Below the dirt slope at the edge of the highland, the tremor of the Orc Boyz' shield wall advancing vibrated through the ground. Edward's hand, gripping his longsword, was veined with bulging muscles.
He abruptly turned and roared at the men behind him: "Main force! All of you, hold the line! Form a linear formation!"
Over five hundred men from the Brotherhood's main force moved instantly—these were Edward's most capable fighters, mostly clad in tanned leather armor, with a few leaders even wearing chainmail plundered from Imperial deserters. They wielded scimitars and iron swords, and about twenty men carried crude halberds.
Under the shouts of their junior leaders, they formed a long horizontal line along the edge of the highland, blades facing outwards, shields (mostly wood reinforced with iron sheets) raised diagonally, forming an impenetrable defense line.
The linear formation was originally a tactic used by human armies for decisive battles on plains, relying on a dense line and long-ranged weapons to suppress charges; but now, positioned on the highland, it became an excellent defensive formation—the dirt slope at the edge of the highland naturally restricted the greenskins' charging routes, and this horizontal line precisely blocked all gaps, like an iron clamp, firmly wedged on the greenskins' unavoidable path.
"Drive all those stragglers to the back! Everyone who can wield a weapon, take one! Those who can't, pick up stones!" Edward roared again at the chaotic refugees behind him. In the rear of the camp, the ragged bandits were still hiding, some even clutching plundered bundles, attempting to flee into the swamp.
Edward's personal guards kicked them down, forcing them to pick up wooden sticks and stones, crowding behind the main battle line, serving as human shields.
Edward panted, wiping sweat from his face, his heart filled with frustration—he was clearly a "pawn" supported by Prince Barton's Fiefdom, supposed to incite rebellion in Katushir. How was it that he was now trapped on the highland of the Forest of Gloom, fighting to the death against a horde of greenskins ?
What puzzled him even more was that he had heard people say the greenskins of the Forest of Gloom had been mostly cleared out by the dwarves long ago. How did so many suddenly appear? And wearing iron armor, arrayed in proper formations?
"Bang!"
A dull thud interrupted his thoughts—the greenskins' shield wall had already crashed into the linear formation at the edge of the highland.
The Orc Boyz, holding round shields, slammed fiercely into the bandits' wooden shields. The front-line bandits were knocked back two steps, their scimitars nearly slipping from their grasp.
"Chop! Chop them ta death for me!" Bone Tree poked his head out from behind the shield wall, his crude iron axe whistling through the air as he brought it down towards a rogue's shoulder.
The rogue hastily raised his shield to block, and with a 'crack,' the wooden shield was split in two by the iron axe. The axe blade, its momentum undiminished, directly cut into his shoulder blade, and blood spurted out.
The greenskins , like a pack of enraged squigs, charged fearlessly up the highland.
The Orc Boyz pressed against the bandits' defense line with their round shields, thrusting iron axes through the shield gaps, one axe for each kill. Some even threw away their shields, grappling with the bandits and rolling on the ground—the greenskins' skin was naturally tough and durable, and with the protection of their iron armor, the bandits' scimitars mostly left only shallow blood marks. But a single punch from a greenskin could break a rogue's ribs.
Over five hundred main force bandits, under the assault of just over a hundred Orc Boyz, were actually pushed back repeatedly.
These bandits were already scattered rabble, living by plunder. How could they have ever seen such a suicidal fighting style? When a few front-line bandits were cut down by the greenskins , those behind began to falter, and gaps gradually appeared in the formation.
"Hold the line! Whoever retreats, I'll cut them down myself!" Edward swung his longsword, cutting down a rogue trying to flee to the rear. Blood splattered on his face, yet it still couldn't stop the loosening of the line.
He watched the greenskins —some orcs had their arms pierced by scimitars, yet they gritted their teeth and buried their iron axes into the bandits' throats; some hobgoblin Boyz crawled under the orcs, stabbing the bandits' calves with iron spears; there was even a goblin (who had somehow snuck in) clinging to a rogue's leg, biting with open mouth, making the victim scream repeatedly.
This wasn't a battle; it was a pack of wild beasts tearing at each other!
Just as the highland line was about to collapse, a series of "whoosh, whoosh" arrow sounds suddenly came from the rear of the camp—the sound was dense and urgent, carrying an eerie whistling, completely unlike the bandits' arrows.
Edward's heart sank abruptly. He turned to look—only to see dense black figures rushing out of the dense forest by the swamp at the rear of the camp! They were night hobgoblins riding three-meter-tall Death Crawlers!
The black spiders trampled through the swamp mud, rapidly approaching the camp. The night hobgoblins on their backs were hunched over, their short bows firing a continuous stream of arrows. Dark purple arrowheads arced through the air, accurately striking the bandits and refugees in the rear of the camp.
"Poison!" A rogue, struck by an arrow, felt a sudden numbness in his arm, instantly losing strength. His scimitar 'clanged' to the ground, followed by convulsions and frothing at the mouth. In a moment, he was still.
The rear of the camp instantly descended into chaos.
The refugees serving as human shields were already timid. Struck by poison arrows, they were terrified out of their wits, fleeing towards the center of the highland, directly disrupting the bandits' rear formation; even the main force bandits panicked, some turning to look at the night hobgoblins behind them, others wanting to retreat. The once somewhat orderly linear formation instantly became scattered and disorganized.
"They can play like this?!" Edward was dumbfounded, his mind a blank—these greenskins could actually use tactics? And understood how to flank? This was completely different from the greenskins he remembered, who only knew how to charge and hack wildly!
"Leader Edward, if we don't find a way, we'll all die here." The Man in Gray Cloak had appeared beside him at some point, his voice still calm, but with a hint of undetectable urgency.
Edward suddenly snapped back to reality, grabbing the cloaked man's arm, his eyes fierce enough to eat someone: "Stop pretending! Hurry up and bring out your big treasure! Otherwise, we'll all be finished today!"
He had long known that this person sent by Prince Barton's Fiefdom must be carrying a secret weapon—otherwise, why would he dare to follow him to the camp with only a dozen men?
The cloaked man did not struggle, merely nodded slowly and waved to the men behind him.
A dozen men in black tight-fitting suits emerged from behind the tents, carrying a large object covered with a cloth—the thing was half a man's height, made of rough wood and iron sheets, with four iron wheels at the bottom. Most striking was the bowl-sized muzzle at the front, dark and exuding a chilling aura.
These dozen men moved swiftly, pushing the iron wheels, and along the slope of the highland, they pushed the large object directly to the battle line where the fighting was raging.
The surrounding bandits and greenskins temporarily paused, curiously looking at this unfamiliar object—the Orc Boyz held their iron axes, tilting their heads to examine it; the bandits, on the other hand, retreated a bit, their eyes filled with confusion.
The cloaked man walked to the large object and lifted the cloth.
The sunlight fell on the iron sheets, reflecting the bowl-sized muzzle—the cannon body was made of several pieces of rough wood joined together, wrapped in thick iron sheets, firmly secured with rivets; at the breech of the cannon was a small firing port, next to which lay a bag of black powder and several stone projectiles wrapped in iron filings; strange patterns were carved on the cannon body, looking like the emblem of Prince Barton's Fiefdom.
"This is... a cannon?" Edward's eyes widened. He had seen similar things in the Imperial army, called "Imperial Firelock Cannons," which were incredibly powerful, capable of collapsing a section of a city wall with a single shot. But this cannon before him was smaller than the Imperial Firelock Cannon, yet more refined, and its muzzle caliber was thicker.
The greenskins also saw this thing. Bone Tree frowned, vaguely feeling that something was wrong—this contraption didn't look like a bow and arrow, nor an axe, and it exuded a dangerous aura.
He roared at the Orc Boyz beside him: "Don't just stand there! Keep chopping! Smash that thing first!"
"WAAAAGH!"
The Orc Boyz immediately snapped back to attention, charging towards the cannon with their iron axes.
But before they could get close, the dozen men in black tight-fitting suits drew their scimitars, blocking in front of the cannon, their eyes coldly staring at the charging greenskins .
The cloaked man walked to the breech of the cannon, picked up a small tinder, blew it alight, his gaze falling on the charging greenskins , a cold smile playing on his lips.
Edward looked at the dark muzzle, finally letting out a sigh of relief—with this thing, even if the greenskins attacked from front and back, one shot could scatter them! He even imagined the scene of greenskins being blown to pieces by cannon fire.
But he didn't notice that in the cloaked man's eyes, besides the cold smile, there was a hint of undetectable calculation—was this "Secret weapon of Prince Barton's Fiefdom" truly meant to deal with the greenskins ?
The foremost Orc Boyz had already reached the cannon, their iron axes striking towards the cannon body.
The men in black tight-fitting suits immediately swung their blades to block, scimitars clashing with iron axes, emitting a harsh metallic sound.
The cloaked man slowly raised the tinder, aiming it at the firing port at the breech of the cannon.
The air seemed to freeze.
The fighting on the highland temporarily ceased, everyone's gaze focused on that cannon—the greenskins were full of confusion, the bandits with anticipation, and the cloaked man's face still held that unfathomable expression.
The flame of the tinder grew closer and closer, about to touch the gunpowder at the breech of the cannon.