Chapter 53: The Darkest Day of the Order of the Garter Knights

Northern district of Seville.

The second wave of the Kingdom Army's offensive... began with great momentum and ended in absolute silence.

As General Sanjurho eagerly awaited good news from the front lines, all he received was one piece of bad news after another.

"Report, General! The 124th Battalion met heavy resistance on 'Sun Avenue', suffering catastrophic casualties, and is requesting permission to retreat!"

"Three companies under the 126th Battalion have been cut off, their flanks attacked by unidentified firepower, and they have routed!"

"General! We... we still can't break through! Those Saxons are like moles in the fields, popping up from nowhere, and you simply can't hit them!"

Listening to the reports brought back by the messengers, Sanjurho felt a buzzing in his head.

He could not understand.

Why, even after scouring the northern sector of the city with high-powered magic crystal shells, could they still not break through?

Weren't those buildings all blasted into rubble? Were those Saxons made of iron, immune to artillery shells?

What he did not know was that when the Kingdom Army soldiers stepped over the rubble and ruins, stumbling deeper into the streets, the scene before them was almost identical to the first wave of the attack.

There were still dense webs of barbed wire, still all sorts of bizarre obstacles, and still... the deadly bullets raining down from all directions.

The Saxons seemed inexhaustible. They poured firepower onto the advancing Kingdom Army from every gap in the ruins, from every shattered window.

And this time, field artillery fire was added to the mix.

The veterans and officers in the Kingdom Army who had survived numerous battles had never imagined they would see field artillery pieces leveled for direct fire at the end of a street.

By the time they saw the muzzle flashes and heard the thunderous roar of the artillery fire echoing in their ears, it was already too late.

The old-fashioned shrapnel shells seemed determined to let out one final roar before exiting the stage of history.

That deadly storm of lead swept across the street like a wall, and this time, the Kingdom Army soldiers could not even be guaranteed an intact corpse...

Many soldiers panicked and tried to seek refuge inside the buildings, but the 77mm field artillery, utilizing fixed ammunition, had a terrifyingly fast rate of fire. This sustained suppression of firepower quickly made them realize this was a disastrous mistake.

After switching to high-explosive shells, the gunners quickly used direct-fire sights to zero in on the windows of the buildings where the soldiers were hiding.

On the very second shot, a 77mm high-explosive shell punched through a window and detonated inside...

The second wave of the offensive ended once again in a crushing defeat.

The Kingdom Army units across all attacking axes left behind hundreds of corpses and even more immobile wounded, retreating in disarray once more.

Inside the command tent, General Sanjurho paced back and forth like an enraged bull, endlessly cursing under his breath.

"Incompetents! A bunch of incompetents! With so many men, you can't even take a ruined city!"

The other officers in the tent kept their heads down, not daring to breathe too loudly.

Just then, the tent flap was violently jerked open.

A wave of chilling frost instantly poured in.

The high-ranking mage Eldridge, accompanied by two other mages and several Britannia officers, walked in with expressionless faces.

Eldridge's gaze pierced straight into Sanjurho like a knife.

"General Sanjurho, I would like you to explain why our last remaining magic crystal artillery position was attacked by enemy cavalry?"

Sanjurho was startled, not expecting them to arrive so quickly.

Yet the news of the artillery position coming under attack shocked him even more, as he had been entirely unaware that his final artillery force was already wiped out.

"Milord, the... the magic crystal artillery position wasn't it in the rear?"

Eldridge said expressionlessly: "Indeed, in the rear... but you issued the idiotic order for them to fire, giving the Saxon cavalry the exact opportunity they needed to launch an attack!"

Hearing the words of the highland mage, a cold bead of sweat rolled down Sanjurho's forehead. He forced himself to maintain his composure and replied: "Lord Eldridge, this was an accident. I didn't expect the enemy cavalry to..."

"An accident?"

Eldridge interrupted him, a trace of mockery finally slipping into his tone.

"You deployed all your forces to attack, leaving not a single soldier to protect our most vital ranged fire support, and you call this an accident?"

Sanjurho's face flushed alternately red and white.

He wanted to retort, but words failed him.

It was indeed his obstinacy that had led to the annihilation of the magic crystal artillery position.

"Although my companions and I arrived in time to deal with that damned cavalry regiment, that changes nothing."

Eldridge's gaze swept over all the Kingdom Army officers present, making each of them feel a chill run down their spines.

"We have lost our final ranged suppression capability, which means the upcoming battle will become even more difficult."

Uncomfortable under his stare, Sanjurho could only grit his teeth and say: "Milord, please rest assured, in the next wave of the offensive I will certainly..."

"You?"

A Britannia colonel beside Eldridge suddenly let out a sneering laugh.

He looked at Sanjurho with undisguised contempt, speaking in the Britannia language to Eldridge:

"Milord, I suggest we place no hope in these Aragon peasants. Aside from wasting time and sending men to their deaths, they are utterly incapable of anything."

Although he spoke in Britannia, several of the Kingdom Army officers present understood the language.

Expressions of humiliation and anger surfaced on every face.

Sanjurho trembled with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles popped.

Yet he dared not vent his anger.

For he knew that the other man was speaking the truth.

Furthermore, he could not afford to offend these Britannia people.

"Colonel Henry, mind your tongue."

Eldridge said indifferently, leaving it ambiguous whether it was a reprimand or a reminder.

Then, he turned his gaze back to Sanjurho, his tone turning absolute: "General, I believe the subsequent offensive should be led by us."

Sanjurho's lips parted, but ultimately he lowered his head in defeat.

"...Understood, Milord."

He knew that from this moment onward, the command of this battle no longer belonged to him.

The Britannia colonel named Henry smiled with smug satisfaction, then turned to the Kingdom Army officers behind him, speaking in rather crude Aragon:

"Pay attention, you bumpkins... Next, we shall show you how a real war is fought."

With that, he turned and strode out of the tent.

The new wave of the offensive began shortly thereafter.

This time, leading the charge were no longer the soldiers of the Kingdom Army.

Instead, they were the well-equipped, impeccably lined Northumberland Flintlock Regiment.

Behind them marched eight white steel giants radiating an overwhelming sense of oppression—the armored knights of the Garter Order.

As for the soldiers of the Kingdom Army, they were relegated to the very rear, under the pretense of "cleaning up the battlefield."

...

"Platoon leader! Look! It's the enemy's armored knights!"

The exclamation of orderly Hans rang in Morin's ears.

Hiding on a rooftop alongside his orderly, Morin immediately raised his binoculars and looked in the direction indicated.

He saw several white armored knights, accompanied by a massive force of Britannia infantry, unhurriedly advancing toward their defensive lines.

The sunlight glinted blindingly off their smooth armor.

Moreover, aside from the standard sword-and-shield configuration, many of these armored knights had swapped their gear for tower shields, heavy maces, and other weapons.

The very outcome Morin feared the most had come to pass.

The urban warfare doctrine he had devised was indeed remarkably effective against infantry, but against these impenetrable steel monsters, it appeared somewhat inadequate.

"Alert all squads! Enemy armored units have appeared! Do not hold the line; prepare to fall back to the secondary defense line and leave these bastards to our own armored knights!"

Morin slid to the edge of the rooftop, poked his head out, and issued instructions to the standby messenger, who immediately scattered to various positions to pass on the orders.

Meanwhile, on the urban tactical map in Morin's mind, the armored knights of the Garter Order were advancing along different streets under the cover of surrounding squires and infantry.

Deep within the city, the Teutonic Order unit tokens, having received alerts from other outposts, also sprang into movement, rapidly splitting into six smaller markers.

Yet Morin's orders could not reach every single defending soldier. Many troops hiding inside buildings, overcome with terror upon seeing the armored knights, still chose to open fire.

Bullets from rifles and machine guns poured like a storm toward the eight armored knights.

Yet, it was all entirely in vain.

Countless rounds hammered against the armored knights, generating nothing more than insignificant showers of sparks without leaving so much as a scratch.

Not only did the armored knights refrain from activating those blue energy shields, they didn't even slow down, maintaining a steady pace as they pressed forward step by step.

They were like the invulnerable giant beasts of myth; any mortal weapon looked utterly laughable before them.

"Boom!"

A 105mm howitzer, its crew growing impatient, fired directly at them, but the targeted armored knight merely raised its heavy tower shield, sheltering both itself and a large number of friendly troops behind it.

The shell detonated against the tower shield without causing effective damage. Instead, a weapon mounted on the other arm of the armored knight flashed with light, and that artillery position was blown completely to pieces.

The Britannia soldiers trailing behind them burst into raucous laughter at the sight.

"Did you see that? Is this the Saxon resistance? How pathetic."

"It's like throwing pebbles at a castle."

The Saxon soldiers holding the ruins wore expressions of utter despair as they watched the scene unfold.

Their bullets could not pierce the enemy's armor, yet the enemy could effortlessly demolish the cover they relied upon for survival.

An armored knight strode up to the primary barricade. Without even drawing a weapon, it simply lifted a massive mechanical leg and kicked hard.

The barricade, constructed of timber frames, doors, and masonry, instantly disintegrated.

Then, it barreled right through, crushing the barbed wire and obstacles behind it into scrap metal.

Another armored knight approached a three-story building fortified by the International Brigades.

This was the stronghold Andrei had left in the charge of a detachment of soldiers after heading to the rear.

The armored knight raised the massive war hammer in its grasp and struck the load-bearing wall of the structure.

"Boom!"

With a deafening crash, a gaping hole was blasted into the wall.

Immediately following came several more blows.

The entire building emitted a groan of overload and began to sway violently.

"Fall back! The building's coming down!"

The bearded Andrei screamed at the top of his lungs from within. Before they even had time to throw incendiary bottles, the International Brigade soldiers scrambled out the back door in a panic.

They had barely fled a safe distance when the three-story structure collapsed entirely with a thunderous roar, burying a few slower soldiers forever beneath the rubble.

The relentless advance of the armored knights swelled the morale of both the pilots and the trailing Britannia soldiers.

In their view, with no means to counter the armored knights, the battle was virtually decided.

Victory was merely a matter of time.

Just as the eight armored knights dispersed to assist the infantry in thoroughly clearing out the street, the silhouette of another armored knight appeared at the far end of the thoroughfare.

It was a Saxon Empire armored knight, emblazoned with black-and-white Teutonic crosses.

"Oh? Finally willing to show themselves?"

Colonel Marcus, the squadron commander of the Garter Order, watched the Teutonic armored knight appear in the distance from within the cockpit of his command vehicle, the 'Saint George Mk III', a cold smirk curving his lips.

He felt not the slightest bit of concern.

He had already reviewed the intelligence reports from previous engagements: after the last battle, the Saxons' Teutonic Order was left with only these six units.

Eight against six, the enemy had lost their numerical advantage, which had once been their greatest asset.

More importantly, this was a narrow urban street.

Such terrain severely limited the Teutonic Order's favored swarming tactics.

As for a one-on-one duel?

The Garter Order had never feared any challenge from rival armored knights...

Marcus even felt that he could smash those crude iron lumps on the opposing side single-handedly.

The Garter Order's 'Saint George Mk III' was currently the cutting-edge pure magitech armored knight, outclassing the Saxon 'Siegfried' series across the board in terms of armor composition, protective enchantments, and magitech power cores.

Even when pitted against the Gallic 'Charlemagne Mk II', it held a distinct advantage.

This was a technological gap that raw courage alone could never bridge.

"All units, engage targets at will and eliminate them."

Marcus issued the order through the cockpit's built-in 'communication stone', an expensive and vital upgrade to the 'Saint George Mk III' that allowed short-range communication among squads on the same frequency.

Although intelligence suggested the Saxons were attempting to miniaturize radio transceivers to equip their armored knights, it appeared they had yet to succeed within this timeframe...

"Understood, Sir!"

"Show them the might of the Garter Order!"

"I can't wait to tear them apart!"

Confident replies echoed through the communication channel from the pilots.

With soaring morale, the Garter Order's armored knights dispersed into various streets and advanced to meet the threat head-on, eager to seal a resounding victory and put an end to this tedious battle.

However, as they drew closer, they noticed something amiss.

The opposing Teutonic armored knights also seemed to be pressing forward proactively.

Furthermore, aside from their shields, the weapons held in their alternate hands were exceedingly strange.

They were not their usual maces or battle-axes, but rather weapons resembling longspears... except that the spearhead was a bizarre metal funnel curving inward.

The entire weapon looked crudely made, reeking of the handiwork of a rural blacksmith, lacking even a uniform coat of paint.

"Ha, what is that thing? A fireplace poker?"

"I thought it was a manure fork."

"Have the Saxons gone mad? Do they expect to fight us with that junk?"

The Garter Order pilots, watching from their respective cockpits, burst into laughter.

To them, this was nothing short of an insult.

Marcus frowned as well, his mind filled with doubt.

Yet he did not dwell on it, assuming it was simply a desperate, last-ditch gimmick from the Saxons.

His command vehicle was the first to close in on the armored knight piloted by Ludwig.

"Teutonic knight, state your name. I do not kill nameless foes."

Marcus activated the external comms of his armored knight, his tone dripping with aristocratic arrogance.

Ludwig did not reply.

He simply raised his shield silently to guard his front, holding the weapon Morin had dubbed the 'close-combat shaped-charge anti-armor projectile' braced against the side of his shield, showing zero inclination to converse with Marcus.

"Hmph, courting death..."

Seeing the enemy ignore him, Marcus flew into a rage.

He manipulated his armored knight to raise its colossal armed sword, intending to leverage his superior swordsmanship to systematically sever the limbs of the Saxon armored knight before him.

Heavy, rhythmic thuds echoed down the street as every eye in the vicinity locked onto the two steel titans.

The instant the two armored knights closed the distance, Marcus struck first with a sweeping slash.

Meanwhile, Ludwig, maintaining absolute focus, relied on his accumulated combat experience to first parry the enemy's armed sword blow with his shield.

Then, exactly as Morin had instructed, treating it like a standard lance thrust, he thrust the tip of the anti-armor projectile to a point roughly twenty centimeters from the enemy cockpit and seized the moment to detonate it.

The mechanical fuse triggered the picric acid explosive packed within the projectile body. Though inferior to advanced modern explosives, its detonation wave exceeding seven thousand meters per second precisely crushed the copper shaped liner at the tip of the shell.

The instantaneous high temperature and high pressure transformed the copper liner into a torrent of incandescent metal jet.

Restricted by explosive energy and slight desynchronization in charge ignition, this jet failed to form the absolute sharpest needle point, yet at that split second, the jet easily surpassed five times the speed of sound.

The emergency shielding hastily activated by the armored knight could not withstand this intensity of attack in such a short window, shattering instantly like a soap bubble.

Following that, this supersonic 'incandescent spear' struck the primary frontal armor plate of the armored knight along a nearly straight trajectory.

The immense momentum and extreme pressure caused the head of the jet to slice through the armor material at the point of contact like a hot knife through butter, instantly carving out a microscopic aperture.

"BOOM!!!"

A blinding flash of fire suddenly bloomed between the two armored knights.

The violent detonation distorted even the surrounding air.

The squires and Britannia infantry trailing behind Marcus had no inkling of what had transpired.

They only felt a massive surge of energy erupt between the two armored knights, immediately followed by the two steel machines colliding under the momentum of their charge.

When the Britannia soldiers regained their footing and lifted their heads, they witnessed a sight that would be seared into their memories forever.

The pristine white 'Saint George Mk III' armored knight of the Garter Order abruptly halted all movement.

The armed sword in its grip remained locked in a posture preparing for a second thrust.

Then, amid the stunned gazes of all present, this massive steel creation tipped backward and crashed straight down to the ground.

"CRASH——!"

The heavy frame slammed into the earth, sending a billowing cloud of dust into the air.

The street plunged into absolute silence.

Everyone froze, their minds blank.

What had happened?

Why had Colonel Marcus's command vehicle... simply collapsed?

Before they could snap out of their profound shock, the black-and-white painted armored knight had already discarded the strange 'spear' in its hand and drawn its signature massive mace from its back.

Then, it charged directly toward the dumbfounded infantrymen.

A chilling intent to kill instantly enveloped them all.