Inspecting the Front Lines

The officer raised his binoculars to scout and quickly estimated their numbers—at least six to eight hundred men, probably the strength of two battalions.

For an army that had lost contact with its allies, they were an absolutely unbeatable enemy.

After two days of fighting, they had realized that even with equal numbers, they held no advantage. Let alone when the enemy outnumbered them six or seven to one.

They warned the main force behind them while beginning to snipe.

Bang!

Hubble was so startled he nearly fell from his horse. Right in front of him, a soldier had been shot.

They were amateurs, after all. Thinking the enemy was still some distance away, they had not been very vigilant.

The moment the gunshot rang out, everyone panicked.

Scattered gunfire continued, kicking up clouds of dust from the ground.

The Militia Group remained in disarray for quite some time before Hubble finally organized his personal guards and had them fire toward the source of the shots.

They fired wildly for a long while before the other side finally fell silent.

This time, Hubble had learned his lesson and immediately entered a wartime state of mind.

But when he found the enemy snipers' position, he nearly exploded with rage.

In that brief span, they had fired one or two thousand bullets, yet they had not killed a single enemy.

Moreover, there could not have been many enemies. Just a handful of men had forcibly delayed them for half an hour.

War had never been a game of numbers.

Amateurs had to pay enough tuition.

The officers of the New Divine United Kingdom had received formal training, after all. They could quickly adapt to the rhythm of war, and little tactics like this came naturally to them.

Still, in the end, they