As he stepped out of the castle tower, a deafening roar struck his ears, as if shaking the heavens and the earth.
Barcas turned his head toward the direction from which the sound came and stopped in his tracks upon seeing the area around the northern wall engulfed in flames.
It appeared that the infiltration team had successfully destroyed the gate's opening mechanism. He could faintly see massive battering rams surging like a flood into the wide-open double iron gates.
Upon seeing the outer wall guards swarming like a cloud to block the enemy's entry, Barcas hurriedly changed direction.
"It would be best to look for another escape route."
They could break through the enemy lines and rejoin the main force, but the risk was too great.
He glanced sideways at Gareth, who was wearing only a velvet coat loosely draped over a thin shirt.
If he dragged him to the battlefield in that state, he would turn into a lump of meat in an instant.
Barkas let out a small click of his tongue and immediately began to sprint around the tower toward the southern outer wall. However, as soon as he rounded the corner of the building, he came face-to-face with guards who were moving with cannonballs.
He immediately raised his sword and slashed the neck of the soldier standing closest to him.
As the helmeted head rolled to the ground, blood gushed out like a fountain from the severed neck. Shouts bordering on screams erupted from the mouths of the guards who witnessed the scene.
"It's the intruder! The intruder is stealing the prisoner!"
Just then, a heavy roar echoed as if the Imperial Army had detonated a shell, cutting off his shout before even half of it reached the crowd.
However, it seemed to have succeeded in attracting the attention of the soldiers moving around the outer wall.
Seeing dozens of torches approaching, Barcas pushed Gareth against the building wall and swung his sword horizontally at the soldier who had come within striking distance.
The blade, lightweight to prevent arm cramps, pierced the man's armor and instantly sliced through his muscles, internal organs, and bones.
A scream of agony burst from the mouth of the man whose upper and lower bodies had been separated in an instant.
“Monster, monster...!'
As if someone's terrified scream served as a signal, the soldiers who were charging with weapons hesitated and stopped in their tracks.
Barcas did not miss the opportunity and immediately kicked off the ground and ran.
Wearing only minimal armor for the infiltration, the body moved lightly, like a warhorse cast off its bridle.
His blade, charging toward the enemy at the speed of an arrow, was embedded deep into the torso of the spearman at the very front of the formation.
Barcas swung his sword downward, splitting the man's crotch in a single stroke, then immediately shifted the direction to sever the knee of the infantryman who had belatedly assumed a defensive stance. In an instant, the soldier, having lost both legs, was slammed into the dirt.
A spearman, who had been watching the scene with a terrified expression, let out a frenzied scream and charged toward him. It was a movement closer to an instinctive resistance for survival than a strategic attack.
Barcas gripped his sword diagonally. He then deflected the axe-spear flying over his head upward, turned the tip of the sword vertically, and thrust it between the soldier's neck and collarbone.
Some people who saw three soldiers lose their lives in an instant turned around and ran away.
He left the fleeing enemies behind and shouted at Gareth.
"Follow me closely!"
Gareth, who had been standing in an awkward position, came running in a panic.
Barcas began to advance, breaking through the enemy's encirclement while taking care not to drift further away from Gareth than necessary. However, the path to the west gate was completely surrounded.
In the midst of this chaos, it is impossible to climb over the castle wall using a rope.
He guesses the only option is to break through their base.
Barcas was rapidly scanning the area, frantically scanning for an escape route, when a familiar voice was heard from the front.
“Your Excellency, the Grand Duke!”
Turning his head, Barcas discovered the vanguard of the Imperial Army that had already surged into the castle courtyard and let out a small sigh of relief.
The fact that the main force succeeded in infiltrating the center of the fortress was tantamount to saying that the tide of battle had already turned.
He grabbed Gareth's arm and ran into the courtyard where the melee was taking place.
"I have rescued His Royal Highness the Crown Prince! Escort him immediately!"
Five or six heavily armed infantrymen ran straight toward them.
Barcas quickly scanned the surroundings as he pushed Gareth away to the soldiers as if passing the buck.
The people of the North were scattering in disarray at the momentum of the Imperial Army, which was pouring in with overwhelming force from both the front and back gates.
It was an inevitable outcome. Half of the rebel forces were former militiamen who had never received proper military training. Having lost their geographical advantage, there was no way the ragtag troops from the north could stand a chance against the Imperial elite.
With even the prisoners, their only bargaining chip, taken away, it meant no breakthrough for them.
"Take His High out of the castle immediately."
"All right!"
The soldiers surrounding Gareth immediately turned toward the castle gate.
Barcas rushed to the very front of the battle line to open a retreat route.
At that very moment, a bluish flash shot straight toward him with a sharp, piercing sound.
Barcas instinctively raised his sword. At the same time, a heavy vibration spread like a wave from his wrist to his elbow and shoulder.
He quickly straightened his center of gravity and looked up at the man pushing his sword toward him.
The bright blue dawn light faintly illuminated the enemy's massive silhouette. Although his face was covered by a black helmet, his identity was easily recognizable.
"Bjorn..."
"It is an honor. To think that Your Excellency, the Grand Duke, remembers my name."
The man sneered and leaned his sword even closer toward him. Barcas, gritting his teeth against the immense, monstrous strength, soon put all his strength into deflecting the opponent's sword. Just as he was about to thrust the tip into the enemy's chest, Bjorn quickly created distance and stood at a stand.
Barcas hastily straightened his posture and glared at him with a cold gaze.
"The outcome is already decided. Surrender now."
"I can't let it end so anticlimatically."
The man burst into laughter, giggling.
"If it's going to end anyway, shouldn't we at least have some fun until the very end?"
It was not the bravado of a cornered man. Two eyes stained with madness, fearless of destruction, blazed like flames inside the helmet.
"Everyone calls you immortal. Shall we see if that's really true?"
With those words, a huge blade rushed toward him.
Barcas immediately turned to the side and swung his sword to deflect the enemy's attack. However, the opponent immediately deflected the trajectory of the sword and unleashed a second strike. It was an agile combination unbefitting of his massive frame.
Barcas chose to charge head-on instead of retreating. Grasping the blade with his other hand, he deflected the incoming attack with the flat side of the sword, causing the man's arm to rise slightly.
Seizing that fleeting moment, he struck his head with his cross guard. Although he could not land a direct hit as the man quickly turned his head to the side, the mere graze of the side of his helmet seemed to have dealt a significant blow, causing the man's posture to momentarily falter.
He immediately unleashed the next attack. Heimdall hurriedly straightened his balance and tried to deflect the sword, but his reaction was a step too late. The spear shot out like an arrow and lodged deep into his shoulder.
"This is the debt from last time."
"Haa... You hold a grudge for quite a while."
The man, gripping the sword blade embedded in his shoulder tightly with one hand, spoke sarcastically in a voice tinged with laughter.
Barcas immediately twisted the sword handle and opened the wound. Finally, a faint groan escaped from inside the helmet.
He watched the man desperately swallowing his pain as if observing him, then pulled his sword down and forced him to his knees.
If the enemy commander gritted his teeth and held on, he eventually collapsed. Barcas, who had mercilessly crushed the wrist of the man who refused to let go of his sword even in the midst of this with his boot, muttered in a low voice.
"The war games are over."
The soldiers of the Empire, who had been watching the scene in hushed silence, let out a collective shout of victory.
On the other hand, the rebels, having witnessed their leader's defeat, instantly lost their will to fight and began to retreat hesitantly.
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