Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 946, 08.945: "The True Knight (Seeking Monthly Tickets!)"

Horatio, like a charged meteorite imbued with the wrath of the God-Emperor, crashed violently into the very center of the Greenskin wave.

That dark green ocean, composed of countless savage bodies, instantly swallowed him up.

The lightning went out, leaving only an endless, suffocating green covering the earth.

However, just seconds later...

Zizizi!
Blinding bolts of psionic lightning, like vengeful spirits breaking free from their restraints, suddenly erupted from the center of the green tide.

They dispelled the darkness, and the pure energy they contained even extinguished the surrounding flames instantly.

brush! !

Countless green-skinned creatures were thrown into the air by this irresistible force. The violent psionic lightning coiled around their bodies like living things, burning them to a crisp and turning them into dust in mid-air.

He single-handedly opened the final passage for the reinforcements.

As the last charred green-skinned corpse fell to the ground, the obstacles in front of them were instantly cleared away.

Horatio gritted his teeth and endured the pain, slowly standing up. On his blue terracotta armor, tiny arcs of electricity still crackled.

He looked up and met the astonished and awe-inspiring gazes of Brigadier General Jean Lannes, who was leading his grenadiers charging towards him, and the countless soldiers behind him. In the flickering firelight, they met each other's eyes.

On the outer sand dunes of the energy hub, the symphony of battle is playing a completely different movement.

The gleaming armor of the young, spirited cuirassier officer, holding aloft the totem banner he had seized from the Greenskins—a "fluttering" banner made of scrap iron rods and massive animal bones, symbolizing tribal glory—as his personal trophy of valor, led his troops across the battlefield.

The tightly-formed, rigidly mobile cuirassiers, along with the Leman Rustank in their ranks, formed a mobile bulwark of flesh and steel, a "plowshare" designed to crush any enemy in their path.

Their charge was incredibly powerful, but this also made them lack flexibility and mobility.

The green-skinned motorcycle boys, crouching in the shadows of the sand dunes, precisely targeted their fighting style, which made it difficult for them to turn around in time.

Like hyenas in the desert, they used the extreme speed of their vehicles to constantly harass the troops from the flanks, decimating this proud force with a dense barrage of bullets.

The cuirassier officer who stole the Greenskin totem banner naturally became the Greenskins' primary target for revenge.

Motorbike enthusiasts and off-road vehicle enthusiasts were firing wildly with their crudely made machine guns.

The cuirassiers, still charging forward, could withstand the direct penetration of bullets with their finely polished cuirassiers, but their unmodified warhorses were no match for this storm of steel.

Every now and then, cavalrymen would fall to the ground along with their wounded, whimpering horses, rolling and being swallowed up by the iron hooves behind them; others would be hit by bullets and fall from their horses, but their feet would get caught in the stirrups, and they would be dragged forward by their panicked horses, leaving a long trail of blood on the sand.

Even the cuirassier officer who led the charge to capture the flag was thrown to the ground in a violent explosion.

In his final moments, his warhorse charged out of formation, preventing its master from being trampled to death by its own comrades. Leman Rustank slowly turned his turret, attempting to lock onto these pesky targets.

But these cunning speedsters always manage to scatter in all directions before the first shot is fired, leaving the Astragalus Army's shells only to blast useless craters in the sand, causing minimal damage.

This sluggishness is infuriating.

No commander wants his elite assault troops to be slowed down by these cheap, lightly armed mobile units, nor does he want to cause unnecessary casualties.

When the charging cuirassiers were thoroughly harassed, they finally reached the other side of the energy center.

Meanwhile, the previously unbridled Greenskins were met with a head-on blow from another force—Commander Poniatovsky, leading his battered and battle-hardened 2nd Dragoon Battalion, was using their superior mobility to launch precise and deadly attacks on the Greenskins' flanks.

As one of the few medium and light cavalry units on the battlefield capable of keeping up with the Greenskin light mobile forces, they took the initiative to undertake the tasks of rapid response and flank cover.

The two cavalry units, with their distinct styles, worked together skillfully at this moment, showing that this was not their first time fighting together.

"Waaaaagh! Crush that shrimp who stole the flag! He dared to steal our boss's flag!"

The "boss" standing on a green off-road vehicle was waving a machete and shouting, while his other hand was holding a "rat-a-tat-tat" machine gun and firing wildly into the air.

There was clearly nothing in the sky, but it was obvious that firing indiscriminately really gave it a lot of fun.

Just as that chariot made of iron and spikes seemed unstoppable in crushing the cuirassier officer who was getting up from the sand, covered in dust.

Jiong! Jiong!
Two crisp gunshots rang out. Poniatowski spurred his horse forward, his Hellfire pistol firing precisely, blowing the alien driving the green SUV in the head.

Sticky brain matter splattered all over the steering wheel. The green-skinned "boss," who was still gesticulating wildly and giving orders, yelled and screamed. A moment later, the out-of-control armored off-road vehicle crashed into a piece of old metal that protruded from the sand and flew high into the air.

With a loud thud, dust billowed up. The armored off-road vehicle, its chassis upside down, crashed heavily onto the sand, smashing the green-skinned man inside into a pile of mangled flesh.

“Our noble cuirassier commander, Captain Dotpur, are your legs and arms still intact?” Poniatovsky galloped up to the cuirassier officer, who was covered in sand and whose polished armor was scratched by the sand, and asked in a leisurely, joking tone.

"Don't worry about me. It's surprising that you and your ragtag cavalry are still alive. I hope you'll have the same luck next time," the embarrassed cuirassier officer replied irritably, his tone full of noble arrogance and insult.

"Without us so-called 'ragtag cavalry' to cover your gleaming flanks, you'd be in deep trouble again next time."

"And I'm afraid it won't be as fortunate as just losing a warhorse in battle," Poniatovsky retorted without backing down.

“You ragtag cavalrymen don’t need to worry about the fighting methods of real knights.” The cuirassier officer brushed the sand off his body and deftly mounted a spare warhorse that his companion had brought him.

“A true knight?” Poniatowski raised his gunpowder-blackened eyebrows and slowly polished the ancient emblem on his breastplate, which represented the imperial knightly class, with his gloved thumb.

"A true knight, is that what you mean?"

(End of this chapter)