The punitive force assembled in Blue River Province comprised two imperial regular legions as its core, supplemented by private armies from various noble houses, totaling over four thousand five hundred troops. Old Hailin—a veteran wounded on the empire's eastern front—spat contemptuously at the sight of the noble lords riding high on their steeds behind the column. As a knight forged in genuine battle, he despised these pampered aristocratic sons. Despite their fine equipment, they appeared to Old Hailin as useless pretty boys.

  As an officially knighted warrior of the empire, Old Hailin possessed absolute confidence in his martial prowess. In the Thorn Gem Empire, knighthood was earned only through rigorous combat trials. A knight's true combat prowess was ultimately proven on the battlefield. As his gaze swept over the young mages within the noble contingent, a sneer curled his lips—these academy-trained mages were far too green. True battlefield mages should form tight formations, unleashing relentless firepower to create a truly terrifying presence.

  With a few crisp "crack" sounds, Old Hailin flexed his joints, muttering to himself, "It's been too long since I've been on the battlefield. My bones are rusting." He found the sudden emergence of this mysterious armed force in the Five-Colored Valley region quite intriguing—to have captured so many noble offspring in one fell swoop, their audacity was undeniable. Yet, as this thought crossed his mind, a hint of regret flickered in Old Hailin's eyes.

  Suddenly, a dazzling magical fireball rose from behind—a warning signal from the mages. Riding high on his steed, Mage Jett stared wide-eyed at the enemy formation gradually coming into focus ahead. A blood-red banner was the first to catch his eye, followed by columns of infantry advancing toward the battlefield with astonishing precision—neither shields nor spears in hand.

  In truth, Yun Chenhe's forces had long detected the enemy's movements. The Red Banner Army deployed in ten hollow square formations, each centered around two ballista wagons. Upon spotting the adversary, the entire unit instantly shifted into battle formation, advancing with perfectly synchronized strides.

  "One! Two! One!" The conscript officers' resounding commands echoed across the plain. Under this rhythmic cadence, the fledgling army maintained flawless formation as it advanced steadily toward the imperial regulars, symbols of the empire's authority. As their steps grew synchronized, the recruits' initial tension began to ease—the unified movements instilled a sense of collective strength, and this belonging gradually dispelled the fear in each soldier's heart.

  Watching fifteen hundred Red Banner soldiers advance in measured, synchronized strides. Old Heilin narrowed his eyes. Decades of battlefield instincts alerted him to something amiss. The discipline and coordination of this opposing force far exceeded his expectations of a "rebel army." A sneer touched his lips as he bellowed, "They're nothing but a bunch of walking trash! Brothers, show these bumpkins what imperial elite troops are made of!"

  He swung his sword forward with a strange cry, and the entire garrison charged. Only then did the Imperial forces truly grasp the Red Flag Army's formation—a pure crossbowman unit, a rarity in this world.

  The Red Flag Army halted abruptly two hundred meters away. At the officer's command, "Cock!" every soldier simultaneously lowered their crossbows and swiftly turned the foot-pedal cocking mechanisms mounted on the weapons. The precision gear system made cocking remarkably effortless; within a mere eight seconds, all crossbows were fully charged with elastic potential energy.

  Simultaneously, the twenty crossbow cannons in the rear had completed their repositioning. Ball bearings on steel bases creaked and groaned as firing parameters were swiftly calibrated. Operators deftly loaded specialized projectiles.

  Within the noble ranks, Count Fan Rusi's eyes widened. "How could crossbow deployment be completed so swiftly?"

  Count Longkodo frowned as well: "Using crossbows exclusively... Where on earth did this army come from?"

  As the signal for crossbow readiness sounded, the seasoned veteran Old Hailin immediately sensed danger and bellowed, "Form defensive positions!" Imperial soldiers, trained to precision, raised their iron-bound shields overhead, instantly transforming the battlefield into a shimmering sea of metal.

  Over twenty cannonballs screeched through the air, crashing heavily against the shield wall. The immense impact visibly dented the struck shields, yet their superior craftsmanship deflected the projectiles. Seeing how small these "bullets" were, Old Hailin secretly breathed a sigh of relief—but before he could fully exhale, disaster struck!

  The deflected shells erupted in deafening explosions, unleashing searing waves of fire from beneath the shield formation. From above, the once-seamless "tortoise shell formation" seemed torn apart by an invisible giant hand, as vast swathes of shields were hurled skyward by the blast waves. High-temperature metal fragments ricocheted wildly within the enclosed shield formation, mingling with burning wood tar and transforming the area into a living hell.

  Old Hailin had the misfortune of being within ten meters of the shell's lethal radius. Now, this battle-hardened knight lay riddled with shrapnel, writhing in agony amidst the flames. His prized, finely crafted armor offered no protection; instead, it had warped under the intense heat into a torture device, hot as a branding iron.

  "Magic cannon!" someone screamed in terror, uttering the name that struck fear into hearts on the Eastern Front. Count Longcourt stared at the carnage before him, his face ashen. But Mage Jett, beside him, shook his head. "No, this isn't a magic cannon... There are no elemental fluctuations. Good heavens, they've deployed alchemical weapons on a massive scale in warfare!"

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  Yet the battlefield shifted in an instant. As the Red Flag Army advanced, bows and crossbows leveled at the Imperial spearmen's phalanx, the sight of rows of gleaming heavy military crossbows threw the spearmen's formation into disarray. By the 300-meter mark, some spearmen could no longer hold their ground. Ranks began to break, and some even started looking back.

  The Red Flag Army's recruits, staring at the ever-approaching sharp spears, felt cold sweat bead on their palms. Someone pulled the trigger first—a razor-sharp crossbow bolt tore through the air, instantly piercing a spearman's face. Fortunately, the crossbow fire lacked the deafening crack of gunpowder, preventing a chain reaction.

  When the distance closed to fifty meters, a sharp whistle sounded, and the Red Flag Army soldiers fired their weapons with a collective sigh of relief. Instantly, a visible "line of death" swept across the field, blooming into blossoms of blood on the spearmen ahead. Those with keen eyesight could even see the mist of blood spurting from the chests and heads of the struck soldiers.

  After the first row fired, they swiftly withdrew to reload. The second row immediately crouched into position, and three seconds later, another volley erupted. The third row followed suit, repeating this cycle. This rotating barrage continued for eight rounds, each unleashing fifty crossbow bolts to form an impenetrable curtain of death.

  Though these military crossbows lacked the firepower of smoothbore muskets, the piercing whistles of arrows tearing through the air within effective range still sent shivers down the spine. Facing this unprecedented barrage of fire, the front ranks of the Imperial spearmen fell in droves. Yun Chenhe had precisely exploited the enemy's lack of heavy cavalry to wage such an unrestrained annihilation campaign—had the enemy fielded elite horsemen, he would have long ordered Renyu to switch steam cannon production to defensive fortifications.

  Soon, some Imperial soldiers began abandoning their spears and fleeing. Spotting this opening, Yun Chenhe immediately ordered the four phalanxes to switch to close-quarters combat. In perfect unison, the Red Flag Army soldiers drew sixty-centimeter steel rods from their backs. Pressing a mechanism extended a steel tube section; after rotating and locking it in place, another press extended a steel bar tipped with a three-edged bayonet. Through two extensions and rotations, these rods instantly transformed into sharp, one-and-a-half-meter-long spears.

  These spears could be rapidly mounted onto the brackets beneath the crossbows. The previously horizontally held crossbows were now held vertically. The bow limbs not only did not hinder arm movements but also served as a sword-like guard. As for the potential damage to the bow limbs in close combat, with Renyu handling logistics, such minor issues were no concern at all.

  Within a mere five seconds, the crossbowmen completed their transformation into pike men. The Red Flag Army, now arrayed in orderly ranks and brandishing gleaming spears, launched a relentless pursuit against the disintegrating Imperial forces under the stunned gazes of the nobles. Those soldiers who fled too slowly were instantly impaled by multiple spears simultaneously.

  This ingenious combination of steel weapons would have been nearly impossible in Earth's history—the industrial capability to produce such precision components could have directly mass-produced Sten guns. Why resort to tactics resembling 18th-century musket formations? Yet constrained by this world's technological and environmental limitations, Renyu had deliberately forged this transitional equipment. Only Renyu, possessing the innate talent for "machining," could afford to arm his forces with such extravagant precision steel tubes and intricate crossbow components.

  Faced with the Red Flag Army's tactics that transcended their era, the nobles watching from the rear lines watched in horror as the routed soldiers surged toward them. The collapse of feudal armies differed starkly from modern warfare—once scattered, these troops could never be reorganized into formations, instead becoming a chaotic wave of fleeing refugees. The swiftest had already bolted a hundred meters away, while the slower ones were impaled from behind by the Red Flag Army's spears, their agonized screams echoing in waves.

  Count Fan Rusi of the Golden Grass family displayed astonishing courage at this moment. Clad in dazzling gilded armor, he mounted his warhorse, preparing to lead his knights in a counter-charge. Yet this overly resplendent armor made him the most conspicuous target. The second wave of artillery fire commanded by Yun Chenhe began its extended barrage, and a five-kilogram shell struck the Earl squarely.

  With a thunderous boom, the noble Earl and his horse were hurled skyward. When he landed five meters away, his legs twisted at grotesque angles, his neck lolled to one side, and his ornate armor drenched in burning wood tar—his entire body now a blazing fireball.

  Confirming this crucial target eliminated, Yun Chenhe redirected his focus to the main battlefield. Across multiple fronts, the Red Flag Army's tactical coordination was flawless: first, explosive bolts from bed crossbows shattered enemy formations; then, archers and crossbowmen delivered coordinated volleys from fifty meters to shatter morale; finally, bayonets were fixed for close-quarters slaughter. Within a mere twenty minutes, the feudal army's command structure collapsed entirely.

  Yet just as victory seemed within reach, the battlefield suddenly rose with towering rock barriers—the wizard Jett had finally made his move. Seeing these oddly equipped soldiers about to charge forward, the old wizard hastily cast earth magic to erect defensive fortifications. Behind him, the young mages began chanting spells in unison. Elemental magic—wind blades, fireballs, ice spikes—swept over the stone walls, unleashing a barrage upon the Red Banner Army soldiers.

  Faced with supernatural magical assaults, some of the recruits began to falter. Two or three soldiers broke ranks, attempting to flee. Yun Chenhe frowned and barked an order to the escort squad beside him: "Bring those deserters back here!"

  Most soldiers steadied themselves under their officers' shouts, mechanically completing their reloading motions. Witnessing this, Mage Jett's face paled. He hastily cast a shield spell on himself, turned his horse, and prepared to flee the battlefield.

  A cold smile touched Yun Chenhe's lips. He calmly retrieved the specialized rifle from his saddle—an experimental weapon chambered for 12mm rounds, loaded not with conventional black powder but a potassium chlorate mixture. Though lacking a scope, Yun Chenhe's extensive experience allowed him to compensate for wind direction and aim purely by feel.

  "Bang!"

  The crisp gunshot rang out jarringly across the battlefield. This shield magic could only deflect low-velocity projectiles like arrows, but it offered no defense against a high-velocity spinning metal bullet. The full-power 12mm round, capable of piercing light armor, tore a bowl-sized hole through Mage Jett's chest. The old mage stared down in disbelief at his shattered chest before tumbling from his horse—the bullet had not only pierced his lungs, but the immense cavity effect had also torn his internal organs to shreds.