Chapter 530: Defeat

Chapter 530: Chapter 343: Defeat

The muffled thunder of hooves drowned out the crash of waves against the reefs. Across the entire coastline, the sound grew from a sparse beat to a dense, thunderous roar.

The charge of the Heavy Cavalry could only be described as terrifying. Each rider was equipped with two layers of Heavy Armor: a thick suit of lamellar armor covered by a layer of Chain Armor. They wore Sharp Helmets and wielded maces. Including their barded, towering warhorses, each unit weighed a staggering two thousand pounds. Their flying hooves tore the turf to shreds as they surged forward like an unstoppable tide.

There were a full eight hundred of these cavalrymen!

To say nothing of the fact that every rider was a Purity Warrior, possessing extraordinary physical Power capable of wrestling lions and tigers. Their mounts were Scorpion Horses with Magical Beast Bloodlines, their four hooves as thick as tree trunks.

The enemy’s Heavy Armored Infantry had an incredibly strong frontal defense when in formation, but their weakness was just as obvious: they were inevitably slow.

Therefore, in a hundred heartbeats at most, they could smash into their flank and grind them into paste.

No mortal flesh could withstand the charge of Heavy Cavalry, to say nothing of their three-to-one numerical advantage.

Kemish didn’t dare blink, terrified he would miss the glorious, crushing impact. Beneath their chainmail coifs, the corners of the cavalrymen’s mouths curled into savage grins, as if they could already see those admittedly well-built infantrymen being sent flying.

But for the slave infantry guards taking the brunt of the assault on the front lines, those hundred heartbeats stretched into an eternity—an absurd nightmare, an Eternal Hell where each day felt like a year.

Just as they had been trained, they raised their Shields to block and attacked the enemy with long-spears, armor-piercing swords, and pointed hammers.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized, their coordination seamless. One could find no fault in their technique. They were a force that could halt a cavalry charge, worthy of their reputation as the Empire’s stalwart Shield.

They had relied on this skill to win countless battles with ease.

But what was happening now made them question their very existence.

If they were well-trained Warriors, then their opponents were, without a doubt, a pack of unnaturally strong brutes.

They were met with Giant Axes and hundred-pound Steel Shields crashing down on them. They were no countryside Militia; they immediately raised their Shields and weapons to parry.

Their response was flawless, but the outcome cost them dearly in blood.

The blocks were useless!

It wasn’t that the enemy possessed exquisite Martial Arts, no clever feints or cunning thrusts to the throat. It was simply that their strength was appallingly immense. A descending Giant Axe cleaved through both weapon and wielder, splitting them in two. The most wretched were their comrades with Steel Shields, who were smashed directly into pulp.

The powerfully built, dual-axe-wielding Warrior was even more absurd. With a single spin, he could permanently separate the heads from the torsos of everyone around him, a sight that made the lucky few on the periphery who escaped his reach break down and weep in terror.

And when they heard their enemy bellowing, “Me chop, chop, chop, and chop some more,” they knew they had one foot in the grave.

The Feder Archers had begun to occasionally support the main front. They had already inflicted heavy losses on the slave Archers on the ships’ decks, visually reducing their numbers by at least six or seven hundred. The survivors were now cowering in the holds, daring not to show their faces again.

Watching this one-sided slaughter made even that girl, Miriel, flush with excitement. Hiding in the back and loosing a few opportunistic arrows, she managed to snag a few kills.

In this confrontation with nearly ten-to-one odds, the result was bizarre: the side with fewer numbers was advancing methodically, while the side with the numerical advantage was fighting for their lives in a steady, unstoppable retreat, leaving a trail of severed limbs in their wake.

This wasn’t an even fight. It was like a troop of Armored Knights brutally beating a mob of peasant farmers. Their superior numbers were completely useless; they were just feeding kills to the enemy.

To be honest, the Barbarians themselves were surprised. In the past, enemies facing such a brutal, inhuman slaughter would quickly realize resistance was futile, drop their weapons, and flee, crying for their mothers and fathers.

But these charcoal-black devils in front of them were taking the punishment without breaking rank.

The Barbarians went about their work, heads down, like diligent farmers plowing a field. The Feder Archers split their forces, with some suppressing the slave Archers on the decks and others supporting the main front. The Jackal Wolfman Cavalry patrolled the flanks, guarding against any sudden counter-moves.

But it seemed none of them saw the Heavy Cavalry charging from the distance.

Kemish’s heart began to calm. A smile touched his lips.

The enemy was indeed far stronger than he had anticipated, but he still believed his hand-picked Heavy Cavalry could solve any problem.

This trust was born from their undefeated record.

But suddenly, from the coast to the rear, another sound of hooves arose, followed by a continuous, thunderous vibration.

At the edge of their vision, figures appeared as if from nowhere, stepping out of the sea and onto the firm turf.

It was an optical illusion, caused by them cresting a slope.

‘When did they get there?’

Kemish, who had been anticipating victory, felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. He froze. The world went silent.

A violent terror seized his heart like an invisible hand, and his sphincter clenched reflexively.

They were Centaur Knights, each as imposing as a small mountain. They were clad in thick Heavy Plate Armor and shouldered Double-Bladed Broadswords capable of turning a man to paste. Like Undead Knights from Hell itself, they radiated a chilling, suffocating aura of death. Just seeing them standing there, Kemish knew with absolute certainty: if they charged, his own cherished Heavy Cavalry would be scattered like children’s toys.