The newly formed knight order was a motley crew, yet under Charlot Mecklenburg's various methods, they managed to develop a tenuous sense of cohesion. At the very least, they could execute orders without error.

  Immediately, three hundred men raised their rifles and, after issuing verbal warnings, began firing at the routed soldiers who still charged forward.

  The empire had equipped the knight order with only these three hundred rifles. The rest of the armament consisted of sabers, shields, and simir weapons.

  On the Old Continent, although firearms had emerged, they had not been widely adopted by military forces. Only royal knight orders or private knight orders of great nobles had access to them. Local troops rarely received firearms. For example, the prison army at Kilmainham Prison could wield Magnum Maulers, but Charlot's city patrol guards never managed to secure enough firearms to arm every soldier. On the battlefield, it was still impossible for everyone to be equipped with a rifle.

  The West Wind Knight Order, under Charlot’s command, had only these three hundred rifles, with a portion of the troops armed with pistols—spoils from the raid on Dragon Fort Street No. 5: the headquarters of the Chelsea Detective Agency. The rest wielded sabers, and some even carried impractical rapiers unsuited for combat.

  The only consotion was that Charlot had at least refrained from sending men onto the battlefield armed with canes, a fate common among other local forces. Many regional troops relied on mere canes worth a few centimes, supplemented at most by a cheap dagger.

  Despite its shortcomings, the West Wind Knight Order, originating from Strasbourg, was far superior to the typical local militia.

  Charlot instinctively covered his eyes. He couldn’t bear to witness so many people being sughtered—especially since it was by his command.

  Yet to most members of the West Wind Knight Order, his gesture of pity and compassion appeared as nothing more than the air of an aristocratic lord.

  “He gives the order to shoot them and then pretends to cover his eyes in sympathy.”

  Such a dispy made him appear as debased as a groveling dog.

  On Earth, even elementary students would know not to let retreating allied forces break up their formations. But on the Old Continent, few were aware of such tactics—not even many formally trained officers. It took fighting in a few battles to become a competent commander.

  To the soldiers of the West Wind Knight Order, this incident reaffirmed Charlot’s ruthlessness and cold-heartedness. Once an Assistant Clerk of the Imperial Administrative Bureau, now their knight commander, he was a man of sharp calcution and no mercy.

  Moreover, they found his behavior particurly insincere...

  Strangely, this perception only made the troops more willing to follow Charlot’s orders—not out of respect, but out of fear.

  They were unaware of the words spoken by a sage from the ancient East: “The virtuous inspire through virtue; the petty are ruled by fear.”

  Even if they knew, these convicts and gang members would hardly grasp such profound reasoning.

  After two volleys, the disordered enemy forces finally obeyed and stopped charging directly at the West Wind Knight Order, choosing instead to bypass them.

  Initially, these fleeing troops pnned to continue their escape, but Charlot had anticipated this. Yellow Bear, leading a group of men, intercepted them. As a gang veteran with blood on his hands, Yellow Bear did not hesitate to execute anyone who resisted on the spot.

  Although the scene remained chaotic, under Yellow Bear’s harsh suppression, the majority of the routed soldiers were brought under control.

  ...

  Meanwhile, the Byron riders, who had been reaping lives on the battlefield, spotted the West Wind Knight Order. They halted their pursuit, regrouped, and began advancing toward the knight order's defensive position. At two hundred paces—the maximum range of a Fars Empire standard rifle—they came to a stop.

  A lone knight spurred his steed forward from their ranks. Charlot, in turn, ordered his troops to hold their fire without explicit command. He himself hoisted his Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle and stepped out from the defensive formation.

  As a sixth-tier Transcendent, Charlot did not fear a duel of commanders on the battlefield.

  The two commanders faced off. The opposing knight removed his visor, revealing a rugged face. Judging by various signs of life, this man was not a vampire but a Blood Thrall.

  In Byron, one had only two extraordinary paths: either become a vampire or a Blood Thrall. Rational Transcendents avoided Byron altogether, fearing extermination by vampires. Although Byron maintained agreements with other nations to restrain their blood-drinking habits abroad, such accords did not protect Transcendents within Byron itself.

  After all, this was an empire built by vampires.

  Charlot shrugged and said, “Sorry, the road ends here.”

  The opposing knight replied coldly, “I cannot reveal my name. You may call me a South Seraph restorationist. I was once a citizen of South Seraph.”

  “This war is South Seraph’s vengeance against Behemoth. All Behemothans are despicable traitors.”

  “This is not your Fars Empire’s affair.”

  Charlot sighed. “I am a Behemothan. So are the men under my command who live in Fars.”

  “That means I have no choice but to fight.”

  Charlot was indeed from Behemoth, but his troops were a mixed bag. Even if there were Behemothans among them, they were few. Nonetheless, he cimed otherwise, sensing a certain naivety in the opposing knight—perhaps something he could exploit.

  The rugged knight, who identified himself as a South Seraph restorationist, responded icily, “Then there’s nothing more to say.” He lowered his visor and bellowed, “Charge!”

  The Byron riders, renowned for their elite training, unched their charge instantly at his command.

  Charlot was momentarily stunned. He couldn’t comprehend why negotiations had suddenly colpsed into combat.

  It took him a second to realize he had been tricked.

  As a knight commander, Charlot knew his men couldn’t fire while he stood in the middle of the battlefield. The greatest advantage of rifles over cavalry—the ability to gun them down before they closed in—was thus nullified.

  For a brief moment, Charlot felt ashamed. He had made a foolish mistake.

  He sighed internally. “In the end, I’m just an idiot who’s never been on a battlefield.”

  “To think I thought this was about chivalry...”

  “And chivalry? With a Blood Thrall? What nonsense.”

  Though his mind churned with thoughts, Charlot’s body moved with precision. He raised the Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle single-handedly and pulled the trigger.

  The rugged knight activated his combat energy, enveloping himself in a blood-red aura. He roared, “I am the Blood Butcher! A mere rifle cannot pierce my body.”

  Man and horse became one, with his knight’s nce extending forward, emanating a fierce and tragic aura. Behind him, a faint blood-colored banner seemed to flutter—a Proof of War, a testament forged through countless battles.

  Among the eight Knight Proofs, the Proof of War held no strict sequence, but it had to be earned on the battlefield. It was thus easily obtained by common knights, while noble knights, who rarely fought in wars, often cked it.

  Paired with the Blood Butcher technique, this knight was truly a life-reaping force on the battlefield, devastating to enemy lines and nearly unstoppable.