Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters
Chapter 1238 - 40 Great Alliance Moves Forward (End)

Chapter 1238: Chapter 40 Great Alliance Moves Forward (End)

The setting sun hung in the west, and the red flag waved atop a gallant horse.

For a fleeting moment, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence, as if all the fighting had paused simultaneously. Muskets ceased firing, swords stopped clashing, and even the musicians were at a loss, leaving their drums and horns untouched.

But that eerie silence lasted only a moment, as earth-shattering cheers drowned everything out the next instant.

From the south bank to the north bank, from the fields to the valleys, from Tamas drenched in blood at the front to the Monkey on the reserve line who had yet to truly enter the battle, every Iron Peak County veteran shouted fervently.

They shouted for victory, shouted the Blood of the Wolf, and shouted the high-pitched war cry that humanity had used long before the dawn of language and civilization.

No matter how many reasons the enemy had to win, or how likely they themselves were to lose, when the warriors following Winters Montagne witnessed that military flag appear on the horizon, they had no doubts about the outcome of the day.

Even the newly absorbed captives were infected by the emotions of their comrades, shouting more fervently than the veterans, scaring off death with their cries, forgetting danger, shouting from their heart and soul as members of an invincible army.

In contrast to the jubilation among the Iron Peak County military, silence reigned within the Council army, fighting for the distant nobility at Kingsfort.

Even the dullest Council soldiers could sense the intangible shift in the momentum between the two armies, though many among them still didn’t understand what had happened.

Every Council officer who gazed at the blood-soaked red flag silently mouthed the same name:

"Winters Montagne."

Even the newly appointed honorary officers had more or less heard another name for him from their colleagues:

"The Nether River Ghost who had come back from the dead."

Bart Xialing, discerning the subtle change in battlefield momentum, leaped towards the reserve line, raising his sword and pointing at the Sixth Legion’s last two squares, issuing the order for a total assault without a hint of hesitation:

"Everyone! Charge—forward!"

The Monkey felt a fire burning in his chest, causing his blood to surge and his heart to race. The exhaustion and soreness that pervaded his body did not lessen one bit, yet they no longer impeded him from moving his legs and swinging his arms.

Hearing the order from the captain of the second battalion, the Monkey let out a loud roar and charged at the enemy ahead of all his comrades on the reserve line.

On the artillery positions in the northeast of the battlefield, Seber Carrington let out a slight hum, half-exasperated and half-disdainful, but the envy in his eyes was impossible to conceal.

The junior officer beside him gave a good-natured cough, unable to wait any longer to ask, "Major, what should we do? Should we engage?"

Seber raised his eyebrows unconsciously. He turned around and saw the eager expressions plastered on the faces of his subordinates around him, all gazing at him expectantly.

However, due to the lack of orders, the Iron Peak County’s light cavalry, controlling the artillery positions, dared not expose their identity and location, so they had to suppress their excitement, their faces reddening.

Seber Carrington’s gaze swept over the main battlefield on both banks of River Valley Village—the Pseudo-Government Army infantry had essentially been split into two parts, with the doomed remnants on the east bank and the almost unscathed four companies on the west bank;

The Major then gazed southwest—the cavalry of the Alliance already achieving an overwhelming advantage with the assistance of the Iron Peak County musketeers, driving the brown-clad cavalry from the battlefield.

Finally, the Major turned his head, counting the subordinates who had made it to the battlefield—only a handful of them, fewer than fifty sabers in total.

All the light cavalry who successfully arrived at Snake Swamp had been sent out as scouting teams, and this was as many as could be gathered in a short time.

Colonel Seber had made his judgment. He furrowed his brows, grinned insincerely at the junior officer beside him, baring his teeth as he asked, "What to do? You tell me."

The junior officer who had just spoken felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, instantly wilting.

Seber gripped his saber, ordering in a deep voice, "Inform Colonel Skool of our identity; judging by the signal flag, he shouldn’t be dead yet. Someone also go to Thunder Group County cavalry, whoever is commanding them, tell them to consolidate their forces and report to me—the west bank’s pseudo-army only needs a few detachments of light cavalry to contain them, tell him not to bloody waste horse power chasing those beaten remnants."

"Major, the commander of Thunder Group County cavalry..." A junior officer hesitated, "might not obediently follow orders."

Seber Carrington glared, revealing his two sharp, wolfish teeth, and repeated word by word, "Tell him to come see me."

The junior officer said no more, quickly summoning a few light cavalrymen, and galloped down the mound towards the west bank.

"Then what’s our order, senior?" another slightly older junior officer calmly asked.

Seber’s expression softened a little. He raised his arm, pointing at the battlefield, "The east bank’s pseudo-army is nearly finished. Once they are done for, the west bank’s pseudo-army can’t return to the main camp and lose their cavalry cover. They’ll be like meat on a chopping board, ready for us to handle however we wish."

"Remember this! Winning battles isn’t about not fearing death but knowing how to seize opportunities." After giving the trainees a lesson on the spot, Seber cast one last glance at the blood-red battle flag atop the distant hill, turned around, hands on his hips, and issued his orders with great spirit:

"If the west bank’s pseudo-army chooses to hold their ground, we stick to our position and keep an eye on them; if they attempt to rendezvous with the east bank’s pseudo-army or vice versa, we decisively strike them; and if..."