Chapter 196: 191: Born To Be Great

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."

-        'Twelth Night' Act 2 Scene 5, by Shakespeare

The Despot continued watching in the howling afternoon Bulgarian wind blowing against his robes and his banners of war. 

Behind him the Serbian Crusaders, who have been standing there for the entire day all the way from morning to the afternoon, dehydrated, impatient, and famished, and now could not resist themselves but to start fidgeting gulping down water and question loudly in protest on the meaning of them standing here without doing anything for such a long period of time. 

All of them goes unanswered, of course. 

Now everyone in the Despot's army have sensed that something is going on right now between the Hungarians and the Serbians, including the Despot's own secretary of state, Stefan Ratković, who had no choice but to come here seeking his monarch's response after failing to settle down the soldiers and stop their morale from further lowering. Furthermore, he too cannot understand why they are still here, watching the battle from three Roman miles away like they are a bunch of freaking spectators.

"Your majesty!" When Stefan arrived he just happened to see the lifeless Hungarian messenger being dragged away. "There is some misunderstanding among our holy warriors about your decision."

"Oh?" The Despot seems to be pretty surprised. "There are?"

Seeing the Despot pretending that he is ignorant, Stephan could resist it no longer and climbed down his horse going forward pulling the Despot's reins questioning. "Your majesty! Do we just leave the Hungarians there to die?"

"What are you doing, Stephan? Lay your hands off my reins!" The Despot ordered frowning while trying to control his horse to move towards another direction.

"I need an explanation! Your majesty!" Stephan, who is stubborn by his nature, refuses to lay his hands off without an explanation.

"I said lay your hands off!" The Despot grows increasingly frustrated.

"Your majesty! Those Hungarians over there, although we had truffles with them in the past, but if they are flanked and eliminated by the Ottomans in no time, we shall be the next on their list and we shall all die under the blades of those unbelievers!"

Hearing this, the frustrated mind of the Despot suddenly calmed down.

"We will not die." 

"What?"

"Trust me, we shall not die." The Despot stared back at his trusted courtier with a serious face. "At least, not today."

"What… But how?" Stefan is baffled, very baffled, on the confidence of his monarch. 

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"Come, take a stroll with me, Stephan." 

Stephan walked in front holding and gripping the reins of the Despot to around thirty meters away from the rest of the soldiers, one side is the gorgeous natural beauties of the summer grass plains with the astounding height of the Bulgarian mountain ranges in a distance. While on the other side it's the chaotic ongoing battle field with blood splattering, blades exchanging and limbs flying off with people collapsing in agony in every second, forming a very strange contrast when compared. 

"The Ottomans…" The Despot hesitated for a while. "Will not be coming." 

"How can you be so sure about that?" Stephan found it pretty funny. "Do you expect the Ottoman menace to be so… kind heartening, your majesty, please forgive me for being disrespectful, your majesty, but in a battle field, never hand over your life to the leniency of your enemies." 

The Despot sighed staring up at the skies and mountains towards the direction of North where his home land Serbia is, and replied softly. "What if I told you, Stephan, that I made a personal agreement… With the devils?"

"Huh?" 

…

The Serbians of course did not come reinforcing at the end of the day. 

The old despot, as agreed with the Ottomans, assisted neither the Ottomans and the Hungarians before the results of the battle becomes decisive, though even after the end results are clear he did not go that far to attack the Hungarians, he just sat there on his horse back and waited. 

By the fall of evening, the left wing of the Hungarian Crusaders led by Lord Gerald could not hold their grounds any more, and collapsed eventually after dealing heavy losses on the Ottomans. 

Even a beast in despair is more ferocious trying to struggle a way out, that is the same when it is applied to humans. 

First it is a gap created in the battle line because of insufficient manpower to fill it, then it became bigger and bigger with the Ottomans rushing in expanding it, until the left wing are cut and separated into half, and by then, Lord Gerald knew that every thing is too late. After a short prayer facing the direction of Rome, he kneeled down towards the direction of Wien murmuring his final good bye towards his king thousands of miles away, and in the end, rushed into the Ottomans with his guards, and sacrificed after a last show off of the strength of a knight. 

Lord Gerald, or Gerard, Lord of Schönborn, died at the age of thirty seven. 

The results are utterly disastrous. 

As the sun fades away under the Balkan mountain ranges, the entire line of the Hungarian Crusaders could no longer hold to their positions and started retreating under the desperate order of John Hunyadi to avoid the entire army getting flanked and surrounded, though he knows what shall be the consequence of his orders.

Obviously the Hungarian crusaders do not have that level of discipline and morale to retreat orderly according to their King Regent's order. Thus it started from an organised retreat, to a complete fall back, and in the end developed into a grand escape where every one is trying to run walk to the camp yielding their foes leaving their back completely defenseless towards the Ottomans. 

By miracle they are of course, not surrounded by the Ottomans and eaten up, but now with a completely dwindled morale and with every one running around, the commanders is unable to find his soldiers and the soldiers are unable to find his commanders, making the entire army unorganised, and when an army goes complete unorganised, they can hardly be organised again even if its Julius Caeasar, Baliserious or Narsus leading the army.

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