She Is Not a Witch

Pullman rode his horse behind the dense military formation, holding a long telescope to observe the situation on the other side. He wore black armor with a navy-blue cloak, his muscular physique revealing powerful muscles.

“Do we really have to fight here, Pullman?” asked a handsome man beside him, riding a white horse.

“Of course,” Pullman lowered the telescope, then called over a messenger soldier and began giving instructions.

“What’s wrong, not confident in my decision?” Pullman asked after finishing his orders.

“Somewhat. Given the current situation, if we retreat into the mountains, wear down their logistics, and then ambush them, our casualties would be much lower,” his companion analyzed calmly.

“I understand what you mean. You’re probably cursing me in your heart, thinking I’m risking everyone’s lives for some empty fame and glory.”

Pullman smiled at his friend.

“But war isn’t just war; it’s more an extension of will.”

“Since we started this uprising, we’ve sent many people to various counties and provinces to make proclamations, to speak to those living in misery and oppression, to tell them about this ideal, to stand up and fight, to create an equal and happy country together.”

“But as you know, the results weren’t good.”

“Tolan, you must have seen those scenes—people working from dawn to dusk, barely making ends meet, finally dying in stinking gutters. Even in such dire straits, they remain numb and endure without ever resisting.”

“Yes.”

“In fact, these people aren’t stupid; they’re just too desperate. If only they could see a glimmer of hope, it wouldn’t be like this.”

“But the nobles hold the paths to supernatural sequences and possess vast resources. A single Sequence 1 can defeat over a dozen ordinary people. Rebelling might lead to an even quicker death. Years of repeated experiences have locked their hearts like a curse, making them incredibly docile.”

“Even if we defeat these nobles in the mountains, what then? It would only send a signal that we can never truly defeat these nobles, that we only rely on terrain for ambushes and got lucky with a victory, probably to fail again in the future.”

“Perhaps you and I know that’s not the case, but that’s how others will see it.”

“Only by defeating the Western Wind nobles fair and square on a battlefield of their choosing, with them fully prepared, can we silence all doubting voices.”

“Such a victory would become a thunderous clap, igniting the long-dormant flames in people’s hearts.”

“So, even with many sacrifices, we cannot retreat a single step.”

“Advance, advance, keep advancing until death—this is our belief, our choice, our destiny.”

“Well then, let’s begin.” Pullman waved his hand, and the ancient, desolate sound of horns began to rise.

The horns were made of old animal bones, their age unknown. As the central horn of the formation sounded, the horns on both wings of the rebel army followed, announcing the attack.

Under these azure flags, the warriors held long spears and round shields. The spears were about three meters long, their dense tips pointing to the sky like a thick forest. The warriors standing in formation couldn’t even see the sky, as their view was filled with tightly packed spear shafts. These warriors stretched for nearly 5 kilometers, forming a formation about a hundred meters deep.

The Western Wind side had gathered about 120,000 formal troops, plus about 10,000 hastily conscripted farmers for logistics and miscellaneous tasks. The rebel army had about 70,000 troops, with an additional 20,000 support personnel.

As orders were passed down, mid-level officers began making final mobilizations. In truth, they themselves weren’t confident; everyone present was experiencing such a grand battlefield for the first time. But no matter how nervous they were, they couldn’t show it. They were the backbone and spine of the army, the source of courage for these soldiers.

“Everyone!” The officers roared.

“Stand tall, eyes forward!”

“Grip your shields, hold your spears straight!”

“Move as one, advance!”

These officers wouldn’t tell the soldiers lies about surviving if they won. That would only make the soldiers hesitant and waver in their resolve.

War is built on countless deaths. Any naive fantasies would be shattered by bloody reality. Rather than letting soldiers cling to false hope, it was better to make them accept this cruel reality from the start.

But even so, they had reasons they must advance. Unlike the noble’s mercenary troops, these shabbily dressed warriors had been prepared to die from the beginning.

The silent formation began to move. They shouted slogans and marched in step with the rhythm. The chilling long spears moved forward like a city wall. The crude steel armor and spears swayed constantly as they advanced, like a shimmering ocean.

Seeing this terrifyingly orderly scene, the opposing Western Wind alliance felt the ground trembling and their hearts quaking with fear.

“Hey, hey, this can’t be real. Aren’t they just a bunch of country bumpkins from the mountains?”

An old soldier in full steel armor watched the advancing ranks with some panic. Wasn’t this just the usual peasant uprising that happened every few years? Usually, they’d be beaten down easily. How had it become so formidable this year? Some of the smaller families on their side even began to waver, their formations starting to shake.

“Archers, fire!”

At the command, the Western Wind’s longbow unit released a volley. The arrows flew high, tracing huge arcs in the sky before raining down like a downpour.

“Raise shields!”

The accompanying officers shouted orders. Black cast iron round shields were raised overhead, layering like fish scales. Arrows clattered against the shields with a din of impacts. Most arrows were blocked by the shields, with only a few slipping through the gaps to embed in arms and shoulders. Even those hit gritted their teeth and persevered, not lowering their shields.

After the arrow rain, some soldiers fell, but their positions were immediately filled by those behind, continuing the advance.

Marching with terrifyingly orderly steps, these warriors pressed forward under the rain of arrows.

“Fools,” the old duke muttered, then ordered his cavalry to prepare.

The Western Wind army parted in the middle, and cavalry in mountain copper armor emerged in a line. The exquisite copper patterns reflected golden light in the sun, and their warhorses neighed repeatedly.

Long copper lances bore triangular flags—red banners with golden mountain goat head emblems. The cliff goat totem was the family crest of the Rock Wall ducal family, symbolizing their combative nature, with sturdy horns capable of breaking through rock, never backing down.

These armored cavalry wore tightly fitted mountain copper armor. Their warhorses were also covered in tough armor plates that clinked together as they moved, sounding like death-heralding wind chimes.

The legion’s leader raised a golden broadsword, pointing it to the sky, then swung it down heavily.

“Mountain Copper Sheep, charge!” The wind chimes rang out, and hoofbeats thundered like the approach of doom.