“Whoosh~ Whoosh~” The guards shot down a few more warhounds, but the beasts were closing in. Franz made a quick decision, ordering the other guards to drop their crossbows and draw their swords and shields, preparing for combat. “Boss, run! We’ll hold them off here!”
“Boss, the horse!” Another guard, Mather, thrust his sword into the belly of a warhound, splitting it in two. The intestines and hot blood of the Chaos warhound splattered across the ground. Oliver, suppressing the urge to vomit, quickly ran toward his horse.
More and more warhounds appeared, along with a beast that resembled a giant boar, covered in tusks, spikes, and coarse fur. Though slower than the warhounds, it barreled through the battlefield, knocking aside any warhounds in its path. It crashed into a guard’s shield, and though the shield didn’t break, the guard’s arm couldn’t withstand the force. With a cry of pain, he fell, and the beast pounced on him.
Falling in the chaos was deadly. Several warhounds immediately leapt on him, tearing chunks of flesh from his body. The remaining guards, Franz and Mather, seeing the beasts distracted by their fallen comrade, quickly retreated. Franz glanced back, noticing Oliver had mounted his horse. Gritting his teeth, he said to Mather, “Quick, let’s get out of here. Forget the supplies!”
“Right!”
The two guards took advantage of the beasts’ distraction, mounted their horses, and silently apologized to their fallen comrade. They turned their horses and prepared to flee.
“Roar!!!” A long howl echoed from the depths of the forest, startling a flock of birds.
“Neigh!!!” The horses panicked, throwing all three riders to the ground.
“Damn it, a beastlord? We’re dead!” Franz spat out a mouthful of mud as he fell, but he had no time to worry about that. He helped the dazed Oliver to his feet, despair in his voice.
“That’s… that’s a Razorgor, a mutated boar. I’ve seen them in the Empire. We’re not getting out of here,” Oliver said, a large bump on his head from the fall. He looked back, but the horses were nowhere to be seen.
Despair. Deep despair. Two-legged humans couldn’t outrun four-legged beasts.
Sure enough, upon hearing the howl, the warhounds and Razorgors stopped their frenzied feeding and turned their attention to the three remaining humans, charging toward them.
“Doot~ Doot~ Doot~” Just as the merchant and his guards prepared for a last stand, the sound of a horn echoed through the forest, deep and commanding. The beasts halted mid-charge, looking around in confusion.
“Boss, it’s the mercenaries! The mercenaries’ horn! We’re saved!” Franz exclaimed excitedly, pulling Oliver back. But the merchant’s expression wasn’t as relieved. He spat, muttering, “Who knows how much those greedy mercenaries will squeeze out of this poor merchant?”
After his complaint, Oliver finally sighed in relief. “Well, surviving is already a blessing from the Lady of Luck.”
From the shadows of the forest, more figures emerged. These creatures looked vaguely human, armed with spears or crude axes, with small horns on their heads. Apart from that, they resembled humans, their muscles bulging as they moved in groups, emerging from the forest. Hearing the horn, they hesitated, not attacking immediately but forming uneven ranks, as if preparing for something.
“Those are Ungors, the common soldiers of the beastmen tribes, also responsible for crafting and repairing weapons,” Oliver gulped. “It seems this is a full beastmen warband. I don’t know how strong this mercenary group is, or we’ll still end up dead here.”
On the other side, a group of mercenaries in mismatched armor emerged from the forest. They carried a banner with a blood-red axe, numbering about fifty or sixty. The leader appeared to be in his thirties, with a muscular build, long blond hair, and a fierce gaze. He wielded a massive axe and wore scale armor, the best-equipped among the mercenaries. Most of the others wore simple leather armor or breastplates, and some even wore only tight linen clothes with patches of animal fur.
“That’s an elite berserker,” Oliver whispered, then forced a smile. “Thank you so much, sir, for saving us.”
“I’m Boris, leader of the Bloodaxe Mercenaries. No time for pleasantries. If your men can still fight, join us! Otherwise, we’re all dead here today!” The mercenary leader had no time for small talk. His expression was grim. Beastmen were humanity’s greatest enemies, and he knew exactly how strong his mercenary group was.
“Uh, right, right. Franz, Mather, follow Captain Boris and fight!” Oliver said, but he subtly gestured to his guards, signaling them not to go all out. The two guards exchanged a glance and nodded, joining the mercenaries’ ranks.
The mercenaries’ weapons were varied—swords and shields, spears, daggers, axes, hammers, bows, and even slingshots. They formed two lines, melee fighters in front and ranged fighters behind. The Ungors, seemingly waiting for something, held the warhounds and Razorgors back.
A slender figure emerged from the mercenaries’ ranks, and Oliver froze when he saw her.
She was a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, tall and graceful, draped in a slightly oversized white fox fur coat. Her lustrous black hair cascaded over her shoulders and back, shimmering as if alive. Beneath the coat, she wore a black leather outfit that accentuated her curvaceous figure, paired with tight leather pants and heavy boots.
The woman exuded an alluring charm, her every movement radiating a mature elegance. Her silver eyes, phoenix-like gaze, high nose bridge, crimson lips, and the beauty mark beneath her lower lip added to her enchanting allure.
But what caught Oliver’s attention wasn’t just her beauty. In her hand, she held a purple staff with a red gem at its tip, glowing with magical energy.
A spellcaster! Oliver felt a surge of relief. With a spellcaster on their side, victory was assured.
“Mr. Boris, attack quickly. I sense Chaos energy—a Herdstone! There’s a Herdstone nearby, and the corrupted hunter is activating it to summon more beastmen!” The female spellcaster didn’t even glance at the imperial merchant. Her tone was cold and commanding. The mercenary leader responded respectfully, “Yes, Lady Trovik.”
“Watch your backs! Beastmen love ambushes and flanking.” With that, the spellcaster began chanting, her body surrounded by a pale blue aura. The mercenary leader wasted no time. He raised his hand and ordered, “Attack!”
“Yes!” The rear ranks of mercenaries fired their bows, while the front lines clashed with the Ungors. Many Ungors fell to the arrows, their formation crumbling. The mercenaries seized the opportunity, charging into the fray. The battlefield erupted in screams and howls.
“Frost Armor!” As the melee began, the spellcaster’s magic took effect. A layer of frost formed on the bodies of the front-line mercenaries. The Ungors’ spears struck the icy armor but were deflected. The mercenaries laughed triumphantly. One mercenary blocked a spear thrust with his shield, then drove his sword into an Ungor’s skull, kicking the beast aside. Another Ungor tried to stab him in the side, but the frost armor deflected the spear. The mercenary even had time to shield-bash a charging Razorgor before turning his sword on the Ungor.
“Come at me!”
Often, the most terrifying thing wasn’t the enemy but fear itself. Magic was an unknown and powerful force. The Ungor, unable to harm the human, let out a howl and fled.
Similar scenes played out across the battlefield. The Ungors scattered in disarray under the mercenaries’ assault. The mercenaries’ morale soared as they chased the fleeing enemies. But the mercenary leader shouted, “Don’t chase them! Don’t go too far!”
The leader’s command was effective. The mercenaries stopped their pursuit. But as they began to withdraw, heavier footsteps and louder roars echoed from the forest. “Roar!!!”
A massive, semi-humanoid creature emerged from the forest. It stood over twice the height of a normal human, wielding a huge axe. Its head bore goat-like horns, and its face was a mix of beast and man. Its hooves stomped the ground, and steam billowed from its nostrils. It disdainfully glanced at the fleeing Ungors, grabbed one, and tore it in half with its bare hands.
The corpse was thrown to the ground, and the Chaos warhounds and Razorgors pounced on it, devouring the flesh in moments.
“It’s a Beastlord! A Beastlord!!! Fall back, regroup!” The mercenary leader’s eyes widened in horror. He raised his axe, preparing for battle.
The mercenaries quickly retreated. One by one, more semi-humanoid creatures emerged from the forest. Though not as tall or muscular as the Beastlord, they still stood over three meters tall. The beastmen sneered as they charged into the battlefield, the ground trembling beneath their hooves.
“Those are Gors, powerful warriors and the main force of the beastmen tribes!” Oliver muttered as he retreated, heading toward the spellcaster. That’s where the crowd was.
At this point, only the spellcaster could give Oliver a sense of security.
The previously triumphant mercenary, having chased the enemy too far, was the slowest to retreat. As he ran, he felt a gust of wind behind him. Turning, he saw the Beastlord charging toward him!
The massive axe swung horizontally. The mercenary raised his shield to block, but the shield shattered instantly. With a scream, he was sent flying several meters before crashing to the ground.
“My arm’s broken! My arm’s broken! Someone help me!” The mercenary’s left arm was severely deformed. He lay on his back, scrambling away as the Beastlord approached with a cruel grin.
Just as it was about to finish him off, the Beastlord sensed danger. It instinctively raised its axe to block.
“Ice Bolt!” a voice cried.
The Beastlord was frozen.
But only for two seconds. With a roar, the Beastlord shattered the ice. It grabbed the struggling mercenary and swung its axe, severing the man’s head in one clean stroke.
The Beastlord held the bloody head aloft, pointing it at the spellcaster surrounded by mercenaries. “Woman… sorceress… destroy!”
“You froze me… I kill you!” The Beastlord ripped the mercenary’s heart from his chest, the organ still weakly beating. It bit off half the heart, blood splattering its face, and chewed contentedly, the scene sending chills down everyone’s spines.
“Roar!!!” The Beastlord’s howl echoed through the forest, shaking the trees and dislodging snow. The fleeing Ungors, hearing their leader’s call, turned and rejoined the battle, pushing the mercenaries back.
Now, thirty to forty Gors stood before the mercenaries. The mercenary leader, Boris, looked grim. “Lady Trovik, please fall back. I’ll hold off these beastmen.”
“We can’t run far. The forest is crawling with beastmen!” The beautiful sorceress gripped her staff tightly. She cast a Mind Blast, a black magical aura spreading across the battlefield. The Gors and Ungors felt a sharp pain in their heads, as if pierced by needles. The beastmen’s assault slowed, but several mercenaries had already fallen to their axes. Boris roared and joined the fray, his great axe cutting down several Ungors.
The mercenary leader’s prowess naturally drew the Beastlord’s attention. “You… fight me!”
Boris tightened his grip on his steel axe and stepped forward. The snow fell on his blond hair and thick beard. As the leader of the mercenaries, he had to answer the Beastlord’s challenge. It was their only hope.
Beastmen were incredibly strong, but they had one weakness: the rule of the strongest. If the leader was killed, the beastmen’s morale would collapse.
“Roar~ Roar~ Roar~~ Kill… man, then… woman!” The Beastlord hacked through a Razorgor blocking its path and gestured for the Gors to move aside. The beastmen warband obeyed, clearing a path.
“Thud~ Thud~ Thud~” The Beastlord charged forward, and Boris strode to meet it, his heavy boots crunching in the snow.
The distance between them closed.
The Beastlord’s crude axe was drenched in blood, while Boris’s steel axe gleamed with a silvery light.
Closer, closer!
“Ahhhh!” Boris swung his axe with all his might.
“Clang!” The sound of steel meeting steel echoed across the battlefield.