When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#413 - It only takes a moment to go from a rookie to a veteran

Volowitz, a new recruit of the Guards' Third Army and a Holy Gunner, stood on the slightly damp grass, sweat sticking the thin blended fabric to his skin, revealing the contours of his muscles.

During training at Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, he would often deliberately show off his muscle lines to attract the blushing, mock-scolding of the nun girls.

But at this moment, Volowitz was not in that mood.

His breathing was rapid, his chest heaving, and through the shoulders of the Holy Gunners in front, he could vaguely see the approaching mercenary knights in the distance.

Dark clouds hung in the sky, with only a faint fluorescent light falling, shining on the knights' silver armor, reflecting a hazy light.

The sound of horses' hooves striking the ground came from afar, causing the ground to tremble slightly.

Underneath their bucket-shaped helmets, various colored arming clothes and heraldic tabards were draped on these knights without family backgrounds; the more they lacked, the more they flaunted.

But even these figures were once someone Volowitz had to look up to.

His cousin had been raped and killed by such a mercenary knight in a barn.

But in the lord's rural court, despite the priest's arguments, the lord sentenced the knight to pay a fine of one lamb.

Volowitz could still remember the ecstatic expressions of his uncles—they had eight children, losing one didn't matter.

But a sheep, that was a sheep, a good thing!

It could be sheared for wool, milked for milk, held for warmth while sleeping, and sold for money in times of hardship...

The only downside was that it couldn't tell him stories of Saint Shelley and the Rabbit by the fire with bare feet before bed, nor could it wipe away his tears with the corner of its clothes when he cried.

A strand of hair fell, caught on Volowitz's long eyelashes, but he didn't dare reach out to remove it.

It was as if the moment he did, those knights would teleport in front of him.

"Don't move, get ready!" the squad leader's hoarse voice rang out.

The knights' charge thundered, and Volowitz's hand, gripping the clockwork gun, was slippery with sweat, his fingertips nervously caressing the rough wooden stock.

As a new regiment of the Guards, these new recruits like Volowitz were on the battlefield for the first time; three months ago, they were just farmers tilling the fields.

And now, their two squads were separately dispatched to guard the flanks of the fireball crossbow positions; behind them was a cavalry regiment composed of Ibe Knights and Holy Gun Cavalry.

Volowitz had always believed that the Holy Maiden was definitely stronger than those mercenary knights.

But when these behemoths charged close, the feeling of his heart pounding still overwhelmed him.

Just like when he tried to stop that wandering knight and was so scared by the swords that he wet his pants.

These heavily armored knights, wielding lances, were so powerful; in their presence, he still felt as small as he had back then.

Could these charging knights really be repelled by the clockwork gun in his hand?

Some of the new recruits' hands began to involuntarily rise, trying to level their clockwork guns and aim at the approaching knights.

"Damn it, who told you to raise your guns!" the squad leader's voice exploded in the new recruits' ears, hurting their eardrums, and even making their thighs, which were usually beaten, ache faintly.

Startled by the roar, the new recruits trembled, hurriedly lowered their raised clockwork guns, and straightened their chests under the squad leader's sharp gaze and their company commander's exasperated eyes.

Volowitz didn't instinctively raise his Holy Gun, which made him feel a little proud of himself—at least he was braver than them.

But as the figures of the mercenary knights gradually magnified to clarity in his vision, this sense of pride dissipated with the white gas exhaled from the warhorses' nostrils.

"Charge!"

The mercenary knight leader's battle cry crossed over a hundred meters, pierced Volowitz's eardrums, and he smelled the stench of horse manure and the rusty smell of blood in the wind.

This smell was becoming increasingly pungent with the increasingly rapid hoofbeats.

His ears were filled with the warhorses' neighing and the clashing of armor.

"First rank, raise guns, aim."

"Second rank, ready."

"Third rank, wind up!"

Amid the three commands, Volowitz saw the Holy Gunners in front of him raise their Holy Guns in unison, a row of dark muzzles aimed at the charging mercenary knights.

"Hold it, don't move, I'll beat anyone who moves to death."

Many trembling war monks immediately stood at attention, watching the soldiers in front of them, and Volowitz actually grinned.

Volowitz didn't know why he was smiling, he didn't even know why he would smile.

Do people laugh when they are extremely scared?

One hundred and twenty meters, one hundred and ten meters, one hundred meters... the distance of the knights was getting closer and closer, the hooves were like a hammer, constantly slamming into the hearts of the new recruits.

"Bang!"

"Who?! Everyone is not allowed to move!"

Perhaps because of excessive tension, some Holy Gunner suddenly pulled the trigger, which caused a great disaster.

Like a chain reaction, the sound of Holy Guns firing rang out one after another.

"Who, who fired the gun!" the squad leader roared, waving the halberd in his hand, and snatched a war monk's Holy Gun, "Get out, leave my team!"

"Squad leader, I..."

"Get out!"

Carrying the Holy Gun on his back, the squad leader blew his whistle and returned to his original position, raised the halberd in his hand, and began to clean up the mess caused by the new recruits' mistakes: "Rotate positions, second rank forward."

"First Holy Gun Brigade, first rank, turn right, move!" the company commander's command clearly entered his ears, "Second rank forward, two steps forward, aim!"

Standing in the second rank, Volowitz dragged the stock of the Holy Gun, rested it on his shoulder, and took two steps forward.

Mechanically inserting the gun rack into the ground in front of him, Volowitz pushed the brim of his helmet, raised the Holy Gun, and placed it on the thin and fragile gun rack.

He placed his index finger on the trigger, waiting for the final command.

The sound of hooves was getting clearer and clearer, and he could even see the emblems on their tattered banners.

The mercenary knights in the distance were still approaching, but Volowitz's thoughts flew away for some reason.

In Cousin Therese's stories, those who fought against the knights and the Church were often farmers fooled by witches or wizards, perhaps he was becoming one of them?

He just didn't know whether this story would be written by the Pope of the Holy See or the Pope of Salvation in the future.

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"Praise the Holy Wind!"

In a strange mood, the squad leader's roar and the companions' cheers rang out at the same time.

"Click" The check pawl popped up, and Volowitz pulled the trigger almost reflexively.

The sound of air flowing out of the pressure balance hole, the clockwork key frantically rotating, blowing away the hair on his eyelashes.

The Holy Gun's enormous recoil was suddenly transmitted to his shoulder, and his entire arm felt numb as if struck by lightning.

"Buzz——" Tinnitus occupied Volowitz's world.

Shaking his head, trying to relieve the dizziness after the magic power was drained, Volowitz felt as if someone had scooped out a part of his brain with a small spoon.

The clear vision became blurred, even a gust of wind seemed to destroy the balance of his body, and he couldn't even feel the existence of his body.

It wasn't until he subconsciously picked up the smelling salts and put them to his nose that the pungent smell rushed into his brain, breaking through the blurred dizziness.

Squinting his eyes from the dizziness, Volowitz shook his body and cast his tense gaze on the battlefield.

Like a wheat field blown by a storm, the mercenary knights trembled all over, screaming and falling.

After losing control, the warhorses neighed and reared up, trampling their masters nearby, breaking their tendons and bones.

The heavy armor hit the ground, and the knights in the front row screamed and fell from their horses, rolling on the ground, making continuous "clang" muffled sounds.

The knights in the rear were frightened by the sudden change and reined in their warhorses, but the last knights were still charging, and the entire formation was in chaos.

Was this, repelling them?

Not standing still, still confused, Volowitz took a step forward.

Beside him, Jeanne, holding the battle flag, rode Carrot and leaped out, the hooves of the horse and Volowitz's footsteps landed on the ground at the same time.

Hundreds of cavalrymen shot out from the flanks of the Holy Gunners like a stream of hot iron.

Blown by two waves of Holy Wind, the mercenary knights were forcibly slowed down, and the original tight charging formation became even more chaotic.

And the timing of the Holy Gun Cavalry's charge was too timely, so that these mercenary knights didn't even have time to adjust their postures before being killed by the Holy Gun Cavalry.

The new recruits of the Guards couldn't help but cheer.

Along with the volley of the Holy Gun Cavalry, the fear in their hearts was gradually replaced by a strange excitement.

It turned out that the invincible knights of the past were no longer the insurmountable monsters, but humans who could be defeated.

Just like them, these farmers.

These Church mercenary knights tried to regroup in panic, but under the constant impact of the Holy Gun Cavalry, they retreated steadily.

The mercenary knights completely collapsed under this double blow, their warhorses no longer obeyed orders and turned to flee.

Chasing them were not only the Holy Maiden Jeanne waving the battle flag, but also the second round of fireballs rising from the rear positions.

Looking at the Holy Maiden Jeanne galloping on the battlefield, Volowitz felt something warm flowing down his cheeks.

He stuck out his tongue and licked it, feeling a salty taste.

Suddenly, Volowitz suddenly understood why he was laughing.

"Sister Therese! Look, look!" Volowitz's murmur carried a sob, "The Holy Wind has made the fairest judgment for you!"