Chapter 54: Fierce Battle

On several other main thoroughfares in Seville, similar scenes were unfolding simultaneously.

Because Colonel Marcus’s armored knight had fallen quite suddenly, the members of the Garde Knights who had scattered to other streets seeking one-on-one combat with the enemy were unaware of what awaited them.

On another road, a Garde Knight pilot confidently maneuvered his armored knight, tapping his shield with his armed sword as he advanced.

His spirit was visibly high.

He even joked with the infantry nearby through an external speaker.

“Soldiers, watch closely! One-on-one armored knight duels are a rare sight…”

Having said that, the white “Saint George Model 3” quickened its pace and charged forward.

Like their squad commander Marcus, the Garde Knight pilots carried their own pride and confidence.

This confidence stemmed from the knightly order’s fearsome record and Britannia’s comprehensive dominance in armored knight technology.

Each Garde Knight pilot never entertained the thought that they might lose in a one-on-one duel.

However, just as the two iron behemoths were about to collide, he noticed a dazzling light erupting from the unassuming “fire stick” at the opponent’s hand.

After that, he knew nothing more…

The black-and-white “Siegfried Model 1” elegantly sidestepped out of the way.

The “Saint George Model 3,” already riddled with a hole in its front armor, surged forward a few more steps from inertia before collapsing weakly to its knees, thick smoke billowing from the cockpit.

Nearby, another “Saint George Model 3” pilot had already noticed the sudden silence on the communications channel.

But at that moment, he didn’t think much of it, focusing instead on the battle before him.

Leveraging superior machine performance and skilled piloting, he successfully blocked the “Siegfried Model 1”’s charge with his shield, creating an opening to strike with his armed sword.

Just as he prepared to counterattack, he saw the opponent press that strange weapon directly against the outside of his cockpit.

“What is this thing…”

That was the last thought to cross his mind.

In a short period, the Garde Knights lost four armored knights to these hastily assembled energy-concentrated armor-piercing projectiles.

These once invincible imperial elites died without ever understanding how they were defeated.

With the thunderous collapse of four armored knights, the accompanying infantry and knight attendants nearby descended into chaos and panic.

Their greatest reliance was destroyed like paper before their eyes; the dual shock of such a brutal visual and psychological blow was devastating.

Once the enemy’s most formidable armored knights were neutralized, the Teutonic Knights showed no mercy. They surged past the wreckage and plunged into the infantry formations, wreaking havoc.

Without armored knight cover, the accompanying infantry suffered heavy losses facing armored knight assaults directly.

But these improvised weapons, being manually crafted in haste, clearly had a high failure rate.

Among the six armored knights deployed by the Teutonic Knights, four successfully destroyed their targets in the first strike.

However, two of the armor-piercing projectiles malfunctioned.

One Teutonic Knight pilot fired his projectile, only to see a dim yellow flame sputter out.

The explosion’s power was greatly diminished; though it left a terrifying dent and melted marks on the enemy’s armor, it failed to penetrate.

“Damn! What rotten luck…”

The pilot cursed bitterly inside his cockpit.

Fortunately, his opponent was startled and instinctively took a step back.

This granted the Teutonic pilot a precious moment to catch his breath.

Without hesitation, he swiftly discarded the failed weapon and retrieved another energy-concentrated armor-piercing projectile from a temporary mount on his machine’s lower back.

Ludwig had specially ordered extra production to prepare for such misfires.

“Again!”

He roared, steering his armored knight forward once more.

Across from him, the Garde Knight pilot’s heart was filled with suspicion and fear.

He didn’t understand what that thing was, but he sensed its lethality.

Seeing the same “fire stick” weapon in his opponent’s hands again, he dared not lower his guard, raising his shield to brace for defense.

But this time, the “Siegfried Model 1” moved swifter and more cunningly.

The heavy iron beast wobbled, tricking the shield’s block, then expertly delivered the armor-piercing projectile to the side armor of his adversary.

“Boom!”

A brilliant flash erupted anew. This time, fortune did not favor the “Saint George Model 3.”

The cockpit groaned under the strain; the side armor was thoroughly penetrated, high-temperature molten metal tearing through everything inside.

Watching the enemy armored knight lose control and collapse, the Teutonic pilot exhaled in relief, preparing to retreat and regroup.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps approached from the side, setting off alarm bells in his mind.

Another white “Saint George Model 3” burst from around the street corner, blocking his escape.

“You can’t run, Saxon brute!”

Though unaware of what had felled his comrade moments before, the “Saint George Model 3” pilot was clearly unwilling to retreat, brandishing his weapon and charging directly.

Having exhausted his energy projectiles, and now facing a fresh and enraged enemy one-on-one, the Teutonic Knight—already drained—quickly fell into a disadvantage.

After just three rounds, the more agile “Saint George Model 3” had circled behind him, its enchanted armed sword piercing the rear internal combustion engine.

In armored knight combat, this was a death sentence.

…

After the brief and fierce clash, only four black-and-white “Siegfried Model 1”s and three white “Saint George Model 3”s remained within the city of Seville.

The armored knight count stood at four to three.

The Teutonic Knights once again held a numerical advantage.

More importantly, Ludwig and his men still had several energy-concentrated armor-piercing projectiles left.

Meanwhile, the Garde Knights, having lost five armored knights in a devastating instant, were clearly rattled.

The remaining three pilots no longer exhibited their previous arrogance and pride.

They stared fearfully at the Teutonic Knights—like gods of death—and their oddly shaped “spears,” collectively choosing to retreat.

This was the bloodiest day in the Garde Knights’ history since their founding.

Including the two machines Ludwig had eliminated earlier from the high ground, they lost seven of their most advanced “Saint George Model 3” armored knights in one day.

For the Garde Knights, who always rode the tide of victory and proudly bore the title “Spear of the Empire,” this was an unprecedented humiliation.

Undoubtedly, this was the darkest day since the order’s inception.

After sustaining such heavy losses, the remaining Garde armored knights no longer recklessly plunged forward alone.

They cautiously stayed close to their knight attendants and infantry, employing the ranged weapons they Britannian pilots typically scorned, providing direct fire support for their foot soldiers.

The pace of battle suddenly slowed.

News of the armored knights’ heavy casualties quickly spread via messengers to the rear command.

When Eldridge and other Britannian officers heard the report, disbelief was etched across their faces.

“What did you say? Five more lost already?!”

Colonel Henry grabbed the messenger’s collar, eyes wide as copper bells.

“Yes, Colonel… Colonel Marcus has also…fallen,” the trembling messenger replied.

The air inside the tent seemed to freeze.

Beside him, the Kingdom’s commander Sanhulho briefly revealed a barely concealed look of schadenfreude upon hearing of the Britannians’ severe losses.

But he quickly composed himself, switching back to an expression of grief and shock.

“Heavens! How is this possible? How could the Saxons do this?”

Hearing his voice, Eldridge cast him a cold glance, saying nothing.

By now, even if Eldridge and Colonel Henry wanted to withdraw and reorganize their forces for another attack, it was already too late.

Because the troops entering the city had already become thoroughly entangled with the defenders, locked in street fighting.

Ordering a retreat now would expose their vulnerable rear to the Saxon marauders hiding among the ruins.

So unsurprisingly, they fell into the same trap as Sanhulho before them—they became intoxicated by their own pride.

“We cannot retreat! The army of the Holy Britannian Empire must never yield before these country bumpkins!” Colonel Henry, like General Sanhulho minutes earlier, gestured wildly and ordered the reserves to prepare for combat.

Eldridge remained silent, turning to leave the tent as a wave of magical energy radiated from him.

He resolved to go personally to the frontline.