A different world game? A different world game!

Thick blood mist rose and swirled in the morning light.

The stench of blood permeated the entire battlefield, and this smell has never dissipated since the war began.

A wind, seemingly from nowhere, gently stirred the blood mist. Bathed in the early morning sunlight, the entire battlefield appeared even more brutal and bloody.

Ironthorn Plain.

Before the rat infestation broke out, this place was not well-known; it was just a name given to it by passersby.

It seems to be named this because some tree branches on this plain are often entwined with a vine called iron thorn. From a distance, under the sunlight, those vines gleam with an iron-like luster, hence the name.

As for what will happen to the name of this battlefield after this battle, no one knows. But there is no doubt that it will be closely linked to this bloody battle.

On the battlefield, the whistling of blades cutting through the air and the muffled thuds of axes clashing were constantly intertwined.

The plains battlefield had now descended into complete chaos.

Perhaps in the early stages of the war, there were some back-and-forth strategic plans, conflicts between military units, and coordination and infiltration between different units.

But now that things have come to this, all of that has lost its meaning.

All that remained was the most primal hacking and slashing, and endless death.

Lak's leather boots sank deep into the blood-soaked mud, perhaps partly due to a light rain a few days earlier.

But when he stepped on it, what came out was something that looked like blood, without a doubt.

But whose blood was it?
No one cares.

The burly man opposite, wearing a horned helmet, was struggling to pull his battle axe out of the shoulder blade of one of his comrades. Rust and bits of flesh clung to the axe blade, leaving streaks of crimson blood.

His so-called comrades were nothing more than the ratmen who fought alongside him.

To this barbarian warrior on the battlefield, the ratmen were nothing more than obstacles to be swept away at will, like pests.

They came to this place following the call of the Blood God, and fighting and killing became their entire life.

Even the ratmen who fight alongside them will be arbitrarily killed if they block their way, as a sacrifice of more blood and death to enhance their own power.

"Bastard!"

Lak strode forward, his scimitar slashing diagonally downwards, the copper bells on the hilt jingling.

The axe-wielder hastily raised his axe to block, sparks flying across the rusty axe blade.

Veins bulged beneath his fang-like neck guard, and a putrid stench wafted out, hitting Lark's face.

Suddenly, a flash of cold light appeared on his left, and Lak quickly ducked and rolled to avoid it. A longsword grazed his scalp, severing the tassel on his leather helmet.

Mud poured into the gaps in the chainmail, and Lark saw a messenger with a broken leg struggling to pierce the enemy's throat with a flagpole.

The golden sparrow embroidered on the flag, soaked in blood, turned an eerie purplish-black, with half a severed finger stuck in its beak.

Lak was not a member of the Night's Watch; he belonged to the kingdom that the banner represented.

The axe-wielder closed in again. Lak grabbed a handful of mud mixed with blood and scum and threw it at the axe-wielder's face, then plunged his scimitar into the gap in the axe-wielder's armor under his arm.

Warm blood gushed out from the slit in the blade, and the axe-wielder staggered and fell, the axe handle crashing to the ground, startling a swarm of blood-sucking greenbottle flies.

However, this was clearly not enough to kill the other party.

Despite his numerous wounds, he had taken countless heads in this battle.

Just as Lak raised his weapon, ready to deliver the final blow, he heard a dull thud of armor clashing behind him. He turned around and saw a young man with a face covered in burn scars plunging a short sword into the eye socket of the fallen man.

Suddenly, the boy's copper-plated wrist guard exploded, and a stray arrow, seemingly from nowhere, pierced his young wrist.

"what!"

The boy let out a scream, and then another arrow flew in, piercing his mouth and exiting from the back of his head.

Seeing this attack, Lak quickly rolled to the ground to dodge, grabbing a corpse as a shield and hiding behind a tree trunk.

The barbarian warrior who had just been rescued got up from the ground, blood still gushing from the wound that had just been stabbed, but he seemed completely unconcerned.

"Roar! A head!"

Shouting strange slogans, he charged at Lak again, axe in hand. Scenes like this were common on the battlefield.

A superhuman howl suddenly erupted from the center of the battlefield.

A heavily armored cavalryman brandished a spiked club, ripping the skulls off several fleeing ratmen, their brains splattering in milky white arcs across the air onto the wreckage of machinery riddled with arrows.

Immediately afterwards, a javelin flew out of nowhere and pierced through the heavily armored barbarian knight, pinning him firmly to the ground.

The warhorse he rode was running wildly and erratically across the battlefield in a panic.

An old soldier clad in scale armor suddenly leaped from the pile of corpses and hooked his rusty scythe into the gap in the leg armor of a light cavalryman.

The two wrestled and rolled into the burning grain cart, where flames instantly engulfed the metal and flesh.

Judging from their attire, it's difficult to tell who they are or which side they belong to.

Fighting on this battlefield are not only the Allied Forces, but also berserkers from various races under the Blood God's command.

Their armor was wildly unrestrained, and they would even pick up weapons and equipment from corpses on the battlefield and use them at will.

Whether they are teammates, allied forces, or ratmen, they are all within their killing range.

Such chaotic situations continued to unfold on the battlefield.

Lark's weapon had become dull for who knows how many times, so he casually tossed it to the ground.

He picked up a thick sword from another corpse and casually swung it a few times.

At this moment, his hands were swollen and red, his tiger's mouth was cracked, and his face was covered with blood.

He felt that he was almost out of energy.

"What a horrible place."

He muttered to himself, then collapsed wearily onto the ground.

Just then, a huge red-skinned wolfhound charged towards him.

"Bastard."

He simply muttered a curse and then silently closed his eyes.

The fighting had left him physically and mentally exhausted. At this moment, the enticing voice from the Blood God sounded to him like the cawing of crows, utterly foolish.

"Shh!"

Suddenly, the sound of a blade cutting through the air rang out.

Hot blood splattered on his face, hotter than any blood he had ever seen before, making him involuntarily open his eyes and reach out to wipe it away.

The wolfhound that had pounced on them was now headless.

"The Night's Watch...don't they get tired?"

He had lost count of how many times he had asked himself this question.

He was rescued by an ordinary Night Watch warrior riding a chocobo.

He had been saved by this Night's Watch warrior multiple times during the battles in this area.

The enemy seems to be fighting tirelessly in this area.

Just then, the sound of horns came from afar. Upon hearing this sound, Lak seemed to instantly regain all his strength and struggled to his feet.

However, the sound of the horn seemed somewhat unusual.

"Isn't it supposed to be a rotation attack?"

Then, a tremor came from behind.

A large number of cavalrymen galloped past him, the whistling wind stinging his face.

He reluctantly sat down again, watching as large numbers of troops who had been resting in the rear were now charging and maneuvering on the battlefield.

"Could it be a full-scale attack?" (End of Chapter)