Industrial Cthulhu, starting from the island lord

Chapter 483 The Demise of the Allied Forces

Viscount Frey felt a sudden, inexplicable jolt in his heart; an extremely ominous feeling sent chills down his spine.

The next moment, all the wails seemed to be paused, and the air suddenly became quiet.

Everyone was stunned.

Something seemed to fall from the sky. Viscount Frey opened his eyes wide, but he could see nothing at all. However, the things that fell to the ground created ripples.

It's like raindrops splashing on a lake.

Red water splashes.

Blood and flesh splattered everywhere, and soldiers, along with their armor, shattered into pieces, like a misty haze carrying a stench that swept across the entire army formation in an instant.

Like a storm sweeping across the sea.

Yet all of this was done without a sound, as quiet as a flower in bloom.

Each time it blooms, a string of people falls to the ground. No one is afraid, no one cries out. Everyone looks at the dancing flesh and blood with only confusion in their eyes.

In the end what happened?
Viscount Frey drew his sword, but the order stuck in his throat.

What order should he give? Attack? Where is the enemy?

Hide? Where to hide?

He gripped his knife in bewilderment, like a child trying to shield himself from the wind and rain with a stick.

The wind and rain have stopped.

People stared blankly at their surroundings, dumbfounded. The blood splattered on their faces flowed down into their mouths, and only the sweet, metallic taste brought their sluggish souls back into their bodies.

It was as if they had a nightmare, and when they woke up, they found themselves in hell.

Fear instantly enveloped every bewildered soul, and the soldiers vented their overflowing fear with the most hysterical behavior.

Everyone went mad; incoherent screams, cries, and laughter rang out simultaneously. Those who still retained their sanity trembled as they pulled out muskets and pressed them to their throats, while the already crazed danced wildly amidst the blood and flesh.

Viscount Frey gasped for breath, like a fish suddenly pulled ashore from the water, surrounded by the very air he craved, yet feeling as if he were drowning.

He shakily took out his binoculars, trying to find where the enemy was and trying to understand what had happened.

"Calm down, calm down. The attack has stopped. They must have some limitations. Analyze, think, and consider!"

He held up his binoculars and searched haphazardly, his narrow field of vision fragmented by his trembling hands; he was unlikely to find the enemy.

But fate seemed to be on his side. Viscount Frey's fingers suddenly stopped, and he actually saw a figure in the far distance through his telescope.

The man was tall and strong, and he was turning his head to say something. Viscount Frey strained his eyes to see what he was saying, trying to decipher his lip movements.

"Look, think, you can do it, you can do it, you definitely can do it!!"

His obsessive will caused the high walls of reality to tremble for a moment. Viscount Frey seemed to hear the sound of waves in his ears, ripples on the sea of ​​ignorance. He actually heard the other person's words.

"—Fire calibration complete, begin fire coverage."

The telescope slipped from his hand, fell to the ground, and mingled with the blood and flesh.

Viscount Frey's will had broken through the high walls of reality, gaining the approval of the Sea of ​​Ignorance. Given time, he would become another extraordinary being, transcending the constraints of reality and roaming in another world. Unfortunately, at this moment, whistling bullets pulled him back to reality.

Like the final, powerful note of a symphony, the entire Allied forces' position instantly erupted in cheers!
Bullets fell, flesh and blood flew everywhere, like a carnival.

If the extraordinary is a clash of wills, then Castel's will is cold steel, falling equally on everyone's head, tearing apart flesh, armor, shelter, or extraordinary beings alike.

The sound of the ocean waves that had been ringing in Viscount Frey's ears faded away in an instant, but the whistling of bullets cutting through the air grew louder and louder.

He closed his eyes.

A bullet pierced his forehead, and the brain matter in his noble head, no different from that of other soldiers, splattered evenly onto the ground beneath his feet.

He, along with his ambitions and dreams, were buried in the mud.

The surrounding wails, like ducks being choked, ceased instantly. No one was afraid anymore, no one wavered. Intrigues, schemes, the noble and the lowly, were all mashed into a bloody mess, indistinguishable from one another.

From the first wail to the complete silence, it only took three minutes.

There is a one-minute calibration shot, but the actual time for the bullet storm to arrive is only about two minutes.

The allied forces had no time to react. They hadn't found the enemy at all, nor did they know what was attacking them. They only saw the Grim Reaper's scythe swing silently, and the most powerful allied force in the North was wiped out without a sound.

There was no back-and-forth tug-of-war, no fearless attacks and heroic resistance, no battles of wits and courage, no wavering or choices; there was only unstoppable death.

When the first musketeer unit appeared on the battlefield, the knights shouted their old vows and charged forward through a hail of bullets, using their blood and lives to bring an era to a close.

The next era, however, will not even see this final curtain call.

From the moment the factory began to swallow raw materials and spit out steel, the future of victory was already written. Castells' soldiers only needed to come here and use the steel in their hands to take their laurels.

Industry will change the world in ways that are incomprehensible to people. We will either learn step by step and try to understand that indescribable existence, or we will perish in madness and be crushed into mud by the wheels of steel along with the previous era.

The world is not ready for change, and yet it will become a world they do not recognize.

Those at the very center of the vortex were unaware of the speed at which everything was moving.

When the bullets fell, Hunter felt a sudden darkness before his eyes.

His carriage was a special gift from his family. Iron plates were inlaid between the doors and the cabin to protect against stray arrows or musket bullets on the battlefield without compromising comfort. Hunter could even sit inside and read books while marching.

The incoming bullets tore the carriage to pieces with little effort, and the collapsing carriage slammed into Hunter, burying him underneath.

The iron-plated doors couldn't stop the bullets, but the steel beams of the carriage chassis could.

Hunter's family was quite prominent, and they spared no expense on the carriage, which unexpectedly saved Hunter's life.

He could only hear the clanging and banging sounds above his head, the sounds of bullets colliding with steel, like raindrops falling on stained glass windows in a church, crisp and pleasant to hear.

Hunter didn't know what was happening. By the time he realized what was happening, everything had become quiet. There was no sound around him, only the increasingly strong smell of blood.

The battlefield went from calm to chaos and back to calm in just a few minutes.

It was as if a few raindrops had fallen randomly from the sky, or a hailstorm had occurred only briefly; before we could even notice, it was all over.

The allied forces of the three dukes were completely annihilated.

(End of this chapter)