Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

With the previous garrison plus the reinforcements that arrived last night, there are a total of twenty-two Prince Caledron.

Of them, only Asaniel wore armor painted in gold.

He should have been wearing green armor, but it was gold instead of green because golden dragons are extremely rare and uncommon. Therefore, nobles wearing golden armor are often regarded as the strongest champions in the Caledonian army. They are the embodiment of glory and power, carrying an aura of noble authority that oppresses everything.

The armor of the other dragon princes is painted in red, blue, and green, echoing the colors of the dragons their ancestors rode, creating a striking array. Meanwhile, the commoner soldiers wear the colors they pledge allegiance to the nobles, their neatly arranged ranks resembling a colorful ocean surging in the wind. Red and green paint is the most common combination, shimmering in the sunlight, appearing both solemn and dazzling.

The representative color of the Saln family is green, and the reason for this green color comes from the family's honor, and even more so from Asanir's companion—the Fang of Death.

Of course, although it is called green, it is not a single, all-green color. There are always other colors mixed and contrasted on the armor, which are faintly visible among the intricate carvings, like a battle flag fluttering in the wind.

However, all this solemnity and glory could not conceal the inner turmoil and pain in Astarian's heart at this moment.

At this moment, his face, reflecting the color of his armor, appeared even greener.

This is not a symbol of nobility, but a distortion of extreme repression.

The veins on his forehead bulged, and his eyes gradually turned bloodshot, his vision sometimes clear and sometimes dim, as if the world itself was trembling with him. His body trembled uncontrollably, and cold sweat streamed down his chin, so much so that he had to grip the reins of his warhorse tightly to keep himself from falling off.

He struggled to lift his head and look up at the sky. His heart screamed wildly, his eyes filled with expectation and longing, but the figure he longed for did not appear, as if it had been swept away by the wind and vanished completely.

That blank space was more unbearable for him than any cruel reality.

He intuitively believed that Death Fang was merely injured and had to temporarily leave the battlefield. Perhaps, before long, he would see his nephew and Death Fang reappear, swooping down from the sky once more, bringing flames and gales with them.

But reason coldly told him that his nephew and the Fang of Death were actually dead.

That intuition, like a cold iron nail driven deep into the heart, widened the wound with each beat.

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently, as if something was being torn out of him. He tried desperately to breathe, trying to calm himself down, but he couldn't. The scene before him, the irreversible situation, and his nephew's death all weighed him down like an incredibly heavy boulder.

He found himself in a dilemma.

The more he tried to adjust, the more he wanted to return to normal, the less he could recover. His will was like being trapped in a quagmire; every struggle only made him sink deeper, as if an invisible hand was tightly gripping his throat, making it impossible for him to breathe or escape.

However, this did not stop Duruci and his team from getting moving.

Although the Uzbekistani was modeled after the Sea Guard, in terms of tactics and weaponry, it was actually no different from the army.

Why is it that Duruci doesn't practice archery?

As the rearguard moved, the Evil Guards raised their repeating crossbows, the strings twanging as they pulled the triggers. Then, countless arrows flew diagonally from above the heads of the Evil Guards in front, tracing dark arcs through the air before raining down on the enemy spearmen. Shields clanged, armor sparked, and amidst the clashing of metal, the screams of a few soldiers could be heard.

The role of the repeating crossbow in Durucci's army system is somewhat similar to that of the archer in Asur's army system, yet they are also distinctly different. Unlike archers who rely on longbows for ranged suppressive fire, Durucci's repeating crossbow is destined to rely more on close-range area-of-effect attacks.

Unfortunately, the weapon's range is limited; due to its structure and power, they cannot maintain the same oppressive force at greater distances.

For long-range operations, Duruci relied on the lightweight and ruthless ballista. This was the true killing machine, capable of destroying enemy ranks and will from a greater distance.

The repeating crossbow, on the other hand, is like a group of venomous snakes, frantically biting as the enemy approaches, disrupting the enemy's formation, forcing them to expend more physical strength and energy when defending or charging, and also creating a lottery.

In this brutal game of probability, Duruci undoubtedly stands on the more advantageous side.

Between aesthetics and practicality, the new-era Duruci unhesitatingly chose practicality.

The standard helmet worn by Duruci was a combination of a closed high helmet and a frog-beak helmet, with a cold and sharp appearance, like a steel mask forged from hell. During marches or non-combat periods, the detachable visor was usually hung at the waist for breathing and observation. However, when close combat was imminent, soldiers would put on the visor in advance and secure it firmly to the helmet with strong buckles.

The visor has narrow openings for vision and breathing, and is shaped like an arc. Although it has a chance to deflect spears and arrows, it can also save one's life by luck at critical moments.

But for Duruci, what they needed even more was that, before engaging in battle, when the enemy's longbow arrows rained down like a storm, they wouldn't be forced to withdraw from the fight by a stray arrow hitting their face, or even lose their lives on the spot.

Of course, there are also costs involved.

In the chaos of battle, face shields can severely impair combat efficiency, restricting soldiers' vision and breathing. However, compared to life-or-death decisions, this impact is clearly insignificant; no one wants to fall on the battlefield because of an arrow that shouldn't have landed.

As for the near-unavoidable point-blank fire from the hunter's bow, no helmet can completely withstand this type of attack without magical armor. There is only one solution—tactically prevent Asur's hunters from getting close enough to achieve this level of damage.

As for how exactly to do it, that's a battle of blood and iron, another cruel calculation.

But the Asur people are different; their standard helmets are visible...

The eyes, mouth, and chin are all exposed to the air.

As long as Asur doesn't update the helmets or equip soldiers with additional faceplates, the repeating crossbow will still have a role to play. Even if Asur does make adjustments and adds faceplates to the helmets, the repeating crossbow will still be usable.

Unlike the Duruci, whose armor was mass-produced in steel mills, the Asur infantry did not have a high rate of armor coverage, and their protection levels varied considerably. The same was true for their warhorses; their armor was incomplete, often leaving their necks and legs exposed.

Therefore, screams rang out almost immediately.

It was Asur, who had been struck directly in the face by a crossbow bolt, that fired—sharp, short, and desperate.

Then, even more violent metallic clanging sounds rose and fell, the reverberations of javelins thrown by the one-handed Evil Guards clashing with the shields and armor of the spearmen.

The sound was like a series of rapid drumbeats, dense and piercing.

They do not seek to kill, but only to cause chaos.

A victory is achieved when the enemy's shield-bearers are shaken by a powerful impact, even if their shields are rendered unusable due to the presence of javelins, as this creates as many opportunities as possible for the next engagement.

This was Dakota's original idea.

However, after several optimizations, the javelin equipped by Duruchi has been thoroughly improved. Although it is short and flexible, and does not hinder marching or daily life when hung on the waist, the armor-piercing spike at the front, combined with the javelin thrower, has multiplied the power of close-range throwing.

Then, more screams rang out.

Those were the Asur spearmen who had been hit. Some of them even tried to drop their shields but couldn't, because the javelins that pierced through the shields had driven into their arm guards, like rough nails, pinning their arms firmly to their shields.

Those Asur whose armor was pierced directly fell with screams, staggering to their deaths and tumbling at the feet of their comrades.

The next moment, the Evil Guards at the forefront had no time or space to reattach their javelins to the spears and throw them. They decisively discarded the javelins, drew their one-handed weapons from their waists, quickly ducked behind their shields, lowered their center of gravity, and began a full-scale charge.

Currently, the adoption rate of the Messer knife has decreased significantly compared to the old era.

The reason is simple: Duruchi's main enemy is Asur, and against these heavily armored enemies, the Messer is somewhat ineffective in direct combat. Unless it can seize an opportunity to plunge the blade into an exposed part of the face, it is difficult to achieve a consistent result.

For this reason, the leaf hammer and the one-handed axe became the preferred choices. Blunt weapons are as brutal and effective against armored targets as ever; even if they cannot penetrate the armor, the blunt force can shatter bones, rendering the enemy incapable of fighting on the spot.

These Evil Guards acted as the Dark Swordsmen of the army, equipped with shields, one-handed weapons, and javelins. When charging into enemy infantry formations, they would unhesitatingly rush to the forefront, like a sharp blade cutting through raging waves, to meet the fiercest killing intent and the most lethal blows.

In other situations, however, they would not act rashly. For example, if a giant beast appeared in the enemy ranks, or if the iron hooves of cavalry had already churned the earth, they would remain firmly in their formation, as stable as rocks, and throw all the javelins at their waists. The same principle applied when defending or resisting an attack.

Therefore, those following behind were naturally the Evil Guards wielding spears and shields. During the charge, they held a firm position in the center, providing cover for the attackers, calmly and resolutely forming a formidable iron wall with their spear tips. Using the sharpness of their spears, they could thrust through gaps in the enemy ranks, tearing open bloody cracks and gradually widening the breaches.

This creates space for the Evil Guards to finish off enemies after close combat, as they will no longer use repeating crossbows but instead grip long-handled battle axes, greatswords, and long-handled hammers with both hands.

"Evil Guard!"

"The waves are surging!"

"Matheran!"

"Please bless me!"

The shouts blended together, shaking the heavens and the earth like a surging tide.

The vanguard at the forefront suddenly accelerated, their feet seemingly shattering the earth, their shoulders gathering all their strength as they unleashed a skill akin to a savage charge. Taking advantage of the slight tremor of the spearmen after their javelin throws, they rammed into them with tremendous force.

The next moment, roars, screams, curses, and the clash of weapons rose and fell, like a chaotic and tragic symphony that enveloped the entire battlefield.

Some of the Evil Guards stumbled during the charge, their shields and weapons scraping against the ground with a harsh metallic scraping sound, but even so, they gritted their teeth and struggled to get up again, or were pulled up by their comrades who followed.

Meanwhile, Asur, who had been struck by the split arrows from the ballista and had already collapsed and groaned in agony, displayed their final stubbornness. Ignoring their bloody wounds and the churning pain in their chests, they grimaced and roared, using their last strength to pull out their daggers.

Some men grabbed Duruqi's legs with one hand and stabbed him wildly with their short blades; others simply hugged Duruqi's legs with both hands and even used their teeth to bite the gaps exposed on his hind legs, using extreme methods to delay the enemy's advance.

The Evil Guards who charged into the spearmen's ranks were also paying a bloody price. Screams rose and fell as cold spears pierced through the gaps with precision, their sharp tips piercing through their visors and instantly taking their lives.

Blood mist and shattered armor fragments danced in the air, each thrust taking away a soul.

As one of the world's most powerful military forces, Asur is no pushover. Especially the people of the Kingdom of Caledo, whose tenacity, resilience, and fearlessness were on full display at this moment. Even when suppressed and torn apart, they held their ground, refusing to crumble.

If it were another race, they might not have launched an uphill attack in the first place. Even if they had, they would have turned around and fled in the face of such a dense barrage of split arrows from the ballista, and would have given up.

But the spearmen didn't!
They persisted, gritted their teeth, and maintained their formation, like a high wall that wouldn't fall in the flames, coldly repelling Duruci's ferocious offensive.

Unfortunately, that's all.

The Evil Guards' offensive is imminent!

The Evil Guards at the forefront charged forward shoulder to shoulder, their shields striking Asur's spears with a metallic clang like sparks; some Evil Guards even used the curvature of their armor to directly ram the spearheads with their bodies, buying a momentary opening.

The moment the space appeared, they brandished their weapons, ruthlessly and precisely, smashing them into the helmets of the Asur soldiers who hadn't yet had time to retract their spears. The next moment, another spear pierced the breastplate from the side, pinning it to the spot.

The battle lines began to twist!
The two sides became entangled, pushing, roaring, blood, and weapons clashing, all exploding in an instant.

The fallen corpses were quickly trampled, blood splattered on armor and shields, and the air on the battlefield was filled with the strong smell of rust.

"Evil Guard!"

"The waves are surging!"

War cries rose and fell among the ranks, like a tidal wave; even if the front lines fell, new Evil Guards would immediately rise to take their place. Abandoning their repeating crossbows, the Evil Guards drew their greatswords and long-handled battle axes, wielding them to cleave, slice, and shatter Asur's spears and shields.

The battle has reached a fever pitch!
The Evil Guards tore through the enemy lines like wild beasts, indifferent to their own injuries or the enemy's counterattacks. Their sole objective was to create an opening, widen the gap, and then, in the turbulent flow of blood and iron, utterly crush the enemy!

The spearmen are still holding on desperately!

Their spears thrust out again and again, knocking down one Duruci after another, but as time went on, the cracks in their formation grew wider and wider. Every opening that was breached was like a breach in the coastline, quickly filled by a tidal wave of Evil Guards.

Roars and screams mingled together, blood flowed, and the ground was slippery as mud.

The spearmen were forced to abandon their spear formation and instead engage the Evil Guards in close combat with broken spear shafts, short swords, or even their bare hands. Some grabbed an enemy's wrist and pinned him down with all their might, only to be pierced through the back by another Duruci in the next instant; others fought back desperately in dire straits, plunging broken spears into their opponents' visor plates, causing blood to spray like a fountain onto their faces.

The Evil Guards, however, did not back down!
Their breaths were thick with bloodlust, and beneath their cold visors, their eyes held only slaughter. Shields slammed, hammers swept, and axes cleaved down; they were like a series of waves, smashing through defenses. Even when a comrade had just fallen, their steps did not falter; blood only served as a catalyst.

Gradually, the once-immaculate wall of spears crumbled, like a broken shield, its surface riddled with wounds. More Duruci were cutting into these wounds, widening the gap.

This is a time of oppression!
This is the most ferocious moment of Duruci's blade!
"Array! Maintain array!"

The Asur officer roared hoarsely, as if trying to pull the entire battlefield back to order from chaos with his voice. Unfortunately, his voice was drowned out in the next instant by screams, the roar of clashing weapons, and the clashing of weapons.

He had just raised his sword, trying to encourage the soldiers around him, when suddenly a strangely dressed Duruci appeared before him.

There were no pleasantries, no provocations, only that brutal and cold action—the Soul-Slaying Hook slashed down with a vicious whistle.

Before the longsword could even defend itself, it was ripped open, and the officer's left shoulder was then cleaved diagonally. The sound of armor shattering and flesh being torn apart mingled together, accompanied by a gush of blood, pushing him into the embrace of death.

The officer's body fell heavily to the ground, splattering dirt and blood. The sword in his hand, which had once symbolized command and honor, let out a lonely wail in the mud.

But the Soul Splitter didn't even glance at him, nor did he linger on the corpse for even a moment; his eyes were fixed on a new target. The Soul-Slaying Hook in his hand stirred up a storm once more, and with a sweeping motion, he deflected the spear thrusting towards him.

Immediately, the hook blade mercilessly sliced ​​through the shield of another spearman, shattering the ironwood and tearing apart his protective armor. His body was also severed at the waist, and he fell to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Without pausing, the Soul Splitter turned his head to search for his next target. The next moment, amidst the bloody chaos, his gaze met that of another person.

And so, Astarión watched from across the crowd and the murderous intent, as the Duruci and his men charged down the slope in droves, their figures seemingly imbued with dark power, moving with swift and ruthless speed. Their shouts, their battle cries, were distorted by fighting spirit and carnage; the swarms of azure armor gleamed with a chilling light, like an endless tide pouring down from the fissure, crashing into the already broken and struggling ranks of spearmen.

The sounds of shields clashing against weapons rose and fell, like the groans of trees breaking in a storm. The clanging of steel mingled with the splattering of blood, and screams of agony echoed one after another.

That once straight defensive line—the last bastion upon which the Asur soldiers depended for survival—was instantly swept away like a rotten dam by a torrent of blood and steel.

Astaroth's eyes were bloodshot; he knew that continuing like this would only lead to total annihilation. Chaos, fear, and grief tore at his reason; he felt as if his heart was about to explode from his chest. He pressed the tip of his tongue tightly between his teeth, then bit down hard; the sharp pain brought a sliver of clarity.

He must remain clear-headed; he must make a choice amidst this vortex of blood and fire.

He knew that his next decision would determine his life or death, and the ultimate course of the battle. (End of Chapter)