Life Hanging by a Thread
Meanwhile, the life-or-death chase between the musketeer cavalry and the Sauron horse archers on the flanks intensified.
The number of people on both sides was decreasing rapidly. What was originally a small-scale battle of twenty against twenty had now been reduced to only a few riders still galloping through the dust, shooting and slashing.
Charlotte and Ragnar, these old rivals, remain the focus of the battlefield.
Their mounts were panting heavily, foaming at the mouth, and covered in sweat and blood.
Charlotte's warhorse was in particularly bad shape; three Skarn arrows were deeply embedded in its rump and thigh, and each step was accompanied by painful spasms and neighing, causing it to slow down significantly.
Ragnar had clearly noticed this as well. A cruel smile appeared on his face as he drew his bow again, aiming not at Charlotte, but at her already exhausted mount!
"Whoosh--!"
Another arrow pierced the warhorse's neck with pinpoint accuracy.
The loyal warhorse let out a mournful cry, its forelegs buckled, and it crashed forward with tremendous momentum!
Charlotte rolled several times on the ground before finally coming to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust. Her helmet rolled to the side, and her long golden hair fell loose.
Upon seeing this, Ragnar's eyes gleamed with a fierce light.
He immediately pulled on the reins, bringing the warhorse to a slow stop. He deftly hung the bow back on the saddle and drew his scimitar with a clang.
He turned his horse around, his blade pointed directly at Charlotte, who was struggling to her feet not far away. He spurred his horse and began to accelerate, preparing to deliver the final blow to this troublesome opponent.
Charlotte was thrown around, feeling dizzy and in excruciating pain, but her strong will to survive and battlefield instincts kept her almost completely still.
As soon as she came to a stop, before she could even brush away the messy hair in front of her eyes, her gaze anxiously scanned her surroundings. She didn't know where her bow had fallen when she fell from her horse.
Just then, she caught sight of a Flintlock Rifle lying beside the body of a fallen musketeer cavalryman not far away.
Without hesitation, she lunged forward and grabbed the somewhat unfamiliar firearm.
Ragnar's warhorse began to accelerate! The shadow of death was rapidly approaching!
The gun is loaded and ready to fire.
Charlotte's heart pounded as she recalled watching Karl and the soldiers operate the equipment, frantically trying to prepare for firing.
Her movements were far less fluid and precise than Karl's, showing obvious awkwardness and urgency.
She first tried to find the hammer, her fingers trembling slightly with nervousness. She almost forgot to pour in the gunpowder, then suddenly remembered, hurriedly shook out some gunpowder and poured it into the pot, clumsily closed the lid, and finally used all her strength to pry open the heavy hammer!
This series of actions wasted precious time and cost her her last chance to dodge.
At that moment, Ragnar's warhorse had already charged up to them!
The two were inches apart! Ragnar's ferocious face was clearly visible, his raised scimitar gleaming with a cold, deathly light in the setting sun, slashing straight at Charlotte's head!
At the critical moment!
Charlotte had no time to aim! She couldn't even maintain her balance!
In the final instant before the scimitar was about to strike, she instinctively raised the heavy barrel of her gun and, almost aiming it at the chest of the enemy horse, pulled the trigger with her eyes closed!
"Bang--!!"
The deafening gunshots rang out almost simultaneously! The immense recoil from the gunpowder explosion far exceeded her expectations, slamming into her shoulder and causing her to stagger backward!
It was this slight backward movement that allowed her to narrowly avoid the fatal slash! The sharp tip of the blade almost grazed her forehead, severing several strands of her flowing golden hair!
At the same time, the scorching lead bullets ejected from the muzzle, with unstoppable kinetic energy at such close range, accidentally struck Ragnar's unprotected chest!
"Ugh!" Ragnar let out a short, painful groan, his slashing motion instantly abruptly halted.
He was struck as if by an invisible giant hammer, flying backward from his horse and crashing heavily to the ground several meters away. The scimitar in his hand also flew out of his grasp with a clang.
Charlotte, thrown to the ground by the immense recoil and shock, lost her grip on the musket. She gasped for breath, a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder, her ears ringing.
She struggled to lift her head and looked at Ragnar lying on the ground not far away.
Ragnar lay on his back, his eyes wide open, filled with pain and disbelief.
He clutched his chest tightly with both hands, but crimson blood still gushed out from between his fingers like a spring, quickly staining the ground beneath him.
His body twitched slightly, and he made a "hoarse... hoarse..." sound coming from his throat, clearly indicating that his lungs had been punctured.
Charlotte watched as her adversary, with whom she had clashed several times and who had nearly taken her life, now met his end in such a tragic manner.
For a moment, the intense aftereffects of the battle, the exhaustion from surviving the ordeal, and the immense shock of using Flintlock Rifle for the first time overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to recover for a long time.
She just sat there, staring at the expanding pool of blood, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped her still-burning shoulder.