Black Sail

It was a vast advancing metal fortress, with the hinge-like shoulder armor of the Heavy Priests emitting the sound of rusted gears rubbing as they swung their arms. Just now, Fafna’s indiscriminate slaughter left icy debris and their companions’ sticky blood on their iron boots.

There were still nearly a thousand priests, seemingly outnumbering the Black Sail side, more than twice as many.

But that’s not how the numbers are calculated.

Historically, several hundred cavalry have chased tens of thousands of peasants armed with pitchforks to their deaths, and numbers are never the decisive factor in war.

Their footsteps were like the repeated strikes of iron hammers in a smithy, propelling a black line of death, synchronized killing machines in unison, wielding oversized war axes and warhammers, serving as living guillotines and living crushers!

Still five hundred horse lengths away, the black tide swept in, pressing directly against the city walls, accompanied by the oppressive black clouds in the blood-red sky.

"I really fucked your mother."

Rein’s throat rolled with tension, recalling that in the secret port of Londen City, dealing with even one of these religious madmen was a huge hassle. Back then, they at least had the advantage of the coastal terrain, but now it was someone else’s home ground.

He had never seen such a scene, feeling a bit apprehensive.

The others were even more stressed, Fen’s tightly furrowed brows almost wringing out water.

"Hey, hey, what the hell is that!"