Erik didn't have a brilliant tactical plan, he didn't have a tricky formation or a clever explosive trap... he just had raw survival instinct, and a mace.
"With steel, you fat bitch!" Erik roared at the top of his lungs. "Brace the line! Forward! Do not let it break the center!"
The giant polar bear didn't hesitate. It let out another deafening roar that sprayed hot saliva and fresh blood all over the snowy ridge, and then it charged.
As such, the front line of the musketeers thrust their long iron muskets forward, creating a prickly wall of deadly spikes.
The white monster slammed chest-first into the bayonets.
The sharp iron blades easily pierced its thick white fur, but they stopped dead when they hit the dense layer of blubber underneath.
The fat acted like a natural shield. The bear simply swung its massive right paw, smashing into three musketeers at once.
