Friscia's visor had a hole pierced through it, and he could feel a shard lodged against his cheekbone, the tearing pain in his muscle making his expression increasingly fierce.
"Saint Dupinax!"
"Watch out!"
Horn's vision blurred as someone dragged him to the roadside, and when he turned back, it was surprisingly the old man from before.
Less than a yard away from him, more than twenty knights charged with battle cries, like a heavy truck crashing into the first row of gun formations.
It was like a gale blowing through willow catkins, about four or five holy gunmen were knocked straight into the air like broken dolls.
Meanwhile, the five leading knights were also toppled over as their horse necks were pierced by the spear formation.
But the knights quickly crawled up, drew the longswords from their waists, and began hacking at the holy gunmen and long spearmen before them.
