I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 338 I am Hell
The quill pen scraped across the rough parchment, producing an irritating screeching sound; each stroke felt like a chafing against Mikhail's taut nerves.

Dressed in thick clothing and resembling a bear, Count Mikhail sat at his large oak desk, trying to concentrate on reviewing a report on the delays in supplies to the border outposts.

The luxurious military tent he was in was made of thick, multi-layered canvas, lined with warm felt, and even had a thick bearskin carpet on the ground. However, it was still shaking violently in the blizzard, which had weakened but still had some lingering force.

It should be early morning, but outside the tent it's as dark as dusk.

The continuous wind and snow covered the sky completely, preventing even a sliver of sunlight from getting in.

The only light source inside the tent was a few high-powered windproof kerosene lamps fixed next to Mikhail's desk and on the central pillar of the tent.

The dim, flickering flames burned fiercely within the heavy glass lampshade, providing Mikhail with just a tiny glimmer of light, enough for him to see the faint glow of his desk.

By the light of this hard-won glimmer of light, Mikhail was struggling to read a report... a report about the scouts.

Mikhail only glanced at it for a moment before slamming the document onto the table, simply because the report inside was terrible and the damn blizzard had come too suddenly.

Due to the blizzard, five ten-man squads sent to the Tavitsky direction for routine reconnaissance lost contact when the blizzard was at its worst.

More than six hours had passed since the scout team was scheduled to return, and there was still no news of them. The blizzard had erased all traces, leaving no trace of them, neither alive nor dead.

Fifty of the most elite reconnaissance soldiers vanished into the white, hellish landscape.

Mikhail could almost picture them getting lost in the snowstorm, eventually being swallowed by the cold, and freezing to death in some snowdrift.

In any army with a history, experienced scouts are a valuable asset. Count Mikhail, a veteran of the army, knew that in certain situations, an old scout could be even more important than a heavily armored knight.

They were the general's eyes and the army's early warning system. Losing fifty scouts was essentially equivalent to Mikhail losing an eye.

Therefore, Mikhail was very irritable and anxious, but also helpless. He felt that he should do something, but he didn't know how, because the situation in the military camp was not good either.

Last night, the wind was terrifying. At least fifty tents in the military camp were completely torn apart and swept away by the gale, like rags torn by a giant hand. The count realized for the first time how terrible a blizzard could be.

The soldiers inside were exposed to sub-zero temperatures and blizzards while they slept, and they were instantly in dire straits. Apart from themselves, almost no one else could come to their rescue in time, because the blizzard had silenced their cries for help, and even their comrades next door might not have noticed the abnormality in time.

The cold weather caused casualties among soldiers, which suddenly became the most common and troublesome problem.

Although the count had repeatedly ordered the lower nobles to provide their soldiers with winter clothing, most of the soldiers of Leteria came from the warm south and lacked experience and adequate cold-weather gear for the extreme cold of the north.

Overnight, after the blizzard struck, the medical tents quickly became overcrowded.

The second casualty report included a long list of casualties, letting the count know that many of his soldiers had their fingers and toes frostbitten and gangrenous, and their cheeks and ears swollen like buns.

Some even suffered from complete frostbite due to prolonged outdoor duty, and were carried back barely alive. The number of non-combat casualties is probably more staggering than the losses in a small-scale battle.

The report's vague mention of "multiple people suffering from frostbite" was somewhat misleading, misleading readers into thinking the situation was still under control. However, Mikhail understood that anyone exposed to such conditions for more than a few minutes would not fare well. The military doctors were all Retalian, and they had very little experience in treating frostbite.

The little knowledge they had was acquired by practicing on ordinary soldiers after winter began.

The local doctors who were captured and brought into the military camp were very experienced in treating frostbite, but unfortunately, there were too few of them, and not many medicines for frostbite. Moreover, they were all under the control of the noble officers and only served the noble officers.

As for the soldiers suffering from the cold, do they need doctors?
What does this have to do with me?
Therefore, although the exact number of casualties among the soldiers affected by the freezing is still being tallied, Mikhail estimates that the loss will be no small amount.

In addition to casualties, there were also significant losses in terms of supplies.

The wooden chevaux-de-frise and some low defensive fences surrounding the camp were overturned or blown down by the strong winds and scattered on the snow, rendering them useless for defense.

A makeshift shed storing spare hay and miscellaneous items collapsed due to heavy snow, burying the supplies inside and making it impossible to clean and use them in the short term.

"Trash, it's all trash!"

Mikhail muttered curses under his breath, whether he was cursing the damned weather, the missing scouts, or himself for being powerless to control the situation.

He stood up irritably, the heavy bearskin rug absorbing his footsteps, but the violent shaking of the tent made him stumble, forcing him to grab the cold oak table for support.

"Boom..."

A dull, indistinct sound came from outside the tent. It was so distant that Mikhail doubted his ears and wondered if he had misheard.

If Mikhail were a soldier, he could have easily ignored such a commotion, because it was essentially not something a soldier should be concerned with.

However, Mikhail was a general, the commander of an army, and he should not be negligent or careless in any way.

So he raised his hand and beckoned to the attendant outside the tent, instructing him to take some men out to see what was happening outside.

A few minutes later, the servant, pale-faced, lifted the curtain and burst in, bringing with him the wind and snow.

"Sir, enemy attack! It's an enemy attack!!!"

……

The elite squad led by the commander of the "Little Knife Stabbing Buttocks" battle group has successfully breached the outer defenses of the Reteria military camp.

They used swords to cut through the barricades, used the corpses of the Miniese sentries they found and killed along the way as sandbags to fill the enemy's trenches, and smashed the wooden walls with siege spears, creating a not-so-wide but fast-moving attack route that allowed players to quickly enter the camp.

The players were very efficient; even in the freezing cold, they completed all their actions within five minutes, so much so that most of the attacked Reterian people hadn't even noticed anything amiss.

The watchtowers in the Reteria military camp were immediately silenced, and the players of the Sharp Knife Group went berserk, firing their city-breaking guns at the watchtowers.

Even though the watchtowers of Leteria had been reinforced with planks and leather in an emergency to cope with the blizzard, they still couldn't stop the siege guns, which were like small cannons and required two people to operate.

Just one shot is enough to blast open the wooden protective panels outside the watchtower, creating a hole the size of a fist. The arrowhead bullet, about half the length of a hand, will tumble through the hole and sweep across the inside of the watchtower, carrying fragments of the wooden planks, just like a shotgun shell hitting the sentry.

To keep warm, the sentry hiding in the watchtower would generally not wear any protective gear other than clothing. Even if there were exceptions, he would at most wear leather or cloth armor, but would not wear iron armor.

Therefore, in the first volley of fire from the breaching muskets, almost none of the sentries on the targeted Retalia watchtower survived. The piercing alarm bells that should have sounded immediately failed to ring, and the blizzard, though gradually weakening, still persisted, further delaying the enemy's reaction time.

When the assault team, led by Monokuma, entered the enemy camp, the people of Reteria seemed to wake from a dream, and only then did whistles, bells, and screams ring out.

"Boom!!!"

With a dull thud and the piercing groan of shattering wood, another large tent blocking the path of the black and white bear's charge was completely smashed and torn apart, its heavy support poles and frozen canvas flying like pieces of paper.

Several Leterian soldiers who had just been awakened and were frantically grabbing their weapons were sent flying by the violent impact. Their screams were instantly drowned out by the wind, snow, and the shouts of the players who rushed in afterward.

The black and white bear's heavy footsteps pounded the snow, each step sinking deep into the snow and then pulling it up with tremendous force, splashing up large amounts of snow mud.

His heavy Vermilion Bird scale armor rattled wildly as he ran and slashed, the fine crimson plates rubbing and colliding against each other, producing a continuous, death-death metallic tremor that was particularly jarring on the chaotic battlefield, almost drowning out the sound of the wind and snow.

He was like a steel behemoth that had broken free from the extreme cold of hell. The heavy broadsword in his hand, which was taller than himself, carried the power to split mountains and shatter rocks. Every swing of it produced a shrill sound as it cut through the air.

"Break through them, target... the central command tent!"

The voice of the black and white bear came through the winged Suzaku helmet, deep and resonant, yet carrying an undeniable arrogance.

The attack team behind him, like a swarm of sharks smelling blood, followed closely behind their "steel arrows".

These players were equipped with various gears, but without exception, they all exuded a ruthless, desperate spirit. There were heavily armored warriors wearing lamellar armor and wielding flails, armor-piercing warriors wielding halberds and delivering precise thrusts, and musketeers wearing leather armor and equipped with flintlock muskets, weaving through collapsed tents and chaotic crowds, providing support with precise bursts of fire.

They all bore the marks of wind, snow, and battle... their armor was covered in frost, splattered with mud and dark red blood.

The initial chaos provided the best cover for Monokuma and his group.

The Reteria camp was like a hornet's nest that had been poked open, with soldiers screaming in terror and running around like headless flies everywhere.

Many people had just crawled out of the cold tents, their hands and feet stiff with cold, and they didn't even have time to put on their full armor. They were just clutching their weapons, their faces filled with bewilderment and fear.

Although the snowstorm had subsided, visibility remained poor, and the dim light and pervasive snow fog exacerbated the chaos.

"Enemy attack! It's the mountain barbarians!!!"

"Stop them...stop them quickly!"

"My sword! Where is my sword?!"

These hastily assembled soldiers proved utterly ineffective against the black and white bear's long-handled sword.

The long-handled sword swept past with a dull whistling sound, and a soldier who tried to raise his shield to block was sent flying along with his shield, flying wood chips and broken flesh and bone.

With a backhand flick, another soldier thrusting his spear was cleaved diagonally across the shoulder, his blood and entrails instantly splattering onto the pristine snow, only to be trampled into filthy mud by the subsequent footsteps.

"Pfft!"

A player from the assault team used a halberd to precisely pierce the throat of a man who appeared to be an officer, pinning him to an overturned supply wagon.

Another player grinned as he smashed the head of a soldier who was trying to ambush Monokuma from the side with a heavy mace, the red and white exploding into a cruel flower on the snow.

They were like a red-hot dagger, stabbing hard into solidified butter, leaving only death and destruction in their wake!
However, the Retalians were not lambs to the slaughter.

After the initial chaos subsided, some junior officers and veterans began to play a role, shouting at the top of their lungs and whipping the scattered soldiers with the backs of their knives, trying to rally the resistance.

"Form ranks! Form ranks! Spearmen, advance!"

"Archers and musketeers, get to the high ground...shoot them dead!"

"Don't panic! They only have a small number of people. Surround them, and we can win!"

A squad of about thirty spearmen, under the reprimands of several veterans, barely managed to form a crooked forest of guns on the flank of the Black and White Bear's path of advance.

Although the formation was loose, the soldiers' faces were blue from the cold, and their hands holding spears were trembling, the dense spear tips still gleamed with a deadly cold light.

"Whoosh, whoosh whoosh!"

A few scattered arrows came from the tops of nearby tents or the remaining watchtower bases... Without lead bullets, the Leterians were not equipped with flintlock muskets, and matchlock or arquebus muskets were unusable in the blizzard.

The wind and snow affected the archer's vision and the flight of the arrows, resulting in poor accuracy. Most of the arrows struck the snow or the player's heavy armor, making a "clanging" sound.

Only one arrow, incredibly lucky, struck a player in the assault team on the side of the neck where there was no protection. The player collapsed to the ground without uttering a sound, his body twitching a few times before going still.

But the surrounding players didn't even glance at it; death here was just a brief pause.

"Like a tiger descending the mountain, blast a path through me!"

Monokuma didn't even glance at the fallen player. He pointed his sword at a temporary obstacle formed by supply wagons and collapsed tents. Behind it, he could vaguely see the figures of more Leterian soldiers gathering, and even a flag symbolizing the central army was faintly fluttering in the wind and snow.

"coming!"

An excited response came from behind.

The two players immediately broke away from the assault team. One of them carried a tiger-shaped arrow down the mountain, while the other held up a shield for cover. The two ran to the front.

The rocket launcher knelt on the ground, pointed the tip of the Tiger Descending the Mountain arrow at the spearmen in formation, and then pulled the fuse.

chi chi...

The thick fuse ignited fiercely, emitting rapid and piercing white smoke and sparks, standing out starkly against the dim, snowy backdrop! A pungent smell of sulfur and saltpeter instantly filled the air.

The spearmen on the other side had not yet realized what was happening, but their leading officer had already sensed the danger. He instinctively grabbed the shield of the soldier next to him and held it in front of him.

At that moment, the tail of the launcher on the archer's shoulder spewed forth a several-foot-long orange-red flame, and a point of red light flew toward the spearmen with lightning speed before exploding with a bang.

From a modern perspective, the power of the Tiger Descending the Mountain rocket was actually just so-so, similar to a modern offensive grenade. The explosion produced little smoke, at most a loud sound, and its lethality was barely acceptable. Only three spearmen fell, and then more Leterians screamed in agony.

However, this seemingly harmless rocket terrified the spearmen who stood in front of Monokuma.

"Lightning... divine punishment... it's divine punishment!!"

"Devils, they are devils!!"

"Help! Run!!"

The already demoralized Reterian soldiers, weakened by the cold and the surprise attack, completely broke down. They turned and ran, abandoning the officer holding the shield.

This left Monokuma completely stunned... Did it run away so decisively?

Does our Tiger Descending the Mountain Arrow have such great power?
No, it's just that the Retalians don't want to fight in the cold... They're almost freezing to death if they stand still. If they start fighting and break out in a sweat, they'll definitely get sick afterwards, and getting sick is the same as waiting to die. Anyone who doesn't run away is a fool.

Without time to think, Monokuma continued leading the group forward.

By this time, most of the players had already rushed into the military camp, fighting everywhere, because thanks to Barbarossa's reconnaissance, they already knew the enemy's key areas.

For example, important buildings such as granaries, stables, and armories are no secret to players, so they are the main targets of attacks, especially granaries, which are of paramount importance.

Xiao Dao personally led the elite of the Sharp Knife Group to raid the granary. In order to destroy the enemy's food supplies as much as possible in the shortest time, he even ignored the nearby stables and did not try to seize the war mounts that were more important to players than gold.

With Xiaodao at the forefront, Lao Li and Lin Ruoyu seized the opportunity to lead their men to the stables. They would take as many warhorses as they could, as they would have to divide them among the entire army later.

……

"My lord, we can't hesitate any longer!"

Inside the magnificent military tent, the adjutant practically roared, his face contorted with anxiety and cold beneath his helmet, his breath spraying white vapor in front of Mikhail.

“Those… right now, a most ferocious group of mountain barbarians is heading straight for this place… General, their target is you!”

Outside the tent, the sounds of fighting, explosions, and screams grew closer and clearer, like a surging tide, even drowning out the wailing of the remaining wind and snow.

Mikhail could even hear heavy, metallic footsteps treading through the snow, rapidly approaching—the lamellar armor unique to the mountain barbarians was announcing the arrival of death to him!
The tent was shaking violently, as if it would be torn apart by the storm outside at any moment.

The flames of the windproof lamps leaped wildly, casting flickering light on the panicked faces of the other officers who had rushed to the general's tent, making them appear like ghosts.

Count Mikhail, however, remained outwardly calm, like a frozen lake.

He sat upright behind the large oak desk, the hand that had once irritably slammed down scout reports now resting steadily on the table, his knuckles slightly white from the force, yet without a trace of trembling.

The dim light outlined the hard lines of his profile. There was no fear in his deep eyes, only a cold focus forged in the crucible of death.

He slightly raised his hand—a simple gesture, yet it carried an undeniable authority that instantly calmed the adjutant's impatient shouts and the officers' heavy breathing. Only the faint crackling of the burning kerosene lamp wick and the muffled creaking of the tent canvas billowing in the wind remained inside the tent.

The noise outside seemed to be blocked by an invisible barrier.

"Why are you panicking?"

Mikhail's voice was not loud, but it clearly pierced through the shaking of the tent and the noise outside, carrying a strange, icy penetrating power.

"They're nothing but clowns taking advantage of the snowstorm. Do they think that by destroying our eyes and tearing open our walls, they can swallow the entire army?"

His gaze slowly swept over the several pale-faced officers in front of him, whose armor was still covered in snow, his eyes sharp as knives.

"Sir Vasily, your camp is closest to the central command. What are the casualties of your hundred-man squad? Is it intact?"

Vasily, whose name was called, jolted and instinctively straightened his back. His voice was hoarse, but he tried to remain steady. "Reporting, sir, last night's blizzard destroyed three of my tents, resulting in the loss of about twenty men, mostly due to frostbite. We currently have about seventy-seven combat-ready soldiers, and our organization is basically intact!"

"very good."

Mikhail's voice was completely calm, as if the only loss was in numbers.

"Immediately gather all your men who can still wield weapons, including those with frostbitten fingers but still able to hold spears, and establish a ring-shaped defensive line with the central command tent as the core, relying on the surrounding supply wagons, snowdrifts, and uncollapsed tents."

Don't try to intercept that assault team proactively; you can't stop them. I need you to hold this position, delay them, wear them down, understand?

"As you command, my lord!"

Vasily pounded his chest, turned around, lifted the curtain, and rushed out. His roaring command to assemble immediately rang out outside the tent.

Baron Gregory.

Mikhail's gaze shifted to another officer.

"Where are your archers? How many are still usable?"

Gregory's face turned grim.

"My lord... the snowstorm is too severe, the bowstrings are damp and loose, the crossbows are frozen and unusable, and the arquebuses are completely unusable. In addition, the battle came too suddenly, and I now have less than two hundred men under my command who can immediately join the fight, and their visibility is extremely poor..."

"I don't care how many people you have right now..."

Mikhail interrupted him, speaking quickly and clearly.

"Mobilize all your able-bodied soldiers, bring any weapons they can fire, and keep them in place. Gather them all at the bases of the two tallest, undamaged watchtowers next to the central command tent."

I don't need your men to do any precision shooting, I just need coverage shots.

"Target...anyone attempting to approach the main tent, especially those heavily armored targets, unleash a hail of arrows upon them to suppress them. Even if you can't penetrate their armor, disrupt their advance. Listen carefully, it's a blanket, a deluge, not a volley!"

"Yes, sir! Unleash a barrage of arrows!"

Gregory accepted the order and left.

"Igor!"

Mikhail looked at his captain of the personal guard, a silent, burly man who stood beside the count with his hand on his sword.

"This battle is entrusted to you. You are more adept at small-scale battles than I am. I'm handing over authority to you..."

He paused, his gaze falling on an inconspicuous box in the corner of the tent.

"...Take out those cans of 'Hellfire Oil' from inside. If the defenses are breached to the edge of the tent, you know what to do!"

A resolute glint flashed in Igor's eyes, and he nodded heavily.

"We swear to protect you, sir!"

He made a few silent gestures, and his guards immediately sprang into action like precise gears, their heavy footsteps and the creaking of their plate armor exuding a chilling aura.

Mikhail finally looked at the officer in charge of logistics and medicine, who looked extremely anxious.

"Sir, the medical tent is in complete chaos. There are too many wounded soldiers, and our doctors..."

"listen."

Mikhail's voice suddenly became stern.

"Tell those local doctors who have been 'requisitioned' by the nobles to go to the military medical tent now, immediately! This is a military order. Tell them that if they want to return home alive, they should do everything in their power to save every soldier who can still fight."

Bandage up any wounds that can be bandaged, and help those who can still stand up. If we can't hold this place, everyone will die, not even the nobles!

The logistics officer was intimidated by the undeniable murderous aura in the count's eyes and hurriedly responded.

"Yes...yes...I'll take care of it right away!"

Orders flowed like icy streams from the luxurious tent, which swayed precariously amidst the wind, snow, and battle cries, quickly seeping into every corner of the chaotic military camp.

The panic did not subside, but something new began to emerge from the chaos… order, a fragile order forcibly cobbled together under the threat of death.

Mikhail sat back down in his chair, as if the deafening shouts and battle cries outside had nothing to do with him.

He slowly and meticulously gathered the scattered parchment on the table and pushed it aside. Then, he drew the sword from his waist.

It was an ornately decorated noble sword, its symbolic significance outweighing its practical value. The blade was slender and inlaid with gemstones, reflecting a cold, eerie luster under the flickering lamplight.

He placed the sword flat on the table, its tip pointing directly at the violently shaking curtain of the tent. His fingers gently brushed the cold spine of the sword, his eyes calm as still water, gazing at the curtain that separated life and death, as if he could see through it and into the blood-soaked tide of steel that was advancing outside.

"Come on, you mountain barbarian."

He muttered to himself, his voice eerily calm.

"Let's see if you can kill me and take my head."

Mikhail is now like an iceberg, radiating a chilling aura and an unyielding majesty at the heart of the boiling furnace of war.

The commander's flag still fluttered in the wind and snow atop the tent, and its owner was prepared to live and die with the position.

……

Monokuma was the first to sense the change in the enemy.

The previous feeling of being like a headless fly, wandering aimlessly and collapsing at the slightest touch, has disappeared.

Although the wind and snow still blurred the vision and the shouts of battle were deafening, an invisible "order" carrying the smell of rust and blood was being re-formed on the remains of the Retalians.

This change, like a cold needle, attempted to pierce the players' frenzied, triumphant advance.

"There's a tough nut to crack ahead!"

The monokuma's low growl came through the mask, carrying a hint of solemnity.

He keenly sensed that behind the collapsed tents ahead, more figures wielding spears were vaguely appearing.

Instead of blindly rushing forward to their deaths, they used snowdrifts, overturned supply wagons, and even the bodies of their comrades to form small, interconnected defensive nodes.

The crackling of gunfire and the whistling of bowstrings piercing the air rang out as several crossbow bolts and lead bullets, clearly more powerful, shot from the top of a half-collapsed tent at a tricky angle, no longer aimless as before.

A lead bullet slammed into the scales of the black and white bear's shoulder armor. The heavy impact made him stagger, and the armor plate emitted a tooth-grinding groan. Although it didn't penetrate, the icy impact felt like it went straight to the bone.

The other grazed the arm of a player who was holding up a shield for cover, leaving a trail of blood.

"Damn it, we have crossbows, take cover!"

The player cursed and immediately tried to hide behind a carriage covered in snow.

Immediately afterwards, a light but extremely precise rain of arrows poured down from above, the arrows whistling through the air like hailstones as they struck the players' shields and armor with a series of clanging sounds.

This barrage of arrows clearly targeted the narrow passage through which the assault team was advancing. Although most of them were deflected by the heavy armor, this continuous and precise suppressive fire greatly slowed their progress, forcing the unarmored players to stop and seek cover.

"Damn it, it's that high platform!"

A musketeer player pointed to the faint outline of the watchtower base visible to the side of the central command tent and roared.

"There are archers above us suppressing us!"

Looking in that direction, Monokuma could only see the figures moving about on the high platform and the constantly flashing reflections of crossbows in the dim snow.

He immediately charged forward with his longsword, followed closely by several Han and Tang warriors and more than ten heavily armored players.

Seeing Monokuma trying to eliminate the enemy occupying the high ground, the players equipped with flintlock muskets also braved the rain of arrows and peeked out to fire at the enemy.

The blizzard affected the Leterian crossbows and reduced their visibility, and the same applied to the players. The damp cold significantly reduced the firing rate of flintlock muskets, and the swirling frost and snow limited the players' accurate shooting to within twenty meters.

Beyond twenty meters, players can't see clearly, and the lead bullets will also drift.

Therefore, the fire support that Monokuma and the others received was not obvious. During the charge, he could feel that the number of arrows falling on him had increased significantly, clanging and clattering as densely as falling snow.

However, not long after the black and white bear rushed out, he saw several wooden chevaux-de-frise, half-buried in snow, that had been dragged into the open area just a few dozen meters from the central command tent.

These barricades were arranged crookedly, and although they were far less sturdy than a well-preserved barricade formation, their sharp antler-like spikes still looked menacing in the snow, effectively blocking the assault team's direct charge.

Behind the barricades, a row of spearmen could be vaguely seen, gripping their weapons nervously, the tips of their spears gleaming coldly in the dim light.

Although their formation was still not exactly well-organized, the initial bewilderment in their eyes had disappeared, replaced by a fierce determination born of being driven to the brink.

"There's no way around it; there are obstacles and enemies on both sides."

Players on the flanks shouted in the communication channel, as arrows and hurled spears kept coming from behind the ruins of tents and snowdrifts on both sides, restraining them and shrinking their space to move.

Monokuma felt a surge of annoyance; these Retalians were quick to react.

"No time to waste, provide covering fire!"

Monokuma gave the order decisively, while simultaneously gripping the longsword in his hand.

"I'll be the arrowhead."

As soon as he finished speaking, the black and white bear charged forward. At first, his speed was slowed down by the Vermilion Bird scale armor on his body. After running a few more steps, his speed increased, and with an unstoppable momentum, he crashed into the barricade.

"Drink!"

Black and white bear roared, raising his longsword and forcefully slashing at the chevaux-de-frise blocking his way. Wood chips flew everywhere, and the chevaux-de-frise's crossbar was immediately split in two. The spearmen behind him were startled and took a few steps back, but then, under the angry shouts of the officers behind them, they immediately rushed forward again, their spears fiercely thrusting out from the gap.

"kill!"

Black and white bear took a few steps back, dodging the spearmen's thrusts. Then, ignoring the cold arrows that clattered against his armor from the side, he charged forward again, his massive body dragging the heavy broadsword behind him, carving a deep furrow in the snow.

As he forced his way close to the breach in the barricade, his arm muscles bulged, and all his strength was channeled into the hilt of his sword. The sword, with a piercing whistle that tore through the air, transformed into a terrifying crimson arc of light, slashing diagonally upwards.

The target wasn't a person, but the remains of the chevaux-de-frise whose crossbar he had cut through!

"Click..."

The tough hardwood shattered like rotten wood under the unparalleled force of the Mo Dao, and the broken wooden splinters and the main structure of the chevaux-de-frise were completely torn up and swept away by the violent blade.

Two spearmen behind the barricade, unable to dodge in time, were struck hard in the chest by flying chunks of wood, screaming as they flew backward, their blood spurting out and staining the snow like a glaring red plum blossom.

The gap widened instantly, but just as Monokuma's old strength was exhausted and new strength had not yet been generated...

"Woo..."

A dull, oppressive, yet deadly rumble pierced through the wind, snow, and sounds of battle, crushing down from the side and front of the black and white bear.

The ground is trembling slightly!
In the wind and snow, three enormous silhouettes covered in heavy plate armor, like steel behemoths bursting out of a hellish furnace, suddenly tore through the pervasive snow fog!
It's a knight, a heavily armored knight of Leteria!
They had clearly been gathering nearby, waiting for the moment when the assault team was delayed and blocked by barricades before launching their attack.

Three warhorses, all clad in heavy armor, puffed out thick white breaths as they churned, kicking up snow and mud high into the air.

The knight, his entire body encased in gleaming plate armor, sat atop a tall horse, with only two cold glints of light visible through the gaps in his helmet.

Their massive lances were already laid flat, their over four-meter-long iron-clad wooden poles pointing straight at the black and white bear, who had just broken through the barricades and was still unsteady on his feet. The tips of the lances gleamed with deadly cold light in the dim light!
The three knights, positioned at a slight angle, resembled three torrents of steel, carrying a terrifying aura capable of crushing everything, as they launched a desperate charge towards Black Bear and the dozen or so players beside him who were rushing towards the breach in the barricade.

The thunderous roar of horses' hooves pounding the earth, the deep battle cries of knights, and the piercing whistling of lances tearing through the air instantly became the main theme of this battlefield!
The shadow of death loomed over us as if it were a tangible reality.

Just when victory seemed within reach, they were now about to fall into a death trap. Such a rapid change in the situation caught many players off guard.

Black and White Bear's pupils suddenly contracted. He could even see the exquisite family crest on the plate armor of the leading knight and feel the piercing chill from the tip of the lance.

Too fast, too close. Despite the double obstruction of the blizzard and snow, the knight's charging speed was not as fast as on the plains, but his terrifying kinetic energy and penetrating power were still enough to pierce through steel!
"Follow me!!!"

The black and white bear roared with all its might, forcibly stopping its charge and standing still in a horse stance, its longsword held diagonally on its shoulder, ready to strike.

Monokuma got excited.

Facing off on foot against mounted men is exactly what I want!

The expressions of the players behind him changed drastically. Some tried to raise their shields to block, others tried to roll away, but in the confined space and under the terrifying pressure of the knight's charge, it all seemed too late... or so it seemed.

Just as the lead knight's lance was less than five meters from the black and white bear's chest, and the chilling aura of the lance tip seemed to pierce through the scales of the Vermilion Bird...

"boom!!!"

A deep, resounding boom, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, instantly drowned out the sounds of wind and snow, horses' hooves, and even the roars of charging knights.

This sound was completely different from the explosion of the Tiger Descending the Mountain Arrow; it was heavier, more concentrated, and carried a terrifying quality of tearing through metal.

A dark shadow, almost invisible to the naked eye, shot out from the chaotic crowd behind Monokuma with a piercing shriek that tore through the air.

It's a city-breaking musket!

A sickeningly loud clang of metal rang out.

The knight's exquisite plate armor, like a thin sheet of iron struck by a giant hammer, instantly collapsed, twisted, and tore inward, creating a terrifying dent the size of a bowl. The shattered armor plates, mixed with fragments of broken ribs, were frantically pressed into the knight's body like deadly shot!
The knight was struck head-on by an invisible battering ram. His tall body arched backward and then, like a rag doll thrown by a tremendous force, he was lifted into the air from the galloping horse in an extremely unnatural posture.

"puff……"

While still in mid-air, a large plume of dark red blood mixed with fragments of internal organs suddenly gushed out from the gaps in the knight's helmet visor. He didn't even have time to scream before his body tumbled several times in the air and then crashed heavily onto the cold snow behind him with a dull thud.

The warhorse, now without its master, neighed in fright and charged off at an angle with tremendous momentum, knocking over a pile of debris.

This sudden and extremely bloody change happened in the blink of an eye.

The two knights following behind were so frightened that they instinctively tightened the reins, causing the two heavily armored warhorses to let out painful and terrified neighs, deviating from their original charging path and avoiding the corpses of their comrades and their horses ahead.

This dodge also caused their lances to miss the black and white bear, and correspondingly, the bear's long-charged longsword also missed its mark.

On the contrary, those players who were clever enough not to follow Monokuma and instead scattered on their own to try to avoid him suffered a great misfortune. Two heavily armored knights ran over them, and a chorus of wails and screams immediately rang out.

Black and White Bear ignored the overcharging Knight of Leteria. He turned around abruptly and looked in the direction of the gunshot. He saw Elder Li of the Warband, who was standing a little further away with a broken city cannon next to him, waving in their direction.

This infuriated Monokuma, who then launched into a tirade of curses.

"You fucking stole my kill!"

(End of this chapter)