Chapter 64

Chapter 64: The Bronze Sheep

  Chapter 64: The Bronze Sheep

  Pullman rode his horse behind the dense military formation, holding a long telescope to observe the situation on the other side. He wore black armor, with a dark blue cape behind him, and his sturdy body revealed strong muscles.

  ”Are we really going to fight here, Pullman?” asked a handsome man beside him, riding a white horse.

  ”Of course,” Pullman put down the telescope and called over a messenger soldier, starting to give some instructions.

  ”How so? Do you doubt my decision?” Pullman asked when he turned back after giving orders.

  ”There’s some concern. Given the current situation, we could retreat into the mountainous area, harass their supply lines, and then ambush them. The casualties would be much lower,” his companion calmly analyzed.

  ”I understand your point. You must be cursing me in your heart for chasing empty fame and glory, disregarding everyone’s lives.”

  Pullman looked at his friend and smiled.

  ”But war is not just about war itself; it’s an extension of will.”

  ”Since we started our uprising, we have sent many people to various provinces to announce our message, to tell those living in misery and oppression about our ideals, to encourage them to stand up and fight together to create an equal and happy nation.”

  ”But as you know, the results were not good.”

  ”Tolland, you must have seen those scenes. Some people work day and night, barely surviving, only to die from exhaustion in ditches. Even in such dire circumstances, they remain numb and accept everything without resistance.”

  ”Yes.”

  ”In fact, those people are not stupid; they are just too desperate. If they saw even a glimmer of hope, they wouldn’t be like this.”

  ”But the nobles hold the paths to extraordinary sequences and possess vast resources. A single Sequence 1 can defeat ten ordinary people. If they rebel, they might die even faster. Years of repeated experiences have locked their hearts in a spell, making them incredibly submissive.”

  ”Even if we defeated these nobles in the mountains, what good would it do? It would only convey the message that we were originally unable to defeat these nobles, relying instead on favorable terrain for surprise attacks. We would likely fail again in the future.”

  ”Perhaps you and I know the truth isn’t so, but that’s how it appears to others.”

  ”Only on a battlefield advantageous to the enemy, and let

In the face of fully prepared Western aristocrats, only by defeating them with dignity can all doubts be dispelled.

And such a victory will become a resounding thunderbolt, igniting the long-dormant flames in people’s hearts.

Therefore, even with countless sacrifices, we cannot take a single step back.

Advance, advance, continuously advance until death—this is our belief, our choice, and our destiny.

“Then, let us begin.” Pulman waved his hand, and the ancient, desolate sound of horns echoed.

The horns were made from old animal bones, unknown how many years they had been passed down. As the horn in the center of the army sounded, the horns on both wings of the rebel army also consecutively announced the order to attack.

Under these azure banners, the warriors held long spears and round shields. The spears were about three meters long, their dense tips pointing towards the sky like thick forests. Standing in formation, the warriors could not even see the sky because their view was blocked by tightly arranged spear shafts. These warriors stretched nearly three kilometers, forming a formation over a hundred meters deep.

The Western Wind gathered about 120,000 regular troops, with another 10,000 farmers temporarily recruited for logistics and miscellaneous tasks. On the rebel side, there were roughly 70,000 soldiers, with another 20,000 auxiliary personnel.

After the orders were issued, middle-ranking officers began their final mobilization. In truth, none of them were confident; everyone present was experiencing their first grand battlefield. Yet, no matter how tense they felt, this emotion could not be displayed. They were the backbone and spine of the army, the courage of these soldiers.

“All of you!” The roar came from the officers.

“Stand tall, look ahead.”

“Grip your shields, hold your spears straight.”

“Move together, advance!”

These officers would not tell the soldiers that victory meant survival. Such words would only cause hesitation and wavering of will.

War is built upon countless deaths; any naive fantasies are shattered by the bloody reality. It is better to make soldiers accept this harsh reality from the start than to let them harbor false hopes.

Yet, even so, they have reasons to move forward. Unlike the aristocratic private armies paid for their services, these poorly clad warriors had already embraced a determination to die from the beginning.

The silent formation began to move. They chanted slogans and marched in accordance with the rhythm of their chants.

The soldiers marched in perfect unison, their lances extending forward like the city walls of a fortress. The simple iron armor and long spears jolted with each step, resembling a shimmering ocean.

On the opposite side, the Western Wind Coalition forces witnessed this terrifying sight. The earth trembled beneath them, causing fear and dread to grip their hearts.

“Hey, hey, no way. They’re just a bunch of hillbillies, right?”

A seasoned veteran clad in full steel armor watched the orderly advance with growing panic. It was just another common peasant uprising, wasn’t it? These groups caused trouble every few years; they’d be subdued with a beating. Why did it have to be so intense this year? Even the surrounding smaller families began to waver, their formations starting to break.

“Archers, fire!”

The command rang out from the Western Wind archers. The arrows arched high into the sky before raining down like a deluge.

“Hold your shields!”

An officer bellowed the order. Black cast-iron round shields were raised above their heads, overlapping like fish scales. The sound of arrows striking the shields echoed like a chorus of chimes. Most arrows were deflected by the shields, but a few slipped through the gaps, embedding themselves in arms and shoulders. Yet, even those hit continued to hold their ground, refusing to drop their shields.

After the rain of arrows, some soldiers fell. Their positions were immediately filled by those behind them, continuing their advance.

Marching in perfect, terrifying unison, these warriors pressed forward under a hail of arrows.

“Foolish,” muttered the Elder Duke, then ordered his cavalry to prepare.

A path opened in the middle of the Western Wind army. Armored cavalry emerged in single file, their bronzework armor gleaming in the sunlight. The horses whinnied as they moved.

Long bronze lances bore triangular flags with golden ram heads on red backgrounds. The emblem of the Rockwall Dukes—a ram known for its ferocity, with sturdy horns that could break through rock—symbolized their unyielding resolve.

These armored cavalry wore tight-fitting bronzework armor, and their steeds were also covered in tough plates. The clinking of metal plates as they moved sounded like a death knell.

The commander of the legion raised a golden broadsword, pointing it toward the sky, then swung it down forcefully.

“Bronze Rams, charge!” The wind chimes rang, and the thunderous hoofbeats followed.

(End of Chapter)