88: Well-trained Bandits 2

Most of the enemy arrows turned towards Randall, who had stepped forward, and his tower shield blocked most of the attacks.

Randall advanced steadily like a moving fortress.

I took the opportunity to direct the others to reorganize the defense line.

I had John, George, and the Amn guards form a circle with all the wagons, creating temporary cover, and at the same time ordered all archers to find opportunities to counterattack from behind the gaps in the wagons.

"Aim for those Kobolds!" I shouted, "Their fire arrows have a short range; we must deal with them first!"

The dull thud of arrows hitting shields was like hail striking an iron pot, and sparks flew from Randall's heavy armor under the impact of the Goblins' poisoned arrows and the Kobolds' fire arrows.

He lowered his body, his tower shield plunged into the frozen ground, advancing with difficulty like a moving reef in the arrow tide.

"First group of archers, take your positions!" I kicked open a burning wagon board and leaped onto the high ground, stepping on charred cargo boxes.

Five figures tore through the snow curtain and followed closely.

John's leather armor had a charred gash on his left shoulder, with smoke still rising from the edges.

The Amn guard captain's Adam's apple bobbed up and down with difficulty, and his sword-holding knuckles were white from excessive force.

Ice crystals clung to the leather armor of two young guards, but they couldn't hide their trembling knees.

The farmer holding the hunting bow was the most striking; his frostbitten fingers slipped on the bowstring, but he still bit the arrow nock to string it.

The cold wind, mixed with snowflakes, tore at robes; I nocked two arrows, and a hundred feet to the front left, thirty-five Kobolds, more than ten of which were hiding behind trees reloading fire arrows, their blood-red rat tails sweeping charred marks in the snow.

"Fire!" I roared, and two arrows arced, precisely nailing into the Kobold crowd—one Kobold's scream abruptly stopped, and the other arrow pierced through his companion's thigh.

Five feathered arrows whistled away, following my trajectory.

The Amn guard captain's steel arrow pierced through leather armor, but John's feathered arrow "clanged" and stuck in a tree trunk—until the farmer added an arrow, igniting the sulfur pouch at the Kobold's waist.

The explosively bursting fireball illuminated the slope, and several burning figures screamed as they rolled down.

"Retreat!" I dragged George off the wagon top just as seven poisoned arrows grazed our backs, turning the cargo box into a pincushion.

When I landed, I smelled something burnt—a fire arrow had ignited George's shoulder strap.

I observed the enemy through the gaps between the vehicles.

After their arrows aimed at the wagon top missed, they concentrated their fire on the Holy Knight alone.

"Second team of archers, to the top of the wagon!" I shouted, timing it with a lull in the enemy's attack.

The second wave of archers had already leaped onto the wagon top, following the footprints.

This time, including me, six people were on the wagon top again.

It seemed someone else, like me, had gone up twice in a row.

"Keep shooting the Kobolds!" I shouted.

This time, both of my arrows hit a Kobold's throat, and George also shot a Kobold in the eye.

I saw the village youth with the longbow—he had also climbed onto the wagon top for the second time that morning, and now his arrow pierced the Kobold mage's throat. The dying spellcaster's fireball, Cohesion in his claw, exploded out of control, engulfing around twenty Kobolds in flames.

"Well done!" I pounded the side of the wagon, and ice shards clattered down.

Randall's pressure greatly reduced.

A sharp glint flashed in the Holy Knight's eyes; he suddenly raised his tower shield and charged up the hillside with speed.

"Now!" Randall drew his sword and leaped, holy light flowing into a blade of light on the sword edge, "Holy Smite!"

He crashed into the enemy formation like a silver storm, and where the blade of light swept, three Kobold archers were cut in half at the waist.

The Kobolds who were engaged in close combat scattered, and seeing this, the Goblins on the other side concentrated all their fire on the Holy Knight.

But the true killing blow was behind the Holy Knight; this time, I had all the archers on the wagon top.

Eleven feathered arrows tore through the snow curtain, eight of which accurately embedded themselves in the Kobolds' backs.

The arrowheads pierced their fragile leather armor; five red-skinned imps fell into the snow, motionless, while the other three screamed and tumbled into the fires they had started themselves.

The remaining two Kobolds were cut down by the Holy Knight's sword.

All thirty-five Kobolds were dealt with.

Behind the Goblins, a mournful beast bone horn suddenly blared, its sound waves rattling the ice shards down.

Six elite monsters, armed with shields and longswords, charged towards the convoy.

Blasphemous runes were painted on their blood-red leather armor, and the venom dripping from their axe blades corroded the snow.

"Randall!" I shouted loudly, "Stop them!"

A smile played on the Holy Knight's lips.

He suddenly turned and charged in the opposite direction, deliberately smashing his tower shield heavily onto the ice.

"Cowards!" he taunted, "Do you only dare to hide behind Kobolds and piss?"

The elite Goblins indeed fell for the trick.

As they roared and turned towards Randall, I signaled for Dragon King and Black Little Leopard to launch a hidden surprise attack.

The snow-covered fir trees by the road suddenly shook "rustle, rustle"; Black Little Leopard, who had been hidden behind the trees by the road, flickered ghost-like between the tree trunks like a phantom—his paw pads precisely avoided dead branches, continuously flashing towards the Goblin archers.

Dragon King also hid behind the ice-encased treetops, weaving through the branches, flying rapidly towards the target.

At a distance of over one hundred and twenty feet, Dragon King and Black Little Leopard managed to circle to the rear of the enemy's formation before the enemies discovered them.

By the time the first Goblin archer smelled the Fishy Wind, it was already too late.

Black Little Leopard's sharp teeth precisely embedded into its Achilles tendon, and at the same time, Dragon King tore open the throat of another Goblin.

The rear of the ambushed line was in chaos; the elite monsters only then realized they had been tricked!

"Now!" I shouted.

I led all the archers back onto the convoy, aiming our bows at the four elite Goblins who were still alive in front of the Holy Knight.

Several arrowheads plunged into their backs.

The wounded Goblins paused their movements.

Randall had been waiting for this opening.

He spun to avoid a poisoned axe, sweeping his greatsword upwards from below: "Holy Smite!" The blade of light drew an elegant arc, successively severing the heads of the four elite Goblins.