In that instant, the blade flashing with cold light slammed down, crashing into them with brutal force.
A heart-stopping thud rang out as both bodies were driven straight into the ground.
Footsteps pounded again. After steadying himself, the commander sprinted more than ten meters forward.
When he suddenly turned back, the sight before him left him utterly stunned.
A warhorse let out a pained whinny. The knight crouched low, gripping his longsword, its blade already soaked in fresh blood.
Both Claymores in his hands were still skewering two knights who had just tried to flank him.
Clack.
With a downward sweep of the blades, the two corpses slammed heavily onto the ground, dust drifting up around them.
The commander instinctively staggered back several steps, the corner of his eye twitching uncontrollably.
Such power. Such calm while wading through blood.
Were all soldiers of the Carian army monsters?
That moment of hesitation was enough. Nolan, now drenched in blood, turned his gaze sideways, droplets still sliding down his visor.
Without a word, he advanced at a slow, deliberate pace, Claymores held low at either side.
His posture seemed full of openings, yet the invisible pressure rolling off him was suffocating, stirring fear deep in the chest.
Carlos found it hard to breathe. His chest felt as though it were being crushed by a massive stone, and even the thought of running fled his mind entirely.
Nolan moved toward the Cuckoo. There were no flashy techniques, no reckless frenzy.
Yet every step carried an indescribable weight, as if an endless abyss lay ahead of him, while a calm, boundless sea stretched quietly behind.
Carlos's pupils shrank. Acting on instinct, he raised his shield just as the monster closed the distance.
The Dark Moon Knight lifted his blade high and brought it down in a savage strike.
The force of the blow sent Carlos stumbling, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Before he could recover, the creature followed with a flying kick, slamming hard into his body.
Carlos was hurled to the ground in a miserable sprawl.
Nolan did not pursue. One foot pressed down on Carlos's chest as he stopped, lifting his head to look to the right.
Following the monster's gaze, Carlos felt a chill run through him. In the distance, thick black smoke now poured skyward from the once-quiet camp.
The flames were fierce, and faint shouts and barked orders drifted out from within.
Carlos's heart lurched. His pupils trembled violently in shock, as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
"We fell for it. How did you know I'd come?"
"It was a gamble, really. We only had twenty men, and you're someone who craves glory. And the Vice Commander just happened to be killed by me."
"You killed Ingram!?" Carlos cried out.
If he had known, he never would have come. Even Ingram and the Preceptor together had not been enough. Coming alone was nothing short of suicide.
"That's right."
Nolan gave his answer, then brought his Claymore down with practiced ease.
Carlos was dead beyond any doubt.
The surrounding knights and soldiers stood frozen, staring blankly at what had just happened, unable to believe their own eyes.
"Hurry! Hurry up..."
A commander instinctively turned to issue an order, but the moment he moved, a chill crept up his spine.
He jerked his head up and met that demonic gaze head-on.
Nolan had already turned around, staring coldly in their direction. The shout was forced back down his throat.
Amid a sea of crimson, Nolan advanced with light, unhurried steps. The sound of iron boots echoed clearly through the silence.
"Hurry for what?"
Behind Nolan stood a dense mass of Cuckoos, yet not a single one dared step forward.
Morale had long since been shattered by the corpses strewn across the ground. Weapons slipped from trembling hands and clattered down one after another.
This force of more than two hundred men, including dozens of well-trained knights, had either already died or obediently laid down their arms in surrender.
And most of them chose the latter.
Why had they joined the Cuckoo Legion in the first place?
The reason was simple. They didn't want to be bullied, so they chose to become accomplices and bully others instead.
Loyalty?
In the eyes of most Cuckoos, the word "loyalty" wasn't even worth a fart.
When death was closing in, at least a fart might still disgust the enemy. What good was loyalty then?
The knight commander swallowed hard, his throat letting out a low gurgle.
Forcing a fawning smile onto his face, he raised his voice and shouted,
"Surrender now... If you don't want to die, then drop your damn weapons!"
Resistance? Loyalty?
To hell with that.
Carlos had been living comfortably in the main camp, eating and drinking well, yet insisted on dragging them out here to die.
If his own life was going to be thrown away for someone like that, it would be an absolute waste.
With that thought, fear and selfishness completely took over the knight commander's mind.
For a moment, the entire battlefield fell into dead silence.
Contempt appeared on every face. As a knight, this man had utterly forgotten the virtue of sacrifice, and soon after, more people followed his lead and knelt down.
Not long after, Nolan personally led his forces into the Cuckoo camp.
He carried Carlos's blood-soaked head in hand, using the same old method to intimidate the remaining Cuckoos.
When several commanders who tried to resist were beheaded on the spot, many soldiers who had still been hesitating decisively dropped their weapons.
"The Cuckoo treasury?"
After learning where the Cuckoos kept their wealth, Nolan showed clear interest.
"That's right. Those bastards scraped up the blood and sweat of the people of Testu's Island."
Even Latenna, a woman wholly devoted to the future of the Albinaurics, was deeply shaken by what she saw.
She clenched her teeth and cursed,
"These people truly deserve to die! They already hoarded enormous wealth, yet their greed was never satisfied."
"And we even found innocent residents they'd imprisoned here. They're nothing but deranged beasts!"
Of course, not everyone among the Cuckoos was an unforgivable criminal.
If everyone here were dragged out and executed, there would surely be innocents caught in the mix.
But if only every other person were executed, some guilty ones would inevitably slip away.
Now was not the time for a complete reckoning. Still, even among the surrendered prisoners, several ringleaders had to be put to death.
As for the rest, their fate would be decided case by case. But rules had to be established. Caria was a regular army, not a band of bandits.
"Count the grain and the runes. Keep what we need, and distribute the rest to the local residents."
Nolan said this to Hank beside him.
Once a fellow patrolman, Hank was now effectively part of Nolan's inner circle.
During the assault on the Cuckoo camp, he had been one of the commanders.