Chapter 961: Chapter 543: Mendicant Monk—Martyr Martin
Why is the spear suitable for mass production? It’s because you just need to attach a spearhead to a stick, but nowadays such simple weapons can’t hold up at all, and once the spearhead is chopped off, it’s just a stick.
The spear can indeed keep the enemy at bay, but a weak phalanx can’t stop the brutal Fishmen. Once those Fishmen swing their knives and chop off the spearheads, the spears have little space to stab when they get close.
As if sensing the humans starting to fall into a disadvantage, the Elite Fishmen, clearly taller, stronger, and even with more profound scales mingling among the Fishmen, began to take action.
They, relying on their thick scale armor, paid no heed to the spears, waving their sailor’s knives as they charged into the ranks, chopping off spearheads, and closing in to slash at the militia.
The militia didn’t even have leather armor, unable to block the Fishmen’s blades, and the distance advantage of the spear made it difficult for them to stab the Fishmen in front of them.
Almost every Fishman that broke through caused damage and chaos, and the wailings and screams made this line of defense precarious.
An injured veteran, severing his calf by stepping into a bandit’s trap, now supports himself with a wooden stick. Seeing the militia collapse in front of him, without any hesitation, he draws the short sword awarded by the Lord for meritorious service during his time, and stumbles resolutely towards the strong Elite Fishman.
The monster naturally noticed him, its cold fish eyes carrying an eerie light, as it swung its blade.
Deep Sea Slash!
If whole, with a gun, he could shoot the monster dead and still manage to retreat safely even with a spear. But now, he only has one choice.
Facing the blade, he never thought of stepping back. He swung a torch in front of him, letting the arm get chopped off, the torch falling to the ground immediately.
Seizing the chance, he lunged forward, momentarily overcoming the inconvenience caused by his severed leg, feeling as if he returned to the moments of charging at the enemy.
"Kill!"
A roar filled with rage, sacrificing himself to knock the Elite Fishman over, pinning it down, while plunging the short sword into the creature’s body.
"Die with your mouth shut!"
He stabbed furiously, ignoring the wounds from other Fishmen slashing his back, determined to take one down even at the cost of his last bit of strength.
The fallen arm and torch were soon swallowed and extinguished among the Fishmen.
His body was broken, but his spirit stood firm.
And there were quite a few like him, with each disappearing torch symbolizing the death of a veteran but also the death of a Fishman.
Not necessarily a veteran, as some brave individuals chose this moment to redeem the chips given by the Lord.
It’s undeniable that the veterans’ experience played a role, and fortunately, it’s a double-layered phalanx. Though overlapping compressed the range, it brought a more intensive defense capability.
After paying some price, they still managed to push back the Elite Fishmen, or else their formation would be easily disrupted.
This price was somewhat heavy, but the dormant passion was reawakened, filling them with fervor.
"Hold the line!"
"For Hamlet!"
"We cannot retreat! Behind us is Hamlet!"
A militia member’s spear was chopped off by a Fishman warrior, but a broken spearhead does not mean it can’t kill.
"Kill!"
With a sinister face, he drove the broken stick into the Fishman’s eye. Upon withdrawal, a puddle of fragmented jelly-like fluid spilled from the socket, and the Fishman’s body staggered and fell.
Who said that without a spearhead, you can’t kill? Even Aberrant Demons have brains, which are definite weaknesses, unable to escape the biological constraints.
The militia rose in counterattack and held the offensive without collapse.
For a while, even the Fishmen couldn’t fathom why their commitment of elite members made them more spirited instead?
Fishmen brains couldn’t comprehend this, nor did they care.
In the midst of strange screeches, the Fishmen continued their charge, even escalating the involvement of more Elite Fishmen.
On the coast, Fishmen continued flowing incessantly without showing any reduction, but the militia’s casualties were quite direct.
The battle line has shrunk by at least a quarter, those still standing were mostly stained with comrades’ blood and Fishmen’s blood, which signifies just how fierce the battle is.
But remember, they are not fighting alone. Two hundred Navy, after resupplying their ammunition, charged back from the flanks, with volley after volley of gunfire like the scythe swung by the Grim Reaper, reaping through the Fishmen.
Even the Elite Fishmen with thicker scales found it hard to withstand the power of lead bullets, proving that these were not invincible entities.
The damage indeed lessened, as the Elite Fishmen hit didn’t immediately lose their ability to fight; their strong bodies endowed them with more abundant life force.
The crisis facing the militia’s frontline was far from being averted, as the pressure from the Fishmen left them as vulnerable as a small boat against the waves, and the diminishing torches made the light a bit faint.
Yet, at this time in the flickering firelight came the support from two members of the Church.
"Oh~ my God!" The Mendicant Monk was also struck by awe upon seeing the densely packed Fishmen on the coastline.
And witnessing the fierce situation brought a grave expression to his face.
The old man’s magic wand, with a suddenly burning candle, the faint candle flame seemed useless here, but it was a light amidst the darkness.
"May the Holy Light shine upon you!" The Mendicant Monk raised the magic wand and prayed, and the large cross at the top of the magic wand emitted a light that tore through the night.
