439: Chapter 439 Harassment 3

"Fire!"

Following the Centurion's thunderous roar.

In an instant, over five hundred guards poked their heads out of the trenches like phantoms, their hands tightly gripping revolvers.

Their eyes were locked onto the cavalry charging like a surging tide as they pulled their triggers without hesitation.

The cavalry came with a fierce momentum, charging as fast as a gale, their hoofbeats like thunder, making the earth tremble slightly.

However, such rapid speed also brought a fatal risk; once hit by a bullet, the damage caused was often more severe than if they were stationary.

When a bullet struck a rider, it was like a powerful heavy hammer slamming into his body. At the same moment he felt a piercing pain, the immense kinetic energy sent him tumbling uncontrollably off his horse.

In this frenzied cavalry charge, once someone fell from their horse, they were met with the merciless trampling of the subsequent galloping steeds. The bloody scene was bone-chilling.

The guards were battle-hardened; their movements in pulling the triggers were skilled and swift, far faster than the speed at which the cavalry could draw their bows and notch arrows.

Over five hundred people fired simultaneously. In an instant, gunfire erupted, continuous like the sound of popping beans.

Nearly a thousand bullets whistled toward the cavalry like a dense downpour of rain.

Mounted on tall warhorses, the cavalrymen were prominent targets. Although they tried to spread out to evade the bullets, the guards were all experienced veterans with extremely high accuracy, and every bullet carried the threat of death.

In the blink of an eye, at least three hundred cavalrymen fell from their horses under the dense hail of bullets, screaming as they were swept under the hooves.

During a rapid sprint, the warhorses simply had no time to react and could not stop or turn at will.

Some warhorses were tripped by the bodies of the fallen riders, their massive frames losing control and rolling to the ground one after another.

For a time, the Shule Tribe's cavalry charge fell into total disarray. Their once orderly formation became scattered and fragmented, with battle cries and screams intertwining in a scene of utter chaos.

The riders who fell in the front row inadvertently served as shields, while the riders in the back took advantage of this brief opening to hastily draw their bows and notch arrows.

"Swish, swish, swish..."

Countless arrows rose into the sky like a swarm of locusts, so dense that they blotted out the sun. The once bright sky instantly turned dim, as if doomsday had arrived.

The guards hid in the meticulously dug trenches, spaced a certain distance apart to reduce the risk of being targeted by concentrated attacks.

At the bottom of the trenches, foxholes had been dug perpendicularly; these were their "life-saving charms."

Seeing the arrows raining down from the sky, the guards swiftly and nimbly ducked into the foxholes.

While taking cover, they raced against time to eject the empty casings from their cylinders and reload as quickly as possible, preparing for the next round of combat.

It was no easy task to hit these experienced and well-protected guards.

But on the battlefield, there were bound to be some unlucky souls.

A few individual guards were unfortunately hit by stray arrows; however, the Leather Armor they wore played a crucial role.

These Shule Tribe cavalrymen were mostly Light Cavalry, relatively light in weight and not hulking, burly men.

The advantage of Light Cavalry lay in their speed; if they were too large, the warhorses would have difficulty carrying them at high speeds.

Because of this, the draw weight of the Stiff Bows they used was typically around sixty pounds, rather than the highly penetrative hundred-pound Stiff Bows.

Such arrows had limited penetration; unless they hit a vital spot directly, it was difficult to cause fatal injuries to the guards wearing Leather Armor.

"Die! Just die!"

Many of the Caravan guards were veteran soldiers who had experienced life and death and seen countless bloody scenes.

Getting wounded did not instill fear in them; instead, it stirred the ferocity deep within their hearts.

Emerging from the foxholes with eyes burning with the flames of rage, they raised their revolvers once more and fired fiercely at the enemy, pouring all their pent-up fury onto them.

Gunsmoke filled the battlefield, the scent of blood grew heavier, and the tense atmosphere was like an invisible net tightly enveloping everyone.