When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#537 - Military life in Delavan (Part 2)

"Clang!"

A stray bullet swept past a knight's helmet, emitting a sharp metallic screech.

The knight, frightened, immediately hunched over, hiding his head behind his horse's neck, but a squad of pikemen had already charged forward.

A halberd hooked his chest, and several spears pierced his warhorse's neck.

"Whinny!"

A waterfall of blood poured from the wounds, and the warhorse, in agony, reared up, kicking away two pikemen in front of it before throwing off the knight on its back.

Then, it ran blindly towards the forest for a dozen steps before collapsing due to blood loss and weak legs.

The knight, who had also fallen, jumped up again after a moment of dizziness, gripping his knightly sword with trembling hands, turning left and right.

"Damn it, I am a knight, get away, you peasants!"

The close-guard pikemen, encircling him in a crescent shape, seemed not to hear his words, as seven or eight spears, twitching up and down, stabbed at him from all directions.

These stabs might not penetrate the heavy breastplate, but penetrating the arm armor was feasible.

Generally, for mortals to pierce iron armor with a spear, they would have to charge.

But for superhuman beings who also had breathing techniques, they only needed to take two steps and thrust.

None of these pikemen possessed breathing techniques above the second stage, but together, they were more than enough to deal with a third-stage knight.

Soon, this unfortunate knight was stabbed through the thigh, and then struck on the forehead with a flail, directly knocking him unconscious.

In the moment before he fainted, the last words he heard were:

"Praise the Holy Wind!"

After the last round of Holy Wind, the remaining thirty-odd knights fled in all directions, leaving behind more than 400 infantrymen to the Salvation Army.

The guards, gripping their spears, cursed Lacunio and Putzrio in their hearts. Peasant rebels?

These soldiers in front of them were clearly the private infantry of some earl, just like the Osla Duke's territorial serfs.

They wore identical clothes, the same armor, and standing in front of them, they looked like a group of clones.

"Level spears!"

The sharp command rang out from the black formation, and three rows of heavy spear formations pointed at them like hedgehogs, while within the spear formation, those staff-wielding soldiers who released lightning had already entered.

In this forest road surrounded by trees, the deep sound of horns echoed continuously.

"Don't screw up, we are Count Maleb's guards, keep your spirits up!"

"Crap! Holy Lord above!"

The armored sergeants at the head waved their weapons, encouraging their soldiers, still trying to initiate a battle cry.

Unfortunately, the battle cry was only halfway through when a rain of lead bullets swept over, and a dozen or twenty guards in the first row had thick blood burst from their chests.

In round after round of Holy Wind, these armored sergeants and night watchmen fell in rows.

They couldn't even see who had pierced the bodies of their teammates in front, only the whistling of the wind and the cries of the wounded.

This time, the close-guard pikemen didn't even have time to engage in close combat, and these soldiers fled, crying for their parents.

Thus, this church army of more than five hundred men collapsed half an hour after the start of the battle.

Twenty-odd Kush light cavalrymen cheered, beginning to pursue the fleeing soldiers, preventing them from regrouping and completely breaking up their organization.

The Guards did not stop to collect spoils but stepped over the bodies on the ground and returned after pursuing for a mile according to regulations.

As for collecting spoils, that was the job of the quartermasters.

"Ugh—" Supporting himself on a tree by the roadside, several newly arrived Kush youths vomited, even Delavan, who had made bold statements earlier, was no exception.

These Kush youths were all on the battlefield for the first time, and they had never seen the true appearance of the battlefield.

Previously, the largest-scale battle they had seen was just a small-scale skirmish between a few lords, and the most serious injuries were just fractures.

In the mouths of their fathers, the battlefield was glory, a charge through enemy lines on horseback, and the cheers and flowers of triumph.

But they had never told these youths that the battlefield was also full of intestines, half-severed heads, and the stench of blood and incontinence mixed together, suffocating.

Delavan, who had been holding back from vomiting, couldn't help but throw up when the old quartermasters dragged him to collect corpses and he accidentally smeared brain matter on his face.

While the young quartermasters were vomiting up stomach acid, the old quartermasters were laughing gleefully.

"Still like the battlefield?" The old quartermaster who had chatted with Delavan yesterday stood in front of him, asking with a smile.

Delavan coughed, grabbed the tree trunk, and stood up, surveying the battlefield.

Broken kite shields, knightly swords inlaid with amber, and the children's army, acting as quartermasters, lowered their heads and searched the corpses for usable weapons and high-value spoils.

The most ⊥ new ⊥ small ⊥ said ⊥ in ⊥ six ⊥ 9 ⊥⊥ book ⊥⊥ bar ⊥⊥ first ⊥ hair!

"Why aren't they afraid?" Wiping the dirt from the corner of his mouth, Delavan clearly saw that three Frik Middle School students from civilian backgrounds were also mixed in with the children's army, scavenging.

"They adapted much earlier than you. While you were practicing riding and swordsmanship at home, they were scavenging the corpses of those who starved to death in the wilderness," the old quartermaster said, with his hands on his hips. "How is it, want to rest? You can go back to the supply point with the carts, rest for a few days and then come back."

In this battle, the Salvation Army suffered 21 minor injuries and 3 serious injuries, all pikemen who were injured in close combat with the knights.

The seventy-odd knights who died contributed more than four hundred pounds in cash and spoils to the legion, and counting the armor, rings, and leather goods of the infantry, it was estimated to be more than two hundred pounds.

Currently, more than thirty knights and hundreds of infantrymen were captured.

The infantry were stripped of their armor and weapons, given a few dinars for travel expenses, and let go. The knights were treated differently and sent back to be imprisoned.

The seriously wounded, the spoils, and the prisoners of war had to be transported back to the supply point, fortunately, it was only a day and a half's journey back and forth.

Looking at those silent children's soldiers, Delavan was also silent.

About a minute later, he shook his head: "I'll continue with you."

In the sunset, Delavan said goodbye to two Kush noble youths and continued to follow behind the marching legion, but this time he spoke much less.

Over the next period, this legion, in cooperation with the Kush light cavalry and local Juanuo sect monks, sometimes surrounded, sometimes blocked, and sometimes annihilated.

Even at the most dangerous time, the titled knight Lyanna and his knights were only 2 miles away from Delavan and his group.

Fortunately, the light cavalry notified the nearby three legions, that their allies were in trouble, and with speed like the wind, they successfully rescued them and forced back the enemy's 400 elite knights.

Delavan's life for these two weeks was constant marching, carrying the wounded, transporting grain and grass to the supply point, and then scavenging corpses and moving spoils.

At least for him, a journey of twenty kilometers a day was no longer tiring, and brain matter and intestines were gradually no longer disgusting.

He had almost lost the ability to think, just numbly following behind the army.

This kind of life seemed endless until the light cavalry brought the latest orders.

At the legion commander's command, Delavan numbly packed his bags again, but this time when he arrived, he found that the scale of the camp was unusually large.

"Six legions are gathered here, so of course the scale will be large."

After listening to Delavan's doubts, the old quartermaster explained to him with a yawn.

"This is the Laper River Camp. The previous two legions have withdrawn from the front line to here. Alas, the small-scale skirmishes are finally over."