Standing on a makeshift watchtower, Harvin gazed into the distance at the three-layer fortress.

This fortress was comprised of five protruding angles and, unlike typical contiguous walls, it was discontinuous.

In the patrol passage on the fortress, soldiers in uniform held long spears and holy guns, patrolling back and forth along the wall.

Each protruding corner had a dedicated gun platform for firing without blind spots.

The nearly two-meter-thick walls were exceptionally solid, made of unknown materials.

Thinking of this, Harvin couldn't help but click his tongue.

After yesterday's defeat, although he believed Alex's meddling played a part, the real reason was the sturdy walls and the relentless firing.

Harvin's face revealed a confused yet angry expression as he still remembered the scene.

On the khaki walls were dense shooting ports, each with iron pipes sticking out, with sharp whistling sounds echoing intermittently.

Even though the brave knights charged through the Devil's Wind to the front of the walls, they still couldn't break through those solid barriers.

In the torrent of flying bullets, each brave soul at the forefront fell, while the cowards turned back.

Touching the wound on his belly from which blood was oozing, Harvin finally understood why the knights stationed at the border held such a peculiar attitude towards the coil gun.

The core advantage of knights ruling the battlefield was their ability to maintain nimble forms and ample stamina even in heavy armor.

They couldn't be penetrated, could run, and their stamina was never exhausted, which made them invincible most of the time, even against the endless sea of peasants.

This noble leisure was the confidence knights had when facing farmers.

But ever since the coil gun appeared, everything changed.

It not only pierced armor but was also a long-range weapon, causing the knights' first two advantages to be almost completely wiped out in the field battles.

The only remaining advantage was stamina, but the Salvation Army's use of coil guns didn't require much stamina. When holy power ran out, they just picked up their armed swords and continued.

However, this didn't mean they were completely at a loss. Harvin slowly withdrew his gaze, and on both sides of the earthen platform, thousands of infantry were passing by slowly.

They were not in uniform, wearing tattered clothes composed of various colored fabrics, fluttering chaotically in the wind.

Among them were more than 2000 Night Guards and Armored Soldiers, along with over 2000 ordinary peasants young and old dragged from the fields to the battlefield.

The gloomy sky seemed ready to pour down torrential rain at any moment, the sagging clouds like their mood, oppressive and sultry.

"I don't know what your devilish contraption requires, perhaps blood or lifespan, but it can't be limitless!"

Harvin confidently raised his head. Rather than letting the Devil's Wind blow over the noble knights, it was better to let it blow over these lowly peasants.

Harvin drew his knight's sword and pointed it forward, "Charge!"

......

The seething heads pressed stickily together, brandishing sharpened wooden sticks, stone hammers and axes, along with ragged banners.

At a glance, it felt like the primitive age.

Decrama and the estate heads hid on a small slope closest to the two-layer fortress, just able to see over the wall at the over a thousand charging peasant soldiers in two waves.

They crowded together like a flood, with Armored Soldiers pressing from behind and Night Guards pushing the peasant soldiers forward, each row pushing the one ahead.

Decrama and several estate heads, who were on the battlefield for the first time, were terrified to the point of speechlessness, hugging each other like quails, not daring to peek out.

They had only watched battles from afar at the battlefield's edge, never experiencing such face-to-face intensity as today.

Decrama fared slightly better; he knew the battlefield was ever-changing and the chance to escape would only appear once or twice in the chaos.

No matter how scared, he kept his eyes open, watching.

The fierce running peasants, waving weapons, and the pressing Armored Soldiers and Night Guards, seemed to be targeting him as they charged.

The chaotic and heavy footsteps relentlessly approached, and Decrama took deep breaths, venting his inner fear and tension.

"Prepare!"

"Aim!"

The orders rang out, and Decrama heard them clearly; it was the Brigade Commander who had previously ordered him dragged away.

Beside the Brigade Commander, fifty Holy Gunmen holding coil guns, rested their barrels on the inverted triangle shooting gaps.

They turned their heads, squinting one eye, aiming at the approaching peasant soldiers.

Although the coil gun's trajectory was quite random, the Holy Gunmen still aimed to ensure it wasn't too far off target.

"Fire!"

"Praise the Holy Wind!"

Amidst the orderly shouts of praise for the Holy Wind, Decrama saw in a daze that a fierce wind indeed swirled near the Holy Gunmen, tousling hair and nearby grass blades.

The foremost peasants charging at them immediately fell straight down over ten of them.

Their fallen bodies even tripped the comrades behind them, toppling a crowd like dominoes.

Amidst the dust and beneath straw sandals, within moments, five peasants were trampled to death by their comrades.

In the peasants' cries, Decrama could clearly see the Holy Gunmen's actions.

It was merely an iron tube, an iron box, and a wooden stock; it didn't even have a bowstring, just a couple of turns on a small box.

But that noise and destruction, it was as if the Devil had blown a cursed wind.

"Devil's Wind..." Drachma muttered, then immediately slapped his own mouth, "It should be Holy Wind! Holy Wind! Learn your lesson."

After the first shot, the Holy Gunmen retreated in unison, making way for the Long Spearmen behind them and began reloading the holy gun.

Extending the long spears through the embrasures, the War Cultivators raised them in unison, aiming at the oncoming peasant soldiers.

But before their spearheads could drink blood, gunshots "bang bang" came from the second layer overhead.

Splatters of blood blossomed once more from the peasant soldiers' bodies, and the cries mixed with the severe casualties (over thirty) instantly sapped the remaining thousand peasant soldiers of their will to fight.

They wailed for their parents and circled around on both sides, running to the rear.

"Who fired the guns!" Mormul's stern shout came from the second layer, "No firing from the second layer, save the holy power. Anyone who dares fire again, beware of my wrath."

Watching the chaotic and scattered fleeing peasant soldiers, a headman asked Drachma hopefully, "Is it over?"

Drachma shook his head painfully, "Not yet, Master Knight would never stop after just one attack."

As expected, just as Drachma said, not even fifteen minutes had passed when the second batch of hundreds of peasant soldiers, driven by knights and armored soldiers, changed direction and charged towards Fort Monkulus.

Yet before they got close, they were beaten back again by Holy Gunmen from another direction.

Before the Holy Gunmen could have any rest, the third batch of hundreds of peasant soldiers already launched their assault, while the previously scattered ones were gathered again, readying for the fourth wave of attack.

Fifth wave, sixth wave, seventh wave...

As Harvin anticipated, the Salvation Army was toughened by the fortress, yet also constrained by it, unable to pursue and counterattack, or expand their achievements.

If they dared to make a counterattack, the pressing Extraordinary Knights would immediately rush out, slaughtering the War Cultivators who lost the fortress's protection.

After wave after wave of assault, the Salvation Army, now in a passive state, began to struggle coping.

Most Holy Gunmen only had one or two rounds of holy power left, sitting at the edge of the dirt slope with eyes closed, resting in meditation, while those at the frontmost were replaced by melee Long Spearmen.

"Pfft—sizzle—"

The sound of long spears piercing flesh kept echoing, as bodies fell from the walls.

Gripping the spear shaft, a right-handed spin-thrust inserted into a peasant soldier's unprotected throat, then deftly pulled back to restore position.

The Salvation Army's Long Spearmen operated like machines, thrusting out and pulling back, thrusting out again and pulling back...

Each one seemed like a puppet made on the blueprint of the Soldier's Holy Scripture, taking lives in an assembly line fashion.

"Hey, what are you doing!" In the previously orderly killing formation, a new recruit, trained for only two and a half months, was pushed down by his companion, loudly complaining.

"Get up, get up!" Hidden among the peasant soldiers, a Night Guard was overjoyed, stepping on a peasant soldier's shoulder, swiftly flipping over the tall wall, swinging a sword to chop at the Holy Gunman beside him.

The Holy Gunman raised his clockwork gun to block, sparks flew, he stepped back twice, falling to the ground, and the barrel cracked.

Yet the Night Guard didn't pursue, only swinging the longsword, leveraging close combat advantage, slaughtered the new Long Spearman, clearing out a space around the breach.

Behind him, seven or eight Night Guards climbed over the wall, wielding half-swords and round shields, chopping at nearby War Cultivators.

In an instant, seven or eight Long Spearmen and Holy Gunmen fell, and the Brigade Commander with long spearmen and Holy Gunmen rushed over.

But the passage was narrow after all, causing chaos in this area, failing to timely organize a defense line.

"Bang!"

It was a retired crippled veteran who picked up a holy gun and fired at the Night Guard killing engineers.

The companion just climbing up the wall behind the Night Guard burst a blood flower from the forehead, falling straight down.

"Damn you goat!" The Night Guard was shocked, turned around, his face twisted as he charged towards the crippled veteran.

"Holy Father above!"

Dropping the clockwork gun, drawing out an armed sword, despite being crippled, the veteran shouted and hobbled to charge out.

"Fall!"

In the nick of time, Juer Dan's shout sounded from behind, and the veteran involuntarily fell to the ground.

The continuous blast of bullets rang out, the several Night Guards charging directly towards him suddenly sprouted several blood holes.

Beside Juer Dan stood a dozen freshly awakened Holy Gunmen.

Taking advantage as the enemy trembled in fear, the plus of Long Spearmen led by Brigade Commanders finally broke free from the chaos, rushing forward en masse.

They lunged two steps, using inertia to spring and thrust the spears, the blades scraping through the chainmail, instantly entering the bodies of the remaining Night Guards.

Blood flowed down from corners of their mouths and chests, those few Night Guards made gurgling sounds in their throats, inexplicably, falling onto their backs.

"Clean up the bodies, medics, drag the wounded down, fill the positions! What are you looking at?" Commanding the nearby Brigade Commanders, Juer Dan walked around, frowning, this was already the second time Night Guards broke through.

"Brother Juer Dan!"

Juer Dan looked up, seeing Mormul stick half his body out from the second layer: "Brother Juer Dan, time to switch shifts!"

"Is there time?"

"I'll fire a few shots to drive them back, then we'll switch, even peasants get tired, they can't keep charging endlessly."

"Alright!" Without much hesitation, Juer Dan directly blew the whistle.

"Repel this wave! Change shifts! Change shifts!"

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