Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story! Thank you! Pat**on : CaveLeather
Before the word even finished echoing, Don Quixote spurred his horse forward.
His enhanced perception, sharpened after his Spirit broke through the bottleneck, allowed him to clearly catch every tiny movement Theodore made.
The trajectory of his swinging blade, the twist of his wrist, the stride of the warhorse beneath him—even the rhythm of his breathing and the unnatural shifts in his gaze.
At the same time.
The longsword in his hand no longer felt like a weapon, but more like an extension of his own body.
Even within the confined space of horseback combat, Don Quixote's sword strikes flowed with complete freedom.
For a moment.
Theodore was struck by a bizarre illusion.
It felt as if he weren't fighting a one-on-one duel, but facing off against multiple opponents at once.
One moment, a strike would come whipping in from a completely unorthodox angle, making Theodore's pupils shrink as he frantically scrambled to block it!
The next, a straightforward, driving thrust would come straight for his face, forcing him to hastily bring his blade up to parry again.
Clang——!
The deafening crash of metal on metal sent a jolt of agonizing pain through the webbing between his thumb and index finger.
A massive force, far beyond anything he could have imagined, traveled down the blade, making his entire body tremble and forcing him to lean backward just to keep his balance.
He stared at Don Quixote in terror.
This young man looked lean, yet his strength was downright terrifying.
That kind of power simply wasn't something an ordinary knight could possess!
Theodore roared:
"Who the hell are you?!"
Almost simultaneously, Theodore swung his iron blade out once more.
The blade cut through the air with a vicious howl, aimed straight at Don Quixote's head.
Don Quixote leaned backward, his body practically flat against his horse's back.
The curved blade whistled past just inches above him.
In that split second, Don Quixote flicked his wrist. The longsword darted out like a striking viper, landing a perfectly aimed thrust.
The strike was so fast it was nothing but a flash of cold steel, aimed directly at the side of Theodore's throat.
Theodore panicked and threw himself out of the way.
The longsword scraped past his left ear, taking a chunk of flesh with it.
The agonizing pain instantly covered Theodore in a cold sweat.
It was only then that Theodore belatedly realized that this young man who had suddenly appeared was far, far stronger than he was!
Without a second to check his surroundings, Theodore instinctively screamed at the top of his lungs:
"Fuck! Someone get over here! Help me kill him!"
Every one of Don Quixote's strikes was precise and ruthless.
His strength was immense, and his attacks came in a relentless flurry!
Theodore was completely suppressed, barely managing to throw up sloppy defenses. It wasn't long before he didn't even have room to counterattack.
Seeing that no one was coming over to help him jump Don Quixote...
Theodore fell into a blind panic, frantically darting his eyes around to assess the situation.
He saw that the men he had brought with him had already charged deep into Cerwyn Market.
They were completely focused on looting; none of them had even noticed the life-or-death struggle happening over here.
Or maybe some of them had, but simply didn't want to abandon the golden opportunity to plunder just to come help him.
"Bunch of bastards!"
Theodore cursed under his breath, preparing to turn tail and run.
Right at that moment.
Don Quixote's figure suddenly ballooned in his vision.
Following closely behind was a flash of cold steel reflecting in his eyes.
Don Quixote thrust his longsword forward.
"Gah——!"
Unable to react in time, Theodore let out a muffled groan. His vision went black, and his breath instantly stopped.
Theodore's lifeless body tumbled heavily from his warhorse, splashing into a cold, muddy puddle.
Don Quixote pulled back his longsword, let out a soft breath, and quickly scanned the area.
The raider he had previously knocked off his horse had his throat slit.
...Must have been Liam.
Not spotting Liam anywhere around, Don Quixote easily pieced together what had happened.
Just then.
Five figures on horseback came galloping from the direction Don Quixote had just hurried from.
It was Don Quixote's five subordinates.
The massive commotion at the market had roused them from their off-duty rest.
Taking in the scene before them, they were utterly horrified.
Nathan, his eyes locked onto a severed head lying on the ground, cried out in shock:
"That's Grayson!"
Grayson Manson, a Cerwyn city guard from Liam's squad.
No one knew exactly what Grayson had gone through.
But both of his hands had been chopped off, and his head had been severed.
Don Quixote spurred his horse toward Cerwyn Market, shouting over his shoulder:
"Get into the market and save the people! Kill these son-of-a-bitch raiders!"
Hearing this, the two Cerwyn city guards immediately followed close behind, charging into Cerwyn Market without a second's hesitation.
The three freelance knights, however, stared blankly at the obvious carnage unfolding inside the market.
Exchanging a look, Shane asked hesitantly:
"Are we really going in?"
Tom was still wavering.
Warren, however, took a deep breath, fixed his eyes on the market, and spurred his horse forward:
"I'm going in! I might just be a freelance knight who hasn't sworn any vows!
"But when I make a promise, I don't break it!
"This is my duty!"
Influenced by Warren's words, the scales in Tom's heart tipped.
He hurriedly urged his horse forward to follow.
Shane, left behind, his face a mask of uncertainty, continued to hesitate. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh:
"I'm sorry, but my wife and kid are waiting for me at home.
"Without me, they won't make it through the winter!"
With a bitter smile, Shane prepared to find a place to hide, planning to wait until the dust settled before slipping into the market and pretending he hadn't run away.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a massive detachment of troops galloping from the direction of Castle Cerwyn in the distance.
"Are those reinforcements?"
Panic gripped Shane, and instinctively, he scrambled onto his horse and frantically galloped toward Cerwyn Market.
————
Cerwyn Market had already turned into a living hell.
The raiders were acting like madmen, turning the stalls completely upside down, carelessly piling fine linens, spices, and silverware onto their horses.
The flayers, meanwhile, were chasing down weeping, screaming smallfolk, hacking them down just for the thrill of it.
Blood splattered across piles of furs, instantly staining them a dark, morbid red.
People were being pinned to the ground.
Piercing screams would erupt, only to be abruptly cut short, leaving nothing but mangled flesh and pooling blood in their wake.
As soon as Don Quixote stepped into the chaotic market, he saw a raider bringing his blade down toward a man dressed as a traveling merchant.
The merchant was clutching a locked wooden box tightly to his chest.
It likely contained valuable goods, or perhaps it was a box full of Silver Stags and Gold Dragons.
The pale-green-faced raider raised his iron blade high, ready to bring it crashing down.
Don Quixote's sword pierced straight through the man's back, right into his heart. The force of the blow was so fierce it sent the raider flying forward, crashing hard into a stack of crates.
The merchant collapsed to the ground in terror, hugging the wooden box and shivering uncontrollably.
"Get out of here, now!"
Don Quixote threw the words over his shoulder and kept moving forward.
Before long.
Two flayers came riding wildly in his direction, dragging a young girl behind them with iron chains.
The girl, being dragged mercilessly across the gravel and freezing mud, was screaming and sobbing hysterically.
Seeing Don Quixote, the two flayers froze for a second before flashing vicious grins:
"Still sticking around instead of running? You must really have a death wish!"
The two flayers exchanged a glance, then simultaneously spurred their horses and charged at Don Quixote.
The moment the three horses closed the distance.
The flayer on the left let out a wicked cackle and whipped another iron chain toward Don Quixote's body.
The flayer on the right swung his blade straight down, aiming right for Don Quixote's face.
The blade was still slick with fresh blood, reeking of a foul, metallic stench.
Don Quixote's eyes turned icy cold.
...