Ciervo knows the projectiles expendable and maximally efficient because they're ultimately doomed to be countered so he turns his gaze away from the battlefield in front to glance behind himself to the south-west.

He finds Rykz moving in ranks, nine units of ten-thousand warriors holding their Vuskyt shields at an angle up to intercept arrows and four units of ten-thousand scouts.

They are divided into three armies. The largest one, composed of three units of warriors and four of scouts, is headed north to block his Twelfth from retreating towards the west.

The two smaller armies are made up of three units of warriors and moving in completely different directions, one is headed straight for the ruin's southern flank while the other is moving south-west at a slow pace to block the Eleventh from reinforcing them.

The Eleventh Phalanx has thirty-thousand auxiliaries, including five thousand cavalries from Steso which is the same contingent as his Phalanx but they have ten-thousand more foot-soldiers which means the Rykz warriors are outnumbered by ten regiments.

Ciervo doesn't bet on that remaining true for very long, if it isn't already an obsolete assessment considering he can't see past the hills and the Eleventh may already have been engaged by a different Rykz army that came from further south.

He can easily imagine a chain-reaction caused by the Rykz as their armies converge on the ruins, engaging Phalanxes different from those they were facing to stop them from reinforcing others.

Of course, eventually, the Rykz will find that the three armies they moved to crush him are needed elsewhere but it will take a long time for such a thing to happen considering the number of soldiers that need to move, until then he is at a huge numerical disadvantage.

Not to mention the staggered effect may well reach Fringia and Haitia which is utterly unhelpful to the Twelfth but overall beneficial to the Empire because it gives them a lot of openings to exploit.

Yet, their strategy depends on having a save supply depot in these ruins to steadily advance which means Rasaec is counting on him to hold or, at the very least, retreat after costing the Rykz a lot of their harvesters.

Ciervo sighs lazily as a flight of a thousand arrows climbs up in the sky and drops down on the warriors, obliterating the Rykz in a large zone of twenty-five meters in radius that is quickly filled up by other warriors as the army keeps advancing.

Clack. Ciervo snaps his fingers. Snap. A second rectangular wooden card is broken. He turns his gaze to the east to witness two of his flow-smiths launch a close-range bombardment over the heads of the warrior protecting the harvesters with their shield wall.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

A gust of wind brings the insects' breathing cry to the Marshal's ears. Dozens of crude flint javelins, those too brittle to engrave with runes and must be directly manipulated with constructs, are launched straight at Rykz who raise their scythe forearms in front of their heads and upper shoulders.

Their attempt to defend themselves is, of course, utterly useless. Sharp scythes are obliterated and heads pierced while thousands of sharp shrapnel pieces flicker out to either bounce off other harvesters' thick interlocked carapaces or lodge themselves between two links.

The Rykz immediately reorganize themselves. The warriors open up their shield wall and the most injured harvesters move to the front to provide cover as well as charge in first. A second volley is soon launched. Golden streaks fly out.

The Rykz' western army suddenly stops advancing. The soil ten meters in front of the shield-wall rises and a long cliff is ripped out of the ground by black energy with an earthquake-like rumble.

Ciervo's eyes widen at the sight of the long barrier of dirt that intercepts the flint projectiles. He does not wait and immediately claps his hands. Snap. A third beacon construct is broken by an aide, giving two pre-established orders.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

First, the two flow-smiths must give up on their attack and change their role to 'flying' reinforcements so as to help the most pressured regiments manage their sympathetic constructs.

Second, phalangites are to crouch and raise their shields to prepare to receive volleys of javelins followed by a charge. Ciervo swiftly turns his gaze to the north because he knows he's done everything he could there. The rest depends on his phalangites and flow-smiths.

“Incoming!” Remus yells loudly.

Enfarhd closes his eyes and focuses on the output of his wide-range scanning construct, the most difficult part of this tactic. He detects javelins launched by atlatls from behind the wall of earth the Princesses rose and instantly activates his pulse-shield in the corresponding sector.

Air solidifies five meters above the ruins in the west-north-west zone, forming a lens-shaped shield of two hundred meters in diameter that pulses upward and blows the projectiles back.

Moments before the runic construct intercepts these javelins, Enfarhd detects another volley falling on the south-west area and activates his pulse-shield again.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

The second air-shield solidifies and pulses upward, flicking the javelins away from the phalangites and send some directly spinning up or at a very short distance so the projectiles fall back down on the raised shields.

But, as they are now spinning wildly without momentum, the sharp tips do no damage when they drop. A third volley wastes no time to arrive but Enfarhd catches it slightly late so he hurriedly raises his hand with his palm up to visualize what he must do.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

A third air-shield arises from the western quarter, the closest to the Rykz, yet immediately before it intercepts the javelins to then dissipate before being countered, a cloud of lightning bolts strike out from within the wall of earth and instantly catches up.

The bright jagged lines strike the javelins as their tips hit the pulse-shield, the electricity runs through the runic metal cores which were charged with flow before launch to amplify the lightning.

Each javelin causes the bolts that hit them to split in three that go straight down to the phalangites on the ground, obliterating the lens of solid air standing in-between.

While lightning rods catch much of the lightning bolts and wooden sarissas held up at an angle catch more, many receive these bolts directly or indirectly on their shields and helmets, grunting as their defensive constructs fail to completely protect them but save their lives.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

Then, the javelins impact the ranks and, as always, the projectiles find the most unlikely gaps between shields or pieces of armor to damage their chain-mails or hard leather armors.

Golden filaments flicker with each impact in the two regiments holding this zone. These lines connect each of the phalangites to nine others through a huge complicated sympathetic construct network that spreads out the damage to the equipment.

This attack could have killed a couple hundred, or at the very least incapacitated them, but it turns out to merely cause a few dents and broken mail links. As well as a buzz to those phalangites that took a bolt on the helmet.

The sympathetic construct burns more flow than these phalangites could regenerate but, despite its energy inefficiency, it remains one of the most effective of constructs for the Emperor's Phalanxes.

“Dammit, lost a dozen runes there.” Enfarhd swears.

“Send someone to replace them before your redundancies fail.” Ciervo replies calmly as he watches a hundred-thousand scouts charge the entirety of the ruin's northern outskirts.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

A few arrows fly out from the eastern flank but the archers, who've moved north from the south-east, are too far so the volley spreads out and loses its stopping power.

Ciervo calculates that the archers will be in position to open a path for the Order a few minutes before the warriors from the south arrive so he pushes this out of his mind the same way he has for the pulse-shield and many other details.

These things will play out as they will under the command tent's guidance and his flow-smiths' decisions, the Marshal knows he must focus on the most unpredictable issues facing the Twelfth.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

“I need a scanning pulse of the ground, come back once it's done but don't disturb me if there are no results.” Ciervo orders, too focused on the scouts fanning across the outskirts to pick a specific aide.

The Marshal observes the drones rush in and pretty much impale themselves on his phalangites' sarissas in the streets, causing many to break on impact but new ones are quickly handed over to the front-line by those directly behind them who pick up new ones from supply runners.

Lightning flickers at the corner of his eyes across the entire western battlefield, guided and split by javelins which cut the effectiveness of lightning rods in half.

The attack causes Enfarhd to swear some more. Ciervo presses his lips together but knows that the Rykz will be running low on the runic javelins after this wide-spread volley.

Crkrkrack. The ground rumbles as the cliff separating his western flank from the Rykz crumbles and injured harvesters charge out with a warrior held Vuskyt shield-wall following immediately behind.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz. Boom, boboom, Kboom!

He hears a huge series of explosions that disrupts the loud breathing cry. Harvesters with one arm, none, three, or even half a head wail as flint javelins pierce through their thick interlocked carapaces and explode, shredding them from within.

Ciervo briefly closes his eyes at the loss of so many projectiles being 'wasted' to finish these already injured drones but knows that there wasn't anything else to do in that situation to break the momentum of the Rykz charge.

His gaze doesn't waver and it allows him to notice the precise moment when thousands upon thousands of scouts start climbing walls and rubble from the north-east, to the north, to the north-west. Ciervo postulates that there are drones beneath helping them.

“Enfarhd! Saturate and low pulse, now!” Marshal Ciervo hollers as he stands up with a straight spine.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!” The flow-smith cries out.

The man links to all the runic conduits at once and uses all of his own flow to control the energy so as to activate the pulse-shield across the entire northern flank. The loss of all his energy at once, the amount of information he has to keep in mind to shape his intent, and the quantity of commands he executes in a short few seconds causes the chubby man to experience a splitting headache.

Air gathers into the streets across the northern quarter, rushing past the phalangites and drones to solidify two meters immediately above their heads. The construct traps a few dozen climbing scouts inside itself and perhaps a handful of sarissas held too high.

Then, this flat air-shield that follows the outline of the city's erratic streets violently pulses upward and catches three-fourth of the scouts trying to outmaneuver the Twelfth.

The saturated runes fail one by one in a cascade and then the entire construct fails all at once before it finishes its pulse. The solid air shatters, causing a huge gust of wind that violently propels even those drones it didn't catch up in the air or back.

Rh-hyyyyy, ksziiikhzzziiiih!

The breathing cry is distorted by wails as even those trapped who fall from a lower height don't escape without a broken leg, spike, or crack in their abdomens. Those unable to move are swiftly trampled by the mass of scouts or finished off by phalangites who draw their short-spears for the occasion.

“Go and help reset that pulse-shield.” Ciervo calmly commands the flow-smith.

The round man nods sternly and heads off while holding his panging temples. Ciervo turns to Remus and nods at the Templar who brings the horn back to his lips. Brruuuaaaah!

In the eastern quarter, a thousand Templar in heavy plate armor separated into a hundred squads of ten all slap their reins and launch their warhorses in scale armor forward.

A cacophony of hooves striking pavement arises and the Order's detachment crosses the auxiliary lines to enter the outskirts. They meet up just outside the city and form ranks at a galloping speed.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

Arrows with a golden glow fly out over their heads and spread out to strike down on the first few lines of the Rykz warrior's shield-wall. Six thick golden streaks fly out from the center of the ruins and drop on the ranks further back, thinning the lines just before the temple guards lower their charging lances.

The Rykz' ranks bend upon impact with the thousand Templars and break like a twig, causing widespread chaos. Krbam! An explosion shakes the old water reservoir in the south-west and water floods into the outskirts to pour on the plains, hindering the warriors already moving north to reinforce the east.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

The Templars make it through the shield-wall after trampling perhaps twice their numbers and encounter scouts in a spread out formation. They have no trouble running them down as their spikes fail to pierce their horse's scale armors but the slight delay between each shock is ruining their momentum.

A curtain of lightning bores down on the Templars who all raise their shields, blocking without much trouble. It'll take them perhaps five minutes to make it through the scouts and then they'll be pursued to force them as far back as possible to delay the Order's return charge.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

Gruuh! Another horn's piercing sound shakes the battlefield in the west. Four regiments of light cavalry ride out of the outskirts in columns. Two thousand move west to take advantage of the chaos caused by the Templars on the shield-wall while the other two move to intercept the reinforcements they flooded.

Ciervo silently praises General Fallone for his foresight in deploying his cavalry and instantaneous reaction to seize the opportunity despite having been told as little as possible.

In the west, the two regiments of light cavalry fan out and use their long-spears to crush through a few disorganized lines of scouts and warriors trying to recover from having their formation shattered by the Templar Order.

Immediately near that slaughter, the other two thousand riders slice through the reinforcements trying to cross from the south-western flank to the western one in column formation.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

These drones, already struggling to deal with the loosening soil because their pointy legs don't give them much purchase, are further forced to hasten their pace in an attempt to stop the cavalry from piercing the entire way through their lines and join the Order on the other side.

One or several Princesses launch a few streaks of lightning in close succession that force these two columns to slow down and defend themselves by throwing down lightning rods to weather this storm.

Rykz scouts close ranks around them while the warriors keep moving north to deal with the Order because their sabers are much more effective than the scouts' spikes.

Unfortunately for these two columns, scouts that came from the north start moving south on them to pin them down. The riders turn their horses to change their column into an ovaloid defensive formation so as to defend from both north and south as thin lightning bolts pour down around them.

The other two regiments, knowing that their comrades are in trouble and that their charge is slowing down, decide to angle their course south and break the encirclement.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

Ciervo frowns. There isn't much he can do other than order ballistas to turn to launch another volley at the cost of weakening their eastern flank, which he can't afford.

“Marshal! Marshal!” The thirty-year-old aide calls out.

“What?!” Ciervo snaps at her, annoyed she isn't coming straight out with the urgent message she's clearly here to relay.

“Reporting from the command tent, they've found three Princesses east!” She hurriedly announces.

“Three, meaning there are five times as many.” Ciervo mutters. “Use the trebuchet on the one closest to the center of their formation, no expenses barred on ammunition!”

“Yes Sir!” The woman salutes and runs off.

Ciervo's gaze flicks back up to the south-west, finding the four regiments of light cavalry stuck in the middle of a swarming mass of Rykz scouts moving in a clockwise rotation that is making it harder and harder for them to push out.

The Marshal can guess that the drones let them rejoin and closed in on them with a grinding formation that already eliminated three hundred riders. There are arrows raining down but, unlike the first volley, the following ones did not employ armor-piercing constructs so they weren't very effective on the scouts.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

Gruuh! Fallone blows his horn a second time just as the Marshal considered sending for a flow-smith to extricate them from this mess. The lightly armored riders suddenly all turn their mounts back towards the west to form a large column that can easily be turned into a spade-shaped formation but doesn't do much to get them back some actual momentum.

Suddenly, dozens of small air-blades are launched by high born officers. The scouts closest to their lines are instantly wiped out and leave a large corridor that the light cavalry instantly uses to get back to galloping speed.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

The maneuver left a few hundred to be eviscerated but it did extricate them from the mess. Clearly resolved not to get caught like this again, the four officer leading each regiment split to make four columns that pierce through the black tide of Rykz like spears.

With the light cavalry's speed and troops dispersion, it'll be impossible for the Rykz to use their grinding formation again on them. Ciervo thinks it is a good thing they were caught because now Fallone will be careful not to let his infantry get caught in the same trap, which is a lot deadlier for them than for riders.

Ciervo, witnessing that the light cavalry is headed north-west, nods approvingly and puts this flank out of his mind. The Order will charge once more soon so these regiments will be engaging in slaughter through the chaotic Rykz ranks.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

The Marshal turns to the north, finding that his phalangites have already chosen to put away all their sarissas to use more practical long and short spears. The choice is also a consequence of the fact that the eastern flank needs more spares than they do to deal with harvesters.

His soldiers are using their spears to control and kill scouts at a safe range when possible but have no trouble handling them at close-range either. Ciervo notices disturbances in the ranks where the scouts managed to flank the phalangites defending the streets but they're already smoothing out so it doesn't concern him too much.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.

His eyes turn east and fall on two of his soldiers who cooperate with two others to stab their sarissas into a harvester with three shattered scythes. It manages to slice through one of the shafts with its intact forearm but the two dull scythes of his other arm merely make the other one bend thanks to a defensive construct applied by the supporting phalangite.

Meanwhile, the primary jerks their sarissa out of the harvester's torso with a lion strike, causing it to gorily explode outward in a mess of black flesh and brown blood.

The sight brings the Marshal to make an approving nod at the phalangites' quick thinking. While the second pair lost their sarissa, they distracted the huge insect and prevented it from focusing on the first pair.

It allowed the other two soldiers to defend their sarissa while also switching from an armor-piercing construct to a shredding one, which can't have been easy considering that flank must have run out of runic sarissas by now with the number of dead warriors on the field.

The harvester, now with a huge gaping hole encompassing a quarter of its torso, drops dead to the ground. Frrrhh. Four burning stone projectile of three meters in diameter cross through the sky to arc down towards the black plague's ranks.

Rh-hyyyyy, kszz.