Carter Lannis witnessed such a battle for the first time.
A massive force of over 300 Knights collapsed completely before they could even reach the edge of the defensive line.
In the end, they failed to cross the fifty-meter line—the firing line set by Your Highness for the musketeers, where only those who crossed it were permitted to fire.
Four cannons had pinned the enemy down near the hundred-meter line. Between 150 and 100 meters, about twenty bodies lay scattered haphazardly. These were skilled Knights, just like the others—otherwise, they couldn't have kept their horses charging forward at high speed amid the thunderous cannon fire.
Carter was relieved to be spared. He had a vague sense that the wars ahead would be vastly different, and that Roland Wimbledon, wielding such formidable power, would eventually claim the throne.
After witnessing the brutal battlefield, a small group of soldiers from the First Army experienced adverse reactions such as dizziness and vomiting. However, since the combat was not close-quarters, the psychological impact of artillery fire was less severe than the visceral shock of personally killing enemies with blades, making the symptoms relatively mild. Carter selected a team of hunters accustomed to seeing severed limbs and blood from the unit to collect the bodies of the fallen and search for survivors.
As the sun slowly sank into the mountains, Carter gazed at the crimson sky and the distant woods where crows cawed, and a sudden sense of desolation washed over him.
The age of Knight is over.
...
Even now, Duke Lane still hasn't been able to get back to God.
He couldn't comprehend how they'd been defeated. The defensive line was as thin as a cicada's wing, easily pierced with a single thrust, yet the Knights scattered like a flock of sheep before the Devil. He couldn't even blame others, for the ones who charged forward were his elite Knights.
The Imperial Guards had to cut down several men to divert the surging mercenaries from the Duke's position, but that was all they could do. No matter how fiercely he roared, he couldn't rein in his retreating troops. With no other choice, Duke Osmund Lane retreated with the crowd, retreating nearly ten li (about 5 kilometers) in the end.
As night fell, the Duke set up camp near the riverbank. The scattered knights and mercenaries finally converged along the torchlight, though most remained unaccounted for. Worse still, during the retreat, the free men had abandoned their carts and provisions without hesitation. Thus, they had to slaughter several horses to serve as military rations tonight.
In the main tent of the camp, the five Noble families huddled together, their pale faces fixed on Duke Laine, whose expression was no better.
"Can anyone tell us what new weapons they used? They were farther than crossbows, yet unlike catapults, they couldn't see the stones being hurled," he glanced at Rein Mard. "You were at the front too—did you see anything?" "Sir, I... don't know much," Rein said, cradling his head. "Only the thunderous roar, and then they fell in waves. Especially the final blast—the Knight at the front seemed to crash into an invisible wall. I saw his body shudder, his head and arms torn apart like..." He paused. "Like eggs thrown from the castle's roof." "Could it be a Witch?" the Earl of the Deer murmured.
"Impossible," the Duke frowned. "All my Knights wear the God's Stone of Punishment. The Witch couldn't possibly harm them. You've played Witch before—what's the difference between them and ordinary women in front of the God's Stone?" "Oh, sir," Raine suddenly remembered, "Before the loud noise, I saw several wheeled contraptions in their formation, each carrying massive iron pipes that emitted red light and smoke." "Iron pipes? Red light and smoke? That's just a ceremonial bucket, isn't it?" the Earl of the Elk asked in confusion.
The Duke knew full well what ceremonial barrels were. In the past, only the nobles of the royal capital would use them during grand celebrations, but now lords across the realm typically kept one or two. His castle housed a pair of bronze barrels that would explode when filled with snow powder. Yet that sound paled in comparison to the thunderous roar that captivates the modern world.
"The ceremonial bucket won't tear Knight apart," said Earl of Gold and Silver Flower. "Whatever weapon Prince uses, we've already lost. What's next?" Duke of Lain shot him a disapproving glare. The word' lose 'sounded particularly harsh to him. "We haven't lost yet," he insisted. "A single battle's disadvantage doesn't change the final outcome. Once we return to the fortress, I can regroup and cut off trade on the Red River. Without food supplies, Border Town won't last a month. If he dares to bring those villagers out, my Knight can crush him from the flanks and rear." Victory would eventually be his, he thought, but the losses were far beyond what a small town could compensate for... The prospect of retaking the North was fading. Damn! If he caught Roland Wimbledon, he'd have to tear him to shreds.
"But sir, the fleet on the Chishui River isn't just from Changge Fortress—it also includes ships from Liuye Town, Zhui Long Ridge, and Chishui City. If we intercept all of them, what would happen?" the Earl of Jinyin Hua hesitated.
"I'll buy them all outright—once paid, they'll sell to anyone," the Duke said coldly. "Return to your tents and sleep. We'll set out at dawn tomorrow. Knights with horses will join us; those without must stay behind to lead the mercenaries." No marching was possible at night. Even if the Fourth Prince pursued, the mercenaries left behind would be the first to face him at dawn. He thought that even if these useless men crumbled at the slightest touch, it would buy him considerable time.
The next day, the Duke received no word that Prince had caught up. To verify the report, he dispatched his trusted men to expand the investigation, but the response was the same. This slightly eased his concerns, as the new-style weapons were as immobile as catapults—only suitable for defensive warfare. Prince wouldn't dare act rashly against a mere group of miners wielding wooden sticks.
At three in the afternoon, the Duke ordered Knight to halt and wait for the foot soldiers to catch up. As dusk approached, the mercenaries and free men finally began to catch up with the cavalry. After a flurry of activity, they set up tents hastily on a designated area.
Once he survived tonight, he would reach the Changge Fortress by dawn. The towering three-zhang-high bluestone walls stood as an impenetrable barrier against hundreds of troops. Even with the enemy's new long-range weapons, he could counterattack using the catapults behind the walls. This reckoning he would certainly settle with Prince.
What made Duke Ryan uneasy, however, was that throughout the journey, he kept feeling as though he were under someone's watchful gaze.
It was probably an illusion, he thought, he was too nervous.
The next morning, the Duke was awakened by the sound of cannon fire.
As he burst out of the tent, he saw everyone fleeing in panic, with mud and blood splattering everywhere. To the west, the 'militia' clad in standard leather armor stood in a straight line, motionless outside the camp. Amid the deafening roar, the Duke's mind was consumed by one thought—how had they caught up?
Yesterday, Knight, who was in charge of the investigation, didn't notice the pursuers for no reason!
"Your Highness, hurry!" The royal guard led a horse forward and shouted.
Only then did Osman Lane wake from his daze. He mounted his horse and charged eastward with his guards. But before they could leave the camp, they encountered another identical unit.
The leather-armored warriors, all clad in identical uniforms and wielding peculiar short spears, stood in perfect formation, their expressions mirroring each other's.
Then, the Duke heard rhythmic music erupt from the opposite side, as Your Royal Highness's troops marched in unison toward him.