Lawford expected the enemy army to hesitate after Jaxon assassinated a few priests, but the enemy commander attributed it to evil spirits.
‘Quick thinking. Or perhaps they had already planned to respond that way.’
Lawford quietly assessed the enemy, the allies, the terrain, and their current positions.
It was at that moment that the enemy army began to cautiously advance.
Taking all of this into account, Lawford reached a conclusion.
‘If we fight inside the monastery, the damage will be too great. Some won't even have a chance to resist before dying. The unarmed monks inside cannot be considered part of our fighting force.’
So, what should he do?
Lawford picked up his sword, headed to the front of the monastery, and began clearing the barricades and cutting the underbrush.
In truth, he had started this work earlier, when Esther blocked the divine spells.
Pel had helped him, which prompted Encrid to instruct them to step forward.
It wasn’t a carefully calculated order but simply a result of their preparations being complete.
They weren’t moving with any deep tactical considerations.
Not that they could see a clear path to victory anyway.
Nonetheless, Lawford, almost done clearing the path, heard Pel speak behind him.
"I'll go first."
"You bastard, I'm the one who started opening the way. Why should you go first?"
"If you’re going to fight, fight outside, little brothers."
Teresa cast a shadow over the two of them, offering wisdom to their clumsy bickering.
Meanwhile, Teresa’s gaze turned to her mentor, Audin, who had arrived.
From afar, Audin nodded. There would be plenty of time later to share stories and resolve past grievances.
Now, they had work to do.
"We’re not fighting inside. We’ll anchor the battlefield outside. That way, no one dies needlessly."
Lawford spoke as he stepped forward.
Of course, this meant that he and the other two would have to fight as if their lives were half-forfeit, but that was nothing new.
Sparring with Ragna or Encrid often brought them to the brink of death.
Risking half a life seemed manageable enough, Lawford thought sincerely.
Thus, he did something unimaginable back in his days in Naurillia.
Rather than listening to others’ opinions, he now acted first.
With Encrid’s permission implied by his earlier suggestion, Lawford strode forward confidently.
As he walked ahead, Lawford drew a line on the ground with his sword.
"Those who wish to die, cross this line."
He wanted to mimic what Encrid had done once before.
Next to him, Pel leaped over the line and declared, "I’ve crossed it."
"Idiot shepherd, that was meant for the enemy."
"I know. But before they get to this line, they’ll taste my blade first. If they’re wielding metal without talent, they must be prepared to lose their lives."
The first part of this was Lawford’s statement; the latter was directed at the approaching enemy.
Pel’s confidence exuded an air of ease. From his perspective, few among the enemies had any remarkable talent.
The advancing enemy soldiers grew fiercer.
To display a gray holy light was to admit greed and deep immersion in worldly matters.
For such individuals, authority was the highest value.
Witnessing the blatant disregard for their authority, the crusaders felt their entire bodies boil with rage.
The name of that heat was fury.
"I’ll rip that mouth apart and kill you!"
The first crusader charged forward.
He wasn’t mounted; he relied on his legs, confident in their strength.
Boom!
The ground trembled as he turned into a straight line cutting through the battlefield.
Pel faced him and drew another line on his body.
Crack, slash.
The sounds were heard only by Pel. Those watching from a distance saw it with their eyes instead.
The massive crusader’s side was split open, spilling long trails of entrails as he collapsed.
"Ugh..."
With a bizarre groan, the crusader tried to hold his falling entrails, but Lawford struck his head with the flat of his sword.
Whoosh, thud!
The crusader’s helmet tilted sideways, and his head hit the ground.
Blood spilled from his side, soaking the earth.
The dry, cold soil became warm and wet.
"One down."
Pel remarked.
"I finished him."
Lawford snorted dismissively, standing next to Pel.
The charging crusaders hesitated.
These weren’t enemies easily swept up in the heat of the moment.
Each group of ten crusaders had a leader—a senior crusader.
"Form up!"
Groups with traditions often honed collective tactics.
The same was true here.
Twenty crusaders split into two groups.
Six crusaders of the Libra faction, confident in their skills, approached Teresa, who had stepped aside.
"Is she a giant? She might be worth fighting. That tough skin will be satisfying to cut."
One crusader licked his flexible blade and spoke.
Would Teresa have learned nothing from Encrid? Of course not.
"Careful, you might poison yourself licking metal."
A biting insult and provocation, courtesy of Encrid, twisted the crusader’s expression.
The unexpected remark caused the crusader’s smile to warp.
"You wench."
It was coarse language for someone claiming religious devotion, but Teresa remained calm.
Not that she intended to sing hymns of peace at the moment.
Teresa adjusted her shield to the left diagonal.
She noticed the six crusaders spacing themselves to surround her.
The six crusaders harbored no thoughts of losing.
They formed a structured formation, each drawing their weapon.
As Teresa observed them, she briefly recalled her training.
The memories caused a momentary wave of nausea.
The grueling training under a madman brought dizziness and queasiness to even a half-blood giant.
But what had she gained through that near-fatal effort?
Teresa stepped her left foot outward, grounding her right foot, and lowered her stance slightly.
It was a stance prepared to strike with her shield the moment someone approached.
"Hah!"
One crusader stepped forward and swung a flail.
The attack aimed to strike her wrist beyond the shield.
Teresa slightly raised her shield, blocking the flail with the shield’s edge.
Clang!
Metal struck metal with a thunderous sound that echoed around them.
The attack disregarded defense entirely.
Teresa immediately swung her sword downward.
A vertical slash backed by sheer strength.
Two nearby crusaders blocked it.
Each wielded thick iron rods, crossing them to intercept Teresa’s sword.
Clang!
A second thunderous clash followed, temporarily deafening those nearby.
"You’ll regret stepping forward."
One crusader sneered, frowning.
Their strategy was simple.
One attacked boldly while the other two defended.
The three fought as one.
With six crusaders in total, similar attacks would strike from both sides.
Teresa blocked one side with her shield and countered or parried the other with her sword.
To an observer, she seemed at a disadvantage.
The attackers rotated positions, but Teresa couldn’t.
However, Teresa herself didn’t perceive it as a crisis.
Blocking Lawford and Pel together had been harder.
The lack of openings in the enemy’s defense wasn’t a problem either.
"If pulling and pushing doesn’t open the door, question whether you lack strength."
A saying from the Holy War.
Specifically, it was from the War God’s scriptures.
Teresa liked the saying.
When Encrid demonstrated a unified strike using willpower, Teresa had already learned something similar.
She infused her inherent giant strength with willpower.
She would open an unyielding door.
Clang!
Blocking with her shield, she countered an incoming blunt weapon with the pommel of her sword.
Finding a brief opening, she slashed with her sword in the same vertical trajectory as before.
Boom!
But this time, the sound was different.
Crack.
A shattering sound followed.
"...Unbelievable."
Even if two resisted together, overwhelming force could surpass them.
But Teresa wasn’t just overpowering them with brute strength.
Her mentor Audin would have sighed heavily if she had.
The way she unleashed her power and the technique embedded in it had evolved.
By twisting the blade mid-strike, she channeled more force to her left-side opponent.
The overwhelming force meant for two fell heavily on one.
It was an adaptation of the crusaders’ ‘penetration’ technique.
With the directional force concentrated, the sound changed.
One crusader’s wrist broke under the pressure.
"Heal him."
One of the remaining crusaders ordered.
But ignoring Teresa in such a situation wasn’t a tactical problem; it was a brain problem.
Teresa’s sword and shield moved to a new rhythm.
Faster and more aggressive.
She used her shield offensively, even wielding its edge like a blade.
When her shield’s edge cut through a crusader’s armor, one of them yelled.
"She’s insane!"
Teresa’s expression brightened.
"You know the name of our Knight order?"
Proving her affiliation through words, she refused to be outdone verbally.
"Crazy!"
As another crusader shouted, she thrust her sword forward.
It wasn’t just a simple thrust but a powerful, weighted strike.
Deflecting it poorly would result in broken ribs at the very least.
Her strike pierced one crusader’s thigh.
Crunch!
The bone shattered, and the crusader let out a horrifying scream.
"Arghhh!"
A chilling, pain-filled wail as the broken thigh bone pierced through the flesh.
She had purposefully angled the strike to cause internal trauma.
"Hold your ground! The Libra God is watching over us!"
In desperation, they summoned their holy light.
Clad in gray under the sunlight, their light was far from dazzling.
With that thought, Teresa resumed swinging her weapon.
While Teresa overwhelmed and incapacitated the six crusaders, Lawford and Pel faced their own foes.
"Why are you back-to-back with me?"
"Why don’t you go play with some sheep instead of being here?"
Their exchange of sharp words didn’t mean they truly left each other exposed.
Not every crusader had the skill of a Junior -Knight.
Junior-Knights weren’t that common.
But among ten crusaders, one would undoubtedly be highly skilled.
The ten alternated between attacking and retreating to switch places with others.
It left no room to focus on a single crusader.
Their varying skill levels and habits made them even harder to deal with.
With ten alternating attacks, they put their full strength into each one.
This made it challenging to counterattack and shift the tide of battle.
In battles like this, the fight often drained the endurance of the fewer, stronger combatants.
Among the crusaders, two had the skill level of Junior-Knights and remarkable patience.
They didn’t step forward recklessly but instead coordinated with their comrades.
This made them harder to fight, and they had the audacity to taunt freely.
"Idiots."
"Do you even know where you are?"
"Pathetic fools."
"I’ll cut out the tongue of the louder one."
"Which line did you tell us not to cross, morons?"
"Go call your mothers, losers."
The crusaders were all sharp-tongued.
It was as if they were trained in taunting.
Their experiences with merchants and thieves had sharpened their wits.
Among them, one with a goatee mocked with such a sly expression that it was infuriating.
Not all twenty crusaders spoke, but over half taunted them, making it hard for the two to counter verbally.
Eventually, both Lawford and Pel had to endure both insults and blade attacks.
Thump.
A spear grazed Pel’s cheek, drawing blood.
Pel retreated, kicking a stone with precision.
It was a calculated move to create an opening.
Bang!
The stone struck a crusader’s shield but didn’t create an opening.
On the other side, Lawford deflected a spear and a morning star while dodging left and right.
If this continued, what would happen? Pel already knew the answer.
If he could figure it out, then Lawford, a tactician, surely knew as well.
"Hey."
Pel called out to Lawford.
"What?"
Lawford replied while stepping carefully.
"Do you see an opening?"
The two didn’t get along. They genuinely disliked each other.
But because they had sparred so often, their teamwork was ironically the best in the Knight order.
Junior-Knights often fought better alone than in groups, given their strength.
But this pair was different.
Pel knew Lawford’s strengths.
And Lawford knew Pel’s strengths.
Lawford lacked Pel’s explosive power.
Lawford relied on methodical, deliberate swordsmanship.
It was the opposite of the heavy-hitting style.
Knowing his weaknesses, he mixed Middle-Sword Techniques into his formal style.
He was learning this from Ragna.
Ragna wasn’t the best teacher but wasn’t one to avoid sparring either, leading to some progress.
Conversely, Pel excelled in explosive strikes.
Building up moves or calculating battles weren’t his forte.
He relied on a certain animalistic instinct.
This made him weaker at strategic battles than Lawford.
Lawford generally avoided working with Pel.
But the crusader with the goatee, who mocked them with venomous words, united them.
"A sharp-tongued bastard, isn’t he?"
"Yeah, I’ll let you cut his tongue off."
Pel agreed, putting aside their differences momentarily.
The crusaders’ lively insults brought their efforts into alignment.
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