She Is Not a Witch

The knights in mountain copper armor formed an arrow-shaped formation on the Gobi Desert, gradually picking up speed. As their warhorses accelerated, the scenery rushed past, and their black cloaks billowed in the fierce wind like waves.

The charging cavalry kicked up rolling clouds of dust across the wilderness. Steel hooves struck the ground violently, digging out pits and craters, sounding like the thunderous beating of a massive drum. The muffled noise shook the soldiers on both sides.

Mountain copper is an extremely dense metal, with a small piece weighing more than the same volume of gold. These cavalrymen were all War Sequence 2 · Bronze Knights, a class that strengthened their physique and skeleton. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to wear such heavy armor. Their warhorses were also a special breed with partial magical beast bloodlines. Combined with the Bronze Knights’ special ability to transfer some of the weight directly to the ground, the horses weren’t crushed under the burden.

A mountain copper cavalryman at full gallop had a total mass comparable to a small truck. So dense and solid, they were like giant hammers smashing into the enemy lines.

“Rear ranks, slow down! Every two rows maintain a three-meter distance from the front!”

“Wings advance, center slow down, form an inverted triangle formation!”

As flags waved from the rear, Pullman’s mid-level officers quickly adjusted the formation. The center of the battle line gradually formed an inverted V-shape to better receive the impact.

⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱

Among the spearmen in the center of the rebel army was a young man named Kevin. He stood in formation, eyes fixed ahead. The copper-colored heavy cavalry raising a storm of dust grew rapidly in his vision. The trembling earth, the officers’ hoarse shouts, the clashing of spear shafts, and his own rapid breathing—in this tense and terrifying moment, his mind went blank, only instinctively following the movements of his comrades.

Before he could react, the frenzied armored knights crashed into the front line of spears. Suddenly, spears snapped with a sickening crunch. The first row of soldiers was instantly crushed to pulp, their blood spraying high and splattering onto his face.

Blood dripped from his eyebrows, trailed down his cheeks, and seeped into his lips. It tasted of iron.

In an instant, those familiar faces he had trained with turned into mangled chunks of flesh, falling before him. Before he could feel any sorrow or fear, these terrifying cavalry had already pierced through seven rows of the human wall formed by spearmen. Now he could even see the patterns on the opposing cavalry’s armor clearly.

“Forward, for Clansia!” A comrade beside him shouted, the intense sound temporarily deafening him.

“Forward, for Clansia!” Kevin also yelled, his hoarse voice erupting from his chest, venting his fear and terror.

They gripped their spears tightly and advanced instead of retreating. The clash of metal erupted across the battlefield. Spears were broken, bodies were sent flying, and bones were crushed under hooves.

For these mountain copper cavalry, it was also an incredibly shocking scene. Many of them had experienced great battles against barbarians. Even those battle-hungry, fearless barbarians would panic and flee after 30% casualties, ultimately routed and hunted down like sheep.

But this enemy was entirely different. A mountain copper cavalryman smashed open a spearman’s head with his lance, gray and red mixing together, instantly splattering onto the enemies behind. In past battles, seeing such a bloody, nauseating sight would have scattered the enemy, begging for mercy.

But not this time. Not only did the enemy before them not kneel and beg, but neither did any of the others. These enemies weren’t mindless undead; they were still shouting, still advancing.

But what did it matter? If killing one didn’t scare them, then kill three, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand—kill until they were afraid. The mountain copper cavalry continued to push forward.

“Hold your spears high, advance!”

The officers at the rear were still shouting commands. Squad after squad of soldiers formed neat ranks, spears pointed forward like endless waves. Even as one layer fell, another rose to take its place.

The inverted V-formation was like a giant pocket, enveloping these mountain copper cavalry. If the cavalry broke through their line and turned around, they would gain a wide space to accelerate again. Then, caught between attacks from front and back, the battle line would shatter. So the warriors in the center had to hold this line even at the cost of their lives, or all their sacrifices would be in vain.

Clansia, meaning “land blessed by starlight.” Not a distant, illusory dream, but a nation concretely described in the texts passed down by the Great Sage Loranhil. From the people’s self-governance, social structure, and the construction and limits of national power, to every individual’s duties and welfare—all were laid out in detail for everyone to see.

If one has never seen light, even the deepest darkness seems unremarkable.

But that day, a ray of light broke through the wall, illuminating this dark, rotten corner. For the first time, these downtrodden lives saw the beautiful, magnificent scenery outside the window. A fragrant aroma wafted in from outside, so tempting, so admirable, so desirable.

A seed was planted and sprouted. The impulse in their hearts could no longer be suppressed. Even if they could only take one step forward, even if they could only get a little closer, they wanted to see that bright world, to live in that fragrant country, to break free from the heavy shackles of centuries.

“Forward, for Clansia!”

A rebel warrior struggled to his feet from the ground, desperately clutching at a cavalryman’s horse’s hoof. His legs were already shattered, blood frothing from his mouth as he muttered and roared.

Comrades behind him who witnessed this couldn’t hold back their tears. They gripped their spears tightly, surging forward with all their might, shouting loudly.

“Forward, for Clansia!”

They would never stop, even with broken heads and blood-soaked earth. Because, following the revelation of the Great Sage Loranhil, that ideal nation was already within sight.

“Forward, for Clansia!”

The rebels on the battlefield, eyes bloodshot, saw their former neighbors, friends, and relatives dying before them. But they would never give up, never kneel and beg for mercy again, even as death pierced their bodies like sharp swords.

The intense battlefield was like a meat grinder, frantically grinding away lives. The Western Wind alliance and the rebels fought fiercely together.

Layer upon layer of spears, under terrifying discipline, worked in unison, piercing and reaping lives one after another. Those noble’s private soldiers who were only there to earn some money began to retreat and flee after 20% casualties. After all, they could just hide somewhere and come out to earn a living once the storm had passed. Every noble’s territory needed experienced hands like them.

The Western Wind’s battle line gradually collapsed. The mountain copper cavalry in the center, having lost support on both flanks, were gradually surrounded by the rebels. They tried to speed up and escape, but these fearless warriors clung tightly to them, giving them no space to maneuver or accelerate.

Spears thrust forward, piercing cavalrymen and knocking them from their horses. Sharp short swords were inserted through gaps in their faceplates, blood flowing from inside the helmets.

After the battle, Duke Rock Wall’s Mountain Copper Legion was completely destroyed, leaving only a few warhorses neighing mournfully in the setting sun.