"Hold steady, hold steady!"

"Everyone form a circle back to back, watch every direction, don’t aim, just shoot if there’s any movement!"

Lieutenant Robert shouted hoarsely, feeling as if he’d returned to the era of line combat, where comrades fell every moment, unpredictably, and nobody knew if they would be next.

Crack—

Claws tore through the throat of his comrade beside him, blood splattering all over him, as if transforming him again into the red-coated army that battled Napoleon fiercely and shook Europe.

An armored infantryman raised his magic energy firearm and pulled the trigger.

Boom—

Countless steel pellets shot out from the barrel, forming a barrage instantly, covering all directions ahead, erupting into a blood rain, and sending a Texas werewolf flying backward.

Following closely, the armored infantryman activated his chainsaw sword, charged forward, but before he could swing the sword to slay the severely injured werewolf, he was knocked off his feet, heavy iron armor and all.

The eyes of the Venezia beast glowed a crimson hue, white mist spraying from its mouth and nose.

Boom—

No orders were necessary.

Once Venezia’s position was exposed, it attracted all the firepower immediately. The leading King’s Blade raised the chainsaw sword high, steam jetting from behind, and strode towards Venezia to attack.

Although Venezia had the title of Bloodthirsty Mad Wolf, it hadn’t lost its reason at this moment, picking up the wounded on the ground, disappearing in a few leaps into the alleyways.

Leaving behind the King’s Blade, with eyes flickering red light, constantly tracking Venezia’s trail, yet unable to do anything but lower the single-soldier cannon after several futile aiming attempts.

Every King’s Blade was a battle-hardened veteran, but their inherent strength wasn’t exceptional. Without this armor, their strength was merely on par with an elite Centurion.

As a mass-produced model, the King’s Blade armor compared to Iron Duke, its greatest characteristic is that it’s not a Divine Artifact and can’t merge with the user.

With the armor, they’re capable of engaging in mortal combat with elite Centurion foes in the open and are ten times more effective in killing enemies on the frontlines than werewolves relying on claws and fangs.

But in urban combat, their naked eyes, assisted by special instruments, struggle to match the werewolves whose power surges after transforming under Lavinia’s Divine Speed Decree.

...

On another battlefield, the British Army scouts faced even more terrifying encounters.

The ground was littered with bloody remains, and the surviving British soldiers retreated into a residence, shivering, anxious, occasionally firing a shot to no avail against the unpredictable specters.

As another armored infantryman silently had his head severed, the British soldiers’ morale sank to the lowest point.

The majority of these British soldiers came from the lower strata, such as workers and farmers, while officers often hailed from the middle class or military family backgrounds, driven by the sole purpose of seeking wealth.

Otherwise, who would willingly join the expedition army, dispatched to America, Africa, or even further barren lands?

In this era, few people would choose to immigrate overseas unless absolutely necessary.

In the eyes of entire Europe, America was at the bottom of the contempt chain, the American Continent of another world was already despised by old Europeans, let alone this world filled with wild beasts and natives across the wilderness.

The main force of immigrants comprised workers and farmers, lacking any risk resistance capability.

And the so-called middle class of this era, the small bourgeoisie, would quickly fall into poverty if laid off.

This is why America, for so many years, has struggled to absorb sufficient labor force, resorting to relying on African slaves being traded.

"Mom, I want to go home."

"Heavenly Father, why don’t you punish these damned Devils."

"I surrender, don’t kill me, please!"

As the last armored infantryman’s head was severed, the British Army soldiers completely broke down, losing all sense of reason, fleeing scatterly, unaware that doing so would only lead to faster death.

Inside the residence, only the King’s Blade stood alone with sword scars all over, still standing guard.

He raised his chainsaw sword, suddenly looking towards the fleeing soldiers’ rear—in the darkness, a figure clad in a dark blue cloak, with dual blades at its waist, was slowly walking towards him.

"A woman?"

The King’s Blade looked somewhat amazed, completely unprepared for the unexpectedly elusive enemy to turn out to be such a seemingly harmless lady.

But this did not affect his reaction, he swiftly raised his weapon and charged at the opponent.

...

Another battlefield.

Bang!

The armored infantry, marching in a column, unleashed a volley, turning a werewolf into a sieve.

These silent armored infantry were not adept at boosting morale, as their voices struggled to transmit through their helmets to the ordinary soldiers in the noisy battlefield, but their actions clearly steadied the spirits of the army.

The common soldiers began to follow these armored infantry, advancing slowly on the streets.

Compared to the barely maintained frontline of the domestic army, Arthur felt like he was trapped in a nightmare.

He had previously engaged in small-scale border conflicts with the Texans and had experienced the horrors of the Texas werewolves.

But at that time, the Texans, to avoid escalating conflicts and forming a "Louisiana-Mexico Anti-Texas Alliance," rarely sent elite centurions, and even if they did, they wouldn’t exert their full force.

The werewolves were an anomaly on the American Continent, easily falling into a besieged situation if not careful, and the combat ability of ordinary werewolves was not significantly stronger than the British Army equipped with special firearms.

Take, for instance, the British armored infantry, whose combat strength rivaled that of the wolf race corners, yet for a corner to mature, it required an extremely long time, while an armored infantry set just required money and machines.

Arthur’s soldiers mindlessly opened fire, a week ago they were still using outdated breech-loading smoothbore guns, lacking rifling, let alone gunmanship.

The British Army stared wide-eyed at the dissected bodies on the ground, for most British people, this was their first time truly seeing the legendary "werewolf," which was previously akin to an urban legend.

After all, those they encountered, the "half-blood wolf race" wandering in various countries, were essentially individuals with extra ears or tails, slightly stronger than ordinary people, but not to the extent of being able to ignore firearms.

As the lowest tier of society, they were not frightening, often regarded as vagabonds, thieves, professional beggars, circus clowns, parasites of the city, excluded from mainstream society.

They traveled across Europe often via illegal immigration, leveraging their superior physical prowess, remaining undocumented in every country.

Sometimes, they were even cleared out by the military police under the pretext of affecting city appearance without reason. They had no property rights, were subject to bullying, their status even lower than that of the Jewish and Gypsy people, who faced discrimination for millennia.

Many wandering wolf races are now in Europe, as the ticket price for crossing the ocean is too high, even though Texans established organizations like the "Wolf Race Federation" and the "Wandering Wolf Race Mutual Aid Association" in Europe to recruit wolf race immigrants, the scale is limited, as while the wandering wolf races are everywhere, the majority actually reside around the Apennines, not forming settlements, they might have gone extinct if not for their robust physique paired with a long lifespan.

Yet upon arriving in Texas, they discovered that those previously sheep-like, utterly undeserving of the werewolf name, truly possessed such terrifying power.

It’s the Iron Duke!

He looked at the ground, the flesh and blood still writhing, trying to connect even when cut in half, his brows furrowing beneath his visor: "Filthy beast!"

The next moment, pale cold flames burst from the nozzle opened in his palm, instantly turning all flesh and blood into ashes.

"It’s the Iron Duke!"

"The Iron Duke is here!"

The British scout soldiers screamed euphorically.

Boom——

A golden long spear nailed to the ground.

"Long time no see, Duke Wellington."

...

The beam seemingly penetrating everything made the bodies of everyone witnessing the scene tremble: "It’s the power of holy radiance, is God blessing these Texans?"

The Frenchmen aboard the Saint Joan of Arc were dumbstruck.

"That’s the Holy Spear, right? Saint Joan’s Holy Spear?"

"Immediately send a report to Your Majesty, saying that the long-missing Saintess has been found!"

His tone was highly agitated, as tensions among the powers have long grown irreparable, everyone knows that a war deciding the future world order is bound to erupt sooner or later.