Chapter 1425 - 766: Striking from Afar, Routing the Enemy Nearby

Chapter 1425: Chapter 766: Striking from Afar, Routing the Enemy Nearby

The longbowmen, as the elite force kept in reserve by the nobility, were equipped with better gear than the pikemen. Their issued armor, combined with personally acquired equipment, made for a considerable fighting capability.

Not only were they skilled at drawing the bow for long-range shooting, but their close combat abilities weren’t lacking either; they could lay down their longbows and take up longswords and iron halberds for battle.

However, all of this became meaningless in the face of artillery.

Without the protection of brick walls, how vulnerable the human body appeared! When cannonballs crashed into the crowd, armor was torn apart like thin paper, and the resilient longbows, as thick as a baby’s arm, were snapped.

No one could stop it, leaving behind a trail of shattered bones and mangled flesh.

Flesh and wails wove a nightmarish illusion as if hell had descended.

"Ahhhh! My leg!"

"Save me... I don’t want to die..."

"Sorcery! It must be sorcery, let’s run away..."

Such a scene delivered a small shock to the ordinary people who had not experienced the cruelty of war, rendering those previously filled with greed and ambition suddenly sober, even fearful.

The Knights couldn’t just stand by either. They hurried to control the situation, while also trying their best to rescue those longbowmen.

Only after counting did they realize that over a hundred longbowmen were now reduced to less than half.

This was only because reloading artillery was cumbersome; otherwise, there would have been no time for them to flee.

But the battlefield does not pause for their failure; on the contrary, the attack would continue fiercely due to their revealed weaknesses!

With the map breaking the traps, shield cars advanced closer to draw out the longbowmen, and just one volley from the two artillery positions on either side tore open the farm’s defensive formation, more importantly forcing the longbowmen to not dare show themselves.

The speed of the shield car and the mortars behind suddenly increased, and even if the archers harassed with arrows, it was to no avail.

Bonaparte hid among them, with a noticeable scar on his face, scratched by a heavy arrow that pierced the wooden boards. Had he not tilted his head, that arrow would have been embedded directly in his skull.

Many had dents on their breastplates and helmets, with some even penetrated, causing damage, which highlights how dangerous the recent arrow storm had been.

But at this moment, except for those who had completely lost mobility, everyone else only cared about pushing the shield car and mortars forward under the cover of artillery fire.

Finally stepping within a hundred yards, the shield car stood in front, loaded with cannonballs and gunpowder.

But the first shot, preloaded, had already been fired, and everyone was filled with rage.

"Boom!"

Twenty mortars fired, indiscriminately launching bombs without much time for aiming; the first wave was both a show of force and a calibration.

The bombs fell in the farm and immediately caused an uproar, faintly hearing wails and screams, but not as exaggerated as before.

Because the previous artillery barrage had frightened them into huddling on their positions, unless a bomb directly hit, fragments, blocked by brick walls and buildings, would struggle to cause harm.

This is why mortars had to be brought up—to deal with this; despite having collapsed some walls earlier, one still had to consider how many positions remained behind, especially under the cover of buildings, which were not so easily breached.

But the mortar was different, being smaller, more mobile, and capable of entering farms, specifically designed to assault the defensive positions.

Facing a wall? Just bypass it and let it fall from above, right?

Building roofs? Then shoot the bombs through windows, doors, and breaches.

However, this precision required meant loading the mortar was easy, but aiming was difficult.

Bonaparte glanced through a gap in the shield car at the position ahead, raising his thumb.

"Left front, ten o’clock direction, angle sixty-five, two portions of powder, four sections of fuse."

Once the data was relayed, those inside began unloading ammunition from the shield car. Direction and angle were easy to understand, while the portion of powder referred to packages of gunpowder, with distance dictating how much was needed.

The fuses on the bombs were also divided into five sections, each representing a certain time, allowing them to approximate the drop time by trimming the excess.

It’s impossible for the average person to complete so many calculations instantly, hence the need for an integrated firing manual, which they only needed to learn and memorize to make rough judgments.

After Bonaparte’s command, a barrage followed, landing on the position.

Those inside thought hiding behind the fortification would be safe, only to hear noises above; as soon as they looked up, explosions swept over them, and while the whistling shrapnel wasn’t as powerful as the cannonballs, it easily tore through clothes and embedded in flesh, turning into a nightmare for those without armor.

"Ah!"

"My hand!"

"Mom..."

Those people, like a pot on the boil, rushed from the position, only to fall down after a few steps, their bodies a blur of blood and flesh.

After collapsing, blood continued to flow, breaths grew weaker, and their eyes, filled with unwillingness, were devoid of crazy ambition, leaving only fear...

When had ordinary people fought such battles? Even veterans who had battled other noble armies were stunned; their experience was worthless in the face of firearms.

Another artillery barrage sounded; even if it wasn’t aimed at them, expecting these panic-stricken people to hold the line was improbable.

The collapse of morale was a necessary response to the setbacks faced by these serf-formed armies—it must be endured!

Many abandoned the frontlines to leave, while the Knights and bodyguards tried to block them, swinging swords, turning the farm into utter chaos.