Bear School Astartes-Chapter 652 - 655. Superhuman Phobia

"Arrows! Have the arrows arrived?! The archery units need to rotate in five more times, and we’ll be out of arrow reserves!"

Vizimir was coordinating the flow of supplies and support with the commissaries.

He had spent a sleepless night, and now, in his anxiety, ulcers had begun to form at the corners of his mouth.

His clouded eyes were dull, yet in the face of the urgent situation, he had to force his old and weary body to regain its vigor.

Meanwhile, Veltrest was primarily in charge of the affairs on the frontline.

"How many warlocks are still engaged in combat?"

He looked at the tide of humanity clashing on the distant hill and inquired of a scribe beside him.

The scribe’s data was gathered from numerous observers who used monoculars to watch the battlefield.

"Ten warlocks are still fighting, but their mana is visibly depleting."

The rate at which they were reducing the number of fleeing Niflgaardians was also visibly decreasing.

This encirclement battle had raged on, and of the thirty thousand fleeing Niflgaardians, only twenty thousand remained due to the bombarding of the warlocks and the interceptions by the Northern Alliance Army.

Under normal circumstances, such heavy losses would crush even divine beings, and the legion should have long since collapsed.

But the Niflgaard people were already in a state of collapse.

They were no longer fighting; they were merely trying to survive!

In the completely encircled situation before them, everyone knew: if the Northern people wouldn’t let you go, you had to fight your way out alive!

Thus, the Niflgaard people’s fighting spirit persisted even under such exaggerated losses.

This was also the reason Lann believed that the two king commanders were too rash and inexperienced.

Their self-proclaimed inescapable setup only stimulated the survival instinct of the Niflgaard Army.

Veltrest was sweating profusely in the dead of winter from anxiety.

If the enemy-killing efficiency couldn’t keep up, the besieging line would come under even greater pressure.

If it couldn’t hold, the front would collapse, and these veterans who fought through the Asura Battlefield would return to the Niflgaard-occupied territory unhindered.

After less than a week of recuperation, they could form another legion!

As for mental illnesses... in this era, the military environment was already high-pressure internally and ruthless externally; staying normal could result in mental illness itself, so who cares about that?

At this moment, an observer with a peculiar expression put down his monocular and walked into the command tent, whispering to the scribe.

Then, as if contagious, both their expressions turned equally peculiar.

The scribe looked at the observer as if to say, ’You can’t be joking right now, can you?’

Veltrest was already irritable and anxious, and seeing the two whispering, he simply lifted his head and snapped.

"If there’s something, just say it directly! Have we lost another warlock?"

"No, we haven’t lost anyone, Your Majesty. But there’s a unit storming Mushroom Mountain under Sintra’s flag..."

Before the scribe could finish, Veltrest impatiently waved his hand.

"Most likely, they’re just a Sintra guerrilla group looking to join the fray; tell them to mind the rules, or they can scram! This is a large-scale battle, not guerrilla warfare!"

"If they dare to charge through our lines, then..."

"But, Your Majesty," the scribe nervously licked his lips, interrupting the evidently unfriendly king, "they’re not charging through our lines... they’re charging through the Niflgaardians’."

"...Huh? How many of them are there?"

"Only... a few dozen."

"..."

Veltrest was obviously stunned for a good five to six seconds before grabbing the monocular from the observer and striding outside the tent.

The armor on his body clanged with his anxious steps, and once outside the tent, he nearly shoved the monocular into his eye socket.

The scene in the distance came into focus through the lens, and his mouth involuntarily opened, his pupils contracting.

This was both due to the shock at the sight and the recognition of a familiar face.

"Sintra’s... Lann? Demon Hunter!?"

-----------------

"Boom!!!"

A sound like that of a church bell resonated across the screaming, howling Asura Battlefield.

This sound was so penetrating, so distinctive, so dominating.

So much so that the bloodshot-eyed, battle-crazed soldiers involuntarily turned toward the direction of the sound with this single note!

Soon after, their expressions mirrored that of the distant Veltrest exactly.

Lann, whose bones and muscles had completed their development, was striking solely in terms of physique, even if he had finished all surgical procedures he wouldn’t have changed much.

Standing at a clean two and a half meters, clad in Grandmaster heavy armor of the Bear School.

His height and build were drastically accentuated in this dense throng of ordinary men on the battlefield!

The tall helmet crests of the Niflgaardians could only reach up to his chin, and the top of their heads barely reached his chest!

Even two of them side by side might not match his width!

An interstellar warrior enhanced in all aspects was such a sight in the eyes of mortals.

And currently, this extraordinarily towering warrior was wielding a sword so intimidating it could make one’s legs give way at its sight.

One horizontal sweep! Seven or eight individuals within the arc were split in half!

Everyone who witnessed this scene seemed as if their brains hadn’t yet caught up, staring blankly.

This was another form of expression, distinct from the damage of magic.

And now it seemed... undeniably, far more terrifying!

Fear of the supernatural.

Lann understood these people’s feelings, for within humanity’s Interstellar Empire, this condition too would manifest.

Wherever interstellar warriors went, this syndrome invariably appeared.

The image of an interstellar warrior was this: taller and more robust than any human conceivable limit, donned head to toe in gear, resembling a demigod.

The purpose of these attributes was self-evident, interstellar warriors were crafted by the Emperor for combat and slaughter.

Simply seeing these beings aggressively advancing toward a target would send shivers through any bystander.

And when interstellar warriors moved at full speed, this feeling multiplied exponentially!

An interstellar warrior’s movement was never mismatched with their massive frame.

Their universally extraordinary muscle control and efficiency made their movements surprisingly smooth, powerful, and precise.

Gigantic and belligerent, moving with the efficiency and speed of a striking viper right before ordinary eyes...

Those common folk might describe: you realize gods do exist, and their demigods walk among mortals!

Now, in this medieval world imbued with magical powers, the warriors on the battlefield were experiencing for the first time the same condition faced by commoners in the interstellar era.

A primal fear towards the existence of a superhuman.

Lann lowered his stance, positioning [Turbid Flow] by his side.

His [Spiritual Vision] activated eyes rapidly darted within their sockets, his nervous response capturing a torrent of information.

Then, this data was processed and analyzed by Mentos, before being relayed back onto the retinas.

And as the battle plan was being formulated on-site, the scattered limbs and bodies flung skyward by Lann hadn’t even touched the ground.

"Position confirmed. Follow up."

That massive body was undetectable to those around him at the moment of motion!

Only those ember who somewhat adapted to Lann’s combat rhythm tightened their grip on their mounts.

Lincoln hoisted his lance: "Follow up! Charge!"