Your Majesty's money, why don't you engrave my name on it?

“It was my carelessness. When we arrived at the village, I let them spread out and enter. As a result, we were caught off guard when we were ambushed,” the orc said with a wry smile. “If it weren’t for Ed and Siti, I might not be back. I’m willing to take full responsibility. Please don’t blame anyone else.”

Daisy, standing to the side, slapped her forehead helplessly. Although she was happy to share her knowledge of military discipline here, it was nothing short of wishful thinking—it was obvious that the so-called "spreading out" was actually just looting the village for spoils—and this time they had really gotten what they wanted.

But what can be done? They're mercenaries; preventing them from killing and arson is already the limit. If they're not even allowed to take spoils, they'll just mutini. What binds these guys are contracts and gold coins; it's completely impossible to use honor, loyalty, or integrity as bargaining chips.

Even so... is there really an army capable of defeating the Cold Iron Guard? Generally speaking, the combat strength of soldiers in this world increases the further north you go. If you separate East Inassus and East Sea, and disregard the elves in the east, the Ampiri are definitely one of the most powerful forces.

The poet couldn't help but prick up her ears, wanting to know what had happened.

“They outnumber us far,” Ironjaw said, not as an excuse, but as a statement of fact. “They are more than three times as many, and are very well equipped. The vast majority of them are heavily armored, and their weapons are mainly maces, longswords, spears, and crossbows. They are also highly trained. Knights make up about 20% of them, and the rest are infantry. About half of the infantry are priests who can cast spells and use them in battle.”

"The leader was probably a human woman, but she was about my size. The three of us—Ed, Siti, and I—fought her together, but we still lost. She broke my arm with a hard-headed hammer, smashed Ed's bow, and broke Siti's staff. As we retreated, she also threw light arrows. Siti was hit in the abdomen while trying to save me, and Miss Sparkle is currently treating her. In short, we lost about 20% of our soldiers, and more than half of the remaining soldiers were wounded. I wonder how many will survive..."

“That should be a Light Guided Arrow,” Daisy interjected. “A first-circle spell, maybe even a warrior-level one—anyway, I don’t think you deserved to lose.”

The sheer number of people is bad enough, not to mention the spellcasters. Even in a direct confrontation, they would probably only suffer a more respectable defeat.

"Go and get your whip yourself." Raslaw waved his hand. A loss is a loss, and punishment is unavoidable. Just as Ironjaw was about to leave, Felix called out to her, "Wait a minute. You fought their leader. Did you notice who he was?"

Well-equipped and with knights, such a warband is rare in Inathas. The last one with a resounding reputation was the Bonecrusher, but it has already been crushed by Raslaufer.

“This… I really can’t recognize it,” Iron Jaw said with difficulty. “But I did see their emblem clearly; it’s an iron whip made of a string of shackles and chains. Oh, and by the way! Almost all of their right gloves are painted black.”

If it were anything else, Felix and the others were confident that they would definitely recognize it, after all, recognizing insignia is a required course, but this time, they were really stumped: even if they racked their brains, most of the people in the military tent could not think of a warband that could match it - there were quite a few that used chains as insignia, but to paint gloves black...?

However, amidst the hesitation, Leslaufer involuntarily sat up straight: "The Black Hand...could it be—"

He spent some time in Corazonde, where he did join an organization, though it wasn't a warband.

“Those who believe in Bane,” the poet interjected, his tone certain. “Blackhand is definitely one of his followers, one of the three gods of death. I don’t know what you call him here, but in my hometown, the god’s name is Bane, Lord of Conflict, Lord of Darkness—why don’t they come to help Old Ray?”

“He is still Bane in this world,” Angelita said, frowning. “Most faiths have followers in the Empire, but Bane is one of the few who is listed as an evil god, and was even subjected to large-scale purges during the reigns of King John and Henry III. It’s not uncommon for them to support tyrants, but where did they come from?”

It couldn't be her father... The girl's expression darkened at the thought. If that were the case, not only her father, but probably even her brothers...

“More likely Corazond,” Raslaufer said, shifting his gaze from Angelita. “That place has always been chaotic, and I almost believed them myself. But their violence ends with no violence? Tsk, so I left.”

The followers of Bane sought to impose their order on the world, taking drastic measures to ensure their rule was unshakeable and to defeat all opposition. The mercenaries clearly did not agree with this doctrine.

Chapter 623 Doesn't Look Like a King

A heavily armored army stretched across the land, so powerful that even the sunlight seemed to hide behind thick clouds. Bane's Black Hand led his followers across the plains, the radiance of divine magic subtly flowing through the crowd, seemingly binding the entire army into a single entity, even the conscripts interspersed among them.

However, they looked vacant, showing neither desire for victory nor fear of death. Only a whispered voice echoed in their ears, commanding them to obey orders from their superiors.

This endowed them with unparalleled execution and combat skills. Looking across the entire world, there is probably no other way to transform such universally acknowledged cannon fodder into an ironclad army that fights to the death in such a short period of time. Faced with such a solemn and disciplined military appearance, even the mercenaries of Eastern Inasas and the Ampiri, known for their bravery, would feel fear—not to mention that they had just suffered a defeat at the hands of the enemy not long ago.

But this battle was still unavoidable, as it was crucial for both sides. If the king could win, the tide would turn; and if Felix emerged victorious, this war of vassal rebellion against the king might even come to an end.

With this thought in mind, Felix spurred his horse forward, standing at the very front of the column. He raised his whip and pointed it at the warrior opposite him, who, though not on horseback, clearly possessed a different air from the others—Ironjaw had mentioned that this was the leader of these Bane followers.

“Bane’s followers, Black Hand,” the Count said sternly, “King Marseille is tyrannical, and the whole kingdom is filled with resentment. The weight of the crown is too heavy for him to bear! It is unwise of you to come all this way to help this tyrant.”

Just as Felix had expected, the woman did move slightly, but she didn't step forward. She raised her head, glanced at Felix, and then lowered it again: "The hierarchy is strict and orderly. Whether the king is fit for his position is not something a mere earl like you can presume to judge, let alone incite rebellion! Do you think your actions are any better than his?"

"There's no need for any sophistry about prolonging the pain or enduring it now. I'm not the commander-in-chief today. If you're going to try to talk to me, go find someone more suitable."

She's not the commander-in-chief? Felix was slightly taken aback. Several of the kingdom's generals had already fallen, so could it be that Marseille had nominated someone else to take on this responsibility?

Just as Felix was wondering, he saw the opposing army part like a tide, and with a deep tiger's roar, a burly tiger slowly emerged from behind the followers of Bane. On the back of this giant beast, a strong man was riding crookedly.

In this winter season, he wore only a pair of trousers, his bare upper body revealing his bulging muscles. He gripped the two ends of a thick, heavy iron chain tightly, the middle of which was fastened to the mouth of the tiger between his legs. If it weren't for the crown hanging diagonally on the man's messy brown curly hair, no one would have imagined his true identity.

Rather than a king, it might be more accurate to call him a champion gladiator in the arena.

But Felix recognized him immediately. His eyes narrowed, and he coldly scrutinized the burly man, watching the snowflakes fall from the sky onto the tyrant's shoulders, melting into water from the warmth of his body: "Marseille, you don't look like a king at all."

The man riding out on a tiger was none other than King Marseille. Hearing Felix's assessment, he glanced at him and sneered, "What, do you want to be a vassal, Felix? If it weren't for me, the former Earl of Moser would have crushed you to dust. And now you dare to stand here spouting nonsense and criticizing your king!"

The count's knuckles, gripping the whip, turned slightly white: "When you ordered the imposition of heavy taxes and corvée labor, did you ever consider that you are my king?! The crown on your head bestows upon you not only power, but also the obligations that come with it! You—"

“Enough! I have no interest in your nonsense,” Marseille said, waving a hand sharply to interrupt the count, making his expression even more unpleasant. “No matter how much you try to persuade me, even if you surrender now, I will not agree. I have only one request: Where is that double-pay mercenary from Eastern Inassus? Raslaufer, I want to see him alive!”

The king curled his lip in disdain: "Otherwise, I'm afraid he'll die in the chaos of battle, and I won't even be able to recognize his body!"

"Are you afraid that you'll get kicked to death by Lao Lei like a stray dog ​​on the street?"

A discordant voice suddenly rang out from behind Felix. Although he couldn't see anyone, just hearing the voice made Marseille feel a little lightheaded. However, with a cold snort from Bane's Black Hand beside him, he quickly snapped out of it: "Who was that just now? That bard named Daisy? Hmph, your little tricks are useless on the battlefield! Wait for me to—"

"When I kick you to death, I hope you scream miserably."

Felix turned his horse's head, revealing Dople behind him. Reslaufer, clad in the Broken Halberd, had his black flame greatsword planted in the ground as he stood still, supported by his two hands in front of him.

Looking at the crowned figure opposite him, Doble felt hardly any emotion. Compared to Marseille, the followers of Bane, who might have fought alongside him, were far more worthy of his attention. As for this king, who was clearly just an empty shell, hollowed out by wine, women, or something else, the only thing that could catch his eye was his blackened right hand.

"How dare you say that?!" Marseille still held some composure in the face of the poet's sarcasm, but when Leslaufer interrupted him with those words, the king's rage was clearly uncontrollable. Ignoring the raised hand of the black hand beside him, he suddenly tightened the iron chain, and the tiger, in pain, immediately leaped out, running straight to the open ground in front of the two armies. "Come out! You come out here! I'll tear all your empty boasts to shreds right now, as easily as breaking your bones!"

"Duel me, Raslaufer! If you're still a man!" A burst of divine light shone from Marseille's right hand. Although he had only recently accepted Bane's teachings, his spellcasting ability after formal conversion was not to be underestimated, given his years of practice. "Even wild beasts must submit to me, let alone a mere mercenary like you?!"

Chapter 624 Believers or Not

Bane's dark hand twitched, but ultimately she chose to do nothing. In her view, although Raslaufer's equipment was no less sophisticated than theirs, Marseille had been immersed in tyranny for many years, and his recent conversion could be described as a complete transformation.

What defines a believer? At least in Marseille's case, he practiced Bane's teachings, even though he had never known of the existence of this tyrannical god before. He had already earned the rightful qualification.

Raslaw? Putting aside his recent reputation, she only had a slight impression of him. He was just a warrior; how strong could he be?

But just to be on the safe side, she nodded to her subordinate, a steel executive officer, who immediately relayed orders to those around him. In a short while, the sound of weapons striking shields rang out in unison throughout the army. Accompanied by the soldiers' battle shouts, an invisible and intangible force rose from the top of everyone's head, condensing into a vast and terrifying black aura, which finally landed on Marseille's head, as if a somewhat ethereal crown had been placed upon his material crown once more.

In an instant, the surging power filled the king's body in mid-air, making it several times larger. Although he was still shirtless and unarmed, it was as if a pair of invisible steel gauntlets were attached to his hands, a set of solid armor was draped over his body, a transparent shield floated around him, and a cloak emitting red and black mist fluttered behind the king in the wind!

He seemed to have completed a qualitative leap in an instant! Fully armed, like a god of war!

"Shameless!" Angelita muttered angrily under her breath. What happened to the promised duel?! This was his so-called duel?!

She could easily imagine that the tiger this so-called "king" was riding was probably pinned to the ground by countless fully armed men, who would then throw a couple of punches at him to claim victory! What kind of nonsense was that? It was utterly devoid of any honor!

But for Reslaufer, this was not something to be angry about; quite the opposite, it was something to celebrate.

"Very good." Doble's lips curled into a wide smile. He dragged his greatsword and walked towards his opponent, who was now far stronger than Marseille before. His slow pace turned into a sprint, and his sprint into a charge. Marseille even assumed a fighting stance, and Raslaufer's blade was already in front of him!

Marse quickly pulled on the iron chain, and the tiger he was using as a mount immediately pounced on Leslaufer. However, the creature in front of him did not dodge or flinch, letting the tiger's claws strike his shoulder. The greatsword, without hesitation, slashed down on his head. With a clang, the taut iron chain withstood the blow, but the upper half of the tiger's head was still split in two!

“You should at least ride an owl bear.” Raslaw drew his blade back, sparks flying between the blade and the chain, and as he raised his foot, the tiger, with its upper body raised, along with Marse on its back, was kicked backward.

However, the king was not as incompetent as Angelita had imagined. In the instant of losing his balance, Marseille immediately abandoned his dead mount and used its corpse as a shield to close in. With a flick of his wrist, he wrapped the iron chain around his hand and swung his fist, imbued with the divine magic of steel, toward Leslaufer.

In his mind, the most important thing in fighting warriors who wield such massive weapons is to get close; once the distance is created, one will inevitably be at a disadvantage that is difficult to reverse. This idea is not entirely wrong, but Raslaufer is not the kind of warrior that is common, or rather, none of the Dopplers are the kind of common warriors that Marseille has faced.

The moment the king threw his punch, the small hilt of the greatsword struck his wrist from the side. The immense force, accompanied by a tingling sensation, pulled his fist outward. Although he had his other hand and numerous spells to defend himself, this left Reslaufer wide open. The slashes from both sides of the sword surged like a tidal wave, forcing Marseille to create distance. He didn't even dare to put his arm in front of him to block, and could only retreat repeatedly to buy time to adjust his posture.

Spells aren't omnipotent; if he were hit even once by Raslaufer's consecutive strikes, he would inevitably end up with limbs flying everywhere, and Marseille would never dare to gamble on such a probability. However, he wasn't entirely without the power to retaliate.

"In the name of Bane!"

Finally, the king seized an opportunity. With his arms crossed in front of him, a powerful force field shield caused Raslaufer's greatsword to bounce upwards. Taking advantage of this moment, with a roar, scorching black light erupted from his right hand, sweeping outwards and engulfing Raslaufer. The sudden counterattack created a slight opening in Raslaufer's stance. Marseille feinted with his right hand, then immediately delivered a punch to Dople's chest with his left.

Leslaufer dodged it, but he didn't.

The fist that had grazed the edge of the broken swordsman's face and sparked should have landed in empty space, but as if space itself had been briefly distorted, the punch took a strange turn and, as if guided by an invisible force, struck Raslaufer's cheek. Even someone as strong as Raslaufer was momentarily blinded by the punch.

"Bane, grant me power!" Seeing his attack succeed, Marseille roared, raining down punches at Reslauver without fear, meeting the black flame greatsword's blade head-on. But just as Reslauver's sword was about to strike his shoulder, the man placed both hands on the side of the sword, unleashing a burst of power that deflected the heavy blow, leaving only a small white mark on the shield!

"Are you kidding me?!" In Felix's army, the poetess was so shocked by this scene that her eyes almost popped out. "A parry attack?! Don't tell me this is a parry attack! What kind of benevolent king is also a warrior monk?!"

This won't do. Daisy, realizing this, couldn't sit still any longer. She picked up her violin, ready to lend a hand to Raslaufer. After all, Doppler meant much more to them than just being the strongest fighter. Even disregarding the possibility of defeat, the fact that they couldn't take him down for a long time would damage their morale. Perhaps... a "poet's encouragement" could work?

Just as Daisy was about to help, the duel took another turn. Perhaps a brief advantage blinded Marseille, causing him to expose an opening in another punch. Raslaufer rammed him with his shoulder, his hand on his greatsword positioned at the midsection and tip, the guard striking the unsteady Marseille's chest like a pickaxe. No amount of divine magic could stop him from falling to the ground!

Chapter 625 Spell Counter

The black mist still lingered above Marseille's head, but the crown, crafted from gold and jewels, tumbled to the ground with a resounding crash, the only sound drowned out by the king's fall and cry of pain. Raslaufer stomped on his chest, blood seeping from the steel sole of his boot. The once invincible king stared in terror, raising his right arm, unsure whether to retaliate or beg for mercy.

“At least I won’t be too disappointed.” Raslaufer looked down at him, blood slowly spreading across his face. Marseille seemed to see his own death. He opened his mouth to beg, but the mercenary had no intention of giving him the chance. With a struggle of arms, the sword guard embedded in the king’s chest was pulled out and raised high again, ready to end his life in one strike.

However, at that moment, Raslaufer's eyes suddenly sharpened, and he leaped off the king, narrowly avoiding a spear thrusting at him. But this was not the end of the attack. Bane's Black Hand seemed to have anticipated this dodge. He twisted his right arm, which was holding the spear shaft, and forcibly stopped the momentum. At the same time, he raised his left hand with a hard-headed hammer. The hammerhead did not look big, but any blunt weapon of this kind does not need a large tip. A small protrusion is enough to become a deadly weapon as the two parties move.

"Is this the 'order' you call yourself?"

The melody of the mattress, which had been waiting for a moment, began to rise. In Dopler's calm tone, his speed instantly surpassed the limits that even a living being or a warrior could reach, turning into a blur. Before the unsuspecting black hand could react, it was just a blur, and Raslaufer had already dodged her hammer swing, stepping onto the spear shaft while swinging his sword at her.

One sword? Two swords? No! It cannot be measured by quantity at all; it is a frequency that cannot be driven by common sense! The aura around Bane's black hand flickered erratically, like a small boat in a raging storm, at risk of capsizing at any moment, but she could only swing the hammer with all her might with one hand, and did not even have the chance to snatch the spear.

Even at this point, it wasn't until a flash of black and red light sliced ​​off her helmet and a strand of hair along with her scalp that the intense pain made her realize: her opponent was far from reaching their limit!

"You think I don't know what you're up to?" Her icy blue eyes reflected the other person's horror and fear, while the corners of her mouth stretched further and further towards her ears. "Let me see how much you've figured out!"

"Freeze!" A sharp shriek came from Blackhand's mouth, who was already struggling to breathe. However, just as the threads were about to bind Raslaufer's limbs, another, even sharper, piercing sound rang out from Felix's position. Accompanying it were the snapping of the strings and the surging of chaotic magic, which abruptly interrupted the divine spell that Blackhand was willing to endure another blow from Raslaufer's sword to unleash!

You deserve to die!

The heavy hilt of the sword sent her flying backward. Bane's follower stared bloodshot in Daisy's direction—she had always thought it was a trivial matter, but she was wrong!

Two knights rushed out like lightning, trying to pull her and Marseille back into the formation, but as soon as they moved, they saw a silvery-white moonlight soar into the sky, and an emerald green sword blade wrapped in flames of the same luster slashed straight toward the top of Black Hand's head!

"You're the one who deserves to die!" Angelita's clear shout seemed to have a magical power, attracting the attention of most people. So much so that no one even noticed that right beside Verunara, a hand loosened its grip on the saddle and reins. The pink coral rapier, its clanging sound fading, pierced through the abdomen of one of the so-called "Fist of Bane" in an instant, using a skillful force to knock him off his horse.

At the same time, another string on Daisy's harp snapped. The bard coldly watched the opposing army, fiddling with the few remaining strings on her harp—she had to stop this from happening, to stop their delusion of controlling Raslaufer.

If she doesn't stop him, Old Lei will have to do it himself.

"Daisy, what's going on?" Daisy's mattress was a magical item, which wasn't a secret among their friends. So when the Poet went to the trouble of forcibly countering the opponent's spell twice, Poison Wing was the first to notice something was wrong. "Should we help?"

The Five Friends of the Scales also possess similar powers, but unlike Daisy, they might not be able to detect which spell is specifically targeting Leslaufer, which would simply be a waste of magic power.

However, they don't need to worry about that anymore.

As Anne and Mary appeared simultaneously, the enemy army erupted into a frenzy. The so-called duel was no longer necessary. Under the orders of one Iron Executor after another, the cultists, along with the conscripted army, charged towards the three men, Raslaufer and his companion, in the center. Faced with this situation, Felix could not stand idly by. After a fleeting charge, the two armies clashed fiercely.

On one side, they possess an unshakeable iron will and exceptional qualities under the influence of divine magic; on the other side, they are swept up in a winning streak and a thirst for revenge for their previous setbacks. The bloody battle spread like wildfire across the wilderness, and at the same time, real flames will also ignite.

There is also lightning, frost, poison, and strong acid.

"Boom boom boom boom—"

A series of fire rays swept outwards from a red dragonkin, targeting every soldier with a black glove on their right hand. Jinmian's arrogant laughter was particularly jarring on the battlefield, but looking at the surging flames emanating from her gaping maw, anyone who tried to disturb her would have to carefully consider their own strength before doing so.

"Sisters, look at me! All eyes are on me!" Having converted the vast majority of her magic into scorching rays in the shortest time, Ember Crown clasped her hands together and summoned a fan-shaped curtain of fire in front of her. "Who understands? I'm starting to understand Leslaufer, hahahahaha! Burn it all, burn it all!"

"Calm down, Jinmian, you'll burn yourself to a crisp." Shuanghai appeared behind the eldest sister like a ghost, waving her hand and scattering a patch of cold frost, enveloping Jinmian as well. But unlike those enemies who were burned and frozen into ice sculptures the next second, Jinmian broke free almost instantly. The flames in his throat went out, turning into a puff of smoke amidst violent coughing.

"Cough, thank you, cough cough cough..." Jinmian coughed, supporting himself on Shuanghai's shoulder. "Tiamat...did I almost lose control again?"

“You are the closest among us to a true dragon. Unfortunately, the red dragon is also the most powerful dragon species,” Frostskull said, patting her back as he summoned a wall of water to block the incoming arrows. “Don’t worry, we won’t let you become… Raslaufer’s, just like we helped Little Swamp.”

"Ah, speaking of him, I don't seem to see him anywhere. Where did he go?"

"He probably went to see Raslaufer, I guess."

Chapter 626 One Man Forms an Army

The one who broke the halberd was capable of breaking more than just the halberd itself.

With a strike from Raslaufer, the right arm of one of the Bane's Fists who had snatched it into his arms immediately bent in the opposite direction of the joint, causing even these believers to let out a piercing scream. He desperately tried to attack Dople with his other hand, but could get nothing but pain.

But the flesh and blood of this Bane Fist became Raslaufer's sword and shield, blocking countless attacks for Raslaufer and breaking the bones of his fellow believers with his own bones.

"Stop him!"

Reslaufer looked in the direction of the sound and saw a soldier who looked like an officer swinging a halberd at him. His voice seemed to carry an unquestionable authority, which made his comrades next to him move and launch an attack on Reslaufer.

Steel Executives. Raslaw knew their titles; these men, as mid-level members of the Bane Cult, possessed the power to command and control others. Within the ranks of soldiers, this ability made them seem like an impenetrable wall, and breaking through often came at a considerable cost.

But that's someone else. It's an iron plate; what can't it be broken?

The iron gauntlet, clad in shattered armor, swung the black flame greatsword, cleaving through three wolf-tooth arrows fired from the side. The broken feathers bounced off the blade's spine, tracing paths as they landed among the still-steaming corpses around them. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the Iron Executor shifted his stance, thrusting the sharp tip of his halberd forward once more. A thunderous roar echoed across the battlefield, drowning out the footsteps of his six subordinates as they swept through the blood-soaked encirclement.

Beneath the broken halberd, the bulging muscles of his back suddenly tensed, the blood-soaked hilt of his sword making a sticky, muffled sound in his hand. The massive blade suddenly spun backward, tracing a crescent-shaped arc as it slashed at the executioner's abdomen. The sense of impending death sent chills down the man's spine. With a barely perceptible effort to deflect the force, he relayed his command to the surrounding soldiers, drawing six hammerheads that arced towards him from behind Raslaufer, blocking all his escape routes.

However, the greatsword swung nimbly like the stinger of a manticore, its broad back precisely striking the three hard-headed hammers, the remaining force carrying sparks that shattered the eye socket of the hammer-wielding soldier on the right.

The executive officer roared, his halberd trembling. The thunderous power he had just displayed suddenly burst into flames. He seized the opportunity to strike at the back of Raslaufer's neck. He made no attempt to conceal his power. Suddenly, the sole of Dople's boot sank two fingers into the ground. He spun around and slammed the corpse, whose head had been pierced by half, into the flames!

Amidst the rain of blood and countless fragments of flesh that exploded from fragile bodies, Raslaufer, using his weapon half-embedded in the ground, leaped through the air. Taking advantage of the Executor's momentary defensive maneuver, he slashed off two more hammer handles and the fingers attached to them. With a kick away another Bane's fist lunging at him, the flame-shaped blade cleaved through a breastplate; even its unique construction couldn't help its master gather his scattered intestines. Dupler, however, had no time to wait for him to fall to the ground in agony. Grasping the blood-stained middle of the blade once more, the skull at the hilt bit open the throat of the attacker behind him.

One after another, the corpses of warriors—whose wages would never have been below those of Dupler if they had been hired for war—piled up around Reslaufer. As the attacks of the executor and two other clerics of equal rank tore through the air once more, Reslaufer's icy blue eyes seemed to reflect countless mountains of corpses and seas of blood. He grabbed a nearby corpse to block an attack, his greatsword slicing into the skull of the executor on his left, the blood instantly coating his gauntlet with a new layer of patina. With a sudden burst of strength, he flung the corpse like a boulder at the other man. As the man parried, the black-flamed greatsword had already pinned the executor in the middle to the ground!

The last surviving executive officer had just pushed aside the corpse when a fist with protrusions like a heavy hammer came at him again. With a furious roar from Raslaufer, the executive officer was lifted into the air in the next moment, and his heavy armor and halberd were slammed hard onto Dobulle's raised knee!

His tongue licked his lips, stained with some unknown blood and flesh, before Dople casually tossed the severed-backed executor to the ground like trash. His slightly exhausted body still staggered, but he paid no heed. The head, still panting on the ground, was crushed under his foot, and the greatsword returned to his grasp. His eyes scanned the empty surroundings. Not only were there no enemies, but even his own allies dared not approach. On this battlefield of life and death, it seemed as if both sides had reached some tacit understanding, keeping as far away as possible from Reislaufer's location.