When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

The mercenary industry has developed into a mature service sector through the progression of the Hundred Years War, with mercenary infantry possessing combat power surpassing that of the Night Guard, similar to Armored Soldiers.

Though they lack extraordinary martial skills, horses, and plate armor, most of them have one or two stages of respiratory techniques.

At the end of the river road, silver armor gleamed under the cold moonlight, as over a hundred knights on tall horses clad in Milan-style plate armor slowly approached.

Blue long-tail feathers fluttered from their helmets, swaying with the motion of their mounts.

"Cross the river! Accelerate the crossing!"

Horn immediately ordered, but in the darkness, the sound of bowstrings twanged.

Colton looked up, seeing a shadow pass overhead like a meteor, landing among the crowd behind him, with grotesque blood blossoms blossoming, seven or eight people fell instantly on the bridge.

Dust on the iron chains trembled and rose, and along the edges of the wooden plank bridge, occasionally someone fell, carrying a trail of blood droplets into the white water, instantly dyeing a section of the water red.

As those behind continued to step onto the wooden plank bridge, they saw patches of crimson blood stains on the planks, yet they did not stop their steps.

Crossbow arrows flew in waves, landing on the crowded bridge, and when the subsequent Salvation Army stepped onto the plank bridge, they faced dozens of corpses arrayed on the bridge.

Yet they did not pause their steps; no one paused.

Their steps even grew firmer, as those who fell would pass their remaining weapons to those passing by.

Some severely injured and dying simply rolled off the long bridge into the water to clear the way for those behind.

This was not the bridge of one person's revenge, but of everyone's revenge.

Friscia watching the battle frowned, "What's happening? Haven't they collapsed yet?"

Knowing that around 500 people had crossed the bridge, and upon reaching the street, casualties amounted to no less than 40, by past experience, they should have collapsed long ago.

A faint chorus of shouting reached Friscia's ears.

"What are they shouting?"

"It seems to be..."

The sturdy long bridge swayed with the singing and footsteps amidst the ripples, as the refugees' noisy shouting grew clear and synchronized.

Standing on blood-stained planks, Colton for the first time felt the world before him so clear.

"Move here, move there, where can the poor man seek survival!"

Following the growing chorus of shouting, Colton shouted hoarsely too.

"Kill the devils, kill the demons, they die and I live!"

Shouting at the top of his lungs, Colton steadied the long spear in his hands.

Beside him was a row of shining long spears, their breathless faces filled with rage for the first time after decades of numbness.

"Injustice, kill injustice!"

"Kill!!!"

Colton countless times carried a shoulder pole, wielded a pitchfork, ran, yet only this time did he run so fast, so resolutely with the long spear.

Constantly rubbing against the clothes of the refugees around him, straw sandals stepping over annoying stones, over a hundred refugees crazily strode forward with long spears.

Facing them was a horizontal array of mercenaries lined along the street.

Long spears gleamed coldly in the moonlight, swaying amidst the refugees' stumbling steps, thrusting rapidly towards the mercenaries.

Nearly two thousand mercenaries on the opposite side sneered ferociously, leveling their long spears, awaiting the refugees' arrival.

They had seen these refugees charge before.

These mobsters often charged loudly, but as they reached the front, they would halt in fear, then be pushed by those charging behind towards their own long spears.

At that moment, merely shouting that famed phrase "Farmer, guard has arrived" sufficed to turn formation battles into pursuit battles.

Such scenes they had witnessed numerous times, today was no exception.

Sharp long spears drew nearer and nearer, he could now see the cold gleam of their tips.

"Farmer, guard... guh guh guh."

The spearhead pierced the throat, penetrated cartilage, protruded from the slanting back of the neck, the moment the spear was withdrawn, a mist of blood and froth exploded.

Opposite him, Colton's shoulder was pierced by his long spear, he gritted his teeth and roared, "Guard, farmer has arrived!"

Around Colton, refugees were being pierced through, their long spears likewise thrust into the mercenaries' bodies.

Blood mist burst forth, bile, cartilage, blood vessels, and throats hung from bodies or spilled onto the ground, the unprepared mercenaries suddenly plunged into close-quarters combat with the refugees having broken through their formation.

"Demon hounds! Die!" Colton maniacally, the spear tip grazed his forehead, blood soaking his face, yet he didn't pause.

Grabbing the short flail at his waist, he swung it with all his might at the mercenary's face before him.

The mercenary raised the copper round shield in his hand, but the chain-linked flail bypassed the top of the shield, arced down onto his forehead.

The exploded eye sprayed gray-white mucus onto the shield, causing the mercenary to fall stiffly.

As Colton turned, another tall mercenary came charging savagely.

With great force, Colton was knocked off balance, landing on the ground.

He raised his head and saw the mercenary raising a short axe high, he wanted to dodge, but his right hand was pinned under a comrade's foot.

The cold gleam fell, but did not land on Colton's head, instead flew sideways.

"Ah——"

It was a farmer, red-eyed charging forward, tackling the mercenary to the ground.