Chapter 165: The Blood-Stained Somme River (3)

Thousands of allied soldiers crossed the river at once, creating a truly spectacular sight.

The icy water rose rapidly from their ankles to their knees and then to their waists, yet nothing could slow their advance. If anything, the freezing current only sharpened their senses and stirred the brutality buried deep in their bones as they pushed desperately toward the southern bank.

Although Pascal had ordered a full advance, the caution of an old battlefield veteran still remained. He did not allow the allied army to descend into complete chaos by charging across in a disorderly mass. The troops continued advancing in basic square formations.

Even so, the front had stretched too far.

By the time the most eager wave of light infantry had already scrambled onto the muddy southern shore on all fours, a significant portion of the main force had not even entered the river yet, leaving long, crowded lines still gathered along the northern bank.

“Kill those rebels! The glory is ours!”

Officers shouted through the ranks, striking slow-moving soldiers with the scabbards of their swords to drive them forward faster.

At last, the first wave of blue-robed light infantry from Pascal’s territory successfully landed on the southern bank.

They were now less than two hundred meters away from Coldsteel City’s silent defensive line. The soldiers roared excitedly and charged recklessly toward what appeared to be a thin and fragile defense.

They had every reason to feel excited. The men at the front faced the greatest danger, but victory would also earn them the greatest merit. In their eyes, crushing a group of rural rebels who lacked even proper ranged weaponry was all but guaranteed.

Within the southern formation, Hank had watched everything in silence. The moment he saw the first of Pascal’s light infantry step onto southern soil, he immediately raised his right hand.

“Now.”

Little Donnie had been waiting for exactly those words.

Behind them, the soldiers of the Black Armored Legion moved as though receiving a silent command. In perfect unison, they reached into pouches at their waists and pulled out small vials.

“For Elfin!”

“For the lord!”

Hank, Rehanna, Little Donnie, and the other division commanders took the lead, uncorking their bottles and swallowing the crimson liquid within in a single gulp.

Inside the vials was the improved version of Dragon Blood’s Oath, modified by Leus with the formula from the Fountain of Potential. Beneath the gloomy sky, the liquid gleamed like flowing rubies, radiating an unsettling magical aura.

The instant the potion entered their bodies, visible white steam burst from every soldier. This time, however, there were none of the violent side effects that had nearly driven Leus out of control during his first test.

Instead, every soldier could feel an overwhelming surge of strength erupting from every corner of their body.

Their power levels rose continuously. Bones crackled loudly while muscles swelled and tightened with explosive force. Faintly, they could even sense a subtle mental resonance linking the will of the entire formation together, as though every individual had become an extension of a single colossal entity.

Much like the original Fervor’s Strength, the improved potion delivered its greatest effect immediately after consumption. The coming battle would accelerate the body’s absorption of the drug, drawing out every ounce of its potential and maximizing every scrap of strength.

The allied soldiers charging forward watched in disbelief as the rebels collectively drank some unknown potion. In the next instant, the entire army’s aura changed completely.

What had once looked like ordinary Bronze-tier soldiers now resembled beasts coiled and ready to strike.

An ominous feeling spread through the allied ranks.

During this time, Coldsteel City’s forces endured another two rounds of bombardment from Knight Claw’s archers. This time, the volleys consisted entirely of heavy armor-piercing arrows designed specifically to deal with heavily armored targets. 

Yet against the Black Armored Legion, whose overall strength had risen dramatically, the results were even worse than the earlier fire arrows. The heavy arrows struck the shields with dull thuds before bouncing harmlessly away, utterly incapable of inflicting any real damage upon the defensive line.

“What the hell is this…?”

The charging allied soldiers could sense that something was terribly wrong, but they had already closed to within a hundred meters.

The relentless blare of attack horns and the adrenaline surging through their veins drowned out any instinct to think further. Besides, they still held the overwhelming advantage in numbers. That numerical superiority gave them confidence.

“Kill—!”

The allied soldiers roared as they surged forward like a flood breaking through a dam.

“Prepare for contact!”

Hank and the other division commanders bellowed the command from the front lines.

The next moment, the two armies collided violently.

The first two rows of allied light infantry were skewered almost instantly by the dense forest of spears thrust out by the Black Armored Legion. Many died before they could even scream, swallowed immediately by the wave of soldiers rushing behind them as their bodies crumpled to the ground.

The soldiers behind could not stop their momentum. They slammed heavily into the Black Armored Legion’s shield wall, producing a chorus of dull impacts and cracking bones.

The defensive line of the Black Armored Legion stood immovable, like a wall of steel. Yet the allied soldiers continued charging madly forward, trampling over the corpses of their own comrades.

Unlike cavalry charges, infantry combat took place at close range and lasted far longer. Under such conditions, long spears quickly became unwieldy.

“Switch blades!” Hank’s command rang out again.

The front ranks of the Black Armored Legion immediately discarded their spears and drew one-handed swords and kite shields from their backs, bracing themselves firmly against the crushing pressure at the front line.

Meanwhile, the rear ranks continued thrusting their spears through the gaps between the soldiers ahead, mercilessly stabbing down every enemy who tried to push closer.

The front line became a horrifying meat grinder.

At the fiercest point of the battlefield, Hank stood alone at the most exposed section of the formation, facing enemies several times his number.

“Blood Lion’s Fang!”

With a furious roar, he swung Fleshrender. A massive crimson sword aura erupted skyward like the scythe of death itself, carving through the packed allied formation in an instant. Everything in its path—soldiers and shields alike—was torn apart by the terrifying slash. Blood and severed limbs exploded through the air. Some of the scattered bloodlight was drawn back toward Fleshrender itself, flowing into the blade. The jagged crimson magic surrounding the weapon immediately intensified.

Hank alone carved out a zone no one dared approach. Every swing of his sword unleashed a storm of blood and carnage. His ferocity was overwhelming.

Elsewhere, Rehanna’s flame-colored hair blazed across the chaotic battlefield like living fire, impossible to ignore.

One of Verdi’s axemen hurled a short-handled axe at her with all his strength. Rehanna did not even look at it. She casually swung her sword backward.

Clang! The finely forged steel axe split cleanly in two. In the same motion, she spun and lashed out with a powerful kick. Her long leg struck the warrior square in the chest with brutal force. The sound of shattering ribs echoed out. Before the man could even scream, his body flew backward, crashing into seven or eight comrades before collapsing lifelessly onto the ground.

Little Donnie fought with both hands gripping his greatsword, every strike heavy enough to split the earth. Roaring loudly, he brought his weapon down in a standard two-handed overhead slash against a heavy infantryman carrying a massive tower shield.

The sound of tearing metal rang out.

The terror on the heavy infantryman’s face froze forever as the strike cleaved straight through his tower shield, helmet, armor, and body alike. Man and equipment were split cleanly in two by a single blow.

The sheer force of it shattered the morale of Claw’s heavy infantry. Without pausing for even a moment, Little Donnie swung his sword again and plunged back into the slaughter.

The heroic display of the three division commanders completely ignited the fighting spirit of every soldier in the Black Armored Legion.

Roaring wildly, they fought with fearless ferocity, pinning the allied forces firmly onto the muddy shoreline and preventing them from advancing even a single step.

***

On the northern bank, Sir Pascal sat atop his horse, watching the battle unfold from afar with his brows tightly furrowed. The moment he saw Hank unleash that earth-shattering crimson sword aura, even the hand holding his spyglass trembled slightly.

“Gold-tier…” The words escaped his lips with difficulty.

The combat power Hank displayed had clearly crossed into the threshold of the Gold tier.

And that red-haired woman was no weaker. Her speed and strength were equally terrifying. As for the shorter black-armored warrior, he was tearing through Claw’s heavy infantry formation like a hurricane.

How was this possible? How could a group of rebels possess so many Gold-tier experts?

Three.

Three full Gold-tier combatants.

Although their movements revealed they had only recently stepped into that realm and still lacked full control over their newfound power, the difference in strength was undeniably real.

On a battlefield of this intensity, Gold-tier warriors were insurmountable monsters to ordinary soldiers. The allied troops simply could not stand against them.

Pascal felt his heart sink rapidly. Watching his soldiers collapse in droves, the ominous feeling in his chest grew stronger and stronger. For the first time since the battle began, his confidence in victory wavered.