Deep into the night, all the knights inside the fortress are fast asleep.
Suddenly, Henwell leaps out of bed with a fierce shout, “Enemy attack! Everyone, prepare for battle!”
As he speaks, Henwell quickly straps on his armor, expertly fastening each piece.
Just as he finishes gearing up, a chilling scream pierces the night, it belongs to one of the night watch knights.
At the sa ti, a strange sound weaves through the wind.
Henwell recognizes it imdiately; it’s the distinctive cry of the Fury Spirit.
The situation is clear now. The Fury Spirit has found them, just one day before they’re set to leave the grasslands.
Despite the urgency, Henwell remains calm and finishes donning his full gear.
Gripping his war spear, he smashes through a window and leaps from the fortress’s third floor.
Landing outside, he calls out to the knights rushing out in light armor and swords, “I’ll hold them off for a while. You fall back! Secure the main gate and get everyone armored up! It’s a Fury Spirit, prepare the protective charms!”
With that, Henwell vaults over the wall into the outer fortress grounds.
Outside the gate, the sentries have already been killed.
Thanks to the fortress’s gradually lighting lamps, Henwell gets his first clear look at the Fury Spirit.
Just as he sensed before, the Fury Spirit stands about two and a half ters tall, much larger than Henwell.
Its body is covered in a grayish-brown hard shell, dull and worn, with a rough surface.
It has no distinct facial features, or rather, not in the usual sense.
On its face is a fist-sized marking that glows with a pale gray-white light.
From a distance, it looks like a single glaring eye.
Henwell misjudges two things.
First, the Fury Spirit’s palms resemble human hands but are larger, tipped with sharp nails.
These nails asure about two inches—sharp and tough enough to easily tear through armor and rip open a person’s abdon.
More importantly, the Fury Spirits aren’t unard; they wield various weapons.
Most carry long swords or blades, while so hold shields and spears.
Their weapons share the sa gray, bone-like material as their bodies but shimr faintly with a dull tallic sheen.
The second thing Henwell gets wrong is how the Fury Spirits appear.
Contrary to his expectations, they don’t erge from underground or descend from above.
Instead, they manifest in a bizarre way, slowly projecting into reality.
At first, the Fury Spirit appears as a shadowy figure, then sharpens into a clear image.
Gradually, the image gains depth, becoming like a 3D projection.
Only then does the Fury Spirit’s body begin to solidify, fully arriving into the real world.
It’s as if the Fury Spirits are sealed within another dinsion, desperately breaking through an invisible barrier to enter reality.
When they struggle to break free, the friction against that illusory space creates the strange sounds Henwell hears.
The Fury Spirits themselves make no noise, but the glowing, single-eye-like mark on their faces radiates a deadly aura.
Old Candle was right, these Fury Spirits harbor an intense desire to destroy life, especially living humans.
Henwell barely lands after jumping over the wall when several Fury Spirits rush at him, weapons raised.
Cautious, Henwell holds back from attacking outright, instead sweeping his war spear horizontally to keep them at bay.
The Fury Spirit in front swings its longsword down, striking the spear’s head.
Henwell pushes down hard with his left hand at the spear’s end, and with a sharp upward flick, the spear’s blade knocks the enemy’s weapon aside.
Then, driving the spear’s edge through the Fury Spirit’s armor with trendous force, he slices its head cleanly in two from bottom to top.
Next, Henwell swings the spear like a giant serpent swimming through water, sweeping wildly to both sides.
He knocks aside the weapons of two more Fury Spirits and shatters their skulls with brutal strikes.
The three Fury Spirits, their heads severely damaged, collapse like grains of sand and dissolve into nothingness.
Suddenly, the spear shatters as Henwell cleaves off one Fury Spirit’s arm, but it shows no sign of pain.
Without its right arm and weapon, the Fury Spirit lashes out with its left claw, lunging at Henwell.
Henwell sweeps the war spear horizontally again, slicing the creature in two below the chest.
Yet the severed half still crawls forward on one hand in a grotesque, unnatural way, chasing after Henwell.
It’s not a sight to laugh at—only one that chills the blood.
Only after Henwell smashes its skull with the spear does the mutilated Fury Spirit finally vanish completely.
After dealing with that Fury Spirit, Henwell thrusts his war spear forward, piercing the head of another charging Fury Spirit with precision.
He raises his spear and charges ahead, launching attacks against the two closest Fury Spirits.
After a few tests, Henwell discovers their weak spot, the single “eye” pattern on their faces.
As long as that mark is shattered, the Fury Spirit dissipates instantly.
Otherwise, even if half their head is sliced off but the pattern remains intact, they keep fighting without much hindrance.
Next, Henwell plants his war spear into the ground, draws his Dusk Greatsword, and suddenly accelerates into the midst of the Fury Spirits.
His swordsmanship is born from brutal battlefield experience, though to an untrained eye it might seem ordinary.
Only masters can appreciate the deadly elegance hidden in his straightforward style.
Henwell’s longsword flashes as he battles the Fury Spirits.
After two minutes, he has only slain four.
Then, his speed and strength surge dramatically, and in an instant, he cuts down seven or eight more.
Soon after, he pulls out his Dawn Greatsword, wielding both blades as they dance through the Fury Spirit ranks.
In a single sweep, he annihilates over twenty of them.
Henwell then fights while retreating, keeping only his front exposed to the enemy.
From this trial, he roughly gauges the Fury Spirits’ combat strength.
They’re a bit stronger than elite soldiers but weaker than knights.
In simple terms, their power matches that of knight attendants.
Knights in his squad are carefully selected elites who can easily handle a dozen Fury Spirits.
Battle Knights can face nearly a hundred Fury Spirits without much danger.
Grand Knights handle them with even greater ease.
This realization makes Henwell frown, not because the Fury Spirits are weak.
On the contrary, their strength far exceeds his estimates.
Though the two groups combined have over 130 knights, including ten Battle Knights, the Fury Spirits’ numbers are overwhelming.
Looking at the gradually solidifying Fury Spirits around him, Henwell roughly estimates there are at least two thousand.
Quantity breeds quality.
Over two thousand fearless elite fighters will pose imnse pressure on just over a hundred knights.
Not to ntion the two thousands of knight attendants.
And it seems they’re endless.
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