Release That Witch

A large team composed of 300 knights was already devasted without even scratching the edge of their defense line.     

Even at the end, they were not able to enter the 50-meter zone. Prince Roland marked it as the Flintlock Squad shooting line. Everyone was only allowed to fire when the enemy crossed the 50-meter line.     

The four cannons forced the enemies to dwell at the 100-meter line mark. In the zone between 100 meters to 150 meters, there were about 20 corpses lying on the ground, who, just like Carter, were all skillful knights. Had they not of been skillful knights, they would not have been able to advance at high speed on their horse among the blistering gunfire.     

Carter was glad that he was not one of those sacrificed knights. He vaguely felt that the wars in the future would be distinctly different than the ones before. Roland Wimbledon, who held such formidable power, would inherit the throne sooner or later.     

Some men of the First Army were experiencing dizziness and nausea after seeing such horrifying battle scenes. Since it was not close combat, the impact of killing enemies with cannon would be much less than killing enemies with their own hands. Therefore, the reactions were not too severe. Carter picked a group of hunters who used to see blood and stumps, and ordered them to collect the corpses and search for any surviving men.     

The sun gradually fell into the mountains and Carter stared at the blood-red sky, listening to the humming of crows from the faraway woods. He suddenly felt a sense of forlornness.     

The era of the knight was over.     

...     

Duke Ryan was still in a state of bafflement.     

He could not understand how they lost. That defense line seemed so vulnerable as if it would be penetrated by one light stab. However, the knights fled as though they had seen demons. He could not even blame the others because the ones in the forefront of the troop were his most elite knights.     

The guards chopped down several people to divert the swarming mercenaries from the duke's location. However, that was all he could do. No matter how he shouted, he could not control his deviated subordinates. Without any choice, Duke Ryan had to retreat about 10 miles with the crowd.     

Once night had fallen, the duke chose a place near the river to set up base camp. The separated knights and mercenaries approached under torchlight. There were still many lost members and the worst part was that the freedmen left carts and food when they retreated. The duke and the other members had to kill a couple of horses for food.     

In the largest tent, the nobles from five prominent families gathered together. They looked at Duke Ryan with ghastly pale faces. Duke Ryan was carrying a solemn expression himself.     

"Who can tell me what weapon they're using? The distance was farther than crossbow bolts could reach, but it was unlike the mangonel from which we could see the stones being tossed." He glanced at Rene Medde. "You were moving in the front line, did you see anything?"     

"My lord, I, I'm not so sure," Rene answered, holding his head, "I could only hear the gunfire, and then the knights collapsed group by group. Especially the last fire, it looked like the knight who was racing at the forefront bumped into an invisible wall. I saw his body shaking, and his head and limbs were scattered, just like..." He thought for a moment. "An egg that was thrown off from the top of the castle."     

"Perhaps it was witches?" the Earl of the Elk Family mumbled.     

"Impossible." The Duke frowned. "All my knights were wearing the God's Stone of Retaliation. Witches won't be able to hurt them. You've played with witches before. They're like ordinary girls in front of the God's Stone."     

"Oh, yes, my lord." Rene suddenly recalled something. "After hearing that loud noise, I saw that they had a few carts in their troop. There were big iron tubes on the cart, and I could see red lights and smoke rising from it."     

"Iron tubes? Red lights and smoke? Isn't that a ceremonial barrel?" the Earl of the Elk Family questioned.     

The duke, of course, knew what a ceremonial barrel was. It was often used in huge ceremonies for nobles in the king's city. Now the lord of every district would have a couple for spare use. He had a couple of barrels in his castle. It would blast after putting in snow powder. However, its noise was incomparable to the thundering roar he heard today.     

"Ceremonial barrels won't split knights into pieces," Honeysuckle Earl said, "and no matter what weapon the prince used, we've already lost the war. What shall we do next?"     

Duke Ryan glanced at him with displeasure. The word "lose" sounded ear-piercing to him. "We've not lost yet." He strengthened. "One battle wouldn't alter the result. Once we get back to the stronghold, I can summon another troop and at the same time terminate the business on the Redwater River. Without food, Border Town won't last for a month. As soon as he brings those peasants out, my knights will devastate and flank him from the back."     

"Victory will belong to me," he thought. However, "The loss that has been suffered isn't comparable to a small town... It'll be impossible to reconquer the Northern Territory. Damn it! If I caught Roland Wimbledon, I'd cut him into pieces."     

"But my lord, the ship on Redwater River was not only from Longsong Stronghold but also from Willow Town, Fallen Dragon Ridge, and Redwater City. If we terminate them all, would we..." Honeysuckle Earl hesitated.     

"I'll buy it all. Nothing matters as long as I pay the money," the duke said coldly, "You shall all return to your tent and rest. We'll depart at dawn. Knights with horses shall come with us. The ones without horses will stay back to lead the mercenaries."     

They could not march at night. Even if Prince Roland wanted to pursue and attack, he would have to wait until dawn. The prince would first encounter the mercenaries that moved behind his group. He thought, "Even if these useless ones collapsed quickly, it would at least buy some time for me."     

The next morning, the duke did not receive any news to indicate that the prince would pursue. To confirm this information, the duke sent out his trusted followers to enlarge the investigation zone. They all returned with the same information. This was a great relief to him. Perhaps those new weapons were cumbersome to move like the mangonel and could only be used in defensive battles. Prince Roland would not act carelessly by relying on a bunch of miners.     

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the duke ordered the knights to stop the march and to wait for the others to follow them. The mercenaries and freedmen were only able to catch up with the knights at dusk. The crowded fumbled and made an area for base camp.     

The duke would reach Longsong Stronghold after surviving through the night. The 10 meters city wall was like the natural moat to the hundreds of person troop. Even if Roland had the new weapon that could shoot over a long range, the duke would retaliate with the mangonel from the wall. It was the time for the duke to retaliate.     

However, all day long, Duke Ryan felt as if he was being watched, which made him a little comfortable.     

"Perhaps it's just a delusion, I'm too nervous," the duke thought     

The next day at dawn, the duke was awoken by the roars of gunfire.     

He rushed out of the tent and found that everyone was fleeing. There was splattering dirt and blood everywhere. The duke looked to the west side and saw that the 'Militia' that was wearing leather armor was in a straight line and standing outside of the camp. In the deafening roars of gunfire, The duke had only one thought in his mind—how did they catch up with them?     

Why did not the knights find those pursuers yesterday!?     

"My lord, we have to run!" the guard brought a horse and shouted.     

Osmond Ryan finally came to reality from his bewilderment. He jumped onto the horse and ran to the east with the guards. However, they encountered another troop soon after they left the camp.     

Wearing the same leather armors and holding weird truncheons in their hands, they neatly lined up and even wore the same the expression.     

Soon, the duke heard rhythmic sounds from the opposite side. With orderly pace, Prince Roland's troop marched toward him.