Chapter 197 Chapter 196 The Battle (Four)
“I am the reinforcements!”
George’s voice boomed, accompanied by his sword, which radiated overwhelming light. The entire abandoned right flank of the battlefield heard him.
The fleeing infantry of Bartu couldn’t help but stop to turn back, only to see George standing on the body of a Minotaur, one hand raised high with the Minotaur’s head.
Arrows and magical amber spears rained down on him but broke upon impact, as steadfast as a reef standing against the waves, unmoving. The beastmen surging from the dense forest before him no longer seemed so intimidating.
George didn’t appear as relaxed as he seemed; he endured the pain and held his ground. He understood that at this moment, the soldiers needed a glimmer of hope.
Up in the air, Jima watched this scene and couldn’t help but murmur to herself while propping her chin up, “Oh my, the fool I’ve been looking for is quite handsome.”
A gust of wind rushed from behind, and Jima hurriedly accelerated forward and made a sharp turn as a magically transformed scorpion-tailed lion, more robust than a lion, swept past her, missing its strike. Angered, it roared and pounced down towards the Bartu peasant archers.
Not only was Jima impressed, but this act also boosted morale. Many of the retreating infantry picked up spears or halberds and moved towards the breach.
However, in the next moment, from the wooded hillside came a roar, and dozens of heavily muscled black-eyed great horns beasts emerged from the forest, more terrifyingly followed by a horde of lesser horned beasts, drooling magical war mastiffs racing alongside them.
From above, Jima observed as if a mudslide had burst forth from the forest, rushing toward the breach.
A group of strong great horns beasts screamed as they recklessly charged at George, each one determined to cling to him even in death, momentarily engulfing him, and the glimmer of light faded.
A pack of dogs slipped past George, charging towards the Bartu soldiers, driven by an insatiable hunger for flesh. A calf-sized magical war mastiff leapt and bit down on a resisting soldier’s neck and shoulder, toppling him to the ground, gnawing at him, while the victim’s cries echoed and faded into the beast’s maw.
Behind George, the Bartu deserters, who had finally found the courage, immediately turned to flee, scattering in chaos. Hundreds were chased by fewer than a hundred dogs, and the magical war mastiffs outran knights, continually knocking soldiers down, the wave of panic spreading from the breach to the remaining infantry lines.
“Monsters! Get back!”
Suddenly, a burst of white light erupted from within the mass of great horned beasts, and several of them pressed down on George were blown apart.
George emerged, emanating white light, with a pair of wings made of faint white light sprouting from his back. He planted the banner of the sanctuary on the corpse of the Minotaur beneath him, and the banner fluttered.
George summoned all his strength; the wings formed of light not only looked magnificent but represented the terrifying height of his power. Now, with the Holy Slash, George could strike without delay; every strike could be a Holy Slash.
He shouted, “No one gets through here!”
Just as his voice fell, under the influence of the enchanted sanctuary banner, all beastmen trying to pass by George felt as if their legs were being held down by two hundred-pound men, unable to move.
It was said that this sanctuary banner was stained with the blood of a paladin who before his death did not allow any enemy to step over his ground. In the end, he fell under its banner, but no enemy could live to cross his corpse.
Within a radius of fifty meters, all beastmen were bound by a strict law: either flee or step over George’s corpse.
The beastmen feared George, yet he stood boldly at the breach of the front line. Behind him, a large number of fleeing deserters bled and wailed, creating an irresistible temptation for the beastmen.
“Hiss! Everyone shoulder to shoulder, charge!”
An extraordinary warrior shouted, “Cover me!”
George yelled, “Do you dare to challenge me one-on-one?”
No beast responded.
Five great horned beasts roared together, closing in, axes swinging from the front, back, and sides, all striking at George simultaneously.
George swung his sword forward, its blade radiating white light, burning the retinas of the beastmen. The armor on the great horned beasts and their towering bodies were effortlessly sliced in half, falling to the ground.
He saw an axe coming for his neck from behind; George slightly adjusted, bracing with his sturdy shoulder armor as the axe’s blade clanged against it, sparking. Just as he was about to retaliate.
George then spotted a cunning lesser horned beast darting out from his “blind spot,” or rather an extraordinary warrior, moving as fast as an arrow, semi-transparent, with a short spear whistling towards his underarm.
Unfortunately, George had no blind spots.
With a reverse swing of his sword, he pierced through its chest and with another strike decimated the great horned beasts. With every step, several incomplete corpses fell beside him; no beast could withstand a strike.
Slowly, a heap of beast corpses began to pile beneath George, and then he simply stepped down from the mound and pressed forward to kill.
His sword continuously cleaved through beastmen, from great horned beasts, regular horned beasts to lesser horned beasts, occasionally striking down oblivious Minotaurs.
Gradually, the beastmen before him began to retreat in fear, and George pressed forward to slay.
Sweat dripped from beneath his helmet onto his chest plate as he waved his great sword, the blade enveloping those around him, continuing to butcher the beastmen.
From behind, he could see a trail of beast corpses. But the beastmen before him—primarily the lesser horned beasts—were still numerous, filling the forest; his slaughter felt almost meaningless.
He didn’t know how things were faring behind him; the heaps of corpses blocked his view, preventing him from seeing the front lines on either side. The surrounding beast mountains and sea obscured his sight.
Other fronts might have collapsed as well. George saw several great horned beasts and Minotaurs turn and flee, attacking other lines. With over a hundred magical war mastiffs already deep within the formation, gnawing at the rear ends of the infantry…
How could ordinary soldiers withstand that?
George hesitated to stand on the mound of corpses to see what was happening behind. He feared he would witness the sight of people screaming and fleeing, and know he was powerless.
But George was not someone who liked to avoid problems; he stepped back inch by inch, and the lesser horned beasts dared not advance a step.
“Swish.”
An arrow struck a lesser horned beast in the neck, and before it fell, more arrows flew over George’s head, striking the beast horde. A number of spears appeared behind the corpse mound, and the next figure to emerge surprised George—it was a Bartu speartroop wearing a pot helmet and wielding long spears.
“Kill!”
They shouted. More soldiers appeared behind the pile of corpses, forming a spear wall and pushing forward.
The once overwhelming mass of beasts suddenly faltered.
Terror stemming from the iron-winged, light-clad man who slashed through them, chaos brought by the rain of arrows, and seeing a troop coming to fill the breach left the beasts breathless, and they fled in panic.
This retreat spread rapidly, encompassing all lines, as the invading beast horde retreated.
The lesser horned beasts shoved each other, abandoning their weapons, huddling together in the woods, as arrows continued to rain down on their backs.
When the beast horde retreated, George was shocked to find that the reinforcements were actually the deserters from before.
They were now full of confidence, advancing to slay the enemy, yet fearfully keeping a distance of five to six meters from George. In many eyes, George—covered in blood—was only slightly less terrifying than the beastmen.
As a spearman passed by George, an old face darkened by the sun couldn’t help but look at him, raising his hand to mimic a noble salute, bowing, and then hurriedly turning back.
Only then did George ease his breath; the pent-up tension had dissipated. Each feather on his wings was continuously draining his own magic.
He relaxed his back muscles, and the wings behind him became transparent and even began to fade.
George didn’t fully relax; he was part of the reserve, with the duty to block the breach. Despite the rapid escape of the beastmen on the right, there was still the left flank. He remembered Jima saying that there were still a large number of beastmen in the woods on the left.
If hordes of beastmen surged out of the left forest towards the cavalry, occupying their maneuvering space with their bodies, even breaking through the left flank, then the battle would be lost.
The more George thought about it, the more anxious he became, leaping over the mound of corpses, just in time to see Jima flying towards him.
“George!” Jima landed and ran a few steps, “Ah, you should really thank my curse. I pulled them into a dream, making them constantly remember the nightmare of turning into a roast lamb, scaring them off.”
“How is the situation?”
Jima’s smile faltered, replaced by a sigh, “You need to prepare yourself, George.”
In the distance, four one-eyed giants still stood tall.
George felt anxious; he had used considerable time and magic to manage the battle here. He began to regret spreading his wings of light to boost morale earlier. Though powerful, it was quite draining on his magic reserves.
“The flank held,” Jima said with a smile. “A large number of lesser horned beasts surged from the left, trying to push the cannon fodder to block the cavalry. But in the end, the cannon fodder are just that. I flew in, sang a few songs, and Frostleaf cast a few trivial elemental spells, and they all crumbled.”
“Indeed, you were just trying to scare me.”
“Hehehe.” Jima smiled slyly, “Even the usually composed heroes can lose their composure sometimes.”
George said seriously, “This is not the time for jokes; we are in the middle of a battle.”
Jima glanced at the distant four one-eyed giants, “Still standing; it’s too slow. It’s precisely the knights’ impulsiveness that has prevented the one-eyed giants from falling, putting a lot of pressure on us.”
“You should fly up into the sky, continue scout, and provide support to the frontline at any time.”
“No need,” Jima replied. “I’m not one to make jokes when the situation is dire. Right now, we have the advantage; the Pegasus knights have taken the sky.”
Before she finished speaking, one of the one-eyed giants at the center of the melee toppled to the ground, followed by a second. The black knight jumped onto the head of the third wounded one-eyed giant, stabbing its eye.
With the fall of the fourth one-eyed giant, the outcome of the battle was also sealed—the long-suffering right flank had finally welcomed victory.
The beastman army was in complete rout, and the knights rode their steeds, fiercely reaping the lives of the beastmen.
George was genuinely happy: “We won! Victory belongs to the Bartu people, to humankind.”
Jima squinted, staring at the black knight standing triumphantly on the head of the one-eyed giant, waving his bloodied sword like a hero.
“But the glory of victory does not belong to you or me, you fool.”
