"Are you ready?"
Losa inquired.
Jeanne nodded heavily, raising her battle flag and following Losa to the front of the formation.
"The traitor of Burgundy, Philip, is leading his army, like England's hounds, charging at us. Let this despicable one, who has lost the glory of France, witness what true Frenchn are!"
Losa shouted.
Perhaps many couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, but just looking at Losa, and the white fleur-de-lis banner beside him, was enough to inspire.
Knights, soldiers, and noble generals let out a thunderous cry.
"Frenchn, charge with !"
Losa squeezed the horse's flanks, raised his lance high, and led the charge at the forefront.
The twelve cavalry squads, composed of heavily armored knights, light cavalry, and cavalry archers, followed closely behind Losa, charging towards Burgundy's army.
Cannons roared around them.
The French cannons viciously poured shells onto the coalition's position opposite; despite limited accuracy, when they hit, the heavy shells turned the ground into a muddy ss of flesh.
Losa lowered his visor, holding his lance aloft.
The fierce wind swept in through the slits of the faceplate.
The only sound left was the roar of cannon fire.
At the mont of contact with the enemy, the lance in Losa's hand fiercely thrust a knight bearing a white cross on his armor off his warhorse.
n and horses tumbled together.
Iron clashed with blood, splattering boiling blood flowers.
The opponent was entirely at a disadvantage.
But the knights under Duke Philip's command were not a disorganized bunch.
Among them, there were many renowned legendary knights, who could even score three-star or four-star in the card-drawing system.
In engagents with them, Losa gradually felt the limits of his own combat power.
But Jeanne, as well as Losa's attendants, Rahel and other cavalry, had stronger combat prowess; they guarded Losa closely, allowing him to continuously pierce through the enemy's formation.
More and more enemy troops fell.
And more and more of their own warriors also fell.
Gradually, there were fewer and fewer knights around Losa after breaking through the enemy infantry's line.
Losa led the army to circle around the enemy formation and reorganized on a distant high slope.
Only then did he realize that of the original 1500 cavalry, only half remained.
The lost half were either captured, fled scatteringly and hadn't returned to the ranks yet, but more were killed with their helts torn off by the enemy.
At this point in the war, the hostility between the two sides was deep as the sea, long gone were the knightly manners from decades ago of sparing nobles on the battlefield.
The opponents fared worse; Duke of Burgundy had only a small surviving guard unit left, retreating to the rear.
In the English army's position, Duke Bedford slapped a letter onto the table in agitation, it boldly declared—Duke of York's rebellion, negotiate peace with King of Niger imdiately, and lead the army back to England.
Losa took a brand-new lance from the attendant, holding it high, with the square banner tied to the tip in the most prominent state.
"Look, this is the traitor, who lost the glory of knights, they no longer possess God's favor."
"Frenchn, charge with once again!"
"Trample them underfoot!"
The knights shouted: "For the King, for the Saintess Jeanne, for France!"
"Trample these English bastards!"
The knights, having just gone through a bloody battle, surged down the mountain once more, charging into the battlefield that had plunged into frontal infantry lee.
In this era, the knights and nobles still maintained a spirit of blood courage; they never feared death.
After an indeterminate amount of ti.
Losa and Jeanne had lost their mounts, the knights around them could only fight dismounted.
Losa felt his arms so heavy he could barely lift them.
His chest plate was deeply dented.
If not for Prajna sharing his talent, absorbing a fatal blow, he would have been hamred to death by an opponent knight.
There were no enemies visible around.
Losa panted heavily, leaning on his sword to recover his physical strength.
The sound of hoofbeats gradually approached.
Losa raised his head warily, holding his longsword.
The smoke on the battlefield cleared.
Yet discovered the arrivals were only three.
Foremost was Duke Bedford, regent of Britain in France, behind him an attendant wielding a white flag symbolizing "ceasefire."
Losa and Jeanne exchanged a smile.
He gently patted Jeanne's shoulder, whispered: "Look, we've won, that idiot Bedford is here to surrender to us."
Jeanne's lips moved slightly.
"Your Majesty, is this a dream?"
Losa looked at her face, montarily showing a familiar expression, shedding immaturity, matching posthumously Jeanne precisely.
He seed to understand sothing, smiled and said: "Wouldn't it be nice to think it real?"
Jeanne's lips moved, seeming to say sothing, yet also seed not to.
A system notification chid in his ears.
You successfully led the army, defeated the Anglo-Burgundian coalition, completed the scenario "Hundred Years' War" simulation.
Evaluation: Glory and peace to you, King Charles, eternal praise also to you. The frenzied enemy has been defeated; through Christ's teachings and the legislation of law, your achievents have rebuilt this kingdom, beset with severe crises.
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