Chapter 62: Meeting the Captain Again

Upon seeing this scene, the defending soldiers on the distant frontline did not even wait for officer commands; they immediately opened fierce, concentrated fire on the St. George Mark III.

"Clang, clang, clatter!"

Countless bullets struck its armor, kicking up dense clusters of sparks, yet they failed to cause any substantial damage whatsoever.

At this moment, the armor knight's despair-inducing suppression over infantry was displayed to the absolute limit.

Morin watched the greasy, scratch-covered iron giant approaching step by step, his brain racing frantically as he sought a solution to the immediate predicament.

Rifles? Grenades? Useless. Previous combat had repeatedly proven that these personal weapons could not inflict effective damage upon it.

Just as he was burning with anxiety, his peripheral vision suddenly caught sight of something.

Beside Ludwig's chassis, having fallen from the rack due to the earlier collapse, was a shaped charge anti-armor projectile!

A crazy thought instantly formed in Morin's mind.

Although this weapon was designed for the temporary use of armor knights, as its designer, Morin knew very well that while its weight was heavy for an adult male, it was not entirely impossible to shoulder!

As long as one could carry it, approach that St. George Mark III, and detonate it at close range...

He glanced at the steadily advancing armor knight, then back at the shaped charge on the ground, a hint of hesitation flashing in his eyes.

Why on earth should he risk his life for a nation he had only transmigrated to 48 hours ago?

At the very moment of his hesitation, a large hand stained with blood and grime grabbed his collar tightly from behind, yanking him backward.

It was Captain Hauser.

"Captain?"

Morin turned back, meeting a face covered in scars and blood.

Captain Hauser's complexion was frighteningly pale, his lips completely devoid of color from blood loss.

Morin's gaze shifted downward, and he realized with horror that at some point, a fairly thick and sharp wooden spike had impaled Captain Hauser's abdomen.

Fresh blood was continuously gushing from the wound, staining his gray military uniform a shocking, dark crimson.

"Captain! You're injured! Quick, find somewhere to lie down!"

Morin cried out in alarm, reaching out to support him.

"Never mind me..."

Captain Hauser's voice was weak, but his gaze was exceptionally resolute.

He shoved a cloth-wrapped package into Morin's arms, then pushed him deep inside the building.

"You're still young. Survive!"

These were the last words Captain Hauser said to Morin.

Afterward, he resolutely turned around and burst out of the building with a sudden agility, as if he were completely uninjured.

His actions also caught the attention of two other heavily wounded Saxon veterans nearby who could barely stand.

Those two veterans froze for a moment upon seeing Captain Hauser's movement, then instantly understood.

They exchanged a glance, seeing the exact same resolve in each other's eyes.

The armor knight had already reached them, the blade of its raised power sword shimmering with enchanted blue light.

Right now, the St. George Mark III was positioned in a reverse grip, preparing to thrust down fiercely and completely finish off Ludwig's mount.

Then, he saw a sight that made his hair stand on end.

Three infantrymen who had appeared from nowhere actually bent down together, exerting every ounce of their strength to forcefully lift the thick, heavy "fire-poking stick" off the ground!

"Not good!"

In the mind of the armor knight's pilot, flashes of his two comrades being instantly destroyed by this weapon earlier replayed.

He was struck with alarm. No longer caring about attacking the downed Siegfried Mark I, he immediately changed targets, wielding his power sword and bringing it down savagely toward the three infantrymen carrying the lethal weapon!

His shield had long since been lost in the previous battle, along with his severed left arm.

Now, the only way he could stop these three madmen was to hack them all into mincemeat before they could detonate that damned weapon!

Gazing at the massive blade descending overhead, Captain Hauser and the other two veterans showed not a shred of fear.

They merely raised their heads, facing the deadly cold light, and unleashed a deafening roar with the very last ounce of their life's strength.

"Long live the Saxon Empire!"

They bellowed, while Captain Hauser simultaneously fumbled and pressed the mechanical ignition device at the rear of the shaped charge.

"Boom—!"

Dazzling fire blossomed once more across the battlefield.

The searing metal jet pierced straight through the cockpit of the St. George Mark III from the front with an unstoppable force.

The Guards pilot, along with his mount, was completely reduced to a pile of scrap metal under this single blow.

Yet the cost was catastrophic.

The massive shockwave generated by the explosion, combined with the power sword continuing its downward arc due to inertia, acted upon the three heroic soldiers simultaneously.

Captain Hauser and the two veterans were torn to shreds by the blast and the slash before they could even witness the enemy's destruction.

Bright red blood stained the shattered earth.

Meanwhile, pushed deep into the ruins, Morin watched this scene with splitting eyes, his fingernails digging deep into his palms, unable to utter a sound.

...

On the other side, William, piloting the only operational armor knight left on the battlefield, had already plunged into the chaotic mass of Bretonnian infantry, initiating a bloody one-man massacre.

His target was crystal clear—to utterly slay the heavily wounded, downed mage, Eldridge!

According to pre-battle intelligence, although Eldridge was a high-tier mage, the spells he could cast each day were also limited.

Today, he had already cast several high-level spells consecutively, including [Transmute Rock] and [Mordenkainen's Sword].

Judging by the spell slots of a mage of his tier, theoretically, unless he continued using high-level spell scrolls, he could not cast any spell capable of threatening an armor knight.

However, high-level spell scrolls were handcrafted items after all, and only high-tier archmages had the capability to create them. Their numbers were extremely scarce, making them precious "strategic resources" even within Bretonnia.

Thus, right now was perhaps the absolute best opportunity to finish off Eldridge...

Thinking of this, William's intent to kill grew even fiercer.

Controlling the Siegfried Mark I like a tiger entering a flock of sheep, every swing of his battleaxe claimed the lives of several Bretonnian soldiers who failed to escape in time.

Soon, he cleared the obstacles around him and arrived before Eldridge, who was still struggling on the ground, preparing to cleave the culprit behind their massive casualties into a pulp with a single axe-stroke!

At that very moment, Eldridge, blood still streaming from the corner of his mouth, leaned upon his nearly snapped staff and struggled to his feet.

He looked at the gigantic battleaxe about to descend before him, a bitter yet manic smile surfacing on his face.

With trembling hands, he drew an ordinary-looking parchment scroll from his ornate yet blood-stained robes.

Then, he viciously bit open the spell seal on the scroll with his teeth.

A slender green ray, seemingly devoid of any lethal aura, shot out from the scroll and struck William's Siegfried Mark I silently.

[7th-Level Spell—Disintegrate]