Chapter 111: War (6)
The Familiar Chieftains raised their horns, and a deep, thunderous blast echoed across the battlefield.
"Kill!"
"Crush them!"
Dust billowed, the earth trembled.
The Semi-Goatfolk blew their pan flutes, weaving a frenzied magical melody that stirred the Monsters into even greater frenzy—though the tune was nothing more than a dull, forgotten ballad taught by some idle Minstrel Player: The Mass.
In the face of such overwhelming, soul-shaking aura, the irony was stark: a horde of snarling, grotesque Monsters charging headlong at Humanity, driven by a melody that belonged more in a tavern than on a battlefield.
At the front, the Goblinoid and Goblin legions surged forward in a mad, relentless wave, hammering against the disciplined lines of the Eagle's Claw Pike and Shield Infantry.
From behind them, over a hundred Archers unleashed volley after volley. The Dragon Vein Beasts hadn’t even breached the front lines before falling in droves—dozens pierced through by arrows.
Yet the Goblins showed no hesitation. They stepped over their fallen comrades, trampling corpses beneath their feet, pressing forward without pause. Arrows couldn’t halt their suicidal charge.
And even when they reached the pikes, they were felled instantly—long spears piercing through their bodies with brutal efficiency.
But behind this bloody sacrifice, three hundred Dragonblood Goblins advanced in perfect line formation, marching in step to the rhythm of war drums.
Even as a Great Goblin fell to an arrow, the ranks behind him closed the gap without a second’s pause.
Fortunately, most Great Goblins wore thick Leather Armor, often reinforced with overlapping Scales. Ordinary arrows barely scratched them—so casualties during the advance were minimal.
When they reached within fifty paces of the Eagle's Claw infantry, they halted. Long Spears were raised.
"Fire!" Dolo roared, his voice raw with bloodlust.
Bang!
The gunfire erupted—deafening, violent. Thick gunsmoke surged across the battlefield, swallowing sight and sound.
On the Allied side, the Pike and Shield Infantry’s thin shields were no match for the high-velocity bullets. They shattered like paper, riddled with holes. Soldiers in cloaks behind them fell, pierced through, collapsing backward.
The Artificer-modified Firebreaker rifles were far deadlier than any historical musket—each shot not only killing but also generating a dense, choking smoke screen.
In that single volley, the front rank of the Eagle's Claw suffered catastrophic losses—over two hundred dead or wounded.
"Tampas above..."
"How could these Monsters form such a force?"
Robert, observing from the rear, whispered in disbelief.
The smoke obscured his view, hiding the clumsy, grinding reloads of the Great Goblin line. But after years on the battlefield, his instincts screamed: This kind of firepower requires time. Preparation. Not a moment’s rush.
"Northern Wind Wing Cavalry—prepare to charge!"
The order raced down the line.
The Wing Cavalry, clad in heavy Plate Armor, brandished lances emblazoned with the Gray Hawk Military Banner. Their backs bore great, fan-like Wing Plumes—far from mere decoration. When charging, the feathers tore through the air, creating a high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek that unnerved enemy horses and shattered morale.
"They won’t hold," Robert said, confidence in his voice.
This cavalry had fought for decades. Countless foes had fled in terror before the shriek of their wings—routed, broken, scattered.
"For Lord Duke—Charge!"
Dust surged, the ground trembled.
Four hundred Wing Cavalry thundered across the open wasteland, their wing plumes screaming through the air, hooves clattering in a thunderous rhythm.
"Wind Generation Spell!"
Allied spellcasters wove their magic, summoning gusts that swept away the gunsmoke.
But as the haze thinned, the cavalry’s fate was revealed—not just the reloading line of Great Goblins, but a mountain of Earth-Crawling Dragonbeasts, rising like living hills from the earth.
Roar—
The beasts bellowed, their voices deep and guttural, shaking the ground beneath them.
Shielded by their colossal forms, the Wing Cavalry looked up in stunned horror. The soldiers’ faces—once fierce with battle lust—twisted into terror.
Even the warhorses, battle-hardened, reared in panic, screaming, their riders thrown from their saddles.
But they were already within thirty paces. There was no stopping.
They charged forward, teeth gritted, eyes wide.
ROAR!
The Earth-Crawling Dragonbeast lunged straight into the tight charge formation.
In a single, brutal instant, several cavalrymen were crushed beneath its clawed feet—reduced to smeared, unrecognizable pulp.
Others collided head-on with the beast’s bulk. Their lances pierced the thick, leathery hide, but could not penetrate. They watched in helpless horror as the mountainous creature charged forward, crushing them beneath its weight—then darkness.
Dolo could no longer contain his bloodlust. He surged to the front.
Three meters tall, the Dragonblood Goblin stood bare-chested, yet his body was a mass of coiled muscle, armored in hard, jagged Scales. No blade could pierce him.
In his hands, he gripped a five-meter-long war axe—Bloodfire Battle Axe.
The crude, rust-stained blade bore the marks of a dozen battles. Legend said it took twelve Goblins to carry it from the forge to the camp. But Dolo’s Dragon blood granted him strength beyond mortal measure. He swung it with terrifying ease, the weapon carving through air like a scythe.
Now, the Dragonblood Goblins were pure killing machines.
Dolo’s eyes burned crimson. Smoke poured from his nostrils, white-hot. With a single leap, he landed atop the charging Dragonbeast.
ROAR—
"I WILL—CRUSH YOU!"
The axe sliced through the air in a wide, thunderous arc. The sheer force of the blow split a Wing Cavalryman in two, cleaving him from shoulder to hip.
But the swing didn’t stop. It continued—hacking through two more men in a single motion. The blade was now soaked in fresh, steaming blood, still bubbling from the wounds.
"Good... just like that."
Blood sprayed across Dolo’s face. He licked it, savoring the iron-rich scent, the taste of life and death mingling on his tongue.
"Die!"
He raised the axe high, bringing it down in a brutal, sweeping arc. A Knight, caught unawares, was split clean from head to tail—man and horse severed in one stroke.
Dolo became a whirlwind of slaughter, a living machine of death. Limbs flew, bodies fell. The Wing Cavalry, once proud and disciplined, scattered like frightened sheep, fleeing the horror that was Dolo.
Meanwhile, the Line Formation Battalion had reloaded. They opened fire—freedom fire—on the fleeing cavalry. Though their aim was poor against such fast-moving targets, several riders were struck down, falling from their mounts.
"Tampas above..."
"By all the gods, these are monsters."
Robert watched the chaos unfold, his face darkening. Cold sweat beaded on his brow.
His Wing Cavalry—his pride, his shield—was utterly broken.
Before these merciless, unthinking Brute Monsters, his tactics were useless.
Now, he had to rethink everything.
(End of Chapter)
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