Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 65 - 34 Hometown, Grandfather’s Spirit

65: Chapter 34: Hometown, Grandfather’s Spirit

65 -34: Hometown, Grandfather’s Spirit

Demon Hunting Knight rested for a moment.

At the same time, he adjusted the breathing rhythm of his horse.

After his energy and condition had recovered, he launched the second attack.

Still a straightforward frontal charge!

This time, Keton aimed at the tallest Frost Priest.

He realized that this towering Frost warrior served as their spiritual pillar, just as he did for his Demon Hunting Knights, playing a significant unifying role.

As long as he could kill this priest, the rest of the Frost Tribe would merely amount to scattered raiding soldiers.

The plateau cavalry had excellent endurance and incredible speed; a hundred meters was merely a stone’s throw away.

This time, he witnessed about fifty spear-wielding Frost Warriors charging toward them under the command of that Frost Priest.

Using their flesh and blood to combat the Demon Hunting Knights fashioned of steel!

They were doomed to die, they knew they were doomed to die, yet they came forward anyway.

Their purpose was, of course, to delay their charge, to create an opportunity for a counterattack by their kin, rather than allowing their tribe to be like helpless lambs, repeatedly stabbed by cavalry blades inflicting mortal wounds.

Keton felt surprised again.

He was sure that the Frost Tribe had never waged war with any human kingdoms.

The Wandong Kingdom was perpetually in chaos; the power of the Nobles was extremely fragmented.

The Frost people lived on the fringes of civilization, roamed the wilderness, and were quite formidable; the Nobles would hardly bother to attack the Frost people without cause.

This also meant that the Frost Tribe knew nothing about the human cavalry warfare.

They were unaware of the strength of the Demon Hunting Knights, unaware that their weapons were useless against Heavy Cavalry, unaware of how fragile flesh and blood were against the iron hooves of tall, mighty horses.

Yet, in the critical moment of survival, they still took a relatively correct action—using their bodies to form a rampart to slow down the Demon Hunting Knights’ charge.

This tactic was difficult for humans to execute.

Keton charged straight toward the Frost Priest.

The Knight brought an unimaginable oppression to land creatures, making even the robust Frostmen feel suffocated.

Keton, a Sixth Rank Conquest Knight, wielded a golden Big Sword; this Heavy Sword contained at least thousands of kilograms of Fine Gold, fused onto the blade made of mountain bronze and steel through a special process.

Fine Gold possessed great destructive power and sharpness, capable of slicing through iron as if it were mud.

This was a magical weapon they had never seen before.

Blood splattered!

Dyed the snow red!

The ancestors of the Frost people were frost giants with blue blood, but their blood was not blue; rather, it flowed red and warm.

Keton swiftly led his men through the blockade line, plunging into the flock of lambs like a sharp dagger making an incision.

Along the way, limbs and debris were sent flying, and no one could stop them.

“You have enraged the spirit of our forefather!!”

Navaniel’s eyes cracked with grief and rage.

The furious Frost Priest pulled out a massive stone weighing a thousand kilos from the ground and hurled it at Keton.

Swoosh!

Keton swung his sword and split the stone in midair into two halves.

The Frost Priest wielding the Cold Wood Staff created solid ice; as Keton charged, the priest swung at him while a blizzard roared in.

Clang!

Boom!

The blizzard was overwhelmed, the ice shattered, the solid cold wood was cleanly sliced into two, and a huge, heart-revealing gash was carved across the chest of the Frost Priest.

Keton was exceptionally cold and indifferent, as if saying, “Those witchcrafts are useless in front of a Demon Hunting Knight!”

In the brief encounter that lasted less than a second.

Keton raised his big sword, slashing down again diagonally.

The blood of the Frost people spurted out.

Navaniel’s head flew into the air.

In the final moments of his life, all he saw was his field of view spinning rapidly, as if the whole world was spinning down.

But Navaniel still knew where north was.

“Frost people do not get lost… frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

No matter where the Frost people go, no matter how far from home, the spirits of ancestors will guide them…”

This was an ancient proverb among Frost people, and they deeply believed it.

“Return to the homeland…”

This was what Navaniel had heard from the elders since he was young.

He desperately wanted to turn his head northward, to look north, but he no longer had the strength.

He felt like a leaf drifting along with the current, or a young animal that couldn’t stand firmly in the snow, or the silent Grozil he had personally killed…

Suddenly, a steel hand grabbed his white long hair.

Keton, wielding his sword with one hand, pulled out the long spear from behind, stabbed it into the ground, and then impaled Navaniel’s head atop that long spear.

The rough, pale hair danced wildly in the blizzard, and his deeply etched features looked like a grayish-white statue.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but those words went unheard by anyone…

Only the Frost people, who were also priests, could sense the energy emanating from his body.

Navaniel gazed blankly towards the north until he lost consciousness; his pupils dilated, and he never closed his deep blue eyes…

…

Keton shouted loudly, “Your Priest is dead, give up resistance, I will let you die painlessly!”

However, contrary to his expectations, the Frost people did not collapse and become incapable of resistance.

This tenacious tribe instead erupted with unimaginable strength.

Ignoring casualties, they charged the highland horses, knocking the Demon Hunting Knights and their horses to the ground together.

And the Demon Hunting Knights hindered by the bands also lost enough charging power, either being knocked to the ground or dragged off their horses by Frost people.

The battlefield was in utter chaos.

Facing the fully armed Demon Hunting Knights, the attack of the Frost people was swift; they used wood, stones, fists, foreheads, sparing no expenses to inflict casualties on the Demon Hunting Knights.

Keton surveyed the battlefield and found that half of the Demon Hunting Knights were in such a dire situation.

The remaining Demon Hunting Knights could only rely on desperately swinging their swords!

Constantly cutting off the wooden spears and hands that reached toward them.

The casualties of the Demon Hunting Knights intensified!

Keton began to worry; he didn’t expect that dealing with just one tribe of Barbarians would be so arduous, and things were completely beyond his expectations.

The tribe was too large, a big tribe with 400 to 500 people, at least 300 of whom were qualified warriors.

Just as he was about to aid his companions, he suddenly felt a power gathering.

Keton abruptly turned his head and saw an unusual blizzard forming, defying the natural order!

“The spirit of the earth?!

A Pseudo-God?!

You can’t do anything!!”

Keton swung the Fine Gold Greatsword toward that area of land!

His attack carried a fearsome power that twisted and deformed the air!

It was the power to shatter magic.