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Chapter – 35
“What do you mean by that? More than a hundred of them?”
“Exactly what I said.”
Karlaile answered Kudo’s question without opening his eyes.
“I can sense them — their presence. Roughly a hundred or so.”
Grimungandr truly lived up to its name as the successor blade of the Chaos King, Cain.
It had not only detected the killing intent of the approaching barbarians but had also estimated their numbers with unsettling precision.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Karlaile nodded.
“The distance — how far are they?”
“Still a ways off, but they’ll be close soon. Maybe five to ten minutes?”
To Karlaile’s senses, the barbarians were slowly tightening their encirclement of Bowden Fortress.
They were likely eliminating the outlying sentries first — preparing to crash down like a tidal wave once the perimeter was clear.
“Then we move, now. There’s no time to waste.”
“Right.”
Kudo grabbed Karlaile by the arm.
If what Karlaile said was true, then this was an emergency — an attack that could mean annihilation.
The fortress held barely seventy men, and if more than a hundred barbarians were attacking, they might be wiped out to the last.
“I’ll wake the scouts. You go to Lady Helen and report this.”
“Understood.”
Following Kudo’s orders, Karlaile sprinted toward Helen’s quarters — a room that doubled as her office.
CRASH!
The door shattered open before he could even knock.
Helen wasn’t asleep.
She sat at a worn, rough-hewn desk, scribbling something on parchment — likely working through administrative duties as any commander would.
“So, you’ve finally shown your true colors, Karlaile von Sigmund.”
Helen snatched the sword leaning beside her desk, snarling.
“You wretched beast. No matter how much you’re tempted, how could you—”
“That’s not it.”
Karlaile cut her off.
“What kind of lunatic would assault his own commander?”
“With you, it wouldn’t be too hard to imag—”
“We’re under attack.”
“…What?”
“Exactly what I said. The enemy is approaching.”
“And how would you know that?”
“This.”
Karlaile held up Grimungandr.
“As you know, it’s one of my successor blade’s unique powers.”
“Ah!”
“There’s no time.”
Karlaile closed his eyes again, listening to the whispering voice of Grimungandr.
“They’re closing in. At this rate, we’ll be surrounded and crushed.”
“Understood.”
Helen rose to her feet in an instant.
“I’ll take your sword’s word for it.”
“Suit yourself.”
Karlaile didn’t care whether she trusted him or his sword.
All that mattered was that she was moving.
“Everyone, quietly and quickly — prepare for attack!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Helen roused the scouts and engineers alike, barking orders to ready for battle.
‘So this is it — a real war.’
Watching the fortress stir into motion, Karlaile finally felt it: he was truly on a battlefield.
This was Kuberin — the blood-soaked land, where countless skirmishes erupted every single day among the countless forts scattered across its wild forests.
“Karlaile, Private.”
“Yes, Lady Helen.”
“How close are they now?”
“Let me check.”
He gripped Grimungandr and focused.
The sword’s detection ability relayed detailed information about the enemies’ movements and distance.
“Still about two hundred meters out.”
“Their speed?”
“Slow.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Hold on.”
Karlaile pulled out his pocket watch, did a quick calculation based on their pace, and replied.
“At least ten minutes, maybe more.”
“Good.”
Helen nodded, then shouted,
“All units! Ready yourselves for combat!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The soldiers scrambled, drawing spears and bows to face the impending assault.
“Hm.”
Karlaile, without orders, stood aside for a moment — frowning.
‘Can we really hold?’
Bowden was a small outpost with nothing but wooden palisades — hardly defensible.
The gate was just a wall of interlocked logs, easy to break down.
And with twice their number bearing down on them…
‘The gate will fall for sure. Once they breach… can the scouts hold them?’
Most of the garrison were engineers — not fighters. Even with Helen and her scouts fighting valiantly, it would be brutal.
‘There has to be a way… ah.’
An idea struck him.
“Helen.”
“What is it?”
“Traps.”
“Traps?”
“Let’s lay mana-stone traps at the gate.”
“…!”
“There’s still time. We might just pull it off.”
“You mean to lure them in?”
“Not lure — we’ll just use the fact that they’ll break through anyway.”
“Your sword tells you that too?”
“There are too many of them. It’s obvious.”
“…Fine. We’ll try it your way.”
Helen, to her credit, wasn’t a narrow-minded commander. She accepted his improvised tactic without hesitation.
“Engineering Third Squad! Bring the mana traps from the depot — plant them at the gate!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The engineers ran off and began setting traps along the fortress entrance.
“How long?”
“About a minute left.”
Karlaile replied without hesitation.
He could feel it — the enemies were speeding up. Their killing intent flared like wildfire as they began a full charge.
He didn’t tremble. He wasn’t afraid.
‘Fine. Even if I die here, I’ll take a few down with me — just like you wanted, Father.’
He sneered inwardly at his father, Grand Duke Guntram, who had sent him to this forsaken place, and gripped Grimungandr tighter.
“VALHALLAAAAA—!!!”
The barbarian warcry thundered across the night.
They called upon Valhalla, their afterlife — the heaven reserved only for warriors who died in battle.
To them, dying in combat was the highest honor, the noblest death imaginable.
And so, every battle began with that sacred cry:
“Kill them all! Leave none alive! Valhalla!”
Bjornsen, the hundred-man leader of the Butcher Tribe, roared as he charged toward the fortress.
“VALHALLAAAAA!”
A hundred warriors followed close behind him.
SWOOSH!
A volley of arrows rained down to greet them.
“Fools.”
THUNK!
Bjornsen deflected the arrows with his shield, smirking.
“Not bad, but did you really think a pile of rotten logs could stop us? Grokan! Open the way!”
“Yes, sir!”
Grokan was a massive barbarian warrior.
“Oh spirits of our mighty, savage ancestors!”
He began to chant — invoking his ancestral descent, a racial ability unique to barbarian warriors.
Through the tattoos carved by their shamans, they could call upon the power of their forefathers and embody their ferocity.
“I, Grokan, son of Kardu, call upon the strength to shatter the enemy’s gate—!”
As he chanted, his body grew and grew — swelling to nearly the size of an ogre.
Considering that ogres stood three meters tall and weighed half a ton, Grokan’s transformation defied human limits.
“Hrrrgh!”
He inhaled sharply — then charged.
THUD THUD THUD!
The ground trembled with every step.
TING! TING!
Arrows clattered harmlessly off his hide.
Nothing could stop him now.
In an instant, he reached the gate — and bellowed:
“VALHALLAAAAAA—!!!”
KRAAASH!
The wooden gate exploded.
Grokan didn’t stop; his momentum carried him forward until he slammed into a stone building inside, bringing it down with him.
“Brave warriors of the Butcher Tribe! The gate is open! Charge!”
“VALHALLAAAAA!”
Bjornsen’s cry was echoed by a hundred more as they surged into the fortress.
BOOM!
CRASH!
“Damn…”
Karlaile muttered as he watched the wall crumble.
Not only had the gate been shattered, but even the stone building inside had collapsed.
‘So that’s the power of Siege Breaker?’
He knew exactly what skill Grokan had used — Siege Breaker, a technique available to three-mark warriors.
During its activation, the user became unstoppable — immune to knockback, stun, or blindness — essentially a living battering ram.
Its flaws were obvious: you couldn’t turn while charging, and you’d be stunned for a few seconds after impact. But even so…
“I’ll take care of him!”
Kudo shouted and leapt at the stunned Grokan.
He must have known the ability’s weakness too.
‘Good. He’s got this.’
Karlaile turned his gaze to the gate.
The roar of barbarians was drawing closer.
“All units, to positions!”
“To positions!”
At Helen’s command, the soldiers fell back slightly, forming a fan-shaped formation behind the gate.
‘Three… two… one.’
The barbarians poured through the shattered entrance—
Karlaile’s lips curved into a cold smile.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The mana traps erupted, swallowing the front ranks of the invaders in fire.
The aftermath was gruesome.
“AAAAAAAARGH!”
“My leg! My legggg!”
Limbs and torsos flew. The air was filled with screams and the stench of blood.
Helen seized the moment.
“Now!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The soldiers speared or shot any barbarian still writhing from the explosions.
But even then, the enemy didn’t falter.
“An honorable death!”
“VALHALLAAAA!”
They knew the entrance was trapped, yet still they charged — seeking glorious death in battle.
And when the last of the mana traps had detonated—
‘This is…’
Ssshhh—
The bracelet on Karlaile’s wrist, Whisper of the Earth, began to glow faintly.
