When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

A strong wind tugged at Moirai's silk cloak as she extended her brass telescope, peering into the distance.

The Shattered Stone Plain army had learned its lesson after the previous battles.

They no longer dispersed their forces but instead contracted their defenses to the vicinity of Salt Flats Camp to prevent being gradually eroded by Andrei's 'nibbling tactics' again.

So this time, on the riverside plains just 68 kilometers from Salt Flats Camp, they concentrated most of their forces, preparing to settle the matter in one decisive battle.

The Shattered Stone Plain had just experienced rain, and the morning mist dissolved like ice and snow under the sunlight. The horses' hooves didn't kick up dust, and visibility was quite high.

With the aid of the telescope, Moirai could easily see scenes a kilometer away.

Lines and large formations of guards and sergeants advanced slowly, mostly clad in chainmail and robes.

Although their military appearance wasn't as impressive as the Thousand River Valley's, it was still quite orderly.

Vassal knights, unified under the golden ram's head banner, scouted around the perimeter.

They had already begun skirmishing with Moirai's rangers, alternating between chasing and being chased, thoroughly enjoying themselves.

"Estimated 18,000 to 24,000 soldiers and knights," Lannes reported, relaying the rangers' information.

"They're reacting quite quickly," Moirai scoffed.

Previously, the Shattered Stone Plain army always liked to pull the trick of launching attacks with a team of knights leading dozens of guards and sergeants, combined with hundreds of peasant soldiers.

They thought they could rely on the peasant soldiers and guards to hold the line, the sergeants to maintain order, and the knights to flank and achieve victory.

As a result, they were beaten to a pulp by Andrei and Moirai's all-elite soldiers, consistently losing with numerical superiority, forcing them to reform.

Under the pressure of Moirai's offensive, all the nobles abandoned their prejudices.

They learned from the Thousand River Valley noble coalition system, handing over their own guards, sergeants, and knights to be uniformly commanded by the coalition commander.

As for the previous peasant soldiers, they would follow the example of Thousand River Valley and be responsible for transporting food and logistics.

The Red Horse Knight, Moruo, frowned deeply. "What are the rangers doing? Why were they able to form ranks before we even saw them?"

"Perhaps it's because they're fighting on their home ground; after all, we don't know the terrain as well as they do," Lannes naturally defended his subordinates.

Moruo kicked him in the rear. "Always protecting your own. Turn in the ranger roster later."

Lannes chuckled, then tipped his hat in salute and departed.

"Your Highness, how should we fight?" Moruo stood beside Moirai, who was still holding the telescope. "Who's responsible for the main attack?"

"What main attack and supporting attack? There's no supporting attack; it's all main attack," Moirai lowered the telescope. "Do we need complicated tactics to beat them? Just encircle them directly."

"Dong, dong, dong——"

The rapid beating of the sheepskin drum resounded, the raised halberds and axe-spears clashing, the short swords in their scabbards slapping against each other.

Eight Dunghill formations, each composed of 2,000 to 3,000 guards and sergeants, marched across the verdant plain.

In the gaps between the formations, small groups of rangers relayed the commander's orders.

And in front and on the sides of the formations were 30 heavy cavalry squadrons, each composed of 150 transcendent knights.

Beneath the golden ram's head banner raised high behind the formation was Count Lates, the brother of Duke Winghive, the commander of the Shattered Stone Plain forces.

At that moment, Count Lates had a gloomy expression. "Is that really the case?"

"Yes," the ranger swore. "I saw it with my own eyes. The three armies simultaneously chose to advance into Dunghill formations..."

"Too contemptuous! That enchantress! Witch! Sorceress! Harlot!" Knight Captain Tarkan couldn't help but curse. "I swear to kill you!"

Normally, armies divide their forces into main and supporting attacks, with the former responsible for inflicting damage and the latter for pinning down the enemy.

Like a swordsman's duel, one also needs a shield in the left hand and a sword in the right.

Moirai's three-pronged main attack was like wielding swords in both hands, with another in her mouth, throwing wild punches.

"Simply absurd." Count Lates was Duke Winghive's most knowledgeable officer besides Duke Redwood.

He had served in the Knights Order and his fief was on the border, frequently dealing with Norn noble bandits.

The education Count Lates received from childhood told him that a three-pronged main attack wasn't impossible, but it had to be based on absolute superiority.

He admitted that the Thousand River Valley's army was indeed stronger than theirs, but not to that extent.

Moirai, removing the laborers, had only a little over 10,000 soldiers in her three armies combined, while he had enough knights and soldiers on his side to reach 25,000.

"Probably relying on the power of the spring-loaded rifles." Speaking of spring-loaded rifles, Knight Captain Tarkan couldn't help but reveal a hint of weakness in his tone.

He had personally experienced the power of those things.

Count Lates tugged at the reins. "Does she think we'll fall into the same trap twice? Tell the peasant soldiers to push out the shield carts. She uses wagon forts; can't I?"

Following the orders of the dispatch riders, shield carts were pushed in front of the army by the guards.

The so-called shield carts were actually linked handcarts, reinforced with hardened wooden planks covered in leather, iron sheets, and rivets.

After being designed by engineers, they even knew to angle the shield plates of the carts.

The mountain infantry saw huge tan-yellow leather shields, like a long wall blocking their path.

Although they wouldn't block all the lead bullets, it was more than enough to convince the guards that they were protected.

The knights from Thousand River Valley had provided them with plenty of experience regarding formations being shattered by spring-loaded rifles before they could even get close.

"Have the cuirassier riflemen go over and fire a couple of shots to test them." Seeing the shield carts through the telescope, a solemn expression immediately appeared on Moirai's face.

Soon, a cuirassier rifleman in disheveled armor returned. "Light spring-loaded rifles break the shields at 50 meters, heavy spring-loaded rifles at 80 meters."

Moirai immediately gave the order: "Sandpiper cannons, fire a volley. Aim carefully; there won't be a second chance. Then, cuirassier riflemen and rangers, go and disperse the people pushing the carts."

Since the winding mechanisms were still being installed, the spare pre-wound spring cartridges were being used up one by one.

The wheels and axles rubbed, and the Kush coarse-hoofed horses snorted in dissatisfaction.

Four heavy 6-pound Sandpiper cannons were pushed to the front of the formation. The young gunner licked his dry lips, still reciting the artillery textbook under his breath.

He raised his head, took a deep breath, and said in a low voice, "Astrologer, distance."

"The straight-line distance between the enemy's center line and the cannon muzzle is approximately 450 meters."

"Wind direction."

"West-southwest wind, angle 12, wind force 5."

The gunner's eyes quickly searched and calculated on the interpolation table in his hand. In the blink of an eye, he raised his head. "Right deflection 3, tilt angle 6. Astrologer, measure accurately."

The astrologer's crystal pendulum swayed on the astrolabe for about 10 seconds before opening his eyes. "Reliable."

The orderly pushed the cast-iron cannonball into the barrel, and the gunner, seeing the mark in place, jammed the iron skewer into the slot.

"Praise Saint Ray!"

Four loud bangs, the cannon bodies twitched, taking half a step back.

Then another "Praise Saint Ray," twelve 3-pound cannons successively spat out thunder.

The black iron balls skipped across the rocks and the green ground, some flying over the shield carts, others landing in them.

The huge air currents blew away the wood chips, and the shield carts, which had seemed as sturdy as diamonds, instantly broke open.

The torn rivets and shredded leather flew everywhere, and the shield carts that had been slowly advancing immediately stopped.

The terrified cries and screams covered by the bombardment only reached everyone's ears at this moment.

"Now's the time!" Lannes pulled down his bird-beak helmet. "All soldiers, charge!"