industrial lord

Chapter 755 The fish is hooked
The towering flames and muffled explosions from the direction of the Kingdom of Sverrières fortress ripped through the silent night sky, clearly visible even 6 kilometers away.

Baron Trins was hastily summoned from a room filled with the aroma of strong liquor and the grand harmony of life by his servants. Still slightly drunk and full of fighting spirit, he strode up the castle's towering tower to gaze into the distance.

As soon as the north wind blew, his drunkenness and fighting spirit vanished instantly.

The fire was no ordinary fire; it not only illuminated half the sky but also distorted the outlines of distant mountains in the leaping orange-red flames.

"My lord, is it the Rhine Alliance attacking from the fortress?" The knight beside him gripped his sword hilt tightly, his voice filled with tension and unease.

Trins frowned, shielding his eyes from the north wind, and carefully observed the distant and blinding light source for a moment.

He shook his head and said with schadenfreude, "It couldn't be the Rhine Alliance's army attacking. His Majesty is surrounding their king in front. Would anyone dare to disregard the safety of their own king?"

"Heh, most likely those idiots in the garrison got drunk while warming themselves by the fire and set the house on fire, or maybe the lantern was blown by the wind and hit a pillar, accidentally setting fire to the grain stack or wine barrel. Those mages are probably still drunk, what a bunch of useless trash!"

"Hmph, back then, to prevent fires, I installed fire-resistant magic lamps imported from the Duchy of Wesen in the warehouse area, and there were also heaters in the rest areas. As soon as I left, those things were sold off."

Guarding the fortress was a very lucrative job. It was originally the place where Trins was guarding it, and he made a fortune with extra money to build fire safety facilities.

As a result, he suddenly received a mission to Hanma City. After returning, his troops were driven to this castle, and the fortress was reorganized.

While he sternly rebuked the fortress garrison for their incompetence, a thought was secretly brewing within him.

This chaos presents a golden opportunity. If I can lead a timely rescue team, I can decide how much supplies I can salvage.

Only when you are well-fed and watered can you have the strength to get through the cold winter; no one will complain that their warehouse is too full.

"Assemble the troops immediately!" Trins gave the order decisively without hesitation, his voice echoing through the tower. "Every man at your disposal, every horse that can run in the stables, come with me to the fortress for rescue! Hurry!"

The command was like a pebble thrown into calm water, creating ripples that spread rapidly.

The castle was instantly plunged into an unprecedented flurry of activity and noise.

The sleeping soldiers were roughly dragged from their warm beds, groggily searching for their armor and weapons. The grooms cursed as they hurriedly prepared the saddles under the dim lanterns, while the officers ran back and forth between the courtyard and the barracks, shouting and even kicking their men, trying to gather the scattered crowd together.

The assembly process was chaotic and inefficient. Soldiers couldn't find their officers, equipment was mixed up, and the temporarily recruited militia were completely lost.

These people were less like militiamen and more like laborers from their hometowns who came here to earn a living because they knew they wouldn't survive the winter.

Many of these people are hunters, and their combat abilities are quite good.

By the time Trins had managed to gather more than three thousand men and opened the castle gates, nearly an hour had passed since he spotted the fortress's fires.

The rescue team held up torches and lanterns, their faint light shining like fireflies in the thick darkness, barely illuminating the narrow, rugged path through the forest.

The line stretched out very long, winding like a serpent of light crawling in the darkness.

The soldiers trudged through the darkness, their heavy footsteps and labored breathing echoing through the air.

Knights and officers on horseback impatiently berated the infantry blocking their path, urging them to quicken their pace.

The firelight could only illuminate a limited area around them, and the ranks were severely disjointed. Infantry, cavalry, and empty supply wagons were mixed together, and the formation that had been barely maintained quickly became loose and chaotic.

The soldiers' complaints, the officers' urging, the sound of horses' hooves trampling through mud, the chaotic footsteps, and the clanging of weapons echoed hollowly in the dark and silent woods.

Everyone was on edge, their eyes fixed on the faint light of their companions' torches ahead. They were struggling to move forward and had no time to look at anything else, let alone notice the unfathomable darkness on both sides of the road.

Unbeknownst to them, a battalion of the Wesson Army assault corps had been lying in ambush for some time in the shadows of the woods less than fifty paces on either side of this narrow road.

The soldiers, clad in elaborate camouflage, blended seamlessly into the forest. Their cold gun barrels were steadily pointed at the glittering road below. Everyone remained motionless like rocks, maintaining absolute silence, patiently waiting for their prey to step into this carefully laid death trap.

When the densest and most chaotic part of Trins's group stepped into the heart of the ambush zone, disaster struck without warning.

The first sound was a series of muffled explosions. The "This Side Faces the Enemy" command, hidden in the treetops, exploded a rain of steel pellets from above, and countless blood mists erupted from the ranks.

In an instant, entire groups of people collapsed, and their piercing screams shattered the forest.

Panic spread like a plague, and the crowd descended into utter chaos and terror, like an anthill doused with boiling water.

Almost at the same instant the smoke and fire rose from the explosion, several deeper, muffled thuds echoed from the dense forest on both sides of the road. Several specially made flares, trailing blinding, scorching white flames and shining brighter than the midday sun in summer, flew past the treetops one after another.

In the extreme darkness, this sudden burst of light intensely stimulated all the unsuspecting eyes below.

Almost all the soldiers who were on the march, especially those who instinctively looked up in the direction of the explosion, were instantly and briefly blinded.

All they could see was an unyielding, scorching whiteness and flickering spots of light. A sharp, intense pain shot from their eyes to their brains, bringing dizziness and despair.

The entire team descended into complete hysterical chaos.

The blind soldier was terrified, waving his hands like a headless fly, screaming and rushing around wildly, while those he knocked down let out helpless cries.

The startled warhorse reared up and neighed wildly, easily throwing its rider off its back into the dust. Then, filled with fear, it charged madly into the chaotic crowd, causing even more widespread trampling casualties.

The officers' desperate shouts and orders to maintain order were completely drowned out by the wave of panic fueled by fear and pain.

In this moment of utter chaos, the Wesson army's attack officially began.

In the dense forest on both sides of the road, countless silent gun barrels spat out deadly bullets at the same moment.

The grenade launchers focused their fire on the still-organized ranks, the officers trying to rally the soldiers, and those who appeared to be casting spells.

Many Bloodpine Warriors transformed into giant wolves or bears and charged into the forest, only to be hit by an even denser hail of bullets, and reverted to human form after death.

The dense, precise, and ruthless barrage of bullets, like invisible, sharp scythes, slashed uniformly at the huddled, defenseless enemy troops.

The blind, terrified, and jostling Sverrières soldiers became perfect targets.

They had no idea where the deadly attack was coming from; all they could hear were the muffled groans of their comrades being shot, the heavy thuds of them falling to the ground, and their dying cries.

Some instinctively tried to lie down and hide, only to be trampled mercilessly by the chaotic fleeing crowd; some desperately fired arrows or brandished weapons at the dark woods, all to no avail; many more simply spun around and pushed in place like headless flies, only to be easily shot down by bullets flying from nowhere in the next second, their lives harvested like weeds.

This could no longer be called a battle; it was a complete, one-sided, efficient, and rapid massacre.

The assault troops worked in groups of three, coordinating perfectly, taking turns firing, reloading, and providing cover. Their firepower was like a relentless storm of death, with no respite.

They strictly blocked both ends of the road, tightly compressing the panicked and nowhere-to-escape enemy into the narrow, deadly middle, and then methodically and ruthlessly continued to reduce their numbers.

Gunshots, the screams of the dying, the cries of the wounded, and the mournful neighing of warhorses echoed densely through the cold forest for more than a quarter of an hour before gradually becoming sparse and sporadic, and finally completely subsiding.

As the chilling echo of the last gunshot faded completely into the dark depths of the woods, only a deathly, suffocating silence remained on the road, along with a heavy, nauseating, almost tangible stench of blood.

Most of the remaining torches and lanterns had been extinguished or rolled to the ground. Only a few weak flames flickered among the piles of corpses and pools of blood, illuminating the twisted and overlapping bodies, scattered limbs and broken arms, and the wounded soldiers who were still groaning and struggling in pain.

A rescue team of more than 3,000 people was almost completely wiped out by a battalion of soldiers in less than half an hour.

That night, the same deadly tactics were repeated on all the main roads leading to the fortress.

The assault troops had already broken up into smaller units, organized into battalions, and like the most patient hunters, they precisely ambushed along the rescue routes that Sverrière's army was most likely to take. They made full use of the cover of darkness, the advantages of the complex terrain, and the enemy's anxiety, confusion, and lack of vigilance due to being far from the battlefield, reaping one life after another.

Some battalions, after completing their ambush, would run to the upwind side of the enemy's castle or camp, launch an attack using their superior weapon range, and finally set fire with incendiary bombs.

As dawn breaks, countless plumes of smoke greet the morning light.

In last night's battle, the assault troops eliminated more than 30,000 enemy troops, and burned down several barracks and castles, in addition to the fortress.

At noon that day, dozens of kilometers to the north, the army of the Kingdom of Sverrière, which was besieging the remnants of the royal family of the Kingdom of Danma, hastily divided its forces and sent 10,000 elite soldiers back to reinforce the fortress.

During their march, they came to the bank of a swift-flowing river and were preparing to cross when they were suddenly subjected to intense artillery fire. Shells rained down like a storm, instantly disrupting the formation of the troops.

Just as the smoke of gunfire had not yet dissipated, the entire assault force, still full of energy, rode their puppet warhorses and suddenly charged out from the dense pine forests all around. The sound of their hooves shook the heavens and the earth, and they launched a thunderous charge like an overwhelming tidal wave.

The remaining thousand or so men of this force escaped back to their camp. By the time a more elite army set out, Jürgen had already completed his mission and led his assault troops to a more important battlefield.

(End of this chapter)