Chapter 1639 The setting sun is like blood

On the banks of the Mahazan River, there were shouts of killing and people and horses were thrown to the ground.

The Portuguese and Moroccan cavalry were entangled in a blood-thirsty battle. The clergy of both sides were also desperately performing rituals in the rear, praying to their respective gods to bless their own military fortunes!

However, victory can only be won through real fighting with real guns and swords.

Although the Moroccan army had an absolute advantage in numbers, the gorgeous armor worn by Sebastian and his ministers and their knights was slightly inferior to the heavy cavalry in terms of defense because it focused more on aesthetics, but it was still not something that the light cavalry could contend with.

Their charge was as sharp as ever, like a hot knife cutting through butter, effortlessly penetrating through the layers of Moroccan light cavalry and heading straight for the green crescent Sultan's flag!

Surrounded by his royal guards, Sebastian once rushed to within a few meters of Malik.

In the critical situation, even Malik himself seemed to have a last breath of life and actually mustered up the strength to raise his scimitar to fight.

As swords clashed, Malik's guards fell one after another, and the surrounding battle flags fell one after another, leaving only the Sultan flag.

The balance of victory once again tilted towards the Portuguese.

The Portuguese king and his guards were greatly encouraged, and they shouted loudly, vowing to chop off Malik's head in one go!

However, in this battle, the Moroccans had already put their lives at risk. Facing the overwhelming force of the cavalry, the Sultan's guards remained steadfast, charging again and again with the fear of death, using close-range shooting and the flesh and blood of men and horses to attack the unrivaled Portuguese King's Guards.

Sebastian's guards were covered in blood, all of which was shed by the Moroccans in order to defend Malik and the Sultan's flag...

With everyone working together, the green crescent flag seems to be fluttering in the wind and rain, but it stands firm.

When Mansur led the elite dragoons, broke through the entanglement of King Abu's camel soldiers and rushed to rescue the Sultan, Sebastian's desperate charge finally failed.

Dragoons were musketeers on horseback, armed with powerful cavalry-style matchlock muskets that could inflict damage with intensive, close-range volleys.

Sebastian's cavalry guards suffered considerable casualties, and even the king's horse was hit by several bullets and fell to the ground with a wail.

The king, wearing heavy armor, also fell heavily to the ground.

The ministers hurriedly helped the king up, wanting him to withdraw from the battle, but Sebastian refused and ordered his spare horse to be brought back, and he mounted the horse and continued the fierce battle.

However, the king's cavalry guards were too few in number, and under the wave-like charge of Mansur's dragoons, they still gradually moved away from Malik's Sultan's flag.

Under this ant-eating-elephant attack, the king and his ministers were all injured. Sebastian's three horses were all killed in the battle, and he himself was hit by several bullets. Although he was unwilling to give up, he was unable to fight again. He could only retreat back to the square formation under the protection of the few remaining guards.

Seeing that they had repelled the Portuguese king's desperate struggle, the Moroccan army burst into thunderous cheers!

They knew that victory was already decided and there would be no more variables.

Mansoor rushed to Malik regardless of everything.

The Sultan's white robe was soaked in blood, and he stood on his horse with a sword in his hand, like a god of war, amidst a sea of ​​blood and corpses.

"Brother, has God returned your health to you?" During the battle just now, he saw from afar his brother's heroic figure wielding a sword in battle. He looked so strong that he didn't look like a patient at all.

Malik wanted to smile at his brother who was full of surprise, but he no longer had the strength to do so.

In fact, Sudan had already run out of energy, and was only holding on with that breath. Once that breath was released, his life would also come to an end.

Malik used up his last bit of strength and said, "I can't do it anymore, Sultan, you do it. I leave everything to you."

"Second brother..." Mansour couldn't help crying, as if he was back to the dark night 22 years ago when he was held in his brother's arms and escaped from Monaco.

"Don't cry, the soldiers are watching you, go and win our victory." Malik looked at his golden scimitar, smiled with satisfaction and said, "I will fight until I die, and I have no regrets!"

After saying this, Malik leaned forward gently on the saddle. To the Moroccan soldiers in the distance, it seemed that their great Sultan was just thinking with his head down.

Only those around him knew that Sudan had passed away...

For fear of shaking the morale of the army, everyone around the Sultan suppressed their grief.

Mansur took the golden sword presented by the Sultan's chief guard, took a deep look at his brother who had ascended to heaven, then turned around resolutely, drew his scimitar and roared towards the Portuguese phalanx.

"For the Sultan!"

"For the Sultan!" Amidst the thunderous response, the dragoons and Berber cavalry attacked from both sides and completely defeated King Abu's camel soldiers.

The remaining camel soldiers completely lost their fighting spirit and turned around to flee.

Mansur led 30,000 cavalrymen to pursue and kill the Portuguese army. This time, nothing could stop them from surrounding the Portuguese army's large square formation!

He could even calmly order the Berbers to raid the formation from the side while he personally led the dragoons to besiege the Portuguese phalanx.

For this moment, he had been training dragoons for eighteen months, specifically targeting the weaknesses of the Spanish phalanx.

These well-trained dragoons could charge at the enemy at high speed, fire at the Portuguese phalanx with muskets and whirling cannons at close range, and skillfully perform large whirlwinds in front of the enemy before crashing into the spear formation.

This sporadic tactic allowed the cavalry to fire at close range, then quickly retreat to a safe position to reload before charging and firing again.

This made the 8,000 spearmen in the Portuguese army completely useless, and the dense phalanx allowed the enemy to efficiently shoot and kill the Portuguese without even aiming.

But in the desperate situation, the Portuguese army resisted bravely. Amid the sound of war drums, their spearmen stood firm at their posts. When the one in front was shot down, the one behind immediately stepped forward to fill the position, using their bodies to provide cover for the musketeers who retreated to reload.

The musketeers quickly reloaded and fired volleys, killing as many Moroccan soldiers as possible.

After a simple bandage, Sebastian returned to the battle. Despite multiple injuries, he still encouraged the soldiers to hold their positions.

However, the dark golden armor on his body was too dazzling, which attracted the Moroccans' concentrated attack. When the king was commanding the musketeers to shoot, he was hit by a whirling cannon and fell to the ground, fainting.

The king's knights were almost all killed or wounded, but it was the "Guards Musketeers" like Macron who managed to bring the unconscious Sebastian back to the camp surrounded by baggage wagons.

After the king fell into a coma, the Duke of Braganza was the only one left among the four Portuguese dukes who followed the army. The command fell on the shoulders of this ten-year-old boy. His young face was full of determination. He raised his sword and shouted:

"Fight for the King!"

"Fight for the King!" This sentence is more effective than anything else for the Portuguese. Sebastian is the only child of the whole village.

With the belief of protecting their king, the Portuguese held on for several more hours and killed thousands of Moroccan dragoons.

But as time went by, their casualties became more and more severe, with more than 8,000 killed. The battlefield was so full of dead and wounded that it could be used as a bunker. The most troublesome thing was that the ammunition was running out, and the gunfire had become much more sporadic...

Before we knew it, it was already dusk. The fierce battle that started in the morning lasted until the sun set.

The blood-red setting sun hung over the long river in the west, reflecting the river water into a dazzling purple-red color.

The battlefield was also dyed the same purple-red by blood. Vultures and crows flew in following the breath of death, circling in the sky waiting for the end of the battle.

These flat-haired beasts, who were accustomed to fighting, could accurately judge that the battle was coming to an end and it would soon be time for them to feast.

After the Moroccan infantrymen who had surrounded and annihilated the elite Portuguese troops on the front line arrived to join the battle, the Portuguese army's already shaky main defense line finally collapsed...

First, the remaining camel soldiers began to flee, followed by the priests, servants, actors, women, and cooks who followed the army and fled to the north.

Then, like an avalanche, a great rout ensued, and many Portuguese militiamen dropped their weapons and fled.

But there are more than 20,000 cavalrymen behind us. How can we escape on foot?

A large number of Portuguese were easily slaughtered by the Moroccan cavalry during their rout. Seeing that the situation was hopeless, the noble officers, sergeants, and sharpshooters had no choice but to surrender to the enemy after a pointless struggle.

Unable to accept the despair of being annihilated, the 10-year-old young duke actually mounted his horse alone and charged the enemy. The enemy had already noticed this young noble in small armor, and with a strange smile, they stabbed him off his horse with a spear, pinned him to the ground as if he had found a treasure, and tied him up.

When they presented this priceless child to Mansur, the new Sultan asked expressionlessly: "Where is the King of Portugal? Where is the deposed King Abu?"

"Abu didn't see it. The Portuguese king escaped, and our people are chasing him!" A leader pointed his scimitar at the fleeing crowd in the distance. The back of the man riding on a horse and wearing dark gold armor was very conspicuous.

A group of Moroccan light cavalry were chasing him closely with strange shouts, how could he escape?

We chased them all the way to the banks of the Mahazain River. It was high tide and the river water was surging.

No matter how the Portuguese king urged them, the horses refused to wade...

The Portuguese king had no choice but to run upstream along the river bank, and the Moroccan chased him with a strange smile. It was not until dark that he had played cat and mouse enough and shot the horse's buttocks.

The warhorse screamed and kicked, throwing the Portuguese king on its back to the ground. After the Portuguese king fell to the ground, his helmet fell off, revealing a full beard.

The Moroccan army was all dumbfounded, they all knew that Sebastian didn't have a beard...

"I am the chief of the royal guards of His Majesty the King, Count Fonte of Aveiro." The man took off his sword with great effort and said with a proud smile: "If there are nobles among you, you can accept my surrender."

"Why are you wearing the king's armor? Where is he?" the Moroccan leader asked angrily.

"No comment." Feng Te sighed and thought, I hope those Ming people can help the king escape...

ps. The next chapter will be completed soon and will not take more than 1 hour.

(End of this chapter)