Peter followed those fanatical young soldiers through the battlefield strewn with corpses.
Beneath his feet was slick, bloody mud. The air was thick with gunpowder smoke and the stench of blood, while his ears were filled with earth-shaking battle cries, screams, musket fire, and the piercing shriek of clashing metal.
He panted heavily, his lungs burning as if on fire and his legs weighted down with lead.
In the end, his stamina could not match those high-spirited young soldiers, vigorous as calves, and he gradually fell behind them. Yet he did not stop. Gritting his teeth, he kept chasing after them with all his strength. The Flintlock Rifle in his hands had been reloaded, and its cold barrel and weighty ammunition gave him a sliver of security.
Ahead, the Sixth Battalion had already surged forward like a tide, sealing tight the breach torn open by the White Wolf Guard cavalry.
The cries of battle shook the heavens. Countless Carnford Dragon Cavalry and infantry swarmed around the encircled Sauron white-armored cavalry like an ant colony. Within the ring, the figures of those once-unrivaled Sauron elite were visibly dwindling, melting away as swiftly as snow beneath a blazing sun.
Peter's target was not those ordinary white-armored soldiers. He only hoped to catch up with the force surrounding and annihilating Sauron's royal banner. If he could do his part where that wolf banner fell, perhaps he could earn a fine medal—one enough to let him hold his head high before his mother and sister when he returned home.
Just as he ran with his head down, a commotion suddenly erupted ahead! A band of Sauron Cavalry, a dozen or so riders, burst from a smoke-shrouded hollow, attempting to break out!
The young soldiers charging at the front reacted with astonishing speed. They immediately