The glory of the French knights can be traced back to a long, long time ago, when fighting against the infidels was considered a noble and great cause, and even kings were fierce and martial, so much so that monarchs wearing crowns often rode the field in person, and there were even tragic feats of kings stained with blood.

But I don't know when the bravery and persistence of the knights turned into a bad habit that was criticized, especially after Agincourt, and the bravery of the French knights gradually turned into a ridiculed handle.

But even so, there are still people who stubbornly adhere to the principles of being a knight, bravery, loyalty, piety, and of course, pride and perseverance.

The hooves of the French knights trampled the dirt on the ground, and also crushed the dignity of the French soldiers who were silently retreating, and many people stopped, looking at the backs of these knights who were running against them, watching them rush towards the enemy position with their spears and swords held high, some just indifferent bystanders, some showed hesitation, and some looked at their captains with excitement and trembling all over, hoping that they would give the order to stop the retreat.

Louis XII's eyes narrowed slightly, and he rode his horse and stared carefully at the rows of knights who were pouring towards the Neapolitan position like moving walls.

"Your Majesty?"

One of the squires was interrupted by Louis XII raising his hand, staring at the knights, as if waiting for an answer that was about to be revealed.

The knights, who were getting closer, looked full of terrifying intimidation, and the grenadiers began to get nervous, and they raised their guns anxiously for the officer to give the order, but never heard it.

The French were getting closer and closer, their tall horses and hideous armor were clearly visible, and when they rushed to a close distance, the Neapolitan soldiers clearly heard a high-pitched roar from among the knights: "France~ charge!" ”

The war horse gradually accelerated, jogging faster from the original middle, running faster and faster, and the final charge began!

The enemy was already close at hand, and the tall figures seemed to be about to be pressed head-on, and some grenadiers couldn't bear the huge pressure and couldn't help but pull the bolt, and for a time there was an irregular gunfire on the position.

"It's time!"

Louis XII shouted, and he waved his arm vigorously at the squire who had been waiting impatiently, and as the horn of the attack sounded again, the French army, which had been gradually stopping, let out a burst of cheers.

The French are ready to fight back!

At this moment, the same deafening gunfire rang out from the Neapolitan positions.

The sound of the gunfire was different from the terrible musket that the French soldiers had become familiar with, dull and shocking, like the roar of a dragon from hell.

When the sound of the projectile tearing through the air pierced his ears, one of the knights who rushed to the front suddenly felt that the heavy spear in his hand had lost its weight, he instinctively lowered his head and looked, and then saw that not only the spear was gone, but even his right arm holding the spear was gone, this terrible scene made him not even feel a trace of pain in his body before he screamed, until his body seemed to be suddenly pulled and thrown to the side, he did not know what was happening.

The carnage inflicted by the heavy muskets in an instant had not yet had time to cause a riot among the French knights, and one by one the knights who had bravely charged before had already fallen off their horses.

And some of the horses were hit by the stray bullets fired by the grenadiers on the opposite side, and they fell to the ground in pain, and the knights on the horses could not avoid it at all, and fell like a mountain.

The second round of heavy rifle shooting, almost no need to aim, only need to pull the trigger on those oncoming knights, and among the knights with noble status and full armor on the opposite side, some of them fell to the ground with their guns, and under the blow of the heavy musket projectiles with great destructive power, those who were hit, even if they were only touched to the side, few were lucky enough to preserve their intact bodies.

One by one, the knights fell, not in front of an opponent of the same noble rank as they were, nor were they defeated in battle by the enemy, but they fell before the enemy's position, which was not far away, but could not rush to the enemy position in front of them.

They don't even know what the person who shot them is like until they die, maybe it's an old ** with good marksmanship, or maybe it's the son of a city craftsman, or maybe even a hillbilly who has never seen much of the world before.

These were inferior people whom they might never have looked at in their lifetime, but on the battlefield, in the face of an enemy with great weapons of great power, their identity, faith, courage and pride were rendered worthless, and in a burst of whispers, the knights of France fell from their horses one by one, and the ownerless horses ran dazedly on the battlefield, neighing.

The French troops, who had already begun to turn back, couldn't help but slowly stop, and even the horns that had been blown gradually fell silent.

Everyone looked at the hundred or so knights who had been charging forward, and now nearly half of them had fallen, and the Neapolitan position was covered with a layer of uneven hills formed by the corpses of French knights.

But the knights did not flinch.

Many people saw that the unusually tall knight had raised his own flag, and the knights who had regrouped around him stopped very close to the enemy, and they seemed to whisper something, and then the knight raised the flag with the sharp spear, and with a shout from him, the remaining French knights launched a final charge.

"Stun Gun ~Ready~"

"Grenadier ~Aim~"

Orders rose one after another on the position, rows of muskets were raised, and no one spoke, and the short distance between the two sides was too late to blink.

"Shoot!"

Orders were given, and the grenadiers, who had been trained countless times, instinctively pulled the trigger according to the movements of the drill.

Almost all the muskets were concentrated on the tall knight with the spear, so that at the moment when the guns rang out, the knight's body, which had been hit by countless bullets, rushed straight out from his horse, and before his body could be beaten to the ground, several pieces of armor had been scattered from the shattered armor after being hit continuously.

When his torpy-like body slammed to the ground, what was exposed was a pile of flesh and blood that could no longer be seen.

One by one, the knights fell to the ground, but the others continued to rush forward.

It's close, it's close, and it only takes two more breaths to rush into the enemy's position!

One of the knights let out a cheer, and he had many companions with him as he began to charge, but then there were fewer and fewer of them.

Now there's only one person left!

But this knight still desperately urged the war horse to rush to the enemy formation!

As if a stone had struck the knight, his head jerked back, and the force of the impact instantly flung his helmeted head backwards in a terrifying twist.

The mount was still rushing forward, the spear in the knight's hand was shining, his body was firmly on the horse, and the men and horses stubbornly ran towards the enemy line.

But no one shot at him again, and everyone looked at the horse, and the grenadiers could not help but follow the figure of the horse as they leaped over the trench and rushed into the Neapolitan position.

The horse's hooves landed the ground, and then stopped, and the knight sat upright on the horse's back, his body moving forward, but his head hanging strangely to the side.

Then, like a sandcastle crushed by the sea, the spear in his hand fell to the ground, and his body slowly slid off his horse.

"The knights of France."

Tsusha whispered, and she stepped out from behind the breastwork, and came to the knight who had fallen to the ground, and looked down at him.

This man's helmet mask had been directly flattened by a projectile, and the edge of the cracked mask was embedded deep in the helmet, and a pool of blood overflowed from the gap in the mask, staining the entire helmet like a scarlet apple.

Tsusha didn't say anything, she looked into the distance, looking at the French army who were standing on the opposite side and didn't seem to know what to do, she thought for a moment and gave the order, "Blow the horn of rest." ”

A long, low trumpet sounded from the Neapolitan position, a simple tune with a hint of serenity and calm, and many of the French soldiers who had stopped advancing finally breathed a sigh of relief, and they looked at their officers, waiting for their orders.

"Your Majesty?" The officer next to him asked Louis XII cautiously.

"Blow the trumpet," said Louis XII calmly, as he dismounted from his horse and closed his eyes slightly, listening to the tune of the trumpeter, the King of France gave the order, "send men to negotiate a truce with the Neapolitans, to bring back all our knights, especially the one who stormed the Neapolitan position, and order the whole army to welcome back our heroes with the highest honors." ”

The resting trumpets of the two armies echoed each other on the battlefield, and they seemed to mourn for the French knights who had died in battle at this moment, and the trumpets rippled in the air like cold whispers in this scorching heat, and finally slowly fell on the armor of the knights who had lost their breath of life, turning into a lifeless dead silence.

"Your Majesty, the French have sent someone." A squire who looked condescendingly at the distance reported to Jisha.

Jossa nodded and told her officers to perfunctory the Frenchmen, while she herself got into the carriage and headed for the camp not far behind the position.

The French envoy trampled on the blood-stained grass through the clearing between them, which was already considered deadly.

After each battle, the two sides often took a temporary truce to bury the corpses and rescue their wounded, a rule that had existed for thousands of years, perhaps longer, not only to appease the spirits of the dead, but also to prevent terrible plagues.

The remains of nobles and officers with status were carefully recovered and transported back, while ordinary soldiers were buried on the spot.

At this time, even the two armies of life and death enemies often show unusual restraint, even if it is an inevitable encounter when carrying corpses, but they rarely turn into swords and soldiers.

It seems that in this world full of dead people, everyone has become a tacit awe.

It's just that unlike in the past, this time the French are going to transport back not a few people, but all people.

The 105 French knights who charged were all wiped out.

"Times have changed."

After returning to the camp, she did not expect others to understand what she meant, but after receiving the conclusive news that the French had finally withdrawn from the battlefield, she had someone bring a wooden bucket filled with hot water to her tent, and then took off her clothes and slowly immersed herself in the hot water.

When she felt the comfort of the hot water, she couldn't help but sigh softly, she felt so tired, and the sleepiness made her almost want to lean against the bucket and fall asleep.

However, she still boured her spirits, and when she called the maid to scrub herself, she picked up the book of "The Book with the Generals" that she had actually read many times from the small wooden table next to the barrel.

Josha pressed one cheek to her arm and propped it up to the bucket and looked at the book written by Alexander to his officers, only to see her eyelids begin to fight.

She didn't know how long she had been asleep until she was woken up by the maid's whispered call.

It was already dark, the campfire was lit in the camp outside, and the familiar sounds of singing entered the tent, and Jisha did not get up at once, but lay there and watched the maids do this and that.

Seeing the waitress carefully place a dress and various accessories that she remembered to be worn at a major celebration on a temporary hanger made of tree stumps, Jisha asked with a little doubt: "Is today a special day?" ”

"Your Majesty, isn't it?" The lady-in-waiting said with some excitement, "You defeated Louis and defeated the King of France." ”

Hearing this, Ji Sha laughed, she picked up the book of "The Book with the Generals" and gestured slightly to the waitress: "No, dear Madame is still far away, this is just a battle, I want, or my brother wants not to win once or twice on the battlefield, as he said in this book." ”

As she spoke, she flipped open one of the bookmarked pages and read in a slightly softer voice: "The so-called strategic decisive battle is by no means for a secondary purpose that is not taken seriously, but for the most fundamental requirement of the original war, so it is necessary to go all out to eliminate all the difficulties that may arise in the process that hinder the completion of the task, and then achieve the ultimate goal by completing the established plan." ”

Thinking of this, Ji Sha closed the book and hugged it on the bulging snow mound, her eyes were full of seriousness, and she said to the waitress in an extremely affirmative tone: "And our goal is not just to win against the French on the battlefield," she said as she held the book's arms slightly hard, and there was a hint of firmness in her eyes, "We want them to surrender." ”