The tables had turned?
Luke's uncompromising, even counter-attacking arrogance hit the coalition nobles like a stinging slap across the face.
After a brief, stunned silence ca a volcanic eruption of rage!
"Arrogant! Ignorant! A low-born rchant who doesn't know the height of the heavens!"
Count Harroway's beard trembled with fury. His face flushed red, then purple, and finally turned iron-gray.
The other nobles beside him were equally indignant. They prided themselves on noble blood and superior numbers—how had they ever suffered such contempt?
A re baron dared demand they kneel and surrender, and pay two hundred thousand gold dragons?
It was an utter humiliation!
"Attack! Attack now! Teach this reckless whelp a lesson! I want to personally strip that ridiculous armor off him and see what kind of demon is hiding inside!" Count Harroway drew his sword and roared hysterically.
The coalition ranks erupted in uneven but furious battle cries.
Nearly a thousand n surged forward like a bursting dam of filthy water, a dark tide rolling toward the Jaqenion formation five hundred ters away.
Spears bristled like a forest—many of them nothing more than sharpened sticks. Tattered banners swayed. The cacophony of hooves, footsteps, curses, and clanging tal rged into a single chaotic wave of raw violence.
Luke sat on his horse, watching the rapidly approaching "sea of n" that seed to stretch endlessly. His heart pounded uncontrollably.
Watching "thousands of troops and horses" on a screen in his previous life… and now personally facing a real charge on the battlefield… the difference was night and day!
The oppressive pressure of that black mass rushing forward with dust and killing intent made his throat go dry, his palms sweat on the reins, and even triggered an instinctive physical urge to tremble.
This wasn't a ga. This wasn't a movie. This was real, life-or-death slaughter!
In TV shows they casually threw around armies of hundreds of thousands!
Here… there was only one thousand n. Just one thousand!
Seeing it with his own eyes, Luke couldn't help but think: Fuck, goddamn, you really can't see the end of it…
"Hold steady! Hold the formation!"
"Shields tight! Pikes level!"
"Don't panic! Trust your armor! Trust the man beside you!"
The guard squad leaders and corporals shouted themselves hoarse, struggling to keep the squares intact.
Behind their visors the recruits breathed heavily; many had teeth chattering with fear. Yet strict training and harsh discipline kept them rooted in place.
On the flanks the rcenaries were more excited than nervous. They licked their lips, stroked their weapons, eyes gleaming with hunger for gold dragons and battle.
Luke took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm.
His tactic was simple: wait at ease, exploit equipnt and formation superiority to blunt the enemy's montum first.
Bronn's rcenary cavalry prowled the wings, looking for openings.
Five hundred ters was not far for charging infantry.
Though the coalition was disorganized, their nurical advantage still gave their charge frightening montum.
They drew closer. Savage faces, waving weapons, and battered armor beca clearly visible.
"Loose!" The mont the enemy entered roughly one hundred paces, Luke slashed his hand down.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—!
The rcenary archers and the guards ard with modern recurve bows and fiberglass arrows released a volley. It was not dense, but enough to harass.
Arrows fell, causing small pockets of chaos and screams in the coalition's front ranks, but they could not halt the overall montum of the charge.
"Kill—!"
The earth-shaking war cries finally collided!
The coalition crashed like a black tide against the silver-white steel dam of the Jaqenion formation!
The fiercest impact occurred at the center and on the flanks.
The guard squares stood like immovable reefs. Large shields absorbed the shock while pikes thrust viciously through the gaps, skewering and flipping the foremost attackers.
The rcenaries preferred chaotic brawls, fighting in small groups of three to five, relying on personal skill and experience to tangle with the enemy.
tal clashed, roars and screams rang out, bones snapped. The stench of blood filled the air.
Luke's position was relatively forward. His magnificent golden armor shone like a beacon under the sunlight, instantly drawing the attention of many coalition "heroes" who fancied themselves brave and wanted to claim the glory of slaying the enemy commander.
"Beheading the general" was always an honor!
Several knights and rcenary leaders in relatively complete mail, wielding greatswords or battle-axes, howled as they broke through the chaotic lines and charged straight at Luke!
"Protect the lord!" Lucas roared, ready to lead his personal guards forward.
Luke rely waved a hand, a cold light flashing in his eyes. He raised his alloy greatsword, spun a one-handed flourish, and gave a short, powerful shout: "Kill!"
The next second, a scene that would be forever etched in the mories of every coalition "hero" charging toward him—and even the nearby soldiers on both sides—unfolded.
Luke's left hand now held a strange gray-green object with a black pistol grip, a long magazine, and a peculiar cylindrical attachnt on the front.
Any gun enthusiast present would have scread: "Holy shit, a SCAR… and fully customized at that!"
[SCAR is the modular assault rifle designed by Belgian FN Herstal to et the requirents of the U.S. Special Operations Command. Its full na is Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle.
Its core feature is high modularity: by swapping two different barrel lengths and corresponding components, it can rapidly switch between the 5.56×45mm NATO "SCAR-L" (Light) and 7.62×51mm NATO "SCAR-H" (Heavy) to adapt to different combat ranges and mission needs.
It uses a short-stroke gas piston system, offering high reliability and easy maintenance. Ergonomics are excellent, with a full-length Picatinny rail for mounting various accessories.
Since entering service, the SCAR has beco a signature weapon for special forces and elite units worldwide thanks to its outstanding adaptability, accuracy, and durability.]
In Luke's eyes as a complete military novice, the SCAR's only flaw was… it was expensive!
He raised the SCAR-H, aid, muzzle slightly lowered, and targeted the foremost elite enemies now less than fifty ters away.
There was no warning, no incantation, no muzzle flash.
The suppressor had dampened most of the sound and fla.
Only a low, rapid, demonic hamring sound rang out: "Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud…"
The lead greatsword knight's chest suddenly burst open with several bloody flowers. He was slamd backward as if struck by an invisible giant hamr. He never even had ti to scream before he toppled, his greatsword flying from his hands.
The axe-wielding brute beside him had the side of his skull explode in a spray of red and white. The headless corpse staggered two more steps before collapsing.
The third, the fourth… Bullets swept through the charging crowd like the Grim Reaper's scythe, precise and efficient.
At fifty ters, with a fully automatic rifle and Luke's attribute-enhanced senses, it was practically point-blank fire.
The 7.62mm rounds easily tore through mail, leather, and even the thinner sections of plate armor.
In the blink of an eye, the dozen or so coalition "heroes" charging at him, along with more than ten following infantryn, fell like wheat cut by a scythe!
Bodies piled up. Blood quickly soaked the ground.
"?!"
What just happened?!
The nearby coalition soldiers were completely stunned!
They had only seen the golden-armored enemy lord seem to wave his hand, and then the fiercest, best-equipped n on their side inexplicably sprayed blood and collapsed!
No arrows, no javelins, not even any obvious movent from the enemy!
"Demon! It's magic!" soone scread in terror.
"Stop! Stop! There's a trap ahead!" those trying to halt shouted.
"I want to check the token!"
"I'll report this to the crown…"
But once a battlefield charge had begun, how could it simply stop?
The n in front, gripped by fear and the sudden deaths of their comrades, tried to halt or turn aside, while those behind—still driven by hot blood and war cries—continued to shove forward desperately.
Instantly, the coalition line directly in front of Luke suffered severe crowding and trampling!
Screams, curses, and the sharp crack of bones being crushed rose one after another. The once sowhat forceful spearhead collapsed into chaos on the spot!
This sudden, bizarre wave of casualties and disorder hit the entire central line like a boulder dropped into a pond, shattering morale.
Seizing the enemy's confusion, Luke swiftly swapped magazines and calmly continued picking off targets who were trying to reorganize or anyone who looked like an officer.
Five thirty-round extended magazines were emptied in a very short ti.
More than a hundred coalition soldiers—including no small number of noble knights and elite infantry—fell to the silent Reaper's harvest, most of them concentrated in the central sector.
Because the battlefield was filled with deafening roars and the gunshots were heavily suppressed by the silencer, most coalition soldiers beyond the imdiate vicinity never even heard the fatal "thud-thud" sounds. They only saw their comrades inexplicably falling in droves. Panic spread like a plague.
"Break through the center! Follow !"
Luke stowed the empty rifle back into his personal space. With a thought, a one-and-a-half-ter-long, thirty-six-pound alloy steel greatsword appeared in his hands.
Seamless switch!
With a thunderous shout, he led a small squad of personal guards and charged straight into the now-fragile enemy line ahead!
"My lord!"
Lucas cried out in alarm and urgency, imdiately ordering his n to follow.
Luke led the way, plunging into the enemy ranks.
He knew no advanced sword techniques, but his 11 points in Strength and Constitution granted him human-limit physical ability.
The heavy sword that would exhaust an ordinary man after a few swings felt weightless in his hands, yet carried terrifying destructive power.
Splurt! A spearman holding a shield was cleaved in half, man and shield together!
Crunch! A parrying curved blade and the arm holding it were smashed to pieces!
Boom! A coalition knight on horseback attempting a rear-side ambush was cut into four pieces—horse and rider both—by a backhand slash from Luke, who seed to have eyes in the back of his head!
Man and horse shattered!
This was true "man and horse shattered"!
Blood and entrails splattered everywhere. The scene shocked everyone around, including Luke himself, the transmigrator!
His powerful Spirit-enhanced danger sense and the subtle assistance of telekinesis made his reactions and movents lightning-fast.
He was like a human battering ram. Everywhere he passed, severed limbs flew. No one could withstand a single blow!
His golden armor was now drenched in blood, adding to its ferocity.
A heavily armored warrior spinning a massive sword one-handed… such a brutal character was practically invincible. In a 3A ga this would be a one-versus-five slaughter!
One slash, one squishy mage down. One slash, one squishy assassin down…
His personal guards desperately protected his flanks and rear, but the main pressure was almost entirely borne—and violently crushed—by Luke alone.
"Demon! He's a demon!"
"Blades and spears can't touch him! Superhuman strength!"
"Run! Magic! It's terrifying magic!"
The coalition soldiers around Luke completely collapsed. They fled backward screaming, spreading panic deeper into their own lines.
At the sa ti, the overall battlefield situation was shifting dramatically.
Stimulated by the massive bounties, the rcenaries exploded with astonishing combat effectiveness. Though their fighting style was chaotic, they were experienced and ferocious. They clashed fiercely with the coalition and gradually gained the upper hand.
The Jaqenion Family Guard, anwhile, displayed the results of their training.
Though this was their first real battle and tension was inevitable, the excellent full-plate armor dramatically increased their survival rate. Their uniform modern manganese-steel alloy pikes and rudintary "three-by-three" coordination allowed them to create local nurical advantages and mutual protection against the disorganized coalition.
High attack, high defense!
The enemy couldn't even break their armor, and weapon quality was completely mismatched.
How were they supposed to fight? They simply couldn't!
However, while the guard initially maintained formation, as the fighting intensified they too gradually fell into a chaotic lee.
Blood and screams were the best catalysts.
The recruits adapted to the battlefield at astonishing speed—moving from initial fear to numbness, then to frenzied slaughter for survival and military rit. Many fought with blood-red eyes, roaring as they drove their pikes into enemy chests.
The coalition had originally held a thirty-percent nurical advantage, but after Luke—the heaven-defying variable—used modern weaponry and personal martial prowess to shatter the central line and trigger widespread panic, their morale began to collapse like an avalanche.
Resistance on the flanks was slightly stronger but ultimately futile.
Just as the battle clearly tilted toward the Jaqenion side, the decisive blow arrived!
Boom—rumble—!
Hoofbeats thundered like muffled thunder from the coalition's rear flank.
Bronn led the charge, two hundred rcenary cavalry surging forward like a poisoned dagger, slamming viciously into the coalition's already chaotic rear!
Though their equipnt was not top-tier, the shock impact at this mont was lethal.
The coalition infantry, already anxious from the failing fight ahead, suddenly found cavalry smashing into their backs. Their souls nearly fled their bodies!
"Behind us! Cavalry behind us!"
"We're surrounded!"
"Run for your lives!!"
The army collapsed like a mountain crumbling.
At that mont, the coalition's remaining will to resist completely disintegrated.
Soldiers threw down their weapons, crying and screaming, fleeing in every direction without regard for anything.
Officers' shouts and nobles' roars were swallowed by the wave of terror.
"We won! Pursue them! Don't let a single gold dragon escape!"
Bronn roared with excitent, leading the cavalry and the blood-scent-maddened rcenary infantry in a frenzied chase after the routing enemy.
To them, every fleeing soldier was a walking gold dragon!
The Jaqenion Family Guard also wanted to pursue, but their full-plate armor sowhat limited their speed and endurance. They could only watch enviously as the lightly equipped rcenaries cheered and raced off. Grumbling, they followed their training, regrouping under officer commands, treating their own wounded, securing prisoners, and clearing the core battlefield area.
This relatively small yet exceptionally fierce battle—from the coalition's charge to their total rout—had lasted less than an hour.
A thousand stead buns could be devoured by a thousand people in a minute. But chopping down a thousand n… even half a day might not be enough…
The wasteland was left covered in a ss of corpses, discarded weapons, wailing wounded, and an overwhelming stench of blood that refused to dissipate.
The crimson-and-black dragon banners fluttered proudly amid the smoke and dust.
Luke stood amid the mountain of corpses and sea of blood. His golden armor was drenched in gore. His heavy sword hung low, fresh blood dripping steadily from its tip.
"Fuck… this feels so goddamn good. So this is what 'mount and blade' really ans?!"
He panted, surveying the battlefield he had personally directed and ended with overwhelming force far beyond this era. There was no ecstatic of victory in his heart—only a heavy, indifferent numbness toward the loss of life, and a deeper understanding of the true nature of power.
In this battle, the "magic rchant" Luke Jaqenion had used blood and steel to declare his existence and his inviolability to the entire Riverlands—and to every covetous eye in the Seven Kingdoms.
The first stepping stone on Draco's path of rise had already been soaked in enemy blood.
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