When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 595 - 568: Today! (4k two-in-one)

Horn put down the binoculars, wiped the lens smudged by sweat with a handkerchief, and handed it to Hakuto beside him.

On the highest and steepest dirt slope, His Majesty Saint Sun stood silently in front of the assembled fireball crossbow, watching the two mercenary corps crossing the ditches and riverbanks.

As expected, these infantry chose to attack from the flank, forcing the Salvation Army to turn.

They still formed a large spear phalanx of 50X50, but added longbowmen and Eagle's Claw Bay shield crossbowmen at the four corners of the phalanx.

These shield crossbowmen used stepping crossbows, which have a foot pedal installed at the front end of the crossbow arm.

They stepped on the pedal to string the bow, attaching the string to the belt, or simply pulling by hand, using waist strength to draw the bow, allowing them to shoot heavier crossbow arrows.

It could somewhat penetrate plate armor, but it couldn't match the power of lead bullets or the speed of wound-up musket loading.

Most of these infantry wore plate and chain armor; from the binoculars, he could see that the first three rows of these soldiers wore solid half-plate armor.

Unlike the loose phalanx formed by the guards and sergeants, the phalanxes of the two mercenary corps were much tighter, with sword and shield bearers, long spearmen, and ax gunners having clear duties.

They were, after all, veterans from decades of battlefield survival, whose personal skills indeed surpassed those of the Salvation Army's rookie soldiers.

These infantry were truly elite, and Prince Kongdai spared no expense.

However, the battlefield was on a hillside, where such solid phalanx advancement was most unsuitable.

Watching the slowly advancing phalanx from afar momentarily disoriented Horn.

Since coming to this world, edicts and the Church had been burdensome mountains pressing down on him.

Originally, he had no intention of bearing any responsibility, but to survive, he was forced to become the Saint's Grandson.

He never wanted to be the Saint's Grandson initially; it was everyone forcing him to become one, or he would have died.

Not until that night at the Battle of Long Bridge did he embrace the resolve of certain death, bearing everyone's hopes upon his back.

But had the military chaplains' Holy Path truly been effective? Could high salaries really convert into combat power? Could their relentless work and sacrifice genuinely bring morale and hearts?

Horn lowered his head and stroked the hilt of Blood Covering Cloud, asking if they had truly entrusted it to the right person?

The fate of millions in Thousand River Valley was about to be determined at this moment; all his efforts would be realized and put to the test, just today!

Just today!

Gripping Blood Covering Cloud tightly, Horn swiftly emptied distracting thoughts.

As he raised his head, Horn was left behind, and only the poised Saint's Grandson remained.

Sunlight hit his face directly, causing him to squint slightly as he commanded, "Order Jeanne to engage the enemy cavalry on the high ground. The main force should rotate around the right wing as rehearsed, delaying the enemy with the left wing."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The messenger waved a small flag continuously on the hillside, and piercing whistles echoed between the corridor of ditches.

The ground vibrated with loose stones rolling down the hills, as cloth shoes and leather boots stepped over the moist soil.

Amidst the rustling footsteps, the war monks on the right wing supported the base of their long spears on their shoulders and began to slowly turn.

"Hey, they're scared now!"

Standing in the first row of the phalanx, Norsemberk, a ten-year veteran, couldn't help but smile.

Though they had mastered such fearsome crossbows, these soldiers were, after all, farmers; their courage shrank like mice when away from their carts.

Gripping the spear tightly, Norsemberk licked his cracked and bleeding lips due to laughing, and shrugged his shoulders.

Blood stained his discolored and darkened teeth, making them appear condemnedly bloody.

Compared to Norsemberk's sinister smile, Commander Griffin frowned.

This riverbank and hillside were broad enough; even if the war front facing east turned north, these short-haired men could still maintain a horizontal formation of two rows and twelve battalions.

Thus, their goal to confuse the Salvation Army, reducing their horizontal array and wind force couldn't be accomplished.

The slope and hillcrest clearly couldn't accommodate a phalanx of nearly 3,000 advancing men; keeping formation on flat land versus slope was entirely different.

The eagle battalion's phalanx had already reached a distance of one hundred and fifty meters.

Lead flew whizzing over helmet tops, kicking up dust clouds from the ground.

A mercenary's helmet suddenly sparked, and he gurgled, collapsing straight away.

"Return fire! Return fire!"

Seeing it was yesterday's Devil's Wind, Griffin immediately jumped behind a specially made shield covered with cowhide and iron nails.

Crossbowmen on all sides lowered their massive door shields, crouched, and strung heavy crossbows.

Longbowmen clapped arrows to their cheek lines, raising bows to a forty-five degree angle, trembling their arms, releasing dense arrows like a black fog.

With piercing sounds, the black fog enveloped the Salvation Army on the hillside; incessant thumps echoed, arrows quivering in door shields and sandbags.

Despite makeshift fortifications and covers, occasionally someone's arm or thigh exploded with a blood bloom, emitting a painful cry or muffled groan as they fell.

"Medic! Medic!"

"Coming! Don't move around, be careful the arrowhead isn't pulled out."