A Suthers soldier standing in the ranks was desperately trying to pour the gunpowder into the barrel of his musket, occasionally lifting his head to see his comrades falling one after another beside him.
Indeed, he could no longer concentrate on reloading his ammunition, because he felt that the speed at which his comrades were falling was just too fast.
Every time he heard that distinctive gunfire and then subconsciously lifted his head, he could see swathes of soldiers screaming as they fell.
His hands wouldn't stop trembling and no longer obeyed his commands; he could only force himself to calm down as much as possible, but found himself in utter despair, realizing that he could not do it.
"Bang!" Yet another volley of gunfire ensued, and a bullet struck his chest. His body swayed, and then he collapsed in a whirl.
Powerlessly, he crashed onto the corpse of a comrade and then subconsciously tried to lift his arm to cover the wound, but his arm only lifted halfway before it helplessly fell down again.
A Suthers commander ran desperately to his superior officer, pointing at the enemy battle line that was not far off, and shouted despondently, "Lord, Lord Earl!"
MVLeMpYr-unofficial-text
"What?" Tucci's confidant felt as if a large stone was pressing on his chest, making it difficult to breathe, and asked subconsciously.
"Bang!" As he asked this question, a puff of white smoke rose from the enemy's position in the distance.
And soon, the thin double line of forces advanced once more, casting the white smoke behind them. These Northern Ridge soldiers, dressed in greyish-green coats, maintained their neat steps, and up to this point, their ranks hadn't been thrown into disarray for a moment.
Tucci's confidant brandished his longsword and, somewhat at a loss, looked toward his subordinates, pointing loudly at the distant battlefield and demanding, "What? What's going on? Why have they opened fire again? Aren't our soldiers, soldiers still reloading?"
Under normal circumstances, a commander should never show such panic on the battlefield.
Because all soldiers are watching him, looking to their chief for the composed and calm demeanor necessary to sustain their willingness to fight on.
But at this moment, this officer, handpicked by Tucci himself for command, was completely unable to remain composed.
Because he had never seen such a terrifying scene before, the rate at which the enemy's weapons were being reloaded was three times, even four times that of the Shireck Flintlock Gun!
The battlefield was in chaos; another artillery shell whistled down into the Suthers' ranks, and the explosion instantly scattered limbs and body parts everywhere. Panicking soldiers began to run in all directions, and the entire formation seemed to be out of control.
"What is that? What kind of shell is that?" His mind was filled with such questions, but asking them would not yield an answer, as all Suthers commanders were completely disoriented.
They did not know how to handle the situation before them, nor did they know what they should do. They did not know whether to order a retreat or to continue with their futile efforts.
Even more, the soldiers were no longer able to organize an effective counterattack, caring only for their own escape under the muzzle of the approaching Northern Ridge soldiers.
Watching another round of volley fire from the Northern Ridge soldiers, that officer responded to Tucci's confidant's question, "Yes, yes, Lord Earl, they've fired again! They've opened fire again!"
Tucci's confidant was already speaking through sobs because he had truly never witnessed such a bizarre battle. Even as brave as he was, he had no courage to face an enemy capable of such rapid fire.
He staggered a step, as if trying to make sense of it all and subconsciously asked, hoping someone would answer his question, "How could it be possible?"
Ultimately, in his despair, he thought of Tucci, of that trusting face. Biting down on his back teeth, he managed to pull himself out from the abyss of despair.
He drew his sword, pointing toward Tang Mo's direction, "Have our soldiers reload as fast as possible, those who have reloaded, move forward! Quick!"
"How could it be possible... Lord Earl, we, we need time, the troops are already uncontrollable," an officer, startled after hearing the order, looked at him and then reminded him.
Feeling the weight of responsibility, Tucci's loyal confidant continued to ask, "The artillery, where is the artillery? Why isn't it pushed forward yet? We can't care about that now! Load the buckshot on the spot! Load on the spot! Hold the formation, hold the formation!"
"We're adjusting the firing angle! Calibration also takes time..." that commander glanced at the crumbling defense line, explaining with a sobbing voice.
"You! You get to the front and make the first line of soldiers hold fast," ordered the famously brave Suthers commander, pointing toward the front line and bellowing loudly.
"It's too late!" Terror appeared on the face of the officer, who cried out desperately, then turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Tucci's trusted aide subconsciously looked toward the direction from which the Northern Ridge Troops were attacking and saw a plume of white smoke rising: "What? What's too late now... Damn it..."
His vision darkened as a bullet pierced straight through his forehead. He fell backward, and that curse became the last echo in his mind.
"Bang!" After the fourth round of gunfire, Suthers' soldiers were finally frightened by the monsters before them; they forgot what they were doing or were simply too terrified to steady their trembling hands.
Complaints and curses filled the battlefield. These disheartened Suthers soldiers had lost the will to fight: "How could these people reload so quickly?"
"Quick, quick... reload faster, they're closing in!" A soldier dropped his weapon and began to run off into the distance.
"Don't push me, I—I dropped my bullet..." A fleeing soldier knocked over another, causing the latter to accidentally drop the bullet he had been carefully holding onto the grass.
"My gunpowder's spilled, damn it..." Another soldier began to cry out, and then he realized his comrades were in full retreat.
"Bang!" Amidst the chaos, another round of gunfire from Northern Ridge sounded, and another group of Suthers soldiers fell.
"Run! Run... they are firing at us!" The completely collapsed Suthers soldiers realized they could no longer see any of their officers or commanders. They screamed and shoved each other as they crowded toward the road they had come from.
"Bang!" Behind them, Tang Mo led his soldiers forward steadily. They were unhurried, strolling as if on a leisurely hunt.
Wes put down the K1 Quick Gun in his hand, looking at the unattended black cannon before him with a sense of unreality.
He carried his weapon over to Tang Mo's side and saw the other standing with his weapon aimed at a group of Suthers soldiers who were kneeling on the ground with their hands raised.
"What...what's going on?" Wes panted as he slung the gun onto his back and asked Tang Mo.
Tang Mo shook his head: "We've won, what else could be happening."
"Their legs have gone weak, they're too scared even to run... Look, there's at least 100 of them." Tang Mo curled his lip, disdainfully saying, "Our captives... later we'll arrange for someone to take them away and guard them."
"About 100 or so ran across to the other side of the embankment... the rest are all here." A company commander, carrying a longsword, came over and reported to Tang Mo: "Ten cannons, two damaged, the rest still functional, but... it won't be easy to move these things."
After finishing his report, he paused and added, "We have limited manpower, and the enemy might counterattack at any moment."
As he spoke, he handed the exquisite longsword to Tang Mo: "Lord Earl, this is the highest commander's longsword of this unit. He died amidst the chaos, struck in the forehead by a bullet, and was killed instantly."
The longsword seemed to have a sense of history, clearly something like a family heirloom, with a complicated family crest carved on the scabbard and a small gem embedded in it.
Tang Mo carelessly handed the longsword to Wes at his side: "Remind me later to give it to Lord Earl as a keepsake."
"We're exposed now, the enemy might not have reacted yet, but if they do and deploy more troops, it'll still be trouble," Tang Mo said with furrowed brows, looking at the embankment scattered with shell craters and bodies.
"Is there a solution?" Wes felt that to have fought in such a disadvantaged battle was already an unfortunate stroke of luck.
"We must continue the attack!" Tang Mo pointed at the distant embankment and declared, "Attack! Find the enemy's command node, and destroy it with the artillery!"
"Those gunners just wasted 10 of your shells," Wes pointed out, indicating the craters on the embankment.
"Twenty would be worth it!" Tang Mo smiled and then looked at another company commander who approached: "Bad news?"
"We've lost four men, nine injured..." The company commander's face was somewhat pale, his voice filled with sorrow as he handed a paper to Tang Mo, "But everyone did well, not a single person retreated..."
"Everyone did well! All of them! All are heroes!" Tang Mo took the paper and tucked it into his pocket: "Rally the troops! Continue advancing! The platoon with the heaviest losses stays behind to take care of our compatriots' bodies, look after the wounded... and watch these prisoners!"
"Yes, sir!" The company commander saluted sharply and then blew the whistle hanging around his neck: "Assemble! Assemble! Check your weapons! Load your ammunition! Third Platoon stays behind to guard the prisoners and care for the wounded... the rest of you..."