Bloody Battle

On the slopes on either side of a concave valley running north to south.

Separated by over a thousand meters, two armies had already formed their battle lines.

The formations on both sides were roughly the same. The largest number, the peasants, stood at the front center with spears, while mercenaries and archers lined the flanks. At the very rear stood the heavily armed and armored knight contingents.

Priests holding crosses walked back and forth before the formations, touching their chests and foreheads as they bestowed blessings upon the warriors about to enter the battlefield.

Where the southern army's banners were thickest, a group of barons clad in fine armor clustered around a dignified old man with white hair and beard. He wore splendid armor beneath a fox-fur cloak, and from time to time, he pointed down at the army formations.

This dignified old man was naturally the central figure directing this battle—Earl Lautz.

Earl Lautz swept his deep-set gaze across the battlefield. When he spotted the troops bearing rose banners among the formations, he asked in mild surprise, "Why are there so many peasants from Glan Territory? There must be over a thousand of them, right?"

Earl Lautz's Rose Territory contained twelve baronies. Today, all twelve baronies had brought every knight in their domains. Together with Earl Lautz's own knight guard, there were more than 150 knights in total, forming the core of his forces.

In addition to the knights, there were over 500 mercenaries recruited by Earl Lautz and his subordinate barons, forming the backbone of the army.

The rest were peasant troops used as cannon fodder. Earl Lautz himself had not brought any peasants, but each of the twelve barons under him had brought some. The fewest numbered 120, the most 340, for a total of more than 3,000.

But for Glan Territory to gather more than 1,000 strong peasants at once was truly rare.

Even Earl Lautz's own directly governed lands would have struggled to gather a thousand peasants. Could the rumors be true—that Glan Territory had enjoyed abundant harvests and a growing population these past few years?

"Earl, these are all the farmers I could gather from my territory. Once this battle is over, much of my land may be left uncultivated," Baron Connor rode forward to explain.

"Baron Connor, you didn't summon every child's father in your territory, did you? When all these fathers die, will their children come to the castle calling you Daddy?" Baron Garcia, his old rival, mocked him. Baron Connor had truly grown more timid with age, placing the victory of this battle on these numerous peasants.

"Baron Connor, I hear the peasants of Glan Territory are quite skilled at farming. Don't let them all die this time. I was hoping to invite a few Glan peasants to Yoken Territory to teach my lazy peasants how to farm," Baron Howard, who also did not get along with Baron Connor, said with a smile.

"Enough! Return and command your troops. The enemy has begun moving. Prepare for battle!"

Hearing the drums and horns from the other side and seeing the enemy formation slowly advance, the battle-hardened Earl Lautz waved his hand.

"Yes, Earl!"

The barons spurred their horses and returned to their respective command positions.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

War drums sounded from behind the formation. This rhythm of two beats signaled an ordinary marching pace.

Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.

The drumbeat quickened, signaling that the advancing formation was to increase its pace.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump...

When the drums no longer paused, the two peasant armies, now less than fifteen meters apart and almost face-to-face, erupted into shouts one after another!

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

Along the battle line, two ragged peasant armies armed with spears collided.

"Kill!"

Within the formation, Zhou Ming, positioned near the center of the first row of Glan Territory's Third Peasant Team, roared and lunged forward, driving his spearhead precisely into the throat of a boy on the other side who could not have been more than sixteen.

Pfft!

Hot, fishy-smelling blood sprayed across Zhou Ming's body. In the boy's clear eyes, Zhou Ming saw pain and confusion, but he had not even half a second to feel sympathy or hesitate. He yanked the spear from the boy's throat, thrust it straight into the abdomen of a thin peasant beside him, then raised the hardwood shield in his left hand to block several spears stabbing at him from the left.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Like every other peasant on the battlefield, Zhou Ming had no thoughts at that moment. There was only killing—killing every enemy before him, whether a white-haired old man or an unformed boy. There was only one word: kill!

"Five, six, seven... eight... nine."

Amid the battlefield where friend and foe had become a tangled mass, Zhou Ming had driven his spear into nine bodies. Every strike had hit a vital point. There were no survivors.

"Pay for my brother's life!"

A furious roar came from behind him. Zhou Ming, who had been fighting with his head down, suddenly froze. He thought of the boy he had killed first, of the look in his eyes... When he snapped back and turned around, a broad, powerfully built youth was raising a spear at him, aiming for the center of his back. The spearhead was already right before him.

My life is over...

Just as many people did in the final instant before a car accident, Zhou Ming forgot to dodge. He stared blankly at the spearhead drawing ever closer, about to pierce his body.

"Ryan, get out of the way!"

A loud shout rang out. It was Uncle O'Neil beside him, who drove his spear into the burly youth's body. The youth spat out a mouthful of blood, glared unwillingly at Zhou Ming, and fell dead.

"Uncle O'Neil, you saved my life!"

Still shaken, Zhou Ming came before Uncle O'Neil and spoke with deep gratitude.

"Kid, this is a battlefield, not a place to space out... Pfft!" Before Uncle O'Neil could finish, a spear pierced through his back and protruded from his chest.

"Uncle O'Neil!"

In fury, Zhou Ming hurled the spear in his hand, pinning the sneak attacker to the ground. He rushed forward and held Uncle O'Neil as large clots of blood poured from his mouth, tears bursting from his eyes.

"Uncle O'Neil, don't die! You mustn't die!"

"Ry... Ryan, live on... For me, for me, take... take care..." Before he could finish, Uncle O'Neil's body went limp. His eyes remained wide open as he left this world.

"Uncle O'Neil, I'll definitely take care of your family!"

Zhou Ming closed Uncle O'Neil's eyes, picked up a spear from nearby, and with bloodshot eyes and the look of a madman, drove it into one enemy body after another.

"Run!" "Run, quickly!" "We're all going to die!" "...!"

This brutal, bloody slaughter lasted only a quarter of an hour. Earl William's peasant troops in the north, clearly outnumbered, suffered devastating casualties and saw their morale collapse. They fled north in all directions, some even being shot down by their own archers in the chaos. Most could only escape by climbing the steep high ground on either side.

Zhou Ming's peasant army had won by a considerable margin, but it was not yet time to complete their task and leave the battlefield. The drums sounded again behind them, and Zhou Ming and the other peasants had no choice but to reform their ranks and march toward Earl William's mercenary corps to the north.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh..."

Dense volleys of arrows were lobbed down from the high ground by the northern mercenary archers. After accelerating through the air, their powerful penetration felled a large swath of defenseless peasants.

Zhou Ming luckily found a shield. Holding it before him, he charged forward through the rain of arrows. More than a dozen arrows, each with half its shaft exposed, had already embedded themselves in his hardwood shield.

"Throw axes!"

"Javelins!"

At the command, the mercenary axemen and javelin throwers hurled dense volleys of flying axes and javelins into the peasant ranks where Zhou Ming stood. Zhou Ming turned his head in horror and discovered that all around him were comrades lying in pools of flowing blood. Even his hardwood shield was shattered by a flying axe, leaving his arm swollen and numb.

"Kill!"

Seeing a group of mercenaries of every height and build, wielding a motley assortment of weapons—sabers, spears, halberds, and axes—roaring as they charged toward him, Zhou Ming's scalp went numb. He no longer had any desire to play the hero. Throwing away his spear, he let out a strange cry as he dodged the various thrown weapons coming from behind, then ran for his life toward safety.

More than ten years of running training finally proved useful on the battlefield. The mercenaries, carrying iron weapons and clad in heavy armor, had limited stamina after all. They gradually could no longer keep up with Zhou Ming, who ran faster than a rabbit, and had no choice but to abandon pursuit of him as a single target. Instead, they charged toward Earl Lautz's mercenary corps rushing in from the opposite side.

"Safe at last, thank heaven! I managed to keep this little life of mine."

After fleeing to a safe area on the high ground and hiding in a patch of grass, Zhou Ming panted heavily without pause. Only after his heartbeat gradually slowed did his gaze turn back toward the battlefield, where the fighting had yet to end.