On a high ground.

An eunuch clad in brocade robes, with a chin as smooth as possible and not a single beard, whispered to advise: "Prince Zahir, this is a well-trained Frankish army. We have ventured deeply into enemy territory. Should we retreat?"

"Retreat?"

"Harry, have you been frightened by the charge of these Frankish barbarians? Losing that thing has indeed made your courage completely dissipate!"

The leader of this group of Saracen cavalry was none other than Zahir Gazi, the third son of Saladin, the titular Lord of Aleppo and Governor of Northern Syria.

The eunuch had a sharp, long face, his complexion unreasonably fair. He said calmly: "Prince Zahir, my king has ordered me to look after you. This is my duty!"

Zahir glanced at the eunuch with disdain: "Enough, Harry. Pillaging a village won't extinguish the raging fire in my heart. I shall take the head of this Frankish cavalry leader and demand back Aleppo from Adil, which rightfully belongs to me!"

Mentioning his uncle, Governor of Syria, Safudin (Adil), Zahir called him by name, without a trace of respect.

Because a significant portion of the territory under his rule should have belonged to him.

Only because while governing there, Zahir lost a battle during the campaign against the Armenian highlanders, leading the territory to be entrusted to Safudin.

"I will prove that I am still the most favored son by my father."

Zahir drew his sword and shouted: "Holy Fire Everlasting, Supreme and Mighty! My most elite Mamluks, bring flames and death to these Frankish barbarians!"

"Holy Fire Everlasting, Supreme and Mighty!"

The Saracen cavalry howled madly, charging like a black hurricane.

These elite cavalry, selected from the Gulam slaves and equipped with refined scale armor, chain armor, and Zha armor, riding Mao-ri horses imported from India, were far superior to the Gulam cavalry who were effortlessly crushed by the crusader cavalry in the past.

They practiced martial arts from a young age and were Zahir's most elite troops.

He believed that even if his slave personal soldiers couldn't match his father's Mamluk personal guards, they were still foremost among his brothers.

They certainly were not comparable to this group of unclear-origin Frankish cavalry.

Losa was leading the charge, at the forefront.

Hans held a lance adorned with a black eagle swallowtail banner, and beneath his heavy winged helmet, his eyes had turned into beast-like vertical pupils, with boiling wolf blood coursing through him.

Behind, knights holding swallowtail banners and square banners loudly roared.

"Charge."

"In the name of the Royal Knight Order!"

"In the name of the Father!"

"In the name of Jerusalem!"

"Slay these Saracen dogs."

The slogans shouted by the cavalry varied, and the accents were bizarre, with people from Lowlands, Gaul, Toulouse, Albion, Leon, Navarre, Tuscany... from various regions.

Even they themselves didn't know what they were shouting, merely roaring instinctively like beasts to vent their inner tension.

The black cavalry and the red cavalry were like two waves rushing towards each other on the ground, as if in the next moment, they would crash violently, stirring up a bloody tempest.

Losa only felt the crackling sound constantly in his ears.

He didn't know what hit his helmet, whether it was arrows or pebbles carried by the wind and sand. Beneath his visor, his breath became extremely heavy, like a bellows.

Closer.

Closer still.

Losa could even clearly see the cavalry charging towards him, their ferocious faces, their skin made rough by the wind and sand, and their sun-darkened, disheveled beards.

Bang——

A massive impact struck, and the lance in Losa's hand brutally knocked away the Mamluk cavalry who held a round shield from the opposite side.

His feet still hung in the stirrups, his body leaning backward, falling to the ground, where countless hooves trampled upon him, ending his life in an instant.

Losa slowly channeled the magic power within him, nurturing the ache in his arm.

Next followed another enemy wearing a spiked helmet.

The sharp Saracen straight sword thrust out at a tricky angle, aimed directly at Losa's neck.

Swish——

The black shield was like a sharp axe, directly severing the arm of the Mamluk cavalry that thrust out that straight sword.

Draped in iron armor, Prajna rode his warhorse like a shadow beside Losa, intercepting all attacks from Losa's right side.

This is the duty of the Heavy Iron Guard!

But Prajna can only defend one side at most.

Six-Star Heavy Iron Guard and Six-Star Mage are completely different concepts.

The next moment.

Whizz—

Losa suddenly raised his shield, and a powerful arrowhead "thud" nailed into it, the sharp tip pressing against his shield-holding fingers, causing a wave of intense pain.

If it weren't for the chain armor gloves, his fingers might have been severed by the arrowhead.

His keen beast intuition immediately locked onto the Saracen cavalryman sneaking an arrow shot at him.

His armor was clearly different from the others, surrounded by guards not charging together, highlighting his unusual identity.

He shouted, "Hans, Prajna, cover me!"

Immediately, he discarded the cracked lance, drew the Armed Sword personally crafted by Marles, and charged toward the Saracen cavalryman on the high ground.

Bang—

A hammer swung out from Losa's left, fiercely smashing onto Losa's head.

Losa felt a sudden increase in pressure on his neck, the massive force from above hitting heavily on his chain armor neck guard through the iron helmet's rim.

The clash of iron sounded like a bell ringing, causing his mind to fall into a daze.

Losa could only raise his shield, as the heavy hammer smashed down again.

The shield in Losa's hand and the arm holding it were forcefully slammed back against him; he was numb to pain, and in the first moment of calming his mind, he wanted to retaliate despite the dizziness.

But immediately after, a lance pierced through the man's chest, knocking him to the ground.

Losa could see Ulm's silhouette, the plumes fanning out briskly due to high-speed racing.

He surpassed himself, rushing to the forefront!

More and more Winged Cavalry were charging forward.

As Cuirassiers, they charged faster than Losa's armored mount, which hadn't been replaced in time.

Zahir astonishingly put down his horn bow and said, "This Frankish leader and his personal guard are truly brave! If we capture those Plumed Cavalry, don't kill them. I want them to join my Mamluks."

The eunuch beside him advised again, "Sir, we should withdraw. The Franks are already charging this way; with your noble status, you shouldn't be involved in such perilous battles!"

Zahir proudly rejected the servant's advice, "No, I am Saladin's son, the desert's eagle, Syria's master. I never fear battle!"

"He wants to fight me, then let him come!"

"Mamluks, show these Frankish barbarians our might!"

He raised his straight sword, yelled, and led a troop of personal guards to charge at Losa who was like a piercing arrow, breaking through the Mamluk cavalry squad.

Looking down from the sky, one could see the black wave showing an encirclement trend, swallowing the red and white tide.

The Saracens' light cavalry on both wings were charging toward the village.

These light cavalry were responsible for using arrows to delay Crusader infantry from supporting the cavalry.

Otherwise, once the cavalry clash ended, the Mamluk armored cavalry would likely be besieged by the Crusader soldiers, having lost their momentum.

In such a state, the Mamluk cavalry might still achieve a one-to-one or even one-to-two exchange ratio.

But using meticulously trained heavy cavalry to exchange with Crusader infantry, possibly out of training for less than a week, even a one-to-ten exchange ratio would be an unacceptable loss for Zahir.

In the rear, the Knight Order's light infantry started shooting.

Losa didn't specially train archers or crossbowmen, but among the newly recruited soldiers by the Knight Order, a significant portion came from Armenia, people who believed in the Apostolic Church (considered a branch of the Orthodox Church).

Besides their primary weapons, the long spear and shield, they carried inherited catapults, a weapon ancient yet practical, with a maximum range reaching up to two hundred meters.

As Saracen light cavalry approached, they leaped from their cover, striding forward a few steps, swinging catapults to hurl fist-sized rocks at the enemy's light cavalry.

Caught off guard, several of the lightly armored Saracen riders were hit with head injuries, falling off their warhorses.

Laine and Model, clad in heavy armor, wielding war axes, each led a squad of Varangian Guard, shouting, "Charge with me, kill these accursed heretics!"

"Heavenly Father will protect us!"

In the next moment, the Crusader soldiers, originally behind cover, surged like a tide against the enemy's delaying light cavalry.

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