Chapter 37 | Transmigrated Into a Poor Girl, Armed Myself With Heavy Armor

Surprise attacks were always highly efficient.

Especially when ambushing an unsuspecting target from behind.

The crossbowman closest to Rosie was crouching by the railing, hooking the string of his heavy crossbow into the winch mechanism. Bending over, he turned the crank with both hands, slowly pulling the heavy string back notch by notch.

Focused entirely on his task, he failed to notice a shadow gliding up behind him.

“Pfft.”

The sharp blade plunged into the back of his neck and burst out through his throat. With a swift horizontal jerk, it tore through half of his neck.

Blood sprayed out mixed with bits of flesh, making a faint hissing sound as it splashed.

The crossbowman didn't even have time to make a sound before his body went limp, as if his spine had been pulled out, and collapsed to the floor.

Having landed her blow, Rosie didn't pause for a single second, instantly darting toward her next target with soft, swift footsteps along the corridor.

The second crossbowman had just finished firing a volley and was bending down to set his heavy crossbow against the floor to reload.

Catching a fast-approaching shadow in his peripheral vision, he instinctively raised his head, his eyes meeting Rosie's cold, murderous gaze.

Just as he opened his mouth to shout, the tip of her sword whistled through the air, plunging into his mouth and piercing straight through his brain, bringing out a smear of red and white on the tip.

Rosie jerked her blade out with a hard pull. The crossbowman's body toppled backward, knocking over a box of bolts nearby in a noisy clatter.

Finally, someone noticed her.

“Enemy attack—!”

The third crossbowman screamed, hastily dropping the unwieldy heavy crossbow in his hands as he scrambled to draw the arming sword at his waist for self-defense.

But just as his fingers gripped the hilt, before he could pull the blade from its sheath, Rosie closed the distance. Her blade sliced through the air and thrust deep into his chest.

With a twist and a pull, a spray of blood burst forth.

The man froze, his hands slipping limply from the sword hilt. He wobbled for a moment before collapsing onto his back.

The remaining crossbowmen finally snapped to their senses. Abandoning their aim at the hall below, they frantically swung their heavy crossbows around, pointing the tips at the unexpected enemy on the second-floor balcony.

“Swish! Swish! Swish!”

A barrage of bolts flew toward Rosie, but because their aim was rushed, she dodged them all with a nimble side-step.

Charging up to another crossbowman, her sword flashed, instantly slitting his throat.

“Quick! Loose!” one of the crossbowmen roared.

“Swish! Swish! Swish!”

Another flurry of crossbow bolts arrived.

Rosie didn't dodge, nor did she raise her shield to block. Instead, she kicked the throat-clutching crossbowman out in front of her.

With several dull squelches, the powerful bolts instantly impaled him, the tips bursting out through his back.

Rosie took a quick glance, unable to help marveling at the incredible armor-piercing power of these crossbows.

Then, using the corpse as cover, she charged the remaining enemies once again.

“Quick, draw your swords! There are more of us, get her together!”

Seeing her rush close after firing their bolts, the front-row crossbowmen threw down their heavy crossbows and drew their arming swords, intending to overwhelm this treacherous ambusher with sheer numbers.

However, they were severely overestimating themselves.

Rosie raised her shield and slammed hard into the cluster of crossbowmen.

“Bang!”

With a heavy thud, the lead crossbowman was sent flying along with his sword, bowling over several men behind him.

At the same time, Rosie swung her blade. The head of the nearest crossbowman flew into the air, and a geyser of blood sprayed upward, showering everyone nearby like rain.

The heavy crossbows used by the crossbowmen were indeed high-quality weapons—powerful and highly penetrative.

However, the price for that power was that the weapons were unwieldy, slow to load, and their ammunition heavy. To maintain mobility, they wore only thin gambesons.

Rosie, on the other hand, wore brigandine armor made of wild bull leather and steel plates, and carried a shield. The defense gap between the two sides was night and day.

Even if the crossbowmen's swords landed on Rosie's brigandine armor, they would only leave minor scratches.

Meanwhile, with her 16 points of Strength, every single strike Rosie delivered was heavy and devastating, each blow landing like a critical hit and aiming for a lethal spot.

In the blink of an eye, several more mangled, bloody corpses lay on the floor.

Seeing how ferocious their attacker was, the remaining crossbowmen dumped their heavy crossbows, turned, and bolted.

From the moment Rosie stepped onto the second floor to the routing of the crossbowmen, less than two minutes had passed.

Catching her breath, she glanced down below.

In the main hall, the iron line of heavy shields and halberds still blocked the entrance.

However, the barrage of crossbow bolts from above had ceased.

The white-robed cleric lowered the barrier of light and flopped onto the floor, looking utterly exhausted.

Without the glowing barrier in the way, Rosie could clearly see the people below.

She quickly scanned the crowd, but couldn't find the figure in the tight leather suit.

Vera wasn't down there?

Where on earth had that girl gone?

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell, accompanied by the clatter of clanking armor plates.

The powerful yet sluggish heavy soldiers had finally arrived.

Unfortunately for them, the crossbowmen on the second floor were either dead or gone; not a single one remained.

Upon seeing the corpses scattered across the second floor, the heavy soldiers visibly panicked for a moment.

Then, under their squad leader's orders, they adjusted their formation at the top of the stairs, leveled their halberds, and finally advanced with heavy, crushing steps.

Their iron boots stomped against the corridor floorboards, making the ground vibrate softly with every step.

Rosie frowned, pushing her thoughts aside for the moment.

She bent down, picked up a heavy crossbow lying on the floor, and shouted to the people below, “Catch!”

She tossed the heavy crossbow down.

One of the knights below reached out and caught it.

Rosie didn't stop, throwing down several more heavy crossbows and two bundles of bolts.

Then, as the heavy infantry closed in, she flashed them her middle finger, turned, and bolted, plunging straight into the corridor where the crossbowmen had fled.

The heavy infantry could only watch helplessly as she vanished into thin air.

They stood frozen in place, unsure whether to pursue or stay put.

If they gave chase, they'd probably collapse from exhaustion before even catching up.

If they didn't, they would likely be punished by the noble officers.

For a moment, they were utterly stumped.

Rosie, on the other hand, had no such worries. She darted through the castle corridors, found a staircase heading down, and descended.

Estimating the general direction, she headed toward the main hall; if she could clear the blocked entrance from the inside, she could escort the cleric out.

However, the farther she walked, the more wrong things felt, until she nabbed a panicking castle servant along the way.

“Hey! Which way to the main hall? Try lying and I'll gut you on the spot!” she demanded menacingly.

The servant didn't dare resist in the slightest. Covered in blood and looking fierce, this girl was clearly a ruthless killer who had taken countless lives.

“T-That way... Go straight, turn left, then straight again...”

Rosie glanced in that direction—wasn't that where she had just come from?

After all that, she had been going the wrong way.

“Damn castle... who the hell designed this place?”

Shoving the servant aside, Rosie headed back in the direction he indicated.

As she walked, she came upon a half-ajar carved wooden door, dim yellow candlelight and noisy voices spilling through the gap.

Slowing her pace, she pressed her side against the wall beside the door, gently nudging the door open a bit wider to peer through the crack.

Inside was a windowless, small banquet hall, lit as bright as day by several oil lamps hanging on the walls.

A figure leapt into her field of view.

Wearing a tight leather suit, tall and slender, a repeating crossbow strapped to her back, wielding a slender rapier in a tight, impenetrable flurry.

It was none other than Vera.

She was currently locked in combat with an equally tall noblewoman.

That woman also used a rapier. Her swordplay was sharp and her footwork agile, fighting Vera to a standstill.

The tips of the two rapiers continuously clashed in midair, ringing out with a rapid succession of crisp metallic chimes.

On the other side of the banquet hall, another battle was underway.

Three knights were ganging up on a noble man.

Their three broadswords worked in seamless coordination, slashing down from different angles as they leveraged the heavy blades to launch wide, fierce assaults.

Yet the man appeared completely at ease, his body flitting between the gleaming blades like smoke.

In his grip was a blood-red rapier. He wielded it effortlessly; every thrust parried or deflected a knight's heavy sword, and his occasional counter-thrusts forced the knights to pull back on the defensive.