Chapter 412: From a rookie to a veteran in just a moment
Holy Gunner Wolowitz, a new recruit of the Third Guards Army, stood on the slightly damp grass. Sweat made the thin blended fabric stick to his skin, revealing the outline of his muscles.

When he was training at Jeanne d'Arc, he would often deliberately show off his muscles in this way to attract the nuns' blushing faces and feigned anger and curses.

But at this moment, Wolowitz no longer had the same mood as before.

His breathing was rapid and his chest was heaving. Through the shoulders of the holy musketeers in the front row, he could vaguely see the mercenary knights approaching in the distance.

Dark clouds hung in the sky, with only a faint fluorescent light falling down, shining on the knights' silver armor, reflecting a grayish light.

The sound of horse hooves hitting the ground came from a distance, causing the ground to tremble slightly.

Under the bucket-shaped helmets, these knights without family backgrounds were wearing all kinds of armorial uniforms and coats of arms. The more they lacked something, the more they showed it off.

But even such a person was someone that Wolowitz had to look up to in the past.

His cousin had been raped and killed in a barn by such a hired cavalryman.

But in the lord's country court, after the priest's argument, the lord sentenced the knight to pay a fine of a lamb.

Wolowitz can still remember the ecstatic expressions on his uncles' faces - they had eight children, so one less didn't matter.

But sheep, they are sheep, they are good things!

You can shear the sheep's wool, drink its milk, hug it to keep warm while sleeping, and sell it for money when you are in the most difficult time...

The only drawback is that it can't sit barefoot by the brazier and tell him stories about Saint Shelley and the rabbit before Wolowitz goes to bed, nor can it wipe his tears with the corner of its clothes when he cries.

A strand of hair fell and caught on Wolowitz's long eyelashes, but he didn't dare to reach out to pick it off.

It seemed as if as soon as he went to pick them, the group of knights would teleport in front of him.

"Don't move, get ready!" the division captain's hoarse voice rang out.

The knights' charge rumbled like thunder. Wolowitz's hands, which were tightly gripping the clockwork rifle, became slippery due to sweat, and his fingertips rubbed the rough wooden butt nervously.

As a new regiment of the Guards, Wolowitz and other recruits were on the battlefield for the first time. Three months ago, they were just farmers working in the fields.

And now, their two divisions were separately transferred out to guard the side of the fireball crossbow position. Behind them was the cavalry corps composed of Ibe Knights and Holy Gun Cavalry.

Wolowitz has always believed that the Saint is definitely more powerful than that damn hired knight.

But when these giant beasts rushed to him, the feeling of his heart pounding still invaded him.

Just like when he tried to stop the wandering knight, but was scared to the point of peeing his pants under the sword.

These knights wearing heavy armor and holding lances were so powerful that in front of them, I was still as short as I was in the past.

Can these galloping knights really be repelled by the clockwork guns in their hands?
Some recruits' hands began to rise involuntarily, trying to level their muskets and aim at the approaching knights.

"Damn it, who told you to hold the gun!" The division captain's voice exploded in the ears of the recruits, causing their eardrums to hurt, and even their thighs, which were usually whipped, began to ache.

Frightened by the roar, the recruits trembled all over and quickly put down their raised clockwork guns, and straightened their chests under the sharp eyes of the division captain and the angry eyes of their own brigade commander.

Wolowitz did not raise the holy gun subconsciously, which made him feel a little proud of himself - at least he was much braver than them.

But when the figures of the hired knights gradually became clearer in sight, this sense of pride dissipated along with the white mist coming out of the nostrils of the war horses.

"Running charge!"

The battle cry of the leader of the mercenary knights traveled over a hundred meters and passed through Wolowitz's eardrums. He smelled the stench of horse manure and the rusty smell of blood in the wind.

The smell became more and more pungent as the sound of hoofbeats became more and more rapid.

My ears were filled with the neighing of horses and the sound of armor clashing.

"First row, raise your guns and aim."

"Second row, get ready."

"Third row, wind up!"

During the three orders, Wolowitz saw the holy musketeers in front of him all raised their holy muskets, with a row of black muzzles pointed at the mercenary knights rushing towards them.

"Hold on, don't move. If anyone dares to move, I'll beat him to death."

Many trembling war monks immediately stood at attention, looking at the soldiers in front of them, and Wolowitz actually grinned.

Wolowitz didn't know why he was laughing, not even himself.

Will people laugh when they are extremely scared?
One hundred and twenty meters, one hundred and ten meters, one hundred meters... the knights were getting closer and closer, and the horse's hooves were like hammers, constantly hitting the recruits' hearts.

"boom!"

"Who?! Everyone, stop moving!"

Perhaps because they were too nervous, one of the Holy Gunners suddenly pulled the trigger, which caused a big disaster.

Like a chain reaction, the sound of holy guns firing rang out one after another. "Who fired the gun!" the division captain roared, waving the feather spear in his hand and snatching the holy gun of a war monk, "Get out, leave my team!"

"Captain, I..."

"Get out!"

With the Holy Gun on his back, the division captain blew the whistle and returned to his original position. He raised the lance in his hand and began to clean up the mistakes made by the recruits: "Rotate positions, second row, move forward."

"First row of the First Holy Gun Brigade, turn right, move!" The brigade commander's command reached his ears clearly, "Second row, move forward, two steps, aim!"

Wolowitz, who was standing in the second row, dragged the butt of the Holy Gun, put it on his shoulder, and took two steps forward.

Mechanically inserting the gun rack on the ground in front of him, Wolowitz pushed up the brim of his helmet, raised the holy gun, and placed it on the thin and fragile gun rack.

He put his index finger on the trigger, waiting for the final order.

The sound of horses' hooves became clearer and clearer, and one could even make out the emblems on their tattered flags.

The hired knights in the distance were still approaching, but Wolowitz's mind was drifting away for some reason.

In the stories of Cousin Therese, those who fought against the knights and the church were often peasants deceived by witches or wizards. Perhaps I am becoming one of them?
I just don’t know whether this story will be written by the Pope of the Holy See or the Pope of Savior in the future.

"Praise the Holy Wind!"

Amidst the inexplicable emotions, the division captain's roar and the cheers of his companions rang out at the same time.

"Click" the anti-return pawl popped up, and Wolowitz pulled the trigger almost reflexively.

The sound of air flowing out from the air pressure balance hole, and the spring key spun wildly, blowing away the hair on the eyelashes.

The huge recoil of the Holy Gun was suddenly transmitted to his shoulder, and his entire arm felt numb as if struck by lightning.

"Buzz——" The tinnitus took over Wolowitz's world.

Shaking his head, trying to relieve the dizziness after his magic power was drained, Wolowitz felt as if someone had dug out part of his brain with a spoon.

The clear vision becomes blurred, a gust of wind seems to destroy the balance of the body, and one may even lose the sense of the body's existence.

It was not until he subconsciously picked up the smelling salts and put them to his nose that the pungent smell rushed into his brain and broke through the dizziness.

Wolowitz squinted his eyes from the dizziness, shook his body, and focused his nervous gaze on the battlefield.

Like a wheat field blown by a storm, the hired knights trembled all over and fell down with howls.

After losing control, the warhorse neighed and raised its hooves, trampling its nearby owner and breaking his bones.

The heavy armor hit the ground, and the knights in the front row screamed and fell off their horses. At this moment, they were rolling on the ground, making a series of dull "bang" sounds.

The knights in the rear were frightened by the sudden change and reined in their horses, but the last knights were still charging, and the entire formation was suddenly in chaos.

Did this repel them?

Without standing still, Wolowitz, still confused, took a step forward.

At his side, Jeanne, holding a battle flag, leaped out on Radish, and the horse's hooves and Wolowitz's footsteps landed on the ground at the same time.

Hundreds of cavalrymen shot out from both wings of the Holy Gunners like a stream of blazing iron.

Blown by two waves of holy wind, the mercenary knights were slowed down, and the originally tight charge formation became even more chaotic.

The timing of the Holy Gun Cavalry's charge was too timely, so that these mercenary knights didn't even have time to adjust their posture before they were killed by the Holy Gun Cavalry.

The new recruits of the Guards couldn't help but cheer.

As the Holy Gun Cavalry fired their volleys, the fear in their hearts was gradually replaced by an inexplicable excitement.

It turns out that the invincible knights of the past are no longer unbeatable monsters, but humans who can be defeated.

Just like these farmers.

These mercenary knights of the church tried to regroup in panic, but were defeated under the continuous attacks of the Holy Gun Cavalry.

The mercenary knights completely collapsed under this double blow. Their horses no longer obeyed their commands and turned around and fled.

Chasing them was not only Saint Jeanne waving a battle flag, but also a second round of fireballs rising from the position behind them.

Looking at Saint Jeanne galloping on the battlefield, Wolowitz felt something hot flowing down his cheeks.

He stuck out his tongue and licked it, feeling a salty taste.

Suddenly, Wolowitz realized why he was laughing.

"Sister Therese! Look, look!" Wolowitz murmured with tears in his voice, "The Holy Wind has made the most fair judgment for you!"

(End of this chapter)