NOVPUBChapter 446 -67 Requesting! _2
Winters鈥 hands were sweating, and the sight of the massive, one-ton creature charging straight at him would make anyone fearful.
He gauged the distance. When the iron giant on its warhorse rushed within fifty meters, he took a deep breath.
In just the time it takes to breathe, the pitch-black warhorse closed in another ten-plus meters.
Now!
Winters entered his spellcasting state. He gripped the lance in reverse, took a short run-up, and poured all his magic into the lance before hurling it directly at the steel giant.
[Arrow Flying Spell]!
...
As soon as the lance left his hand, Winters rolled to the left on the spot.
A thrown spear? The Hurd champion sneered in his heart.
Though a javelin was powerful, it was slower than an arrow and its trajectory was clear. It shouldn鈥檛 be hard to dodge.
But this javelin was far from ordinary; it was too fast, faster than any human could throw, and the Hurd champion didn鈥檛 even have time to react.
A flash of cold light, a blink of an eye, and the javelin was already at his brow.
鈥淐lang!!!鈥
The lights went out.
潡堭潣凁潣潟?co
The lance struck true to the face of the steel giant, who fell backward, hands raising weakly, slowly toppling from the saddle.
Few saw the earth-shattering throw, but everyone heard the crisp clash of metal against metal.
Winters, rolling forward to the left, narrowly avoided the charging warhorse.
Without its rider, the warhorse didn鈥檛 stop its pace, instinctively fleeing towards the riverbank.
Winters climbed up from the ground without hesitation and drew his dagger, rushing towards the fallen giant.
The life force of the Hurd champion was terrifyingly tenacious. Over an inch of the lance鈥檚 tip had penetrated the helmet, and he was still breathing, though the fierce blow to the head left his consciousness blurred.
Mak鈥檊ora ritual鈥 to the death.
Winters removed the giant鈥檚 helmet and gorget, the man鈥檚 face obscured by fresh blood.
Unwilling to look at his opponent鈥檚 face, he pinned the giant鈥檚 head to his chest using his iron vice-like left arm.
The Hurd champion struggled instinctively.
Winters gritted his teeth and slit the giant鈥檚 throat.
First the skin, the tissue, the artery, and the vein on the left side; the sharp dagger sliced through them effortlessly. Then came the windpipe, protected by cartilage, making his cut laborious.
Blood splattered into Winter鈥檚 helmet, the giant鈥檚 struggles diminishing, until they ceased altogether.
Exhausted, Winters collapsed backward, gasping for breath. The Hurd champion鈥檚 throat now bore a grisly wound truly from ear to ear.
But the giant need not worry about that anymore, for he was already dead.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Suddenly, Winters understood the situation; neither friend nor foe could discern who had won or lost.
He had to finish the job. Winters got to his feet. Stepping on the giant鈥檚 back, he grasped the knife with both hands to cut through the giant鈥檚 nape.
Soon, only the spine and a little flesh remained, connecting the giant鈥檚 head to his body.
The Blood Wolf stood on the giant鈥檚 body. With both hands gripping the hair and a fierce shout, he tore the Hurd champion鈥檚 head from the torso.
He held the giant鈥檚 head high, his roar amplified by magic, resounding across the wilderness:
鈥淭he enemy leader! Has been vanquished!鈥
The response was an initially deathly silence, then followed by deafening cheers from the fortress.
Paratu soldiers screamed, roared, and beat their weapons maniacally. Amidst the tumult, an overly excited gunner thrust a red-hot iron rod into the touch hole.
Every cannon on the fortress roared, and gunners fired their firearms into the air in a frenzy.
On the other hand, the Herders鈥 ranks were eerily silent.
In the world of the Herders, beheading meant they couldn鈥檛 return to Tengri鈥檚 embrace, signifying eternal and complete death鈥攁 fact unknown to Winters.
And the Mak鈥檊ora had been decided; further desecration was considered a dire taboo鈥攁n insult among insults, also unknown to Winters.
The Herders were thoroughly enraged. Two deranged Herder Centurions shot forth from the formation, eyes bloodshot, lances at the ready, and charged towards the Paratu champion in the heart of the battlefield, one from the left and one from the right.
An agreed duel one-on-one鈥擶inters was furiously angry鈥攚hat was this?p>
The Herders lacked honor, so Winters wouldn鈥檛 be polite.
He returned to his warhorse, drew the revolver from the saddlebag, stood his ground steadily, and aimed.
As the two chargers reached within twenty meters.
鈥淏ang!鈥
鈥淏ang!鈥
Both Herder Centurions were shot down, one bullet each.
The war drums sounded once again. The flamekeepers waving their flags, the Herders charged forth in a frenzy, proceeding to lay siege again.
Even before the Herders closed in, Winters unhitched his horse from the stake and safely returned to the fortress.
The Paratu People prepared for battle to the beat of their own drums.
The wind howled angrily, foretelling another bloody battle.
Paratu soldiers watched with a mixture of awe and reverence as the rider on the silver-gray warhorse entered the Bridgehead Fortress.
Bard and Xial waited at the entrance of the fortress. Seeing Winters return, they hurried over.
Winters dismounted. He raised a hand to signal them to keep their distance: 鈥淒on鈥檛 talk to me, I feel sick to my stomach right now.鈥
After a few deep breaths to steady his emotions, Winters solemnly handed the head tucked under his arm to Xial: 鈥淭his was a brave warrior. Don鈥檛 let him feed the fishes, find a good spot to bury him.鈥
Xial swallowed and carefully asked, 鈥淵ou鈥 don鈥檛 want to keep it?鈥
鈥淲hy would I keep this?鈥 Winters was puzzled.
鈥淥h, oh鈥 All right.鈥 Xial bobbed his head like a pecking chicken and disdainfully carried the head off at a quick pace.
Bard carefully examined the bloodstains on Winters鈥 armor and said helplessly, 鈥淲e didn鈥檛 need to provoke them like this.鈥
鈥淲e needed to provoke them,鈥 Winters blinked, 鈥淲asn鈥檛 that the plan?鈥
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