I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 234 Atonement (Part 3)

The Jihadists were a mob with almost nothing but fanaticism, and even after a night of "fierce fighting," their fanaticism gradually waned due to exhaustion and hunger.

If Aranka had any military knowledge, the first thing he should have done after taking control of the Jihad Army would not have been to lead an attack on the city walls defended by the prince's army, but rather to retreat, allow the troops to rest, and find food to feed them.

Arkansas wasn't hungry or tired, but the Jihadist members who had been running all night were now exhausted and hungry!
The High Priest failed to understand the needs of the Holy War Army members. He was unaware of the problem, and even if he had, he couldn't do anything about it... Even the High Priest, Araka, couldn't produce enough food to feed a thousand people in Voltradnoy.

There was actually plenty of food in the cellars of the Church of the Earth Mother, but this food was for the personal rations of the priests and high priests, which Araka was unaware of.

Even so, when Araka displayed his divine prowess in front of the enemy, his unstoppable performance greatly boosted the courage of the jihadist army members behind him, who had been in chaos due to the attack.

The exhausted members of the Holy War Army squeezed out their strength once again, their faces flushed, as they followed the High Priest in pursuit, heading straight for the western city wall occupied by the Prince's army.

The High Priest of Arak raised his scepter, inlaid with plants, trees, fish, and beasts, and a faint light emanated from his body, illuminating the ragged members of the Holy War Army behind him.

They were dressed in civilian clothes, carrying various weapons looted from the battlefield, their eyes burning with fanatical flames, yet unable to conceal the ashen pallor on their faces caused by hunger and exhaustion.

Connie stood on the wall, looking at the fanatical enemies. She felt a slight headache, but she didn't think these enemies were a big problem. The only troublesome one was Alanka himself, while the rabble behind him was not a big problem to deal with.

The first wave of troops that attempted to stop the enemy had been routed and fled back under the player's guidance. They were now arrayed below the city wall, with one hundred musketeers lined up in three rows.

"Raise your gun and aim!"

With his arm injured and his left hand unusable, Ye Aonai held his weapon with his right hand. When the enemy rushed out from the street a hundred paces away, he swung his long sword with all his might.

"Fire!"

At a command, gunfire erupted, flames and smoke mingled, and screams of agony echoed from the ranks of the jihadist army.

Amidst the smoke and fire, Aranka remained unharmed, and his raised scepter shone once more.

"...Your bones became mountains, your blood became rivers, and your breath became the winds of the four seasons..."

"grass!"

Before Araka could finish his prayer, Ye Aohai quickly turned around and waved to the musketeers behind him. The musketeers, led by their respective captains, immediately fled to both sides of the city wall like frightened birds, clearing the steps leading to the wall behind them.

When Aranka saw this, he was stunned and didn't know what to do for a moment. Should he chase after the fleeing enemy or attack the city wall?

It took him two seconds to react. He raised the scepter, which was flashing with green light, and rushed towards the steps. At the same time, he swung it forcefully, and a gust of wind appeared out of nowhere, attacking the enemies on the city wall.

Musketeers on the city wall, who were preparing to fire their flintlock muskets at the soldiers below, lost their footing in the sudden gust of wind, which hurled debris and broken tiles from the street onto the city wall.

The prince's soldiers were smashed and their heads were bleeding. Several soldiers standing on the edge were even blown off the city wall, letting out shrill screams.

Araka seized the opportunity to rush towards the city wall. He swung his scepter again, and beams of green light shot out from the tip of the scepter, landing on the ground, causing the city wall to shake.

The musketeers, already in disarray due to the strong winds, were further thrown into disarray by the tremors, making it impossible for them to maintain their formation. Taking advantage of the situation, Aranka rushed up the steps, wielding his scepter, and led the way, reaching the city wall in the shortest possible time. This action brought the winds and shaking to a halt.

The holy warriors behind the high priest roared hoarsely as they surged up the steps like a tide. These ragged farmers and artisans burned with a morbid fanaticism in their eyes, completely disregarding their frail and unsteady physical condition.

Connie squinted behind the battlements, the wind whipping her short hair, and spat out a spittle before shouting loudly.

"Retreat, retreat! Musketeers retreat! Armored heavy infantry, move up! Block the enemy as planned!"

In fact, without Connie's prompting, the players on the city wall were already excitedly rushing towards the exit of the stairs, ready to fight the big boss.

"kill!!!"

A player wearing plate chainmail and a barrel helmet charged ahead, wielding a half-sword as he thrust it toward Araka's chest.

Just as he hadn't dodged or avoided the thugs' daggers before, Araka also didn't dodge the hand-and-a-half sword's thrust... or rather, he couldn't dodge it, letting the hand-and-a-half sword pierce his chest, while the metal scepter swept across and smashed into his barrel helmet.

It's clear from his movements that Aranka hadn't actually undergone any combat training; when he swung the scepter, he was only using his arm, without engaging the rest of his body.

Even so, the scepter that Araka wielded still possessed an incomprehensible, monstrous strength, and with a single blow, it sent the player, helmet and all, flying.

The helmet was dented and deformed, and the player crashed into the stone crenellations of the city wall like a rag doll, falling to the ground motionless.

However, the warrior's death was not without value; the half-sword he thrust into Aranka's chest, though the tip only pierced his robe, could not go any further.

When Aranka bent down and reached for his sword, what flowed from the wound was not blood, but strands of stone powder.

The heretics' weapons can't hurt me.

Araka's voice was deep and hollow, as if countless voices were speaking simultaneously. He casually tossed the half-sword off the city wall, and his exposed palm visibly turned the color of stone.

Seeing this, the sharp-eyed players behind them did not slow down, but instead sped up and rushed forward.

"The boss is losing health!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than the hurried man was sent flying again, unable to even manage a single slash at Aranka.

However, the former's experience did not frighten the players behind him; instead, it aroused their ferocity, making them charge forward even more violently.

Araka was unstoppable, wielding his scepter and slaughtering his way through the enemy lines. But he was only one man. No matter how powerful he was, he was still just one man. The jihadist members following him did not have his invulnerability to weapons.

The few players who slipped through from either side of Arak caused a catastrophic massacre of the city's ordinary citizens. While the high priest was caught up in the killing and forgot to look back, the players began their clearing operation.

(End of this chapter)