Translator: Cinder Translations
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Giles had been anxiously waiting at Phantom Wing Castle for several days, continuously sending scouts to the north to monitor the movements of the royal army. Based on the gathered intelligence, it seemed that the royal forces were regrouping in the Firewood Fortress, which allowed Giles to breathe a temporary sigh of relief.
The vassals who had received his warning messages arrived at Phantom Wing Castle one after another with their troops to join Giles. Though their arrival was hasty and the number of soldiers they brought was less than ideal, Giles managed to assemble an army of over 20,000 men. He felt confident that he now had the strength to engage in battle.
At this moment, the scouts returned with news that the royal army was continuing its advance southward. Giles immediately led his forces out of Phantom Wing Castle to intercept them. He decided to defeat the royal army in open combat, hoping to secure a decisive victory that would turn the tide of the war.
The reason he chose not to defend within the fortress was that it was not the only key route to the south, and his own army of 20,000 would be too cramped within the fortress walls. Giles hoped to achieve a swift victory rather than engage in a prolonged war of attrition.
The two armies finally met on an open plain, and both sides quickly deployed their formations for battle.
Giles devised a strategy: first, he would use his less experienced troops to probe and wear down the enemy, and then deliver a heavy blow with his elite undead army. Under his command, a large number of soldiers began to charge chaotically toward the royal army's front lines. These soldiers, mostly brought by various vassals, were equipped with a mishmash of gear and had varying levels of combat effectiveness.
The royal army's artillery roared to life, first firing solid shots at long range, followed by grapeshot at closer range. The rebel soldiers, battered by the cannon fire, quickly lost morale and retreated.
Furious, Giles ordered his enforcers to drive the soldiers back into the fray. After several assaults, the royal artillery grew too hot to fire, with only a few cannons still operational. The rebels finally closed in on the royal forces, and hand-to-hand combat ensued.
The royal army consisted of six infantry regiments, each comprising one firearms battalion and two pike battalions. While the pikemen clashed with the rebels, the musketeers provided support from nearby, prioritizing high-value targets such as armored knights, who often served both as fighters and commanders.
Under continuous fire, rebel knights fell one after another, causing the soldiers following them to scatter in disarray.
Giles noticed the royal musketeers and immediately sent his longbowmen forward to suppress them. The longbowmen were among the elite forces in Giles's army, second only to the undead troops. Having witnessed the power of firearms in the Northwestern Bay, Giles placed great importance on this ranged unit, hoping they could counter the royal musketeers on the battlefield.
These warriors wore chainmail, with their wrists protected by leather straps and pads, and their finger joints covered by leather sheaths. They carried short swords and pouches on their belts and wore additional armor. Trained for years, they were skilled archers capable of firing three to six arrows per minute, accurately hitting distant enemies.
Their longbows were meticulously crafted from yew wood over three years, paired with specially designed arrows that could penetrate chainmail. With well-made arrows, they could even pierce plate armor, inflicting significant casualties.
Through his telescope, Harrison saw the rebel longbowmen assembling and ordered his musketeers to concentrate their fire on the approaching enemy archers. A fierce ranged battle ensued between the two sides.
The leaden clouds hung low, almost within reach. Martin, a musketeer from the 3rd Battalion of the 2nd Regiment, sniffed the air, filled with the scent of gunpowder and damp grass. He instinctively touched the powder flask on his belt, confirming it was still there.
To his left, Tom, also from the 3rd Battalion of the 2nd Regiment, was trembling as he clamped the match cord onto the serpentine. The cord, soaked in saltpeter, emitted a pungent odor.
"Three hundred yards!" the company commander's voice rang out nearby.
Martin saw the rebel longbowmen on the distant slope drawing their fearsome arrows from their quivers. Occasionally, sunlight broke through the clouds, reflecting off the arrowheads with a cold glint.
The first volley of arrows arrived faster than expected. Martin heard the eerie whistling sound above, like Death sharpening his scythe. He instinctively crouched as an arrow grazed his helmet and embedded itself in the dirt behind him, its tail still quivering.
"Load!" The company commander's voice was growing hoarse from constant shouting.
Martin quickly poured gunpowder into the barrel, followed by the lead ball and wadding. His fingers fumbled nervously—this was the new army's first major battle. Some gunpowder spilled onto the damp ground. To his right, another young soldier had already finished loading and was raising his musket with trembling hands.
The second volley of arrows followed closely. This time, Martin heard screams—an arrow had pierced Tom's shoulder, causing him to stumble and fall, his matchlock clattering to the ground.
Martin saw Tom's blood soaking the grass beneath him, the unlit match cord still smoldering.
"Fire!" the company commander shouted.
Putting aside his concern for Tom, Martin took a deep breath, pulled the trigger, and brought the match cord to the pan. With a deafening roar, the recoil slammed into his shoulder, and acrid white smoke obscured his vision. Through the haze, he saw blood blossoming among the ranks of the longbowmen, figures falling backward.
"Reload!"
"Fire!"
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After several volleys, the royal musketeers also suffered heavy casualties from the arrow rain. Harrison immediately ordered reinforcements from the reserves to fill the gaps in the musketeer line, picking up the weapons and ammunition of the fallen to continue firing. Although the royal infantry was divided into musketeers and pikemen, the pikemen had also received firearms training. They were familiar with every step, and operating a musket was far less complex than handling artillery, making the training cost low.
The two sides continued their exchange of fire, and the battle seemed to take a turn.
The well-trained longbowmen had clearly underestimated the rate of fire and power of the muskets. What shocked them even more was that no matter how many they killed, there were always replacements.
Giles watched in both awe and fear. Could it be that anyone could operate those weapons that spewed fire and smoke? His longbowmen, on the other hand, were irreplaceable—each loss was permanent, as archery required years of training. His ordinary infantry couldn't simply pick up a longbow and replace the fallen archers like the enemy could.
The rebel longbowmen's formation began to falter, and their arrow volleys grew sparse.
"Fire at will!"
The new command was issued, and Martin heard the crack of muskets erupting all around him. White smoke nearly formed a cloud over the battlefield. The enemy longbow commander was shouting something hoarsely, but his voice was soon cut off by a gunshot. Martin saw the figure in ornate armor fall from his horse.
When the last longbowman turned to flee, Martin realized his match cord had burned to its end. The battlefield was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood, and the ground was littered with the bodies of soldiers from both sides.
Trembling, Martin removed his helmet, which bore a deep arrow mark. He had been incredibly lucky.
He looked up at the fleeing enemy longbowmen and couldn't help but cheer along with his comrades.
(End of the Chapter)
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