Chapter 50: This Is War

There was no time on the battlefield to mourn the fallen. The knights struck their crow shields with their sword hilts, their movements precise and unified, creating a drumbeat-like momentum.  

This display was enough to scare off common bandits and mountain robbers. If the momentum faltered even slightly, cracks would appear.  

But Wade was not afraid of this bluff. Having many people did not necessarily inspire fear. The pressure they exerted on Wade was far less intimidating than that of the silver-rank Viking professional warrior.  

Wade could already imagine what would happen if they met Sven. Sven would definitely lift his greatsword and, like smashing a can, dent those steel armors deeply.  

This elite squad of ten soldiers was enough to handle ordinary iron-rank professionals and even hunt an ice bear, but they were certainly no match for a silver-rank professional.  

Whether by strategy or frontal assault, Wade had defeated Sven. By simple comparison, one could tell who was stronger.  

Therefore, he was fearless, his heart filled with unwavering confidence in victory.  

As four heavy armored knights and two light armored infantrymen surrounded him and steadily closed in, he calmly fired arrows in rapid succession.  

Three arrows, three hits, like the Reaper marking targets. The remaining three archers fell.  

Bardel and Lucas seemed infected by his resolve; they no longer entertained retreat and stood beside Wade.  

Several young men caught sight of the situation here.  

Bardel’s son Avery, and Keo, who had nearly been hit by an ice spike on the head yesterday, stopped running, gritted their teeth, and grabbed the sharp axes and longswords they had taken from the Viking pirates. They shouted and charged back.  

Their hearts raced, faces flushed, veins bulging on their hands. The smell of blood and the splash of red on the snow stirred their emotions, making them forget exhaustion and fear.  

Avery raised his great axe, brimming with courage and fiery determination, and swung fiercely at the knights.  

As a young and strong Tanian, Avery’s physique was no weaker than any cavalryman. He worked on the farm daily and often carried barrels weighing over ten kilograms.  

He might lack skill, but he had reckless strength.  

The heavy axe crashed hard against the knight’s crow shield, causing the knight to stagger backward.  

Avery roared wildly, swinging his axe like a madman.  

But after all, these were elite fully armored knights. Avery’s farmer-like blows were all blocked by the sturdy shields.  

Though their strength seemed comparable, the difference in equipment, quality, and experience was a vast chasm impossible to cross.  

Seizing the gap when Avery attacked, the knight struck with his sword, aided by infantry comrades. Spears and longswords thrust simultaneously from Avery’s front and back.  

“Avery!” Bardel shouted his son’s name.  

His heart skipped a beat as a spear pierced Avery’s abdomen, slipping aside, while the longsword cut through the air.  

In a critical moment, Wade kicked Avery’s rear, rescuing him from the deadly pincer attack.  

Avery clutched his left side, blood flowing out. He collapsed onto the snow, breathing heavily, sweat soaking his forehead, ears faintly ringing with chaotic noise.  

His chest felt like it was about to explode. The spear thrust toward him again. He was like a bass stranded on the riverbank, the sharp spear about to impale him.  

The breath of death finally made him afraid.  

But the black wandering knight stood before him, sword in both hands, the tip angled right, deflecting the infantry’s spear.  

He did something no one expected. A flash of sword light, and he threw the worn iron sword aside. The heavy sword flew like a throwing knife, piercing the infantry’s chest. Another soldier fell.  

“Foolish!”  

A nearby heavy armored knight bellowed. On the battlefield, the most foolish act was to discard one’s weapon.  

The knight charged like a war chariot, convinced Wade was the greatest threat among these Tanians. He raised his greatsword, drawing a semicircular arc.  

Yet this strike was dodged again.  

The knight quickly retracted his force, forcibly bending back the sword’s trajectory.  

Even among the Icelandic Iron Cavalry, few could wield a sword like him. Just as he was about to land a decisive blow, the greatsword slicing down vertically to cleave the man, the man twisted his waist, narrowly slipping past the blade.  

The knight felt he was not facing a man but a ghost-like, intangible monster.  

He had never met such an enemy. Though he looked weak and ragged, as if scavenged from ruins, he seemed to anticipate his moves in advance.  

“Die!”  

The knight roared, unsure if it was anger or fear.  

Before he could launch his second attack, Wade picked up the Viking’s great axe from the snow.  

The iron sword could not pierce plate armor, but the blunt strike of the great axe could penetrate steel.  

He had thrown the iron sword away precisely because he wanted that axe.  

Unlike the rusty spare sword scavenged from the sled, this great axe was the main weapon of a Viking pirate. It was heavy and powerful.  

The moment he gripped the axe, Wade did not feel unfamiliar with it; its heft was somewhat like his usual round-headed mace.  

He had wielded the mace for dozens of days on the wasteland, longer than using a sword.  

He used the great axe like a hammer, no longer using technique to deflect force but clashing head-on with the knight.  

From their earlier encounters, he had roughly gauged their strength and no longer dodged or deflected.  

He smashed the knight’s sword aside with the axe, then mercilessly hammered the knight’s helmet.  

One, two, three heavy blows in succession, the iron helmet deformed, and the knight fell, sinking into the snow.  

Elsewhere, Lucas used his spear to lift the faceplate of another knight.  

Though injured, he was a professional who had stepped into the extraordinary realm. With help relieving some pressure, he had the capability to kill a heavy armored knight.  

The battle turned. Having lost seven men, the phalanx could no longer hold.  

The remaining two cavalrymen and one infantryman were surrounded by Wade, Lucas, Bardel, and Keo.  

Lucas originally wanted to spare one or two prisoners to gather information, but the irrational Keo and anxious Bardel killed all three remaining soldiers.  

This elite squad of soldiers was wiped out in the valley.  

Ten bodies fell, blood staining the snow red. Everything felt unreal.  

The survivors involuntarily looked at the wandering knight, whose own body was stained red with blood.  

After calming themselves for a while, Bardel went to gather the returning villagers, ensuring none were missing.  

Avery’s wife tenderly bandaged her husband’s wounds. Their little daughter cried in fear. The villagers stood dumbfounded outside the valley, not knowing what to do or where to go, just standing there confused and dazed.  

Wade and Lucas arrived at the valley center, where a wooden wheeled cart stood. Beside it lay a bound giant ice bear carcass.  

It seemed the soldiers had been about to load the ice bear onto the cart.  

On the cart was a gnome with his mouth bound by cloth—the eleventh person Wade had seen.  

Only about half a man’s height, the gnome whimpered softly.  

“Are you… Old York?” Lucas recognized the gnome.  

Though it had been a long time, Old York’s Mediterranean-style bald head remained deeply etched in Lucas’s memory.  

Lucas untied the ropes binding the gnome. He was eager to learn what had happened in Alvado, how the Ice King’s soldiers crossed the icy sea to appear inland, and how they conspired with the necromancers.  

Old York coughed a few times, gasped for air, and spat.  

“Damn Icelanders, sooner or later I’ll put a dead rat in their pot!”  

Old York cursed angrily, jumped down from the cart, and kicked a stone hard with his shoe tip.  

But when he saw Wade, he suddenly stumbled and shivered violently.  

Wade thought the gnome might have been frightened by the blood on him.  

“Old York, what exactly happened here?” Lucas asked.  

The gnome frowned, looking at Lucas’s features and the people around him. “Though you saved York, who exactly are you?”  

“It’s me, Grey Claw, Grey Claw Porter.” Lucas pointed to his face.  

He looked travel-worn and hadn’t shaved for a while, appearing rather weathered.  

“Grey Claw?” The gnome patted his butt and stood up, leaning in for a closer look.  

The two stared at each other for a moment before the gnome patted his head.  

“York remembers now, it’s you, the kid who often comes to sell pelts!”  

“Yes, that’s me.” Lucas nodded. “What’s the deal with those soldiers? Did necromancers breach Alvado?”  

“Well… I…”  

Old York tried to say something but ended up sighing deeply, dejected.  

“Come with York, you’ll know soon enough.”  

Old York walked toward the valley exit. Wade followed the gnome. The others exchanged glances and quietly followed outside the valley.  

Once outside, the view opened up.  

They stood on high ground, looking down at Alvado’s streets and red houses.  

Also the Prague River. When Lucas saw the Prague River, he stood dumbfounded.  

That scene clarified Wade’s doubts.  

He finally understood why the river they encountered yesterday in Creek Forest was flowing.  

In the flowing river, the Icelanders’ warships were moored at the river mouth.  

More than a dozen warships lined up vertically. Beside the ships, a war camp had been set up.  

The raven banners rose high, fluttering in the wind. From afar, soldiers could be seen making fires and cooking.  

This was not a rare necromancer invasion or a small elite force crossing the sea.  

This was war.  

They, at this very moment, stood at the beginning of war.  

No, war had already begun before they arrived here.