When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#397 - Kolebo, blow the horn

After the previous two blows, the speed of these Knights of Kasha County had noticeably decreased significantly.

In the sudden charge, lances pierced the breastplates of the Holy Musket Riders, while hammer-spears struck heavily on the helmets of the Kasha Knights.

Rapidly fired lead bullets charged alongside the Holy Musket Riders, the dense clash of weapons echoed continuously, and fragments of broken blades flew in the air.

The battle of cavalry is different from that of infantry; if infantry clashes are like two walls colliding, then cavalry engagements are like shuttles moving back and forth on a loom.

After the first pass, Mauritz shouted, regrouping the Kasha Knights.

Turning their horses, the Holy Musket Riders arrayed themselves with unexpected speed, colliding with the Kasha Knights once more.

Hammer-spears and lances flashed past each other, and every now and then, a sudden gunshot rang out, followed by a knight falling, clutching their throat or chest.

Traversing lightning was the knights' nightmare, often electrocuting both man and horse, or piercing the brains of unarmored attendant knights.

The scorching lightning melted chainmail into molten iron, flowing onto the ground, scalding the warhorses, causing them to whinny shrilly.

Their hair stood on end, and even trained warhorses would reveal their timid nature in the face of lightning.

"Witch, mark of the devil! Concubine of a sorcerer!" The leading old knight, Mauritz, cursed loudly after counting the dead and wounded for the second time.

Of the eighty-plus knights, only fifty or so remained, and more than twenty had fled or were unable to fight.

At a glance, the opposing Holy Musket Riders did not seem to have suffered many losses.

Clutching his ribs, which throbbed from being struck by the witch's warhammer, Mauritz glared resentfully at the Holy Musket Riders, who were reforming their ranks with extraordinary speed.

They were just a group of attendant knights, whom Mauritz would not have even glanced at in the past, but today they had beaten them into this disheveled state.

The thing Mauritz couldn't understand was actually quite simple in the battle.

When a knight charges, to ensure that the lance accurately pierces the enemy's chest, he must maintain the lance-holding posture.

For the Holy Musket Riders, they could adopt almost any posture to deal with the impact of the lance, even firing a shot and then lying on the horse's back.

In this case, unless the transcendent knights drew their swords for close combat, it was difficult to harm the Holy Musket Riders lying on their horses' backs.

This meant that the Holy Musket Riders, with lighter armor and greater speed, were more agile than ordinary knights.

Three cavalry squads with discipline so strict that courage seemed meaningless, managed to kill or wound more than twenty opponents with only single-digit losses, despite having inferior breathing techniques and transcendent martial arts.

Although the number of Kasha Knights exceeded the reinforcing Holy Musket Riders, the latter were always able to engage in situations where they had a numerical advantage in actual combat.

In other words, many Kasha Knights did not exert their combat power at all, and only played the role of cheerleaders.

Mauritz could clearly feel the morale of the knights around him wavering; the most obvious sign was that the charging speed of the first row of knights was getting slower and slower.

Raising his chin, Mauritz could clearly see through the gaps in his bucket helmet that the foot knights had already entered the gatehouse.

The gate had never been closed, and only a thin layer of defense remained.

Was he going to flee at this moment, with Little Pool City about to be captured?

With such great merit right in front of him, if he was driven away by this group of peasant cavalry, all the honor and prestige Mauritz had accumulated over the years would be lost.

Most of the Kush people in Kasha County had sided with the Brago Monastery, and as a Kush Knight, he was already under tremendous pressure and suspicion.

If he lost to the Salvation Army here, he feared that the painful price he had paid for it would all be in vain.

Mauritz's teeth ground together as he shouted to those around him, "Pass it on, later I will lead the charge, kill that witch, concentrate fire on her when close, ignore the other cavalry."

After the brief command, the fifty-plus knights started again, but their momentum was much weaker than the first time.

Sprint, accelerate, charge!

The hot wind filled Mauritz's mouth and nose with warm, irritating moisture; he lowered his body, raised the lance in his hand, and breathed rhythmically.

"Release the arrows!"

At a distance of thirty paces, Mauritz roared.

Dozens of arrows flew like a tide, enveloping Jeanne and her warhorse, Carrot, like a swarm of bees.

"Your Highness!" Corlebo exclaimed, ignoring the condition of his warhorse, he spurred his horse towards Jeanne.

Surrounded by a rain of arrows, Jeanne extended her hand covered in sword calluses, and a surge of white light gathered in her palm, tiny blue lightning snakes screaming and tearing at the arrows.

White smoke rose from the arrow shafts, and the arrows flew into the electric light like moths to a flame.

Dozens of arrows, any that would have harmed Jeanne, were knocked down as soon as they entered the area of the electric snakes.

But right after this white light, Mauritz's warhorse leaped up, galloping with all four feet in the air.

"Yaah--"

Muscles rippled and twitched, from the waist to the right hand, all the speed of the warhorse was transformed into the impact force of the lance.

At the moment when the white light disappeared, the lance, stirring the air with the smell of rotten eggs, stabbed towards Jeanne's chest.

The saintess in front of her was a beat slower; the shaft of the flag spear in her hand bent into a semicircle under the enormous force, bouncing and stabbing towards the charging Mauritz.

The spearhead collided with the flag spear, sparks flew, and the sound of friction between the wooden poles was like the hissing of a viper.

The two spears passed each other diagonally, Jeanne lowered her body, gently tilted her head, and shrugged her shoulders at the same time.

The lance grazed the breastplate from the opposite slope, brushed past her ear, the shaft only a hair's breadth away from her earlobe.

In the blink of an eye, the two passed each other with the clanging sound of metal friction.

Jeanne yanked her right hand, retracted the flag spear, shook it casually, and crimson "wine" spilled from the golden chalice on the battle flag.

The sound of blood and heavy objects falling to the ground came from behind Jeanne; the old knight, like countless rookie knights, clutched his heart and slid from the horse's back.

With his back against the yellow mud, he lowered his head, looked at the armor pierced through his chest, and looked at the sky in confusion and disbelief.

His eyes were already blurred, and his throat was covered with a sweet and fishy taste, but the echo of "impossible" still floated in his mind.

This kind of instantaneous lance duel relies only on the instinctive control of breathing techniques and transcendent martial arts.

There are no tricks, no strategies, just a pure duel of equestrian skills.

But he actually lost; even the chief of the local banner knights could not have defeated him like this.

This blonde girl did it; in other words, the little girl in front of her had actually touched the edge of the Edict Knight.

She's only seventeen years old!

Corlebo, who was charging towards Jeanne, slowed down his horse, until the horse's hoof touched the hem of Mauritz's clothes.

He stared in astonishment at the old knight on the ground; the old knight faced the sky, his eyes vacant, and his calves stretched unconsciously on the ground.

Only now did Corlebo suddenly realize that although Jeanne often used lightning as a weapon, people forgot that she also possessed transcendent martial arts.

Only a few old Gulag veterans knew that Jeanne herself was a monstrously talented knight.

Even if she lost her witch ability of lightning, the female knight, who had been trained by Saint Danji, was enough to suppress all knights below the Edict Knight level with her own strength.

The most terrifying thing was that Jeanne had only taken a year to go from an ordinary brute village girl to her current level.

Successive gunshots rang out again, five or six knights howled and rolled off their horses, and the third cavalry clash between the two sides ended.

The cavalry who had passed each other this time should have turned around and fought again after charging a hundred meters.

But in order to win more battlefield space, they thought a hundred meters might not be enough, and a greater distance, such as a thousand or two thousand meters, would undoubtedly be a good choice.

In the dazed eyes of the attendant knights fighting on foot under the city gate, the remaining knights who came to turn around raised dust, running farther and farther.

Then, they disappeared in a puff of smoke behind the mounds and trees.

No, brothers, you've run away, what about us?

The only answers to the fear in their hearts were the Nian sticks smashing down on their faces and the crossbow bolts flying over.

"Corlebo, Corlebo!"

Awakening Corlebo from his reverie, Jeanne's lower body was twisted to the right by the warhorse, but her head was turned to the left as she shouted to Corlebo, "Blow the horn."

"Blow what horn?"

"The horn for reinforcements, of course." Jeanne pushed her helmet up, revealing a bright smile, "Don't you see?"

Following the direction Jeanne pointed, Corlebo squinted for a few seconds before nodding in sudden realization.

Between the hills and trees, the helmets of hundreds of Holy Musket Riders rippled together, rushing towards them.

This was the second batch of Holy Musket Riders, and there were third and fourth batches of cavalry, all of whom would arrive before dusk.

This most thrilling encounter battle at the beginning came to an end in Jeanne's lightning within half an hour.

"Doo doo doo--"

Taking out the small horn from his waist, Corlebo puffed out his cheeks and forcefully spread the intense horn sound throughout the entire battlefield.