"How long will this battle last?"
Inside the camp, a fully-armed knight took off his helmet and quietly complained to his companion. However, his complaint aroused the dissatisfaction of the knight commander who was cruising on horseback. The knight commander on horseback glared at the knight who had spoken and whispered angrily, "Put on your helmet!"
The knight who was scolded shuddered and hurriedly put his helmet back on. Immediately, an unbearably hot and stuffy air surrounded his head.
"Listen carefully. We don't need to attack the city or die. Our only mission is to guard the water source. We are the only knight group in the camp right now. Whether there are enemies or not, you must be fully alert. Anyone who dares to speak out again will be reassigned as an apprentice knight."
The scorching sun burned the iron armor recklessly, and the hot and humid air was suffocating, making it impossible to hear a single word.
But under the Knight Commander's angry glare, the knights stood straight without any abnormal movement. It was not until the sound of horse hooves gradually faded away that a clear exhalation was heard.
Who could stand wearing black armor and squeezing together with hundreds of people on a plain with no shelter?
The knight who had just been criticized snorted in his heart, secretly cursing the knight commander for treating them differently. He could not wear the helmet if he felt hot, but he required them to wear it.
As he watched the horse running in the other direction, his eyes suddenly twitched, because the brown warhorse that the Knight Commander was so proud of suddenly fluttered around wildly, and the Knight Commander, who was careless for a moment, was thrown out by the wildly shaking horse's body.
Finally he couldn't help laughing, and as if it was the beginning of a rumble of laughter from a group of 300 knights.
The knight commander who had been knocked to the ground climbed up somewhat awkwardly. He was too ashamed to look directly at the knights under his command, so he turned around and glared at the horse that was still lying on the ground. Just as he was about to curse a few words, he caught a glimpse of a blurry figure from the corner of his eye.
Years of combat experience allowed him to react immediately. Without wasting time turning his head again, the Knight Commander drew the sword from his waist and retreated to the rear while shouting, "Enemy attack!"
As soon as he finished speaking, there was a thunder explosion in his ears. After a brief tinnitus, when he opened his eyes again, he only saw a blurry red.
The head flew up, and the headless body slowly fell down. The spurting blood splashed on the red and white armor, and was immediately burned by tiny electric snakes and vaporized, turning into a blood mist that lingered in the summer air.
While the other knights were still immersed in the lightning-fast killing process, Menachel swung his sword and picked up the fallen corpse. With the swing of his sword, the corpse was thrown out like a stone.
Magic power turned into lightning current that exploded from under Menachel's feet. The reverse thrust generated by the explosion pushed Menachel forward at an extremely fast speed. With his hands protecting in front of him, Menachel smashed into the knights' formation across the headless corpse in front of him.
A few screams heralded the beginning of the killing. At this moment, the three hundred knights just woke up as if from a dream and tried to form a battle formation. However, Menachels, who had already "infiltrated the inside", wielded the greatsword wantonly, and the iron armor was like mud, unable to block the sword in the slightest.
Magic power surged to the sword tip, and the blood-red sword was like God's spear. Wherever it touched, whether it was shield, sword or armor, it was all split in two.
Blood and screams became the only main themes here. At first, there were still people resisting, but after neither spears nor swords could penetrate the armor, the resistance became increasingly weak.
"Run."
This vague voice was almost drowned in the ocean of screams, but the number of knights who had rushed to die was gradually decreasing. Ignoring the fleeing knights, Menachel just swung his sword mechanically, steadily reaping the lives of several people every time the blade swept across.
As the last corpse within sight fell to the ground, the bloody arc slowly faded from Menachel's body, and the familiar soreness and swelling feeling gradually rose as the excitement subsided.
Menachel glanced at the piles of corpses around him and gave up the idea of counting the number of people killed. He glanced at the pool of water behind him that was already blocked with blood and corpses due to the battle, and raised the corners of his mouth in satisfaction.
"That's good, it saves me the trouble of carrying it myself."
The lightning current once again wrapped around the great sword, and Menachel slashed at the camp with his sword, and the flames suddenly burned. It was a pity that judging from the number of tents, the rebels did not camp in a row, but this was not important at the moment – without a reliable water source, even if the other supplies were sufficient, the rebels could not continue to fight.
…
When Menachel returned to Bilú by a detour, Ector was directing his men to clean up the battlefield. When Ector saw the intact Menachel, his eyes almost popped out of his head, and he even stuttered as he looked at Menachel.
He had already thought of a eulogy for Menachel.
"Sir Menachel, why are you back? Didn't you go on the mission?"
Ector could only think of this explanation. After all, no matter how strong a person is, it is impossible for him to be so absurd that he can fight against a whole group of knights and still escape unscathed, right?
"Don't worry, Sir Ector. They have no drinkable water." Menachel removed the dragon scale armor piece by piece, revealing his charred and severely sunken body tissues. It sounds convenient to squeeze out magic power from his body, but even with Menachel's physique, it can't last too long. If it weren't for the purpose of preventing the enemy from turning back and encircling him, Menachel would not have used the method of constricting his body.
"What?" Ector frowned and immediately realized something: "In the future, use this kind of magic less… Try to avoid being in a desperate situation where you have to use it."
He regarded this as a magic trick taught by Merlin. In Ector's opinion, any magical thing was most likely related to Merlin.
"I will report your merit to the king."
Ector patted Menachel on the shoulder, and there was a hint of relief in his eyes when he looked at Menachel. In the dozen years after King Uther's death, Britain had a clear fault line, but now an old man like him finally had a successor.
But before Ector could be happy for long, that night, before he had time to eat, the sky after the sun set was covered with dark clouds and a chilly and damp atmosphere arose. Soon after, a drizzle of rain fell from the sky, landing on the dry plains and lowlands, taking away the heat of the scorching sun and everyone in Bilu City's hope of winning.
It started to rain, and the "poisoning" operation became meaningless. The rebels gained a temporary source of water, but on the other hand, there were only more than a thousand soldiers left in Bilu City, and the city would probably be breached within two days.
"No way." Ector smiled bitterly. The brilliance in the eyes of this tough middle-aged man disappeared, and the few white hairs on his drooping head were particularly eye-catching. "Maybe Camelot's luck has come to an end."
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