Knight: Becoming King of the World

This is a just war!

At Henry's command, the army began to advance on the enemy camp in orderly waves, following their designated formations.

The soldiers grew excited. Glory! Glory! Glory!

The silence of the temporary camp was shattered, replaced by the sound of the Warriors' marching feet and the clang of their armor.

The wind was bone-chilling, and the occasional crackle of static set their teeth on edge.

As the army advanced, the storm clouds of war gathered, and Henry and his soldiers were ready for the bloodshed to come.

Unlike Ratifa, Henry did not ride a warhorse this time. He chose to plant his feet on the ground and fight shoulder-to-shoulder with his men.

He had donned his iconic suit of black armor. On the battlefield, it made him look like a killer in the dead of night—mysterious and terrifying.

His helm concealed his face, revealing only a pair of piercing eyes. Two horns jutted out diagonally, making him look far more terrifying than any Inferior Horned Beast.

His armored boots struck the ground with firm, powerful steps, as if he could feel the very pulse of the earth.

His vambraces bore the same complex runes as the rest of his armor, which not only enhanced his defense but also seemed to grant him superhuman strength.

In his hands, a great-axe and a warhammer radiated a cold light.

Both weapons—one from Khorne, the other also from Khorne—belonged to a deity who symbolized war and glory.

The great-axe's edge was incomparably sharp and battle-proven, capable of tearing through the sturdiest shields and armor with ease.

The warhammer, meanwhile, was incredibly heavy; even Henry's practice swings could inflict devastating damage.

Wielding these two weapons, Henry looked like the War God incarnate.

Henry knew full well that he could not afford a single moment of carelessness when facing an elite, sixty-thousand-strong army of well-equipped Inferior Horned Beasts under a competent command.

People die when they are killed.

He had to wear his most protective armor to ensure he could withstand the enemy's attacks in battle.

'What if an enemy gets a lucky shot in?' he thought. 'That would be such a pointless way to go.'

He stood at the very front of the army, his figure like an insurmountable mountain, giving his soldiers confidence and courage.

Watching Henry lead the column, the tension and unease in the hearts of Ratifa's Personal Guard slowly dissipated, replaced by a thirst for battle and victory.

'Perhaps their five thousand men really could defeat the enemy's sixty thousand!'

Ratifa kept glancing at Henry's back, wondering why he hadn't sent the serfs to wear down the enemy first, especially since there were still a thousand of them in his logistics train.

Henry's answer had been that they were responsible for transporting spoils of war, enemy heads, and army supplies.

Though Ratifa didn't understand, she was in no position to give Henry orders.

As Henry's army advanced, the commotion they made grew louder; they made no attempt to hide their movements.

The thundering of hooves, the tramp of soldiers' feet, the clang of armor—these sounds carried far across the open snowfield.

Fortunately, it wasn't snowing today. Otherwise, they could have faced unexpected problems, like getting lost or being caught in a whiteout.

The Inferior Horned Beast army quickly noticed the approaching force. Their initial reaction was surprise, which quickly turned to alertness.

Inferior Horned Beast soldiers began to pour out of their camp. They grabbed their weapons, donned their armor, and swiftly assembled into battle formations.

Their movements were hurried but not chaotic, a testament to their excellent training and combat readiness.

Clearly, they weren't just a randomly assembled force of cannon fodder... No, they weren't merely preparing to defend—they were preparing to attack.

The leader of the Inferior Horned Beast army stood atop a hastily constructed tower, looking down on the battlefield below.

His eyes held a hint of scorn and confusion. He couldn't believe such a small enemy force would dare to attack them.

In his eyes, Henry's army of five thousand was nothing, utterly insignificant compared to his grand army of sixty thousand.

Besides, they had occupied the Snowfield Basin for the better part of a year, and this was the first time an enemy had actively marched here just to be slaughtered.

"Are these guys insane?" the Inferior Horned Beast leader muttered to himself, his eyes filled with contempt.

"Do they think they can defeat us with such small numbers?"

This Inferior Horned Beast leader had no memory of who he used to be. His recollection only went back eight months to when he first appeared in this snowy land.

But in those eight months, he had already fought in more than thirty battles, large and small.

He knew these Southern Barbarians all too well. A paltry five or six thousand men posed no threat whatsoever to his army.

He turned to his second-in-command and issued an order. "We won't sit back and defend. We're going on the attack. I want these arrogant fools to learn what happens when you challenge us Beastmen!"

Indeed, a voice in their memories told them they were Beastmen, but another voice told them they belonged to Chaos.

His second-in-command departed to carry out the order. The Inferior Horned Beast army began to adjust its tactics, preparing to use its overwhelming numbers to utterly crush Henry's army.

A ferocious glint shone in the eyes of the Inferior Horned Beasts. They craved battle and slaughter. They were already fearless, but their enhanced combat power from better weapons and equipment had made them even more terrifying and formidable.

Within the Inferior Horned Beast ranks, some even began to mock Henry's army.

They saw it as a battle with a foregone conclusion, a victory they would seize with ease.

As the two armies closed in on each other, the wind across the Snowfield Basin seemed to sense the impending slaughter. It howled, kicking up flurries of snow as if to warm up for the coming battle... or was it to cool things down?

The Inferior Horned Beast leader watched Henry's army draw ever closer, a ferocious grin spreading across his face.

He raised the battle-axe in his hand, preparing to give the order to charge.

He could see it clearly now: the weapons and armor of these Southern Barbarians were excellent. Once he defeated them and seized their equipment, he could petition that great one for more troops to place under his command!

This Inferior Horned Beast leader, named Glock, was undoubtedly a fortunate one.

He was one of the very few original Warriors who had been present since the Inferior Horned Beasts first appeared, and he was still alive.

Many of his "brothers," those from the first wave of Inferior Horned Beasts, had already died in battle, from disease, or for other unknown reasons.

Glock, however, seemed to have been blessed by some mysterious power. He not only survived but gradually distinguished himself, rising from a simple squad leader to a company commander, then a Thousand-Man Commander, and finally, the leader of this entire Inferior Horned Beast army.

Glock's rise was no accident. He displayed extraordinary courage and tactical genius in battle. His strength and wisdom earned him a great reputation among the Inferior Horned Beasts.

He was not only nearly invincible in battle, but he also demonstrated exceptional talent for administration and organization.

He had forged the Snowfield Basin into his own domain, establishing an effective system of governance that solidified the Inferior Horned Beast army's control over the occupied territory.

As for "that great one," he was a mysterious figure in Glock's mind.

He only knew that this great one possessed a power that could not be looked upon directly, and that he could seemingly summon and command endless armies and the power of Chaos itself.

Glock was both awed by and loyal to this great one. He believed that as long as he remained loyal, he would be granted power and victory.

As for why he needed to obtain power and victory, he didn't know.

"For our tribe!"

The Inferior Horned Beast army let out an earth-shattering roar in response to their leader's call. Under Glock's leadership, they had been invincible.

As for the wave after wave of comrades who had died, no one cared. Inferior Horned Beasts, after all, were as common as stray dogs.

The wind across the Snowfield Basin grew even more violent, as if beating a war drum for the great battle to come.

However, he had no idea that he was about to face an opponent who didn't play by the rules—a fearless Warrior on the battlefield, a true leader.

Henry adjusted his grip on his weapons, then raised his head. His gaze pierced the biting wind, fixed on the enemy camp in the distance.

"Soldiers, follow me!"

Henry's voice boomed like thunder in his soldiers' ears.