The vultures circled at the edge of the battlefield, neither daring to approach the numerous falcons nor willing to miss the feast in their mouths.
"Many people will die today."
Ivan looked up at the hovering vultures and said nonchalantly, "Are you afraid, Fulk?"
"Yes, I am afraid, Ivan."
Baron Fulk's fingers trembled as they gripped the lance. He had thought he could escape amid the chaos of the battlefield.
But once on the battlefield, Fulk realized his naivety.
On the slopes before him, the dense array of flags and the colorful crosses all testified to the vast numbers of the Crusader Cavalry.
Around him, the heavily armored knights and light cavalry archers seemed like a black tide enclosing him layer by layer.
This was in the Aquitaine Region near the Pyrenees Abyss, and such a large-scale battle had not been seen since the Battle of Poitiers (Franks and Iberian Arabs in Languedoc), completely surpassing Fulk's imagination.
