Friscia's visor had a hole pierced through it, and he could feel a shard lodged against his cheekbone, the tearing pain in his muscle making his expression increasingly fierce.
Horn's vision blurred as someone dragged him to the roadside, and when he turned back, it was surprisingly the old man from before.
Less than a yard away from him, more than twenty knights charged with battle cries, like a heavy truck crashing into the first row of gun formations.
It was like a gale blowing through willow catkins, about four or five holy gunmen were knocked straight into the air like broken dolls.
Meanwhile, the five leading knights were also toppled over as their horse necks were pierced by the spear formation.
But the knights quickly crawled up, drew the longswords from their waists, and began hacking at the holy gunmen and long spearmen before them.
Warhorses pressed down on the front row of holy gunmen and long spearmen, a weight of over a thousand pounds, making it impossible for them to get up, forced to watch the knights pull out longswords and chop off their heads.
Hooves trampled over the heads of the holy gunmen as the subsequent knights charged, crashing into the scattered old Salvation Army soldiers.
The old soldiers in the rear immediately raised their long spears to charge at the knights, having fought this battle for so long they no longer needed the ropes at their waists.
Roaring, the Black Hat Army ordered their squads to raise their long spears, forming a unified formation, advancing towards the knights.
They were, after all, mere mortals, their three-layer formation of spears couldn't stand against the knights; hooves clattered, and the knights charged straight over the Black Hat Army.
"Help, it's the knights!"
"Master Knight, please don't kill me, I'm innocent!"
As refugees and old soldiers in black were knocked down by the knights, the refugees finally panicked, turning around and crying as they ran towards safety.
"Why run? Why run?" Colton shouted, clutching his bandaged shoulder at the fleeing refugees.
Yet no one listened to him, glancing at him at most, then running along the river further away. Please read this chapter on its original platform—*.
Colton stood there dazed, weren't they just shouting and killing knights? How had it come to this?
Are knights truly invincible?
Suddenly, Colton heard a child's cry.
"Papa, Mama, wake up!"
How could there be a child's voice on this battlefield?
Looking towards the sound, he saw a laborer's hut collapsed, with a little girl lying crying before two young corpses.
Not far from the little girl, a knight was speeding towards her.
"Wait!" Colton pushed through the crowd, running towards the little girl crying over her parents' bodies, but he was a step too late.
The longsword swung, leaving a blood-red gash across her back, the girl fell heavily onto her parents' corpses.
Colton shouted with bloodshot eyes at the swiftly retreating knight.
Watching the refugees, who despite slowing down, were still running away, he laughed in frustration:
"Hahaha, run, go ahead and escape from here!"
"When you're dead, tell the souls beneath the wine, your friends' and family's souls, that you're scared, you ran, so go ahead and flee."
The refugees hesitated slightly, glancing back at the black-clad soldiers still fighting the knights, at the mother and daughter's bodies on the ground.
"Aren't you running? Where do you want to run?" Colton's enraged voice pierced through the noisy battlefield, reaching everyone's ears.
"Run! One day, your descendants generations from now will become like the grapes in wine, where will they run to?"
Some refugees began to halt their steps, and ahead of them, it seemed no longer a dark street.
They seemed to see, personally witness the countless children's weeping at the Blue Blood Orphanage.
They seemed to see, parents and lovers starved to death, knights and priests searching and taking away their last food.
Just keep fleeing? Fleeing from here to there, from this place to that, continuously running?
They could run, of course they could, no one stopped them, but why couldn't they move their feet?
Where could they flee to and survive?
"I'm not running anymore, I'm not running anymore."
"I've fled from Hotam to Shangruifo, from Kasha to Langsande, I'm telling you, this time I won't run—I'm not running anymore!"
Shouting at those fleeing people, Colton disregarded the injuries on his shoulder and body, raised his long spear, and staggered towards a knight who had fallen off his horse.
Even though he couldn't see the face beneath the knight's helmet, he could still clearly feel the opponent's mocking smile.
Just like when he knelt before the forest, the knight's mocking smile was the same.
Colton roared, lunging forward, his spear thrusting out ferociously.
When he regained consciousness, he was already lying on the ground.
The intense pain only spread at this moment, it was a wound from ribs to clavicle.
He could hear the clatter of his spear hitting the ground, blood loss and agonizing chest pain assailing his brain, he couldn't move his body at all.
On the ground beside his ear, Colton could hear the galloping left and right of the knights, hear the footsteps of the fleeing refugees.
The sound like a drum, growing ever clearer.
Staring at the moonlit sky, Colton's previous bewilderment once again engulfed his mind, is this—is this the end?