The standard-bearer of the Imperial Guard sounded the horn to regroup the troops.
The well-trained soldiers retreated, covering each other as they went.
Todd wanted to take advantage of the enemy's retreat to continue his attack, but the remaining gladiators fought their own battles and ignored his calls.
"We won! We defeated those sons of bitches of a regular army!" Cotton, the Mountain Giant, shouted at the stands, holding up the severed head in one hand.
Hearing the cheers coming from the stands, Todd glanced at the bodies of the victims out of the corner of his eye.
Seven gladiators died, leaving fewer than seventy. Sixteen members of the Royal Guard died, leaving more than eighty.
Judging from the casualty ratio, this appears to be a victory, but in terms of the remaining numbers, the gladiators are still at a disadvantage.
Moreover, comparing the remaining fighting forces of both sides, most of the soldiers killed by the Royal Guard were killed by Todd, and they were mostly archers, shield bearers and spearmen in the back row, whose formation was still intact. On the gladiators' side, those who died at the forefront were the bravest and most skilled warriors. The death of any one of them was a loss that could not be ignored for the entire gladiator formation.
On the battlefield at this time, there was another person who shared the same thoughts as Todd, namely Bessen, the leader of the Plainsmen.
The hunched-over man ran to Cotton, grabbed his arms, and shook him violently: "Idiot! Open your eyes and look, the army is starting to redeploy!"
At the commander's loud command, the Ulster Guards adopted a tight formation, with less than a fist's width of space between the soldiers. The shield bearers stood evenly spread out, the spearmen stood close to their shields, and the commander and the remaining archers remained in the center of the formation.
With each command, the soldiers around the perimeter of the formation raised their shields outwards, forming a tight circular shield wall. The soldiers on the inner side of the formation raised their shields overhead, sealing the entire circular shield wall like an inverted iron pot.
While everyone else was confused and at a loss, Todd immediately recognized the formation as the ancient Roman tortoise formation from his past life.
The victory that had just been won had clouded the judgment of some gladiators.
The fearless North Islanders, led by their chief Cotton, charged towards the tortoise formation.
Todd slammed his sword against the shield and yelled at his foolish teammates, "Come back!"
No one heeded his warning. The North Islanders, running at high speed, crashed into the shield wall of the Imperial Guard. The shield wall only dented slightly, then, like a spring, it pushed the attackers towards the enemy. Sharp spears, like venomous snakes emerging from their holes, pierced the chests of the fallen, taking away one life after another.
Seeing this situation, the cunning fox Bessen hurriedly led his men to rescue the North Islanders. He commanded his plainsmen to form a long defensive line, dealing with the spears thrusting out from the tortoise-shell formation while using ranged weapons to kill the enemy.
However, every arrow his archers fired at the tortoise formation only produced clanging sounds, causing no damage to the enemy. Instead, the tortoise formation's spearmen untied javelins from their backs and hurled them with all their might at the gladiators. These sharp weapons, carrying tremendous kinetic energy, pierced through the gladiators' fragile wooden shields, causing considerable casualties.
With his brute strength, the Mountain Giant Cotton smashed a gap in the tortoise shell formation. Just as he was about to call for his men to attack, he discovered that the seven North Islanders who had attacked with him were already dead or wounded.
A shield struck his knee, and a longsword pierced his thigh.
Cotton, who had just collapsed to the ground, roared angrily as the spear drew ever closer, but he was powerless to do anything about it.
Just then, a hand grabbed his armor, dragged him backward across the sand for several meters, and pulled him back from the brink of death.
Cotton looked back and saw Todd using his shield to block attacks aimed at the two of them while kicking up sand to confuse the enemy's vision.
Dragging this North Islander, whose mind was consumed by nothing but power, to a safe place, Todd crouched down, stared directly into his eyes, and roared, "Get your men back!"
"What gives you the right to order me around?"
Before Cotton's protests had even ended, Todd, right in front of him, snapped an iron sword on the ground in two, raising his voice even higher: "I told you! Get your men back here, you fucking bastards!"
Faced with the Ulsters' tortoise-like formation, the gladiators' attack was repelled, leaving behind twenty corpses. The Royal Guard, on the other hand, suffered only four minor injuries, with their fighting strength largely intact.
The surviving gladiators retreated to the edge of the arena, establishing a thin defensive line, struggling to hold on, and were only one step away from defeat.
After hastily bandaging his wounds with a strip of cloth, the cunning fox Bessen spat on the ground: "Judging by this, these people are going to wipe us out!"
Cotton stared at his tribesmen lying sprawled in the distance, his eyes bloodshot and his beard trembling.
Todd observed his surroundings, considering all the possible factors he could utilize on the battlefield.
The cunning fox Bessen looked ashen and said dejectedly, "This formation covered by shields is simply impossible to break through; it is simply unbeatable!"
“Nothing in this world is invincible; everything has its flaws.” Todd looked at the winch by the door and said thoughtfully, “I have an idea.”
On the viewing platform, a relaxed-looking Conchierber took a sip of red wine, swallowed it slowly, and laughed loudly, saying, "Hahaha! That really gave me a fright!"
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