When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Swallowing a whole bottle of Khan potion and applying divine oil to the temples, Friscia closed his eyes and waited for two seconds for the medicine to take effect.

After his body turned slightly red, he looked behind him, the other knights had similarly completed their preparations for battle.

"Warriors, charge with me!"

Pointing the longsword forward, Friscia shook the reins, the warhorse beneath him exhaled a gust of hot steam and started to run.

Before they arrived, the horses had already been fed forage soaked in rage potion and blood-stopping potion, trying to mitigate the fear in the hearts of these intelligent creatures.

The silver-white moonlight shattered under the hoofs, due to the constraints of the battle ground, fifty knights formed a diamond-shaped charging formation.

Starting from a trot at the end of the road, they gradually increased speed until the long wind blew against their armor, emitting a clanging metallic sound.

The frozen air flowed, the long plume on the helmets swayed left and right in the gust.

As the frequency of the hoof beats increased, the warhorses neighed, and the knights bent their waists, raising the knight's sword in their hands.

"It's knights, extraordinary knights!"

The scout on the rooftop anxiously shouted downwards.

The refugees and mercenaries in a melee paused simultaneously at some point, the ground pebbles vibrated, over the slightly arched ground, dozens of knights appeared vividly in sight.

"Saint Sappindus!"

Standing up from the warhorse, Friscia shouted loudly their patron saint.

Under normal circumstances, cavalry feared their speed slowing when charging into infantry formations.

Being surrounded in such cases makes it difficult to break out, especially when clad in heavy armor and sluggish movements.

But with extraordinary powers, the willingness of cavalry to charge infantry formations greatly increased.

Because even if they fall from their horses, ordinary humans still cannot break their defense, they have enough endurance to hold on through foot battles or directly break out.

In early days, the knights' opponents were either peasant soldiers or skeleton soldiers, back then knights had none of today's popular cavalry tactics, just one word—reckless.

With the great development of the mercenary industry and emergence of professional mercenary infantry, the benefits of knights directly charging infantry formations diminished significantly.

Especially in the Battle of Windmill Land, King of Falan used a flood of gold coins to sweep the empire mercenary market, giving Leia's knights a proper lesson with 98k professional mercenaries.

Since then, rarely did knights charge head-on in wars.

Friscia did not wish to sound too offensive, but he never considered what they faced now as war.

Under the effect of Khan potion, Friscia's balance ability greatly enhanced, he drew out the longsword from his waist:

"Farmers, pray to pagan gods, see if they will come to save you!"

In the rolling dust, fifty knights directly collided with the refugees' formation.

"Quickly dodge—"

"I'm a mercenary, I'm on your side! Ah—"

"Dog knight!"

The pungent iron rust smell exploded instantly, the array echoed with a series of wails.

Elbows trembling, Colton exhaustedly pulled the lance out from the mercenary's chest.

He took a step back, just wanting a breather, but heard an elderly voice shout:

"Watch out!"

Colton was grabbed by the back of his neck and pulled back, a shadow flashed by, he could distinctly see it was a body or a corpse.

Following the direction of the flying object, Colton looked there and was stunned.

In mid-air bathed in moonlight, three or four refugees were knocked airborne by the high-speed impact of warhorses, their bodies drawing arcs in the air.

Fifty extraordinary knights like a hot knife through butter, seamlessly cut through the refugees' formation from the side.

The faces under helmets revealed grim smiles in pleasure, as they swung the swords, letting the swiftly running horses slice through the thin bodies.

The clear wave of blood advanced along the cutting face of the wedge formation, behind the hoofs, bodies sliced open at the chest, back, or directly decapitated fell slowly.

"Boom—"

A refugee didn't dodge in time, though speed decreased upon impact, still was knocked flying backward, skidding four or five meters on the ground, landing right at Colton's feet.

Colton immediately crouched down, flipped over the refugee's body to try to save him, but as he flipped the body, his action paused.

The refugee's chest had caved in, the blood-drenched ribs pierced through the gray skin, his throat could only utter wheezy sounds like a broken bellows.

Staring at the mangled emaciated body, Colton was at a loss on what to do.

"End his suffering."

The tall stout elder who previously pulled Colton removed the weapon sword from the neck of a nearby mercenary, turned and shouted at Colton: "He's beyond saving."

Bowing his head, looking at those pleading eyes, Colton turned away, using the pitch-black short sword to slice open the refugee's throat.

Standing up, Colton glanced around.

Gigantic silver armored knights madly slaughtered, the longsword cutting through one innocent body after another, the blood had made the ground slick and wet, hard to stand stable.

Amid the cries and screams of the refugees, he remembered the terrifying nature of the extraordinary knights.

Colton felt a moment of confusion, could knights truly be unbeatable?

"Boom!"

The sound of a holy gun firing came from the left, followed by the dying cry of a warhorse.

Snapping out of his daze, Colton's spirit lifted, oh yes, there's also the invincible holy gunmen.

Dodging the running refugee crowd around, he held the lance charging towards the sound's source.

Amid the crowd, Colton indeed saw a warhorse's body pierced by iron shot, its massive body lying horizontally on the ground twitching.

But upon arrival, he didn't see the dead knight, there was only a dying warhorse, a headless dark-clad soldier's corpse, and a foot-crushed clockwork gun.

Though the sound of clockwork guns fired continuously echoed in the air, the knights who suffered once immediately alerted, dispersing formation into five-man squads.

The knights' speed was extremely fast, like agile mountain dogs, the clockwork gun was like a scattergun, accuracy was poor, and iron shot couldn't curve.

After several shots, besides inadvertently injuring their own people, no results were achieved.

Colton glanced to the side of the road, in a blink, the extraordinary knights had pierced through the refugees' formation, reaching the other side.

Meanwhile, another fifty-knight wedge formation was gradually forming at the road's end.

"We need to retreat, this road is too wide and flat, we need to head to the bridge." The tall white-haired elder pushed through the crowd, at some point appearing beside Victor.

Victor didn't recognize him but saw him earlier arriving with the refugees, also killed several mercenaries, thus responded:

"Can't do, the bridge is narrower, if they charge, we have no place to hide."

"If we don't reach the bridge and get assaulted from both sides, we'll die." The elder clutched his collar, the nearby dark-clad soldier immediately pushed the shortsword against the elder's prominent lumbar disk, "Head over the bridge, gather them together, they can't escape that lightning rod on the bridge."

"What about the remaining people, they can't retreat in time."

"Then we can only wish them luck," the elder said coldly.

"Master Victor, His Majesty sends down orders by longbow, command us to retreat to the bridge."

Gazing at the extraordinary knights regrouping to the left, then looking again at another squad of prepared extraordinary knights, Victor grit his teeth and said: "Retreat! Holy gunmen and command links cover the retreat!"

Under the guidance of child soldiers and old troops, the Salvation Army slowly started their retreat, but three to four hundred still in battle couldn't manage to withdraw, left on the opposite riverbank.

The elder stood at the bridgehead, watching the crowded masses, his eyes beneath the hood shone bright, reaching out towards the ground, lips trembled slightly, almost instantly, the air suddenly became humid.

In a blink, a fog wall engulfing the bridgehead's nearby street rose out of nothing, removing his hood, Patrick deeply glanced at the knights, then turned and stepped into the fog wall.

About to launch a second charge, Friscia was forced to reign in his warhorse, cursing: "Where did this fog come from!"