Chapter 189: Emeric Zápolya

The Imperial Baron opened the iron mask of his helmet looking around after stopping his horse to check on how many men he still has. And it is indeed a grave sight for him, only approximately half of his men are left, with wounds all over them and looking like they have just gone through a shower of blood. And of the half surviving a portion of them even lost a part of their body making them maimed, losing the capabilities to fight, but still trying to stay balanced on their horse backs simply supported by nothing but their perseverance. 

With a smirk on his face, the imperial baron looked up at the slightly slanting sun.

They have dragged these Ottomans for a lot of time here. 

"How is the fight! Soldiers!" He shouted out asking his remaining soldiers. 

"Outstanding! Sir!" The soldiers replied. 

"Great! Charge! Magyar cavalries!" 

"Deus Vult!"

The imperial baron accelerated his horse for the second time followed by his soldiers, charging towards the Ottomans on the opposite side. The Ottomans, who did receive some heavy damage from the Crusaders, regrouped and charged towards the Crusaders shouting their mottos. The two army met again, thousands of horses, irons, hooves colliding with each other scaring the birds even a mile away off to the skies. The imperial baron continued roaring building up his strength slashing frantically tearing down one after another Ottoman, but soon he saw some one familiar in front.

It is the student he talked to just now, that pretty boy named Peterke, is brutally pierced through his chest by a spear dropping him off his mount on the floor almost instantly spitting blood out rapidly, still with his eyes wide open, and in the last second of his life, he probably saw his captain, the imperial baron, also looking at him. 

They caught sight with each other, and among the chaos, Peterke seems to be moving his lips saying something to his captain, but obviously the imperial baron cannot hear a thing from him. 

Taking advantage of the imperial baron's negligence on his surroundings, an Ottoman rider surprised him by slashing him towards the neck with a war hammer, although he did respond in time by instinct hurriedly blocking the incoming hammer, that hammer still struck onto his arm causing a dent on his plate armour Vambrace. With a series of severe pain and a small cricking sound, the imperial baron knows clearly that it means the bones in his arm has broken. 

With fury, the imperial baron knocked that Ottoman rider off his horse leaving him to die from stampede by the hooves of horses, then continued charging without looking at the poor Peterke who still has his eyes open lifelessly beneath him. 

The Crusaders charged through the Ottomans once more, this time left with even lesser people as the imperial baron tried hard opening up his blurred eyes by the sweat and blood that sipped into it, and counted the remaining strength of his men. 

This time he is only left with roughly a hundred people. 

And all those familiar faces and shadows have completely gone. 

Nevertheless ,there are no time for them to feel grieve or sorrow towards their pals. The one hundred remaining men gathered beside their commander forming a spear head and got ready to charge again. 

The imperial baron closed his helmet mask. "Magyar Cavalries! charge!" 

The soldiers roared with their last bit of strength in a unified voice. "Deus Vult!" 

The Hungarian Crusaders charged again, this time their army size looks no bigger than a droplet of water compared to the vast amount of Ottomans that looks like the sea, but they still charged, as they know that there are no way out. Like what the King Regent and their commander have always taught them, a proud Magyar man should not, and never, disgrace the fame of their ancient heroic ancestors, and if today is a good day to die, they will go for it. 

Violent smashing, slashing and colliding between the two calvary forces began again. This time on a much smaller and lighter scale, as the Hungarians really do not have much strength left considering the prolonged exhausting length of time fighting, facing two to three blades with only one blade. 

…

The imperial baron counted the strength scattered beside him again. 

This time he is only left with fifty two people. 

He grinned throwing his helmet with a dent caused by a smack of hammer on the ground, and wiped the blood blocking his eyes, then shouted once more pointing his blade to the front. "Magyar Cavalries! Charge!" 

"…Deus Vult!" His soldiers replied him in a weak, but still unified voice. 

They charged towards the Ottomans again, this time the imperial baron suffered multiple hacks and slashes on his back, shoulder, hand, face and head. When he came out again, he looks like a vampire with his entire body and what is remaining of his armour covered in pure red blood. 

This time, only less than ten riders are around him. 

"….Magyar Cavalries…. Charge!" The imperial baron tried hard to scream in a hoarse voice and a hand trembling holding an already full of dents sword. 

A few scattered voice accompanied him. "…Deus Vult…" 

The Crusaders powered up their unwilling horse, and with a desperate neigh, their mounts followed their master's death will and charged towards the Ottomans once more. The Ottomans, too paid them with respect, sent only ten Siphai Cavalries charging at them. 

This time it ended pretty quick as every single Crusader has lost their muscle power to even block incoming attacks, even the imperial baron lost one of his entire arm when trying to hold it up blocking an incoming attack. 

This time, only the imperial baron himself survived. 

Covered in blood that he can already no longer tell whether it is his or the Ottomans, the imperial baron holding up his blade with his only working hand screaming out in a state of semi unconsciousness. "Magyar Cavalries…! Charge!" 

"…" No one is here to answer him this time. 

He is faced by the Ottoman Radu himself, who solved him piercing his blade through his throat easily. 

The imperial baron Emeric Zápolya closed his eyes forever leaning on the grass lands of Bulgaria, at the age of only thirty three.

The Ottomans surrounded his corpse, got off their horses bowing towards the brave military leader and saluting him with respect. 

"Give him a worthy and prestigious burial." Radu wiped the blood on his sword clean with a cloth and sighed. "He well deserves it, although we are enemies, but we pay respect to valorous warriors like him, and I want all of you to pursue your career like him as well."

The time is now in afternoon.