Chapter 34
Chapter 34
Beneath the castle walls dyed red by the setting sun, the stench of blood spread through the air, driving the people of the territory into panic.
The shabby stone walls protecting them were little more than sandcastles waiting to collapse.
It seemed inevitable that a hellscape of screams would soon unfold.
They said one person's despair was another person's pleasure.
The invaders' eyes gleamed with ugly anticipation, eager for the pillaging that would soon begin.
Their intentions were obvious.
As they always had, they would steal without hesitation and exploit without mercy.
And that brutality would continue until the cries of their victims finally fell silent.
Just as the malice of the marauders was about to descend upon the tiny domain—
Creeeak...
The battered castle gates slowly opened.
Most of the invaders watching shared the same thought.
Were they surrendering?
"To think surrender is the best they could come up with."
Kraxion sneered at the opening gates.
"Just what you'd expect from cowards who've hidden themselves away for over a decade."
Unfortunately for them, he considered the act meaningless.
"If there's nothing to gain from showing mercy..."
The only thing waiting for them was destruction.
"Kill every man except the lord. Capture the women."
It was disappointing, but slaughtering the weak had its own kind of amusement.
As Kraxion and his men indulged in disgusting fantasies—
Clank. Clank.
It happened.
Beyond the open gates, accompanied by the sound of metal, a bizarre sight appeared.
"...What is that?"
Was it a monster?
A beast?
Some gigantic creature blocked the path of hundreds of soldiers, releasing a thunderous snort.
Its murderous presence silenced the mercenaries almost instantly.
It clearly resembled a four-legged animal.
Yet its size rivaled that of an ogre.
Its strange eyes, devoid of visible whites, made it look less like a horse and more like a demon wearing the shape of one.
"A warhorse...?"
The beast was one of the battle steeds ridden only by formally knighted warriors.
Among them, it was one of the largest and strongest bloodlines.
A drakehorse.
A creature refined through centuries of breeding and magic solely for warfare.
In truth, it was closer to a monster than a horse.
Yet even that terrifying beast seemed like a tame foal compared to the man seated atop it.
Holding the reins, the knight emitted blue light from behind his black visor and overwhelmed over a thousand warriors through sheer presence alone.
It was an absurd sight.
The black knight looked less like a man and more like the God of Death descending upon a forgotten countryside.
"So that's him."
Kraxion's eyes narrowed.
The man's identity was obvious.
The black lion emblazoned on his chest.
The countless banners of past glory trailing behind him.
The gray beard visible beneath the armet.
Everything pointed to a single individual.
"The Champion of Kaltenberg."
The strength of the fallen kingdom's former commander far exceeded Kraxion's expectations.
To still possess such power at that age—
He was no ordinary opponent.
"Though his limits are obvious."
No matter how strong a knight was, he remained flesh and blood.
His prime had long passed.
If pressured continuously, his stamina would eventually fail.
"Are you Reckun Rochester?"
The Butcher's voice boomed with aura-enhanced power.
The sound was so overwhelming that soldiers atop the walls covered their ears.
"It is only proper respect for a warrior who does not show his back. Before we duel, I would hear your answer from your own lips."
It wasn't arrogance.
It was confidence.
Kraxion had fought mounted knights before.
Time and time again, he had dragged proud warriors from their saddles.
This old man might be the strongest among them.
But that only fueled his fighting spirit.
"What a load of nonsense."
Reckun found the thunderous voice more annoying than impressive.
"Save the introductions, whelp."
The so-called King of Mercenaries might have a grand title, but in the end he was nothing more than a beast.
There was no reason to indulge him.
Of course, including Kraxion, every warrior before him had survived countless battlefields.
A thousand men were no laughing matter.
If they attacked together, they would undoubtedly be troublesome.
"What pleases you so much?" Reckun growled.
"Are you truly that excited to plunder women and children?"
But considerations of advantage meant nothing before the furious old knight.
He knew exactly why these beasts had come.
"You pieces of filth!"
The Champion's voice exploded like thunder.
Its force dwarfed even Kraxion's earlier roar.
"You vermin certainly ask a lot of questions!"
His blazing blue gaze swept across the battlefield.
One man radiated such overwhelming dignity and indomitable spirit that it felt as though an absolute ruler was looking down upon everyone present.
It became obvious that the former commander of a kingdom had no interest whatsoever in something as petty as a duel.
"Do you even understand where you stand?"
The mercenaries' fear quickly transformed into fury.
Their bloodshot eyes filled with murderous intent.
"This is the land ruled by the Great Black Prince!"
Yet even while bearing the hostility of hundreds, Reckun felt no fear.
The thought that those murderous intentions might have been directed toward his people, his squires, and his lord only fueled his rage.
"If you know your place, leave."
His voice became colder.
"And if you don't..."
There was no reason to show mercy to monsters wearing human skin.
So the knight made his declaration.
"Come at me all at once."
A promise of judgment delivered by the sword.
"I'll tear every last one of you apart."
"Charge!"
The old knight's roar shook the earth as he blocked the only path leading into the castle.
The crimson tide surged forward.
Boom! Crash! Crack!
Screams filled the sky.
Pools of blood spread across the ground.
One knight clashed against hundreds of mercenaries.
The peaceful domain was transformed into a living hell.
Massive axes smashed against his helmet.
Long spears stabbed toward the gaps in his armor.
Crossbow bolts rained down in waves, dozens embedding themselves into his shield.
An impossible amount of violence focused upon a single man.
Yet the old knight endured it alone.
Neither knight nor warhorse retreated a single step.
Like a living fortress.
Like an impregnable stronghold.
He simply swung his claymore and piled up corpses.
Was this the appearance of a war god descended upon the world?
Every swing of his blade severed three or four grown men at once.
When he brought the sword crashing downward, a blade of aura erupted from it, splitting apart over a dozen enemies—including those hiding among the trees beyond the battlefield.
His left hand endured the hatred of hundreds.
His right hand butchered hundreds of fiends.
Though the kingdom's glory had long faded, the old knight fought desperately to overcome the impossible trial before him.
"RECKUN ROCHESTER!"
A furious roar drew his attention.
A giant wielding twin axes charged directly toward him, no longer caring about friend or foe.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Every collision between red aura and blue aura unleashed terrifying shockwaves.
The towering warrior swung his twin axes with all his might again and again.
Yet Reckun deflected every strike with a single hand.
"Rrgh!"
In terms of skill, Reckun was clearly superior.
But enemies continuously interfered from every direction, preventing him from fully overwhelming Kraxion.
Aura was not limitless.
Dragging out the battle would only worsen the situation.
The old knight knew that.
His attacks accelerated, seeking to finish things quickly.
Yet perhaps even he could not completely escape the burden of age.
After tens of minutes of relentless combat, his posture finally faltered.
And the Butcher seized the opportunity.
Crunch!
Kraxion's axe bit deep into Reckun's side.