Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 67: Chapter 63: Horse Dung and Dragon Dung

As noon approached, a dull thudding grew from a distant rhythm, pounding in the ears of everyone in Newly Town.

It was the sound of ten armored warhorses, treading upon the dirt in unison.

"Enemy attack—!"

The lookout’s roar shattered the tranquility.

Immediately after, the piercing clang of an alarm bell echoed over Newly Town.

But the expected chaos and screaming did not erupt.

The moment the lookout’s shout faded, a farmer bent over in the fields snapped upright, his face pale.

But he didn’t run. Instead, he snatched up the hoe from the ground, grabbed his son’s wrist in a death grip with his other hand, and practically dragged him toward the town.

He muttered, "Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. Just do as the lord taught us. We’ll be fine..." But his voice trembled uncontrollably.

The people within the town also began methodically following the procedures of their "emergency drills."

The forge fires were quickly doused, and the sound of hammering ceased abruptly.

Women pulled their children along routes they had practiced countless times, some heading home, others climbing the walls to deliver arrows to the defenders.

All of Newly Town moved like a machine that had just been switched on, every gear turning along its designated path.

On the town wall, the bearded vice-captain’s eyes were bloodshot. He grinned, yelling for the militia to move supplies as he spat fiercely into his palm.

Velin stood on the corner tower of the bastion, watching everything with satisfaction. ’That vice-captain is doing a fine job. He’s earned a bonus.’

His gaze passed over the battlements, settling on the approaching troop.

At their head was none other than Glenn, still wearing the same suit of chainmail, which reflected a cold light in the sun.

Behind him, ten Knights, both man and horse clad in heavy chainmail, were as silent as a procession of iron statues.

They bore no banner, only the crude, standard-issue battle-axes hanging from the sides of their saddles.

’The Rock Breaker Knight Order from Shiyan Town.’

They did not rush to charge. Instead, they reined in their warhorses just outside of bow range, forming a suffocating line of steel.

Glenn urged his horse forward a few steps, removed his gauntlet, and shouted in a tone of haughty condescension.

"Velin Klein, in there! Didn’t that female captain of yours teach you how to greet your masters? One hundred Golden Suns is the greeting gift you owe His Lordship the Baron! Bring it out, or we’ll come in and take it ourselves!"

At these words, the militia on the walls flushed with anger.

Velin did not respond.

He simply raised his hand calmly and made a downward gesture.

"Close the gate."

SCREEECH—

Pushed by the combined effort of several militiamen, the heavy vine gate slowly swung shut, closing with a final THUD.

Glenn’s face turned livid.

’A rejection.’

"Shameless bastard!" a Knight behind him cursed.

"Commander, give the order! Let us smash open this ramshackle fence!"

Glenn’s eyes were fixed on the black town wall.

’The shape of this wall is so strange.’

’It isn’t a straight line, but a series of protruding, sharp angles, like a shining star.’

’Any charging force would be naturally compressed and broken by these angles, rendering their proud, massed charge formation useless.’

’Worse, no matter the angle of attack, they would expose their flanks to fire from the battlements in at least two directions.’

’What kind of goddamned design is this?!’

But his rage now overrode his tactical misgivings.

"Charge!" Glenn drew the Longsword at his hip and pointed it toward the closed gate. "Smash it open for me!"

"ROAR!" The Knights let out bestial roars, dug their heels into their horses’ flanks, and charged. The ten warhorses churned up mud, a torrent of steel crashing toward Newly Town!

On the walls, the militiamen nervously gripped their weapons. Some even squeezed their eyes shut.

However, Velin’s calm voice rang out, "First squad, left flank. Target the horses’ legs."

TWANG!

The moment the command was given, two steel crossbows fired from behind the battlements on the projecting left bastion. Aided by the bastion’s perfect firing angle, the bolts easily struck the flank of the charging column.

A shrill whinny echoed as a warhorse’s front legs gave way, sending it tumbling to the ground. The heavy armor gave its Knight no time to react; he was instantly thrown, landing in the mud completely dazed.

A gap opened in the charging formation. The Knights behind had to yank their reins and swerve, tearing their proud torrent of steel apart and throwing it into chaos.

"Damn it!" Glenn roared, struggling to steady his mount. He tried to regroup his men for a second assault on the gate.

Just then, he saw Velin on the corner tower move again.

The young Knight had produced a glass bottle from somewhere.

The bottle was no bigger than his palm and contained a murky liquid that gave off a fluorescent green glow.

’An Alchemy Potion?’

Glenn’s pupils contracted.

He had seen those secretive alchemists before. Their potions could either save lives or take them.

’But from this distance, what kind of decent attack could a small bottle possibly be?’

Velin weighed the bottle in his hand, then, in a perfect throwing stance, hurled it with all his might toward Glenn’s position.

All eyes followed the glass bottle as it traced a parabola through the air, finally landing in the mud in front of the Knights.

CRACK.

It was a crisp, shattering sound.

There was no explosion, no fire, not even any thick smoke—just the faint, acrid smell of urine.

The Knights looked at each other in confusion.

Someone burst out laughing. "Ha! Has that pretty boy been scared stupid? Is he throwing a chamber pot at us?"

The next second, however, the warhorse beneath him let out a piercing shriek and reared violently!

The sudden movement threw the Knight clear off his mount. His heavy armor made him look like an overturned turtle as he flailed in the mud, unable to get back up.

This was only the beginning. For some reason, all the horses were spooked.

One horse lost control and crashed into another, setting off a chain reaction.

The entire formation devolved into chaos—a cacophony of shrieking horses, cursing Knights, and clanging armor.

One panicked warhorse lost control of its sphincter as it bolted.

A stream of hot horse piss drenched the helmet of a Knight who had just struggled back to his feet.

On the wall, there was a dead silence at first.

But as they watched the unlucky Knight clawing at the visor of his helmet, looking like he was about to suffocate...

...someone couldn’t hold it in any longer and let out a snort.

That snort was the spark. One militiaman started laughing, then another.

Soon, everyone on the wall was roaring with laughter. They bent over, slapped their thighs, and laughed until tears streamed down their faces.

Glenn’s face turned a shade of deep crimson, and humiliation burned in his chest.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight back; he was completely unable to!

His own horse was going wild. All he could do was cling desperately to the reins, watching helplessly as his men became a laughingstock.

This wasn’t a battle anymore. It was a farce.

"...Retreat."

He practically forced the word from between his clenched teeth.

Not wanting to stay a second longer, he wheeled his horse around and fled in disarray, his routed troop trailing behind him amidst the unabashed mockery of Newly Town’s residents.

Before he left, he glanced back one last time.

The young lord named Velin was still standing quietly on the corner tower.

Seeing the enemy retreat into the distance, Velin turned to the vice-captain beside him and said,

"Make a note: the Dragon Dung Potion is too potent against warhorses. Halve the active ingredients next time. We need to control costs."