Trial, and (2)
When fighting enemies who outnumber you by a huge margin, what's the top priority?
Honestly, everyone's answer to that would differ based on their own experiences, the skills they've honed, and all sorts of other factors.
Some might say to always keep an escape route open so you don't get surrounded, or to limit enemy movement so you only face the minimum number at a time—stuff like that. There are all kinds of tactics.
In my case? I just charge right in.
'That fucker? He's an orphan, right?'
'No wonder. How the hell does someone end up named Hanjo? I thought his parents must've been retards, but if he's an orphan, that tracks.'
'If I were his parents, I'd have ditched him too.'
In the world I grew up in, being an orphan meant you were always at the bottom of the food chain.
Especially since the orphanage I was stuck in was infamous locally—a total shithole—and as a kid, I stood out like a sore thumb.
By elementary school, I was already over 170cm tall, and even without working out, I had this ripped build. Same back then.
Kids are cruel.
Brutally so.
So a tall, obvious orphan like me must've looked like the perfect plaything to them.
'Hey, Hanjo...'
One time, some little shit snuck up and smacked me in the back of the head while I was quietly eating my school lunch.
'What the fuck are you stuffing your face with, orphan? No wonder you're all puffed up. Gimme some—'
Impossible.
These were the schoolyard delinquents, the kind with shitty reps even among the teachers.
They must've been scared to come alone, 'cause ten of 'em showed up to pick a fight. After getting clocked, I rubbed the back of my head, picked the rice grains off my bloody nose from face-planting into my tray, grabbed the tray I no longer felt like eating from...
And smashed that fucker's face in with it.
That's when my school life went straight to hell.
I was still just a kid in elementary, but I already had adult-level strength and physique. I sent all ten of those bastards to the hospital.
And when I got back to the orphanage, the director—that fucking bitch—beat me like a dog after hearing the news.
But even so, I kept charging at anyone who fucked with me.
I'm weak.
Nobody knew that better than I did.
The weak get eaten.
If you look weak, you are weak, and that's it—you're lunch.
'Deff, pffft...'
'Raaawr...!!'
Like that green animal—the weakest one—that even small critters, little kids, and orphans like us would torment.
'Oppa, how long do we have to live like this?'
They were born pretty, after all.
Born pretty.
Pretty, but orphans.
And stuck in an orphanage run by that bitch.
'I-I said no... B-but the uncle, he...'
Girls from the orphanage, same as me—faces all bruised and bloody, sobbing as they asked that.
'F-fuck, what the hell?!'
'Ask your dad, you piece of shit.'
I knew if you seemed weak—if word got out you were weak—you'd get devoured.
So I fought. And fought again.
Among the packs of weaklings.
I was the strongest of them, so for those kids' sake, I fought.
Smash anyone who started shit, track down whoever fucked with my little sibs when they came back crying and smash them too.
Solitary, starvation, the director swinging a baseball bat to beat kids bloody—that fucking cunt laid into me endlessly, but I never stopped.
That's why I'm pretty damn used to fighting by now.
Especially since I've always been alone, facing groups way bigger than me. Fighting multiples? My body's gotten real familiar with it.
Even if it's brainless skull-fucks that don't know fear.
Even if it's not ten or dozens, but hundreds of skull-fucks swarming.
"Charge...!"
Still, I charged.
It was all I knew.
"Clack, clack-clack!"
Skeletons lunging at me, their remaining teeth gnashing like mad. With one arm pinned holding Karura, I bashed and shook them off with the other.
Crack, crunch—skulls shattering under my fists, bodies snapping clean off and collapsing.
But even more piled on than I knocked down.
Snap!
They bit into my shoulder, arms, legs—grabbed hold.
Even through the Heavenly Tiger's Armor, the impacts jarred me.
A sharp pain flared, but it was just pain. Nothing more.
No wounds.
So I pushed forward.
"Die, you bony fucks!"
Let the skeletons chew and savor my flesh—I dragged them along and bulldozed ahead.
Smashed with fists, kicked 'em flying, fired Wearhoneybee stingers nonstop, carving a path.
"Clack-clack...!"
"Where you going, fuckers?!"
A skull thrusting its bony head at Karura in my arms.
I shoved my head in its way instead.
Splat!
My skull must be tough—its jaw exploded, tumbling. I stomped it flat.
"Fuck, there's a shit-ton."
Had to be over a hundred down already.
Still a goddamn horde left.
"...My lord, at this rate, even you will be in danger. Leave me and—"
"Can you not with the bullshit?"
If that was the plan, I never would've come here in the first place.
Why the hell did I come, then?
"Shut up and hold on tight."
Thung-thung-thung—I blasted incoming skulls with stingers and said it.
But Karura was right.
This was getting dicey.
Stingers were for desperate swarms only, but I'd already burned through over fifty.
Plenty left, sure, but with no end to the descending hordes—just more piling up—it was only a matter of time before I used 'em dry.
Once they're gone, no mana left to sustain the Heavenly Tiger's Armor. Just my regular human flesh—buff but still fragile—prime skeleton buffet.
I might have some meat on me, but this many wouldn't be satisfied. Next up: Karura.
Then...
"Breakthrough."
At this rate, fighting the endless waves would wear me down eventually.
Better to push hard now, before even more rained from the sky.
So.
"Hold on tight."
No more messing with skeletons.
I crushed Karura to my chest with both arms, hunched low.
And kicked off the ground, charging.
"Clack! Clack-clack!"
Clinging skeletons dragging on me, but I kept going.
No energy wasted shaking 'em—poured it all into Werewolf trait body enhancement, pure sprint.
Crunch, craaack...!
Strong, but brittle as skeletons—they crumpled under my rush.
This could work.
Should've done it from the start.
Thinking that, I squeezed Karura tighter, shielding her completely as I barreled on.
And then.
"Clack, clack-clack... clack!"
"Mommy, fuck, what's your deal?"
From the skeleton swarm, a beefier one popped out.
Solo, unlike the rest—blackened armor, a sword with a dull edge but still wicked.
"Clack...! Clack-clack...! Clack...!"
But I knew what it was at a glance.
Obvious knight vibes.
Undead.
Necromancers' fodder: basic skeletons or zombies with scraps of flesh.
But higher up? Knights, walkers, shit like that. I knew that much.
This armored skull? Definitely a knight-grade.
Death Knight. That's what they call 'em.
Made from the corpses of the strong—those who died with grudges or curses. Necromancers' heavy hitters.
"Fuck."
Charging straight would get me fucked, so I aimed my Dragon Claw at it.
"Get lost, same as the rest!"
Thung-thung-thung-thung-thung...!
Five stingers, no holding back.
But.
"Clack...! Clack-clack...!"
Scraaaape...!
It deflected every one with its sword, then charged.
"No, fuck. How do you block that?!"
Can't use the other Dragon Claw right now—Honeybee Punch barrage was my top DPS, and it shrugged it off like nothing.
Regular skeletons explode from one hit, but this thing blocks with its toothless blade and doesn't even lose more teeth? Fucked.
No room to run, so I charged too.
"Clack!"
"Clack right back, fuck—!"
Craaack!
The death knight's downward slash dug into my shoulder.
Yustitia's Heavenly Tiger's Armor—dented deep.
But it held. Kept the blade from shredding my soft flesh.
And.
"Grah...!"
Craaack...!
Unlike its sword stuck on my shoulder, my Dragon Claw plunged into the death knight's fancy armor side.
"Die, you shitty fuck."
Thung, thung, thung, thung, thung...!
Stingers burrowed through gaps, detonating inside.
"Cla, clack-clack, clack...!"
Took a direct Honeybee Punch barrage and kept coming. Already dead, sure, but still moving.
But.
Clank...!
Empty stinger slots refilled with fresh ones.
"Not enough? Have seconds, fucker!"
Thung-thung-thung-thung-thung...!