At the front of the line stood Bell.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’
He was unlucky. It might have been better to have died in that first blow.
A giant.
There was no backing down from it.
Shouldn’t the 1st Company step forward to deal with something like that? Or maybe the border defense troops?
The turtle-like heavy infantry were positioned on the left flank.
And the border defense troops? Nowhere to be seen, as if they had all gone off drinking together.
Bell felt sweat trickling down his back. His hands tingled with tension. His legs felt ready to give out.
The giant was only smirking and doing nothing, but—
No, in reality, that first hammer swing had shown everything it needed to.
That strike, the massacre born from overwhelming strength—if someone could remain calm after seeing that, their head had to be broken.
‘Shit.’
Bell felt death looming over him.
When that hammer moved, it would be his turn to die.
The front line had broken, and somehow, he was now standing directly at the forefront.
“Goddamn it.”
The squad leader next to him muttered.
His expression wasn’t any better. Judging by his trembling pupils, it was a wonder he hadn’t yelled out to run.
Even if someone tried to run, the frontline commanders holding the line would become executioners, cutting them down. Realistically, there was no way to escape.
Seeing his terrified squad leader somehow gave Bell peace of mind.
Screw it, I’ll just die.
The moment he had stepped onto the battlefield, his life had already been mortgaged to heaven.
It must have been time for the debt to be collected. That’s what he told himself.
“We’re going to die anyway.”
Bell said.
The squad leader turned to look at him. Bell stared straight back at him with a smile that had given up on everything.
“I’d at least like to take a toe or two with me.”
They said the giant’s hide was so tough that even a decent blade couldn’t cut it.
But what if he stuck close and sliced and hacked at it?
No matter how dragon-bone-tough it was, couldn’t he saw through it if he clung on?
Who knew—he’d give it a try.
“The flower of the battlefield—”
Bell began speaking. His voice wasn’t mournful. It was resolute.
If he was going to lay down his life anyway, he would at least use it to its fullest.
Because not even pretending to avoid lightning when it strikes is the mark of an idiot.
He had learned that from Enkrid.
A man who never gave up. A man who didn’t even know the meaning of the word.
With a man like that beside him, how could Bell not have learned anything?
He had learned. And he would act.
At Bell’s words, the squad leader spoke reflexively.
“Infantry.”
Well, it was time to fight now.
Which meant it was time to die. Or to put it better, time to walk the path of death.
At that moment, the giant lifted the hammer it had let hang on the ground.
Crunch.
The metal scraped against the gravel as it rose.
The fog was slowly clearing, and they could see the hammer’s head—smeared with bits of crushed flesh and blood like pieces of smashed bread.
Clearly, vividly, painfully visible. That was death. That was the collected debt.
“Hrrr-hrr.”
The giant let out that damned cave laugh again, raising its hammer. If it had swung it downward before, this time it lifted it up and swung it horizontally. Was it trying to kill as many as possible at once?
Bell wondered if he could dodge it, quickly thinking.
If he ducked low enough, could he avoid it?
Would the massive hammer swung by that hulking creature really touch the ground?
Probably not.
The giant bent its knees. The hammer’s head was too massive.
If it swung it at that angle, there would be no escaping it without jumping.
Or maybe he could get out of the hammer’s range.
“This is too much. Bastards.”
One of the allied soldiers sobbed, looking backward.
“Where’s the retreat signal? They blew the whistle, right? Didn’t you hear it?”
A rookie. Still green.
“Shit, damn it, fuck, goddamn bastards.”
Another soldier kept spitting curses.
The giant knew how to fight. If it had just charged in immediately, it wouldn’t have created this situation.
But this brief lull had instilled terror into the allies.
The giant had already killed their spirits.
“Hrrr!”
The giant let out a growl. Along with that came its strike.
Whooom!
The hammer, powered by monstrous strength that exceeded human limits, tore through the air as its massive head swung like a weapon of destruction.
Whung!
Bell had no choice but to stick to his shield, planning to run and absorb the blow.
If he was lucky, maybe he’d live?
Of course, he would probably die. But he would try to hold on.
At that moment, death loomed over the eyes of every soldier.
Bell couldn’t even see the hammer moving properly.
Instead—
A shadow stepped forward.
‘Huh?’
Before he could even comprehend what it was—
Chwaaang!
An explosive noise hit his ears. The impact was so ridiculous that he felt himself being pushed backward by the shockwave.
And then Bell saw it.
“...What the hell.”
A stunned curse slipped from his mouth. In this situation, how could anyone not curse?
“Hey, you overgrown bastard, fight someone your size!”
The shadow that had blocked the hammer spoke. It was the back of an ally.
Against the giant, he looked pitifully small, but he held two axes, blocking the hammer. The veins on his forearms looked ready to burst, and he’d torn the sleeves off his gambeson, turning his armor into a vest.
But he had stopped it.
His feet slid a bit, leaving marks on the gravel, but he had blocked it.
What was this? Bell’s mind couldn’t process the situation.
Then—
“...We’re alive.”
It was the rookie. He said it through tears. The sobbing voice reached everyone’s ears.
Bell’s heart swelled the moment he processed the situation.
He nearly burst into tears, too.
The joy of survival, and at the same time—
The back of the man who had just inspired terror in ally and enemy alike looked more reassuring than ever.
The giant was a monster. The Red-Blooded Beast. A creature that revered violence, mad with slaughter.
So what?
There was one here, too.
A lunatic. A monster.
Someone who, just by stepping forward to fight, shattered the enemy’s morale.
“What, cat got your tongue? Why aren’t you talking?”
The monster spoke, in the same damn crude tone as usual.
But today, it sounded like a heavenly orchestra.
“You piece of shit!”
The giant roared in fury, and Rem smirked.
What a joke, dumbass.
***
Rem was in a good mood.
How good? So good that it reminded him of his very first battle.
All thanks to that sparring session with Enkrid.
Could one sparring match really make such a difference?
Perhaps it was because so much had been pent up until now.
That release, that clarity—it made Rem want to truly fight, to test himself.
And he wanted to show it to Enkrid.
Watch closely. This is what you’ll be learning next.
From his childhood, Rem had never flinched even when axes flew his way.
And even he had learned the Heart of the Beast. He had mastered it, trained it.
If all it did was grant him courage and composure, why would he have bothered?
No, there was more to it than that.
It was useful. That’s why he learned it, mastered it, honed it.
The Heart of the Beast didn’t just end with courage.
And from here, what he was about to do was at least half his own unique craft—his own technique, not something inherited from his tribe.
Thud.
His heart began to beat faster—twice its normal speed—sending blood surging through his body. The flow quickened.
Thud, thud, thud, thud!
His blood vessels expanded. His muscles swelled and shifted density.
The spell-like technique, beginning from his heart, transformed his body into something monstrous.
Rem decided to call this technique the Heart of Monstrous Strength.
His tribe had only used it as a method to stave off aging.
But for Rem, it was something entirely his own.
It wasn’t an easy skill to learn—failure could cause your heart to burst, your blood vessels to rupture, or your muscles to rot.
Learning it was inherently dangerous.
He had told Enkrid to watch and learn, but ultimately, it would be up to him whether to try it.
If he did choose to learn, Rem would teach him slowly, carefully, ensuring he didn’t die in the process.
It would hurt—but Rem knew Enkrid would endure any pain to master it.
Blocking the giant’s hammer, Rem unleashed his monstrous strength and swung his axe.
Whoosh!
The hammer came crashing down with terrifying speed, and Rem countered with a swing of his axe.
This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.
Clang! Crack! Bang!
The axe blade couldn’t withstand the impact. It shattered, practically exploding into fragments.
Even though Rem had deflected the blow as much as possible, the result was still this.
He flung his left arm outward, scattering the broken axe pieces away from his body. Some of the shards embedded themselves in the wooden armor the giant wore.
‘Should’ve used something better,’ Rem thought.
Maybe a club, like some kind of zealot from a weird cult.
Rem wasn’t particularly picky about weapons, but axes just felt right in his hands.
Thunk.
He discarded the broken axe handle and kicked up a spear from the ground.
Now, with a spear in his left hand and a remaining axe in his right, Rem grinned. It was a grin full of satisfaction—satisfaction from finding a worthy opponent and from the rush still lingering from his sparring session with Enkrid.
“Hey, let’s make this fun.”
From there, the battle was relentless—so fierce that no one dared approach the two combatants.
Boom! Boom! Clang! Crash!
Rem picked up fallen weapons—spears, axes—and struck at the giant. When one broke, he picked up another.
And when the scattered weapons on the ground finally began to run out—
“Hey, throw me something!”
Bell, quick to notice, threw the weapon in his hand—a spear or a hand axe.
Someone even threw a dagger aimed at the giant’s eyes. The giant merely tilted its head slightly, taking the hit on its forehead.
Thunk!
The dagger bounced harmlessly off its skin, not even leaving a scratch.
What kind of skin is this thing made of?
And yet, there was Rem, fighting this monster toe-to-toe.
What is he, if not a monster himself?
No one knew for sure. What was certain, though, was that this monster, Rem, was protecting them.
Enkrid watched Rem’s fight.
The battle was ferocious. Brutal. Most of all—
“He’s matching a giant in strength?”
That meant his raw power exceeded that of the Froks.
Is this what he wanted me to see? Is this what I’m supposed to learn next?
His heart pounded.
The thought of learning something new stirred an insatiable hunger in him.
For Enkrid, the desire to learn was fundamental, a core part of who he was.
“Time to go.”
Ragna spoke beside him.
Rem, battling the giant, looked like he was enjoying himself. It was clear now—he could win. He could kill it.
But for some reason, Rem was taking his time.
Why? Enkrid wondered.
Is he doing this for me to watch?
The thought crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it as going too far.
No, Rem was just excited. That was it.
“Let’s go handle our business.”
Ragna seemed restless—why was he so eager to fight?
This was a man who normally lacked any motivation at all.
“Alright.”
With Ragna urging him on, Enkrid finally moved. He had seen enough of Rem’s fight.
Ragna, however, kept veering in strange directions, forcing Enkrid to drag him along.
“If we can clean this up, things might turn out alright.”
Kraiss spoke from close behind.
Maybe.
Enkrid couldn’t see the whole battlefield. What mattered was the here and now.
As they moved to the right flank, they saw the approaching enemy force.
Ten men, looking confident.
What is this? A joke from fate?
As they got close enough to see faces, Enkrid recognized the man standing in the center.
Why is he here?
The man recognized Enkrid as well.
Enkrid’s face was one that people didn’t easily forget—a strikingly handsome man.
“You—still alive?”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed into a smirk. His grin stretched to his eyes, giving him a twisted, triangular look.
It wasn’t a pleasant sight.
“Yeah.”
Enkrid replied bluntly.
Ragna shot him a questioning look.
“An acquaintance?”
“From my mercenary days...”
Enkrid trailed off, summarizing instead.
“A bastard I should’ve killed.”
That summed it up well enough.
This man had a habit of stabbing allies in the back, raping women, and killing them afterward.
Enkrid should have ended him back then, but the bastard had fled after crossing a noble. Now he was here.
“Hey, is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
Friend?
Rarely did Enkrid feel such visceral disgust.
A glance from Ragna asked again, Is he really a friend?
“No. A piece of shit.”
Enkrid said firmly. Ragna nodded in understanding.
“Ha, you always had a sharp tongue. But you’re still alive? What, been cozying up to someone’s bed to stay afloat?”
It was a jab Enkrid had often heard during his mercenary days—thanks to his face.
He had heard it even after joining the army.
But it had been a long time since someone dared to say it. His skills had silenced such taunts.
And so, Enkrid brushed off the provocation.
Ragna, too, paid it no mind. The bastard would be dead soon anyway.
“That one’s yours, Captain.”
Ragna said, stepping aside. The remaining nine seemed to be his.
“You think the three of you can handle all ten of us?”
“Oh, I’m not fighting. Just these two need to handle you.”
Kraiss spoke calmly from behind.
Enkrid scanned the area, taking in the scene.
The bodies scattered nearby bore gruesome wounds—holes, slashes, stabs.
This bastard’s work. He always left his signature behind.
Enkrid noted the injuries—a strange filthiness to them. As if they were inflicted with torture in mind.
“These are killers addicted to murder.”
Ragna remarked.
“They seek to improve their skills through slaughter. It doesn’t matter. Didn’t I tell you before? If you don’t walk the right path, your limits will show.”
Enkrid recalled that conversation. The reliance on mercenary techniques like Valen-style swordsmanship would only take one so far.
That’s why he had rebuilt himself, refining his fundamentals.
He drew his sword.
Shiiiing.
“This one’s mine.”
Ragna’s words were true. It could be called vengeance, or a scene from a revenge tragedy.
Enkrid would honor his fallen comrades—those torn apart by harpies, those who had died that day.
By taking this degenerate bastard’s head.