On the northern battlefield, Gunter and his mercenaries tore through the Ottomans lines with a fierce charge.
Wielding their greatswords, the German warriors, fearless in their fine half-plate armor, charged into the Ottoman ranks, swinging their massive swords with wide, sweeping motions, forcing back or directly cutting down the surrounding Ottoman soldiers.
Adolf commanded the subsequent Austrian conscript army and the Austro-Hungarian Army to follow closely, pressing forward against the enemy.
General Karl von Jerin, leading three thousand cavalry on the Ottoman flank, received the signal and immediately launched a powerful assault on the Ottoman army's side.
These cavalry swept across the battlefield like a whirlwind; the Ottomans, under attack from multiple sides, were unable to organize an effective line to withstand the cavalry charge.
The heavy cavalry squadron, composed of squire knights formerly belonging to the Hungarian Dragon Knight Order, was unstoppable, following Karl as he charged back and forth through the Ottoman army, tearing apart the Ottoman infantry lines that had no cavalry cover.
A little further away, the cavalry led by Mahmud was tightly entangled by Vlad; the two commanders, now facing each other as enemies, were filled with intense animosity.
Unlike Mahmud, who was eager to tear through this enemy force and return to support his infantry lines, Vlad knew clearly that he only needed to hold the enemy firmly to win the war.
The two cavalry units remained locked in a deadly embrace, the brutal fighting never ceasing; the distant bugle calls and battle cries always boosted the Wallachian morale, while the numerically superior Ottoman cavalry's morale steadily declined.
They wished to salvage the situation, but it was beyond their power.
Mahmud was filled with immense regret at this moment; if he had been more cautious initially and managed to preserve the elite Rumelia Corps, this war would surely have ended in an Ottoman Empire victory.
However, there is no medicine for regret in this world; his carelessness, Vlad's steadfastness, and Janos's planning together buried the Ottoman Empire's chance of victory.
In the central battlefield, Philip's face was grim; not far in front of him lay many Ottomans corpses, two of which he had personally cut down.
These Ottomans charged the Burgundy army's lines like mad dogs; initially, the main force, composed of the Flanders mercenary group and Italian mercenaries, could withstand these charges, until the Ottomans cavalry joined the battle.
The Burgundy army on the flank almost collapsed at the first touch; if it weren't for the Swiss mercenaries he held in reserve, the line might have completely broken under the Ottomans's first cavalry charge.
The Swiss were very skilled at forming hedgehog-like phalanxes, making the cavalry tremble and marvel at the forest of pikes they raised.
They pushed back the Ottomans cavalry with their dense formations, stabilizing the situation on the flank.
The center of the battlefield was now in chaos; Serbians, Bulgarians, Turks, Dutch, Flemish, Burgundians, French, Italians, German, warriors from various places, were fighting on the same battlefield.
Some Ottoman generals spotted Philip and his guard, so they began to repeatedly organize attacks towards Philip's position; the Duke of Burgundy's guard suffered heavy losses, their numbers now less than half of what they were before the battle.
He had sent five messengers to Laszlo requesting aid, but the Emperor always responded by telling him to hold his ground.
Hold firm, and there will be a way.
Eventually, Philip even began to suspect that Laszlo was deliberately leaving him there without reinforcements, trying to get him killed.
However, such doubts were quickly dispelled; what commander would disregard the fate of his central army?
Unable to get aid, Philip could only struggle to hold on; he shouted hoarsely to the surrounding warriors, encouraging them to persevere.
"We have nowhere left to retreat! The glory and wealth you seek will become reality here! Kill every Ottomans you see, warriors blessed by Christ!"
His shouts ignited even more fighting spirit; even though the battle was difficult, the Burgundy army's warriors were struggling to hold on, for turning their backs to the enemy would be no different from suicide.
Unfortunately, the tide of battle had barely begun to turn when the arrival of an Ottoman reinforcement army worsened an already difficult situation—a portion of the Janissaries arrived on the battlefield.
Even though it was only a few thousand strong, it struck the central battlefield like a heavy bomb, completely tearing apart the Burgundy army's line; the outcome of defeat seemed irreversible.
However, scouts, who had been roaming the battlefield gathering intelligence, galloped back to the second line.
Soon, at Laszlo's command, the Holy Roman Empire's allied forces began to advance, with large numbers of fresh troops filling the lines from the rear; seeing the continuous stream of German princely allied forces joining the battlefield, the gloom on Philip's face vanished, and the battle had entered its final stage.
Laszlo had not committed all his reserves to the central battlefield because scouts had already obtained intelligence on Janos, learning that he was engaging another portion of the Janissaries by Lake Varna.
He called Laszlo Hunyadi and said to him, "I entrust this army, composed of five thousand Portuguese soldiers and hundreds of knights from the Empire, to you; take the Household Cavalry as well, and go help your father."
Laszlo Hunyadi was deeply moved; after a solemn bow of thanks, he quickly mounted his warhorse and, leading the Crusade's last forces, hastened towards the shores of Lake Varna.
At this point, only a few dozen Imperial Knights remained by Laszlo's side to protect his safety.
As the most life-loving person in this world, Laszlo had no interest in personally leading a charge.
An Emperor should properly remain in the rear, waiting for his brave and mighty generals to present him with victory.
Laszlo, whose mind had been continuously tense, could finally breathe a sigh of relief; he looked up at the sea not far behind him, as night was gradually enveloping the east.
He then turned his head to look towards the battlefield; the sun was setting in the west, and the blood-red afterglow dyed the entire battlefield a dark crimson.
The smoke of battle, still lingering, intertwined with the lingering sunset, sketching a hazy yet tragic picture.
On the battlefield, broken military flags were slanted into the scorched earth, swaying feebly.
Bodies lay haphazardly, piled like mountains, and blood flowed like a river, reflecting a eerie glow in the setting sun.
Shattered chariots and broken weapons were scattered everywhere, as if narrating the cruelty and mercilessness of war.
The flames that had not yet completely extinguished flickered in the wind, adding a few shades of grimness to this tragic scene.
In the distance, wounded warhorses let out mournful cries, their voices echoing across the vast battlefield, making it even more desolate.
Countless warriors were still fighting on the battlefield, battling from dawn until dusk; the warriors had long since forgotten fatigue, abandoned reason, and only fought bathed in blood until death.
On the southern battlefield, by Lake Varna, the Crusade was gradually falling into a disadvantage; having gone through a major battle, facing the well-rested and strong Janissaries was truly difficult for these brave warriors.
Moreover, a portion of the routed Anatolia Corps had already regrouped and re-entered the chaotic fight.
Knights around Janos kept falling; even with continuous charges and breakthroughs, he still could not break through the Janissaries' encirclement.
Just as hope was about to be extinguished, the rear of the Janissaries suddenly fell into chaos.
"Good opportunity!" Janos knew without thinking that reinforcements had arrived; he immediately led the remaining hundred or so knights to charge fiercely in that direction.
And on the other end, Laszlo Hunyadi, eager to save his father, charged with over a thousand cavalry as if his life depended on it, attempting to pierce through the Janissaries' defenses.
The Janissaries, caught in a pincer movement and a central breakthrough, finally showed signs of wavering.
The Portuguese army, following closely behind, immediately charged into the enemy ranks with the cavalry, thoroughly shattering the Janissaries' formation.
Even with a two-to-one numerical advantage, the Crusade still could not gain the upper hand and soon fell into a bitter struggle.
And Laszlo Hunyadi finally met his father, Janos, as he had wished.
Janos, seeing that it was his eldest son leading the reinforcement, first felt a surge of joy, then immediately asked with concern, "Why are you leading the army? Where is His Majesty?"
Laszlo Hunyadi immediately reassured him, "Don't worry, His Majesty is safely in the rear. He knew you were in trouble and immediately ordered me to bring the last reserves to reinforce you, Father. Can you still wield a sword?"
Janos turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood, then turned back and cursed with a smile, "You brat, still daring to mock your old man? You've come at just the right time. Let's shatter the Ottomans's last pride together!"
"Yes, Father!"
Laszlo Hunyadi's gaze was fixed on his father's back, imprinting his heroic figure deeply into his mind, then he let out a roar and charged after Janos towards the Ottomans, with the knights following the father and son, assaulting the tenacious Janissaries.