"Fuck, how did these lowborn Bagnia bumpkins react so fast?!"
Colonel Sackley, draped in a blue-and-white cloak, was deeply displeased by what he saw through his telescope. Over five hundred meters away, rows of linked Shield Wagons formed a crescent, blocking the Dragoons' route to the mountain exit.
The front of each Shield Wagon consisted of a rectangular frame, roughly one and a half meters tall and two meters wide. From what he could see, the main body appeared to be assembled from wooden planks, but its exterior was iron-gray, clearly clad in a layer of sheet iron.
Fuck. Colonel Sackley hated these Shield Wagons. They were not particularly tall, but they were high enough to stop his warhorse from jumping over or charging through them. Never mind the Flintlock in his hand-even the light artillery they had brought might not be able to do anything to them.
Worse still, the Shield Wagons prevented Colonel Sackley from seeing what the Bagnia bumpkins behind them were doing.
What should I do?
Colonel Sackley thought for a moment, then turned and waved.
"Old Lame!"
A Minisian captain rode up on a black military horse, holding his sabre point-down. Sackley caught a whiff of tar mingled with horse dung... this old rogue always liked to stash forbidden bottles of liquor in his saddlebags.
This time, however, Colonel Sackley needed the old captain to risk his life, so he did not make an issue of his breach of military discipline.
"Which rag do you need your hound to tear apart?"
Coming up beside the colonel, the old captain tapped the wooden prosthesis on his right leg with the back of his blade, producing a hollow echo... ten years ago, during the war against the Retalia Empire, a Halberdier had hacked off that leg while