SWDnovel #416 - If you can't walk fast, just walk faster.
#416 - If you can't walk fast, just walk faster.
After Horn's orders were issued, the child soldiers and messengers rode off in all directions. With the dust kicked up by the horses' hooves, the previously iron-hard military formation began to waver.
Whistles echoed across the silent battlefield as company commanders, faces flushed, ran back and forth through the ranks, using their lances to strike soldiers who stood in the wrong positions.
Footsteps moved in unison as company commanders held their lances horizontally against the soldiers' chests, guiding them left and right to turn them into the correct orientation and formation.
The original horizontal formation transformed into a vertical one in less than five minutes, and it was during these five minutes that many began to cough.
The firewood and straw that Mizam had ordered to be lit upwind were finally taking effect.
It was unclear how much firewood and straw they had burned, but thick, gray smoke rose from afar, enveloping the entire battlefield in a dense haze.
While it didn't completely obscure the enemy's position, visibility was significantly reduced, as if a layer of semi-transparent gauze had been draped over the eyes.
Unable to retaliate with gas bombs due to being downwind, Horn could only order Pasrik to take a few wizards and try to dissipate the smoke from upwind.
Raising his spyglass, Horn once again peered towards the opposing formation.
In the gray mist, groups of black silhouettes emitted strange battle cries, the only light coming from the flames and orbs of light rising from the divine magic being cast.
These silhouettes swayed, row upon row, column upon column, only their shapes visible, their faces and features indistinguishable.
But Horn was certain that, after the initial chaos, the Church's formation was also changing, they had discovered Horn's attempt to flank them.
We must speed up!
"Advance!"
Pointing the Blood-Veiled Cloud ahead, Horn shouted to the commanders around him.
As the order was given, the ground trembled slightly, and tiny grains of sand bounced up from the ground, rustling against the blades of grass.
With their lances resting on their shoulders and their hands supporting the lower end of the spears, the soldiers advanced with a peculiar rhythm.
The forest of spears pierced the smoke, cutting through the gray chaos, the ammunition pouches on their dark red belts striking against their bodies as they marched.
Uniform leather boots trod across the ground, no one caring enough about their shoes to wear straw sandals anymore, even those who valued money over their lives had been scolded by the company commanders and made to wear boots.
The grass swayed, moving from side to side with the Salvation Army's advance.
"Left, right, left, left, right, left!"
"Keep up, don't run!"
"Those who fall behind should follow at the rear of their company, don't try to force your way back in."
The commands came from the company commanders as the war monks huffed and puffed forward, their faces showing both fatigue and tension.
However, the war monks on Horn's side, having fought in battles from Black Mountain Fortress to Pavia and everywhere in between, were tense but rarely panicked.
Compared to these war monks in their simple black attire, the militiamen from Little Pool City, wearing bright blue and purple short cloaks, shouted loudly, acting as if they feared nothing.
But anyone who had been on the battlefield knew it was all bluster, simply using shouts to alleviate the fear in their hearts.
Grape pawed at the ground, and Horn rode past the marching infantry.
The scene of the battlefield march flashed before his eyes like a revolving lantern, and he frowned, not entirely satisfied.
Most of the time, only the steps of his own company were uniform, and even then, only the steps near the company commander were synchronized.
They had to be constantly adjusted by the legion commander to maintain consistency with the entire rapid marching formation.
It seems we need to assign a drummer and a flag bearer.
At least in Horn's opinion, the war monks could move even faster with the current degree of formation integrity.
Horn continued to gaze into the mist, where the sounds of gunfire and screams proved that the Holy Musket Cavalry and the Kushite Knights were already engaged with the Church's cavalry.
Their reaction is fast, Horn thought for a moment, then hoarsely issued the order: "Change from quick march to assault march!"
The assault march was an enhanced version of the quick march, 120 steps per minute, advancing 80 meters, a fairly dangerous pace.
The quick march was the normal battlefield marching speed, 50 meters per minute, a fairly reasonable speed to maintain formation.
But for the Little Pool City militiamen accompanying the army, even the quick march was a bit unreasonable.
Staring at the silver breastplate of the Guardsman in front of him, Baron Colen, the Little Pool City militia captain, quickened his pace once more.
But when he turned his head, he almost fainted from anger.
Compared to the Salvation Army infantry regiment's uniformity, the Little Pool City militiamen were brightly dressed but moved like skeletons.
The ends of their spears dragged on the ground, their feet turned outwards, and every step they took sounded like bones clashing together.
Anyone who didn't know better would have thought they would fall apart at any moment.
Colen immediately began to scold the unpromising militiamen behind him: "You pigs, you eat the same food, how can you be so slow?"
"I can't walk anymore, my feet hurt so much."
"Why are we walking so fast?"
"They're all wearing leather boots, of course we can't keep up."
The militiamen grumbled sarcastically, after all, even if their predecessors weren't thugs and gangsters, they had all picked up some slippery habits from the mercenaries.
"Alright, stop complaining." The noisy shouts of the militiamen and mercenaries made Colen dizzy. "After the battle, I'll buy you each a good pair of shoes."
"We want leather boots!"
"I advise you not to go too far!" Colen's ears turned red.
"Fine." Although they didn't get anything more, the militiamen seemed to gain a new soul after being motivated, lifting their spears, straightening their chests, and starting to march quickly.
It had to be said that their marching posture was quite impressive, and Colen nodded in satisfaction: "Catch up... my Holy Lord, are we that far behind?"
In the time it took to delay, the Salvation Army infantry, who were the size of door frames before, were now only the size of cups.
Even though he had switched to a normal speed, he still couldn't catch up with the Salvation Army infantry's dust.
The shaking silver and black of the Salvation Army grew further and further away, even becoming difficult to see in the straw smoke.
Were we walking that fast just now? How come I didn't notice it before?
"Hey, buddy, slow down, we can't keep up!"
One of the militiamen shouted at the back of the company commander in front, but he didn't move at all.
The Little Pool City militiamen, sweating profusely from walking, felt that something was wrong. They looked at the Salvation Army, who were beyond their reach in both the literal and figurative sense, with puzzled expressions.
"Is it really necessary to walk so fast? Will we even have the strength to fight later?"
"The supply carts are still here with us, aren't you afraid they'll be stolen?"
"Don't jinx it."
"Baron Colen, quickly send someone to the front to ask."
Unable to refuse, Baron Colen didn't want to admit that he couldn't keep up with the Salvation Army, but this was the battlefield, a matter of life and death, so he had to comply.
Before long, the Little Pool City militiamen received Horn's reply.
"His Eminence said, walk faster!"
"That's it?" Colen asked with wide eyes, containing a hint of hope.
"That's it." The messenger nodded, and without waiting for Colen to ask anything else, he turned his horse around and darted off the side of the road, leaving Colen standing there in a daze.
If we could walk faster, wouldn't we have already done so? Aren't we asking you to slow down and meet us because we can't keep up with your speed?
If I could walk faster, why would I have sent someone to deliver a message?
As a noble commander who had suffered a major defeat last time, Baron Colen was considered an old hand at fighting (referring to his experience as a mercenary broker).
Because he was a defeated general, he had handed over all command to that young man who was not yet twenty years old.
Although the early actions made Baron Colen feel that he had made the right choice, he was now beginning to have doubts.
Carrying Horn's order, Colen returned to the marching Little Pool City militiamen, who were first startled, then began to curse in disbelief.
"What kind of grandson of a saint is he, isn't he just a swindler?"
"I want to walk faster too."
"Isn't that obvious? The messenger forgot, you tell him to come back, messenger, come back!"
Colen's eyes rolled, and he saw his brother in hardship next to him, Brüner, who also belonged to the Salvation Army infantry.
For some reason, Brüner's new recruit regiment was not walking fast, barely keeping pace with them.
Thinking of the past experiences he had heard about Brüner, Colen ran over and reached out, subconsciously trying to hug Brüner's neck, but instead hugged his waist.
"Brother Brüner..."
"Mr. Colen, I don't like men."
Looking at Brüner, who was so honest and simple that he seemed to have crawled out of the fields, Colen cursed inwardly again, how did they choose this old fool to be an officer?
"I don't like it either... Brother Brüner, you're a Salvation Army veteran, what does His Eminence mean by telling us to walk faster?" Colen asked with a stiff face.
"The enemy's infantry is in a large formation, moving slowly. If we want to flank them, we have to be fast." Brüner explained to Colen earnestly.
Colen was about to collapse: "Don't you think I know that? I told you we can't walk fast!"
"Then walk faster."
"We can't walk fast!" Colen was practically weeping blood. "If I told you to fly, could you fly? You can't do it!"
"What you say doesn't count, His Eminence said so, so it can be done." Brüner said seriously, "We just have to execute it, His Eminence has a lot to consider, why think about these things?"
Colen, filled with pent-up anger, returned to his own ranks. Looking ahead again, the Salvation Army infantry in front were almost disappearing from sight.
Turning back and glaring at the group of militiamen who were lazily stepping and still complaining about blisters on their feet, he gritted his teeth:
"Catch up, forget about the formation, follow my lead, those who fall behind will have their salaries deducted, and I'll personally sponsor some extra to those who can keep up! All-out charge!"
"Alright!"
In the cheers of the militiamen, Colen felt his heart bleeding.
"Mr. Colen, please don't go any further."
Before him was Brüner, who had stopped him with a calm expression. Colen touched his wallet and asked back with an unkind look: "What is it?"
"Stop advancing for now, we have to form a formation!"
"Form a formation? What kind of formation?" Colen couldn't take it anymore. "You told us to walk faster yourself, but now you want us to stop and form a formation. I've already spent the money, and you're telling me to stop, are you mocking..."
Facing Brüner's numb face, Colen's voice gradually faded, because he heard a rhythmic thumping sound.
A wind blew through the smoke, and along with the wind came the sound of metal clashing between armors.
Even the laziest Little Pool City militiamen had their hair standing on end.
"Please don't let it be the Edict Legion, please don't let it be the Edict Legion..." With his head raised and his eyes closed, Colen placed his middle finger on his index finger, and had never prayed so sincerely.
The Little Pool City militiamen began to form a formation spontaneously without any orders from Colen, layers of spears were set up, and heavy oak shields were erected in front of their chests.
Their efficiency had never been so high.
In the midst of this chaotic formation, one of the Little Pool City militiamen raised his head, feeling that he had seen something flash in the corner of his eye.
"Clang!"
The shadow of a giant beast dragged a cold light past the militiaman, a long sword swung, drawing blood, and a deep, bone-deep wound appeared on the chest of this unfortunate militiaman.
His eyes widened, his body swayed, and he slumped softly to the ground, his internal organs mixed with blood clots flowing all over the ground.
"Woooooo—"
The sound of a horn suppressed all the militiamen's noise.
The hunting flags rolled up the rippling smoke, the heavy black armor seemed like demons charging from the fiery hell, and all the blood in Colen's body flowed to his head.
"The Edict Legion!"