Chapter 65

Chapter 65: The Ideal Country Approaching

The knights clad in brass armor on the desert formed a triangular formation, gradually accelerating from a slow pace to a fast one. As the speed of their warhorses increased, the scenery beside them rapidly receded, and the black capes on their backs fluttered in the strong wind like waves.

The charging knights stirred up rolling dust in the wilderness. The iron hooves of their horses violently struck the ground, creating pits and indentations. It was like the intense beating of a drum, with a muffled sound that shook the soldiers on both sides.

Brass is an extremely heavy metal; a small piece weighs more than an equal volume of gold. These cavalrymen were all part of the War Sequence 2·Bronze Knights, a class that heavily emphasizes physical strength and bone density. Otherwise, they would not be able to wear such heavy armor. The warhorses under them were special breeds with some demonic beast bloodline, capable of transmitting part of their weight directly to the ground through the unique abilities of the Bronze Knights, preventing them from being crushed.

A fully running Brass Cavalryman has a mass comparable to a small truck from his past life, so thick and sturdy, like a giant hammer colliding with the enemy lines.

“Slow down the rear ranks, each pair of rows should be three meters apart from the front!”

“Advance the wings, move slowly in the center, form a reverse triangle.”

As the flags at the rear waved, the mid-level officers on Pulman’s side quickly adjusted the formation, transforming the middle line into a reverse V-shape to better withstand the impact.

Among the lancers in the center of the rebel army, a young man named Kevin was also present. At this moment, he stood in the formation, looking ahead. The brass-heavy cavalry approaching at high speed rapidly grew larger in his field of vision. The trembling of the earth, the shouting of officers, the clashing of spear shafts, and the rapid breathing in his chest created a tense and fearful atmosphere. His mind went blank as he instinctively followed his comrades’ movements.

Before he could react, these heavily armored knights had already collided with the spears ahead. Suddenly, the spears were snapped, producing a grating sound. The first row of soldiers was crushed into a bloody pulp, their blood splattering onto his face.

Blood trickled down from his eyebrows, traced across his face, and flowed into his lips. The blood had an iron taste.

In just a moment, familiar faces he had trained with turned into bloody meat, falling before him. Before he could feel any sorrow or fear, these terrifying cavalry had broken through the seven rows of spearmen, and he could even see the patterns on the helmets of the opposing cavalry.

“Forward, Clancia!” shouted his comrade beside him, the loud voice momentarily deafening his ears.

“Forward, Clancia!” Kevin shouted loudly, his hoarse voice coming from his chest, releasing his fear and terror.

They gripped their spears tightly, advancing instead of retreating. The clash of metal filled the battlefield, spears broke, bodies were thrown back, bones shattered by the hooves of the horses.

For these Brass cavalrymen, this was an incredibly shocking scene. Many of them had experienced battles with barbarians. Even those fierce and fearless barbarians would panic and flee when their numbers decreased by 30%, ultimately collapsing in defeat, pursued and hunted like sheep.

However, this enemy was entirely different. A Brass cavalryman used his lance to smash open the head of a spearman, mixing white and red and splattering it onto the enemies behind. In previous battles, seeing such a gruesome scene would have made them scatter and beg for mercy long ago.

But no, not only did this enemy not kneel and beg for mercy, but neither did anyone else. These enemies were not mindless undead; they still roared and advanced.

But what if they weren’t afraid? They would kill three, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand until they were afraid. The Brass cavalry continued to advance.

“Level your lances, forward!”

Behind, officers continued to shout commands, forming neat rows of soldiers with lances pointing forward, like endless waves, even after one layer, there was another.

The reverse V-shaped formation was like a huge pouch, enveloping these Brass cavalry. If the cavalry broke through the lines and turned their horses around, they would gain vast space to accelerate. Then, they would be attacked from both front and back, and the lines would be shattered. Therefore, the fighters in the middle would fight to the death to hold this defensive line; otherwise, all sacrifices would be in vain.

Clancia, meaning “Land Blessed by Starlight.” It was not a distant, illusory dream. The books passed down by the Sage Lolan Hill vividly depicted how this country was formed, from people’s autonomous elections, the structure of society, the composition and boundaries of national power, to every individual’s obligations and benefits, showing everything clearly and concretely to everyone.

If one has never seen light, even the darkest places would not seem strange.

But that day, a ray of light broke through the wall and shone into this dark, rotten corner. For the first time, the sinking life saw the beautiful and magnificent scenery outside the window. The fragrance of flowers drifted in from outside, so tempting, so admired, so yearned for.

A seed sprouted, the impulse in his heart could no longer be endured. Even if it was only a step forward, even if it was just a little closer, he wanted to see that world of light, to live in that land full of flowers, to break free from the heavy shackles of centuries.

“Forward, Clancia!”

A fighter from the rebel army struggled to his feet, grabbing the horse’s hooves with his broken legs, spitting out blood, and mumbling hoarsely.

His companions, seeing this scene from behind, couldn’t help but have tears blur their eyes. They gripped their lances tightly and charged forward, shouting loudly.

“Forward, Clancia!”

They would never stop, even if their heads were bleeding or if blood stained the earth. Because, following the enlightenment of the Sage Lolan Hill, the ideal country was already within reach.

“Forward, Clancia!”

The rebels’ eyes were bloodshot. Former friends, neighbors, and relatives fell dead before them, but they would never give up, never kneel and beg again, even if death pierced their bodies like a sword.

The battlefield was like a flesh-grinding mill, brutally grinding lives. The Western Wind alliance and the rebels fought fiercely together.

Layer upon layer of spears, under the terrifying discipline, moved in unison, piercing and harvesting lives. Those nobles’ private soldiers who joined merely for money fled en masse after a 20% reduction in their ranks. After all, they could hide somewhere and come out to make a living once the storm passed, since nobles everywhere needed experienced veterans like them.

The Western Wind’s lines gradually collapsed. The Brass cavalry in the center, losing support from both wings, were gradually surrounded by the rebels. They tried to speed up to escape, but these fearless warriors tightly engaged them, not giving them any room to maneuver and accelerate.

Spears pierced through, knocking off the cavalrymen from their horses. Sharp short swords were inserted through the gaps in their face masks, blood flowing from their helmets.

After the battle, the Duke of Rockwall’s Brass army was completely defeated, leaving only a few warhorses, which emitted mournful cries under the setting sun.

—Seek recommendations, I will continue applying for a contract next week.

—End of Chapter 65.