When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#331 - Battle of Moncruz (II)

The lances swung down, and the soldiers pulled their triggers.

The anti-recoil ratchet released, and the orichalcum spring emitted a sharp whistle as it wound the gears, propelling the firing pin forward at breakneck speed.

The lead bullet jumped and vibrated inside the barrel, a trail of sparks chasing behind the firing head as it slid through the bore.

“Bang—”

Hundreds of spring-powered rifles roared in unison, the recoil instantly jerking hundreds of Holy Riflemen backward.

The lead bullets, like an angry swarm of bees, howled out, slicing through the air towards the charging cavalry.

The lead projectiles emitted sharp cracking sounds, forming a long line of lead parallel to the ground, like a long blade sweeping horizontally across the charging cavalry.

Fingernail-sized lead pierced through 2mm of plate armor, penetrated padded gambesons, and drilled into the soft, pale skin.

These soft lead bullets, like venomous insects, tore at the flesh of the knights, leaving behind only cavities and bloody holes.

“Whinnny—"

“Ugh, ah—"

“Messiah!”

The seven or eight knights in the front row shuddered, suddenly leaning backward and collapsing off their horses.

Two knights were struck in the heart or head; they seemed to have made up their minds about something, turning and dying instantly.

Most of the struck knights fell to the ground, clutching their spurting wounds, emitting shrill screams and cries.

A warhorse struck by a stray bullet emitted a painful neigh, rearing up violently and throwing the knight from its back.

The knight rolled as he landed, his armor scraping against the ground with a grating sound.

Curling up like a cooked shrimp, he clutched his abdomen in pain, struggling to stand, only to find that one leg was immobile.

In a matter of seconds, the neighing of warhorses and the screams of men intertwined, echoing through the clouds.

Greedy crows circled in the sky, waiting for the feast to begin.

In the reflection of their pupils, the knights, like a tide crashing against a giant rock, were divided into several streams, their once-orderly charging formation becoming fragmented.

“Ignore it, ignore it! Keep charging! Canter!” Alex, the leader, furiously waved his lance, charging ahead of everyone else.

The familiar sound of gunfire rang out again, as if the ancestors of the Moncruz family were protecting him. Alex, charging in the lead, was unharmed, while several knights behind him fell to the ground.

Closer, closer!

He switched from a canter to a run, initiating the customary deceleration charge.

The earthen wall, entangled with vines and branches, was clearly visible, a truly laughable sight.

A savage grin spread across his face, and Alex even began to curse himself, realizing he had almost been scared by this earthen wall.

Leveling his lance, Alex let out a broken, angry roar: “Charge!”

The special herbs the warhorses had consumed earlier finally took effect. The horses' innate intelligence and timidity were washed away by the potion, replaced by rage and fearlessness.

They opened their mouths and emitted piercing neighs, holding their heads high as they charged towards the source of the loud noise.

Even though the knights were leading them to crash into a wall, they still charged straight towards the “earthen wall”.

Three yards, two yards, one yard!

Alex counted silently in his mind. He aimed his lance at a bearded, black-clad soldier on the wall. If he timed it right, he could knock off the soldier's head the moment he broke through the earthen wall.

“Die, you heretics!”

“Thud—”

The instant he made contact with the earthen wall, Alex felt that something was wrong.

It was as if he had crashed head-on into a massive mountain, a tremendous force coming from below.

In a flash, he saw the leaden sky and the black and red flag hanging above the castle.

Then came the castle inherited from his ancestors, followed by the second-floor walls, the earthen mound, and the increasingly clear face of a black-clad soldier!

Perhaps because the speed was too high, neither Alex nor the Battlemage had time to dodge.

They could only watch helplessly as an ugly and dirty face drew closer.

With a teeth-grinding sound of metal compressing, the two men's heads collided.

Fortunately, both were wearing helmets, preventing their brains from exploding. They merely ended up face to face.

After a strange “pop” sound, they both tilted their heads back, their heads snapping backward.

Alex was nearly sent flying to the ground.

After the dizziness of landing, Alex supported his head, shakily standing up, everything in front of him blurry.

He felt something foreign in his mouth, spitting it out to see half a yellowed tooth. Fortunately, he wasn't seriously injured.

…Wait, all his teeth were decayed, how could there be an intact tooth?

“Blegh—”

Raising his head, Alex clearly saw the black-clad soldier opposite him spitting out a worm-eaten tooth.

Both men's expressions changed drastically, frantically wiping their mouths.

“You peasant!” Enraged, Alex drew his knightly sword, raising it above his head in a roof-like stance, and fiercely slashed down at the Battlemage named Le Fei.

Le Fei drew the arming sword from his waist, using a hoe-style upward push and outward roll to block Alex's slash, taking the opportunity to jump to the side.

Holding his sword, Alex stared blankly at him: “You, you have the Third Stage Breathing Technique?”

“Who doesn't? The mere Third Stage Breathing Technique, surely everyone can learn it, right?” Le Fei spat on the ground and shouted behind him, “A knight got in, get me two riflemen!”

“Unsportsmanlike!” Deeply entrenched in enemy territory, Alex, seeing him call for reinforcements, stepped forward anxiously and delivered another heavy chop.

Le Fei was wearing leather armor and was much more agile than Alex, easily dodging his longsword with a sidestep and countering with a thrust, leaving a half-inch deep scratch on his armor.

“Turtleshell is really thick!” Le Fei ducked under a sweeping blow, cursing angrily.

The sound of orderly footsteps came from both sides, seven or eight riflemen lined up in two columns, charging towards Alex in an orderly fashion.

Sweat beaded on Alex's forehead. Using a longsword against long spears in foot combat, and with the enemy also possessing the Breathing Technique, even if he was a Banner Knight, he could only flee.

He didn't bother to entangle with this man, turning and charging towards the stone wall.

“Still want to run?” Seeing Alex try to escape, Le Fei chased after him fiercely.

At this time, Alex had kicked over two Holy Riflemen, grabbed onto the top of the wall, and had half his body over it.

Just as he was about to escape, the Legion Scribe Bernardo decisively pounced forward, picked up a Holy Rifle from the ground, and fired at Alex, who was within arm's reach.

Blood exploded from a small hole in the thigh armor.

A piercing pain surged through him. Alex, who was about to climb over the wall, screamed and fell to the ground.

He clutched the wound on his thigh, writhing on the ground in pain.

“You can miss from this distance, Bernardo, you really need to practice your shooting.” Le Fei muttered, stepping forward and kicking away the longsword from Alex's hand.

“I'm a scribe, what do I need to practice shooting for?” Looking at the face that had appeared at the banquet, Bernardo sighed softly, turned around, and ordered the orderlies to escort the unlucky knight away.

At the same time, after seven or eight companions crashed into the wall without success, the remaining knights finally realized.

This wasn't an earthen wall at all, it was clearly a stone wall!

Was Alex really a Short Hair? Was he really a traitor?

“Fire!” The voice of an unknown battalion commander rang out again, and all the knights simultaneously lowered their bodies, bowing their noble heads.

The lead bullets flew over their heads, and they were like farmers being chased by the landlord for debts, living in constant fear.

The command to fire was simply the voice of the devil, no matter where they were, they would be hit, as if the lead bullets could turn corners.

After several unsuccessful attacks, their morale finally dissipated.

“I saw Alex kissing a Short Hair, he's a traitor!”

“Alex is a traitor, everyone retreat!”

“Retreat, retreat quickly!”

With a plausible reason, the knights deliberately shouted loudly, so that as many people as possible would run away together, making it easier for them to share the blame.

They came like a tide, and they retreated like a tide, leaving behind only a scene of devastation on the battlefield in front of the fortress.

Broken blades stuck in the ground, kite shields were only half-remaining.

Wounded warhorses neighed in pain, and fallen cavalrymen struggled in despair.

Crows landed impatiently, hopping up and down, pecking at the fainting, heavily wounded soldiers.

“They retreated!” Laurent shouted excitedly to Jourdan on the second floor, “We won.”

Jourdan nodded, with not much joy on his face.

This wasn't a win at all, it was just a small appetizer before the meal.

“Clean up the battlefield, repair the defenses.” Jourdan calmly issued the order, “This battle has only just begun.”