Up until now, the Holy Gunmen of the Guard Battle Group have shown a noticeable difference in Holy Wind firing capacity compared to other battle groups.

Most regular battle group Holy Gunmen can fire six to eight shots, elite Holy Gunmen can manage ten, while Guard Holy Gunmen generally range from ten to twelve shots.

Of course, this isn't continuous firing, as each shot causes a spiritual impact requiring roughly ten seconds to recover.

But in fact, during a single-day battle, each Holy Gunman doesn't consume more than eight shots worth of Holy Power.

In other words, before the average Holy Gunman fires the eighth round, the battle should end.

Veterans are familiar, since it involves five teams firing in rotation, meaning it takes until the fortieth round to deplete their Holy Power.

In most field and encounter battles, if the Holy Gunmen can fire twenty rounds, that's already impressive.

Because by that time, the Knights either retreat or ride their warhorses in for close combat.

Only in defensive battles is there a likelihood of exhausting Holy Power.

But this time, the Border Knights defied the stereotype of Holy Gunmen.

At the trench less than twenty meters ahead, the Knights made a strong leap, clinging to the edge of the V-shaped trench.

Occasionally, there were mishaps; some fell, having their feet pierced by spikes or hopelessly caught in the obstacles.

The remaining successful Knights gritted their teeth and reached out to hold onto the obstacles ahead.

As the bullets whizzed past armpits, ears, and even between legs, they were unfazed in their actions.

"Hey! Hey! Oh!"

With the Border Knights' strenuous shouting, the heavy obstacles were surprisingly lifted and pushed aside.

The leading Knight had just stood up and yelled when a bullet hit his thigh, causing him to fall backwards into the trench.

The other Knights about to enter through the gap also faced a gust of Holy Wind.

One by one, blood shot out from their bodies, and the Knights fell to the ground, instinctively beginning to crawl forward.

"Continue reloading, continue firing!" shouted Brune, previously taciturn and reserved, his voice nearly deafening.

The battlefield was bustling with noise; how can you fight without loudness?

In the midst of Corps Commander Brune's commands, Holy Gunman Turbo pulled the trigger of his weapon.

A piercing whistling sound hurt the eardrums, striking down Knights leaping seven or eight meters ahead.

A ten-meter distance is only a matter of an instant for Extraordinary Knights, especially these Border Knights.

After firing this round, Turbo calmly lowered his head and inserted a dagger into the muzzle instead of retreating in fear.

The Guard Vanguard Corps, pioneers in both battle and innovation, had long replaced their batch with new-style muzzles.

These muzzles added Mithril, making them significantly lighter than ordinary muzzles.

Due to the lack of airtightness issues, openings were left on both sides of the muzzle, and Turbo at this moment wedged a 20-centimeter-long dagger into the opening.

This tactic was newly created by the Vanguard Corps themselves, and Horn truly provided no guidance this time.

The veterans came up with it by themselves, deeming it effective after practice, then promoted it throughout the entire Vanguard Corps.

Considering their close combat capability, fighting Knights proficient in swordsmanship at close range was truly challenging for them.

Wanting long weapons like spears would exceed weight limits, making them hard to carry and transfer.

They simply inserted a knife into the muzzle, essentially turning it into a short rifle.

As of now, only the Guard Vanguard Corps has the capability and willingness; this heavy gun-rifle is beyond other battle groups.

"Death or victory!"

"Despicable Gunman, Death God has come to claim your life!"

Holding up the parapet with one hand and wielding the knight's sword with the other, a dusty faced Border Knight swung his greatsword down.

The gun bayonet clashing against the sword blade sparked a trail of fire.

The Border Knight crossing the parapet could almost wear astonishment on his face.

This Thousand River Valley peasant accustomed to using alchemical crossbows had astonishingly blocked his swing with a bizarrely shaped short rifle.

It wasn't over yet; the gun bayonet deflected the weak sword body of the greatsword.

Turbo let out a shout, stomping his right foot, unleashing the only extraordinary martial skill he knew—

"Thrust!"

Soon, the snake-like gun bayonet opened silver bright fangs, holding remnants as it headed straight along the sternum towards the knight's neck.

Having just landed, the Knight had the bayonet driving into the chin, with the sound of metal twisting.

The bayonet plunged into the back of the neck spine, shattering instantly.

The knight's vision went black, and without a word, he convulsed and collapsed to the ground.

"Pfft——"

"Pfft——"

"Whoa——"

"You guys, cough cough cough..."

The alternating sounds of spears and muskets piercing flesh echoed, as one Border Knight after another flipped through the air and crashed to the ground like eagles with broken wings.

"Impossible, you bunch of dogs who only know how to use clockwork muskets..."

Even the other Border Knights charging alongside widened their eyes in shock.

In their view, since the Thousand River Valley Holy Alliance expelled the nobles and dismantled the knight system, they were bound to be inferior in close combat.

Otherwise, why would an Extraordinary Knight, who could easily attain a respectable position in the Empire, choose to suffer here in the Holy Alliance as a common soldier?

But everything before them reminded them that these Holy Alliance Soldiers generally possessed combat strength comparable to Squire Knights and even Square Banner Knights!

Could it be that the Pope had mastered some magic to infuse people with extraordinary martial skills?

However, the Border Knights were overthinking it.

It was just that the Close Guard Cultivators commonly reached the level of Squire Knight or Square Banner Knight in one or two extraordinary martial skills.

If it were a one-on-one fight, these Close Guard Cultivators wouldn't stand a chance against a true knight.

But now it was five hundred against one hundred, with the advantage of breastwork defense and narrow terrain.

With all these factors combined, they managed to inflict nearly one-third casualties on the careless Border Knights who underestimated their strength.

But the remaining sixty to seventy knights were unable to retreat, as the Holy Gunmen kept their eyes fixed on them.

"Then we can only attack!" Stentok's manic roar rang out, and he set an example by continuing to charge at the breastwork.

In fact, out of this batch of knights making this desperate charge, at least half had been cross-dressed by Horn and sent back home before.

This arrangement was almost universally accepted by the Knight Order.

As the disgrace of the Knight Order, they needed to capture the first line of defense to wash away their shame, or die beneath the line to wash away the same shame.

Stentok did not wish to die, but the Knight Order gave him only two choices: victory or death.

He really had no choice.

Removing his light armor and helmet, he grabbed a spear from the ground. Stentok quickly ran a few steps and thrust the spear into the ground.

A shadow loomed over the heads of the Close Guard Cultivators, who looked up to see Stentok soaring over their heads as if flying.

However, midway through, the spear snapped with a crack, and he landed heavily on his back.

Ignoring the pain, Stentok grabbed his greatsword and made a horizontal slash at the necks of the soldiers in front of him.

Blood splattered across his grim face, and three heads rose, leaving only three headless corpses spewing thick blood.

"Ha!"

Just as he was about to continue opening a new front, a fierce wind blew from behind him.

Stentok raised his longsword over his head, twisted his waist, dodging as his longsword whooshed through the air towards the head of the attacker.

"Ding——"

The longsword collided with the military saber, and cracks visibly appeared on the saber.

He actually blocked it, Stentok's mind went blank for a moment; after all, he was an Imperial Knight.

With his right hand, using the saber to deflect the sword's force and avoid the longsword, Brune pulled out the short-handled axe spear planted beside him with his left hand, swinging it single-handedly, forcing Stentok back two steps.

The nearby Long Spearmen reacted and immediately turned their spears towards Stentok's back.

Awkwardly dodging seven or eight spears thrusting at him, Stentok grabbed one spear and was about to pull its owner over when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brune attacking with the axe spear.

Sidestep to avoid the axe spear, but Stentok failed to dodge a thrusting spear.

He tried to adjust his body, but the Long Spearman still pierced blood holes in his chest, abdomen, and collarbone.

In the instant of losing balance, Brune seized the opportunity.

His axe spear cleaved down, splitting Stentok from left shoulder to right waist, with only a strip of skin and flesh holding him together.

As his body hit the ground heavily, the Long Spearmen quickly returned to their positions, and thick blood pooled on the ground.

In his dying moments, Stentok was still confused, struggling to lift his head: "With your skills, you could be a Square Banner Knight or even an Imperial Knight in the Empire, owning countless manors and estates, why pledge allegiance to that Mad Pope?!"

Brune, holding a knight's sword, paused as if genuinely pondering.

"I have too many reasons." The longsword pierced the neck, and a trickling fountain of blood stained Brune's pants red. "The simplest one is to protect my home."