Chapter 528 342: Still a Massacre

Despite the sea breeze, everyone felt as hot as a furnace.

The two sides were methodically deploying their formations.

Kemish stood on a wall of piled rock—though it was less a wall and more of a slope, five or six spear-lengths high.

But even this slight elevation was enough to give them a topographical advantage. Their Archers stood packed together on the decks of small sailing ships overhanging the water. This superior position made them practically invincible; only other Archers or Casters could pose a threat.

But in Kemish's eyes, even he lacked Wizards who could perform Magic; how could a country Baron possibly possess powerful Casters?

Rows of Long Spear Soldiers holding Iron Wire Round Shields stood guard on the rocky slope, ready to turn anyone who got close into a porcupine.

Bringing up the rear were eight hundred Heavy Cavalry. This was his ace in the hole. This type of unit was without a doubt the most expensive; just outfitting them with exquisite Cavalry Plate Armor and Fine Steel Weapons had completely drained his coffers.

But they were also unquestionably powerful. With Demon Pattern Warriors as riders and Scorpion Horses—which possessed a trace of Magical Beast Bloodline—as mounts, they dominated the battlefields of their homeland. They were unrivaled, capable of crushing any mortal flesh that stood in their way!

Kemish was already being sufficiently cautious and respectful of his opponent. After all, a single glance was enough to see how few men the enemy had.

Logically, a few charges from his Heavy Cavalry should be enough to completely annihilate them.

But when he saw the enemy's Heavy Armored Infantry, each as burly as a brown bear, he hesitated and chose the most prudent tactic.

「Behind the High Cliff Castle formation.」

"Aren't you going to join the battle?" Miriel asked as she took a silver bow from her back. She nocked an arrow, and with a WHOOSH, it flew straight toward the Archers on the sailboat decks.

Elves truly lived up to their name as natural-born archers. Even a Half-Elf like her had a special gift for it. From a distance of about three hundred paces, her aim was still terrifyingly accurate, heading straight for an enemy's eye socket. Unfortunately, she lacked the strength to back it up. The arrow ended up tapping lightly against the target's chest, accomplishing nothing more than giving the man a fright.

She shook her head. Although she also trained in Combat Qi, her Cultivation was low. Her physical Power was only a few times greater than that of an ordinary person. Even with her Lightweight Bow, which increased her range, three hundred paces was her absolute limit.

"You have to give the youngsters a chance to shine, don't you? This is a rare training opportunity," the Lord said. He was seated on the broad back of his Three-headed Dog, with Little Buji perched on his shoulder, casually cracking melon seeds. From time to time, it would extend a tiny hand to feed one to Levi, who was peering intently through a spyglass.

Levi wasn't the least bit worried. To be honest, this opponent was completely unremarkable. His only concern was that their ships might be equipped with powerful weapons, like ballistae or small catapults.

However, Si Kai had told him that these kinds of slave ships forgo all weaponry in order to maximize cargo space.

And what about encountering sea bandits on the open ocean?

The Persian Gulf Empire was the biggest pirate on these seas. As long as a noble's banner was flying, common sea bandits knew to steer clear.

Seeing that the enemy had no intention of fleeing, the Lord finally relaxed. He quietly waited to claim his prize.

...

The waiting was agonizing.

To pass the time, Kemish examined the enemy's formation.

These Debei People had two to three hundred burly, shield-bearing Heavy Armored Infantry, each at least nearly Sanren Gao tall, advancing slowly. Behind them were three to four hundred Archers in bright silver Light Armor, holding Purple Robe Longbows. A group of Jackal Wolfman Scouts loitered at the very rear.

'It's a classic formation,' he thought. 'Can't find any fault with it, but there's nothing special about it either. Their commander is most likely a greenhorn. This is the kind of formation novices love to use.'

'Their equipment is terrifyingly fine, no doubt about that. Even their Archers are equipped with Iron Armor and nasal helms. That's a luxury only top-tier legions can afford.'

'This all but confirms they have an iron mine—and not a small one, either!'

'Still, their fine equipment and intimidating size are certainly impressive.'

'Of course,' he mused, 'it's nothing compared to my Blood Wolf Wind Legion of more than five thousand men.'

'If my men were a band of Militia, the enemy might pull off a heroic victory of the few against the many. But my legion's strength has been tested in battle after battle. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been personally named by my father, a great general of the Persian Gulf Empire.'

The Archers on the decks, enjoying their topographical advantage, watched the burly shield-bearers slowly advance. They loosed a few scattered arrows. The two forces were nearly two hundred paces apart, so of course, the arrows posed no threat. They were simply trying to taunt the clumsy iron lumps.

By the time the shower of arrows crossed the two-hundred-pace distance, it had lost all momentum. The shafts barely flew a few more feet before plopping into the ground behind the big oafs' heels.

Suddenly, they noticed that the enemy Archers had actually stopped at a distance of two hundred and twenty paces.

"Are they insane? What threat can they pose from this distance?" a turbaned slave archer sneered.

As an elite Archer, his own maximum range barely reached two hundred paces, and at that distance, you couldn't expect any accuracy or power.

Besides, shooting from so far away would consume a great deal of stamina. Their usual volleying range was one hundred and sixty paces, while their truly effective firing range was one hundred and thirty paces.