Chapter 1201: Chapter 25 The Great Alliance Moves Forward (11)

The soft, creamy yellow wall gradually eroded Erno’s vision, eventually completely overtaking it.

The land remained somberly silent, with an oppressive atmosphere more suffocating than thick smoke.

Erno stared fixedly across the river, but in truth, he could see nothing.

Sweat uncontrollably seeped from his palms and fingers, making the gunstock damp and sticky. Erno hesitated repeatedly, before finally, like a thief attempting his first steal, tentatively loosening his grip and quickly wiping his hands on his pants.

At that very moment, a human figure suddenly leaped out from the wheatfield on the opposite bank, fleeing towards River Valley Village where Erno was stationed.

“They’re coming!” The figure splashed into the river, rolling and crawling as he frantically shouted, “They’re coming!”

Erno, whose heart was already in his throat and fingers on the trigger, suddenly realized–the man was originally a lookout placed by the commanders across the river.

The sentry’s hoarse warning was like an invisible hand pulling back a curtain, revealing dark shadows inside the wheatfield that had been previously shrouded from view.

The shadows drifted between the waves of wheat and the low-lying smoke, neither shouting nor hiding, slowly approaching Erno.

As if all the blood surged into his neck, Erno’s mind was both dizzy and swollen, sweat broke out instantly on his back and forehead, and his heart clenched into a tight knot.

“Enemies!” He was left with only one thought: “Enemies!!!”

“Open fire!” came Lieutenant Woods’ command by his ear: “Everyone! Fire at will!”

Erno’s fingertips inexplicably stung; he didn’t know if he was shaking. But regardless, he smoothly mounted the matchlock, stabilized the gun, and opened the powder pan cover.

Aiming at the distant dark figures, Erno pressed the trigger in sync with the thumping of his heart.

“Bang!”

Everyone heard the first thunderous report from Erno’s matchlock gun.

As if on cue, the crackling volley shattered the silence completely.

The low wall was briefly lit by the gun’s muzzle flash, and the smoke was suddenly jostled, its spread abruptly halted.

Following that, the military drums across the river began to beat, and those dark figures no longer walked slowly; they let out deafening shouts, charging towards River Valley Village.

“Ah, it has begun, finally…”

Colonel Bod overseeing the battle, Colonel Gaisa in charge of the southern front, Colonel Skool leading the northern front, Lieutenant Woods defending River Valley Village, Captain Luosong waiting for the order to strike, and every officer on the battlefield all had this shared thought.

But crouching behind the wall, Erno wasn’t as sentimental as the officers, nor did he have the leisure or energy to ponder where Paratu would head after today. You couldn’t blame him, as no one ever explained to him why this battle needed to be fought.

Erno merely loaded and fired mechanically, as he had done during training.

The walls along the riverbank were entirely engulfed in choking smoke, unable to discern if it was the enemy’s smoke that was thicker or the smoke from their own side’s gunfire.

Every time Erno pressed the trigger, he’d create a small hole in the smoke, giving him a brief glimpse of the scene across the river. The bullet holes left by the lead bullets would quickly close up, just like those gunshots mixed within the shouts of battle–appearing momentarily, then vanishing swiftly.

After the first volley, the Firearms Soldiers of Mont Blanc County began shooting at will, resulting in sporadic gunfire along the wall.

Such sparse firepower could not possibly stop the charging enemy, nor even slow them down.

Most musketeers were still ramming the second lead shot into their guns when the leading government soldiers jumped into the rapids, wading through thigh-deep water, weapons raised as they rushed towards the opposite bank.

Upon hearing the continuous splashing from behind the smoke, Woods suddenly realized he had just squandered the crucial first volley.

However, Woods had no time for regret; he banished his frustration from his mind and with one kick, sent the wicker basket behind the wall flying, grabbing a palm-sized iron slug from the basket.

“Grenades,” Woods shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice unusually shrill, “Prepare!”

Yet amid the chaotic battlefield, one man’s shout amounted to nothing; only Erno and a few other soldiers near Woods heard the lieutenant’s order.

Erno hurriedly put down his firearm, picking up an iron slug from the basket, while yelling along: “Grenades–prepare!”

Guards on other sections of the wall also took on the role of voice relay, their shouts echoing behind the smoke one after another: “Grenades–prepare!”

The enemy soldiers at the forefront had already waded through the water and climbed onto the riverbank.

For the first time, Erno got a clear view of what “the enemy” looked like–similar to him, two arms, a head, most wearing undyed linen clothes, faces distorted and ferocious from fear and heavy breathing.

Lieutenant Woods beside Erno noted: The pseudo-government army soldiers only had a light short weapon hanging by their waist and groups of them were carrying simple ladders and shields.

These ladders and shields weren’t makeshift, even though most pseudo-government soldiers were not armored, their actions showed they weren’t strangers to siege warfare.

“Bazenaur has fallen already?” Woods’ heart sank, as his last hope for reinforcements evaporated: “Then there’ll be no reinforcements coming.”