The roar of cannon fire, the thunder of hooves, the screams, and the furious shouts merged into one on Dalos Field.
Sir Colin's voice had already gone hoarse. He cleaved open the throat of a Free People Centurion with one slash, spraying blood across his face. He had no time to wipe it away and could only roar with all his might:
"First Regiment, Second Regiment, with me! Retake the artillery position! Third Regiment, Fourth Regiment, form a square and hold this ground!"
The soldiers of the Watchers Legion were like stalks of wheat bent beneath a gale but refusing to break, swiftly carrying out their orders.
Matchlock Gun stocks smashed into rebel faces, bayonets stabbed again and again into enemy chests, and the soldiers had gone berserk—the cannons were the lifeblood of the legion, the source of their confidence after fighting all the way here. They could never let them fall into enemy hands.
The artillery position had become a living hell.
Relying on their superior numbers and faster horses, Free People cavalry scattered the artillerymen. They had looped ropes around the precious 12-Pound Cannons and were preparing to haul them away. The artillerymen resisted to the death. One man clung to a cannon barrel and was dragged more than a dozen steps before being hacked to death atop the cannon wheel.
"Let them go!"
A blood-covered artillery captain lunged forward and clung desperately to the breech of a cannon. A Free People cavalryman slashed him across the back, but he still refused to let go. Then came a second slash, and a third...
When Colin led the First Regiment into the fight, this was the scene he saw.
"Kill—!"
Without any unnecessary orders, the Watchers Legion soldiers charged into the rebel ranks with bayonets fixed, crashing into them