A Strategy to Break Their Will

Those "giants" wielding chainsaws and serrated greatshields, with cannon barrels slung over their shoulders, entered the city. Aside from the battle growing fiercer, with houses exploding and flames erupting from time to time, there seemed to be little difference from before.

New Naples, this city of the dead, was like a demonic den that devoured all things.

Screams, wails, artillery fire, and gunshots composed Hell's mournful song.

The English soldiers digging breastworks along the shore, occupying the towers, adjusting their naval guns, and aiming them at the French Fleet kept looking back, their faces filled with worry.

They had no desire to confront the French. Nearly every one of them was watching the passage leading from the harbor into the city.

Suddenly, a panicked rush of footsteps drew closer.

"Help! Someone, hurry!"

"Ah, no!"

The shrill screams, accompanied by the horrifying sound of flesh being torn apart, sent chills down the spine of every English soldier present. Without waiting for Lieutenant Colonel Scott's orders, they raised their weapons and aimed at the passage entrance.

Lieutenant Colonel Scott swallowed. He was no stranger to the world. During his posting in Cape Colony, he had dealt with Zulu black shamans. In his view, witchcraft, demons, whatever they were, a barrage of White Crystal Explosive Bullets would reduce them all to ash.

But he had never seen an evil creature that even the King's squad, personally led by the Iron Duke, could not handle.

The next moment, a soldier covered in blood ran out. As he stepped into the searchlight's beam, the despair and terror on his excessively young face were etched into the memory of everyone who witnessed the scene.

Splat—

A sharp lance pierced through the soldier's back.

They were heavily armored cavalry clad in frost-covered armor and ragged cloaks, yet