When Derek led his army into the charge, the remaining barbarian soldiers collapsed. Enrique, the "Lone Wolf," could no longer control his troops and was swept along in their retreat. The Lockes pursued relentlessly. The proximity to Ironwall City proved crucial. After a day of halting and starting, they finally reached the south gate of Ironwall City. By dusk, the first batch of fleeing soldiers arrived there. Before the barbarians could react, Derek seized the opportunity and attacked from behind. Though they had rested for a brief moment, Derek's soldiers were still exhausted. The barbarians, however, were in no better shape. After a day of constant confrontation and probing attacks, their strength was depleted. But the real issue was the lack of defense. The news that morning had indicated the Lockes' army was surrounded. Even though Enrique had suffered heavy casualties, he had managed to hold the enemy in place, and most believed the breach would occur by the end of the day. Meanwhile, the main force of reinforcements for the Lockes was still two or three days away. No one anticipated that the enemy would strike so suddenly. Their surprise left the barbarians vulnerable. In this moment of exhaustion for both sides, that small lapse in defense proved to be the tipping point.
Moreover, the superiority of Derek's elite soldiers became evident. The men he had trained were far more disciplined and resolute than the average barbarian soldier.
"Charge! Charge!" the junior officers screamed. With the signaling system in chaos and the battlefield engulfed in darkness, the soldiers could only see narrow paths ahead and to their sides. Fear among the troops spread quickly, and the confusion intensified. In this situation, the role of junior officers became critical. Day after day of training, reinforced by the strategic boosts granted by Derek's leadership, had made these officers as steadfast as steel. Even deep within the enemy camp, surrounded on all sides, they remained unwavering. Their sole focus was to follow their orders and leave the rest to Lord Derek.
"Charge! Kill! And then we solve everything!"
Like a hail of arrows, the Locke soldiers sliced through the weakened resistance of the barbarians. From above, one would see small groups of Locke soldiers constantly charging, attacking in simple, coordinated formations. When facing larger enemy groups, even flag captains or centurions would step in, taking over temporarily to lead the charge and break up the resistance. This tactical training, drilled into each officer, became second nature, allowing them to act flexibly and decisively. It was a subtle yet effective technique, but repeated enough times, it broke the enemy's resolve. The barbarians were pushed into chaos, unable to organize any meaningful resistance. What began as small breaks in their defense snowballed into total disarray. The cavalry swept through, setting fire to the camp with torches, further fueling the chaos. The routed barbarian soldiers who had just fled to the camp found themselves struck once more, too weary to continue running.
The barbarian commander, noticing the chaos in the southern camp, realized the situation was deteriorating. Yet, the speed of the defeat was so rapid that even the messenger he sent to inquire had barely left when the routed soldiers arrived at the gates. Derek, with some of his soldiers, followed closely behind, maintaining their aggressive stance. As the saying goes, in war, all is fair. Relenting now would only give the barbarian base camp a chance to regroup. Instead, Derek’s persistence was a terrifying signal to the enemy. With night falling, the barbarians did not dare attack rashly.
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“Let the routed soldiers detour around the back of the camp,” the barbarian commander ordered from the watchtower. In the dark, the flickering torches gave only limited visibility, but Derek’s forces fought seamlessly in the gloom, their elite status evident in their disciplined formation. Looking at the disordered soldiers below, he raised his hand sharply. “Shoot arrows and force them to take the detour. If they don't, kill them.”
The commander knew the risks. Allowing the routed soldiers to enter the camp might give the enemy the chance to use them as leverage for an attack. So, rather than risk this, he chose to intimidate and cull a few of his own soldiers to keep the others in line. When the arrows struck, the barbarian soldiers, cursing and weeping, reluctantly obeyed the orders and took the detour. It was a harsh decision, but a calculated one.
Derek, ever the opportunist, turned to Simon, who seemed eager despite the exhaustion of the day.
“Simon, go around the back of their camp and show them our strength. Will you do it?”
“Of course! I’ll go right away!” Simon lifted his visor—finding it harder to see through in the dark—and motioned for a group of knights to follow him. The cavalry charged toward the camp with a display of force, their speed and ferocity making it seem as though they were about to attack. Despite the improbability of it, Simon's momentum and the energy of his men made it all too real in the eyes of onlookers.
Simon ripped down the barbarian camp’s triangular flag and, waving it triumphantly, galloped back and forth, cutting down the routed soldiers with impunity. His reckless bravery was shocking, and even the barbarians were taken aback, too stunned to respond.
“Shoot arrows! Shoot them down!” the barbarian commander shouted, his voice rising in fury. He gripped the railing, his face pale in the firelight. His men, startled from their stupor, loosed arrows in a weak, scattered volley. Simon’s iron armor deflected several shots, though a few arrows lodged in the joints of his armor, swaying with each movement. With a loud laugh, Simon turned his horse around.
“Barbarians! It’s dark tonight, but I’ll be back to show you what’s coming tomorrow!”
When Simon returned, his men were fatigued, but their spirits soared. Derek too felt the adrenaline of battle, aware that this victory could be the turning point. Heroes are forged in the heat of battle, and today, Derek felt that he was stepping into that role. There would never be a better time to make his mark.
"Let's go!" Derek shouted, raising a barbarian head on the end of a long spear. His men followed him under Ironwall City’s walls, proudly waving the flag.
“The tenth thousand-man team of the Second Legion from the northern province has arrived. Don’t panic! We’ll be back to crush the barbarian camp tomorrow!”
Their voices carried over the walls of Ironwall City, where the governor stood, watching the spectacle. Flames lit the sky, the southern camp of the barbarians was in ruins, and the other camps were closing down. His subordinates spoke in awe of Simon’s impressive show of force.
“Are there really knights like that in the northern province?” the governor asked. He had long heard tales of the northern knights' fearsome reputation but had dismissed them as exaggerated. Previously, Count Jeffries had been beheaded by the barbarians, and no knight had emerged to turn the tide. Now, seeing Simon's valor, the governor realized he had underestimated them. Those northern knights truly deserved their fearsome reputation.