A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"Things are developing more rapidly than we imagined," Roger said softly.

"By the resurrection of the Lord of Heaven, I swear the English have always been this way. Not one of them is to be trusted. When the Danish come, they serve the Danish. When the Norwegian come, they serve the Norwegian, utterly shameless. Then, when the Danish and Norwegian are driven out, they casually swear allegiance to their ’liberator’ as if nothing happened, as if they were all loyal subjects who had endured great humiliation for a noble cause.

I saw through them long ago. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they sold off London City right now. The only way to deal with the English is to break every bone in their bodies, one by one. Make them howl in pain all day, make them do nothing but writhe and twitch on the ground.

Fear is the best medicine for taming the English; the Danish and Norwegian have already proven it. Only fear can truly subdue them and make them understand that I am their master now—their one and only master."

William still remembered how, about six years ago, that detestable Prince of Wessex had allied with the King of Denmark. The northern English turned to the Danish almost immediately, causing York to fall within a matter of days.

It was a shameful, crushing defeat, an eternal stain on his name. To end that war, he had been forced to stoop so low as to allow that band of Danish brigands to plunder his Kingdom at will.

To this day, he had not forgotten the humiliation of that time. It was all the fault of these unprincipled English.

He had seen through them long ago.

There was absolutely no need to show them any mercy. Fear was all one needed to rule them.

"Form up! Follow me and attack their rear flank."

By now, most of Robert’s Knights had already entered London City, followed by Crossbowmen and Lance Soldiers. The drawbridge wasn’t wide, only able to accommodate a limited number of troops at a time. The Crossbowmen and Lance Soldiers were crammed together, all scrambling to get inside the city walls.

The soldiers who entered London City first had the chance to grab the best loot and captives. They didn’t have horses and couldn’t outrun the Knights, but with some effort, they could get ahead of their comrades.

For Mercenaries, their salary was never the main part of their earnings. The big money always came from the legitimate plunder that accompanied war.

If a Mercenary was lucky enough, he could seize a set of equipment nearly as good as that of an ordinary Knight.

And it was at moments like these that this tendency revealed itself as the Mercenaries’ most fatal flaw.

This was undoubtedly the perfect moment to crush this rabble. With the enemy’s cavalry unable to reinforce them, unorganized Infantry facing well-trained Knights were nothing but lambs to the slaughter.

For William, his only disadvantage now was that, because everything had happened so suddenly, he had only managed to gather four hundred Knights.

But for him, that was more than enough.

He had fought in many wars in his life, and rarely had he held the advantage in numbers. Whether his opponent was the King of France, the King of England, or a powerful Frank Count, he always emerged as the final victor.

He firmly believed this time would be no different. There was simply no way he would lose to his own son.

"Our army is too small. If they turn and surround us, we’ll be trapped. We could wait a little longer. The Earl of Chester has received the message and should be here soon. He has about three hundred Knights."

"Three hundred? I remember you put the Knights of Shrewsbury under his command. There should be at least five hundred," William said, looking at Roger.

"He encountered Robert near Cambridgeshire. He lost."

"He’s certainly bold. Five hundred Knights against two thousand, and he still dared to fight. Commendable courage."

William was very fond of this nephew. He was not only obedient but also had a talent for commanding armies. The news that came from North Wales always pleased him.

"The specific details are unclear. Hugh said Robert only had two hundred Knights at the time."

"What?"

William was taken aback for a moment.

"Short Socks’s doing? Bah, it doesn’t matter. Him or not, it makes no difference. War is full of surprises. I suppose it proves he’s worthy of his bloodline."

William held out his hands. Attendants to his left and right presented him with his Lance and Iris Shield.

At almost the exact same moment, the Knights behind him followed suit, quickly taking up their Lances and Iris Shields.

These were the Knights William had enfeoffed near London City, his most trusted personal guard knights. They were also the most valiant of Norman Knights, battle-hardened veterans who had campaigned alongside William for many years.

William led the Knights out of the thicket, leaning slightly forward and urging his mount to its top speed as he charged toward the clumped-together Genoese Crossbowmen and Flemish Spear Soldiers.

Outside London City, the Genoese Crossbowmen were split into two groups. One part was harassing the defenders on the city gate, while the other was mixed in with the Flemish Spear Soldiers, scrambling to push their way into London City.

Because of the latter’s commotion, neither group noticed William’s approach. Even when someone shouted a warning, the voice was quickly drowned out by the din. The darkness of the night also impaired their judgment.

And so, William met almost no resistance, charging straight into the mixed formation of Flemish Spear Soldiers and Genoese Crossbowmen who were trying to enter the city.

The infantrymen barely mounted any effective defense, and their formation was soon shattered by the powerful charge of the Knights.

Crimson, slightly warm blood splattered through the air, spraying onto the faces of the Flemish Spear Soldiers and Genoese Crossbowmen still trying to crowd into London City. Only as the smell of blood spread did they gradually realize they were under attack.

But it was all too late. Their packed formation made it impossible to mount any defense; there was no room to wield their long spears and crossbows.

They could only watch as the charging Norman Knights easily cut down their companions.

Some Crossbowmen and Lance Soldiers, seized by fear, jumped directly into the moat. Of course, even more were forced into it by the Norman Knights. Wails and cries of agony shredded the last vestiges of the night’s quiet.

The tide of battle had turned. The area outside London City had become a slaughterhouse.

The Norman Knights’ Long Spears soon broke in the effortless slaughter, and they promptly switched to their Longswords.

Soon, the formation was completely shattered. The rear flank, composed of Lance Soldiers and Crossbowmen, quickly fell apart. A portion of the Norman Knights broke through the rear and charged toward the Genoese Crossbowmen who were harassing the defenders of London City.

This group of Genoese Crossbowmen, pinned down by the defenders, had no time to react. The outermost few were quickly cut down.

One lucky Norman Knight managed to skewer four Crossbowmen’s heads with his Lance. Excitedly, he brandished his Lance and spurred his Warhorse toward Conqueror William, wanting to show his Lord, his King, his own martial prowess.

However, just as he approached William, he suddenly tumbled to the ground. A long blade had bypassed his Chain Armor coif and pierced his cheek. He fell to the ground, twitched twice, and went still.

The spray of blood spattered across William’s cheek.

The long blade’s design was strange. It didn’t look Western European—at least, not a style the Franks would use. It looked more like something a Hungarian would wield.

William looked to his left. He heard the urgent sound of hoofbeats; a group of cavalry was approaching.

’Short Socks... He actually has reserves?’

At that moment, the sound of a horn blast echoed outside London City. William almost instinctively looked in the direction of the sound.

He noticed that a high slope in the distance was brightly lit with torches. The horn call was coming from there. In the firelight, he could make out what was on the slope. It was something he was incredibly familiar with—it was his main banner of Normandy.

’That brat, Short Socks... He didn’t enter London City?’

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