I was a knight in the Middle Ages

Amid the roar of arrows and stones, the alliance army's formation fell into complete chaos.

The burning wreckage of the carriage lay across the mountain road, cutting the night into countless dancing circles of fire.

Soldiers rushed each other in the thick smoke, and in panic they swung their steel blades at any moving shadows.

Amid the screams that rang out one after another, some people mistook their comrades' leather armor for enemies, and some were pierced through the throat by stray arrows shot by their own people.

It wasn't until Habel, riding his blood-soaked warhorse and splitting the shields blocking his way with his battle axe, that his hoarse roar pierced through the blood mist: "Cease fire! We are all on the same side!"

Habel dismounted, his charred boot soles crushing the still-smoking gear fragments.

The many burned supply carts before my eyes looked like the skeletons of hideous beasts. The molten metal dripped down the shafts and solidified into dark red amber on the cold and hard stone slabs.

Habel took off his helmet and slammed it to the ground, unaware of the flying debris scratching his cheek.

The carts loaded with sophisticated components that could double the range of the catapults had all turned to charcoal.

"Form a defensive formation!" Habel tore open the blood-stained collar. The scorching air waves wrapped in gunpowder smoke made him cough violently.

The soldiers quickly formed a circular defense line, and countless vigilant eyes penetrated the darkness through the gaps between the shields.

Habel pulled out the carrier pigeon from his waist and tremblingly wrote a message for help: "The mining city has betrayed us. Our supplies were attacked and 30% of them were lost. Requesting support."

When the morning light frost-coated Harbel's silver armor, he was already standing in front of Philos's tent.

The battle-hardened general was staring at an unfolded parchment map, the candlelight casting shadows on his angular face.

"They burned more than just supplies," Hubbell threw the bloody gears onto the table. The clanging sound startled the moths in the corners of the tent. "That's our bottom line in the negotiations!"

Philos's finger paused at the mark of the mining city on the map.

The secret agreement he reached with Alpha last night was now burning in his stomach like a hot iron.

The "safe evacuation" he promised on the surface actually implied the condition of handing over all strategic materials, a truth he never told his subordinates.

"Divide the troops into three groups." Philos suddenly spoke, his bony fingers tracing over the three passes on the map.

"Let the vanguard test the depth of their defenses. The mining city has a geographical advantage, but with two thousand soldiers scattered along a ten-mile defense line, they're bound to lose sight of one thing while focusing on another." Philos turned and looked at Habel, his dark blue eyes dancing with wolf-like ferocity. "Tell the soldiers, this time we're going to tear apart their bluffing disguise."

Outside the military tent, the sound of assembly horns pierced the morning mist.

The 10,000-strong Alliance army, like an awakened torrent of steel, left the mining city and meandered away.

They will join forces with 15,000 troops from outside, and then divide into three groups to take away supplies.

On the city wall a few miles away, Alpha stroked the brass tube of the telescope.

Looking at the smoke and dust rising on the horizon, a sneer appeared on the corner of his mouth - this game of reality and strategy has just begun.

Alpha's fingertips moved back and forth on the cold brass casing of the telescope. The unique coolness of the metal spread along his palm, as if measuring the temperature of this war.

The sound of hurried footsteps came closer and closer under the city wall. The bloodstains on Mashu's cloak glowed an eerie dark purple in the moonlight, and the mud dripping from the ends of her hair left dark marks on the blue bricks.

"My lord, the Alliance has sent 10,000 reinforcements to join the vanguard, and they are preparing to break out in three directions!" Mashu saluted straight, and the sound of armor clashing startled the night crows roosting on the city wall.

Alpha's eyes swept across the winding markings on the sand table, his fingertips emphatically resting on the forked mountain path: "Order Rowling to lead two thousand elite troops to ambush the right-wing army, while Quintiles will take charge of the left. Once both routes are successful, immediately pursue the central army."

Alpha's voice was like quenched steel, "Don't worry about the scattered supplies, focus on strangling the enemy's manpower and destroying their large-scale transportation routes."

The candlelight danced in Alpha's eyes, reflecting a light as cold as a knife.

After Mashu retreated, Defense Master Makina stepped forward and ran his calloused fingers across the South Gate on the map: "Lord Alpha, the enemy has withdrawn most of their forces from the South City. This is our chance to retake the defense line!"

"Buried in the ruins of the South City are not opportunities, but traps." Alpha's index finger slammed heavily on the charred area, where the gap in the city wall still bore traces of burning.

"Before rebuilding South City, we need three times the number of troops stationed there. Given our current situation, rashly dividing our forces will only lead to our being defeated piecemeal." Alpha turned and looked out the window at the ruined city wall. The moonlight coated the broken walls with a silver frost.

"Send a message to the dwarf army, have the blacks transport the ore from the south city at night. The smelting workshop must operate 24 hours a day." Alpha also knew the disgraceful role played by the blacks in the mining city during this war.

Now Alpha positions black people as captured soldiers, giving them the dangerous, dirty and tiring tasks.

Once they meet someone who is dissatisfied or causing trouble, they will beat them up.

At the same time, Alpha also positioned blacks as third-class people. Even if they followed the rules, it would be difficult for them to climb to high positions.

In addition, other races that marry with blacks will be relegated to third-class citizens, which makes blacks, who originally had good physical fitness, suddenly become the target of everyone's condemnation.

Those people who gave birth to black children are now all rushing to get these children. Those children are missing and Alpha can't control them.

The air in the conference room was filled with the smell of sulfur and rust. Alpha stared at the strategic map on the wall, his eyes lingering for a long time on the mark where the railway line was cut off.

Those winding railroad tracks have now become silent chains, trapping the mining town in the center of the storm.

Alpha gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist, the patterns on the metal guard deeply embedded in his palm.

The supply lines from the outside world were completely cut off, and this iron city could only rely on itself to forge armor and cast defense lines with boiling molten iron.

"Tell the workshop to complete ten catapults and twenty siege crossbows within three days." Alpha's voice was low and firm.

"We must not only defend the city, but also let the alliance know that the fight of a trapped beast is the most deadly." Outside the window, dark clouds obscured the last ray of moonlight, as if foreshadowing the coming of a more intense storm.

As dusk dyed the mountains of the mining city iron-gray, Rowling squatted on the edge of the cliff, dipping her fingertips in the mud and drawing the trajectory of the arrow on the bluestone.

From afar came the squeaking sound of wheels rolling over gravel, mixed with the rough curses of the Alliance soldiers.

Those transport vehicles loaded with equipment were like snails carrying huge shells, moving with difficulty on the winding mountain roads.

These lathes and equipment are all first-generation, bulky and crude, with only basic functions, and have never been considered for transfer. At this moment, they have become the biggest difficulty for the alliance.

"Sir, the crossbow carts are in place." The deputy general's voice was trembling with nervousness.

Rowling glanced behind her and saw thirty crossbows hidden under the camouflage net. The bronze crossbow arms were stretched as wide as full moons, and the poisoned three-edged arrows glowed faintly blue in the twilight.

Rowling pulled off the water bag at her waist and took a gulp. The cool liquid flowed down the corners of her mouth and condensed into dark red ice beads on her chain mail.

Suddenly, there was a roar of boulders rolling down the mountain path.

The Alliance army suddenly exploded, and torches swayed in the woods into chaotic spots of light.

"There's an ambush!" The soldiers cried out in alarm as they raised their shields to protect the convoy. They saw several broken pieces of dead wood lying across the middle of the road, with fresh axe marks still visible on the cuts.

"I've been fooled!" The commander had barely finished his words when a piercing sound tore through the night sky.

The first wave of crossbow arrows penetrated the front row of shields and nailed the soldiers to the wooden boards of the carriage.

Immediately afterwards, the huge rocks thrown by the catapults fell like meteorites, exploding a bloody mist in the center of the convoy.

Rowling stepped on the protruding rocks of the cliff and threw the burning oil bottle at the carriage full of supplies.

Flames shot up into the sky, illuminating Rowling's blood-stained smile: "Burn! Burn it all!"

Compared to defending the city, Rowling prefers to fight ruthlessly under the starry night, so that she can play her greatest role.

The Union army was in chaos in the sea of ​​fire.

Some people swung their swords to chop the burning ropes, but their hair was singed by the flying sparks; some people tried to rescue supplies, but were shot like hedgehogs by the subsequent rain of arrows.

Rowling blew the eagle whistle, and the cavalry ambushed in the woods rushed out like a black torrent, with a cold flash of scimitars, cutting off the reins of the carriage.

When the Alliance commander organized a counterattack, he saw only the empty mountain roads, with burning supply carts like scattered torches, and the sound of enemy horse hooves had long disappeared into the depths of the mountains.

"Chase!" The commander's roar echoed in the valley.

But when the pursuers arrived, only a few charred horses were left lying on the side of the road, and thick smoke was rising into the sky in the distance.

The commander bent down and picked up the half-burned gear. The metal surface was still hot.

This ambush not only burned all the supplies, but also acted like a heavy hammer, shattering the alliance's dream of evacuating with the supplies.

……

Quinte stroked the blood scab on his battle axe and looked at the slowly moving Alliance convoy at the end of the mountain road.

The night wind blew across the tattered cloak on his shoulders, bringing the sound of wheels rolling on the ground in the distance into his ears.

"Get ready." A low roar emanated from Quinte's throat. Thirty crossbows simultaneously turned the bronze capstans, and the poisoned arrows glowed a cold blue in the moonlight.

The moment the Alliance soldiers stepped into the valley, a rain of arrows poured down like a black rainstorm.

Amid screams, the shield bearers in the front row were nailed to the ground with their shields by huge crossbow arrows, and the transport vehicle in the rear was shot through the shaft, causing the heavy carriage to overturn with a loud bang.

Quinte raised his battle axe high, and two thousand violent knights behind him roared in unison.

The iron hooves of the war horses crushed the gravel on the ground and rushed into the chaotic enemy formation like a black torrent.

The knights' swords cut through flesh and blood, and the neighing of horses mixed with the wails of the dying.

Quintiles chopped off the enemy commander's helmet with an axe, and warm blood splattered on his visor.

"Ignite!" Following the order, dozens of fireballs soaked in tung oil were thrown into the convoy, and the instantly ignited flames dyed the night sky blood red.

When the alliance army regrouped, they could only see the retreating silhouettes of the knights and the burning remains of supplies.

At the same time, the cavalry led by Rowling was meeting Quintiles' troops on the mountain road.

Ahead, the torches of the alliance's main force formed a long, winding dragon, flickering like will-o'-the-wisp in the night.

"It's too late to set an ambush." ​​Rowling gripped the reins tightly, a gleam of determination in his eyes.

Quintile nodded, pointing his battle axe toward the sky: "Crossbows ready! This time, we're going to show them who is the true master of this land!"

With a command, sixty chariot crossbows simultaneously emitted earth-shaking roars, along with the longbows of four thousand knights.

The dense rain of arrows covered the sky, penetrated the shields and pierced into the bodies of the war horses.

The alliance army's formation was instantly torn open.

Quintey raised his battle axe high and led the Furious Knights to charge again.

Iron hooves crushed the night, scimitars split the dawn, and a brutal hand-to-hand combat began in the morning light.

The reverberations of the war drums vibrated on the scorched earth. After three rounds of fierce fighting, the blood scabs on the armor of the Alliance knights mixed with smoke and dust, emitting an eerie iron-blue color in the twilight.

The violent cavalry gathered and dispersed their formations, and the collision of bronze shields made a dull symphony, but they did not know that the enemy army they were waiting for had already escaped into the bloody setting sun.

When Quintiles' black battle flag swept across the burning baggage wagon for the last time, Rowling's silver armor was reflecting the flames rising into the sky.

The infamous pair reined in their horses side by side and looked back, their scarlet cloaks rustling in the night wind.

They never intended to engage the Union Army head-on—the precisely dropped kerosene cans, the suddenly exploding trip mines, and the reins cut in the chaos were all their carefully choreographed dance of death.

When the seventeenth transport vehicle collapsed, the two groups of light cavalry disappeared like ghosts in the maze-like hills, leaving only a mess of arrows and broken spears on the ground.

"Herald! Return to the camp immediately for assistance!" The roar of the Central Army Commander, Haber, shook off the wood chips on his helmet.

The battle-hardened veteran's face was now covered in blood, and his knuckles gripping the blood-stained sword had turned white with anger.

Hubbell looked at the grain trucks still emitting black smoke in the distance, and the crackling sounds of burning supplies seemed to still echo in his ears.

"The entire army sets up camp on the spot! Shield bearers form a tortoise shell formation, and crossbowmen stand guard all around! The enemy's dagger may stab you from behind at any time!"

In the central army tent late at night, the candlelight stretched General Philos's shadow very long.

The usually calm commander now frowned and repeatedly stroked the secret letter sent by the front army.

The handwriting on the parchment flickered in the flickering candlelight: "If you carry the supplies forward, you will be ambushed; abandon the baggage and advance lightly, and you will be able to move forward unhindered."

Suddenly, hurried footsteps were heard outside the tent. Haber, covered in dust, rushed open the tent door and said, "General! Those despicable jackals! Our supply team was attacked as soon as they left the valley..."

"That's enough!" Philos stood up suddenly, and the bronze seal of command slammed onto the table with a dull thud.

Philos gazed at the winding mountain path on the military sand table and suddenly drew his command arrow from his waist: "Habel, order the right-wing troops to immediately abandon all supplies and march lightly to attack the city of Vinni. Anyone who disobeys this order will be executed!"

Habel's pupils suddenly shrank, and he was about to argue but was stopped by the general's sharp eyes.

As the sound of horse hooves faded into the night, Philos stood alone in front of the map, his fingertips tracing the "Death Canyon" that the right-wing army was about to pass through.

Three supply teams were buried there, but now it has become a life-and-death gamble to verify the authenticity of the intelligence.

Two days later at dawn, a scout rushed into the tent, covered in blood: "Report - the right wing army has arrived safely in Wenni! No attacks were encountered along the way!"

The morning light penetrated the curtains and illuminated Philos's solemn face.