Chapter 196: Slaughter [ 2 ]

Chapter 196: Slaughter [ 2 ] Gregor didn’t realize when the battlefield around Vanthrice fell silent. As the last scream faded into the ash-laden air, Gregor’s world had already spiraled into chaos, a whirlwind of steel, breath, and instinct. Each second felt stretched tight under the brutal pressure of survival.


While she had carved her path with surgical precision, Gregor found himself in a raw and relentless struggle. His fight was a grinding clash of strength against overwhelming numbers, discipline against sheer endurance, with every step forward paid for in blood.


He stood surrounded not in a neat circle like Valeria had been earlier, but in a tightening knot of black-clad figures pressing in from all sides. Their movements were precise and coordinated, executed without hesitation.


These weren’t mere bandits or desperate mercenaries. Every stance and foot placement screamed of training embedded deep within their bones and muscles. Even their silence felt deliberate and oppressive; they had learned long ago that fear struck hardest when it arrived without warning.


Gregor took a slow breath, forcing his breathing into a steady rhythm. Wind mana swirled faintly around his boots, stabilizing him as he adjusted his grip on his sword, the familiar weight grounding him even as exhaustion tugged at his limbs.


The previous battle against the Lion still burned in his muscles; each movement reminded him how close he’d come to collapse. But there was no room for hesitation now not when dozens of blades were already angled toward his throat.


The first knight advanced, followed closely by three more. They moved with a chilling precision, two striking high while another aimed low for Gregor’s legs, and a fourth circled behind him, intent on cutting off his escape.


Instead of retreating, Gregor stepped forward. His sword flashed as the first blade struck against his own, the steel shrieking in protest. The impact rattled his arms, but he quickly twisted his wrist mid-contact, redirecting the force and sliding his weapon along the opponent’s edge before snapping it upward.


The tip of Gregor’s sword pierced under the man’s chin, bursting through his jaw and emerging from the back of his skull in a violent spray of dark red that splattered across Gregor’s armor.


He didn’t pause. As the body fell, he spun into his next attack, slamming his shoulder into another knight’s chest while yanking his sword free.


He heard the distinct crack of bone under the impact, the man staggering just enough for Gregor to drive his elbow into the side of his helmet, denting it inward with a sickening crunch.


Then, a third blade came crashing down from above. Gregor lifted his sword just in time, the clash reverberating through the air, shockwaves radiating out as steel met steel with brutal force.


His attacker pressed down hard, attempting to overpower him with sheer weight. But Gregor stepped into the strike, twisting his body and gliding his blade along the enemy’s weapon before slicing horizontally.


The cut cleaved through armor. Flesh followed. The man’s torso gaped open from ribs to spine, intestines spilling forth as he crumpled to the ground, choking on his own blood.


Gregor barely registered the scene before another blow landed. A spear pierced his side, sliding through the gaps in his armor, a sharp grunt escaping his throat as a white-hot sting of pain shot through him. Instinctively, he grabbed the spear’s shaft, muscles straining, and yanked the attacker forward, driving his forehead into the man’s face.


Cartilage shattered, and the knight staggered back. With a snarl, Gregor ripped the spear free from his own body and plunged it back through the man’s throat, pinning him to the ground. Blood soaked his side.


But there was no time to dwell on it. Enemies surged forward.


Five.


Ten.


Their blades flashed in unison, movements synchronized to force him back, stripping away his rhythm, overwhelming his senses, and threatening to crush him under sheer numbers.


Gregor’s boots slipped on the blood-slick ground. His breath deepened as mana surged within him. Wind whipped around him in a violent spiral as he charged forward, sword slicing through the first opening he could find.


The blade bit deeply into a knight’s shoulder, cutting through bone and muscle before continuing on into the chest of another behind him.


The impact sent both men tumbling, their bodies collapsing together as Gregor tore his weapon free.


Another attacker lunged. Gregor ducked low, spinning beneath the strike before slashing upward. His blade caught just beneath the man’s ribs, tearing straight through his torso, blood spraying across the air in a violent mist.


He forged ahead. A sword struck his shoulder; another grazed his thigh. Each hit chipped away at his stamina, focus, and strength, but he refused to relent.


He couldn’t afford to slow down; once he did, they’d tear him apart. A knight charged at him from the right, and Gregor instinctively stepped into the attack. Their blades clashed with a sharp ring of steel.


With a quick twist of his wrist, he locked the man’s weapon against his own and drove his knee into the knight’s abdomen. The grunt that escaped the man’s throat was music to Gregor’s ears, just enough for him to wrench his sword free and deliver a brutal overhead strike.


The blade found its mark, splitting the man’s head, who collapsed instantly at his feet.


Just as he pulled his weapon free, another knight slammed into him shoulder-first, sending them both crashing to the ground. They rolled across a grim landscape of blood and ash, the knight struggling to pin him down.


Gregor snarled and unleashed a series of rapid punches to the man’s throat, one, two, three times. The cartilage crumbled under the force of his fists, and the knight gagged, choking on his own blood.


With fierce determination, Gregor grabbed the knight’s head and slammed it into the ground, bone cracking with a sickening sound. He sprang back to his feet, dragging his sword upwards in a fluid motion.


But the next attacker was already upon him. Gregor’s blade flashed sideways, severing the man’s arm at the shoulder, which spun grotesquely before landing several meters away. The knight’s scream pierced through the chaos as he clutched the stump...


Until Gregor drove his sword straight through the man’s chest.


There was no time for silence; more knights surged forward, pressing in from all sides. Blades cut through the air, spears thrusting dangerously, each strike designed to wear him down until he faltered.


Gregor could feel it, the strain, the exhaustion. Each swing was growing heavier, taking more from him than the last.


But he stepped forward again, summoning the wind mana that roared around him, lifting the ash and blood into a violent cyclone. He surged into their ranks, his sword carving wide arcs that split armor and flesh alike.


In a moment of brutal efficiency, the blade sliced through one man’s neck, sending his head tumbling across the ground. Gregor reversed his motion, plunging the sword into another’s stomach, ripping upward until the torso split open.


Blood poured out as bodies fell, and Gregor carved his way through them like a storm made flesh. Each strike was heavy, relentless, and with each swing, his instincts took over, sharpening his movements just when fatigue threatened to drag him down.


A knight attempted to retreat, but Gregor intercepted him. With chilling precision, he drove his sword straight through the man’s spine, emerging from his chest. He kicked the lifeless body away, barely pausing to catch his breath.


Another one lunged at him. Gregor sidestepped, using his shoulder to crash into the man’s chest, then swiftly brought his blade down across his neck. The head detached with a sickening thud, blood erupting in a violent spray that doused Gregor, staining him from helm to boots.


He knew he couldn’t stop; slowing down would invite more attackers. So, he continued to move, slash, and fight. The sounds of steel colliding, flesh tearing, and bone fracturing echoed around him. The battlefield transformed into a chaotic massacre.


In the center of it all stood Gregor, battered, bleeding, and breathing heavily but still upright. His sword dripped crimson, and his eyes blazed with an indomitable spirit, refusing to yield despite the relentless onslaught of enemies surrounding him.