In the past, the sharpshooters in Bastille were able to push the Andes Mountains, relying on their own equipment advantages. They not only had exquisite military bows, but also exquisite nailed leather armor, and abundant logistics supplies, which were far from comparable to the helpless Andes Mountains.

The situation has now undergone a fundamental reversal, and Sean and the Young Army have carefully designed equipment that is better than those of the Bastille soldiers, and they are comprehensive.

Just say that this military ration is full of nutritional considerations. Although each standard military ration weighs only ten pounds, it is enough to support the high-intensity consumption of an adult hunter for a week.

Behind them there are several mobile supply stations to replenish them with various supplies.

The soldiers in Bastille became rootless duckweed this time. Although the large troops in Bastille were constantly moving forward from behind and could provide them with certain assistance, the military supplies they brought this time were certain, and they were afraid of their hands and losses when fighting.

The arrows I carried with me are often consumed within a few minutes, and they do not have the ability to use local materials like Andes Mountaineer. In the end, they either play hand-to-hand combat or are chased around like rabbits.

The final result is usually not very good. When fully exposed, it will only attract more hunters. In the end, they will be beaten to death. If you accidentally expose your companions, it will be a series of deaths.

The sharpshooter Arnold tracked was in this situation. Half a day ago, the opponent cunned and cried back and collided with Arnold.

The two of them instantly became hot. The tense sharpshooter shot the two arrows he carried with him in just three minutes.

The opponent's archery skills are absolutely right for the title of sharpshooter. Not only has the super speed of arrows, but the accuracy is also amazing, especially the arrow that the two met head-on. Even when they look back now, Arnold is still very scared.

Just as he was stunned, the other party's arrow had already appeared in front of him like a meteor. He had only time to lower his head and was hit. Arnold felt that his forehead was hit hard, and his neck was almost misaligned. The newly-rated helmet saved his life. The arrow barely penetrated through three layers of cowhide. It lacked enough momentum and only scratched a little.

"The arrow that has not been shot is the most threatening. As an excellent archer, you must always leave the last arrow in your quiver."

When the young leader of Bastille talked about archers, this theory left a deep impression on Arnold. This principle is not profound. All old hunters with some experience have experience in this area, but no one has ever summarized them in insightful language.

The latter sentence Arnold has not yet had time to prove it, but the current situation has proved the correctness of the previous statement.

When he was shooting at the target, Arnold consciously controlled his arrow speed. Each shot was not so much as killing the enemy, but rather as luring the other party to squander the arrow. When the other party's quiver was empty, what else could he do besides running away in panic?

There is no chance for close combat.

Arnold had at least one and a half pot of arrows, and his shooting skills were even better than the other party. If the other party really dared to leave the cover, he would tell him with facts what the human-shaped hedgehog looked like.

The rest is the cat and mouse game.

The sharpshooter who had no arrows ran away in front, and Arnold chased him in the back. During the pursuit, he even recovered some of the arrows on both sides.

The escapers were very cautious, and the chasers were even more cautious. As an excellent old hunter, Arnold knew very well how terrible the beast was, let alone humans.

All Arnold has to do now is to follow the other party slowly and drive him away until he is exhausted and then shoot a fatal arrow. In this process, he must reasonably divide his rest time so that his energy and physical strength will not fall to the passing line.

One wrong step, one wrong step.

The panicked sharpshooter is like a headless fly. When he is forced into a hurry, he involuntarily begins to move closer to his companion he knows, trying to use his companion's hands to get rid of the trouble of being in dispersed behind him.

But he soon found that his companions had more trouble than him. Not only were there enemies behind him, but he was also injured. The most serious thing was that he was injured in his legs. Injuring his legs in guerrilla warfare was no different from losing his life.

This sharpshooter has no energy and doesn't care about his charisma at all. He turns his head and walks faster than a rabbit.

In the face of the threat of life and death, human sentiment can become very high. It is a saint's behavior to give up one's own life for others, but there are very few such people, and more of them are ordinary people and villains who do whatever they want to live for their own survival.

The threat of a panicked sharpshooter is still limited, but when there are more than a dozen or even dozens of them in this situation, the outcome of the outpost will be silent.

The victory of the outpost battle is not measured by how many people the opponent kills, but by how much useful information the opponent's provocate can bring back.

The old Borton, whose sharpshooter troops were suppressed, became completely blind. Until he was only ten miles away from Bastille, he still knew nothing about his internal situation, which was undoubtedly very passive.

As for imitating Sean's night attack, he didn't even think about it. Not to mention that Sean was prepared for a long time, just saying that after Old Borton took back the sharpshooter, Andys Mountaineer was in dispersed around the large army and shot a cold arrow from time to time.

Because the distance is too far and the bow the other party uses is too weak, it does not cause much casualties, but it cannot resist the disgust, but it is helpless.

It’s not that Old Bodon was reluctant to sacrifice the Swordsman troops, but that the supply of arrows could not keep up. If the outpost battle continued, they would have to bite the bullet in the subsequent siege.

Old Borton set up a camp ten miles away from Bastille. It was not that he didn't want to get closer, but that all obstacles within a radius of ten miles of Bastille were flattened by him, and a large number of half-man tall weeds grew. This was the first line of defense prepared for Bastille.

If Andys Mountaineer formed a large army, without knowing that, he would be urinated by a fire, but he would never have thought that the obstacles and traps he had set for the enemy had now become his biggest obstacle.

The method to break this obstacle is very simple. It only takes a fire, but this fire cannot be burned out in just one day and a half. Originally, this was one of the tasks of the sharpshooter, but I didn't expect that I was oppressed so miserably that I couldn't touch it.

"The person who came up with this method is definitely a genius." Sean looked at the raging fire outside the city and sighed sincerely. If Old Botton had not set the fire on his own initiative, he would not have thought that the weed outside the city was actually part of the city defense.

This made Sean secretly feel astonished. No matter how smart he is, he is just a person, and it is impossible for him to be able to cover everything. Although the young army is outstanding, he is only called the king in the mountains. There are still considerable limitations in terms of knowledge and experience.

The wisdom of people in this world, especially the wisdom of war, must not be underestimated, not to mention that the castle they are now stationed is owned by others. When it comes to understanding this castle, it is not comparable to Sean who has been in the short week.

"So what about geniuses? It's useless in front of us." I don't know whether it's because of taking the Bastille or because Sean helped them replace their brand new equipment.

During this period, the Skull Brokener McGee was a little confident, as if there was nothing in this world that he could not solve, and he didn't take the attacking Old Borton seriously at all.

Sean did not attack McGee's overconfidence. After all, McGee now plays a role as a savage who charges and rarely interrupts decision-making opinions. Enough confidence can improve the morale of his subordinates, and the benefits outweigh the disadvantages.

Throwing a sheepskin scroll to McGee, Sean said, "Look, this is the war book sent to us by the Lord of Borton."

"Did you mean it? You know that I'm having a headache when I see these earthworms. They know me, but I don't know them!" Skull-breaker McGee stared at the cow's eyes and turned the sheepskin scroll over and over, but couldn't even find any side of it.

"It is necessary to read and read. I will send someone to give you some tutoring." After this battle side by side, Sean and McGee's relationship became closer.

The subtle influence finally took effect over the years. McGee has a certain sense of identity with Sean's views, or the capture of Bastille has caused most of the hatred accumulated in his heart to be vented, no longer completely living for hatred, no longer being as stubborn as before, and taking advantage of the enthusiasm, he naturally wants to further strengthen the relationship between the two sides.

At present, he is still very comfortable to use the tiger flag of the Skull Brokener, and this kind of cooperation can be carried out for several more years.

This is also a helpless choice. After all, this is also an era of looking at faces. But what you see is not handsome, but who is more mature and who is more trustworthy.

Sean's face is too young and handsome, but he is not as good as McGee with a vicious and old face.

To be honest, although McGee, the skull-breaker, has been famous for a long time, but she is not very old, only twenty-seven or eight, but she looks like forty-six or seven.

"Isn't you still there?" McGee is not usually interested in reading and lying words, and it is full of painful memories.

With his fingers thicker than carrots, holding a quill is like pinching an embroidery needle, he would rather swing an axe a hundred times than write a word with that thing.

"I'm not your maid, how could I follow you all day long? Let's not talk about empty words such as reading and literacy that can develop IQ, and I'll send someone to send you a secret letter in the future. I can't find someone to explain it for you, right?" Sean glared at McGee.

"Don't say the nonsense about giving you a literate person around you. Oftentimes, those who give you a fatal blow from behind are those who you are closest to and trust the most. Some things must be in your own hands. It's just that. In the future, not only do you have to read, but you also have to carry out literacy classes in the Broken Skull Army to try to get out of the situation where you can't read a word in the whole battalion."

"Okay!" McGee was a little lazy at first, but when he heard that the whole camp was in trouble with him, he felt much more relaxed.

He didn't care what the special meaning of literacy had for those big-headed soldiers. "Even if you read, it would be a matter for the future. Let's talk about how it was written on it first!"

...

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