In the waves formed by the blue-green hills, rural knights in yellow-green woolen tights moved around the chariot fortresses like a dazed Latin fish shoal, aimlessly swimming back and forth.

On the grass by the river, Hussite-style war chariots with thickened wooden planks were tail-to-tail connected with each other, standing inside were farmers migrating with the army.

Rudilo barely poked his head out of the formation of the long spearmen, looking at the Ibe rural knights spinning back and forth seeking weaknesses.

Sandwiched between two extraordinary long spearmen, Rudilo angrily adjusted the oversized brimmed helmet on his head.

"This damn helmet, I must change it tomorrow!"

Searching through the sparse woods and shrubs, he could hear the sound of horse hooves hitting the ground.

"Over there, over there." Perched on a branch of a large tree, Juer Dan, who had the sharpest vision, shouted pointing in a direction.

Pushing aside the burly man next to him, Rudilo freed himself from his awkward position.

Grabbing the edge of the cart, he nimbly climbed up, jumped into the bed of the chariot, and squeezed to the frontline arranged by the Holy Gunmen.

A total of over thirty extraordinary knights and squire knights appeared into view, forming into a long line, charging scattered like saw teeth.

"They never learn!" Rudilo excitedly licked his yellowed teeth, raised the feathered lance in his hand, "Second Brigade Saint Gunmen, aim!"

The black muzzles of the holy guns extended from the shooting ports of the chariots, the knights collectively swallowed nervously.

"Fire!"

Amidst a chorus of praises to the Holy Wind, the holy gunmen in the chariot bed rotated alternately, placing the holy guns sequentially in triangular shooting ports to fire.

Bullets whizzed by, causing the knights to lower their usually proud heads sharply, trembling as they charged.

They could no longer maintain the formation of charging with heads high and chests puffed, instead awkwardly crouched on horseback, reducing their bodies to the smallest size.

They buried their heads in the horse's mane, continuously muttering names of various angels, hoping for their assistance.

The Dog Knights' imagination for survival was indeed rich.

However, the Holy Wind is blown by the Holy Father; how could angels resist?

Dark bullets struck the chain mail on the squires, with crisp breaking sounds, broken iron rings and splattering thick blood sprayed across.

Rolling off their horses, several squire knights painfully curled up in muddy pits, unable to stand, only able to let out heart-wrenching cries.

"Retreat, retreat!"

Abandoning four or five bodies, amidst the frightened shouts of the extraordinary knights, the remnants once again turned in front of the car fortifications and retreated.

Leaning on the edge of the chariot bed, Rudilo jumped down, waving to the anxious rural folk and the Defensive Army: "Rest assured, everyone, we repelled them again, once the Cuirassier Holy Cavalry arrives, they won't be able to escape."

Though facing the enemy directly doesn't mean charging straight in.

Friends who often battle know, insufficient preparation leads to difficult advances, it's essential to fully mobilize the enemy forces for a smooth long drive.

Earlier, Horn's pre-battle meeting only unified the thought.

In the synergy of timing, terrain, and morale, they currently only have morale, looking at both sides' current comparative strength, there is still a gap.

This part of the gap needs to be leveled through various tactical means.

Starting from the 28th, Horn began gradually retreating the rural folks and Defensive Army between Gray Furnace Town and Joan of Arc Castle to Gray Furnace Town's rear.

This move naturally attracted the attention of Joan of Arc Castle's side, the Ibe knights frequently launched attacks trying to intercept these withdrawing farmers.

During this time, they even launched probing attacks on Gray Furnace Town but gained nothing except for leaving behind a dozen or so scorched bodies ravaged by Jeanne.

Under this war situation, the car fortification tactic "invented" by Horn played a significant role.

Perhaps the car fortification tactic couldn't actively attack or deal with higher-level extraordinary knights, but was quite effective against these lower-level extraordinary knights.

The battle often went like this: knights arrived, knights charged, knights couldn't break through the car fortifications, formations disrupted by gunfire, forced to retreat.

Like today, even though Horn and them relocated farmers from near Joan of Arc Castle itself, the Ibe knights didn't have much of a solution.

If these extraordinary knights delayed further, they'd be entangled by the arriving cuirassiers, then surrounded by other corps, becoming one of the knight corpses displayed.

There's yet another scene outside Joan of Arc Castle: dozens of crosses with naked knight corpses bound upon them.

Every day, local farmers came to use stones and slingshots to pelt these knights.

Especially between the knights' legs, they were even struck to the point of negative length.

These knight corpses decompose and are smashed beyond recognition within days, requiring regular replacements.

Holding the feathered lance supported on the ground, Rudilo shielded his eyes and asked up to Juer Dan perched on the branches: "Did they retreat?"

"Retreat, retreat!" Standing on a thick tree branch, the brigade commander Juer Dan excitedly waved at Rudilo below.

"Careful." Nearby, a hand suddenly reached out, fiercely pulling Juer Dan's back collar, forcefully pulling back.

Unbalanced, the two of them rolled off the tree, crashing heavily to the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust.

A feathered arrow sailed through the spot Juer Dan had just occupied, embedding into the tree.

"Thanks." Standing up, Juer Dan pulled Lauren up by his arm; now Lauren had become a member of the Defensive Army.

Holding his bleeding nose, Lauren cursed, "These devils, how can they shoot arrows so far?"

"Those are light wooden arrows." Adjusting his brass-colored brimmed helmet, Rudilo pulled the wooden arrow from a tree, "Oh, they even wrote us a letter."

Opening the letter, Rudilo frowned as he looked at it for a while, then recited quietly in his limited literate ability, "I, Prince Kongdai, hit, money."

"Is that how you read it?"

"I'm not a monk of the Holy Father Association, I can't understand this stuff." Stuffing the letter into his pocket, Rudilo walked towards the center of the caravan, "Old Malo, Old Malo! Where's Monk Old Malo?"

......

Gray Furnace Town.

The sky was overcast all day, yet no rain had fallen.

Under the dim pale daylight, the Salvation Army's officers along with Horn and members of the Holy Father Association sat together, listening to the Gold Medal Scripture Reader read aloud the letter from Prince Kongdai.

"As Prince Kongdai, a descendant of the Golden Finch Dynasty, a brother of the Sanctuary Knight Order, an undefeated Extraordinary Knight, a steadfast protector of Miserla's Divine Tomb, a devout believer chosen by the Holy Father, and a hope and comfort to His faithful followers.

—I order you, the Salvation Army at Joan of Arc Castle, to surrender to me willingly and without resistance."

After finishing reading the letter, Horn felt nothing much, even found it a bit amusing.

What couldn't be gained on the battlefield, he thought he could get with just a letter? Shouldn't know whether to call him arrogant or naive.

Horn turned to Madlan beside him and asked, "Is everything ready?"

"All set, those relocated villagers have nothing to do, so they're just helping us dig dirt and clear the spider web clusters."

"What about the location?"

"We've got a few places pinned down, but haven't fully decided yet."

This was because Horn had yet to decide on the final battle location, as he wasn't sure if he could deceive Bo Ao Lie.

Using the strategy of moving farmers with the car-fort tactics by the Salvation Army was one aspect; he also blocked roads, specifically targeting Leia merchants while letting Falan merchants go.

He wasn't clear on the relationship between the Falan people and Bo Ao Lie, thinking that this method might create a rift between them.

Thus, the support efficiency that Falan would provide Bo Ao Lie could be significantly reduced.

Looking up at the sky, Horn stroked his chin, thinking originally to wait for the spring rain to start the fight, in hopes of unleashing Jeanne's maximum power.

But as fate would have it, the spring rain was delayed.

"Your eminence."

Horn lowered his head, looking at the officers and priests ahead.

"How should we respond?"

Respond with what? Horn stood up and circled around the desk placed at the temporary training ground.

Taking up paper and pen, he suddenly moved in front of the War Monks who were resting after training, first reading out Prince Kongdai's letter and then asking:

"Everyone, this is the letter from Prince Kongdai. How do you think I should respond?"

"Tell him to eat poop." Someone shouted from the crowd.

The War Monks burst into laughter immediately, and Horn, laughing too, wrote that sentence down on the paper.

This left the War Monks dumbfounded. Your eminence, you really wrote it down?

"Anything else? Anyone else have a message for Prince Kongdai?"

"Me, me!"

Seeing Horn actually wrote it down, after a few seconds of silence, more and more people raised their hands.

"Prince Kongdai, you eat the devil's poop." Jonar suddenly stood up and boldly said.

"Then say 'after you eat, your army follows eating your poop'... hahaha." Another War Monk couldn't help but laugh while saying it.

"Hahahahaha—" Kolman laughed so hard he fell off his chair.

Inspired, Mengse added, "I got it, Armand buddy, you write like this, you say 'Prince Kongdai, you must be a songstress!'"

"This one's good, this one's good." Victor clapped in agreement.

"I have another one..."

"I also have something to say, let me..."

Gathering around the table, the War Monks one after another, racked their brains to turn the dirtiest rural slang and curse words into lively words amidst laughter and joy.

Soon, a response unlike any in the Empire's history was written and delivered into Monte Yac's hands by a passing Falan merchant.

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