Chapter 442: I Knew She Could Do It (1)
The barbarian warriors couldn’t properly respond to the flanking attack from Raypold’s cavalry.
Though the enemy in front showed no signs of retreat, the flanking forces were formidable enough to be a serious threat. The ranks quickly faltered and began to collapse.
A distracted army will always inevitably find its strength scattered and crushed, one by one.
Boom!
Raypold’s forces pressed the barbarians so fiercely that it was as if they had never been on the defensive.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Spears thrust forward through gaps in the shields, striking the barbarian warriors, who were helpless to defend against the attacks.
“Gahhhh!”
“What are you doing? Push them back!”
“Defend the flank first!”
Chaos overtook the barbarians, and there was no one to lead them effectively. The command unit was already preoccupied with stopping Ghislain.
Although there were war chiefs among them, they lacked the capability to command such a large army properly.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Raypold’s army steadily advanced, cutting down the confused barbarians as they moved forward.
They moved like emotionless puppets, cold and calculated to the point of making observers shiver.
Boom!
The heavy infantry of Raypold’s forces pushed further, tearing apart the barbarian ranks even more.
Although their offensive power was considerable, the poorly equipped warriors couldn’t withstand the sudden assault by the cavalry.
Attempts to turn the tide of the battle came too late. The formation crumbled, and their leadership had disintegrated.
What good was having superior numbers when their combat methods resembled little more than individual skirmishes?
In battle, morale determines the outcome. This is why mental fortitude is always emphasized.
The barbarians, who lived by pillaging, had never learned this.
“Damn it! Run!”
“Fall back and regroup!”
“Regroup? Are you crazy? We’re getting crushed out here!”
The warriors at the rear began fleeing first. Seeing no way to salvage the situation, they prioritized their survival.
It was typical of them fond of battle but devoid of honor or loyalty.
Once an army starts to collapse, recovery becomes impossible. When one person flees, even those who initially intended to fight begin to retreat.
The warriors in the middle of the ranks were the most vulnerable they had no escape route.
“Just run into the river!”
“Cross it!”
“Get out of here, fast!”
Soon, warriors began jumping into the river en masse, desperate to swim to the other side and escape.
Amelia, observing the battlefield, extended her hand toward the river.
Screeeeeech…
The archers positioned at the rear of the formation turned, nocking their arrows.
“Loose.”
Swish!
A rain of arrows descended upon the riverbanks.
Countless arrows pierced the fleeing barbarian warriors. Left defenseless, they had no choice but to be struck.
“Aaahhhh!”
Hearing the screams of the barbarians, Amelia turned her head.
Boom! Boom!
Her mages unleashed their attacks, carefully avoiding friendly troops while targeting the barbarians.
Raypold’s forces had completely overwhelmed the barbarians. All that remained was to press forward and finish the job.
The warriors left behind would be dealt with by Ghislain.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ghislain continued to rampage astride the Black King.
Distracted by Ghislain, the barbarians couldn’t properly respond to the charges of the Fenris and Ferdium forces. Their formation was ruined, and they were barely holding on through sheer numbers.
But it was only a matter of time before they fell.
“This… What is…?”
Woroqa was in disarray. He knew something had to be done, but with attacks coming from all directions, he didn’t know where to begin.
Flash! Crash!
Fire and lightning suddenly streaked through the battlefield, scattering warriors. The mages had joined the fray.
The remaining priests of the Salvation Church were powerless to stop the onslaught.
“Hold them! Stand your ground! Don’t run, hold the line!”
All Woroqa could do was shout at his warriors to stand firm. Despite their numerical advantage, they were being utterly crushed. He couldn’t comprehend why.
As he roared commands, a chilling premonition made him turn his head. He froze.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ghislain, surrounded by a dark crimson aura, was cutting through the warriors as he charged toward him.
With everyone too overwhelmed to mount a proper defense, there was no one to surround and stop him.
Monga, the war chief standing next to Woroqa, leaped forward, swinging his axe.
Clang!
But when it collided with Ghislain’s spear, the axe shattered into pieces. Before Monga could react, the spear slashed through the air once more, taking his head clean off.
“Guhhh…”
Ghislain, shrouded in dark crimson smoke, was unstoppable.
While it was burdensome for him to exert so much power, he deemed it a worthwhile cost to bolster his allies' morale and minimize their casualties.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
With each sweep of Ghislain’s spear, the elite warriors guarding Woroqa fell in an instant.
“You bastard!”
Woroqa swung his massive axe at the charging Ghislain.
Boom!
Finally, Ghislain’s spear halted.
Woroqa was among the finest warriors in the North. Yet, even he didn’t believe he could defeat Ghislain.
‘Custou couldn’t beat him and died.’
Custou, who had once vied with Woroqa for the title of the North’s[a][b][c] greatest tribal warrior, had fought Ghislain in the past. Even then, Ghislain had been weaker than he was now, yet Custou couldn’t prevail.
And now, Ghislain surrounded by black smoke and glowing red eyes like a demon had returned as something far more monstrous. Woroqa knew there was no chance of victory.
Perhaps reading Woroqa’s thoughts, Ghislain smiled and spoke.
“Don’t be so scared. I’m not the one who’ll kill you.”
“What?”
Whoosh!
Someone leapt at Woroqa from behind Ghislain. Startled, Woroqa stepped back and raised his axe.
Clang!
Upon closer inspection, it was a young man. Woroqa, incredulous, asked,
“Who the hell are you?”
“Arel.”
“What? Who’s that?”
“I’m the one who will kill you.”
Arel’s presence radiated fiery determination.
As Woroqa remained perplexed, Ghislain smirked and added, “He’s my disciple. If you beat him, I’ll let you live. I’ll even clear a path for you to escape.”
Woroqa’s face flushed with anger. How dare Ghislain mock him like this?
Though deeply humiliated, Woroqa gritted his teeth and kept his composure. Unlike the other warriors, he was cunning and calculative.
Ghislain’s proposal was disgraceful, but if Woroqa survived, he could rebuild and recover.
Defeat was inevitable at this point. Their numbers meant nothing when the army was in chaos and completely unmanageable.
“Don’t forget your promise,” Woroqa growled, a fierce smile spreading across his face as he swung his axe at Arel like lightning. If it had been Ghislain, Woroqa might have doubted his chances. But against a mere fledgling? Impossible to lose.
Boom!
Woroqa’s axe collided with Arel’s sword.
Ghislain glanced at them briefly before killing off the nearby warriors, clearing space so their duel wouldn’t be disturbed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
‘What is with this kid?!’
Woroqa swung his axe repeatedly, gritting his teeth in frustration. Though young, Arel’s skill was extraordinary.
Moreover, Woroqa could feel an overwhelming fury emanating from Arel a resolve that screamed he would stop at nothing to kill him.
Clang!
Their weapons clashed again, and Woroqa asked, “Do you have some kind of grudge against me?”
“I’m here to avenge my family and the people of my village.”
“What the hell? Who lives their life tracking down every little slight?”
Woroqa sneered, the absurdity of the situation was clear to him.
He had pillaged countless villages in his lifetime. This boy must be a survivor from one of them.
Seeing Woroqa’s mocking grin, Arel clenched his jaw.
‘I’ll kill him, no matter what.’
To Arel, the barbarians were a relentless torment to the North. And now, all of his fury was concentrated on their leader, Woroqa.
In his heart, he wished he could single-handedly eradicate every barbarian. Though impossible, this war would ensure their downfall.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The two clashed again.
Arel had grown immensely under Ghislain’s tutelage, and now he was holding his own against Woroqa, one of the North’s greatest warriors.
‘How can this brat be so skilled?!’
Woroqa couldn’t accept it.
He had known that there were powerful individuals in Fenris, but he never imagined that a mere boy could fight him on equal footing.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Arel’s sword struck with sharp, unyielding force, which bore a striking resemblance to Ghislain’s swordsmanship.
The knights of Fenris often aspired to grow stronger, but lacked the persistence due to their inherent nature and habits. This was why Ghislain pushed them through rigorous training.
But Arel was different.
‘I’ve waited for this day!’
He had lost his family, friends, and village to the barbarians. Never again would he allow himself to lose anyone else.
Fueled by vengeance, Arel had relentlessly trained, pushing himself to the brink without anyone’s prodding.
Recognizing his resolve, Ghislain personally taught him a more dangerous and powerful mana refinement technique, as well as his own swordsmanship.
Through ceaseless effort, Arel had surpassed even the knights of the estate.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Their weapons clashed fiercely, sparks flying with every strike.
“You dare…!”, Woroqa snarled.
Woroqa’s eyes twitched with humiliation.
Realizing that he couldn’t win against Arel through skill alone, he swiftly changed his strategy.
“Stop acting so cocky, boy!”
Whoosh!
He abandoned defense, opting to overwhelm Arel with sheer brute force instead.
Slash!
Cuts began to appear all over Woroqa’s body.
Yet, he didn’t stop his ferocious onslaught, avoiding only fatal injuries as he sought to end the fight in one decisive blow.
Arel was gradually pushed back by Woroqa’s beast-like aggression.
“Graaaah!”
Woroqa resembled a raging bear. Though typically calculative and cautious, his warrior instincts shone brightly in battle.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every clash of axe and sword sent tremors through Arel’s blade. Realizing he couldn’t retreat any further, Arel planted his feet firmly on the ground.
Believing he had seized the upper hand, Woroqa raised his axe high and bellowed, “Die!”
He poured all his strength into the swing, intending to cleave Arel’s body in two.
Boom!
Arel’s sword, unable to withstand Woroqa’s overwhelming force, shattered. The axe, continuing its descent, tore a deep gash across Arel’s chest.
Splatter!
Blood spurted out, and Woroqa, grinning cruelly, raised his axe again. Though his strike hadn’t been perfectly accurate, he intended to finish it with the next blow.
Whoosh!
Thunk!
“What? What happened??”
As Arel extended his hand, the descending axe’s trajectory shifted slightly. It was the mana-expelling technique Ghislain had taught him.
Although Arel couldn’t wield it as freely as Ghislain, it was enough to deflect the axe in a desperate moment.
Despite the axe’s weight and momentum, the small disruption sent it veering off course.
Boom!
The axe buried itself deep into the ground.
Seizing the opportunity, Arel dashed forward and swung his broken sword at Woroqa.
“You...!”
In that instant, Woroqa saw it the terrifying, murderous fury burning in Arel’s eyes.
Under normal circumstances, Arel, with a broken sword, would have struggled to deliver a fatal blow to Woroqa’s massive frame. But with the axe stuck in the ground, Woroqa’s posture was compromised, his upper body bent low.
Arel’s broken sword found its mark, piercing Woroqa’s throat.
Thud!
“Gurk!”
Yet, Woroqa didn’t die. Even then, he tried to lift his axe and fight.
Gritting his teeth, Arel yanked his sword free and stabbed him again and again.
Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!
With each thrust, Arel channeled all his emotions.
‘I will have my revenge!’
He remembered his parents, who died fighting the barbarians. He thought of the villagers who had perished alongside them.
He recalled the despair of watching his home burn and the anguish of seeing his friends’ lifeless bodies scattered everywhere.
Arel had carried that pain deep within, enduring and suppressing it for years.
Now, it all erupted.
“Aaaaaaah!”
Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!
Arel wept blood as he continued stabbing Woroqa’s neck, oblivious to his surroundings.
For him, Woroqa bore the burden of all the vengeance and hatred he felt toward the barbarians.
Stab! Stab! Stab!
“Guhh… rgh…”
Blood foamed at Woroqa’s mouth as his axe slipped from his hands long ago. Though still panting for air, his life was effectively over.
Stab! Stab! Stab!
Finally, Ghislain stepped in, grabbing Arel’s bloodied hand.
“Lord Ghislain…”
Looking at Arel’s tear-streaked, rage-twisted face, Ghislain spoke gently.
“It’s over.”
Arel, snapping back to reality, glanced at Woroqa. His lifeless body slumped to the ground.
Thud!
Cheers erupted around them.
“Wow! That was incredible!”
“As expected of Lord Ghislain’s disciple!”
“I knew he’d be something special from the way he trained!”
The knights and soldiers who had been fighting nearby had now completely routed the barbarian ranks and reached their position.
The remaining barbarian warriors were either being slaughtered or had no chance to escape.
“Hah… hah…”
Arel gasped for breath amidst the soldiers’ applause.
Though his fight was overwhelming, he felt a sense of strange relief. He couldn’t quite believe that he had defeated Woroqa.
Ghislain smiled as he looked at him.
“How does it feel?”
“I…”
A sudden surge of emotion rendered Arel speechless. Tears threatened to fall.
But above all else…
“It feels like a fire that’s been burning in my chest has finally gone out.”
For years, something had gnawed at Arel’s soul, no matter how much he trained or meditated.
He had suppressed it, not wanting to burden the estate.
Ghislain had understood. He had seen Arel’s stoic determination and felt the pain hidden beneath. Having experienced something similar himself, he knew the weight Arel carried.
Now, Arel could finally find some peace.
“You did well,” Ghislain said warmly.
Arel’s face showed his deepest gratitude.
“...Thank you.”
Without Ghislain’s guidance, none of this would have been possible.
Arel’s growth and strength were thanks to him, and now he had slain Woroqa, leader of the barbarians.
Looking out over the battlefield, Arel muttered, “This… is enough for me.”
He was satisfied. He had avenged his people, the ones crushed under the barbarian’s heel.
Around him, the Fenris, Ferdium, and Raypold’s people were annihilating the remaining barbarians. Though Arel hadn’t orchestrated this victory, he had played a crucial role.
And most importantly, he had personally killed Woroqa.
Holding up Woroqa’s severed head, Arel shouted,
“The Great Chieftain of the Sunstone Tribe, Woroqa, is dead!”
His cry was a cathartic release of all the pain and grief he had carried. It echoed across the battlefield.
The war against the barbarians was over.
The North would no longer suffer from their raids.
This was what Arel had wished for more than revenge.
[a]How about "Barbarian's"
[b]Tribal warrior should be better, no tribal folk would refer to themselves as barbarians or a barbarian.
[c]Agreed