Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 253 - 22: It’s Either You Die or I Perish

They were terrified of not picking up any loot.

It was like picking up money!

A good-quality short sword could be traded for a sheep, while a sharp, heavy axe could fetch half a cow...

Those who found nothing ran swiftly.

Those who found something ran even faster.

Not caring about the increasingly treacherous terrain, nor noticing their growing fatigue.

To run wildly like this consumed a great deal of physical strength.

The hearts of most were overwhelmed with joy.

...

"Fire arrows!"

Only when the cold voice came, followed by the sharp whistles that began to sound one after another, cascading in waves, did they react.

Numerous figures emerged from both sides of the slope.

The formerly disorderly routed troops began to regroup under the leadership of their respective captains.

In less than two minutes, they restored their formation.

And they picked up the longbows that had been prepared in advance.

The infantry transformed into longbowmen, fitting arrows to bowstrings.

Whoosh whoosh whoosh...

A volley of arrows was unleashed!

...

The Shattered Archers and Judgement Knights looked down on such spoils of war, and hence they were at the very back.

Kate was sure the rebellion had ended, so she felt relatively relaxed.

What the heck, you fell before I even put in much effort.

But the harsh reality told Kate—the war had just begun.

What was more cruel was that their great army had blunderly rushed into the ambush from the very beginning.

"Retreat!"

There was no need for anyone to shout.

Everyone now knew to move backward.

But there were too many people.

That round of simultaneous shooting caused a massive collective panic.

Crowded and dense.

For an army of professionals, the maneuver to switch the vanguard to the rear guard took time.

But the more chaotic it was, the less order there was.

One of Roman’s infantry units burst out from the flank, their leader tall and robust, wielding a steel axe, and with one swing he killed two mercenaries who stood in his way.

"Everyone down! Drop your weapons! Those who surrender will not be killed! Those standing will die!"

The voice exploded like the roar of a lion.

...

Roman and his military group’s tactics were simple.

Feign defeat, lure the enemy in deep.

The result was unexpectedly successful.

Not to mention the unwieldy army of Believers, even the mercenaries and Free Riders charged out, completely ignoring the formation.

Anyone experienced in war knew that once an army lost control, its combat strength could plummet drastically by 80%, effectively turning negative, and losing the capability to fight back.

The army of Believers could charge into battle inspired by the Choir’s call.

Even with the knowledge that death was certain, such an atmosphere emboldened them to embrace their fate.

But now, the Nuns were scattered everywhere, everyone was shouting loudly, and the scene was chaotic and disorderly—no chance to continue the chorus.

The mercenaries, stronger fighters, were now completely falling apart.

Crossbowmen couldn’t gather, nor did they know where the enemy was.

Like the Bishop Merlad who couldn’t control the vanguard, Marshal Granar’s throat was hoarse from yelling to no avail; he could only lead his Personal Guard to escape.

The rear forces like the Judgement Knights and Shattered Archers, seeing this scene, knew the great army was finished.

Kate was nearly bursting with fury.

Suddenly, her skin prickled slightly.

She looked sharply, and her crimson pupils contracted.

In less than a second, Kate raised her Shattered Longbow, her arms instantaneously drawing it taut.

Whoosh!

A unique Blade Arrow left the string.

It collided with the wide, razor-like Magic Steel Arrow coming head-on.

Clang!

In the clash of metal, ordinary people could only see astonishing sparks burst forth in mid-air!

The two arrows’ impact neutralized each other, then fell to the ground.

Kate’s expression was frightfully grim.

His vision, sharply focused like that of a hawk, caught sight of a figure standing on a hillside over two hundred meters away.

That person was wielding a blood-colored large bow, and was looking back at him, then made a slight movement.

The movement was subtle, but Kate saw it.

Inexplicably, the image of Roman holding the Crack Armor Great Bow surfaced in his mind—towering from above, loftily superior, eyes filled with disdain, and from his nose, that disdainful and arrogant snort...

"Humph~~"

As if it really echoed in his ear.

Kate’s expression became chillingly cold.

His face became completely expressionless, his lips pressed tightly together.

Those familiar with his temperament knew he was seething with rage, too angry to speak.

The Shattered Archers too noticed Roman; their reaction was swift, with over twenty arrows shooting out like a swarm of bees.

But arrows take time to fly.

The Shattered Archers’ shots travelled between one hundred to one hundred and fifty meters per second, so it took them two seconds to reach their target.

By then, Roman had already vanished without a trace.

...

The first round ended, the rebel army suffered a crushing defeat.

Over a thousand lay dead on the battlefield.

About four thousand were captured.

Roman’s losses were negligible.

However, due to the Shattered Archers and Judgement Knights, along with the dispersal of his forces during the encirclement, he dared not completely close in, leaving a relatively large gap through which half of the rebel army was able to escape.

Two days later,

Kate regrouped his forces.

He stared at the mere remainder of three thousand disorganized soldiers, speechless for a long time.

Behind him stood Bishop Merlad, Marshal Granar, Judgement Knight Donna, Blood Salt Knight Flant, and Nun Mapple.

Everyone was silent.

They found the current situation hard to accept.

The battle could not be called a complete annihilation, but at least half the army was gone.

The good news was that the most elite forces remained intact, having suffered no significant losses, only a few hundred Oath Riders and Free Riders perished, and the mercenaries from the rotten marsh suffered heavy casualties.

Flant’s face was bitter. He had only come to make up the numbers, to keep the army in line, without joining the front lines, and so his unit was still relatively intact.

Now that every part of the army was severely depleted, his force had inadvertently become the main strength.

"Let’s pull back," Flant suggested,

His willingness to fight had not been strong from the start, and now that he realized the young Lord was not only brave but also more strategically savvy than they were, the thought of retreat grew in his mind.

"Sir Flant, we have no route of retreat!" Kate said coldly.

The Bishop and Judgement Knight also seemed to agree with this statement.

The Pope had charged them to test the Believers’ Army’s war potential and expected them to deliver a report.

Instead, they could only provide an explanation.

The loss was too devastating, retreating would mean a hopeless life ahead, and being exiled would be considered normal.

They could forget about any future prospects of importance, better to die a heroic death.

"Lady Kate speaks sensibly," said Nun Mapple,

"We must go rescue our Believers who are in the hands of Lord Roman. This is what befell Earl Kant’s people when they were taken. May the All Gods bless them, that they do not suffer too much hardship. Who knows what shape they are in now...," she said worriedly.

Not ours, yours.

Flant thought to himself.

He didn’t counter their point, simply yielding.

During the last coalition of Nobles, Beixites let others be cannon fodder, but when the moment of truth arrived, cannon fodder had to play their part.

In front of Riptide and the Church Court, Beixites did not have enough confidence to refuse to take part in the battle.

Although the size of the army had greatly diminished, the rebel force still had fighting capability.

Once like a treasure sword hidden in its sheath, now half drawn, its edge beginning to show.

Only, this was not good news for them.

Because without the sheath’s protection, without cannon fodder to take the brunt, a single nick on the Blade could cause them unbearable distress.

But they knew that such a war was imminent.

They were not without chances of winning!

Even if it meant risking a nicked edge, the rebellion had to be suppressed!

Roman too had dealt with the prisoners by now.

The decisive battle thus began.

It’s either you die, or I perish!