Knight: Becoming King of the World

But Henry moved faster, his battle-axe crashing down hard on the head of the cavalryman’s warhorse. The animal’s skull buckled under the tremendous force, shattering into pieces in an instant.

The cavalryman was pinned beneath the warhorse’s corpse, unable to move. Henry stomped on his chest. It felt as if there were no ribs, like stepping on mud, and his foot sank right in.

Henry stood amidst the bodies of men and horses, drenched in fresh blood. It felt as if the very sky had turned red...

Henry stood on the blood-soaked battlefield, his breathing heavy. Every breath seemed to draw in strength and expel fatigue.

His muscles tensed in the heat of battle, then relaxed in its aftermath. This cycle filled him with an unprecedented vitality.

His body seemed to have found a rhythm in combat; swinging his battle-axe, clashing with his foes—it all made him feel stronger.

He felt his blood boiling, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest, spurring him on.

His body no longer felt tired. Instead, it grew steadily warmer, as if a hot current was flowing through him, dispelling all fatigue and pain.

Henry no longer cared about the state of the battle, or whether his companions were still fighting. He didn’t even care about the number of enemies.

He only felt his own power surging, and he felt he could take on the entire world alone.

In his eyes, there were only enemies. In his heart, only battle!

A glance at his armor caught his attention. He was drawn to the scratches on it, remembering they were from the Lizardmen’s blows in a previous battle.

But now, he was astonished to see the scratches slowly fading. Beneath the coating of blood, they even seemed to be repairing themselves.

’That old bastard from the Subspace whose power can’t even enter Caladia... his armor can actually self-repair during a fight?’

This discovery made him even more confident. He felt practically invincible.

’At least in Caladia, I am!’

His strength, his armor, and his battle-axe made him the master of the battlefield.

Henry’s battle-axe swung once more as he charged the enemy again. His Bravery on the battlefield was unmatched, but he was not fighting alone.

Vasco and the fifty Legion infantrymen who surrounded him had been fighting without rest. Clad in heavy Legion armor and wielding heavy Obsidian Weapons and imperial steel shields, they had, miraculously, not suffered a single casualty.

In the thick of the fighting, Vasco and the Legion infantrymen displayed astonishing Endurance and combat prowess.

Their eyes were bloodshot and their veins bulged. Neither the attacks of the Heavy Armor Soldiers nor the encirclements of medium-armored troops could penetrate their defensive line.

In their hands, the Obsidian Weapons were no less deadly than when wielded by the towering, powerful Lizardmen. Any enemy their weapons touched would collapse, never to rise again, spilling bright red blood onto the ground.

Henry constantly pushed forward in the battle, while Vasco and the Legion infantrymen followed close behind, their steps firm and their gazes resolute.

Vasco’s performance in battle surprised Henry. He was not only able to direct the Legion infantrymen to effectively disperse the "bugs" that swarmed to harass Henry.

He also remained calm in the heat of battle, adjusting tactics on the fly to ensure their line was not broken.

His combat skills and command ability were on full display in this battle!

’He’s not just some grunt who only knows how to order the Personal Guard on sentry duty, patrols, and message runs!’

Even in the throes of his battle frenzy, Henry noticed the efforts of Vasco and the Legion infantrymen. They had surpassed the limits of ordinary men.

He decided that as soon as the battle was over, he would reward them handsomely.

’After the battle, I’ll give you extra rations! And bonuses! And I’ll take you all into Akakarat City to have a good time!’

The Viscount witnessed all of this from the high ground, his heart a swirl of complex emotions.

He was shocked by Henry’s power and felt admiration for the bravery of the two noble Knights.

But even more, a chill went through him as he contemplated his own impending fate.

’I’m going to lose! We’re going to lose!’

The Viscount’s heart was filled with a heavy premonition. His gaze roamed the battlefield, searching for a sliver of hope.

The outcome of the battle had reached a critical juncture, and his army was on the brink of defeat.

He was not a man prone to pessimism, but the situation before him forced him to face reality.

They had already committed nearly all of their elite troops and core forces in an attempt to gain a decisive advantage on the central front.

The reality was that the enemy’s Alliance Army of nobles was not entirely useless. With so many of them joining the fray, the Anti-Henry Alliance Army was completely unable to expand its advantage on the central front.

The ferocity of the battle surpassed all expectations. Every second, soldiers fell; every second, lives were reaped.

The Viscount watched the infantry squads that had been pulled back from the line. Their numbers were severely depleted, and they had lost the will to fight.

’Soldiers are human. They grow tired, they feel fear, and eventually, they surrender.’

Their courage and strength were constantly being drained in the battle. When that drain reached its limit, their morale would shatter, and their will to fight would vanish!

The Viscount’s heart filled with anxiety. He knew that if this situation continued, his army’s surrender was imminent.

He had to find a way to change the situation, to rally their morale, to stave off this potential defeat.

His gaze returned to the battlefield. He saw Henry and his Legion infantrymen, still fighting, their morale still soaring.

A surge of determination welled up in the Viscount. He knew he had to do something to ignite his soldiers’ fighting spirit and help them rediscover their courage.

He took a deep breath and shouted his command: "All reserves, engage immediately! We must break through on the central front! We must defeat Henry!"

The Viscount’s command was met with silence.

The few Barons beside him remained expressionless, their eyes betraying a profound sense of helplessness.

The Viscount froze. He read the answer in their eyes: they had no reserves left.

The serfs and Auxiliary Soldiers had already been sent to the left and right flanks; they had committed every available fighting man.

The Barons’ silence was a hammer blow, shattering the last vestiges of hope in the Viscount’s heart.

Based on the messenger’s recent report and their own observations, the collapse of the left flank was only a matter of time.

They estimated that the left flank would completely collapse in ten minutes, at most.

Thousands of enemies would pour into the central front like a flood, and their lines would be completely overrun.

Defeat and death were now inevitable. Their courage was spent, their will utterly broken.

The Viscount watched the chaos on the battlefield, watched his soldiers fall one after another, and watched Henry’s family banner whipping in the wind.

But even in this desperate moment, a flicker of defiance remained in the Viscount’s heart.

He refused to simply give up. He refused to accept this fate.

The Viscount drew his sword, his voice ringing with passion, "For the Empire! For honor! We will fight to the last man! We will fight to the end!"

His voice was hoarse, yet it was filled with power and resolve. He spurred his warhorse and charged onto the battlefield, leading his Personal Guard. Only two Knights and five Attendants stayed behind, not joining the charge.

If the Viscount were to die... they would need to return to his fiefdom quickly and install his eldest son as the new Viscount to inherit the title and lands. As for what would happen after that—whether they would flee or remain—that would be left to fate.

The Viscount’s figure looked so solitary on the battlefield. This battle might be recorded as a defeat, but the Bravery of the Viscount and his soldiers would be remembered by posterity.