Black gauze shrouded the sky; iron armor gleamed cold. Warhorses were gagged, horn calls choked in the frontier air, killing intent thickened the clouds, and blades and arrows thirsted for blood.
"Brothers, we've hit the jackpot!!!"
Little Lackey was excited. He stood at the very front of the Expeditionary Army, atop a small hill. It was not high, but it gave him a clear view in every direction.
The Expeditionary Army contingent Meredith had seen was actually the artillery position commanded by Little Minion. The supposed fifty four-wheeled carts were fifty Shield Wagons. The old agent knew little about military matters, so he had mistaken them for something else and failed to recognize the threat.
Now, to either side of Little Minion's hill and in front of it stood twenty Six-Pounder Field Guns. Their barrels were black, their muzzles menacing. The gunners crouched behind them, their slow matches already lit, waiting for a single command to unleash a thunderous barrage.
Fifty Crouching Tiger Cannons were arrayed like fangs, their short, thick barrels angled forward, loaded with Buckshot that could tear apart enemy formations in an instant. Fifty Shield Wagons formed an iron wall, their thick wooden boards covered in iron sheeting. Behind them, gunners watched with icy eyes, their gun barrels protruding through firing ports like snakes flicking their tongues.
Most terrifying of all were the thousand players who made up the heavily armored infantry. Every one of them wore heavy armor weighing more than thirty kilograms.
Among these suits were Chris-style three-quarter armor, modern Western full-coverage Plate Armor, Tang-dynasty Fish-Scale Armor, Song-dynasty Infantry Armor, and even Roman-style Mail Armor. It was as though an armor museum spanning cultures and eras had opened here.
The formation of steel monsters shone with a cold metallic sheen beneath the moonlight. Their armor