togophonebook #162 - Long Bridge, Bloody Road! (Part 2)
#162 - Long Bridge, Bloody Road! (Part 2)
After a century of war, the mercenary industry has matured into a well-established service sector. Mercenary infantry now surpasses the combat effectiveness of night watchmen and rivals that of armored sergeants.
Lacking only extraordinary martial skills, warhorses, and plate armor, they generally possess at least the first or second level of breathing techniques.
At the end of the riverside road, silver armor gleamed with a cold moonlight as over a hundred knights in Milanese plate armor slowly approached on their tall steeds.
Blue-plumed crests adorned their helmets, swaying with the movement of their horses.
"Cross the river! Cross the river faster!"
Hohn immediately ordered, but at that moment, the sound of bowstrings twanging echoed from the darkness.
Colton looked up and saw a dark shadow streak overhead, landing like a meteor among the crowd behind him, where grotesque flowers of blood blossomed, instantly felling seven or eight men on the bridge.
Dust billowed from the iron chains, and people tumbled off the wooden bridge's edge, splashing into the snowy water with a trail of blood beads, quickly staining the area red.
As those behind continued onto the wooden bridge, they saw patches of scarlet blood on the planks, yet they did not stop.
Arrows rained down, landing on the crowded bridge. When the following Salvation Army soldiers stepped onto the wooden bridge, they faced dozens of corpses strewn across it.
Yet they still did not stop; no one stopped.
Their steps grew only more determined, with the fallen handing their remaining weapons to those passing by.
Some, gravely wounded and near death, even rolled off the long bridge into the water, clearing the way for those behind.
This was not one person's bridge of revenge, but everyone's.
Frisiska, observing the battle, frowned. "What's going on? Why haven't they broken yet?"
Approximately 500 people had already crossed the bridge, suffering no fewer than 40 casualties as they advanced from the bridge to the street corner. According to past experience, they should have routed long ago.
A faint chant reached Frisiska's ears.
"What are they shouting?"
"It sounds like…"
The sturdy bridge swayed with the water, accompanied by song and footsteps, as the refugees' chaotic cries gradually became clearer and more unified.
Stepping on the blood-stained planks, Colton felt the world before him become clear for the first time.
"Move aside here, move aside there, where can the poor find a way to live!"
Following the increasingly loud shouts, Colton also yelled out of tune.
"Kill the devils, kill the demons, we will not live unless they die!"
Shouting hoarsely, Colton leveled the spear in his hand.
Beside him stood a row of silver-tipped spears. They gasped for breath, their faces, numb for decades, now filled with rage for the first time.
"Righteous men, kill the unrighteous!"
"Kill!!!"
Countless times, Colton had carried a shoulder pole and held a pitchfork as he ran, but only this time did he run so fast and resolutely, holding a spear.
The clothes of the surrounding refugees rubbed against him, and straw sandals stepped on painful stones on the ground, as hundreds of refugees frantically took strides with their spears.
Opposite them was a horizontal array of mercenaries lined up along the street.
Spears flashed coldly in the moonlight, shaking in the refugees' staggering steps as they rapidly thrust towards the mercenaries.
The nearly two thousand mercenaries opposite them revealed grim smiles, leveling the spears in their hands, waiting for the refugees to arrive.
They had seen these refugees charge before.
These mobs would often charge while shouting loudly, but when they reached the front, they would stop in fear, then be pushed by the charging refugees behind, crashing onto their spears.
At that time, simply shouting the famous phrase "Farmers, the guards are here!" would be enough to turn the battle into a chase.
They had seen such scenes countless times, and today was no exception.
The sharp spears approached, closer and closer; he could already see the cold light of the spearhead.
"Farmers, the guards… gurgle."
The spearhead pierced his throat, penetrating the cartilage, protruding from the back of his neck, bringing a cloud of blood mist and foam as the spear was withdrawn.
Opposite him, Colton's shoulder was pierced by his spear, and he gritted his teeth and roared, "Guards, the farmers are here!"
Beside Colton, one refugee after another was pierced through the body, their spears likewise thrust into the bodies of the mercenaries.
Puffs of blood mist exploded, bile, cartilage, blood vessels, and throats hanging on people or flowing to the ground with blood. Caught off guard, the mercenaries and refugees instantly fell into close combat.
"Devil's dogs! Die!" Colton was like a madman, the spear tip scratched across his forehead, and his face was covered with blood, but he did not stop at all.
Grabbing the short flail from his waist, he used all his strength to smash it into the face of the mercenary in front of him.
The mercenary raised the copper round shield in his hand, but the flail connected by chains bypassed the top of the shield, drawing an arc and smashing directly on his forehead.
Exploding eyeballs ejected gray-white mucus, splashing on the shield, and the mercenary fell stiffly to the ground.
But as soon as Colton turned around, another tall mercenary bumped into him with a grim expression.
A huge force struck, and Colton lost his balance and sat down on the ground.
He looked up and saw the mercenary holding a short axe, raised high. He wanted to roll over and dodge, but his right hand was just stepped on by a teammate.
The cold light fell, but did not fall on Colton's head, but flew out horizontally.
"Ah—"
It was a farmer, he rushed up with red eyes and knocked down the mercenary.
Falling to the ground, before he could feel the pain, the mercenary immediately took out a dagger and stabbed it into the farmer's chest, the blood staining the front of the farmer's clothes red.
At the same time, the farmer, taking out a black, muddy short sword, stabbed the mercenary's neck, spraying blood foam everywhere from the trachea.
Two strangers hugged each other and died on the battlefield at the same time.
The next second, a Frankish mercenary was tripped by two corpses, the spear in his hand fell to the ground with a clang, and the farmer in front of him picked up a pitchfork and pierced his throat.
"Righteous men, kill the unrighteous!"
Colton grabbed the black, muddy short sword and killed three mercenaries who were besieging the refugees.
"Shield soldiers, armored sergeants, front row, front row." The mercenary leader wearing a neck armor and a long-tailed helmet was sweating profusely. He climbed onto the windowsill of the house, ignoring everything, and shouted to the people behind.
When the shield soldiers and armored sergeants holding short weapons arrived, the melee gradually stopped, and the mercenaries reorganized into a phalanx under the shouts of the squad leaders.
After all, these refugees may have touched a spear for the only time in their lives, and they couldn't even hold the spear steady, but their opponents were mercenaries with two and a half years of training.
As the regular spear formation was formed, the situation gradually changed, and a large number of refugees fell, heavily falling on the blood-stained mud.
Taking neat steps, the mercenaries finally reorganized their formation and killed the refugees step by step.
Their first row was sword and short axe soldiers holding shields and wearing armor. The previous desperate charge and melee were no longer useful.
Under Victor's shouts, the refugees retreated to the river, trying to reorganize the spear formation.
No matter how determined they were, they were forced back step by step by the three rows of bright spear formations.
"Hold on, hold on, keep the spears level!" Victor shouted loudly as he retreated.
Beside him, Rudylo was hit in the temple by his own gun barrel because of his rash advance and fell on the roadside, his life or death unknown.
Victor took another step back, but almost stepped into the air. He looked behind him and saw many corpses floating on the flowing canal.
The mercenaries' spear formation was airtight, and several times he organized leaping soldiers to roll and charge, but they were blocked by the armored sergeants.
The refugees in the front row continued to fall, and no matter what they did, they could not break through this horizontal formation, and could only block their advance with their lives.
The last row of refugees had already stepped on the edge of the river.
Has it come to this? Victor took a deep breath, clenched the spear in his hand, and walked towards the first row. Even if he died, he didn't want to be drowned!
Step by step forward, Victor walked to the second row. Before he could level the spear, a deafening roar resounded in the ears of the first row of refugees.
"May the Lord curse you! Dogs of the devil!"
That is? It's Old Cosay!
Victor couldn't believe his eyes. Old Cosay's outfit today was very different from usual, and his face no longer had the cramped and honest expression he had before.
He jumped down from the roof naked, the broken 屮-shaped pendant hanging and flying in the wind on his fat chest, his face as ferocious as a ghost in hell, and his eyes as red as fire.
"Ah—"
His eyes were full of bloodshot, and Cosay let out a deafening roar. When he jumped down from the roof, his thick arms stretched out and embraced two spears, and his right hand also embraced three spears.
His feet stomped on the ground, the fat on his cheeks trembling constantly with his body. Looking at the mercenaries, Cosay's eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
The mercenaries on the opposite side had blue faces, desperately grabbing the gun barrel, trying to pull the spear back or pull Cosay over.
But no matter how the spearmen pulled, they could not pull the original spear back half a point, and Cosay's fierce face was yelling wildly: "Come on, come on, you accomplices of murderers!"
With force in his feet, several veins popped out of Cosay's face, and he even staggered two mercenaries from one side of the spear formation.
With red eyes, Victor shouted anxiously, "What are you looking at? Stab!"
Almost at the same time, four spears pierced out from Cosay's shoulders and arms, and instantly pierced into the thighs and throats of the spearmen on the opposite side.
When the spearheads were pulled out, blood spurted out of the wounds, and scarlet tendons and flesh were exposed to the air. The mercenaries fell directly to the ground.
"Hahahahaha." Seeing the infantry mercenaries in front of him fall, Cosay laughed wildly.
He let go of the spears and pulled out two pig-killing knives from behind his waist. He rushed towards the gap in the spear formation, and the mercenaries on both sides immediately tried to fill the position.
Before the Frankish mercenary wearing a saucer-shaped hat could stand firm, Cosay threw the pig-killing knife in his hand and plunged it directly into the mercenary's chest, stirring the internal organs together.
Bending over to dodge the spear stab, he jumped forward, grabbed the handle of the knife, kicked the mercenary in the stomach, and pulled out the pig-killing knife.
Holding the other knife in one hand, he parried the short sword stabbed by the mercenary next to him, and then the whole person crashed into the enemy's arms. The pig-killing knife "popped" into the mercenary's abdomen, and with a strong twist and pull, a string of intestines was taken out.
Seeing that a gap had been opened in the gun formation, the subsequent Salvation Army leaping soldiers and spearmen immediately rushed towards the gap.
The mercenary army's army boiled, and the soldiers next to and on the left and right immediately tried to rush up to fill the gap, but the gap was filled by the Salvation Army spearmen who rushed up.
This immediately triggered a chain reaction. The entire gun formation was like a cut, and the infantry rushed forward to fill it, and the gap was torn wider and wider, and the local **** melee started again.
The original formation began to be staggered in constant movement, and even more gaps appeared. The mercenaries' neat formation was constantly retreating under the squeezing of the refugees.
The most terrible thing is that some Frankish mercenaries could not bear such a cruel combat intensity and began to gradually disappear into the darkness of the alley.
They had never fought this kind of battle in their lives. Why would they risk their lives for dozens of denarii a month?
As a result, they were gradually pushed back from the bridgehead river to the alley at the intersection by the Salvation Army.
"Lord Frisiska, we, we need support." The mercenary leader ran to the knights breathlessly.
"What face do you have to ask for support when you're fighting like this!" Frisiska cursed angrily, whipping the mercenary leader who asked for help.
"It's not that we don't work hard, but the refugees have magic, they are not afraid of death."
"You bunch of trash." Frisiska pulled down his helmet mask in exasperation.
He originally wanted to lure the short-haired thieves' old camp to fight, but these infantry were suppressed by a group of ordinary refugees, and they even had the face to send people to ask for support.
But the current situation is that it is impossible not to support. If the refugees push the front line into the alleys and small roads, their impact will be limited by clotheslines, porches, and pits, which is far less effective than it is now.
"Warriors, follow me to charge!"