Like water sifting through sand, the archers passed through the passage left open in the military formation and crossed the bridge.
Then, the passage closed.
The shield wall faced the Hands of Tyr.
The army was in strict formation, the firelight from the rooftops reflecting off the lamellar armor, scale armor, and shields on their bodies.
The edges of the shields were uneven, marked by numerous cuts from swords and blades.
This was an elite force; their military banners stood high, and their battle priests were loudly praying, beseeching for power to protect against flames.
That purple military banner fluttered in the night wind, rooted among the fortress-like defensive troops, as if telling the mere dozen or so Hands of Tyr: Want to cross the bridge?
Why not try swimming instead.
“We must break through quickly.”
The Grand Master shouted: “All hands, battle prayer.”
Almost all the paladins began praying, and a mass of white fire descended from the sky, falling onto their weapons and glowing with white light.
“May Tyr guide my sword!”
“Charge! Charge!”
The paladins of the Tyr Knight Order roared in unison as they charged toward the military formation.
They ran faster and faster; the war mages were chanting spells, and slippery midnight oil appeared under their feet, yet they still strode swiftly, like a dozen armored steel bulls, directly crashing through the wall of spearheads, rushing in to hack and slay.
For a moment, weapons glowing with bright white light danced up and down among the surging sea of heads.
Chain mail rings flew off, and lamellar plates scattered everywhere.
“Kill the enemy battle priests! Kill him!”
A battle priest’s head split in two as he collapsed to the ground.
Blood soon soaked the divine emblem on his chest.
“Kill! For justice!”
The paladins gradually fought with bloodshot eyes; just over a dozen of them formed a scattered white line, pushing onto the bridge.
Before them was a dense sea of heads in the military formation; behind them lay the ground covered with wailing ordinary soldiers.
The most terrifying among them was Richard.
As the spearhead, he wielded his greatsword that did not glow brightly, directly hacking and killing in front.
And what was even more terrifying was the little red dragon above his head.
“Gagagaga!”
Aurina leaped into the air, dodging several thrown spears, opened her mouth, and breathed dragon fire.
A blinding conical dragon breath slanted downward, engulfing the heads of many, scouring the surfaces of their shields amid the desperate prayers of the battle priests.
The shields gradually turned to charcoal, and then screams rose and fell one after another, the battle line loosening.
Aurina breathed fire in the air for a full three seconds before landing on the ground, her legs clamping Richard’s head as she pointed forward: “Charge! Charge! Mount beast.”
Richard charged forward, relying on brute strength to swing his greatsword, executing the burning soldiers.
For a time, the entire bridge became like the hell depicted in religious texts.
The trembling citizens pulled back their curtains and saw flames soaring on the bridge, screams rising and falling, a purple military banner falling—but behind the bridge.
Another neat phalanx clustered around the banner, advancing toward the Hands of Tyr on the bridge amid prayers, welcoming the routed soldiers.
Aurina’s tail curled up, wrapping around a long spear.
She looked left and right but saw no high-value spoils, so she said annoyedly: “How come after fighting so long, no good bugs have come to drop gold coins yet.”
Richard parried a cleaved two-handed axe, lunged forward with a thrust, and his magical greatsword directly pierced through the armor of a veteran battlefield commander.
He wore golden lamellar armor over chain mail, with padded armor outside.
Only the “slayers of hundreds” on the battlefield—elites among elites—could be equipped with golden lamellar.
Even after the greatsword pierced his chest, he still moved, trying to draw his dagger for a grapple with Richard.
Richard countered with a kick, and as the man fell, another sword strike ended his life.
Passing by his corpse, Richard saw his unwillingly wide-open eyes.
He sighed, knowing the man was merely fulfilling his duty as a soldier, unaware how long he had fought on the border—perhaps the strongest man in his village, who joined the army and rose from leader of a ten-man squad, accumulating merits to become a slayer of hundreds.
Then, as one of the tens of thousands besieging the Hands of Tyr Knight Order, he died under Richard’s sword upon meeting.
Aurina also sighed.
This guy’s entire body was worth over thirty gold coins—quite wealthy among this pile of poor bugs.
Unfortunately, it was too heavy, still worn on him, and her tail—
But a thrown spear struck the eternal steel plate armor on his chest worth 409 gold and 1 silver, reminding him it was not the time for sentimentality.
“That’s not right.”
A Hand of Tyr nearby fell to the ground, several burly men pouncing on him, trying to stab him to death with daggers.
Richard immediately stepped in, slashing backward while saying: “After so long, still no opponent of equal strength.”
In Aurina’s eyes, after fighting so long, still no one whose value could compare to the nearby Hands of Tyr.
At least a hundred gold coins, right?
Even that mount beast’s shabby magical greatsword was 63 gold and 3 silver, yet not a single one matched.
“Everything is proceeding according to plan, my lords.”
A male servant descended from the balcony, holding a monocular telescope.
“Just as His Majesty predicted.”
“His Majesty shows concern for us.”
“Toast to him.”
“May you enjoy health and longevity.”
The fully armed military nobles raised their wine glasses toward the Emperor on the high platform.
He was supposed to go to the Violet Chamber to await good news from the nobles.
But he suddenly changed his mind, feeling that being on the front line suited a wise ruler better.
Of course, this was somewhat related to the previous report—the dragon-slaying ballistae were helpless against the flying daughter of the Dread Dragon.
It was hard to imagine such a fat dragon nimbly flying between buildings.
The original plan was that the dragon-slaying ballistae on the bell tower could threaten the dragon, so six full ballistae were deployed near the bell tower, waiting for Richard to ride the dragon and throw himself into the net.
But now they were useless.
Since the dragon-slaying ballistae could do nothing against Aurina, it meant they actually had no way to restrict Aurina from carrying Richard flying around.
The Emperor of the Yanting Empire felt it was safer to stay here.
Over a hundred people, the entire hall packed— no matter how powerful Richard was, he couldn’t kill them all, right?
So he ordered his most loyal guard, the Varangian Guard, to come from the Violet Chamber to protect him.
The Emperor of the Yanting Empire accepted the nobles’ praise and said:
Once their god exhausts the divine power granted to them, they will be nothing more than walking honors.
But I hope my nobles, before claiming that supreme honor, do not act rashly.
Charge together with your comrades; I do not wish to hear news that the dragon-slaying hero, before dying, took loyal subordinates with him.
“I even less wish to hear that he died standing atop your corpses—that way, not only would those quill-wielding monks canonize him as a saint, but it would also tarnish your honor.”
Everyone agreed wholeheartedly, the sincere kind—even the massive Dread Dragon had died; no one wanted to take a sword strike.
“Once the brave soldiers use their flesh and blood to dull the blades,” a military noble said, “we will mourn the soldiers’ sacrifices and charge together to claim the supreme honor.”
“Mourn my ass.”
Someone laughed directly: “For today, I fed them good wine and meat for a month, gave so many rewards—it’s all their duty.”
“Hahahaha.”
Many laughed out loud.