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In the recent charge, Alvin had swung his longsword, unseating two n, but he quickly found himself surrounded. His strength was far greater than that of the other knights, and his armor was exceptionally powerful, allowing him to hold out until now. However, he seed to see the battle's decline.
Could he really not defeat those commoners?
This was an insult to Alvin, and he urgently wanted to find a way to change the situation. Naturally, he noticed one man who stood out among the soldiers in standard gear—their leader.
Fighting without a helt, huh? You're the one!
Alvin swung his sword and raised his shield, pushing back the surrounding soldiers. He then spurred his horse toward Lance, hoping to kill the leader and seize the flag to reverse the tide of battle.
"I am a Bastia Knight!" Alvin's charge was impeccable, his longsword pointing straight at Lance.
Lance, who was distracted with healing the horses, was sowhat baffled to see a knight suddenly shouting and charging at him. He swung his hamr casually.
Alvin wanted to raise his shield to block and then connect with a beautiful slash...
But before he could think further, a massive force struck him. He felt an inexplicable sense of weightlessness, only realizing what had happened when he slamd hard onto the ground.
Lance didn't even bother to look at him, his attention fixed on the warhorse between Alvin's legs, clearly delighted.
"How co you're riding my horse?" Saying so, he went up and led the horse away directly.
If Alvin knew Lance cared more about the horse than him, he probably would have coughed up blood on the spot. His armor was truly impressive. Though his shield shattered and his breastplate was dented and deford from the hamr blow, it had saved his life.
When he climbed up from the ground and realized his horse was gone, anger surged through him, and he let out an enraged roar.
"My horse!!!"
At this mont, he could not care for anything else, because soldiers were surrounding him. All he could do was raise a cry and throw himself into the fray.
"Bastia will never fall!"
His identity was still important; that shout rekindled the will to stubbornly resist in the struggling Bastia Knights. They were knights; how could they be defeated by re soldiers?
"Bastia will never fall!"
The rallying cries continued, one after another, and the knights' resistance intensified for a mont.
But Lance didn't care. He continued moving across the battlefield, gathering and treating the horses, his calm deanor turning their desperate struggles into a joke. He would have preferred the knights to resist even more fiercely; only the fiercest flas could forge the finest blades.
But soone cared!
The Baron saw Alvin knocked off his horse by a hamr blow and, in a panic, rushed to rid himself of the troubleso soldiers to go to Alvin's aid. He was called Master not just as a hollow title, but as a true testant to his strength. Not one soldier could stop him. They were cut down with every clash of sword and saber. No wonder he was confident that a re thirty knights could take down Warwolf. His strength was not to be underestimated.
Swinging his longsword to deflect sabers, he slashed at the neck of his foe in an instant—if it hit, it would decapitate them on the spot, with no chance of salvation, not even from Death himself.
But at that mont, another longsword blocked the blade, and the two swords collided, throwing sparks.
"Your opponent is ." Reynard charged forth on his horse, his Champion's Proof slashing at the Baron.
With just one exchange, the Baron was surprised to find such a skilled fighter in this small place—it was no wonder those Barbarians had not launched a strong attack. But it wasn't enough to stop him. He was a veteran of countless battles, a man who had fought his way out from the piles of dead in the war against the Barbarians. The Baron's grip on his longsword tightened, his lethal maneuvers sothing an ordinary soldier couldn't withstand for long.
However, Reynard was no ordinary man either; surviving the holy wars was proof enough of his strength. Although his abilities had declined due to severe old injuries, with Lance's assistance, his condition was recovering. Not to ntion, he was wearing the Sunlight Ring on his hand. It was sunrise, and even clad in armor, he could feel the power of the sun coursing through his body.
Both were masters of swordsmanship, but in a battle this intense, the outco could be influenced by the slightest difference. He could tell that his opponent's weapon was extraordinary. This was the confidence of the Nobility. If Reynard had been holding an ordinary Longsword, he wouldn't dare to clash head-on like this. But fortunately, the Champion's Proof in his hand was no ordinary item either. With every strike, the Longswords emitted a buzzing sound, not a wail—but a cry of excitent!
The battle between the two intensified, but Reynard began to show signs of faltering. Since both were on horseback, the power of their mounts was the source of their strength, and all their force was also borne by the warhorses. However, the Warwolf Reynard rode was rely an ordinary one. It could handle common battles, but when faced with a strong opponent, the disparity beca apparent. His strength and weapon were no worse than his opponent's, but his warhorse was weaker, causing him to struggle.
Is this a battle of strength? Perhaps what's really being contested are resources.
After an exchange, Reynard suddenly moved, slashing his sword toward the Baron's warhorse. The Baron naturally guessed Reynard's intention, raising his Shield in defense while swinging his Longsword.
But this was exactly Reynard's plan. No one expected him to suddenly spur his warhorse into a collision. Completely disregarding his own safety, he used his heavy shoulder pauldron to block the sword strike. Simultaneously, as his own warhorse was sacrificed in the collision, he launched himself at the Baron, knocking him from his mount.
Upon landing, they both rolled to create distance. But the next second, as they stood up, they charged and collided once more. The Longswords clashed and slid past each other, showering sparks, but in a blink of an eye, both Longswords were locked at the crossguards, shaking slightly under the mutual straining pressure, neither willing to give an inch. They were so close, each could see the other's eyes through their visors.
How could the Baron not guess Reynard's intention? Reynard wanted to drag him off his horse, thereby neutralizing the disadvantage of his own inferior mount.
But you're mistaken… it was my warhorse restraining my strength! My swordsmanship remains sharp as ever!
It seed as if their eyes communicated for a mont, but neither spoke, for in the next second they both pushed off with force, moving back simultaneously. Yet it was not a cease-fire, but the prelude to an even more ferocious battle.
And sure enough, they clashed again. The speed and strength the Baron now displayed on solid ground showed his earlier claim wasn't arrogance—indeed, his warhorse had been restraining him.
Reynard naturally felt the enemy's strength surge. Could it be that bathed in sunlight, I was weaker than him?
The Longswords thundered in their collision. In this mont, Reynard showed strength in no way inferior to his foe, just as he had surmised.
Do you really think you can overpower ? It was just your horse overpowering mine. Free from the disadvantage of my warhorse, I, Reynard, am second to none!
The Baron now had no ti for distractions. His Shield had been knocked away when he fell from his horse. With only a Longsword in hand, he had to devote his full attention to this opponent, as the slightest lapse could be fatal. And Reynard, on his campaign to the east, had learned with his life that the best defense was to ensure the enemy died first; thus, he preferred wielding his sword with both hands to unleash stronger attacks.
In the midst of battle, there's no ti for fancy tricks, no narrated shocks, no calling out Abilities. Real combat is nothing but violent physical clashes and the sharp ring of clashing weapons.
The intense confrontation reached a tacit pause. They could sense each other panting beneath their helts, their bodies relaxing in a slightly unnatural way. This was a sign of extre fatigue. Clearly, the previous outburst was an overwhelming exertion for both of them. Not everyone possessed Lance's extraordinary physique or tireless Ability. The human body has its limits, even for those blessed with Supernatural Power.
But a more significant reason was that the Bastia Knights had lost...
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