Chapter 365: Battle of Black Mountain (Part IX)

Amid the harsh explosion of air passing through the balance hole, lead bullets whizzed past them and in front of their eyes like locusts.

The scorching holy wind descended densely on the chests and abdomens of these soldiers.

Bright red blood mist rose from the front row of the army, and more heart-wrenching cries than before came from the battle formation.

"Mom, I'm dead!"

"Don't block it, don't block it..."

"It's the devil's wind, monks, hurry up and chant the sutra."

Lead bullets flew past him, and Zelaken's heart was about to jump out of his throat. His voice was as shrill as a eunuch's amid the sound of gunfire: "Hey! Monks, use your invincible magic to think of a solution!"

The leader of the monastic order did not reply to him, and Zerakken turned his head to look.

However, the leading monk of the monastic order had a bloody hole in the middle of his forehead. He lay peacefully on the ground with a smile on his face, not saying a word. It was obvious that he died a sweet death.

The remaining monks were sweating as they searched the Gospel: "It shouldn't be like this. Everything is correct. The time and place are all right. Why doesn't it work?"

"You're asking me?" Zelaken saw the soldiers in the front row fall down, and without caring about anything else, he grabbed the monk's collar and said, "Quick, suppress their spells."

"But it's useless. We've tried everything." The monk was so anxious that he almost cried. "It doesn't work."

“Why doesn’t it work?”

"Either it's a manifestation of the Holy Father, or it's not magic at all."

"How could it be possible that it's not magic?" Zerakon loosened his grip, and the monk sat down on the ground. "It's clearly made of alchemical materials!"

An absurd idea appeared in Zerakken's mind. If it wasn't a spell, could it be that Holy Wind was really a divine spell?
A divine system independent of the church? No, no, no, it's impossible, absolutely impossible.

Zelaken threw away the unrealistic idea and said, "Quick, use divine power to prevent the guards from retreating."

"But their hearts cannot withstand a second divine spell in such a short interval. It will lead to mass sudden death."

"Sudden death is sudden death, it is their honor, use it quickly!"

…………

"The Third Brigade of the First Division of the Holy Gun, turn left and march quickly!"

After firing, the soldiers in the first row turned left or right in unison, changed from horizontal formation to vertical formation, walked to the side of the pikeman, and then changed into horizontal formation again.

Round after round, the soldiers in the front row of the large square formation fell one after another, and blood flowed on the ground.

If it weren't for the blessing, they would have lost their formation and fled.

After three rounds of firing were completed, the continuous explosions and the sounds of lead bullets breaking through the air stopped, and the battlefield fell into an eerie silence.

The guards who had huddled on the ground with their heads in their hands or simply lay down climbed up, raised their heads, and looked in the direction where the holy wind was blowing.

When the three rows of Holy Gunners retreated from both sides, like reefs after the tide receded, the horizontal formation of spearmen was exposed to everyone.

The spear was heated by the sun, and the pine wood barrel was resting on the elbow, pointing far away at the large infantry formation in front of him.

There was only 30 meters between them.

"Dududu-"

In the heart-pounding silence, the horn representing the charge sounded.

Six hundred spearmen stomped their right legs on the ground, formed a 50X12 horizontal formation, and charged towards the large square formation in front of them.

"One! One! One!"

This is the command for the spearmen to advance. Due to the fast pace, the officers will omit the two and only need to pause slightly after shouting one.

The commands during footstep training and the "squeaking" sound of clothes and armor rubbing against each other mixed together, creating a different kind of rhythm.

The neat and rapid sound of "snapping" was getting closer and closer. Amid the blood mist and the fear of their fallen comrades, these soldiers were still carefully adjusting the distance from their teammates.

After all, in their subconscious feeling, the two sides still had at least one minute before the battle.

But when two rows of a hundred long spears approached, the armored soldiers who served as the squad commanders changed color. This speed was something he had never seen before. The rebels' long spears were still blurry in the distance one second ago, and when they looked up and down, they were so bright that they were almost reaching in front of him.

Behind these two layers and two rows of spears, there stood a dense steel jungle.

"Why so fast? Reorganize the formation, reorganize the formation quickly!" An armored sergeant standing in the front row commanding shouted in a deafening voice.

Many guards changed their expressions. They tried desperately to block the gap or escape, pushing and squeezing each other, causing the originally fairly orderly large square formation to sway from side to side.

Under the continuous attacks, it was good enough for these infantrymen not to run away, let alone fill the missing gaps.

Closer, closer.

"For victory." Victor, who was running in the front line, gritted his teeth and gave the order, "Run and charge!"

The spearmen who were originally running at a constant speed suddenly accelerated again, and now the distance between the two sides was less than ten meters.

"Farmer!" An armored soldier uttered a loud and ferocious greeting, and then raised the axe in his hand high as usual.

However, unlike usual, the farmer rebels before them were not intimidated by the battle axes.

The tips of hundreds of spears were spinning, and 100 spearmen landed heavily on their right feet at the same time, thrusting their spears forward.

The spear tip, which was hot from the sun, broke through the chain mail and pierced into the soft chest. The armored soldier felt as if he was pierced through the body by a branding iron.

Then the second row of spears shot out like poisonous snakes and pierced his throat.

The armored soldier took two steps back, his eyes popping out of their sockets in disbelief.

He held one hand to his chest and the other to his throat, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

The sturdy body fell heavily, splashing a pool of blood.

The guards in the first row had just been hit by a volley of gunfire. Some of them were still lying on the ground, while others were trying to fill in from the back. They had no time to take any defensive stance.

"what--"

"I surrender, I surrender."

"Cough cough cough-"

"Kneel down and I won't kill you. Kneel down and I won't kill you!"

"Who are you?" The war monk Little Malok frowned as he kicked the guard who was kneeling on the ground and yelled that he would not be killed. "Why are you yelling that you would not be killed if you kneel down?"

The spears rolled and stabbed back and forth like waves, and like dominoes, the soldiers in the front row fell one after another.

Blood flowed out from the mouth, nose and blood holes, rolling on the ground with wailing sounds.

Light balls representing blessings kept flying up in the formation. The monks completely ignored the guards' heart stress and forced these blessings on them.

Even so, it still couldn't stop the infantry's decline.

"Can you still hold on? I'll call Lord Nedsal over right away." Zerakken shouted at the armored soldiers.

But these armored soldiers were in no mood to pay attention to him. They were trying their best to organize their formation and resist.

"Retreat, give the order to retreat. If you don't retreat, we will all be left here."

"Lord Zerlaken, let's retreat quickly."

"At least bring three heads, at least one head." Zerakken shouted to the armored soldiers.

"We don't have time to cut off heads. Let's go."

"How about you hold on for a while longer and cut off one head..."

"Cut off my head and take it... click--" The armored soldier was shot through the body by a rain of arrows falling from the sky before he could finish his words.

Standing at the rear side of the phalanx, surrounded by a group of guards, Zerakken let out a long sigh as he watched the phalanx of two thousand men being forced back by six hundred spearmen.

He finally recognized the reality and waved his hand in a disinterested manner: "Archers, shoot arrows to cover us, retreat."

(End of this chapter)