The dark clouds were split apart by lightning, and the rain poured down like a waterfall through the fissure.

The torrential rain was like waves suspended in the air, sweeping over the tents' tarps and Count Mate's banner insignia.

From time to time, puddles beside the patrolling soldiers' boots would burst with bubbles or tiny water columns.

Barricades and sharpened stakes were haphazardly arranged on the outskirts of the camp, where hundreds of tents swayed back and forth in the fierce wind, the canvas flapping wildly.

Although it was still early evening, lighting fires was difficult on a rainy night, so most soldiers rested inside their tents.

Only occasionally did the captain of the guards and other officers gather, hiding in a small tent, lighting the cheapest oil lamps, and repeatedly casting wood chips and dice on a low wooden table.

They occasionally looked up, pulling the tent flap tight to prevent the rain from seeping through the gaps.

At such times, they would cast envious and hateful glances toward the most lavish tent in the center, where Count Mate and the knights camped.

The most favored knights would come to the grand tent to dine with the esteemed Count Mate, only those of prominence could enjoy the company of the daughters of the Armed Farmers or local citizens.

The most miserable ones in this camp, however, were the soldiers in the straw hut next to the barricade.

The makeshift straw hut, designed for visibility, was exposed to the four winds, with rain slanting against their bodies, where only a cloak and straw curtain provided cover.

Despite it being summer, the gate guard, leaning on his spear beside the fire pit, sneezed.

However, summer thunderstorms always came in bursts, and soon the sound of rain hitting the straw hut became a gentle patter.

Glancing at the brightly lit grand tent, the guard yawned broadly and jealously cursed, "Fine wine and food, you just wait for the Fire Prison, oh dear."

A sudden flash of white light startled the drowsy soldier awake.

He looked up at the gray clouds, where a purple lightning bolt split the sky.

"Boom!"

At that moment, the thunderclap echoed through the valleys and fields, surging toward the camp, like thousands of horses galloping.

"By the Saint Master, what was that?" The startled soldier gazed into the rainy night for a long time, but on a moonless rainy night, there was only mist and bare branches like a wizard's fingers.

Was it an illusion? Really suspicious, the guard laughed at himself, wondering what use a gate guard like him could have on such a rainy night.

Reassuring himself, the soldier turned around, leaning his spear against the column, spreading his legs as he tried to undo his belt for a moment of relief.

Yet, inexplicably, he still felt uneasy, as if sensing an imminent danger.

Lightning descended upon the earth, illuminating the forest and camp as if it were daylight once more, prompting the soldier to instinctively glance aside.

Wait, what was that shadow darting through the rain?

A dazzling golden light burst before the guard's eyes, and without the chance to refasten his half-unbuckled belt, he hauled up his pants and lunged for the horn hanging on the column.

"Neigh——"

"Get back, kneel and you won't be killed!"

The lightning illuminated the Saintess's armor in the rain, and the reflected white rays seemed to burn and leap like flames.

Jeanne's face, wet from the rain, with mana-tinted golden hair plastered messily at her temples, looked down upon the guard as a Valkyrie from Norn mythology might.

In the lightning of the rainy night, the black warhorse vaulted through the air, flying over the barricades and spikes.

A searing pain exploded in the guard's right arm, as tremendous force struck his chest, lifting him off his feet and flinging him more than two meters away.

The horse's rear hooves landed in the muddy ground, its two forelegs reared up, slamming down heavily, splattering mud everywhere.

The guard's wails, however, were completely drowned out by the rain and thunder.

"Boom!"

Lightning flew from Jeanne's palm in the rainy night, smashing into the log crossing the ground, punching a hole in it.

Hundreds of cavalry cleared the flaming ends of the log and streamed through the small gap.

Raising the battle flag high, Jeanne's eyes instantly locked on the brightly lit grand tent.

Among countless dark dwarf-like tents, it was conspicuously prominent.

"Quickly charge!"

After shouting this command, Jeanne shot out like an arrow, followed closely by over two hundred Holy Gun Cavalry and over three hundred Cuirassiers fell behind.

The distance from the camp gate to the grand tent was only a few hundred meters, and Count Mate hadn't even made the grand tent and the camp gate staggered, but simply aligned them directly at the end of the camp gate avenue.

Along the way, other patrol guards were still napping or playing cards, their heads looking down at mud and dice one second, and looking up at the arcs traced by hammers and sabers the next.

Bodies with exploding brains or only necks left lay by the roadside, the pungent smell of blood rising with the rain.

"Warning, warning!"

"Your Excellency, something's wrong, blow the horn quickly."

The long halberd soldiers at the gate noticed the chaos, four of them bent down, raising their over three-meter long halberds, aimed at Jeanne charging at the forefront.

"Get down, stupid farmwoman!"

Four long halberds swung with afterimages, hooking towards Jeanne's neck, shoulders, and thighs.

"Get lost! Lapdogs!" Jeanne's pupils were nearly engulfed by the mana's glow as she swung her right hand, sparking lightning.

Dazzling white light transformed into purple-blue lightning, drilling into the armored gaps of the long halberd soldiers through the rain.

With four simultaneous cries so uniform as if rehearsed, twitching bodies fell straight down on both sides.

Riding on Black Carrot, Jeanne jumped uninvitedly into the tent, filled with intoxicating wine aroma.

The warhorse leaped onto the table, shattering white porcelain bowls and plates, kicking over golden candlesticks, beans, bass fish, and smoky incense burners rolled everywhere.

The incense burner ignited luxurious silk, flames flowed over ornate carved chairs.

"Who? Who are you?"

"Get out, this is not a place for your rampage!"

Nobles unsheathed longswords from their waists, roaring in surprise and anger at the female knight intruding on their banquet.

The tent's pillars emitted the howl of breaking wood fibers, the whole large tent teetering on the verge of collapse.

Ignoring the knights and guards swinging swords at her, Jeanne spread her fingers on both hands open, expressionless, slowly directing them to the sides of her body.

The armored soldiers and knights rushing over to rescue hadn't even approached when a flash bright as daylight exploded inside the tent.

Soon after, a whirlwind swept through the originally brightly lit tent, curtains and canvas flapped noisily, even rain was blown back.

The whole battlefield was quiet for about two or three seconds before Count Mate's head poked out from behind the curtain.

First the top of his head, then his eyes, nose, mouth, chin, followed by his blood-dripping neck, and the golden lance piercing it.

"Noble ones!" Jeanne's face gleamed ghostly under electric light, her voice mocking yet commanding, "Kneel! In the name of the Holy Grandson, kneel!"

As soon as Jeanne finished speaking, the tent behind her collapsed with a thunderous crash.

On the carpet wrapped in mud lay more than forty strewn corpses, while panicked Liu Yings and girls screamed ceaselessly.

Knights and monks stood dumbfounded, less than five minutes since the gate was breached.

They had rushed over as quickly as they could!

But now the entire camp was in chaos, guards unable to don armor before being chopped down by cuirassiers one by one.

"Didn't you hear?" Jeanne swung the flag spear forward, Count Mate's head rolled before them, "I told you to kneel!"

A few armored soldiers exchanged glances, then looked at the corpses scattered and the lightning surging on Jeanne, sighed deeply, and reluctantly threw down their weapons, kneeling on the muddy ground.

After about half an hour, the sounds of battle gradually drowned by rain.

Among groups of captured enemies, Jeanne sat impolitely in the tent, biting into the leftover roast suckling pig from the nobles.

The rest of the Holy Gun Cavalry stayed silent, gathered around Jeanne, eating.

Wine, roast meat, expensive spices were stuffed into mouths by the cavalry who fought three battles in a row, tasting nothing.

Kolebo's cheeks flushed, obviously with excitement: "…Over three hundred guards, nearly a hundred knights, captured over two hundred guards, only six or seven knights escaped, the rest either surrendered or were killed or wounded."

"I don't need you to tell me this." Crushing the pig bones, crunching them into pieces to swallow, Jeanne raised her head, "Did you scout the last two camps?"

"No, found no specific info, but they're not nearby."

"Then the closest, most powerful camp to us now is which one?"

"Count Musaq, the untitled titled knight, his camp has over six hundred people, including more than two hundred knights."

Wiping the oil from the plate clean with bread, Jeanne devoured it in large bites, standing up, her complexion pale but spirited: "We set off in five minutes, target, Musaq's camp."

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