Chapter Thirty-Two: Elegy of the Moris Empire (Part Two)

Since ancient times, in the age of cold weapons, cavalry seemed far more valuable than infantry. Yet, in reality, as early as the Greek Classical Era, infantry had already devised formations that could perfectly counter cavalry. From the Greek phalanx to the Macedonian formation, from pikemen to the later hollow square of bayonets, these infantry formations could utterly crush a cavalry charge—on one condition: the formation had to remain tight and unbroken, and the cavalry had to launch themselves against it. Any breach large enough to sow chaos would be disastrous.

After Emperor Maurice fell, the fifty thousand-strong army of the Maurice Empire was left without an absolute authority at its head. Instead, a commander of some repute managed overall coordination from the rear. The advantage was clear: it made decapitation strikes by the Holy Knights almost pointless. Even if their command was destroyed, only a few field officers would be lost, causing momentary confusion in a handful of divisions, but the others—each operating independently—could easily fill in the gaps and absorb the leaderless units.

As for unified command, even with a headquarters, this army of fifty thousand was far from united. All the commanders were equals, gathered only for vengeance. Should a special order come—such as plugging a breach—the general in charge of that division would inevitably hesitate: was this order correct, or was he being used as a pawn?

Therefore, the army of the Maurice Empire had but one chance to set its formation and fight the decisive battle. Any attempt at tactical maneuvering was best abandoned—something the generals well understood.

Yet these generals were no fools. Since coordination was inefficient and no one wished to sacrifice his own men, they agreed to commit their best troops to the front lines in one overwhelming assault, aiming to break their enemies in a single, decisive blow. Thus, the Maurice Empire's phalanx was divided into three echelons, widening its depth to guard against cavalry breakthroughs, while concentrating force to take on the Holy Knights head-on.

The first echelon was, without doubt, the elite of all divisions—over twenty thousand men, half the entire host—prepared for a knightly contest against the Holy Order.

Two more echelons stood behind, to ensure that if the first line faltered, they could plug gaps or rally fleeing soldiers, maintaining the formation and perhaps even counterattacking to annihilate the already-weakened Holy Knights. With such overwhelming numbers spread in depth, the Maurice Empire was certain of victory—unless the God of Light himself intervened.

"Glory to the God of Light! Death to the heretics!" The first wave of two thousand expendable zealots from the Holy Knights roared fanatically, their horses thundering forward, their fervor resounding to the heavens.

"Solid shot—fire!" With a deafening roar, iron cannonballs tore through the cavalry ranks, scalding projectiles shattering men and horses alike. Yet the Holy Knights’ formation was loose, and the actual casualties were less than one might imagine. The cannons would not have another chance.

After this single volley, the cavalry's charge allowed the artillerymen just one more round. As the riders closed in, grapeshot burst forth in a deadly scatter, the shells splintering to shower the front ranks of the charging horsemen. Instantly, the two thousand were thrown into chaos—men and beasts tumbling, the survivors undeterred, disregarding the screams of their dying comrades as they pressed on with wild-eyed zeal toward the Maurice phalanx.

In front of the Maurice lines, musketeers had already advanced. At the signal of their officers, volleys rang out—first rank, then second, then third—maintaining a steady, relentless fire. The army deployed the three-rank firing method, sustaining their output with disciplined precision, seasoned soldiers sending lead balls relentlessly into the bodies of the Holy Knights.

This time, the two thousand in the vanguard suffered even heavier losses, falling in rows along the path of their charge. The carcasses of horses further slowed the next wave, allowing the Maurice troops to fire yet another volley. Amidst the second wave, the Master Paladin, charging with his knights, frowned deeply at the carnage. This sustained, disciplined three-rank fire was no ordinary tactic—a raw recruit would never hold steady or reload quickly enough with such cavalry bearing down.

Though the firepower of the Maurice line was devastating, the zealots of the Holy Knights pressed on with unyielding fervor. Even as their numbers dwindled to mere hundreds, they charged forward without hesitation. The Maurice soldiers had no choice but to withdraw their musketeers, replacing them with the solid, gleaming ranks of pikes.

The surviving zealots crashed into these bristling spears, impaling themselves like meat upon skewers. The pikemen, though battered—many suffering broken bones, thrown to the ground, or coughing blood—held firm. Their formation was deep and unyielding; as the front ranks fell, those behind stepped forward. The square did not budge, ironclad, holding the cavalry at bay.

With the two thousand zealots nearly annihilated, the true elite of the Holy Knights advanced, treading over the corpses of their fallen brethren to confront the pike square. These seasoned cavalrymen formed a wedge as they charged, the Master Paladin and his remaining senior knights at its tip.

Then, something occurred which would be impossible in the world as we know it—a cavalry charge that defied all logic.

Rows of pikes, meters long, were simply sliced apart by beams of battle energy, each over ten meters in length. The Master Paladin led his men straight into the breach, cutting a gap more than ten meters wide. The pikemen, now deprived of their deadly points, stood dumbfounded as the cavalry hacked them down with impunity. The Master Paladin at the head methodically severed the pikes before him, and the wedge of knights drove into the formation as a knife through tofu, cleaving the dense phalanx in two.

Once inside, the Holy Knights wheeled about, attacking the pikemen flanking the breach. For these men, wielding meter-long iron shafts, turning in such cramped quarters was an exhausting ordeal.

Through this gap, the separated elements of the Holy Knights tore the pike square to pieces—a massacre, not a battle. It was slaughter, pure and simple.