When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#279 - The Battle of Pavia!!!

Within a ten-meter radius and towering above everyone else, the knights instantly became live targets for the holy muskets and heavy arquebuses.

"Ah! Despicable peasants!"

"Damn it, damn it, damn it, let me go, you bunch of…"

"Bang!"

Broken swords and wood chips littered the ground, shattered armor fragments and bouncing lead pellets resembling steel fleas flew overhead.

Every so often, a knight would topple from his warhorse, only to be immediately impaled by the surrounding war monks with their long spears.

Having lost their speed, the transcendent knights visibly panicked. Those near the edges fared better, simply charging out and escaping.

However, the Edict Knights, charging the most fiercely and penetrating the deepest, found themselves trapped within a siege of countless war monks.

The war monks adhered to one principle: kill the horse first, then the rider.

Once a transcendent knight was unhorsed and surrounded, he was merely a heavily armored infantryman with slightly enhanced abilities.

The low-level transcendent armored war monks would directly grapple with them, followed by the holy musketeers firing at point-blank range, which would likely kill a dismounted knight.

The Dungal phalanx had defeated the Edict Company at the height of the Laya Kingdom's power using this very method.

But back then, the French did not possess holy muskets capable of piercing armor in a single shot.

His head a mess, Béreault charged left and right almost automatically, his guard knights following close behind.

However, having been separated, they couldn't build up speed, as the nearby war monks would obstruct them each time they tried to accelerate.

As he pondered a solution, Béreault felt a weight on his right side, only to see a member of the military chaplain corps drop his armed sword and desperately cling to his leg.

Before he could react, a child soldier, having climbed up the saddle from who knows where, strangled his neck from behind.

"Little devil!"

Unfortunately for the child soldier, Béreault was wearing a neck guard. He cursed, violently shrugged his shoulder, and flung the child soldier behind the horse's rear.

The warhorse immediately kicked out with its hind legs, sending the child soldier flying several meters.

Having shaken off the child soldier, Béreault knew he couldn't linger. He leaned his body to the side and slammed his knightly sword down, burying it in the military chaplain corps soldier's head.

Whether the sword was dull or Béreault had used too much force, the blade became lodged in the military chaplain corps soldier's skull.

As he tried to pull it out, the blade snapped in half.

Discarding the broken knightly sword, Béreault drew his backup side sword, staring blankly at the sea of people before him.

After the Black Hat Sixth and Black Hat Second Legions joined the battle on the left flank, the knights were surrounded by over a thousand men, separated into isolated islands, within sight but out of reach of one another.

Béreault at least managed to break free from the encirclement and regain some speed, but the Temple Knight Captain was not so lucky.

He was disoriented by the constant spear thrusts when a holy musketeer quietly approached and fired a musket point-blank into his waist.

"Clang!"

Spinal fluid and bone fragments gushed from the small hole in his armor.

Before the Knight Captain could even cry out in pain, a glaive hooked his neck from the side.

His body tilted to the right, forcibly pulled from his horse.

Landing on his back, he realized in horror that he couldn't feel his lower limbs and couldn't stand up.

His hands were immediately pinned down, leaving him to watch helplessly as a dagger was inserted through a helmet seam, prying open his visor.

Looking at the five or six angry and contorted faces, the Knight Captain cried out in terror, "I surrender, I surrender!"

Those hateful eyes didn't listen to his words. A peasant-looking man stepped on his chest, coldly looking down at him.

"I surrender…" the Knight Captain sobbed. His accent was too noble; these peasants didn't understand him.

Raising a short spear high, he brought it down with all his might. Pink blood foam flowed from the seams of the helmet.

The Knight Captain, pinned down, convulsed and struggled for a few seconds before letting out a foul odor in his crotch and falling silent.

Pulling out the short spear, the war monks hurried toward the next target, a squire knight whose body was pinned under his warhorse.

Seeing the transcendent knights fall one by one, Béreault finally panicked. He rushed onto a small mound and shouted to the remaining knights:

"Rally, rally, break out!"

Slaying a child soldier who threw a short axe at him, Béreault quickly charged down the small mound, joined up with several other Edict Knights, and charged toward the outside.

"Break out!"

"Stop them!"

At this moment, Béreault still didn't think he had failed; he could still turn things around.

In fact, he hadn't failed yet.

The previous wave of Edict charges had nearly crippled Horn's most elite First Guard Legion.

Now there were over sixty Edict Knights on the battlefield; they were the soul of the Edict Company. If they rallied and broke out, they could launch another Edict charge.

Béreault didn't believe these war monks could withstand a second Edict charge!

There was still a chance, still a chance!

"My lord! The Night Watchmen and other knights are routing!" The guard knight beside him shouted in terror, pointing to the rear.

Béreault turned his head sharply.

Thousands of Night Watchmen were fleeing across the hills, crying and throwing away all their weapons and armor.

Mixed in with them were the Ibey Knights and Temple Knights!

This was impossible. Béreault almost thought it was a hallucination. How could they run at this time?

"Damn it! You cowards and weaklings!" He furiously cursed at those retreating figures, but he quickly suppressed his anger and returned to reality.

Without the entanglement of the other transcendent knights and Night Watchmen, surrounded by over two thousand armored low-level transcendents, even Edict Knights would have to lose more than a third of their number to escape.

And that was an optimistic estimate.

Although Béreault didn't want to admit it, he had to face reality: he had suffered a minor defeat.

The only option now was to escape before they could complete the encirclement.

After all, not many Edict Knights had actually died. With the Edict Knights' recovery speed, they could quickly rebuild a 70-man lancer company.

Things had come to this point, and the French Royal Charter Knights would likely side with him.

After all, smallpox couldn't be treated like acne; if it spread, everyone would suffer. Montayac was still a member of the aristocratic society.

After cooperating with Montayac, as long as he firmly defended the internal castle of the Joan of Arc Fortress, he could hold out for a year or so until reinforcements arrived.

Holding the Joan of Arc Fortress castle, he would remain invincible from beginning to end.

Having made up his mind, Béreault resolved, "Go, break through, kill a path out! Return to the Joan of Arc Fortress!"

Taking a deep look at that solar flag, Béreault silently murmured in his heart, We will meet again.

Soon, leading over a dozen Edict Knights, Béreault successfully broke through the encirclement from the side. He rushed quickly toward his main camp, preparing to replenish his potions.

Before he could even approach, a white light burst forth, so dazzling that he instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes.

"What's happening again?" Béreault cursed irritably. "Where are the 50 knights left behind at the main camp?"

"I don't know… Ah!"

"What's with all the screaming?"

"My lord, look, the blessing is dissipating!"

Prompted by the guard knight, Béreault lowered his head and looked at his hands. Pale white flames floated in the air, and the floating hooves of his warhorse touched the muddy ground again.

There was only one possibility: the blessed monks were all dead.

His face pale, he looked at the hillside where the main camp was located. Rows of Salvation Army soldiers with aligned steps were raising their spears and surging toward them like a flood.

He finally understood why the Night Watchmen had routed.

Jeshka, leading the charge, raised the heads of Argand and Montayac's adjutant on his spear, shouting to the crowd, "The Joan of Arc Fortress has fallen! You are all isolated troops!"

"Surrender and you will not be killed! Surrender and you will not be killed!" The war monks of the Black Hat Third and Fourth Legions shouted in unison.

The twenty or so Edict Knights who had escaped were being chased by Jeanne and her holy musket cavalry in a disheveled manner.

Each time lightning flashed, three or five Edict Knights would fall from their horses, covered in scorch marks.

"Haha, it's over, it's over, it's gone, the castle is gone…" Béreault laughed mockingly, but the corners of his upturned mouth instantly fell.

He seemed to have lost his bones, sliding off his horse, hammering the ground, and wailing in pain, "Defeated, my army is defeated—"