Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters
Chapter 1227 - 37: The Great Alliance Moves Forward (22)

Chapter 1227: Chapter 37: The Great Alliance Moves Forward (22)

Spears interlocked, smoke billowed, and the square formation ruthlessly crushed flesh.

"Stay close!" Colonel Skool shouted with all his might: "Stay close!"

In melee, soldiers in tight formation will inevitably defeat those in scattered formation.

This simple, crude truth, proven time and again in the long history of human warfare, was first learned by Skur Meklen in the classroom.

Back then, he probably wouldn’t have imagined that one day he would personally verify those textbook clichés in the most brutal way.

"Stay close!" Skur leaned against the flagpole to support himself, harshly repeating the order: "Stay close!"

But staying close was too difficult: the noise made ears ring and eyes dazzle, the smoke rendered eyes unable to open, and the slimy intestines were like snare ropes dragging soldiers down, leaving those still standing no place to set foot.

With a thud, the drummer standing in front of Skur was suddenly hit and his skull split open. Bone fragments and brain matter splashed all over Skur, and the drummer’s body slumped heavily at Skur’s feet.

"Drum!" Skur, still acting as if nothing happened, hoarsely shouted: "Stay close!"

Actually, there was no need for the colonel to command his subordinates to stay close; everyone instinctively wanted to be closer to their comrades, because that was the only way to survive.

The manual’s requirement of "always keeping an arm’s distance" had become literal "paper talk."

As they advanced, retreated, and squeezed each other, every remaining square formation had shrunk as much as possible. Elbows pressed against elbows, shoulders touched shoulders, and the formation had long since vanished.

Spearmen from the rear constantly filled into the front, leaving only a thin line, turning the original four-sided square formation into a "battle line."

And all the formations of both armies collectively formed a larger battle line, fiercely fighting below the hill where the Alliance army had set up cannons.

At the northernmost end of the line, the allied forces of Thunder Group County and Riverside County frantically encircled the enemy; at the southernmost end, the New Reclamation Expeditionary Army was fiercely attacking the side of the allied forces.

Driven by blood and life, the line slowly and uncontrollably rotated, growing thinner and narrower with each turn.

Skur Meklen watched as the brown-clad soldiers before him lost in combat, being forced step by step to retreat by the allied spearmen, to the point where the ensign at the back of the line rolled up the flag and carried it on his shoulder — a signal for retreat.

Sure enough, the drumbeat suddenly changed, and the Alliance army brigade facing Skur’s square formation voluntarily retreated and reformed.

The brown-clad soldiers stumbled and retreated away from the enemy, exposing a gap in the Alliance army’s line.

Every battle example he learned from books shouted at Skur, telling him he must seize the opportunity and turn the enemy’s retreat into a rout.

However, Colonel Skool could no longer command his troops as he did at the start of the battle.

His soldiers were exhausted, his officers and non-commissioned officers were severely injured or killed, and he wasn’t even sure if his troops would collapse in the next moment.

Skur did not have any reserves to exploit the gap, as both sides had already pushed their last chips onto the table.

Without time for a breather, Skur instinctively ordered the square formation he was with to advance, flanking the enemy facing his allied forces on the right-hand side.

During this reformation and advance, the previously retreating brown-clad soldiers were once again driven back up and tangled with the square formation where Skur was located.

Meanwhile, Colonel Chloe Toriel, commanding the Alliance army’s right wing, was staring hard at the unwavering silver-edged flag in the center of the enemy’s line.

He stared so hard that his eyes almost seemed ready to bleed.

The person beneath that flag was Chloe’s classmate and old friend, yet at this moment, Chloe Toriel’s chest was filled only with anger, resentment, and despair.

"Why did you come?!" Chloe screamed madly in his heart: "Why won’t you surrender?!"

He wanted to choke the opponent’s throat, question, curse... burst into tears.

Nothing is more cruel and bloody than evenly matched battles; compared to them, one-sided victories seem merciful.

The battle had reached a point where both the combined forces of Riverside County and Thunder Group County, as well as Chloe’s reorganized New Reclamation Legion, had been pushed to the limits.

Skur had no reserves, and Chloe had no reserves either;

Skur’s soldiers were exhausted, while Chloe’s troops were even more tired than the allied soldiers resting at ease;

Skur perceived an opportunity but was powerless to pursue victory, while Chloe could only watch as the enemy retreated and reorganized repeatedly.

Both sides had lost the ability to expand a fleeting opportunity into an unstoppable triumph and could only wait for the other side to fall into total collapse.

The battle had turned into a waiting game, watching who could endure a minute longer; yet, each second it dragged on, more Paratu People fell into the mire of blood.

Among the shouts, drumming, and gunfire, Chloe heard some unusual sounds.

Initially faint, like a wisp of smoke mixed in morning mist, difficult to detect. Then suddenly rising, as if leaping from the abyss to the clouds, becoming rolling thunder.

It was the sound of hooves, deafening hooves.

Chloe Toriel let out a long sigh. They came—or rather, finally came.