Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 516 94: Finale (Part 2)

The harsh gong resounded through every corner of the fortress, signaling retreat, indicating that "the cannons had been destroyed".

The barbarians inside the fortress were astonished to discover that the bipeds, who had been fighting them to the death just a second ago, turned tail and ran the next.

The Paratu People, who had flooded into the breach like a tide, receded just as swiftly.

Run! Run! Run for your lives! Reach the main camp and you'll survive!

That was what everyone thought.

Because the White Lion had come.

There were already too many barbarians inside the fortress for them to handle; if reinforcements for the barbarians joined in? The surprise attack force would be annihilated in an instant.

But the barbarian reinforcements didn't plunge into the fortress, instead they crisscrossed between the fortress and the main camp.

Did the White Lion intend to swallow up this isolated force in one gulp, or did he have a grander plan?

Winters no longer had the energy to think about it.

He made a makeshift stretcher from a spear and clothes and, along with Heinrich, carried Andre, who was hanging onto his last breath, racing down the slope towards the main camp.

The moonlight was faint; they could hardly see the path, stumbling deep and shallow as they ran.

Winters' legs felt as if they were filled with lead, his armor as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

He clenched his teeth and moved forward step by step. Those from Jeska's squad who were still alive followed behind him.

Winters suddenly tripped over something and felt as though he had flown into the air.

He glided for less than a second before crashing heavily to the ground.

Heinrich cried out in alarm, and the other soldiers helped the Centurion up clumsily.

The blunt trauma he had just endured began to throb with pain; there wasn't a muscle on Winters that didn't hurt, it even itched from the pain.

He could no longer distinguish which pains were phantom and which were the body's responses.

For a moment, he truly wanted to just lie there on the ground and never get up.

But he struggled to his feet nonetheless.

"How is Andre?" he asked.

"He's fine!" Heinrich quickly replied, "Captain Cherini wasn't hit in the fall!"

Winters unhooked his helmet and tore it off.

Stray bullets, flying arrows... he was too weary to worry anymore; all he wanted in that moment was to breathe a little fresh air.

From the direction of the main camp came clear cries and gunfire; Winters saw flashes of light near the camp walls.

Clearly, the encircling barbarian soldiers were engaged in battle with the defenders of the main camp.

The White Lion was not only aiming to devour the troops attacking the fortress but also hoping to breach the main camp in one fell swoop—or at least to see if there was an opportunity to take advantage.

Behind them, in the direction of the fortress, came also the sounds of battle cries and clashing weapons.

That was Robert's squad, covering the rear, clashing with the barbarians who had charged out.

With wolves ahead and tigers behind, if there had been a chance of "taking advantage of the enemy's encirclement not being in place, using the limited time to retreat to the main camp" before.

Now, Winters could be certain: it was too late.

"It's too late!" Winters spat, "Form up! Fight your way back!"

Winters stopped, and the other soldiers by his side halted as well.

The militiamen coming up behind them, one by one, had all run out of strength.

The fully-equipped Jeska squad consisted of six hundred and sixty militiamen and five officers.

From Bianli, they fought their way back to The Styx, and now less than three hundred men around Winters could catch their breath.

Colonel Jeska hurried to the front of the column.

Seeing this scene, the Colonel took the battalion flag from the flag-bearer, "Everyone, form up here around the flag!"

The militiamen dragged their weary bodies, moving step by step toward the flag.

At that moment on the battlefield, the sound of horse hooves was heard from the west, but clearly, the thundering hoofbeats in front were getting closer.

Everyone, as if whipped on their backs, squeezed out the last bit of energy to run towards the flag.

Jeska's battalion no longer had any formation to speak of, elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, everyone desperately squeezing towards the center.

Even if they formed a square, what then? Without carrying pikes, how could everyone armed only with short weapons and firearms confront the barbarian cavalry?

The sound of horse hooves got closer, and the people became more and more panicked.

Man pressed against man, the matchlock gunmen had no way to shoot. Sword and shield bearers couldn't fight either.

"Matchlockmen!" Winters shouted using magic to amplify his voice, "Get outside!"

Mason was equally frantic, yelling hoarsely, "Matchlockmen! Get outside!"

The crowd was like a headless fly, how could they possibly execute a formation change?

Shouting was useless, so Winters took action, pulling matchlockmen out of the human wall one by one.

But the sound of hooves was getting closer and closer, and it was already too late.

"It's us! Don't shoot!" the newcomers shouted.

Pierre emerged from the night, followed closely by the Dusacks. Mixed in among the light Dusack cavalry were some pistol cavaliers.

"What happened?" Winters grabbed the bridle of Pierre's warhorse.

After the retreat order was given, the Paratu cavalry were the first to break away from the fight. Winters had thought they were safe back at the main camp.

"Barbarians are blocking the front! We've been separated from Colonel Castor!" Pierre replied briefly, "The barbarians are coming this way!"

Behind Pierre, an even more terrifying sound of hoofbeats was closing in.

In the center of the crowd, Colonel Jeska, holding high the battalion flag, suddenly shouted, "Matchlockmen stand up! Everyone else get down!"

Hearing this command, everyone was at a loss.

Suddenly, an idea flashed in Winters' mind.

"Get down! Everyone get down!" he commanded using magic to amplify his voice, "Matchlockmen stand up! Only the matchlockmen stand up!"

The magically amplified voice clearly reached every ear.

Without understanding, the militiamen instinctively obeyed Centurion Montaigne's order.

One person lay down, and others followed, more and more people getting down.

The crowded formation began to loosen—because lying down takes up more space than standing, the formation started to expand outward.

Mason also grasped what Colonel Jeska meant.

"Matchlockmen, do not lie down!" Lieutenant Mason pulled up the matchlockmen lying on the ground, "Stand up! Cowards will be executed!"

Soon, only the matchlockmen remained standing on the slope, while everyone else was lying down.

The shooting space that hadn't existed before was now available.

"Prepare the matchlocks! Load your ammunition! Fire on my command!" Winters shouted as he walked, "Everyone else! Stand up on command!"

The matchlockmen, as if awakening from a dream, each took out their paper cartridges containing gunpowder and bullets and began the loading process.

"Mr. Michel!" Colonel Jeska in the center of the circle shouted to Pierre, "You're in command of the cavalry! Take them to the back!"

Pierre saluted from afar and blew a whistle, leading the cavalry towards the hillside.

The thunderous sound of galloping hooves grew closer; this time, it was not their own cavalry but the ferocious barbarians.

One by one, Hurd's light cavalry emerged in single file from the cover of night.

Seeing the Paratu People's peculiar formation, the leading barbarians were startled and hesitant, unsure whether to advance.

However, as a Hong Lingyu arrived on the battlefield, the barbarians started to move with more purpose.

Over three hundred barbarian riders, with about a hundred dismounting, took something from their backs.

Winters saw clearly that what the barbarians held in their hands were firearms; they were mounted gunmen.

The barbarian gunmen loaded their ammunition and fixed their fuses, steadily advancing towards Jeska's troops.

The remaining two hundred plus cavalry split into two groups, attempting to encircle from the left and right.

A hundred riders surrounding could envelop ten thousand men.

The booming hoofbeats from all directions reached the ears of the militiamen on the ground, some of whom desperately buried their heads in the grass as if that could spare them from calamity.

The barbarian gunmen approached within about sixty meters and began firing at Jeska's troops.

Bullets flew wildly, and one after another, gunmen were brought down.

If they were to return fire against the barbarians, it would fall right into their trap.

"Aim for their cavalry! Don't be scared!" Winters gauged the distance of the enemy cavalry, "Gunmen! Get ready!"

Fifty meters.

Some Paratu People shivered with prayer.

Forty meters.

The roar of the hooves was deafening.

Thirty meters.

Winters could already see the steam billowing from the nostrils of the enemy warhorses.

He bellowed, "Fire!"

Every Paratu gunman pressed the firing lever without hesitation.

The sound of over two hundred guns firing was like a single shot.

The frontmost barbarian riders were mowed down like wheat beneath a scythe.

The following barbarian cavalry gritted their teeth, ducked low, and continued their charge.

Colonel Jeska roared, "Stand up! Everyone!"

"Stand up!" Winters pulled up the soldier next to him, used a spell to amplify his voice, and commanded sternly, "Stand up!"

The militiamen were incapable of following such a tactical order, and so was the Standing Army.

But Winters's soldiers trusted him, just as they trusted their own eyes and hands.

Upon hearing Winters's order, Montaigne's troops unhesitatingly stood up.

Some militiamen did not dare to rise, but many more followed the example of Montaigne's troops and got to their feet.

Like dragons' teeth sprouting warriors, the Paratu People "burrowed" out of the ground.

No words could describe the shock felt by the barbarians.

The barbarian riders were within mere meters of Jeska's troops; they had only one thing to do—collision.

The warriors on the outermost edge had already closed their eyes.

But nothing happened.

The barbarians' warhorses neighed, lifting their forelegs high, almost rearing up.

The leading barbarian riders stopped less than three meters from Jeska's troops.

Was it the riders who were afraid, or the warhorses?

Winters did not know, but he saw an opportunity.

Only a few barbarian riders were unable to slow down in time and charged into the crowd, the riders flung from their saddles, and in turn, knocking a few slow-reacting militiamen into the air.

The barbarian charge had not unleashed its full power, nor had the Paratu People broken.

The battle turned into a fair melee.

"Kill!" Winters, brandishing his saber, lunged at the enemy.

"Uukhai!" Every warrior in Jeska's troops raised their weapons high, rushing towards the nearest barbarian.

"Uukhai!" Even the gunmen swung the butts of their guns, shouting as they attacked the enemy.

The barbarians quickly regained their senses; though their charge was disrupted, they still possessed the strength to fight.

The mounted barbarians, from a higher position, wielded their scimitars, with a single slash capable of severing arms and necks.

Jeska's warriors grabbed the reins of the warhorses, madly thrusting their swords at the enemy.

The "bang, bang" of gunfire continued unabated. It wasn't Paratu People firing; it was the barbarian gunmen.

Bullets flew chaotically, hitting who knows who, as both sides fought their chosen enemies.

"Ura!" Pierre, with the last of the cavalry, charged down from the hillside.

He did not join the fray—as in the dark the Paratu People could not distinguish friend from foe and would kill anyone on horseback—but rode around the battlefield, heading for the barbarian gunmen behind.

Battle cries rose from behind the barbarian gunmen as well; about twenty black-armored cavalry, drawn into a straight line, charged with a momentum that overpowered thousands of troops: "Uukhai!"

Those black-armored cavalry did not hesitate, smashing through the barbarian gunmen's formation without swerving or avoiding.

Colonel Castor had returned!

"Lieutenant Montaigne!" Colonel Jeska pulled Winters out from the frantic melee.

"We've done it!" Winters, gasping for breath, couldn't hide his excitement, "We've made it! The barbarians are scared!"

"It's not over yet!" Colonel Jeska handed the banner to Winters, "Lieutenant Montaigne! You will lead the vanguard!"

"Yes!" Winters saluted with great sincerity.

Colonel Jeska seemed to be smiling, fixing Winters's helmet and giving it a light tap, "Don't be so reckless in the future."

"Understood." Winters nodded repeatedly, unaccustomed to Colonel Jeska's newfound gentleness.

A gunshot suddenly sounded in the distance.

Amidst the cries, screams of agony, and clashes of weaponry, Winters really shouldn't have noticed the gunshot, but he distinctly heard it.

He also heard the sharp whizz of something cutting through the air, and a breeze seemed to brush his face.

Then a "ping" resonated, a sound Winters knew well—the sound of a lead bullet shattering against armor.

Pieces of the bullet even splattered against Winters's faceplate.

Winters closed his eyes, yet he felt no impact from the bullet.

He opened his eyes in alarm: "Colonel! Are you..."

"Winters..." Colonel Jeska was unusually calm, even more so than usual, "I... I think I can't see anymore..."