Chapter 286: Storm Of Metal, Twilight Of The Knights

The shotgun shells disintegrated in mid-air, instantly releasing tens of thousands of tiny alloy bullets, forming a giant conical area of lethal coverage.

Driven by the explosive force of the gunpowder, these high-speed projectiles ignored most knights’ armor and bodily defenses, easily piercing armor plates, leather, muscles, and bones.

The sound of bullets entering flesh blended into one, synchronously triggering the desperate screams of war horses and humans. The cavalry, heads down in their charge, fell in swaths, and the battlefield became like a sparse wheat field swept by invisible giant scythes, rapidly opening huge gaps.

The cavalry formation, which had just been like a carpet punched through with hot holes, now looked like mulberry leaves gnawed ragged by silkworms.

The area-coverage strike effect of the airburst shot was devastating. The speed and massed advantage that cavalry charges relied on for fame instead became their greatest weakness in the face of such an anti-personnel weapon.

The faster they charged and the neater the formation, the more horrific the casualties they suffered.

In fact, by this time, the Zircon Territory cavalry group had already been pounded senseless.

In the past, it was not as if they had never encountered ranged attacks during a charge. Charging archer positions, charging mage positions, such things were common.

They had once charged under pouring arrow rain, and had once forced their way through under the dual magical baptism of frost and flame. But none of the enemies they had ever faced had unleashed such insane, such dense, such completely gapless firepower.

Or rather, with a shrewd commander like Marquis Monroe, if an enemy could deliver this level of firepower coverage, the marquis would never have sent them into such a brainless suicide charge.

Yet there are always accidents in everything. This strike came so wild and so ferocious.

These Purple Zircon Legion cavalry had come to crush resistance, slaughter commoners, seize property, plunder and rape. At the instant their heels dug in and spurs struck, their minds were filled with gold and beauties within reach, with merit and titles.

The fact they had not collapsed yet was not because their will was strong, but because their minds were already blank; they were merely instinctively following the Knight Commander at the front in the charge.

Leading them was the Zircon Territory’s chief great knight, Mio, the publicly acknowledged number one in military force of Zircon Territory, a sixth tier dominion knight.

This knight, his face equally full of horror, had already been struck by the shockwaves of at least two shells, but his formidable strength, combined with excellent protection, meant he had merely lost two war horses.

Each time a war horse collapsed with a wail, this great knight erupted with astonishing strength, leaping dozens of strides through the air to land directly on another charging cavalryman’s horse, ruthlessly flinging that knight from the saddle while loudly shouting as he continued to lead the charge.

A suit of bright purple armor was the most eye-catching mark of Knight Mio.

The third war horse seemed slightly injured, running even more wildly, but its direction was somewhat crooked.

As they rushed into less than one kilometer from the enemy line, the machine gun on the tank turret opened fire.

Mio’s pupils abruptly contracted. The combat instinct forged through years of life-and-death struggle made him twist his body almost reflexively, putting his right shoulder, dark purple from layered protection magic, forward.

At the same time, with a bellow, bright purple spiritual energy aura surged like flame, relying on the shoulder armor to form a solid light shield.

The incoming bullet chain whipped toward him like a scorching lash, swaying slightly as it struck the great knight, scattering specks of purple light. Bullets that slipped through and bullets deflected away carved out a brief no-man’s land to either side and behind him.

The war horse went down again in the hail of bullets. Knight Mio made several consecutive leaps, but there were no more war horses nearby he could use as stepping stones.

The cavalry who had managed to follow him to this location were extremely few, and the nearest rider was more than two hundred meters behind.

Mio let out a wild roar and stomped down with one foot, gouging a deep pit in the ground. Relying on pure physical strength and a burst of battle qi, he drove himself forward in a mad sprint.

The chief knight held one firm belief: break through.

As long as he broke through, as long as he charged into the enemy ranks, these cowards who only dared to fire from afar would be like those mages who panicked and fled the moment someone got close, screaming as they scattered.

Yes, that was it. In all past wars, it was always the brave who ultimately won.

“Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The centaur heavy snipers opened fire; at least eight squads locked onto this large, purple-glowing figure.

Despite his swift, weaving movements, such a dense volley of sniper fire was bound to hit him at some point.

A multi-stage armor-piercing sniper bullet punched through his protective battle qi, then through the defense of a magic scroll, and with its last remaining force penetrated the armor at his waist, tearing off a large patch of purple plates and flesh beneath, leaving a scorching gully deep to the bone.

Mio let out another roar. His entire spiritual energy aura flared wildly outward, almost wrapping him into a huge purple orb of light.

He was burning his future, and his life.

Such a reckless eruption would not only destroy his prospects as a professional, perhaps even make him fall from his current realm, but would also greatly shorten his lifespan. However, the enemy had no intention of giving him the chance to go back and count his remaining years; they intended to end this great knight here.

Two seconds later, at a distance of four hundred meters, his right ankle, already completely devoid of armor protection, was pierced by a heavy sniper round, and he stumbled to one knee.

Knight Mio, his mobility greatly reduced, finally could no longer dodge.

Just as he stuffed a life-saving secret medicine into his mouth, two rockets followed one after the other straight toward his face.

In the soaring firelight and swirling dust, the purple orb of light shattered like a dazzling soap bubble, dispersing in the wind.

Mio instinctively raised his blood-soaked arms to cover his head, his left leg braced back into the soil as he propped up his final spiritual energy, to meet the torrential storm of rifle bullets, heavy machine gun bullets, anti-aircraft machine gun bullets, sniper rifle bullets…

And surface-to-surface missiles.

Now it was time to shoot a stationary target.

With this man having managed to rush this close to the tanks, the entire tank battle group broke out in a cold sweat.

Well, skeletons excluded.

So even though the enemy appeared to have lost mobility, the firepower teams, still in a state of stress response, did not hesitate to pour every available weapon onto him.

Amid the billowing smoke and dust, after only a few milliseconds—no one knew exactly how many—the dominion knight’s last layer of magic protection shattered.

A few milliseconds more, and the “Omniphase”-grade armor cracked inch by inch, collapsing into handfuls of metal shards.

His flesh, stripped of all protection, appeared pathetically fragile before modern firearms. The bullets merrily tore open Mio’s tough skin, brutally ripped away his powerful muscles, and effortlessly smashed his tempered bones.

First they ground the arms shielding his front into nothing. Then, like countless tiny pile drivers, they hammered his already deformed steel helmet down, blow after blow, into the great knight’s skull.

In that instant, what crossed his mind?

The babbling stream of his hometown’s small town? The hawking cries of the aunt next door?

The mother in his memory who always wore a gentle smile and hummed songs? Or that father who came and went in haste, whom he could see only once or twice a month, whose expression was always so stern?

And that uncle with the ridiculous moustache, who, every time after “chatting” with his mother in the room, would hypocritically come over to “teach” him martial skills?

From when Mio was twelve, that moustached uncle no longer dared “chat” with his mother first. Because after they finished their “things only adults can hear, children go out” talks, the uncle’s steps were always unsteady, and he could no longer defeat the gifted Mio.

Mio hit very hard. By then he already vaguely understood what that man was doing to his mother.

The moustached uncle was forced to spar with Mio first.

But every time they finished sparring and that man went to chat with his mother, his mother would be very displeased, so that for a long stretch afterward, Mio had no training partner.

But it did not matter. Mio was a true genius.

At thirteen, his father sent him into the city defense force as a squad leader. Half a year later, he was exceptionally selected into the city lord’s mansion’s direct guard. Another year and a half, and he became the youngest personal guard of the marquis.

Then he became a knight, a great knight, the chief great knight.

He took Jinhhan City, carried out the surprise attack on the Xinpo River, flattened Cloud Mist Territory, and pressed the attack to Ironback Pass…

Deeds upon deeds forged his mighty fame.

In the future, he would become a second turn professional, be granted the title of count, become a vassal lord of Zircon Territory, holding his own city-state and citizens…

The future of Great Knight Mio should have led him into an inspiring and legendary peak of life, to become an epic hero sung by bards.

But now, was he going to die here?

Why had he come to this broken little city in the desert?

His consciousness grew hazy. Blazing metal streams ruthlessly tore at his opening skull. His once thick hair vanished unknowingly under the scorching. Finally, the great knight could no longer maintain his defensive stance and crashed to the ground.

At the instant of his fall, he seemed to recall something.

His head, mangled full of holes and almost unrecognizable, struggled to turn with his last strength toward the southwest—that was Zircon Territory, the direction of his homeland.

His now empty arm weakly waved in the air, as if trying to grasp something. The deafening, continuous roar on the battlefield completely drowned out his final murmur.

Of course, it was also possible he had not made any sound at all.

Afterward, when the battlefield was cleared, among the hundreds of kilograms of steel on the ground, only a few bone fragments were found.

Once Great Knight Mio was halted and then completely submerged by artillery fire, the Zircon Territory Purple Zircon cavalry group seemed to have their spine snapped all at once.

They had already endured multiple continuous rounds of shelling. The foremost riders had met the machine gun storm with their own flesh and blood. Those skeleton soldiers, whom knights had never cared about in the past, were now, with seemingly comical yet in truth precise postures, steadily firing deadly metal bullets, driving the cavalry who barely broke through the line of fire into cries of despair.

Forty tanks, one hundred and sixty anti-aircraft and heavy machine guns, two hundred and forty skeleton soldiers capable of ranged attacks, and behind them those silly infantry holding spears upright, mouths hanging open, eyes bulging like bronze bells.

They could not break through. It was absolutely impossible.

The earlier frenzied advance of the Purple Zircon Legion was because their lord had charged at the very front.

They were his personal guard unit, sharing honor and loss with him. Most of them followed him, disregarding life and death, because they believed that under this future lord, they would enjoy wealth and glory.

Although a few mad warriors still tried to rush forward to rescue their leader, the majority of the cavalry had already begun a collapsing rout.

Of course, on this battlefield, whether you charged or fled, destiny might not be very different.

It all depended on fate.

Unfortunately, the reaper was working overtime today.

The Type 59 engines roared to life again. The tracks, idle for a long time, began to roll forward, the barrels slowly elevating as the guns were switched back to high-explosive shells.

Shotgun shells were effective, but their range was insufficient, whereas high-explosive shells, combined with the Type 59’s unique seventeen-degree elevation, could reach up to fourteen kilometers.

This was the Type

The Zircon Territory infantry mass, originally following behind the cavalry, maintaining formation and stepping slowly onto the battlefield, now witnessed the near-annihilation of their cavalry ahead, and an immense, uncontrollable panic erupted.

The infantry formation was deep. Normally, cavalry would cut into the enemy ranks, disrupting enemy archers or mages and other ranged forces as much as possible, while the dense infantry phalanx moved up to harvest the battlefield.

The problem now was that their cavalry had not scattered the enemy at all; instead, they had been shattered head-on. Those terrifying war “golems” of the enemy were now advancing straight toward them.

Professionals all had sharp eyesight. Even from considerable distance, most of the frontline infantry could clearly see the brutal slaughter taking place ahead.

The front ranks of infantry stopped, beginning to retreat in panic, while the rear ranks still surged forward in a noisy push, and the troops instantly jammed up like rush hour in a big city.

Amid this chaos, the first to react was the Fourth Knight, who rushed to the central banner with a deathly pale face. Ignoring noble etiquette, he rudely placed both hands on Marquis Monroe’s saddle, shaking it forcefully as he shouted.

“My lord marquis, my lord marquis, the troops are waiting for your order!”

“Wake up!”

Marquis Monroe slowly turned his head as if sleepwalking. In his wide, bloodshot eyes was reflected clearly the Fourth Knight’s face, twisted and ashen with fear.

This veteran, shrewd marquis was terrified by what had unfolded before him.

Whether it was the earlier news of Tianshuang City’s fall or the army’s ambush by undead forces, though the losses had been enormous, all had still been within Marquis Monroe’s frame of understanding.

They fit a recognizable mode of war.

But this current great battle of cavalry versus tanks had already exceeded the wildest scope of the marquis’s imagination.

The marquis had seen great scenes of war. The density of firepower the enemy had just displayed would require at least a thousand first turn mages, in cooperation with tens of thousands of low-level mages, to produce such area coverage—something only a great nation’s full power could construct as a strategic-level defense line.

Yet now, here in this desolate Hanhai, it was unfolding vividly before his eyes.

What was this? It was a meticulously plotted conspiracy.

Why had the Mist Moon Divine Court suddenly relaxed its restrictions on Green Pine? The influence of Mist Moon was definitely involved.

Yes, Rainbow City. They wanted to strike Green Pine and frame Azure Sky Holy City.

This was an internal power struggle within Mist Moon, and he had merely been dragged into it. He had to return at once and report everything that had happened here to the bishop.

Roused from his nightmare thoughts by his subordinate, Marquis Monroe gathered all his strength and let out a hoarse, almost off-key roar.

“Retreat!”

“Retreat immediately!”

“The central army, forget about formation, retreat at full speed, fall back to the rear army’s defensive line!”

“Order the vanguard to halt and form up on the spot. Block them for me.”

“Mage corps, destroy the terrain, quickly—!”

One had to admire a veteran of the battlefield. In this moment, Marquis Monroe, just like Aeona once had, unhesitatingly issued the order for a full retreat.

In that instant, countless thoughts may have flashed through his mind. Was the enemy’s attack extremely costly and unsustainable? Did it require support from magic arrays, making it hard to pursue? Could the air force break through them? If more great knights advanced under mutual cover, could they penetrate the enemy formation…

But in a mere instant, Marquis Monroe decisively cast aside all such wild speculation.

Run. Run first. Run as far as possible.

In the future, every detail of Hanhai would have to be thoroughly investigated; otherwise, they must never step into the desert again.

Such terrifying military force—no wonder his Second Knight had gone once and never sent back word.

The marquis wheeled his horse and was the first to begin retreating. Although the artillery of Hanhai Territory had already begun firing extended-range shots, to hit a high-level professional at that distance—especially one with multiple layers of magic protection—was still nearly impossible.

The Zircon side began a frantic retreat, while the Hanhai Army launched a full-speed pursuit.

As Monroe’s war horse crossed the tallest dune and was about to disappear into the mass of troops, the gray-templed old marquis suddenly seemed to remember something. He abruptly turned, rushed like a madman up the southern sand slope, leapt from his horse, and anxiously searched in the grit.

The marquis’s memory was excellent. In barely over ten seconds he located the spot and quickly scraped away the sand. With both hands, left and right, he seized two blood-red fragments of stone.

He exhaled in relief, turned, and mounted again.

Although the Zircon guards quickly closed in around him, this movement against the flow was far too conspicuous.

Several streaks of light, like falling stars of heavenly fire, shot from afar. The instant they struck the ground, they exploded into dense vines that instantly bound Marquis Monroe and his horse together. The war horse gave a long shrill scream and toppled backward.

Immediately following came dense salvos of infantry cannons, rockets, and anti-ground missiles.

Another stationary target.

The guards formed layer after layer in front of the marquis, yet they could not stop those cries of utter despair.