Chapter 1391 - 1262: Battle of Mot (Final Part 2)

On the mountain path, ten Blood Titans stood side by side.

Their door-sized shields had been replaced with heavier tower shields, reinforced black steel wrapped with resilient blood vines.

The gentle sunlight of five o'clock fell, failing to cast any shine.

Night was imminent, and once it descended, the vampires' power would receive an epic boost.

Thus the Holy Alliance and Falan coalition must complete their mission before sunset.

Indeed, as the clock struck five, the vampires were already at their most perilous moment, moving unseen in the night.

Led by the Blood Titans, they advanced in unison.

Stones tumbled down the mountain path as a few field mice escaped their burrows in fright, only to be crushed instantly underfoot.

The tower shield's weight slowed their speed, but every step was firm, like an iron wall moving forward.

"Aim, miss this time, and it's on you!" Eilif shouted at the artillery officer beside the three-pound cannon.

"With this speed, you'll see it just fine."

Due to the Blood Titans' slow march, the remaining four three-pound cannons had ample time to adjust their angles.

With a shouted command, four cannonballs whizzed toward the Titans.

The collective gaze of anticipation was met with two loud clangs in the forest, sparks flying, and the tower shield dented.

The Blood Titan that was hit shuddered, with blood and flesh oozing from armor seams.

But it merely paused for a moment, then resumed its advance.

The hope that had just ignited on the faces of Holy Alliance and Falan soldiers was extinguished.

The shield wall of the ten Titans, like a moving fortress, steadily approached the position.

Behind them, a tide of vampire infantry in scarlet cloaks rushed forward, threatening to overwhelm.

"What do we do?" Eilif asked Lanerwu.

Lanerwu carved out a bullet with a small knife, downed a pain-relieving potion: "What do we do, drink the potion, apply Divine Art and continue fighting, we haven't exhausted all our cards."

"I'm losing my wits today, but I'll gamble life with you this time."

"It may not be a gamble." Lanerwu bandaged his leg, summoned the Miracle Priest for a spray of icy mist on his injured ankle, "His Grace won't abandon us."

Indeed, in this world, potions and Divine Arts lead the way in trading life for temporary combat power.

Jeska had consumed too many potions and endured too many Divine Arts in his youth, leaving numerous dark injuries.

The Holy Alliance does not advocate such actions, but in times of crisis, there's little choice.

As the position was busily preparing, the sound of rolling wheels and the shouts of soldiers suddenly emerged from the path's end.

"Reinforcements! It's our reinforcements!" Lanerwu immediately stood up, patted Eilif's shoulder, "See, they haven't forgotten us!"

Eilif looked up, seeing the flag of the Holy Alliance's sun gear rushing towards the position.

He squinted, watched the approaching reinforcements, but his brow remained furrowed.

He had faced disappointment too many times from "reinforcements," thus while hopeful, hesitant to believe.

"Let's see for now."

The reinforcements soon arrived behind the position, and Lanerwu quickly approached, ready to inquire about subsequent reinforcements, his expression suddenly froze.

The soldiers could see too; the reinforcements consisted only of two three-pound cannons and one six-pound cannon, forty boxes of steel-head rounds, and barely fifty escort soldiers.

Besides these, there were no other figures.

No more fighting units, no arriving High-tier Knights or Miracle Priests, just these lone cannons.

Eilif sneered, disappointment in his tone: "See, just three cannons, it's symbolic rather than reinforcements."

Lanerwu's joy faded, he briskly walked to the cannon wagon, inspecting these cannons.

These Holy Alliance clockwork cannons should have been equipped with precision clockwork compartments, yet the compartments were vacant.

Only left were fixtures of iron rings and levers, appearing exceptionally crude.

"Where are your clockwork compartments?" Lanerwu urgently questioned a cannon soldier.

The soldier wiped sweat from his forehead, calmly replied: "No need for compartments, manual winding is enough."

"Manual winding? Are you sure?" Eilif couldn't resist interjecting, "The tension in a six-pound cannon's spring is enormous, this shooting speed is deathly slow, the Titans will charge before winding is complete!"

Not just Eilif, nearby soldiers buzzed with skepticism, faces full of doubt.

Lanerwu frowned, unfamiliar with such operation.

Yet the soldier merely smiled, turned to join his comrades in cranking the cannons' handles.

"His Grace has sent a message, the sacred gear souls of the firearms are awakened, connected through the Holy Tree, don't be frugal with ammo, the Holy Tree shares mana!"

The "creaking" of gears sounded, labored.

Downhill, the tremors drew closer; ten Blood Titans' shield wall less than a mile from the position.

No time left to question further, Lanerwu could only grit his teeth, turned and shouted: "All personnel, enter position! Prepare defense!"

The soldiers retreated behind trenches and fortifications, Eilif leaned against sandbags, muttering with a bitter smile: "No wonder others have fled, this time it's truly the end, at least..."

His words were cut short as the vampires launched their attack.

The first screeching cannonball struck, unleashing a storm of stone and dust.

Then, ten Blood Titans charged forward, tower shields held high, barreling towards the position like bulls.

"Fire!" The artillery captain roared, pressing the firing lever.

"Whoosh—"

A cannonball whistled out and struck precisely on the tower shield of a Titan in the front row.

This time, the cannonball didn't bounce off, instead leaving a dent in the shield, causing the Titan behind the shield to noticeably pause.

"Keep firing! Don't stop!" The artillery chief continued to order.

Cannoneers took turns to turn the crank, firing a cannonball almost every five to ten seconds.

Meanwhile, the matchlock guns on the battleground also began firing in volleys.

Although strange, the Holy Alliance soldiers, out of blind obedience to the Saint's Grandson, began a continuous volley fire despite the mana consumption.

Eilif pulled the trigger, watching the steel-headed bullets fly toward the Titan's shield wall, with little hope initially.

Yet surprisingly, after firing rapidly for dozens of rounds, he felt no dizziness at all.

The mana within him seemed inexhaustible, showing no sign of depletion.

"Strange..." He instinctively fired several more shots, still feeling no discomfort.

Beside him, Lanerus also noticed the anomaly; he had just fired more than twenty steel-headed bullets in succession.

Normally, he would have been exhausted of mana and collapsed by now.

But now, he felt his mana seemed endless.

It wasn't just the two of them; every soldier on the battlefield noticed the bizarre phenomenon.

The sound of matchlock gun volleys became increasingly dense; due to mana limits, they could only fire five rounds of three-row volleys before stopping.

But now, soldiers barely needed to pause, completing a volley every six seconds, the dense lead bullets raining down on the vampire's charging ranks like a storm.

And not just the matchlocks; even the few matchlock cannons emitted a synchronized high-frequency roar.

The shield wall of ten flesh Titans, though sturdy, couldn't withstand such dense artillery fire and volleys.

Cannonballs continually smashed into the tower shields, deepening the dents, breaking the blood vines.

Lead and steel-headed bullets slipped through the cracks in the shield wall, occasionally hitting the rear Titans, eliciting muffled growls.

The volleys were so dense that the vampire infantry behind the Titans suffered devastating blows.

They couldn't approach the battlefield, falling en masse to lead bullets halfway.

Black-red blood stained the mountain path, bodies piling into grotesque stacks.

Without the infantry's cover, the charge of the ten flesh Titans became solitary and vulnerable.

Finally, one Titan broke through the artillery blockade, approaching fifty steps from the position.

It suddenly dropped its tower shield, raising its dual-handed sword to strike the fortifications.

But before it could act, dozens of plasma bullets flew towards it.

If there were vampire infantry to provide cover, they could have deflected with sword hilts or picked them up to throw back.

But the flesh Titan couldn't perform such precise actions, only watching helplessly as the white light capable of melting steel appeared.

After a painful howl, several chunks of its black steel armor melted away, revealing the writhing flesh beneath.

"Now's the time!" Lanerus shouted, leaping from the trench, firing his matchlock gun at the Titan's eye gap.

Dense lead bullets precisely penetrated, and one unknown bullet pierced the heart, halting the Titan's actions instantly, and it collapsed with a crash.

The remaining flesh Titans stopped their charge, observing the scene.

They had always relied on infantry cover; now that the infantry was blocked halfway, they became targets exposed to slaughter if they continued forward.

Under the commander's whistle, the Titans could only retreat slowly and under dense artillery fire.

It was the first time since the war began that flesh Titans voluntarily retreated during a charge.

The soldiers on the battleground felt a surge of morale, the volleys and cannon fire growing denser, forcing the retreating Titans and vampire infantry to halt.

Truly miraculous, this time, nearly everyone emerged unscathed while repelling the flesh Titans.

Moreover, even the cannon fire seemed to continue, yet turning around revealed that their artillery had already ceased.

Thus, the distant cannon fire and dense shots must have been coming from the main battlefield ahead.

"Look, look, they're retreating!" a scout suddenly shouted.

Lanerus cautiously poked his head out, seeing the tide-like retreat of vampires disappear instantly.

No more explanation was needed; Lanerus and Eilif understood the meaning.

The Royal Court had already collapsed on the main battlefield, making it futile to continue attacking the mountain pass.

"Did we win?"

The vampire army gradually receded, while the distant cannon and gunfire ceased, though growing increasingly faint.

The soldiers collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily.

As the sun set in the west, golden rays pierced the smoke, illuminating the battered battlefield.

The trench was filled with corpses and broken weapons, the ground covered in craters and bloodstains, yet amidst the wreckage, the soldiers' faces were filled with smiles.

Not for victory, but for surviving.

Eilif sat down, leaning against a Falan soldier's shoulder, completely exhausted, yet he couldn't help but laugh: "Did we... did we actually win? Did we really defeat the flesh Titans?"

Lanerus sat beside him: "Yes, we won."

"How did you know we could hold without fleeing this time? How did you know there'd be help from the Holy Spirit of ordnance?"

"Honestly, I didn't know." He turned to Eilif, "The outcome of war depends on fleeing one less time; no one knows when that one time will arrive, so we treat every time as that one time to hold our ground."