Knight: Becoming King of the World

Chapter 121: Chapter 101: Do You Like My Hammer?

Henry’s attack was too obvious. Rother easily sidestepped it and, in the next instant, thrust his sword toward Henry’s hand.

Henry smoothly transitioned into a wide, one-armed swing, staying just outside the reach of Rother’s Heavy Sword and dodging the thrust unscathed.

Rother froze for a moment. He suddenly had the feeling that his opponent had seen right through him.

He raised his round shield to his chest and charged Henry, sword in hand. Henry didn’t dodge, but instead squared his shoulders and charged right back.

THUD! A muffled impact rang out. Henry’s feet dug grooves into the ground as Rother was sent stumbling back several steps, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at Henry.

Not only had his charge been completely ineffective, but he felt as if he had just run into a solid wall.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK...

One strike, two strikes, three strikes—

Even a great roundshield from the Northern Lands, sheathed in iron, could not withstand such a high-intensity, continuous assault from Henry’s warhammer. Cracks began to appear, and the shield groaned with a grating, teeth-cringing sound.

CRUNCH... With a final, sharp crack, the round shield shattered into little more than a small wooden plank.

Henry’s relentless attacks were beginning to exhaust Rother. Both the arc of his swings and the speed of his blocks had involuntarily slowed.

An opening.

Henry, of course, noticed. Amidst his swings, he decisively brought his hammer down on what was left of Rother’s shield.

This time, Rother abandoned any attempt to dodge. He let Henry smash his shield to pieces and immediately created distance between them.

Rother’s retreat didn’t buy him a moment’s rest. Henry’s assault was as relentless as a hailstorm, leaving him no openings whatsoever.

’This duel has to end quickly. I can’t give him any chance to counterattack.’

Henry pressed forward as Rother retreated, swinging his Armor-piercing Warhammer with enough force to crack the very earth as he aimed a brutal blow at Rother’s body.

Rother barely managed to raise his Heavy Sword to block, attempting to fend off the fatal strike.

But Henry’s strength was simply too astonishing. The spike of the Armor-piercing Warhammer slammed directly onto the flat of the Heavy Sword. The powerful impact sent a numbing shock up Rother’s arm, nearly knocking the sword from his grasp.

Henry didn’t let the opportunity slip. He followed up with another swing of his hammer, this time aiming for Rother’s helm.

Rother just managed to duck his head, saving his face, but the edge of the warhammer still grazed his helmet, producing a dull clang.

A wave of dizziness washed over Rother. He staggered, nearly falling. Henry seized the advantage, closing in and bringing his warhammer down again and again on Rother’s armor.

Rother’s armor was now covered in cracks. With every blow from the warhammer, he felt his insides rattle, and he knew he couldn’t hold out for much longer.

Finally, under another of Henry’s ferocious strikes, Rother’s pauldron could take no more and gave way with a sharp, cracking sound.

Henry’s warhammer broke through the protection and struck Rother’s shoulder blade directly, sending him flying backward to crash heavily onto the ground.

Rother struggled in agony, knowing he had little to no fighting strength left.

Henry stood before him like an insurmountable mountain, filling him with a despair he had never known.

’How is this possible? Why is it happening? I’m supposed to be the strongest Warrior! I’ve won the championship in every city tournament in the Northern Lands!’

"Your Bravery has earned my respect. Speak your last words."

Rother glared defiantly at Henry. Henry sighed and asked, "Not a fan of my hammer?"

Seeing that Rother still wasn’t speaking, Henry hesitated no longer. He raised his warhammer, aimed for Rother’s head, and brought it down with brutal force.

The warhammer punched through Rother’s helmet. Blood and brain matter splattered out. Rother’s body twitched a few times, then fell still.

Henry stood over Rother’s corpse, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with a cold light.

The surrounding Mercenaries witnessed Rother’s death. Their morale completely collapsed, and they began to scatter and flee.

Henry’s victory was not only a testament to his personal might but also a devastating blow to the morale of the entire mercenary company.

With Rother’s fall, the tide of battle had turned completely in favor of Henry’s army.

Henry’s soldiers, having witnessed their leader’s valor and strength, were filled with soaring morale and let out a deafening cheer.

"For Westwood Laine! For victory!" Vasco shouted to the soldiers, raising his steel blade high.

The soldiers responded to his call, gathering together and charging toward the enemy soldiers, who were already on the verge of a full rout.

A portion of the Imperial archers had already rushed into the fray. An enemy might turn his head only to see an arrowhead inches from his eyes.

And then, nothing. The arrow would pierce his skull, sending him into an eternal sleep.

The other Veteran Shooters quickly found new vantage points and began picking off the fleeing Mercenaries.

Arrows streaked through the night sky, chasing down the scattering enemies. Every arrow that fell meant another life extinguished.

The retreating soldiers of the Shield Brotherhood had no time to carry away the bodies of their comrades. Years of easy battles fighting bandits had made these Warriors from the Northern Lands forget the glory of their ancestors.

The phalanx of Skilled Infantry advanced steadily like a moving wall, completely cutting off the enemy’s retreat.

Their spears and swords were blinding under the torchlight, the blood coating them glistening with a sinister sheen.

Henry looked up at the graying sky and was suddenly reminded of something.

’What about Bain?’

On the other side of the battlefield, Bain was leading the Grassland Warriors in a chaotic melee against the Karakujit nomads and riders.

These Karakujit were renowned for their masterful Riding Skill and archery, and their elders, equipped with Yanyue Sabers, were opponents not to be underestimated.

Bain led from the front, brandishing his iron Riding Spear as he fearlessly charged into the enemy ranks.

The Grassland Warriors followed close behind, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust, putting pressure on the Karakujit.

The Karakujit riders used their speed, attempting to execute a pincer attack from the flanks.

However, Bain’s Grassland Warriors were no pushovers. They too were skilled in mounted combat and could swiftly adapt to tactical changes.

Most importantly, these Grassland Warriors were all clad in heavy chainmail Armored Clothing.

A Karakujit elder, brandishing a Yanyue Saber, displayed the Bravery of a traditional plainsman.

His saber techniques were vicious and precise. Every swing whistled through the air, posing a significant threat to the Grassland Warriors.

Bain noticed this elder, who was clad in studded, hard-sewn leather armor. He shouted an order, organizing a squad of Grassland Warriors to specifically target and take down the Karakujit elder.

The battle grew even more intense. The clash between the Grassland Warriors and the Karakujit riders was like two colliding storms.

As the sky gradually brightened and visibility improved, arrows filled the air, swords clashed, and warhorses neighed in a frenzy.

Bain finally saw an opening. He took aim at the Karakujit elder, who was currently engaged with his Grassland Warriors.

He kicked his mount’s belly hard. The warhorse let out a long neigh and accelerated toward the elder.

In the instant he closed the distance, Bain raised his Riding Spear and thrust forcefully, aiming straight for the elder’s lower back. The Karakujit elder reacted quickly, nudging his horse’s flank to dodge Bain’s attack.

Just as the Karakujit elder dodged Bain’s attack, the ground began to tremble. A powerful presence, accompanied by the sound of heavy hoofbeats, was rapidly approaching.

It was Henry, charging over on his Vadar Blood Horse, carrying a long-handled Yanyue Saber!

Henry’s appearance as a Blood Man was terrifying. His armor and warhammer were caked in blood, and even his unseen eyes beneath his Face Armor seemed to emit a chilling light.

The Karakujit elder had never seen such a ferocious Warrior. An unprecedented fear welled up inside him, and he nearly lost his grip on his Yanyue Saber.

The Karakujit riders also felt this immense killing intent. They involuntarily slowed their attacks, and some even began to pull away from the Grassland Warriors, creating distance for an escape.

Would Henry give them that chance?