Free Web NovelChapter 851: Chapter 459: Over Ten Minutes of Battle (Part 2)
The surface of the tracks was clean and cold, without any debris.
Behind it, the Red Tide Knights began to advance.
Their speed was not fast, yet they maintained a steady rhythm.
Scattered remnants of the Thorn Knights were still twitching; some were being dragged by roots trying to get up, while others attempted to support their bodies with broken weapons.
The Red Tide Knights did not stop; the longsword pressed down, directly piercing into the side of the neck and joint gaps.
Soon, the twitching on the ground came to a stop one after another.
After the Thorn Knights’ figures disappeared one by one, the battlefield did not immediately quiet down.
In front of the town entrance, the defensive line formed by intertwining roots, bones, and soil was still active.
The living thorn wall stood at the road’s end, almost as high as the city wall.
Dark red and black-brown stems layered upon one another, continuously fluctuating on the surface.
Those roots were not still, writhing slowly, like a mouth that had yet to close.
The tank tracks stopped at a safe distance without continuing to press forward.
The thorn wall sensed the approaching weight, its roots suddenly quickened. frёeωebɳovel.com
Dense spines emerged from the surface, accompanied by a low friction sound, spraying outward.
The venom traced a brief path through the air before landing on the dirt, immediately corroding into a patch of black marks.
Gray gave a brief command: "Fire Lizard, advance."
The flamethrower tank slowly moved out of the lineup.
The vehicle was not tall, its shape low and heavy, with heat-resistant armor installed at the front.
The fuel tanks on both sides swayed slightly as it moved, the alchemical fuel inside continuously pressurized, emitting a subtle yet dangerous hum.
The nozzle lifted, flames spewed forth.
Bright orange flames drew a low, steady arc in the air, like a straightened fire snake, rushing toward the thorn wall along the ground.
This was not ordinary fire, composed of Fire-Scaled Viper oil, the fuel clung to the roots’ surface the instant they made contact, rapidly spreading.
The flames did not get extinguished but continued to spread along the stems, penetrating inwardly along the texture.
The thorn wall contracted violently.
Following that, a sharp screech burst from inside the wall.
It was piercing and continuous, echoing at the town’s entrance, instinctively tensing people’s nerves.
Flames kept moving forward, sharply carbonizing the roots under high temperature, the outer layer cracked, and the inner moist tissues instantly evaporated.
The burning extended downward along the main roots, deep into the underground, igniting the buried flesh and nutrients along with it.
The thorn wall began to collapse, the originally towering structure losing its support within minutes, large sections peeling off the surface, turning into rolling ashes.
The ejected poisonous spines were burned into bent charcoal by the flames, breaking before they hit the ground.
The screeching gradually became intermittent and then completely vanished.
Only the low hum of burning flames remained.
The flamethrower tank stopped its spraying, retreated to the line.
The heatwave slowly dispersed, leaving only a burning wreckage ahead of the town entrance, ashes scattering in the wind.
Steam excavators moved forward thereafter.
A massive shovel lowered, its edge pressing into the ground, the engine roared louder, and the steel structure advanced.
The burning wreckage was easily pushed aside.
Roots and bones that once devoured countless bodies and formed the core of the defense line were treated as ordinary obstacles, shoveled up, removed, piled to the sides of the road.
In no time, a path leading to the town center was cleared.
Steel continued advancing, leaving behind only a newly opened avenue after the flames extinguished.
The battle the small town had prepared for half a month ended in just ten minutes.
Flames at the town’s entrance were still smoldering, burned thorns kept collapsing, making slight sizzling sounds.
Meanwhile, logistic convoys began to enter.
Several field kitchen trucks, boxy in shape with tall chimneys, rolled along the newly cleared road and into the square ruins.
After coming to a stop, the metal structures unfolded outward, side panels lowered, revealing neatly arranged steam boxes and pressure cookers inside.
"Hiss—" White steam blasted out.
A rich and genuine aroma of food exploded in the air, like an unreasonable wind, instantly dispelling the bloody smell and the lingering sweet and strange odor.
The medical health camp on the other side unfolded simultaneously.
Temporary tents erected swiftly, security lines drawn.
Soldiers set up makeshift spray disinfection gates at the square’s edge.
Dazed residents from the battlefield were carried over.
The nozzles opened, warm water mixed with medicine fell from above, washing away dirt, bloodstains, and the lingering gold soup from their bodies.
Then came injections, bandaging, warmth preservation, everything proceeded following the Red Tide Health Department’s protocols, without unnecessary ceremonies.
And rescue operations in the muddy grounds to the north were ongoing simultaneously.
To prevent tools from injuring the children, soldiers discarded them, directly kneeling into the icy mud.
Hands in tactical gloves madly dug through the dirt.
"There’s still air over here!"
"Medic! Quickly!"
"Life potion!"
The Frost Leaf Bullet indeed sent them into deep sleep, without causing an explosion.
But the Church Court buried these thinly dressed children in the permafrost for too long while setting up the defense line.
Deputy Corps Commander Vance personally pulled out the little girl named Amy from the mud.
Her lips were purple, limbs cold, her body hard as if lifeless, only a faint and rapid heartbeat proving she was still alive.
A medic immediately took over, wrapping her in a warming blanket, carried away.
Vance didn’t stop, turned to continue digging.
When touching the adjacent boy, his movements slowed.
The boy still clutched explosives, his body completely stiff, stuck to the permafrost as if cast into the ground.
Vance turned to dig the next one, needing no further confirmation.
The count continued, children were pulled out of pits one by one.
One alive, three dead, one alive, two dead...
Out of nearly a thousand pits, less than half still breathed.
Old Hans crawled out from the mill’s chimney, just landed, pressed against the wall by a team of Red Tide Knights clearing remaining threats.
"Don’t move! Hands up!" The gun barrel pressed against his forehead.
Knight Ron roughly pried open his eyes, letting sunlight hit his pupils directly.
Those who drank gold soup had pupils diffused in a gray golden color, reacting to bright light.
However, Hans let out a short screech under the bright light, instinctively closing his eyes tightly, tears uncontrollably streaming, body shaking violently out of fear and cold.
Ron forcefully pinched a piece of rotten flesh on his arm.
"Ouch! It hurts!" Hans screamed, curling into a ball, "Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!"
Ron froze for a moment.
He lowered his gun, removed his helmet, revealing a youthful and surprised face.
"Damn..." he murmured, "Captain! There’s a living person here. I mean... a real person."
Nearby knights gathered around.
They stared at Hans, as if witnessing someone intact for the first time deep inside a fallen zone.
"Old man," Ron inquired curiously, "How did you hold out?"
Hans continued trembling but straightened his back, an instinct left from his days as an Apprentice Knight long ago.
He pulled out a small handful of raw wheat grains from his pocket, spreading his palm covered in black ash.
Ron did not ask further, reaching from his field bag, retrieving his ration pack, tearing open the oil paper.
A soft white loaf emerged.
"Take it." He stuffed the bread into Hans’ hand.
Hans cradled that piece of bread, made of fine flour without any mixture.
He took a bite, long-lost wheat fragrance exploding in his mouth.
"Sob, sob..."
Holding the bread, he cried unabashedly before a group of young knights.
He sobbed, shoving it into his mouth desperately, choking as his eyes rolled back but refused to stop, fearing the bread might vanish the next second.
On the other side of the square, kitchen trucks’ chimneys billowed white smoke.
Rows of awakened people wrapped in thick military blankets, holding stainless steel lunch boxes, mechanically drinking steaming hot vegetable and meat soup.
Hans sat on the ruins’ stone steps.
He wiped his face dry, glanced at the half bread in hand, and then looked up towards the flag rising in the square center.
The emblem of the Sun gently unfolded amidst the smoke, underfoot the shattered Holy Emblem of the Church was trampled into the mud.
