A day or two ago, after the battlefield had been cleared, Mahmud Kelir, in the guild hall of Keziyar village, took the battle and prisoner interrogation reports with great interest and began to read them silently.
"The enemy army was almost completely wiped out; the thousand-strong guerrilla force has less than one in ten remaining, which is very good. Our casualties," Klier frowned, "Hmm? An army of 2,500 actually suffered over 750 dead and wounded, and setting aside the others, 22 Janissaries permanently lost their combat effectiveness? How is that possible? Our Janissaries are the elite of the Ottoman Sultanate." He grumbled in dissatisfaction, then noticed the report provided by the prisoners, "Ha? The enemy commander is actually the Crown Prince of Theodoro Principality? Do these Christian monarchs really like to personally lead battles? Perfect." He then personally ordered a Tatar deputy general to take a group of light cavalry to bring back this Crown Prince, "Dead or alive."
"Yes, General." The deputy general accepted the order and led 80 Tatar light cavalry to pursue the enemy.
Fast forward to the present—
Manuel felt like he was about to faint. He had escaped all this way, but there were still ambushes. Why were these Tatars so energetic?!
"Can't they go back to their mosques to pray, or go herd sheep in the pastures? Why do they keep chasing us?!" Manuel roared.
"Your Highness, I suspect they may have learned your identity from the prisoners," Aidian cautiously informed him of this possibility.
"Ah?"
"Moreover, Your Highness, our raid and harassment this time displaced many Tatar nomads. These people must hate us to death," Posadas, who had been guarding him, also reminded him in a low voice.
"I understand." Manuel sighed deeply, "By the way, how far away are the pursuing enemy forces? How long will it take them to reach us? How many of them are there?"
"Reporting, Your Highness, the enemy… the enemy," the guard delivering the message took a deep breath, "They are probably only 12 stadia away from us, and it will take at most one or two hours to reach us."
"Then let's set off immediately; we need to quickly escape back to Northern Crimea." Manuel said as he stood up and packed, preparing to leave at once. "By the way, you haven't mentioned their numbers yet," Manuel reminded him.
Seeing this, the guard could only take a deep breath and quickly reported: "Your Highness, the enemy's numbers are at least twice ours, and their equipment is not bad."
"Ah?"
Manuel was stunned for a moment, then sped up his packing, "Quick, quick, run now! We are less than 5 stadia from the eastern Tatar Isthmus."
It was now early June, at night, and Manuel and his group were riding warhorses, rushing like shooting stars from Henichesk towards the Tatar Isthmus. "As long as, as long as, as long as we can reach that place," he prayed breathlessly in his heart to the Holy Father and Holy Mother, "Don't tell me it's full. God, protect us from being caught by the Tatars."
But unfortunately, what you don't want often comes to pass. After they had ridden for less than half an hour, Manuel felt arrows begin to fly past them. "They've caught up?" While he fearfully tried to confirm, a sharp arrow lightly grazed the outer auricle of his right ear, causing it to bleed slightly, startling him into immediately touching it.
"Phew, thankfully it's just a graze." He first felt relieved in his heart, then became anxious, "No, what's there to celebrate?! The enemy army is about to catch up!"
As he thought this, he could already see the cold glint of the Tatars' armor reflecting in the moonlight behind him.
"Damn Crimean Khanate, it seems they sent proper taxi soldiers this time." Aidian cursed, while dodging the arrows flying around him.
"If we fight them now, can we repel them?" Manuel asked them this rhetorical question, as if seeking help.
"Your Highness, you know we can't defeat them; their equipment isn't bad, and their strength is not comparable to conscripts." Aidian's grim expression shattered his illusion, then he painfully stepped forward and said, "At this point, we can only…"
"No, General Aidian, please escort His Highness back." Just as Aidian was about to step forward, more than 30 Filaka soldiers accompanying them, with a tacit understanding, stepped forward before him, "You are a General, and we are but soldiers. Your Highness, all of us in the Philaka Legion were personally cultivated by you, and all benefited from your benevolence. Now, it is our time to be of use to Your Highness. So, hurry and go." One of the leading few said so.
Manuel felt as if dust had gotten into his eyes, "Thank you, all of you. But I won't just accept all of this as a given; at least, please tell me your names."
"Your Highness, what our names are, at least for now, is no longer important," a Filaka soldier who had stepped forward said with a bleak smile, "If you truly care about us, then please promise us to live, and to avenge this battle and us."
Manuel gripped the reins in his hand, suppressing the sorrow on his face, "I promise you, go!" After saying his last words, he hurried towards Crimea, escorted by the remaining men. Behind him, the sounds of people clashing, weapons against weapons, and horses against horses soon erupted, along with the roars and howls of different taxi soldiers, and the scraping sound of scimitars against bone. There were loud "Hallelujahs" and chaotic "allah akbars." These sounds, mixed with the mournful wind of the night, were thoroughly imprinted in Manuel's mind, causing his heart to be involuntarily moved and pained by it all.
Now there was only a little over half an hour's journey left, but even with the obstruction of these Filaka soldiers, his escape route was not unimpeded. As they were about to approach the Isthmus, less than 10 swift Tatar cavalrymen caught up, and taking them by surprise, directly lunged at Manuel, who was leading the way.
Most of these brave Tatars were blocked by his guards, but three of them broke through the guards and aimed their scimitars at Manuel's head. Manuel's reaction was also quite swift; he drew the sword from his waist and blocked the blade of one Tatar, but he was powerless against the other two.
"I, I am not reconciled!" As the other two scimitars were about to strike his chest, he finally cried out in grief and indignation in his heart.
But it wasn't over yet.
Just as the two Tatars were about to strike him, someone suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking the Tatars' blades with a short spear in his hand, saving his life.