When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

In less than five minutes, six Knights charged out of the armory, followed by ten Night Guards responsible for cleaning the battlefield.

The Night Guards, wielding hook spears, jogged along while the Extraordinary Knights led by Holins spurred their horses.

The sound of galloping hooves lit candles in the houses on both sides, and some windows were opened, peering outside.

Seeing Master Knight charging, they closed the windows again, probably thinking it's some blind thieves or bandits.

The night wind whirled through Holins' thick beard, and lying on horseback, he used the moonlight to clearly see the formation of these people.

"Holins, something doesn't feel right," a Knight shouted from behind him.

These thirty infantry indeed felt off, and Holins sensed it too.

The infantry stood side by side at the intersection, blocking the road at the houses on both sides, leaving no room for Holins to attack from the sides.

But the short spears or iron hammers they held were too short, even a frontal assault wouldn't offer them much chance.

What puzzled him the most was that when he increased his horse's pace to a full charge, the thirty infantry didn't fall into chaos as he'd expected.

They divided into three rows, the first row of 10 half-kneeling on the ground, the second row of 10 lunging forward, and the third row of 10 standing upright.

In unison, they tucked their short spears under their arms, gripping the wooden haft with their right hand, and placing their left hand at the junction of the iron trumpet and wooden haft.

What are they doing? That tiny spear attempting to block six Knights charging?

Perhaps scared stiff?

Dass didn't have time to think, he was already approaching these refugee soldiers, about to engage.

The sound of hooves like rapid drumbeats grew clearer and faster, fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards...

"Hold your ground, don't move, no one moves," Dass growled, yet despite having fought many battles, some Holy Gunmen's bodies still slightly shook.

Closer, even closer, the faces under the moonlight became clearer until their ferocious features came into Dass's view.

"Praise the Holy Spirit!"

Dass roared, as if trying to shout away the fear within his heart.

Upon issuing the command to fire the spring-gun, thirty Holy Gunmen simultaneously pulled out the winding keys on the gun boxes.

In less than a millisecond, the elastic potential energy transformed by Mana in the spring boxes converted into the kinetic energy of the gears.

The gears collided with the firing rod racks, sparking countless times, and airflow surged wildly in the pressure balance valve and the gun barrel.

Driven by the gears, the shooting rod whistled as it plunged forward.

Amidst the roaring friction between the firing rod and the gun barrel, nearly five hundred thumb-sized iron sands and stone pellets shot out.

At a twenty-yard range, this was the peak of the shotgun's power, the storm composed of shot enveloped the six Knights instantly.

The sound of popcorn popping continuously filled everyone's ears.

The bullet curtain swept over the six Knights, their proud armor shattered open in continuous impacts, dozens of iron sands burrowing into flesh and organs, constantly stirring.

Their proud Extraordinary physiques became their most terrifying curses.

Metal scraps and stone pellets coursed through blood vessels, some even piercing into both lungs, liver, gallbladder, and kidneys, even directly into the heart and spine.

The horses were also neighing, almost instantly, their bodies were riddled with tiny bloody holes.

Two Knights died immediately, and another four were severely injured and collapsed, pinned under their equally wounded horses, howling in agony.

The previous thunderous roar seemed still in their ears, drowning out all sounds of wind and voices.

The soldier's families watching secretly from windows could hardly believe their eyes.

Six Extraordinary Knights, those were six Extraordinary Knights!

And, just dead like that?

By the Sun Goat, those short-haired ones really had staffs that could shoot thunder!

"Quick, pull the drawbridge up!" The Armed Farmers' militia captain stuttered in urgency.

The soldiers beside the drawbridge hesitated: "Our people and relatives are still outside, they seem quite distant, should we let them return first?"

"Screw your head! Pull the drawbridge!" Kicking away the soldier beside the drawbridge, the Armed Farmers' militia captain personally twisted the winch to start raising the bridge.

Rusty metal began to grind and press, dust and dirt chunks on the drawbridge rolled into the water as another round of hoofbeats sounded.

"Is it Master Knight?" the Armed Farmers shouted towards the Night Guards on the watchtower, as the captain's hands slowed slightly.

The Night Guards' faces changed drastically, gesturing wildly at the Militia Captain: "It's cavalry, their cavalry, coming at us."

The hooves passed over a knight's head. He could clearly see the nails and straw on the horseshoes as dozens of hooves went over his forehead.

He turned his head and saw forty cavalry wielding long knives or wolf fang clubs charging down the road to the armory.

At the forefront of the cavalry, a war flag emblazoned with a golden Holy Grail was shimmering with gold light.

"Charge!" Jeanne roared, raising the war flag in her hand.

The flag immediately wrapped into the shape of a lance, and the mane of the horse underneath her puffed up.

With the flag lance leading, the Night Guards accompanying the knights showed no hesitation. They swiftly rolled to the roadside, glaring fiercely from behind wells and houses, expressing their undying enmity with the short-haired bandits.

They approached the drawbridge, at a distance of roughly sixty yards, which at the current speed would take about six or seven seconds.

They were almost there; Jeanne could see the increasingly clear view of the armory and the drawbridge slowly lifting.

Even the leaves scattered on the drawbridge and the rolling pebbles were clearly visible.

The drawbridge groaned like an old man getting out of bed, protesting with every creaky joint.

Turning the capstan, the Militia Captain exerted all his lifetime strength, his face flushed red, twisted in terror as if smiling yet not.

"Everyone, pull together!"

Under the rotation of the capstan and the hopeful gazes of the crowd, the drawbridge slowly lifted, reaching about a thirty-degree angle before Jeanne and her forces arrived.

Watching Jeanne completely disappear behind the bridge planks, the Militia Captain breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped back, handing the capstan to someone else, leaning against the wall to gasp for air.

Then he heard the unforgettable sound of horse neighing in his life.

"Neighhhh—"

The moonlight shone behind Jeanne, her warhorse leaped high with all four legs off the ground, and the glittering gold flag lance reappeared in their line of sight.

Her face was icy cold, as cold as the Valkyries of Norn myths soaring through the sky.

Horse hooves landed on the drawbridge, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Charge!"

The thirty-degree angle was perfect for Jeanne's charge; in mere seconds, blood had already reddened the tip of the lance.

The armory's drawbridge slowly came down, revealing Jeanne's figure to the crowd, standing horizontally with her horse, while a river of blood flowed behind her.

Thus, the entire armory laid itself bare to the forty riders, thirty Holy Gunmen, and tens of thousands of vengeful Refugee Army.

......

Under the torchlight, the moonlight was tainted red.

Along the armory's road, tens of thousands of refugees lined up, holding torches as they moved forward, like a winding dragon of fire.

By the roadside, the Black Hat Army and the Imperial Guard carried bundles of long spears, laying them across the roadside, distributing them to the refugees according to height and weight.

Every refugee that came forward received a long spear, until eventually, the spears formed an almost moving forest.

Nine hundred sets of old breastplates and chain mail, though somewhat rusty and dirty, still reflected a dim glow of firelight as they came into the hands of the refugee ranks with swords, shields, and breastplates.

These close-quarter weapons were mostly given to the more ferocious refugees.

"Nicely done." Horn took a handkerchief, wiping the enemy's blood off Jeanne's fair face.

Jeanne seemed a bit disappointed: "Three thousand long spears, nine hundred sets of old breastplates, and just a few hundred assorted swords, shields, and armors—this is all that three generations of Duke Kush accumulated? That's it?"

"I basically expected it." Horn had anticipated it; considering Dane's situation, how could he not sell some armaments? "But even with just these, it's much better than before."

Presently, the Imperial Guard and the Black Hat Legion had each expanded to a thousand men from the new camp.

The remaining people, Horn organized into groups based on regional villages and kinship, ten to a unit, electing a captain and swearing mutual loyalty not to betray.

With the Refugee Army and Horn's own old and new camps combined, the forces totaled around 12,000 men.

Alongside the equipment Horn originally had, about 5,000 men possessed weapons, including 1,000 in the old camp with adequate training and combat capability.

For ease of command, Horn gave the entire 12,000 a new name.

"What's it called?" Jeanne asked curiously.

Horn pointed to a distant banner, which fluttered in the firelight with black on top and red on the bottom, embroidered in the center with a fork-like crest resembling a 草 (grass) character.

"The Salvation Army."

Horn pointed at the banner, but his gaze was fixed on Joan of Arc Castle, which was also lit up.

Imperial Calendar, November 10, 1444, at 11 PM, the Salvation Army was just one mile from Joan of Arc Castle.