Knight: Becoming King of the World

This method of slaughter gave him a bad feeling. It was a sensation he felt he had encountered somewhere before...

Henry's eyes were filled with a feral beauty. An almost frenzied expression had crept onto his face in the heat of battle, though he himself was completely unaware of it.

His great-axe and warhammer scythed through the air. Each time they fell and became drenched in blood, they flashed with a scarlet light. He assumed it was merely a reflection from his enemies' blood, unaware that the glow came from the weapons themselves.

Blood flew across the battlefield. With every fallen Inferior Horned Beast soldier, fresh blood splattered onto Henry's armor and vambraces.

The mysterious, artistic, and previously inert patterns seemed to awaken at this moment, as if gaining life from the nourishment of the blood.

They frantically absorbed every drop of blood that splashed onto Henry. The patterns seemed to gain a strange vitality on the battlefield, writhing slowly on his armor, almost imperceptibly. With each drop they consumed, their glow grew brighter.

Henry's fighting style stunned all who saw it. His great-axe and warhammer seemed to be extensions of his own body, and every swing carried an air of unstoppable might.

'It's incomprehensible. How can he keep fighting, swinging such massive weapons in wide, sweeping arcs? How strong is he? Doesn't he ever get tired?'

With every enemy he struck, the scarlet glow seemed to devour their very life force, turning their fear and pain into nourishment for the patterns on his armor.

The Inferior Horned Beast soldiers began to feel a fear unlike any they had ever known. They were no longer facing an ordinary enemy, but a Warrior who seemed to be possessed by some strange power.

'Can it be? Is he not afraid of death either?'

Some of them caught sight of the patterns on Henry's armor and felt a deep unease, as if their very consciousness was about to be overwhelmed.

The patterns seemed to draw strength from the battlefield. Every splash of enemy blood made them more active, more sinister.

Glock witnessed all of this from his high tower, his heart filled with shock and bewilderment.

'I've never seen anyone fight like this,' he thought. He began to wonder what kind of enemy he was truly facing. 'This Henry... is he really just an ordinary human Warrior?'

The battle on the field grew more intense. Under Henry's leadership, his army was like an unstoppable flood, crashing relentlessly against the Inferior Horned Beast's lines.

And Henry himself was the sharpest tip of that flood's spearhead, every strike he made sending tremors through the enemy line.

"Haha, the scent of Chaos..."

As the blood of the Inferior Horned Beast soldiers sprayed through the air, the thick, metallic stench was almost suffocating.

And yet, amid this foul, rust-like stench of blood, Henry keenly "smelled" a familiar scent.

It was a scent he had "smelled" on his own armor and weapons, a scent he had "smelled" in his dreams. It was the scent of Chaos, the scent of battle, the scent of power...

It was the scent of Khorne!

Henry raised his head. His gaze pierced through the teeming ranks of soldiers and the swirling snowflakes, locking onto a point far ahead.

In that direction, there was a lone figure. Though Glock stood high atop a tower, Henry's gaze seemed to pierce through every obstacle to lock directly onto him.

'What's this? Another one like me? No, he's an anomaly!'

The eyes beneath Henry's mask narrowed. 'There can be only one "Divine Chosen" in this world!' Of course, he was joking. Henry didn't think a real Divine Chosen would be so common or so weak.

Glock had been observing the battlefield with cold detachment. He had already learned about the concept of social hierarchy—of high and low stations—from the Southern Barbarians.

'I'm the chieftain, after all. How could I just rashly join the fray?'

But suddenly, he felt a chill shoot up from the soles of his feet straight to his skull. His body began to tremble uncontrollably.

It was an involuntary shudder, a tremor that shook his very soul with terror!

Following that inexplicable sensation, Glock looked toward the tall Warrior whose armor and weapons were so starkly different from everyone else's.

In his field of vision, the figure was just a large, dark speck, yet it felt as if he were the only person in the entire world.

He couldn't make out Henry's face or his expression, but the feeling of being targeted was so intense it was impossible to ignore.

A cruel smile touched the corners of Henry's mouth. He could feel Glock's gaze, and he could feel his fear.

To him, the scent of that fear was like the sweetest spice, stoking the deepest embers of his battle lust.

The scarlet glow on his great-axe and warhammer blazed even more fiercely, as if responding to his will, craving more blood and more battle.

'Huh? Why do I sound like the villain here?'

Standing on the tower, an unprecedented panic surged through Glock.

'He's locked onto me! Can I win?'

He watched Henry move across the battlefield like an unstoppable storm. 'I might have truly met my match... a rival unlike any I've ever faced.'

'Perhaps... my lucky streak ends today...'

'No, this can't be happening! Absolutely not!'

The wind and snow on the battlefield seemed to rage even more violently, but Henry's army ignored nature's fury. They had only one objective: the lives of the Inferior Horned Beasts.

The Inferior Horned Beast soldiers were equipped with fine armor and weapons captured from an Imperial Legion, and they also held an absolute advantage in numbers. But in the face of Henry's army, these advantages seemed meaningless.

Every one of Henry's soldiers was a battle-hardened Warrior. There was no fear in their eyes, only a thirst for battle and an unyielding will to win.

And loyalty!

Among Henry's troops, the most veteran Warriors—those who had survived the longest—had perhaps been tempered by more than a dozen major wars. Their combat skills and experience were far beyond anything the Inferior Horned Beast soldiers could hope to match.

Many Inferior Horned Beasts, thinking, 'I can't beat Henry, but I can surely beat you!', turned their attacks on the soldiers beside him.

The Inferior Horned Beast soldiers engaged in a fierce melee with the infantry of Henry's Personal Guard.

The Inferior Horned Beast soldiers swung their heavy battle-axes and Long Swords with all their might, but when faced with Henry's Personal Guard, they found their attacks were often parried with ease.

'They can block that?!'

The performance of Henry's Senior Infantry was even more awe-inspiring. Their movements were concise and efficient, allowing them to effortlessly find an Inferior Horned Beast's weakness and deliver death.

Even when facing an enemy several times their own number, they kept their formation unbroken and advanced steadily.

Against their shield wall, the attacks of the Inferior Horned Beast soldiers were like waves crashing against a reef—violent, yet unable to inflict any substantial damage.

The blood of the Inferior Horned Beast soldiers stained the snow red as their corpses piled up like mountains. Henry's army moved like a precise war machine, with every maneuver taking the lives of countless foes.

The Inferior Horned Beast soldiers realized their numerical advantage was meaningless before Henry's army. Their every counter-charge was mercilessly repulsed.

RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE...

The earth began to rumble, a tremor that even the thick blanket of snow could not dampen.

Glock could no longer stand idly by. He had to join the battle himself!

Although he had grown accustomed to commanding from the rear, against an opponent like Henry, he had to personally lead his prized Cavalry and attempt to force a breakthrough on the battlefield.

Glock mounted a warhorse he had captured from the Imperial Legion. The steed was tall and powerful, and he was immensely fond of it.

'Feeding these horses is my biggest headache,' he thought. 'Those Southern Barbarians really have it good, having mounts for travel and riding.'

He led the few hundred precious riders under his command. These Inferior Horned Beast horsemen were all elites he had personally selected and trained. They rode equally fine warhorses, armed with spears and shields, ready to make their impact on the battlefield.

To his Inferior Horned Beasts, the Cavalry of the Southern Barbarians were demons. That was why, the moment he captured these horses, he had immediately begun training his own soldiers to ride them.

"Charge with me!" Glock roared, his voice somewhat muffled by the wind and snow.