Chapter Thirty-Two: Heaven Has No Favorites, It Only Favors the Virtuous (Part II)

After stabilizing the troops’ morale, Li Yinglin advanced northward with five thousand soldiers as the vanguard, while Cao Xun led three thousand as the rear guard. They encountered the main rebel force by the banks of the Prut River, a tributary of the Danube.

The generals advised setting up defenses by the riverbank to block the enemy’s crossing. Although eight thousand men were too few for a decisive battle, they were enough to prevent the enemy from crossing. They could wait for reinforcements gathered by Grand Marshal Wang before engaging in a full-scale fight.

Li Yinglin explained that although the rebels were numerous, they were rife with internal divisions. The tribes of the Northern Court rebelled out of selfish interests of their nobles. Under such circumstances, they would not advance or retreat together, nor sacrifice themselves for their “comrades.”

While Grand Tutor Ye was still alive, his prestige and strict discipline kept them in check and maintained their combat effectiveness. Now, the puppet they had crowned, Boyan, was merely a figurehead accepted by all tribes but held no real command authority.

As for the so-called allied forces from Poland and Rus, each had their own agenda. They banded together simply because the Khanate’s growing power threatened their existence, prompting a temporary alliance against them. But once the Khanate’s forces seemed weak and no longer a threat, they would begin scheming against each other and act independently.

These forces lacked a unified command. An army without a general was a rabble. No matter how many they had, how could they win a battle?

At this moment, the enemy was at its weakest. Giving them time to organize or waiting for more Polish and Hungarian troops would only put them at a disadvantage. Therefore, there was no need to wait—now was the best time for a decisive battle.

A force of one hundred thousand was indeed large. In Europe, such an army could determine the fate of a nation.

Yet, even one hundred thousand was not overwhelmingly large. Without effective organization and command, whether eight thousand or even eight hundred, it was still possible to hold one’s own.

Thus, Li Yinglin did not stay by the ferry crossing but moved upstream to find another crossing point.

The rebels had noticed their smaller numbers early on. They sent vanguards to prepare for crossing while deploying their main force to confront them, aiming to destroy this unit before it fully crossed.

The rebel units were unevenly coordinated—some advanced quickly, others lagged—preventing a unified front. Given the huge disparity in numbers, no one took this seriously. The elite Qinqi Left Guard cavalry of the Northern Court charged out first and surrounded them.

Li Yinglin ordered his other soldiers to continue crossing and personally led two hundred armored cavalry in a counterattack. Surrounded by the Qinqi Guard, he charged fiercely, striking left and right, leaving nothing unscathed. Berkdeer, commander of the Left Guard, rushed forward with his retinue to intercept. Li Yinglin thrust his spear beneath the great banner, killing him. The Qinqi cavalry broke and fled, allowing Li Yinglin’s forces to complete the crossing and form ranks on high ground by the riverbank.

Seeing the Qinqi Left Guard repelled, the leaders hesitated, each wanting others to advance first. Li Yinglin sent troops to shout insults, calling Boyan a useless puppet and urging them to surrender quickly rather than follow him to their deaths.

The rebels roared in anger. Boyan, helpless, drew over ten thousand of his main forces from the Qinqi Left and Right Guards and the Biriar Right Guard to attack. He also requested Polish reinforcements from their commander, Duke Władysław, known as the “White Duke,” to act as support. Boyan honestly admitted that while their numbers were many, only the Polish troops’ fighting strength was trustworthy. For the common goal, he hoped for cooperation—at least this once.

Boyan personally donned his armor and rode to the front to command. The mounted archers of the Qinqi and Biriar Guards showered arrows on Li Yinglin’s forces. After an exchange, realizing the enemy’s armor was strong and their arrows ineffective, Boyan ordered his units to take turns charging, with the Biriar Right Guard, which was in the best condition, leading.

The Biriar Right Guard engaged Li Yinglin’s troops in a round of combat without a decisive result. Li Yinglin anticipated the enemy’s impatience and ordered his men to dismount, discard their bows, and retreat behind an earthen slope, leaving only sentries on guard. He also pulled a thousand veteran soldiers into reserve behind the defensive hill by the riverbank.

Boyan’s vanguard noticed the enemy had ceased firing and begun retreating behind the ridge and quickly reported this. Boyan reinforced his forces, integrating all cavalry into the formation for a charge. Behind, the Polish forces reorganized, knights leading the way, slowly advancing.

Boyan’s cavalry charged close to the slope. The sentries waved flags to signal, and Li Yinglin’s troops returned to the ridge, charging down upon the enemy.

Packed tightly together, the cavalry’s advantages were nullified, placing them at a disadvantage. Some cavalrymen tried to flank around to attack Li Yinglin’s rear. Yet, the woods below the hill were guarded, impeding their movement. Boyan resolved to rely on sheer numbers to force a breakthrough and ordered all units to attack while signaling the Poles for support.

Duke Władysław sent some Polish knights to assist, and the Biriar Left Guard also agreed to join. This succeeded in pushing Li Yinglin’s forces off the hilltop. Boyan committed his reserves and called back the units attempting flanking maneuvers, urging them to stop wandering and return to press the collapsing enemy.

After nearly half an hour of fighting, Li Yinglin’s troops were pushed back to the riverbank. Boyan’s cavalry and the Polish knights believed they could drive them into the river, their morale soaring. Boyan’s reserves, fresh and strong, were led by officers who cleared a path, preparing for the final charge.

However, the riverbank’s soil was muddy, preventing the horses from gaining speed. Li Yinglin’s thousand veteran soldiers seized the opportunity to countercharge.

Armed with heavy axes and iron clubs, they smashed the heads of men and hacked at horses’ legs. The cavalry, unable to maneuver and lacking the density of infantry, were often surrounded by several opponents. One soldier would hold them while others wielded long axes and hammers, striking repeatedly at the upper body. The front ranks of hundreds were nearly wiped out on contact, and those behind could neither dodge nor retreat, forced to desperately resist.

Some soldiers dismounted to form infantry formations; others turned their horses to attempt new flanking maneuvers. Amidst cries and curses, commanders shouted and waved flags, striving to restore order.

Boyan arrived at the hilltop, observing the obstruction ahead. He hurriedly ordered his following troops to dismount and prepare for infantry combat.

Li Yinglin’s veterans remained largely unaffected, steadily pushing forward like farmers wielding hoes, methodically smashing enemy skulls. Those pushed back regrouped on his orders, some resting while others formed new lines and circled the enemy through the woods.

Remaining cavalry in the forest were quickly driven away. Then, they turned to attack the enemy’s flanks and rear before the hill. Some alert enemy riders realized the danger and fled.

Other noble leaders tried a few flanking attempts but gave up when they found no success, content to watch the battle unfold. Some, seeing the carnage, grew fearful and sought chances to slip away.

Boyan sensed the tide turning and again signaled the Poles to intercept Li Yinglin’s infantry attempting to envelop them. He ordered his infantry to hasten and clear any enemies in the woods, aiming to encircle the opponent from the outside.

However, the Polish knights ignored his commands. They complained they came not to meddle in the internecine war of pagan barbarians, rolling in the mud for the ambitions of a few Tatar princes. The enemy’s presence in the woods was unclear; even if they intercepted those men, who knew if more were coming?

Some comrades had already been trapped due to this Tatar prince’s reckless command, their fate unknown. They intended to rescue their own if possible, then retreat home, or simply watch the fight end. In any case, they refused to die for them again.

The knights disliked these temporary allies, and the situation bred resentment. Even the duke’s personal pleas were ineffective.

Their judgment was not without reason. Soon, signs of collapse appeared on the front lines.

The Qinqi Left Guard, recently defeated and with their commander dead, had been placed in the second wave under a new commander to charge again with Boyan.

But the situation was clearly unfavorable; these troops began to falter. Yet, with the intense pressure all around, retreat was impossible.

Boyan watched from above, but the soldiers scattered across the field had no grasp of the overall situation. Those at the front tried to fall back to create space, while those behind, unaware, still pushed down the slope in confusion.

Eventually, more realized what the front’s retreat meant. Fear spread through the army.

At that moment, a fire broke out near the ferry camp.

Cao Xun’s three thousand troops arrived, bringing engineers and supplies, arriving somewhat late. Upon seeing fighting on the opposite hillside, Cao Xun ordered his men to raise banners and openly recruit volunteers to cross the river.

Facing the ferry was the army of the Duke of Smolensk. Seeing rafts approach, his soldiers formed ranks on the riverbank to intercept.

As the rafts landed, troops surged forward. Suddenly, flames erupted from a chest at the raft’s prow, sending Rus soldiers into screams of agony. Survivors shouted, “The Romans are here!” as they fled.

The duke looked around and saw a myriad of banners across the riverbank, blocking sight. Only a few rafts were launched; no more boats seemed forthcoming. Instead, the enemy was assembling and securing floating platforms to build a pontoon bridge, preparing to bring the main force across. The crossing troops shouted that the imperial army had arrived and urged those wise enough to surrender to avoid punishment.

Looking back at the frontline, the stalemate continued. Boyan had said only a few thousand were there, but now it was clear this was merely an advance force, yet the fight remained unresolved. If the main army crossed, his small force would have no chance of survival.

The duke ordered his soldiers to cease fighting and withdraw. He convened the nobles and sent envoys to the Duke of Chernihiv, also in the army, to confer.

Relations between Smolensk and Poland-Lithuania were extremely hostile, as both sought to annex Smolensk, reminiscent of their previous partition of the Galicia-Volhynia principality. Chernihiv was also a target of Lithuania and might have been destroyed if not for the intervention of the Purple Banner Khanate.

Though compelled to join the Northern Court’s army, the nobles quickly agreed: Boyan was a useless dandy who couldn’t even defeat the Purple Banner’s vanguard. Clearly, he was a blowhard manipulated by the Poles as cannon fodder. When the main army arrived, he was doomed.

Even if he somehow won, what then? Smolensk was long coveted by Poland, who would surely sell it out in gratitude for their help. Chernihiv faced a similar fate.

With the battle already in shambles, it was better to sell him out first and curry favor with the Khanate.

Resolved, they acted immediately. The Duke of Smolensk raised a white flag and came to the riverbank to negotiate with the Purple Banner army. The Duke of Chernihiv gathered Polish and Lithuanian soldiers to slaughter all Poles in the camp, preventing these spies from reporting unfavorable developments.

Soldiers roared as they stormed tents, killing anyone wearing Catholic crosses. Chaos ensued, with some Rus soldiers mistakenly slain. Polish and Lithuanian mercenaries defending the camp set fires when unable to hold. Thick smoke billowed high, visible from afar.

This clear signal was noticed by Boyan’s front lines.

The Biriar Left Guard, not loyal to Boyan, withdrew from the partial encirclement. Boyan, still clinging to hope, sent a messenger with his token, promising to appoint their leader as Grand Tutor if they obeyed orders to intercept and flank Li Yinglin’s infantry.

But the Biriar Left Guard vanished without a trace, and no reply came. Whether the messenger was killed en route or ignored, no one knew.

Amidst the chaos, the frontline collapsed entirely. Soldiers trampled and pushed each other in frantic retreat. Duke Władysław hurriedly escaped under his attendants’ protection, gathering remaining knights to break through the encirclement. Seeing defeat inevitable, Boyan drew his sword and committed suicide by the riverbank.

By the river and hills, a long clearing was littered with the bodies of over ten thousand Northern Court soldiers. The elite were nearly wiped out. Many Polish knights fled, but after Cao Xun’s engineers arrived, they swiftly captured the main camp. Most remaining infantry and Lithuanian mercenaries were slaughtered by enraged Rus troops, unstoppable even by the Purple Banner army.

The tribal nobles who fled earlier disappeared without a trace; some wandered outside the battlefield looting the fleeing soldiers.

Thus, a supposedly mighty army of one hundred thousand was shattered within a single day.