over succession rather than focusing on the war effort. They’d secretly distrust their allies, ready to abandon or betray them if it seemed beneficial in the future. They wouldn’t even have to actually go through with any nefarious deeds. If a single noble arrived late to a battle, he would be accused of doing that on purpose. People would gossip and scheme as everything turned to chaos. Ready to be exploited by the invaders.

  Fortunately, their plan was foiled. The king survived and killed the shaman instead. His forces were battered and bruised, but they were still standing. Now, it was the goblins who were on the back foot.

  Thousands of elite soldiers lay dead on the battlefield. Their forces were stretched out, trying to buy as much time as possible with little regard for their lives. Their formation was in shambles and many groups were isolated. Ready to be mopped up by the humans.

  Those who were left acted quickly, trying to regroup under constant harassment by the humans. A new shield wall began to take shape, in a circular formation ready to repel assaults from all sides.

  The humans though could take their time. Rather than assault with their infantry, the mages could finally go all out. Furious at the loss of their friends, they launched devastating spells into the dense heart of the goblin units. Shields were broken and bodies thrown aside as explosions rippled through their lines.

  Each opening was swiftly exploited by the archers. These men took even heavier casualties and many had abandoned their positions, but those who were left took their sweet revenge. Fresh from the melee, they were still in very close range and fired effectively, piercing through their enemies.

  At this distance, the arrows would have enough speed for their tips to impale themselves deep into the boards. These pieces of wood distract the goblins and sometimes even wound them. It was a slow, but steady slaughter.

  The Royal Guards on the other hand decided not to advance. They regrouped, meeting up around their liege and resuming their vigil. Those who’ve lost their horses borrowed fresh ones from the mages. They weren’t armored like the original mounts, but cavalry was always cavalry.

  They wanted to be ready for anything, but they were staying put for now. There was no reason to charge when the ranged troops were efficiently dispatching their opponents from a safe distance. The knights would only get in the way.

  The blotches remained hanging in the sky, but with the shaman gone, fresh ones could no longer be formed. The wizards simply aimed around them. These phenomena could be handled later.

  The goblins realized that their current position was hopeless. They considered advancing against the wizards, but they already got their noses bloodied against the knights. They knew they’d run out of warriors before getting to the wizards, so decided on another plan. They moved against the thin line of levies, hoping to break through the other side and join the rest of their forces still battling in any semblance of order.

  Explosions and arrows continued to pepper their formation as they moved, shields held overhead. Once they engaged, magic would become too dangerous, so Varre ordered his knights to prepare for a charge. They drew their lances again, or hastily picked up goblin spears if they had lost their own.

  But before the lines could collide, a new sound reached everyone’s ears. Someone blew into a cavalry horn.

  Varre turned his gaze to the West. Out there, past the clashing soldiers, riders began to pour out of the tree line. Two and a half thousand horsemen raced down the hill, lances raised. They were headed straight at the back of the goblins already embroiled in combat with the thin line of peasantry.

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  Jan reached over his saddle and caught the monarch in a bear hug. “It’s Duke Fletcher! And that damned Gregory! They’ve returned! Late as always the bastards!”

  The king wasn’t very familiar with everyone’s coats of arms, but he did recognize the count’s colors. They’ve fought two wars together already and the man always had it displayed on the front of his tabard. It was a majestic sight, as dozens of banners fluttered in the wind as the horses charged onwards.

  The goblins in the back were constantly being harassed by repeated attacks of cavalry, but it was nothing compared to this. Only a small amount of knights had been left as reserves. Many had already died or were spent, too wounded and injured to continue. The enemy formation survived the harassment so far, with the outer warriors keeping their eyes peeled to the outside, but nothing could have prepared them for the coming clash.

  A powerful sound broke across the battlefield as horses slammed into the wall. Shields and goblin alike were crushed under hooves, unable to resist the sheer power of the charge. The mounts picked up lot of speed heading down the hill. Even if one died from a lucky spear hit, it simply toppled over, falling over the defenders and taking out half a dozen in the process.

  The original flanking attack must have contained twenty, perhaps even thirty thousand goblins, but these numbers had already been heavily depleted. Some were killed by the peasants, but most were systematically taken out by the horsemen remaining in the valley.

  It was nothing like this attack. With their own lines as stretched as they were, the reinforcing cavalry cut deep into their position. In thinner places, the riders managed to slice their way through all the way to friendly levies on the other side. Now, the battle devolved into a straightforward slaughter.

  Many of the goblins turned and ran, understanding the futility of further resistance. They showed no mercy and expected none in return. These were the perfect targets for the light horsemen.

  Using their more agile mounts, the humans raced after the fleeing enemies, cutting them down with sword and lance. The last remaining wolf riders, those who had lost the initial engagement on the flanks charged against this onslaught, ready to defend the more fragile infantry. They clashed in the middle, fighting over the right to wipe out the spearmen.

  The heavier knights meanwhile focused on the more entrenched enemies. They acted at their leisure. A few of the more bloodthirsty ones stayed behind at the point of engagement, switching to their blades and chopping down all opponents within reach. Others disengaged, preparing for another charge that would hopefully break down the spear wall even further.

  Some of the less experienced and more terrified squires focused on supporting the wounded. A few of the men fell off their saddles, either when the animal died or on account of their own injuries. Now they were alone, surrounded by enemies and potentially with broken limbs. They needed to be rescued and pulled away, back to the healers. The sooner treatment began the better.

  The elite goblins in the center of the valley were now in serious trouble. Even if they cut their way through the levies, they’d only be pushing themselves right underneath the hooves of cavalry. Still, they determined it was better than surrendering.

  They hit the thin line of peasants and began cutting their way through. It didn’t matter how bloodied they’d been after the constant volleys, nor that the remaining Royal Guards hit their unprotected back mid maneuver. It never took much effort to take down a couple levies.

  The serfs were already standing in delicate ranks of two and that’s already assuming both of the soldiers were alive. They focused on their safety, backing away if necessary, but they had been bleeding casualties this whole time. They had absolutely no chance of surviving against an additional attack from the back.

  The line broke and the goblins forced their way through.

  It wouldn’t change much. They’d still die, but they’d die among friends. They left a trail of corpses behind their advance, like a slug leaving a layer of slime behind as it crawled and now the Royal Guards pressed them further onwards, slaying the back rows as they attempted to pour into friendly positions.

  As their forces were being mopped up, some of the knights began to look for new targets. They turned North, towards the denser and still healthy formations that have focused on pure melee combat until now. These goblins had realized their tenuous position and were conducting a fighting retreat, slowly backing away while still stabbing out at the humans that were dragged alongside them.

  Just as Varre was beginning to think about handling the situation on the Eastern side of the stream, another horn came from that direction. This time it was Count Helmut, with an even greater force of cavalry, coming out of the woods to crush the remaining resistance. The battle was over, though the slaughter would still take many hours to properly die down.

  Varre slouched over in his saddle. Once he had turned off his enhanced state, the adrenaline left his body and the tiredness finally caught up to him.

  Jan continued celebrating on his own. “We did it! We forced them back! Amazing victory!”

  The king merely nodded.

  “Those wide flanking attacks were a distraction this whole time! I knew it!” the duke said with a wide grin, “they drew our forces away, touting their massive numbers and then sent most of their soldiers back to the valley. We can thank the gods that our commanders realized they were being tricked. They must have raced back with their cavalry as soon as they heard!” he laughed, “remind me to buy Greggy some wine. No wait. A whole winery!”

  Varre pretended to chuckle alongside the commander and focused back on the battlefield. With the last remaining goblins from the flanks fleeing, the peasants were now saved. They regrouped and stood their ground. Their officers unsure whether to continue or retreat back to their camp for rest.

  The archers were just as confused. A few of the more eager bowmen advanced North to where the fighting was still ongoing, but others licked their wounds and checked over their fallen friends looking for any signs of life.

  The blotches were still present. The ones hanging in the air were mostly harmless, though the ones on the ground were being avoided with a wide berth. But not by everyone.

  Perry still sat right by one of the smudges, staring into it as if hypnotized. Elvira kneeled alongside her, hugging and trying to console her assistant. Even Zarkon stood off to the side, clearly wanting to help somehow, but unsure of what to do.

  Varre decided to approach her too. He had enough warring for the day.

  The girl was still sobbing occasionally, though no words were being said. He sat beside. The Court Mage gave him an encouraging nod, even if the girl was staying silent.

  “Is the battle over?” Zarkon asked, staring out across the field.

  “Yes,” the king replied, pulling away from Perry, “we just have to mop up now.”

  “Good, good,” the old healer commented and turned back to watch the charging cavalry.

  “I’m… sorry. About what happened,” Varre said, as he put his arm on the girl’s shoulder.

  She turned back to him with tearful eyes and yelled out. “What the hell do you care?! You’re not even from this world!”

  He looked back at her, stunned. Had he misheard something? Had she really just said that?

  Elvira seemed confused, unsure of what the girl was talking about. Zarkon on the other hand, was furious.