Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters
Chapter 1225 - 34 Great Alliance Moves Forward (20)

Chapter 1225: Chapter 34 Great Alliance Moves Forward (20)

[River Valley Village]

"[There is no fortress that never falls]." Lieutenant Woods thought.

This maxim is often quoted as a metaphor, but for Woods at this moment, "there is no fortress that never falls" was the literal meaning of "there is no fortress that never falls."

Woods pondered where this peculiar sense of absurdity came from while he pressed his cheek and shoulder against the gunstock, aiming at the enemy on the nearby rooftop.

The lieutenant’s shoulder had already swollen from the impact, and each touch with the gunstock was excruciatingly painful.

Yet he remained perfectly still, holding the gun steady, breathing evenly, waiting for the interval between two heartbeats before firmly pressing the firing lever.

The red flame that shot from the muzzle briefly illuminated the nave of the church. The enemy Woods aimed at raised his hands and leaned back, rolling down from the roof that was already burned to charred wood and blackened mud.

Woods felt no pity for the enemy, nor any sense of satisfaction. He simply handed the firearm to the wounded soldier beside him, then waited for the latter to hand him another gun loaded with ammunition.

Lieutenant’s shooting efficiency was so high that the four wounded soldiers did nothing but pour gunpowder and load lead shot, yet still couldn’t keep up with the lieutenant’s use.

While waiting for the next gun to be handed over, Woods suddenly understood where the absurdity of the maxim "there is no fortress that never falls" came from.

It came from the contrast between ordinary life and the present moment.

On the battlefield, the rules of daily life seamlessly transition into a vastly different set of rules, making many things that didn’t seem funny before suddenly become absurd.

Woods thought as he looked towards the altar at the end of the nave.

Behind the altar, the silent Holy Child lowered his eyes, avoiding the lieutenant’s gaze; below the altar, the priest’s ritual tools that he didn’t have time to take were rudely brushed into the corner, unnoticed; the silk originally spread on the altar, worshipped by the believers’ incense, had been pulled down, transformed into bandages for wounds... and into scraps stuffed into the guns.

Woods didn’t understand either why he still had the leisure to think about these trivial things.

Clearly, the church he was in was already surrounded by enemy troops, clearly enemy musketeers had begun to climb onto the rooftops to suppress his men, clearly the enemy would soon transport ladders from the East Bank...

But the reality was, the more critical the situation, the more urgent the circumstances, the more active Woods’ mind became.

And the situation was all too obvious: the square in River Valley Village was too small, not even deserving to be called a square, merely an area of empty land around the church, with hardly any space for retreat; as long as the attackers continued to deploy troops, the fall of this ramshackle fortress cobbled together from wooden fences, four-wheeled carts, and corpses was only a matter of time.

An overly active mind faced with an overly simple situation meant Lieutenant Woods could only consume the excess "brainpower" through instinctive wild thoughts.

Woods thought as he took another firearm with a lit fuse.

This time, his luck wasn’t so good. The gun fired, but the enemy he aimed at remained safely crouched behind the chimney, head down reloading, completely unaware that the scythe of death had just narrowly passed by.

Woods didn’t feel any regret either. He simply handed the gun to the wounded soldier behind him, calmly telling the latter, "This gun has too much lead, get a gun that hasn’t been used much."

Then it was back to waiting.

During the wait, Woods Frank inspected the fortifications around the church, and unexpectedly felt a certain regret—regretful that he hadn’t diligently practiced swordsmanship when he was at the Military Academy.

Most of the artillery branch cadets viewed swordsmanship combat as barbaric games, scoffing at the compulsory longsword training at the Military Academy.

How much of this was the howling of failure is unknown. The result was plain to see—the artillery branch, from cadets to graduates, had uniformly poor swordsmanship, not a single person could show anything decent.

Woods himself was actually interested in swordsmanship, but unfortunately the artillery branch coursework was demanding, and he could only go with the flow.

Surveying the battlefield, Lieutenant Woods regrettably thought, if only he had spent more time practicing swordsmanship back then, maybe it could be useful today.

Yet immediately another cold voice in his mind rebutted: even if the Woods Frank of those days spent more time practicing swordsmanship, for the Woods Frank of this moment and place, it would at most be the difference between living a little longer or a little less.

Woods shook his head, inadvertently glimpsing the bloodstains on his clothes. He quickly averted his gaze, forcing himself not to look at those bloodstains, not to think about where those bloodstains came from.

At that moment, a lookout on the Bell Tower cried out in alarm: "They’re coming! They’re coming!"

Immediately after, the sound of the attacker’s war drums echoed from beyond the church fortifications.

Soldiers of the New Reclamation Expeditionary Army brought the long ladders up to the height of River Valley Village. Several Hundred-Men Squads each carried two or three siege ladders, following the village’s main and side roads, simultaneously advancing towards the church in the center of the village.

"Scale the walls!" Woods cleared his mind of distractions, drawing the sword he had scarcely used, leading the charge out of the church: "Scale the walls!"

Earlier, Woods personally set fire in the village to delay the enemy. The enemy commander organized firefighting while dispatching musketeers to occupy the rooftops around the church square. The "fortress" Woods and his men had hastily constructed lacked cover, brown-uniformed musketeers shot at the defenders from above like a shooting target.

The remnants of the Alliance forces forced to retreat to the square had to yield the open ground and hide within the buildings.

Seeing the lieutenant charge resolutely towards the fortifications, the soldiers of Mont Blanc County and Thunder Group County who could still fight poured out from the church, warehouse, and cemetery.

The soldiers in brown stepped on the scorching soil, shouting as they set the long ladder against the barricade wall.

"Distilled oil!" Woods pointed his sword directly at the top of the ladder.

The coalition soldiers defending the church immediately threw the last few pottery jars filled with alchemical fuel, and a wave of heat surged up outside the barricade. Even though their view was blocked by the wall, the defenders could clearly hear the heart-wrenching screams.

The enemy on one road was temporarily blocked by the wall of fire, but the enemy’s assault did not come from only one direction, and the defenders had run out of distilled oil.

As the soldiers in brown climbed the ladder and jumped inside the barricade, the melee began.

The remnants of Mont Blanc County and Thunder Group County used everything they could find; hoes for weeding became halberds, guns that had run out of ammunition became war hammers. Without weapons, they used stones, and without stones, they used their nails.

People did everything they could to kill each other; you chop at me, I smash at you. Blood and flesh flew, and brains splattered.

Woods slashed wildly as well, suddenly comprehending the essence of swordsmanship: to hack at another person mercilessly, chopping at arms, shoulders, and thighs, anywhere soft.

Melee was brutal and swift: a nick in an artery could quickly cause one to bleed into shock; a stab to the heart or lungs could immediately render one unable to move.

Woods’ back hurt, his arms hurt, every part of his body hurt. Except for a few scratches, there were no more lethal wounds on him. But that wasn’t because of his superior swordsmanship, nor was it due to his luck, but because his subordinates were fighting desperately to protect him.

But as the melee continued, the shadows of his subordinates grew fewer beside him, while the soldiers in brown never retreated.

The enemy also noticed this extraordinarily brave officer; someone shouted orders, and more and more soldiers in brown came attacking him.

When Woods snapped back to reality, he was faintly surrounded by three soldiers in brown.

The soldiers in brown hesitated, exchanging glances, constantly swallowing, and none dared to make the first move.

However, Woods no longer cared about anything; he stiffly raised his sword, shouting as he was about to slash at the enemy directly in front of him.

At this moment, a tremendous force came from behind the lieutenant; someone grabbed his collar and yanked him back.

Woods saw a thin, one-armed figure brush past him, taking his place to face the enemy, blocking and stabbing to take down the soldier in brown at the very front.

Two more soldiers in light green messenger uniforms engaged the other two soldiers in brown, while the thin, one-armed veteran protected Woods, retreating to the church door.

"I thought," Woods gasped heavily, "you ordered me to hold until death."

"We will all die, sooner or later, Lieutenant," Colonel Bod coldly surveyed the soldiers of the two armies in the melee, "but not now."

Another round of deafening shouts and war drums spread over the high ground where River Valley Village was located.

The second infantry brigade of Thunder Group County, previously driven off after attacking the East Bank, and the second infantry brigade of Mont Blanc County at the northernmost point of the coalition’s right flank simultaneously attacked the village from the northwest and southwest.

Sanel had withdrawn too many troops from the central army, leaving only two brigade formations of the parliamentary army to attack River Valley Village, no longer holding overwhelming superiority in numbers.

Caught off guard, the New Reclamation Expeditionary Army besieging the church square fell into disarray and was once again pushed down the high ground.

The church defenders took a moment to realize what had happened. A soldier from Mont Blanc County suddenly cheered, and another soldier from Thunder Group County followed suit.

Soon, all the coalition soldiers, whether from Thunder Group County or Mont Blanc County, were cheering loudly, cheering with all their might, from the bottom of their hearts.

Even the life-or-death melee abruptly stopped; the soldiers in brown who had breached the fortress were at a loss, instinctively clustering together. This time, it was their turn to be surrounded.

Woods Frank was also cheering, tears uncontrollably streaming from his eyes.

Colonel Bod walked towards the parliamentary soldiers trapped inside the fortress, seemingly issuing orders to his own men, and calmly said, "Surrender, you are fortunate. This engagement, for you, is over."

The parliamentary soldiers in brown looked at each other, unsure of what to do, no one moved.

Only a middle-aged sergeant stared at Colonel Bod in disbelief, looking him up and down, finally stopping his gaze at the colonel’s empty, severed arm.

As if suddenly awoken from a dream, the middle-aged sergeant looked around in panic, at the dying ones groaning on the ground, at the bloodied enemies and comrades. He wanted to say something, but it felt like a large rock was lodged in his throat.

The middle-aged sergeant lowered his head, releasing the weapon in his hand.

With a clatter, the blood-stained steel sword fell on the stone slabs.

After a brief silence, more sounds of metal clashing with stone slabs resounded, and the remaining soldiers in brown began to drop their weapons one after another.

On the bell tower of the church, the flag belonging to Bod Gates fluttered loudly in the wind.