Pranbow’s swings danced in sync with the wind, and a human head fell with each stroke of his sword. Galfredik used a spear, and he skewered two or three mercenaries with each stab. The enemies squealed as if they were pigs being slaughtered. Edmund and the other knights also rampaged like wolves in a pen, and the real wolves, the beowulfs, carried out a massacre. The head of the Fransil family shouted desperately while watching the bloody scene unfold from the back.

“Retreat! Retreat! Fall back and organize into formations… Huh?!”

His eyes filled with shock when he saw the black knight charging like a storm. The knight, who was clearly the commander of the soldiers, held a spear in one hand and a shortsword in the other.

It was unorthodox for the commander of a group to lead a lone charge into dozens of knights. It either meant that he was absolutely confident in his abilities or…

‘He’s overly excited! That means…’

The head of the Fransil family was an experienced knight. He came to an immediate decision and relayed his orders. “Catch that knight! Whoever brings that man down will be awarded a million cellings and his armor!”

“I, Felong will take care of it!”

“I swear it on the honor of Belle Harten!”

The knights rushed to declare their intentions. Capturing or toppling the enemy commander would allow them...