CHAPTER 315: CHAPTER 9: SOLDIERS AGAINST SOLDIERS (SUPPLEMENT)

Two pillars of black and red light collide in the sky, constantly dissipating.

Both breaths belong to dragons, both are high temperature, yet they are as incompatible as fire and water, seemingly eager to devour each other completely, desperately trying to suppress the other.

Empowered by the [King of Volcanoes], Losa’s dragon breath is not much weaker than the Tyrannical Dragon, even though the Black Dragon looks down from above, it does not gain any advantage because of this.

And as time passes, the deep red shade begins to devour the deep black, pushing upwards towards the sky.

...

In the night sky.

A wave of heat rushes in.

Isaac shows a trace of disbelief on his face.

"He also has a dragon?"

The Black Dragon’s eyes are filled with surprise and anger, it desperately flaps its wings, increasing the output power of its magic.

There’s no saying of harmony among dragon species, it knows it’s already invaded the other’s territory, awaiting an eternal struggle unless it retreats now, which its rider evidently won’t agree to.

"He also has a dragon, what will you do?"

The shadow lets out a shrill, mocking laugh.

"Your Black Dragon doesn’t seem to be its match. After all, it’s just a Black Dragon, not a Copper-Horned Red Dragon or a superior dragon species. Would you like to make another deal with me?"

Isaac is full of anger.

"How could he also have a dragon?"

"Did you know this all along?"

"Do you want me to beg you, to become your puppet step by step?"

The shadow is silent.

Isaac doesn’t see its expression—or cannot make it out.

In his mind, it must be showing him a mocking grin.

"I tell you, it’s impossible, I would rather die here than ever become your puppet!"

He screams madly, venting the fear in his heart.

The shadow taunted full of mockery: "Good! Truly spirited, better death than slavery. Then let’s see if you have the courage to back up your words or not."

The shadow disappears into thin air like the wind.

...

On the city wall.

When seeing the terrifying pillars of light reaching the sky, Turriados is stunned.

"Is this your reliance for confidence in defeating a Black Dragon?"

"It really is... a power that is awe-inspiring yet detestable."

Turriados feels somewhat fearful in retrospect.

"Luckily, he didn’t use this demon fire to burn my army back then, and fortunately, I didn’t resist to the end."

"Just..."

"With the Heavenly Father above, why should such beings exist that hold extraordinary power? And why interfere in worldly conflicts?"

Fear and urgency creep into his heart.

Demon-Blocking Gold!

Must gather enough Demon-Blocking Gold, even if it’s not immediately necessary, it’s a must-have!

...

Dragon Flame illuminates the entire Limassol City like daylight.

Women and children huddled at home are shivering.

Nearby, the sound of battle cries from the port draws closer.

"With the Heavenly Father above and Saint Maria above, please protect our husbands and fathers, so they survive this disaster."

People pray devoutly.

For all Limassol residents, this is a disaster through and through.

Yet, whether they want it or not, the approaching footsteps of war won’t pause even slightly.

Renault holds a large shield, standing behind a barricade built of cheval de frise, thorns, and wooden boxes.

A rough scan shows a view shrouded with heads under the high slope.

Lit by the sudden illuminating dragon flame in the sky.

He clearly sees those helmets of heretics bearing helmet tassels and faces different from theirs.

"Die!"

He follows the prescribed posture of the manual, from a high vantage point, reversely gripping the long spear with a fierce thrust downward.

The sharp spear pierces the enemy’s neck from the side, blood spews like a fountain, this is a dark-skinned Turkic barbarian, with a fierce scar on his face.

Despite this severe fatal injury, he still stares at him like an evil wolf.

Renault is so shocked he’s somewhat stupefied.

This was the first time he participated in such a close quarters fierce battle, the scalding blood splashing on his face, making him instinctively raise his sleeve to wipe it.

"Hey, kid, don’t get distracted!"

The old farmer soldier swiftly used his shield to knock down a Turkic soldier trying to climb over the fence, along with a Greek soldier who had raised a butcher’s knife attempting to cut Renault’s neck, both knocked to the ground.

The iron boots rushing in behind them didn’t care about leaving room for them, and in the blink of an eye, these two people were like gravel thrown into the sea, not raising a single splash.

"Ha, this is the second one, one more and I’ll become a Lord Knight, and by then I’ll marry a beautiful wife to make you lot drool."

The old farmer soldier was extremely skilled in combat, effortlessly dealing with the enemies before him.

But there were just too many enemies.

Even with the advantage at the crossroad, aside from the "Count’s Guard" as reserves, all Crusader forces were committed to this meat grinder of a grim battlefield.

The veteran soldiers were stationed on the most crucial defensive line, and the corpses left in front of the fence had already "drowned" the traps laid on the ground, forming a slope leading upwards.

"Heavy spear!"

The Centurion shouted.

The heavy spear commonly used by the Ancient Empire’s legion, once again crossed the rivers of history, along with their iconic Eagle Emblem Square Shield, forming an insurmountable barrier.

Javelins rained down, with heavy force, piercing through the enemy’s shield, piercing into the flesh of enemies in the rear.

And these specially crafted javelins, once struck, would easily break.

The enemy wouldn’t even have the chance to pull out the javelins to throw them back at the veteran soldiers.

And so, as time passed.

The first wave of the enemy’s assault was beaten back.

But they only paused to regroup briefly, then gathered again to launch a charge against the veteran soldiers’ defense line.

This chaotic and intense battle quickly put immense pressure on these fledgling farmer soldiers.

If it weren’t for the Imperial Knights constantly commanding, bravely killing the enemy and boosting morale, it’s quite possible that routs could have occurred.

"Saint Gabriel bless us, for the glory of the Heavenly Father, kill these heretics."

Loud shouts rose among the crowd.

As if a True God had manifested.

The farmer soldiers suddenly realized their nearly exhausted strength was revitalized, once again repelling the now depleted enemies.

They cheered vigorously.

"The Heavenly Father watches over us, these heretics are no match for us!"

...

Of course, this wasn’t the manifestation of the Heavenly Father.

It was the Group Buff Spell in the Blood Magic cast by Furinjira, greatly boosting morale at the right moment.

Chelina frowned slightly; her twin blades had just severed a Greek general’s head.

The splattered blood didn’t even touch her clothing, but she paused, halting her actions.

To her, humans were just too fragile.

In these days at Limassol, if it weren’t for Losa’s orders prohibiting, she actually preferred to carry out a solo assassination mission against Isaac.

But Losa deemed it too dangerous and stopped her.

Retainers are not immortal; even if they could be reborn like a Tyrannical Dragon, the uncertainties in between were too great, and Losa didn’t want to risk it.

Isaac was just a small stumbling block in Losa’s long life, far from being a life-and-death enemy.

"Furin, take care of yourself, I’m going to help the master."

Like a beautiful phantom, she left these words by Furinjira’s ear and then vanished into the night.

Furin exclaimed, too late to stop her, could only continue to maintain the buff on the soldiers.

"I, a princess of the Blood Royal Court, master of numerous Destructive Magic, and end up casting Group Buffs for these secular soldiers?"

She felt that the soldiers’ killing efficiency was not as satisfying as her explosive Group Spells.

But now was not the time for her to be willful.

The war had reached a fever pitch.

King against king, the real decider of victory or defeat had fallen to the troops and generals.

...

At this moment, a desolate horn sounded across the world.

Ned Stark, standing in the most conspicuous spot, sounded the horn of counterattack.

Iron hooves shattered the floorboards.

Like the beating of war drums.

The black cross on a white background and the double-headed eagle military flag fluttered in the hands of Monastic Knights holding lances.

Wearing various helmets, their white cloaks fluttering in the wind like a midnight specter, they crashed onto the pier with a terrifying speed invisible to the naked eye, colliding with the crowded enemy.

Jeanne charged at the forefront, with her as the spearhead, the knights barreled into and rampaged through the enemy ranks.

Blood stained the shore.

Steel and flesh in the port formed a terrifying, life-devouring meat grinder.