When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Falling to the ground, not even having time to feel the pain, the mercenary immediately drew a dagger and stabbed it into the farmer's chest, reddening the front of the farmer's shirt with blood.

At the same time, the farmer, wielding a blackish short sword, stabbed through the mercenary's neck, causing blood to splatter everywhere from the windpipe.

The two strangers embraced each other and died together on the battlefield.

The next second, a Falan Mercenary tripped over the two corpses, dropping his long spear with a clang. The farmer in front wielded a hayfork and pierced his throat.

"For the oppressed, kill the oppressors!"

Colton grabbed the blackish short sword and charged towards the three mercenaries besieging the refugees.

"Shield bearers, Armored Soldiers, form the front line, form the front line." The mercenary leader, sweating profusely, climbed onto the window sill of a house and shouted to the people behind.

When the shield bearers and Armored Soldiers arrived, the chaotic fight gradually subsided, and the mercenaries, under the call of various small squad leaders, reformed into formations.

After all, these refugees might have touched a long spear for the first and only time today. They could barely hold them steady, whereas their opponents were mercenaries with two and a half years of training.

With the formal spear formation established, the situation gradually shifted, and a large number of refugees fell heavily to the blood-stained earth.

Marching in neat steps, the mercenaries finally reformed their ranks and stepped towards the refugees, ready to kill.

Their front line comprised shielded, armored longsword and short ax wielders, rendering the previous desperate charging and chaotic battles ineffective.

At Victor's loud call, the refugees retreated to the riverbank, attempting to form a spear formation again.

No matter how resolute they were, they were forced to retreat step by step by the three bright rows of spear formations.

"Hold steady, steady, level the spears!" Victor shouted loudly as he retreated.

Beside him, Rudilo, who was too aggressive, was struck on the temple by a comrade's spear handle, falling by the roadside, uncertain if he was dead or alive.

Victor took another step back and almost stumbled. He looked back, seeing many bodies floating on the flowing canal.

The mercenaries' spear formation was impenetrable. Victor organized several Leaping Soldiers to roll and charge, but they were all blocked by the Armored Soldiers.

The refugees in the front line kept falling; they could not break through this horizontal formation no matter what, only relying on their lives to halt its progress.

The last row of refugees was already standing on the river's edge.

Is it over? Victor took a deep breath, clutched the long spear, and walked towards the first row; if he were to die, he wouldn't want to drown!

Step by step forward, Victor reached the second row. Before he had time to level the long spear, a thunderous roar echoed in the ears of the first row of refugees.

"The Lord curses you! Hounds of the devil!"

Who is that? Is it Old Kosse!

Victor could hardly believe his eyes; Old Kosse's attire today was quite different from usual, no longer showing his previous timid and honest expression.

He jumped down from the rooftop, naked from the waist up, with a broken wooden necklace swinging with the wind over his stout chest, his face ferocious like a devil from the Fire Prison, with eyes red as fire.

"Ah——"

With bloodshot eyes, Kosse let out an earth-shattering roar as he jumped down from the rooftop, stretching out his burly arms to grab two spears, with his right hand grabbing three more.

Stomping on the ground with his feet, the fat on his cheeks trembled continuously with his body. Staring at the mercenaries, Kosse's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets.

The mercenary opposite, with a livid face, desperately tugged the spear shafts, trying to retrieve the spears or drag Kosse over.

But no matter how the mercenary spearmen pulled, they could not retrieve the original spears by an inch, while Kosse fiercely taunted: "Come on, come on, you accomplices of murderers!"

Exerting his feet, several veins popped on Kosse's face, even pulling two mercenaries from one side of the spear formation into a stumble.

With bloodshot eyes, Victor anxiously shouted, "What are you looking at? Stab!"

Almost simultaneously, four spears thrust out from beside Kosse's shoulders and arms, instantly penetrating the thighs and throats of the opposing spearmen.

As the spearheads were withdrawn, streams of blood spurted from the wounds, exposing crimson tendons and flesh to the air, the mercenaries collapsing to the ground.

"Hahaha!" Seeing the mercenaries fall before him, Kosse laughed maniacally.

He released the spears and drew two butcher knives from his waist, charging straight at the gap in the spear formation, with the mercenaries on either side immediately trying to fill the gap.

The Falan Mercenary wearing a dish-shaped hat hadn't even steadied himself before Kosse hurled a butcher knife, stabbing the mercenary's chest directly, churning the internal organs together.

Ducking under a spear thrust, he leaped forward, grabbed the knife handle, kicked the mercenary's stomach, and withdrew the butcher knife.

Holding the other knife in one hand, he warded off the short sword from the nearby mercenary, then crashed into the enemy's embrace, the butcher knife "puffing" into the mercenary's abdomen, twisting and pulling, dragging out a string of intestines.

Seeing a gap opened in the spear formation, the subsequent Salvation Army Leaping Soldiers and Long Spear Soldiers charged through the breach.

The mercenary formation erupted into chaos, with soldiers immediately on either side trying to pour in and fill the gap, only for the Salvation Army's Long Spear Soldiers to fill it instead.

This immediately triggered a chain reaction, with the entire spear formation opening like a slit, infantry rushing to mend it, widening the rupture and triggering localized bloody melee once more.

The former formations began to interlock as they moved, producing more gaps, with mercenaries' tidy ranks retreating continuously under the pressure of the refugees.

Most terrifyingly, some Falan Mercenaries couldn't endure such intense combat, slowly disappearing into the alley's shadows.

They had never fought such a battle in their lives. Why risk their lives for dozens of Dinars a month?

With the shifting tides, they were gradually pushed from the bridgehead by the Salvation Army back to the intersection alleys by the riverside.

"Lord Friscia, we... we need reinforcements." The mercenary leader breathlessly ran to the Knights.

"After getting into this mess, how dare you ask for reinforcements!" Friscia lashed out at the pleading mercenary leader with a whip, cursing angrily.

"It's not that we didn't try, but the refugees use spell and they have no fear of death."

"You useless bunch of fools." Friscia fumed, pulling down the visor of his helmet.

He had hoped to lure out the main force of the ragtag bandits, but these infantry were suppressed by a group of ordinary refugees, and still had the nerve to send someone to ask for reinforcements.

However, given the current situation, not providing reinforcements was not an option. If the refugees pushed the line into the alleys and small paths, their impact would be hampered by clotheslines, porticos, and pits, nowhere near as effective as now.

"Warriors, charge with me!"