Chapter 316 Broken Gun

Under everyone's tense gaze, the ball of light gradually dissipated. Winster Wharton's pupils shrank to a tiny dot. His gun was firmly held by something, the barrel still trembling violently, emitting a humming sound, and almost slipping out of his hand.

But it was as if he had hit an invisible chariot.

Blood flowed down, hitting the ground, mixing with the dust and creating small craters. The young man lowered his head, his black hair obscuring his features, making it impossible to discern his expression. A spear had pierced his right ribs, and his hand, tightly gripping the outer shaft, bulged with veins on the pale back of his hand.

Winster Wharton quickly recovered from his shock. He hadn't expected this young man, who was not as strong as him, to be able to block the shot. However, the other party was seriously injured, and killing him would only take a few breaths.

He jerked the spear tip away—but it didn't budge. The boy seemed to be trying to lock the Silver Helmet Knight's spear with his body. Winster's eyes flickered, a mixture of admiration and regret for his foolish courage. Without hesitation, he swung his hand back, condensing a blade of light from his palm. With lightning speed, it charged straight at the boy's neck. He could almost foresee the heat of the blood spurting, the dull thud of the headless body falling forward.

"boom--!"

It wasn't the dull thud of a blade piercing flesh, nor the humming sound of energy colliding. It was a completely different sound, purer, more brutal, like the shrill whistling of metal against metal.

The Silver Helmet Knight jerked his head up in surprise. The ground was shaking violently, the gravel beneath his feet bouncing like frying beans. He could smell the scent of sulfur and gunpowder, a scorching blast that threatened to burn his skin. The next second, the ground about three meters away suddenly rose, a wave of earth seven or eight meters high. The Silver Helmet Knight, caught off guard, was flung back with Percy by the immense force. The spear slipped from his hand, and Percy and him were slammed to the ground.

The attack did not come from the young warlock who looked to be on the verge of death, but from the city wall. On the not-so-high wall of Ironthorn Territory, thick black smoke was spewing out from a battlement.

It was a cannon, thrown back by the violent recoil, its muzzle still shimmering with a searing red glow. Several Royal City soldiers, barely waking from their hallucinations, were killed by the civilian-controlled cannonball.

After realizing what was happening, Winster Wharton almost laughed out loud. These civilians from Ironthorn Territory had somehow managed to acquire a few cannons. Judging by their effectiveness, they weren't even magical ray cannons—countless actual battles had proven that, on a battlefield of even higher standards, artillery without sorcerer's blessing was sheer waste. A warrior with even a little more vigilance could easily dodge them, and even a sorcerer of even a slightly higher rank would be enough to instantly dispatch the gunners manning those clumsy, slow-moving iron weapons.

If he hadn't been entangled by Percy Brody, he wouldn't even have been blown away just now.

The problem was that the Ironthorn Territory's commander was clearly no fool. He had first lured the invading enemy into an illusion before opening fire on the Royal City's troops. Winster's eyes sharpened as he saw Percy Brody stumbling to his feet, his spear broken in two, one half hanging from his ribs. The Silver Helmet Knight once again condensed a blade of light from his palm, ready to deal with the troublemaker first, then the artillery.

But the blade of light only ripped through the air. The young man, who should have been at the end of his strength, suddenly raised his head, a final, piercing glint gleaming in the depths of his eyes. Countless chains of light, centered around him, swept towards him frantically, overwhelmingly.

The Silver Helmet Knight's expression changed slightly. A warrior of his rank was extremely sensitive to any fluctuation in strength. This kid's strength had actually increased, not decreased. There was a faint sign of his advancement to the Intermediate Lord's Prayer level!

Another loud bang erupted from the city wall. Dodging the piercing rays of light while also carefully avoiding the impact of the shells, Winston Wharton began to sense something was amiss as time passed. The power and frequency of the artillery fire seemed far greater and faster than he had imagined, causing him to run for his life under the dual threat of spells and shells.

The remaining Royal City troops began to regroup, but it was difficult. The roar of artillery shells continued, but there were no flesh-and-blood enemies before them. Furthermore, the battle between the two Priest-class warlocks was difficult to intervene in. Winster's eyes grew cold. He had never imagined that such a remote and desolate place would push him to this point. Initially, he was reluctant to use large-scale spells, as this might attract unnecessary attention from the surrounding area.

But now it seems that it is no longer necessary.

The last shred of hesitation in Winster Wharton's eyes vanished. He ignored the swarms of dancing light chains, took a deep breath, and stood still as he began to chant. Each syllable seemed to contain a tremendous force, drowning out the roar of artillery fire and the cries of the wounded. The Royal City soldiers around him rushed forward to block the attacks, even when chains of light pierced their chests and flung them aside, showing no fear.

No, we can't let a Lord Prayer-class warlock complete a large spell of this magnitude! Percy had only one thought in the depths of his brain, which was becoming increasingly chaotic due to severe pain and blood loss. However, he suspected that he was about to die and couldn't even take a step.

...It hurts so much and I’m so tired, brother.

He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die... After this victory, he could continue to stay by his brother's side. His brother would definitely praise him, reward him, and trust him. He would no longer be alone, lonely, and could only watch his brother leave...

Winston Wharton's open lips froze, and the syllables he was chanting stopped mid-song. His face was in a state of ecstasy, as if he had seen something extremely strange.

A soft, invisible, slender chain of light suddenly appeared on the chest of the silver-helmeted knight. The other end of the chain originated from the ring on the finger of the black-haired boy who was being blocked by the Royal City Army. The Royal City Army, still conscious, tried to block it with their hands, but the seemingly thin chain of light seemed to be a mere illusion, without causing the slightest fluctuation.

A deafening cannon shot.

This cannon shot was completely different from any previous artillery fire. It carried an extremely terrifying shriek that instantly drowned out all other sounds on the battlefield. Even Winston Wharton, still immersed in his illusion, was instinctively trembling at the ominous premonition, forcing his mind to clear.

The backlash from the forcibly interrupted chanting suddenly erupted at this moment. The Silver Helmet Knight only felt a dull pain in his chest, with a little blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, but he didn't care, because that cannonball - no, this was not an ordinary cannonball. It was no longer the crude iron lumps that could only stir up waves of earth and blow away one or two people. Its sharp, streamlined outline flashed with the cold and hard luster unique to metal. Its flight trajectory was so precise and smooth that it was frightening, and its speed was far beyond Winster's understanding of the concept of "artillery".

A huge wave of shock was set off in the heart of the Silver Helmet Knight. This was not the magic light cannon - or even the magic light cannon had never caused him such a great shock and vague fear. He instinctively gathered all his strength to try to resist, but the light chain that was always connected to his chest was still constantly affecting his mind, and it actually made him dazed for a moment again, and the spell also stagnated.

It was only a fraction of a second of hesitation and stagnation. The next second, accompanied by a terrifying, teeth-grinding sound, the place where the Silver Helmet Knight had stood was left with only a deep, charred crater, and Winston Wharton was nowhere to be found.

The battlefield fell into deathly silence.

The few surviving Royal City soldiers around them supported each other and struggled to their feet. By the time they realized what had happened, their expressions had turned from shock and anger to a dull, almost soul-destroying emptiness. Where was their commander? Where was the Lord's Prayer Warlock?

Could it be... was he dead? Killed by a cannonball operated by an ordinary person?!

The civilians on the city walls were also dumbfounded by this terrifying destructive force that far exceeded their expectations and was purely physical. They even forgot to cheer and just looked at each other in bewilderment. Is this really a weapon that ordinary humans can operate?

"Make way, make way!" A man dancing with joy pushed aside the dazed gunner and rushed to the battlement. He looked like he wanted to jump off the city wall directly, muttering something about "high-explosive bombs" and "experimental results".

The shadow behind him twisted, and a shadow chaser emerged from the darkness, holding Percy, who had completely fainted.

Seeing this, Shadow Chaser freed one hand and grabbed the man by the back of his collar, warning him helplessly, "Mr. Sainz, the war isn't over yet. Are you jumping down now to observe 'actual combat data' and expecting to get bombed?"

"Damn it, when will it end?!" the other party complained impatiently. "Gods, this is invaluable firsthand data. I begged Mr. Ghost for a long time before he agreed to let me bring these treasures here for actual combat testing. Unfortunately, I haven't observed the impact of a Lord Prayer-class warlock's full resistance on accuracy and range—"

"Yeah, and your so-called, uh, 'high-explosive cannon', just one shot wasted a year's salary for thirty of us." Shadow Chaser couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"It will be cheaper, it will be cheaper." Sainz shook his head and said nonchalantly: "In the words of Mr. Ghost, this is the charm of industrialization-"

The corner of Shadow Chaser's mouth twitched. He shook his head and glanced at the black-haired boy in his hand, whose face was as pale as a corpse. He first yanked the broken gun out of the boy's stomach and stuffed a bottle of healing potion into his mouth. The bleeding gradually stopped, and a little color gradually appeared on the boy's face.

"You're so reckless, you're really terrifying," Shadow Chaser muttered softly. "If it weren't for the professor's order, I wouldn't intervene unless the person was about to die. I almost wanted to do it myself just now."