Chapter 1134: Chapter 5 Confrontation_3

The walls of Shovel Port were a rushed creation, with wooden scaffolding on the inner side measuring only half a meter wide, barely enough for one person to stand behind the parapet and fire.

But for Captain Moro, that was no issue. The engineers under Moro transformed the original narrow scaffolding into temporary bastions.

They widened the scaffolding with planks, then reinforced the boards below with stakes and dirt to support the weight.

The four six-pound long cannons seized from the Terdon Tribe were now positioned on these temporary bastions, waiting to harvest blood and lives.

Moro confirmed the landing point of the cannonballs and jotted down another figure: “Team Three, lower the elevation by one unit.”

…

Botar once again saw a flash of red light above the distant walls.

A dreadful whistling sound tore through the air. Then, as if it collided with something soft, the whistling abruptly ceased. Next came brief and rapid sounds: “Szz–Szz–Szz–Bang!”

Beside Botar, a soldier’s lower leg and knee separated on the spot.

The cannonball’s momentum didn’t stop–it smashed the tibia of the soldier behind him to fragments. The shattered bone shards pierced through flesh, revealing gleaming white jagged edges.

Continuing its deadly course, the solid iron ball then broke another soldier’s ankle before embedding itself into the soil.

This time, Botar saw the whole thing clearly. He watched as the cannonball struck the ground, bounced up, hit again, rebounded, and darted into the ranks of men, plowing through flesh and blood.

The entire process lasted only a breath, yet felt painfully drawn out, as if it spanned a century.

Then, on the far-off walls, another flash of red light appeared.

Another blood trench.

Piercing cries for help and anguished screams echoed through the square formation, stabbing into everyone’s eardrums.

The wounded writhed and struggled on the ground as soldiers nearby looked on in a daze–they had never seen injuries this horrific, nor witnessed bodies flying apart like this. Even if they wanted to help, they had no idea what to do.

“Carry the wounded away!” Botar ordered angrily, “Carry them away!”

Only then did the others start moving, belatedly rushing to lift the injured soldiers to the rear of the formation.

But what difference did carrying them make? They were still bound for death.

After the round of cannon fire, the militia square of Shovel Port still held its discipline, but morale had inevitably wavered.

The wounded lived lives worse than death, while the uninjured trembled with fear.

The agonized howls of the injured were grating on Botar’s nerves. He felt an urge to kill the wounded outright, but worried it would further hurt morale.

After four thunderous blasts, the cannons ceased roaring.

But Botar understood–that was only temporary. The rebels’ gunners were reloading, and another barrage would soon commence.

“Where are these cannons coming from!” Botar gritted his teeth. “Where are these cannons coming from!”

This battleground of thousands had originally been expected to unfold in the familiar way: “Choose a location, set formations, one side advances, the other side holds its ground to meet the charge”–a method Botar was accustomed to.

As the advancing side, Botar held the initiative. He could choose to launch an attack, or to wait in confrontation until the rebels grew impatient and charged out.

But when the rebels showcased their cannons, the rules of the game changed.

When the rebels used their range advantage to occupy a defensive position and bombard Botar’s troops, only two choices lay before him:

Retreat beyond the cannons’ range;

Or advance.

Botar’s troops couldn’t endure prolonged bombardment–he dared not gamble his army’s morale against the rebel gunners’ supply of gunpowder.

“Retreat? Or advance.” Cold sweat began to bead on Botar’s forehead as he frantically questioned himself, “Retreat? Or advance?”

If they retreated, would morale collapse instantly? Even if morale held, what if the enemy pursued? What about their cavalry? What about the rebel cavalry units that had yet to show themselves?

And if they advanced…

Just as Botar wrestled indecisively, the distant cannons roared again.

“Drum the charge!” Unable to bear the pressure, Botar gritted his teeth, drew his saber, and bellowed, “Advance!”

After a moment of hesitation, the drummers scrambled and began to beat their drums. Accompanied by the hurried rhythm, Botar’s three Great Square Formations began to move.

Botar silently prayed that Mr. Alpha had also heard the cannon’s thunder.

…

At the rear of Iron Peak County Military’s formation, Bart Xialing squinted, observing the rhythm of the enemy spears swaying in motion. He murmured softly, “It has begun.”

After a moment’s pause, Bart repeated more firmly, “It has begun!”

“Musketeers forward!” Tamas commanded loudly, “Prepare for volley fire!”

…

At the same time, Andre, who had been fast asleep, leaped to his feet: “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Tulin asked, bewildered.

“Cannons!” Andre wasted no time explaining, striding toward his steed and shouting, “Everyone–mount up!”

From deep within the woods, resting riders dashed toward their mounts, climbing onto their horses with lightning speed.

“But!” Tulin hesitated, unsure whether to act or remain still, his face distraught. “Sir! It’s not time yet!”

Andre ignored him entirely, waving his hand decisively: “Move out!”

With that, he rode out ahead at full gallop from their hiding spot.