Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 759 - 57 Triumph_3

Chapter 759: Chapter 57 Triumph_3 Chapter 759: Chapter 57 Triumph_3 Tamas led the charge towards the enemy camp, without a battle cry or war shout, as twenty brave warriors followed silently behind him, like a pitch-black dagger thrusting straight into the enemy’s heart.

“Let go!”

“No!”

Winters roared like thunder, and with a fierce burst of strength, he dislocated Xial’s right shoulder.

Xial let out a wretched scream but still clutched his right wrist tightly with his left hand, refusing to let go.

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Perhaps awakened by Xial’s scream, Winters slowly quieted down and fell silent, his breathing and heartbeat gradually returning to normal.

Sensing the subsiding of Winters’ fervent emotions, Xial tentatively relaxed his grip, but remained on guard.

...

“All right,” Winters suddenly spoke, “let it go.”

Only then did Xial obediently release his grip, standing with his head bowed, holding his right arm.

Winters tossed his knife into the ground with a backhanded throw and silently reset Xial’s right shoulder.

“Tell me,” Winters said, looking at Tamas, who was shouting and charging into battle, and spoke dispiritedly to himself, “Will I never get the chance to enter the fray myself again?”

Xial didn’t know how to respond. After some thought, he replied softly, “At least not this time. The company commander is right, we didn’t bring our armor or warhorses when we forded the river… What would we do if something happened to you?!”

“Yes, indeed. Hah, a court mage, no wonder,” Winters suddenly recalled an old man, “Let’s forget it this time.”

Xial nodded repeatedly, thinking, “It would be best if you forget it every time.”

“Give me your spear,” Winters flicked his wrist.

“What are you going to do?” Xial hugged his spear warily.

Without a word, Winters took the spear, steadied his breath, took four running steps, and with the fluidity of flowing water, hurled the spear.

The spearhead shot across the battlefield like a meteor, instantly knocking a mounted Red Feather from the edge of the rope barricade.

“Count it,” Winters declared triumphantly, “In this battle, Winters Montagne has slain an enemy by hand.”

Taking a deep breath, Xial cheered towards the tranquil river, “Winters Montagne! Slain an enemy by hand!”

The rafts carrying reinforcements touched the west bank, and the warriors leaped into the knee-deep river water, shouting as they rushed towards the enemy camp.

…

The clash on the west bank didn’t last long. Initially, there were still glimpses of firelight, but eventually, even the brightness of the torches completely faded.

Yet the sound of horse hooves and cries of battle continued intermittently until dawn.

On the East Bank, Bart Xialing anxiously awaited the outcome of the victory or defeat.

Not just Bart Xialing, but thousands of civilians from Niutigu Valley also remained on the riverbank, unwilling to leave for a long time.

Many whispered prayers under their breath.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to show, someone excitedly shouted, “The drums of war!”

“It’s the sound of the drums!”

“The small drums!”

“I hear it too!”

The drums of war! Bart Xialing could hardly contain his excitement as he ran towards the riverbank, stood in the river water, and cheered ecstatically.

The civilians of Niutigu Valley also ran to the riverbank, waving caps and handkerchiefs, cheering from the bottom of their hearts.

On the west bank of the Big Horn River, Winters urged the drummer, “March! Hit it harder! Louder!”

The Taltai Division had been defeated, its members scattered and fled, and their chief, Taltai himself, was captured alive by Tamas.

“What a pity,” Tamas, wounded on his left arm and leg, looked somewhat pale, “Many horses ran away; we only managed to round up a little over two hundred.”

“The meadows for miles around have been scorched clean. Let Bart Xialing get some wheat seedlings, clean water, and bring in a few mares in heat. By nightfall, all the runaway horses will be back,” Winters laughed heartily, “It seems Lieutenant Cherini was right. Looting is faster than any method.”

The drummer’s face turned red with effort as he vigorously pounded out the march.

Washing away the dust of the march and traces of blood with river water, the soldiers awaiting their triumphant return hummed along softly.

Winters always felt something was missing.

After a moment of thought, he had an epiphany—the singing was missing.

The army’s marches, assembly tunes, charges… all had music but no lyrics. The warriors could only hum along, unable to sing out joyfully.

“Come on! Get up, everyone!” Winters, without a second thought, came up with a new ‘catchphrase’ that began to take shape in his mind, “Some admire Alexander! Sing along!”

The soldiers, unsure of what to make of it, unevenly and stumblingly repeated, “Some admire Alexander.”

“Some revere Hercules!”

“Hector, Lysander!”

“The names of heroes are countless!”

“But even the greatest of heroes”

“Do not compare to the volunteers of Paratu!”

Tamas, following the Centurion, sang enthusiastically, but he didn’t catch the last line clearly, so he substituted his own idea for the final line.

The cheerful song gradually came together, finally echoing across both banks of the Big Horn River.

“Some admire Alexander!

Some revere Hercules!

Hector, Lysander!

The names of heroes are countless!

But even the greatest of heroes!

Do not compare to the Blood Wolf’s guardsmen!”