CHAPTER 558: CHAPTER 536: BATTLE OF THE LAPPER RIVER (PART 1)

The Church army mobilized even later than Horn expected. According to the speculations of the privy advisors, he should have realized at that moment that he either had to fight or retreat.

He hesitated without advancing or withdrawing, delaying until now, and Horn had already gathered over 3,000 troops. Surprisingly, it was at this moment that he decided to attack.

The privy advisors had both contingency plans unused, every step taken by the opposing commander walked through unanticipated grounds.

On the midday of February 13th, Kush Cavalry delivered the news that the Church army was gathering.

Horn, who had long waited, immediately ordered the deployment of the 12564th regiment of the Guard. As for several regiments of the Black Hat Army, they remained stationed in place.

After all, nobody knew if anything unexpected might happen, better to reserve some backup and safeguard troops.

"Woo——"

The Legion Commanders who received the attack orders promptly blew the horn, the war trumpet immediately awakened the entire camp.

In an instant, weapons clashing and footsteps erupted within the camp, black-clad soldiers streamed out of the tents and huts in a chaotic yet orderly manner, heading towards the gathering square at the camp gate.

Upon hearing the trumpet, Delawan instinctively leaped from the bed, quickly dressed, grabbed a weapon sword, and rushed out.

This was a habit honed in small-scale battles within the past few days. Those terrifying Church Knights were incredibly fast; one second the trumpet sounded, the next they were visible to the naked eye.

If you weren’t quick enough, the regiment wouldn’t wait for you.

"Where’s the enemy? Where have they reached?" Delawan hurried to the gathering square, asking the old service soldiers already present.

Several service soldiers arrived earlier, but their relaxed demeanor was not something Delawan could match.

They stretched lazily, gathering medicine and makeshift stretchers, "No sign yet, at least five miles away, the War Monks have assembled, we’ll proceed out in sequence."

Hearing the old service soldiers’ words, Delawan became more tense. He had seen small-scale skirmishes, but had never witnessed such an assembly of seven to eight thousand combined forces.

He thought he had adapted, but evidently, he hadn’t.

Clearly, Delawan was unaware of the "Little Mud Ditch Battle" secret history of the Pope Country.

Delawan’s throat felt a bit itchy, unable to resist drinking several sips of water, which the old service soldier quickly snatched away.

"Stop drinking, careful not to wet your pants from nerves on the battlefield."

"Right, just like you," a familiar service soldier chimed in.

"Damn you," the old service soldier glared, pretending to throw the water bag at him.

Seeing several of them jovial and laughing, Delawan couldn’t help but ask, "Aren’t you nervous or afraid? This is a decisive battle."

"Who said? I’m still scared to death," said the old service soldier calmly, while hooking a heavy backpack onto Delawan’s back. "But let me tell you, once on the battlefield, even service soldiers no longer control their own fate.

Apart from doing your utmost in your duty, believe in the Holy Father and the Commanders; everything else is in the hands of fate."

Delawan clearly hadn’t grasped the old service soldier’s meaning yet, merely nodding blankly, "What do we need to do next?"

"Relax, I’ve got a nice task for you." Without further explanation, the old service soldier placed a battered iron helmet on Delawan’s head, "We’re going to help the Miracle Priests push the fireball siege engine."

Pushing the fireball siege engine was indeed a good task, but when pushing it to the pre-prepared mound, Delawan almost collapsed in exhaustion.

Not only him, those Defensive Army and service soldiers were also kneeling on the ground panting.

"This... this is... working... really... good, good task?" Holding his waist, Delawan asked brokenly, casting a sideways glance at the old service soldier.

"With the snow melted, the ground is too soft. I wonder why no one fought for this task?" the old service soldier complained, sitting down on the muddy ground.

Pushing the siege engine was initially a good task because mules and horses pulled the cart, only needing help to push on inclines.

However, after three days of clear weather, the melting snow changed the situation.

The packed dirt roads were still manageable, but on such side roads and meadows, it was a mire, where the siege engine wheels frequently sank.

If that happened, they had to lift the cart edge out of the mud and continue pushing.

After a short break, Delawan used breathing techniques to recover his strength, becoming the first among the service soldiers to stand and move again.

Standing on the mound, Delawan gazed down at the battlefield.

The battlefield was not very wide, with the Lapper River behind them, the flags of the Laper River Camp visible across the river.

The riverside area was scattered with willow trees, reeds, numerous gravel patches, and obstructing boulders, about two to three kilometers long and wide.

On the banks, a forest of steel moved slowly, composed of long spears and Holy Guns, arranged in a classic V-shape.

On each side were Holy Gun Cavalry, albeit with Kush Cavalry replacing the Cuirassiers, for the Beastman Cavalry had to patrol the downstream of the South Nao’an River to prevent a diversionary attack by Blago’s commander.

Delawan was about to speak further when a service soldier nearby shouted, "Red-blue flags, left three, right two."

Delawan quickly turned around; he had learned flag signals meaning "enemy warning," implicating the Church army had entered the battlefield.

"Can they be seen?" The White Mountain Hermitage’s Astrologer Cultivator squinted myopically, tapping the Fireball Mage’s arm beside him.

"Not yet... wait, no, they’re here, northwest direction."

Taking out an astrolabe and crystal pendant, the Astrologer spun his body tremulously, continuously rotating in place, while the Shaping Wizard lazily rested his hand on the siege engine without casting any spells.

Instead, two service soldiers retrieved several round balls from a wooden box, supported by an iron framework, wrapped in leather, even with a small winding key aperture left.

One Blessed walked forth, inserting the winding key into the aperture.

As the familiar gear turned, hoofbeats started to echo across the riverside.

Delawan, well-acquainted with hoofbeats, immediately stepped forward, standing at the edge of the mound.

On the stones and pastures, a colorful line charged down the road, likely three hundred knights.

Battle flags flying, shield armory dyed with blood, symbolizing glory, family lineage.

"In the name of the Lord!"

"Leia!!!"

Swallow-tailed flags and battle cries simultaneously soared skyward.

"300 meters," Delawan, recalling distance measurement techniques from school, instinctively shouted, "250 meters, 200 meters... they’re accelerating!"

Before Delawan completed his shout, a continuous whoosh arose from the mounded hills around.

Dozens of cabbage-sized dark shadows flew up, spanning hundreds of meters, landing along the knights’ charging path.

But the spectacle Delawan anticipated didn’t manifest.

Those were merely leather-framed balls, upon landing ignited neither flames nor acid, the legendary red dragon’s breath and green dragon’s breath absent.

Shouldn’t there be fireballs? He turned toward the lethargic Fireball Mage, uncertain of what transpired.

Subtly, he seemingly heard a piercing buzz, as Delawan looked back at the battlefield, knights stepping past the balls universally displaying pained expressions.

As if an invisible shockwave swept through, the adjacent knights’ horses seemed hammered by a great blow, agonizingly neighing.

Some reared upright, others stiffened, successively collapsing onto the ground.

Blood flowed from the ears and noses of these horses, numerous stumbling due to dazed legs.

In the two-meter air span, all were airborne Armored Knights.

They rolled across the snow and mud waves erupted, the skies filled with snow and mud scattered by them.

Some knights froze in place, as if struck by an immobilization spell, standing motionless until falling off the horse, belatedly crying out.

Dragging fractured limbs, they stared cluelessly at the devastation before them, still unknowing of the enemy’s exact location.

"What was that?" Delawan instinctively stepped forth, nearly tumbling down the mound.

"It’s Princess Hilov’s new secret weapon, I call it the Banshee’s Wail." The Shaping Wizard who grasped him explained, "Inside those leather-framed balls are shattered dragon bone whistles and wind conches driven by brass springs."