Alda was well-versed in battle history, and he clearly rembered that the longest recorded phalanx duel during the Sovereign War was the [Battle of Lucen], which lasted a full day, from the sun rising above the treetops until nightfall, when the Allied Army and the Imperial Army finally determined the victor.
Even excluding the parts involving troop deploynt and front-line advancent, the actual ti of engagent between the two sides lasted several hours.
The reason it took so long was not because the battle was not fierce, but precisely because it was too intense—the hand-to-hand combat took a significant toll on the soldiers' stamina. The clashes between phalanxes could only last a few minutes each ti. One side would quickly lose its strength and retreat to regroup, while the advantaged side had no strength to pursue. The defeated phalanx would either be replaced or briefly rest before being thrown back into battle. The engagent continued in this manner throughout the entire day.
Alda realized he found it difficult to achieve an ending like the Imperial Army in the Battle of Lucen. The Battle of Lucen concluded with "after dark, the Imperial Army believed victory was unattainable and voluntarily retreated; the Allied Army, also heavily wounded, allowed the Imperial Army to leave."
Alda was increasingly convinced he was approaching the conclusion of the Duke Butcher in the [Battle of Marino].
In that battle, the old marshal deployed Paratu Cavalry to repeatedly charge at the Duke Butcher's Monta Long Spear Soldiers, forcing them to halt their advance and hold their ground. Then, cannons and muskets were used to kill them.
In that battle, although the Duke Butcher's soldiers maintained a tidy retreat formation, they left behind twelve thousand corpses.
Even the Butcher exclaid in horrification, "This is not a battle between n; it is a battle between beasts and beasts."
That battle not only shattered the Royalists' last living strength in the Mountain Front Territory, but it also shattered the invincible myth of Duke Butcher and his Monta Long Spear Soldiers.
And now, watching the retreating, regrouping, and approaching of the rebels' formation, watching their cavalry repeatedly dash across his phalanx, watching the smoke from the rebels' muskets, Alda's intuition told him he was becoming the next Duke Butcher.
It made him increasingly frustrated and agitated.
After a prolonged and exhausting series of advances, engagents, regroupnts, and further advances, as the sun slanted westward—the ti when Duke Butcher decided to retreat during the Battle of Marino and when the Imperial Army's commander deed victory hopeless during the Battle of Lucen—Vansco Alda reached what might have been the closest mont to victory in this engagent.
The Twelfth Legion, using only three battalions, compressed the five enemy battalions near the "Ghost Gate."
The rebels in blue-gray uniforms, backed against the wagon barricade, ford their last defense line; they had been pushed to their limit.
In front of them, Alda's n were also at their end.
On the other side of the high ground, the severely understrength forces of Mont Blanc County and Thunder Group County had been driven down the slope; even if they had the strength to aid the Iron Peak County Regint, they were too far to reach.
Most of the ti, will alone does not determine the outco.
But at least at this mont, victory depended solely on will.
Alda suppressed his intense headache, taking a breath, wanting to say sothing motivational.
But his lips parted silently—throughout the entire battle, he had been using the Amplification Technique, yelling, roaring, shouting commands to the three phalanxes. At so point, he lost his voice.
Unable to speak, Alda gritted his teeth and raised his hand.
Just as he was about to give the final assault order, Alda suddenly noticed the rebels had "changed."
The rebels were still those sa rebels, in tattered clothes, on the brink of collapse.
But sothing had changed, sothing so apparent that his subordinates noticed the change too.
It was their eyes.
The fierce, beast-like glint in their eyes vanished, replaced by hope.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the blue-gray crowd.
Vansco Alda was astonished to see that the rebels, unafraid of sweating, bleeding, or spilling their guts, were now shedding tears.
He turned blankly to look behind him, only to see a dark red, tattered military banner fluttering on the small hill behind him.
"Whose banner is that?" Alda asked.
"Winters Montagne," a centurion replied softly, "The Phantom of the Styx, Blood of the Wolf."
The cheers reached the other side of the high ground; although they couldn't see what was happening, the officers of Mont Blanc County and Thunder Group County imdiately understood sothing had happened.
"Winters Montagne! The wolf cub is back!" Paradi Rima scread madly at the tricolor flag on the slope, "Mud dwellers! Say goodbye to your cannons, your supplies, your rear! You! Are all! Dood!!!"
And on this side of the slope, Alda understood that victory—at least today's victory—had eluded him.
"Fall back," Alda ordered hoarsely.
The three phalanxes of [Steadfast] slowly retreated to the high ground, leaving corpses scattered throughout the hillside.
The Iron Peak County Regint also did not pursue, just like the Allied Army of thirty years ago in the Battle of Marino.
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In the evening, after cleaning the battlefield, Roson Jura ca to see Winters. Upon eting, the major said, "I take back what I said earlier."
Winters did not speak, rely lifting his eyelids slightly.
Having gone back and forth on the provincial highway and witnessed soone's true abilities, Roson Jura was still filled with lingering fear, "Indeed, the nickna 'Blood of the Wolf' didn't quite do you justice. You... you are simply a lion, the Vineta Lion, the Winged Lion!"
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