Facing the retreating tide of the Joan of Arc Castle forces, the War Monks did not pursue.

As the horn sounded from the rear, the War Monks quickly halted and returned to their previous defensive line.

The injured War Monks were transported to the rear for treatment, and those who hadn't participated in the battle before were rotated to the front lines.

The most severely damaged Black Hat Second Corps was moved to the rear, replaced by the Black Hat Sixth Corps.

In the cooking smoke, the War Monks who had marched all morning and fought for half an hour finally sat down to sip some hot soup.

As for the Holy Gunmen, after drinking a sleep-inducing porridge containing potions, they fell into a deep sleep in a makeshift grass shed.

They need to recover their holy power quickly in this way, hoping to return to the battlefield as soon as possible.

Treading on the muddy ground, the sky grew even darker, and the heavy humidity caused suffocation for both people and horses.

Lord Bo Ao Lie gently soothed the restless horse, his face ashen like a bronze mask.

"Lord Bo Ao Lie." A nearby Knight handed over a strand of silk to Bo Ao Lie.

Fingers caressing the mucus-coated resilient silk, Bo Ao Lie rubbed his thumb, index, and middle finger together, pulling out a sticky white thread.

Looking afar, in the dim light, Bo Ao Lie couldn't determine how many such spider threads were placed among the bushes.

"All those farmers just now, execute them all."

"Execute them all? Why?" an adjutant asked in surprise.

"These threads couldn't possibly be set up temporarily; they set up these positions long ago, waiting for us to come." Growling, he tore apart the thread in his hands, Bo Ao Lie's gaze pierced through the bushes, spying Belard's blood-soaked corpse, "These farmers deceived us!"

Soon, agonizing cries came from behind the battle lines, mingled with pleading voices and cries of "Salvation Army, victory!"

The steaming scent of blood made the resting Monks gag slightly.

The leader of the Monks, a Monk with a Paul-style haircut, stood up: "Lord Bo Ao Lie, how should we proceed?"

"How much did we lose earlier? Are the routed soldiers all reorganized?" Bo Ao Lie asked the newly appointed Temple Knight Commander of Joan of Arc Castle.

The Knight Commander nodded nervously: "We lost seventy-three Extraordinary Knights, with thirty-eight dead, ten severely wounded, and twenty-five missing.

Of the 77 Knights who returned, over half are lightly wounded and in a fatigued state from potion use, unable to return to the battlefield for at least three hours."

Half an hour into the battle, out of 550 Extraordinary Knights, 400 remain combat-ready.

"Infantry, continue the attack." Taking a deep breath, Bo Ao Lie regained his composure, "Don't give them a chance to breathe, have the Night Guards clear out all the spider threads from the bushes."

"Are they still capable of fighting?"

"Damn it, have those Armored Soldiers drive them onto the battlefield; do I need to teach you that?" Trembling under-eyelids, Bo Ao Lie spoke with obvious irritation.

After several deep breaths, he slowly exhaled a sigh, clapped his hands, and a baron dressed like a minor noble in leather armor stepped forward and knelt.

"You take the Longbowmen and continuously shoot from the side of the battlefield, suppress and harass them, luring them to unleash the Devil's Wind."

According to the most ancient and simple principle of equivalence, Bo Ao Lie believed it was costly for the so-called Holy Gunmen to unleash the Devil's Wind, unable to do so without consequence.

Amidst the Knight Commander's admonishments, an Extraordinary Knight with a face-mark from being slapped wove through the crowd, stopping before the Armored Soldiers.

Minutes later, the Armored Soldier leader, his face marked with whip scars, brandished his long whip viciously, rallying the Night Guards seated on the ground.

Almost a quarter-hour later, the scattered Night Guards regrouped, resentment on their faces, heading back to the battlefield.

Driven by the Armored Soldiers, the Night Guards in grimy combat attire and leather armor trembled with each step, re-entering the blood-soaked terrain.

Amid the brush lay hundreds of the Night Guards' corpses, some severely wounded, still issuing meaningless wails.

"Holy Father, protect me." Kissing the Statue of the Holy Father hanging on his chest, a Night Guard carefully stood before the pale green bushes, clearing the entangled spider threads with a hooked spear and axe.

Three hundred Longbowmen, including low-ranking Extraordinary Longbowmen, swiftly maneuvered through the forest's side, reaching the Salvation Army's formation flank.

The Baron placed the ring on his finger, nocking a long arrow onto the bow arm, pulling the longbow into a full moon.

"Whoosh––"

An arrow shot across the sky like a meteor, landing at the feet of the war monks in the Black Hat First Corps on the left wing.

At the same time, the horn sounded again, resuming combat.

"Rebels! May the devil bless you!"

"Go to hell!"

"For victory!"

"Idagrami! Habi down!"

On this open field, about a hundred meters wide and long, the sounds of slaughter in Leia, Falan, and Beastman languages erupted once more.

The Night Guard and the Salvation Army seemed to be in a tug-of-war; every time the Night Guard surged forward like a tidal wave, they would be pushed back by the flood-like assault of the Salvation Army.

Stones and lead flew through the crowd, with tears mingling with blood flowing on the ground.

But they did not pursue, retreating neatly before entering the knights' charge range, making Monte Yac overjoyed and Lord Bo Ao Lie's face even grimmer.

At the edge of the battlefield, wave after wave of arrow rain fell into the Salvation Army's ranks.

For the Salvation Army, mostly equipped with helmets and iron armor, the arrows generally only caused light injuries, but still had a significant impact on overall combat effectiveness.

When the Armored Soldiers regrouped the routed soldiers once more, they were surprised to find several ancient small stone throwers appearing on the battlefield.

These were parts discovered by the Salvation Army in the Mayo Town warehouse, which Horn had been waiting for in Gray Furnace Town.

Under the day and night rush work of the artisans in Gray Furnace Town, they managed to assemble these four small stone throwers.

However, these four stone throwers were not for hurling stones.

The long ropes connected to the lengthy poles were held by several strong men, who slowly pulled down the leather pouch of the stone thrower, placing several jars inside, and then lighting them with fuse ropes.

With white bandages wrapping the arrow wound on his thigh, a robust Salvation Army soldier, veins bulging, pulled the stone thrower's long rope with his companion.

"Taste this, you arrow-shooting cowards!"

At the calculated time, a dozen jars flew into the air, scattering and landing in front of a clearing in the woods.

With phosphorus, alcohol, and charcoal mixed together, Horn did not manage to create ideal fire bombs but inadvertently produced toxic smoke bombs.

The clay jars shattered, faint flames ignited, and pale yellow mist erupted, engulfing the edge of the woodland.

Patrick stood at the edge of the battlefield, his hands forming the shape of a crescent moon, mana glinting in his eyes, with black blood trickling from his nostrils.

"Wind!"

The leaves rustled, and the toxic smoke seemed to take shape, not dispersing but instead moving towards the woods like tentacles.

After a brief silence, the sound of violent coughing and heavy objects hitting the ground came from the smoke.

Several drooling archers stumbled out of the woods.

They hadn't run a few steps before their legs went soft and they fell to the ground, their bodies trembling briefly before becoming still.

"Despicable wizard! Damn demon!" Seeing the longbowmen fleeing from the forest, Lord Bo Ao Lie punched the tree beside him.

Although this toxic smoke only killed about twenty archers, the smoke blocked the view, making it difficult to shoot as before.

In three waves of back-and-forth exchange, the formation of the Salvation Army barely changed.

Conversely, the Night Guards, with losses and those losing their fighting capability, almost accounted for a third of the total number.

"I'm sorry, sir, cough cough cough, these Salvation Army soldiers are too despicable, even the bowstring has snapped..." The baron leading the longbowmen said, half-kneeling with ashen complexion before Lord Bo Ao Lie.

"I have no time for your nonsense," Lord Bo Ao Lie said impatiently, "I sent you to the woods, did you find anything?"

The baron quickly recounted what he just saw; Horn's half-beastman scouts were killed by Belard, unable to stop these longbowmen.

"Are you saying, behind the gentle slope, you saw Demon Horn?"

"Yes," the baron strained his itchy throat, "I saw him with my own eyes, wearing armor emblazoned with the sun's emblem. Even if it wasn't him, it's an important figure of the Salvation Army."

"And he's only protected by a few carriages?"

"Yes."

Lord Bo Ao Lie suddenly smiled.

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