Interference
The Iron Hoof crushed the grass that was beginning to turn yellow, and Victor looked ahead at the marching column that snaked like a snake.
Six hundred modified wagons stretched out in a line, their wheels carving deep furrows in the grassland. Crossbowmen jogged alongside them between the wagons, the rustling of their iron boots against the gravel in the mud mingling with a muffled, damp sound. Viscount Benjamin's wagon swayed in the center of the procession. The old general peered through the carved window, his iron handguard pointing towards the faint smoke rising from the northeast ridge. "The governor is urging us to pay."
"Maintain a pace of five miles per hour." Victor pulled out his brass pocket watch—a sixteenth birthday gift from his father. The ticking of the gears blended with the marching drumbeats. "We must cross the eastern side of Ice Wind Valley before nightfall."
No sooner had he finished speaking than three plumes of dust rose from the southeast. Knight Jack Light Cavalry galloped in, two bone arrows lodged in their bellies. "Six Thousand-man squad! With iron nets and grappling hooks!"
"Arrowhead Formation, prepare!" Before Victor's sword was fully drawn, the Heavy Cavalry of the First and Second Regiments had already broken out from the flanks of the formation. These steel monsters gleamed with a fish-scale-like blue light in the morning sun, their modified horse armor completely covering the vital parts of their warhorses, with only the diamond-shaped crystals around their eyes revealing a chilling killing intent.
The Barbarians Centurion at the forefront suddenly reined in his horse. He recognized these devils who had slaughtered the Vulture Tribe —his brother had been crushed into a bloody pulp by these Heavy Cavalry in the battle last month.
"Change to Armor-Piercing Arrows!" Viscount Benjamin's roar echoed from the wagon formation. The moment the protective plates crashed down, thirty triple-bow Bed Crossbow were cocked, their triangular arrowheads, made of tempered steel, gleaming a deep blue in the sunlight.
Victor rode his horse through the gaps in the wagon formation and saw the crossbowman adjusting the firing angle with iron tongs. "Southwest wind, level 2, humidity 40%, lower the sight by 2 quarters of an hour!"
As the first wave of barbarian cavalry charged into the firing range, a deathly shriek tore through the air. Heavy arrows, as thick as bowls, pierced the front ranks, their momentum sending the second rank of Cavalry flying. One massive arrow impaled three Barbarians warriors, pinning them to the frozen ground like roasted meat, their fletching still vibrating rapidly. Meanwhile, the steppe warriors in the rear howled like wolves, trampling over the corpses of their comrades as they continued their charge, bone arrows swarming towards the wagon formation like locusts.
"Maintain marching speed!" Victor swung his sword, deflecting two bone arrows, and cracked Grape's steel visor. His warhorse, purchased at great expense by his father from the Northlands, suddenly leaped to the side as if it understood human nature, its Iron Hoof precisely crushing the chest of a fallen rider. Suddenly, a clang of metal clashing rang out from the right flank as Raymond's Heavy Cavalry clashed with the Barbarians force; the muffled thud of maces smashing bones drowned out the battlefield's clamor.
The midday Sun shone a ghastly white through the blood-red mist. Baron Brown's Light Cavalry roamed like a pack of wolves around the outer edge of the wagon formation, each mounted shot claiming several lives. "Save your arrows!" he hurled at the empty quiver, his sable-trimmed sleeve splattered with brains. "We've only gone less than twenty li!" He casually slashed down a Barbarians attempting to climb onto the wagon, and as his scimitar lodged in the man's collarbone, he pulled a silver flask from his robes and took a swig.
Victor kicked a protective panel in the wagon pit, and the "Ghost Arrow" tactic from his past life flashed into his mind. "Spread caltrops!" The Auxiliary Troops immediately unloaded wooden crates from the transport vehicles, and hundreds of triangular iron nails were scattered on both sides of the wheel tracks.
The Barbarians warhorses neighed mournfully, and the charging formation crumbled as if it had struck an invisible wall. One rider, who had just gotten up, was struck by the armor plating of the advancing wagons, knocking out three of his teeth.
"Southeast axle assembly reports damage!" The quartermaster's hoarse shout was drowned out by the commotion. Victor turned and saw three wagons slumped in a puddle, the packhorses' front hooves pierced by barbed wire. He immediately drew his dagger and cut the reins. "Remove the skid plates to fill the gaps! Move the wounded to Raymond's spare horses!"
As dusk fell, the marching column had transformed into a mobile steel fortress. Torches mounted on the roofs of the wagons formed winding dragons of fire, and crossbowmen took turns reloading as they moved. Viscount Benjamin's wagon suddenly accelerated and surged to the front, the old general's one eye turning bloodshot as if possessed. "Tonight, there will be a fire attack! Dismantle five grain wagons and make rolling logs!"
At one in the morning, a mournful wolf howl ripped through the night sky. Dozens of rockets flew from the northern hills, igniting the grain wagons at the rear. Victor, however, sneered—those arrows wrapped in oilcloth came from Baron Brown's "lost" arsenal. "Fire!" He waved his command flag, and suddenly, logs soaked in Fire Oil were dropped from the top of the wagon formation. The burning logs rolled across the grass, engulfing the attackers in flames. A Barbarians warrior, engulfed in flames, stumbled towards the wagon formation, only to be thrown back by Pikemen. The sparks that exploded in the air illuminated the main Barbarians force a kilometer away—they trailed behind like a migrating herd of beasts.
The second day of the march began amidst a hail of bone arrows. The Barbarians changed tactics, scattering into hundred-man squads to harass the enemy in shifts. Raymond's Heavy Cavalry armor was riddled with dents, and the one-eyed knight spat out bloody spittle. "These bastards have new axes that can split three layers of tanned cowhide!" His mace was covered in bits of flesh, and his mount's neck guard had been dented by a fist.
The fierce midday battle took place five miles from their destination. The Barbarians launched a surprise attack on the flank of the convoy, three thousand Light Cavalry thrusting like daggers into the weakest point of the wagon formation. As Victor led his reserves in a Reserve Force -charge, the Barbarians unleashed a barrage of fire arrows at close range. Their charge was merely a feint, intended to ignite the wagon formation. The Barbarians' cheers were shattered by the roar of the Bed Crossbow — Viscount Benjamin ordered the Bed Crossbow to fire directly at the Barbarians' flanks as they turned. The exploding arrows split the Barbarians ranks in two, plunging them into chaos. Victor led his men directly into the Barbarian Cavalry. Fortunately, the wagons were coated in mud, rendering ordinary fire arrows ineffective in igniting them.
"Load the Fire Oil Bomb!" Viscount Benjamin commanded precisely from the wagon. The crossbowmen launched the clay pot launchers hidden at the bottom of the grain carts, and the sticky flames spread across the ground, burning the Barbarian Cavalry into twisted charcoal.
As the sun set, the marching column finally came into view of the hill they were heading towards. Victor's chainmail lining was soaked with cold sweat, and blood from the knife wound on his right arm congealed on his saddle.
Jack and James's Light Cavalry were still engaged in combat with the remnants of the Barbarians. When their arrows ran out, they resorted to hand-to-hand combat with swords and Barbarian Cavalry. One Two Rivers Territory Cavalry, after being pulled from his horse, retaliated by biting through the enemy's throat with his teeth.
"The last mile!" Viscount Benjamin's carriage suddenly accelerated, smashing into two Barbarians blocking the way. Benjamin's eyes were bloodshot, and he grabbed the coachman with his iron handguards, roaring, "Plant my battle flag on the roof!" The battle flag of Golden Pear Territory was unfurled in the twilight, which actually slowed down the Barbarians offensive.
As Victor reached the high ground, he turned to look at the mobile fortress he had built with his own hands—six hundred wagons had formed a steel spike ring, and crossbowmen had taken up positions.
"Ignite!" The command flag swung down, and twenty fire dragons licked at the twilight. The pungent smell of burning flesh filled the air, and the real battle was only just beginning.