Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 963 - 38: The Hunt (9)_3

Chapter 963 -38: The Hunt (9)_3

So, in Pierre’s view, the only way to win was to limit the enemy cavalry’s movements with defenses and then drag the enemy cavalry into close combat.

This is a perfectly normal thought, as Pierre had never seen Colonel Moritz kill.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Moritz touched Pierre’s shoulder, “Thank you for your hard work.”

After saying that, Moritz began to call out names.

Before even reaching the tripwires, the fierce barbarian cavalry at the forefront fell stiffly from their horses, followed by the second, the third…

The riderless warhorses continued to sprint until they were tripped by the wires.

Realizing that even riderless warhorses could destroy the tripwires, Colonel Moritz decided to call out the warhorses’ names first, then the riders’.

There is no hatred, no anger, no fear, no pleasure… precisely, no emotions at all.

Arrowheads disappeared from Moritz’s hand and appeared inside the enemy, as Moritz van Nassau took lives non-stop.

It took Pierre a moment to accept the reality, and he cried out in a bit of a panic: “Colonel, please wait.”

The slaughter paused.

“What is it?” Moritz looked at Pierre.

“It’s okay to kill men,” Pierre swallowed hard, struggling to speak: “We can use the warhorses.”

“Hmm.”

The slaughter continued.

The attacking cavalry did not even understand what was happening. This was supposed to be just a probing attack, with a plan to distract the enemy on one side and then split half of the forces to strike from the back.

If the pincer movement also failed to defeat the enemy, they would retreat. There was always weaker prey, and the enemy could not catch up anyway.

But… how could this be… Just a probing charge, and why had most of a hundred-men squad disappeared? Why were the remaining men still dying one after another?

The centurion Erhulan stopped his horse, took off his helmet, and looked forward confusedly. Between him and the low felt wall, there were no longer any living persons.

The next moment, Erhulan saw something move in the dust, and then he no longer existed in this world.

Witnessing the centurion’s death, the surviving Herders didn’t know whether to advance or retreat.

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According to unwritten customs, they should take away the bodies of the deceased as much as possible. But they couldn’t carry so many bodies, nor did they dare to advance further.

Shouts arose from behind, as the earlier fleeing villagers from the Bad Land Tribe turned around and charged back. About twenty horsemen from the Bad Land Tribe, and another twenty on foot, screamed and charged.

The last of the Haidong Tribe cavalry bravely and without hesitation met them head-on.

This was a death they were familiar with.

…

[In the middle of the hunting ground, Qingqiu]

“[Herde Language] Stop! Who goes there?”

“[Herde Language] Red armor?”

“[Herde Language] Is that Little Lion?!”

“[Herde Language] Little Lion is injured! Quickly, find a healer!”

The people of Red River Tribe stationed in Qingqiu hurriedly took Little Lion, clumsily carrying him to the sleeping tent, for a moment no one cared about the armored soldier who had brought Little Lion up to Qingqiu.

Winters’ shoulder had numbed. “Good thing it’s the left shoulder,” he thought.

After handing over Little Lion to the Red River Tribe, he finally had the energy to feel annoyed.

The current situation had far exceeded the most severe possibility Little Lion had informed him of beforehand.

Whether the Red River Tribe had intentionally deceived him or was equally unprepared, in Winters’ view, it spelled danger.

“[Herde Language]… horse…” Winters stopped a female slave, struggling to use the Herde Language to express his needs: “[Herde Language]… water…”

He couldn’t stay long; he needed to hurry back.

The palace tent’s female slave of the Red River Tribe looked in terror at this armored soldier who seemed to have emerged from a pool of blood and staggered away.

Winters still wanted to call her back when suddenly he felt dizzy, and the next moment he knew nothing.

When he regained consciousness, he was wrapped in warm, soft animal fur, the air smelled pleasantly of milk, and his left shoulder had been bandaged.

“You’re awake?” a timid female voice said: “Thank you for bringing Little Lion back.”

Winters felt an empty ache in his skull: “How long was I unconscious?”

“Not long. Less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.”

Winters struggled to sit up, and Erhulan was watching him.