Chapter 619 Sudden Change, Taking the Field

Unlike the casual, pragmatic attire favored by most adventurers, this squad of border soldiers from Bloodcast Keep was dressed with far more uniformity.

They wore thick, dark linen tunics as a base, covered by Chainmail Shirts that reached their elbows and thighs, and identical light domed helmets. Only the squad captain wore additional pauldrons, elbow guards, and knee guards.

A total of nine members made up the well-balanced squad. Aside from the captain, who served as their highest combat power, the team consisted of two marksmen, one armor-breaker and vice-captain, two spearmen, two shieldguards, and a scout.

They clearly possessed extensive squad combat experience. A split second after the captain's shouted warning, the members rapidly fell into formation with the practiced ease of having done so countless times before.

Two soldiers wielding medium iron-banded shields and short-handled Maces took the absolute front in a defensive posture.

The spearmen stood a half-step behind them, thrusting their gleaming, slender iron spears through the gaps beside the shieldguards to form a simple spear formation.

The two ranged attackers dropped to the very rear. One lugged a heavy, iron-armed crossbow, half-crouching to aim, while the other stood perfectly straight, drawing a longbow to the full.

Of the remaining three, the scout essentially filled the role of a Rogue on this battlefield, prowling the edges of the formation for opportunities. The captain and the vice-captain—who doubled as an armor-breaker—positioned themselves two steps behind the spearmen.

The formation was tight and responsibilities clear. They were equipped to handle the vast majority of scenarios that could occur on a battlefield.

If their current opponents were common bandits or highwaymen, the sight of these nine soldiers arrayed in formation would likely deter them from blindly engaging, even with an absolute numerical advantage.

But clearly, the intelligence of the Manticores lingering in the Canyon did not account for such things.

In their eyes, these armored soldiers standing in battle formation were no different from a flock of sheep huddled together in terror—at least, until the actual fighting began.

"Roar!"

Furious roars echoed from the left and right—slightly less mature than those of adult specimens, yet equally vicious.

They didn't need explicit orders. Extensive combat experience gave the soldiers perfect synchronization.

The monsters' roars had just sounded; they hadn't even had time to close the distance.

"Whoosh!"

"Swish! Swish! Swish!"

The shrill shriek of sharp objects tearing through the air instantly erupted.

The heavy crossbow fired with pinpoint precision. Three sharp-tipped bolts slammed directly into the right Manticore's chest, right wing, and left leg. The force was solid, but the monster's flesh was far tougher; the shuddering shafts penetrated only a fraction of their length before halting.

Beside him, the longbowman was one of the few Class Holders in the squad.

Compared to the heavy crossbow's rapid burst, the fully drawn wooden bow loosed only a single arrow, yet its power surpassed the three bolts combined.

Aimed at the same target, the arrow spun at high speeds through the air, its shaft wreathed in the faint blue glimmer unique to magic, leaving a fleeting trail in its wake.

Sensing the danger, the Manticore attempted to dodge.

Even so, the blue-glowing arrow adjusted along its deviated trajectory, striking true against the outer bone structure of the monster's membranous wing.

"Crack."

The soaring arrow tore through, carrying scraps of meat and a spray of blood before vanishing into the deep brush behind. A chunk of flesh looked as if it had been bitten right out of the upper edge of the repeatedly bombarded Manticore's right wing.

It completely lost the ability to fly.

The heavy crossbow required reloading, while the longbowman entered a brief cooldown, catching his breath after using a combat technique.

Yet this single volley granted the squad—originally facing the pincer attack of two Manticores—the opportunity to divide their enemies. Temporarily ignoring the injured, slowed, and hesitating beast, the group focused all their attention on the other uninjured adolescent Manticore.

"Ahhh!"

Armed with considerable courage, the two shieldguards roared as they charged forward, even as the monster's massive frame cast a terrifying shadow over them in the sunlight. Dropping their centers of gravity, they planted their feet firmly and shoved their wooden shields out against the beast.

Despite their numerical advantage, it was nearly impossible to gain the upper hand in Strength against such a formidable monster. Almost at the exact moment of physical collision, they lost control of their balance. The tremendous impact rippling through their defenses shocked their minds into a blank void.

Simultaneously, however, the spears that had been readied beside the shields thrust out and retracted the moment the monster was blocked, leaving two bloody holes in its hide.

Excluding the two marksmen who had already fired, in just a single brief exchange, this Manticore found itself pinned by the formation and facing a coordinated assault from seven soldiers.

The instant the shieldguards and spearmen finished their turn, the scout wielding a Short Dagger flanked the beast, leaving a deep gash in the joint of the Manticore's left leg.

He wasn't greedy for extra hits; like an assassin, he struck once and immediately pulled back.

Intense agony completely drew the monster's attention. Just as it prepared to swipe its claws in retaliation, the final two Class Holders in the squad—the captain with a small buckler and straight metal sword, and the vice-captain gripping a long-handled Faceted Hammer with both hands—swung their weapons down upon it.

"Slash! Bang!"

The monster's howl, brimming with pain and fury, rang in their ears.

From the corner of his eye, metallic glints flashed off the soldiers' Chainmail Shirts.

In the past, sitting in the audience stands of the Imperial Capital Arena, Zanfrey might have enjoyed such a gruesome, blood-splattered spectacle while chewing on candied fruits handed to him by a servant.

Right now, however, he had no mind to spare for anything else.

The beastly stench flooding his nose with every breath was far more pungent than the Imperial Capital Beast Menagerie. The furious battle cries of the soldiers, and the twisted, flushed face of his normally composed Uncle Ake fighting a monster in close quarters just a short distance away...

...coalesced into an unprecedented, suffocating pressure. Though he merely stood in place, his heart pounded violently, and he gasped for breath, feeling as if the air itself had vanished. Inexperienced and unable to read the battlefield, his attention was completely tethered to Ake and the Manticore ahead.

His mind was entirely blank. If someone were to casually stroll up and slap him across the face right now, the overloaded young man probably wouldn't even react.

Fortunately, the combat training he had received since childhood from the Wilmot Family allowed Zanfrey to at least observe the battle unfolding.

That horrifying monster—unlike anything he had ever seen, with its leonine body and a long tail studded with bone spikes—was terrifyingly strong!

On their journey here, Uncle Ake had achieved the glorious feat of single-handedly crushing over thirty thugs who had blindly tried to rob them.

Yet facing the Manticore's continuously descending claws, Ake was reduced to desperately and awkwardly defending himself.

He often had to endure three or four hammering blows behind his gleaming heavy shield, standing rooted like a driven nail until the very ground beneath his feet caved in slightly, just to find a single opening for a counterattack.

'What should I do?'

Before this, he had practically no real combat experience.

Zanfrey had absolutely no clear idea of what he was supposed to do.

Should he go up and help Uncle Ake?

Setting aside whether he could truly withstand the nearly solid high pressure in the air, overcome the monster's terrifying aura, and approach with his weapon—much less actively initiate an attack...

...with his current meager strength, lacking even a Class Level, blindly joining the fray would be entirely useless. It would only distract Uncle Ake and make an already dire situation even more dangerous.

He would just be causing trouble for no reason.

So... run and hide?

Then what would he be?

Was he going to become a deserter on his very first day in the army?

Zanfrey refused to be a coward mocked by others, yet he was also acutely aware of the consequences of recklessly charging in.

For a moment, he was caught in a dilemma, completely at a loss.

"Arghhh!"

Suddenly, a human's agonizing scream tore out from the nearby battlefield.

The soldier squad that had seemingly held the advantage moments ago was now teetering on the brink of collapse after just a few short seconds.

The two adolescent Manticores, previously separated by the soldiers, had both sustained substantial injuries.

One had half a wing broken off and half of its spiked tail completely missing; its body was riddled with wounds of varying sizes, leaking blood with every movement. The other looked much more intact, save for a gruesome gash on its abdomen that nearly let its intestines spill out, and its right claw joint was mangled and twisted as if struck by a blunt weapon.

Facing two adolescent Manticores—creatures boasting a Challenge Rating as high as level 3 once they reached adulthood—these nine border soldiers had undoubtedly pushed themselves to their absolute limits.

But after all, this was a Transcendent world where Strength dictated everything.

Trying to bridge the gap in combat power with formations and a numerical advantage was ultimately far too difficult.

Faced with powerful monsters that had been heavily injured and driven into a frenzied state by instinct, relentlessly pressing the attack without regard for themselves...

...the soldiers, whose highest Class Level was a mere level 2, were ultimately routed completely.

When Zanfrey glanced over, a soldier who had previously wielded a spear was knocked high into the air, vomiting blood, his arm snapped. The two shieldguards on the frontline were similarly gravely wounded, collapsing in agony with their shields knocked away to who knows where.

The vice-captain, his left arm hanging limply while his right gripped the long-handled Faceted Hammer, hoisted up the screaming scout, attempting to temporarily pull the incapacitated man away from the battlefield.

The squad captain, buckler in one hand and sword in the other, blocked the front by the slimmest of margins, locked in a bitter struggle with one of the Manticores.

The scales of victory were slowly tipping in the monsters' favor.

Before he could think further, a pained grunt a short distance away wrenched Zanfrey's attention back.

He watched as Ake, who had been struggling beneath the Manticore's blows, seemingly reached his breaking point. Seizing an opening, Ake delivered a savage shield bash that nearly knocked the Manticore completely off its feet. But in a momentary lapse, the beast's sweeping tail lashed across his waist like a whip.

The spike at the end of the lion's tail instantly gouged several bloody lacerations into his thigh and flank.

His center of gravity destabilized, he staggered, unable to muster any strength.

The Manticore seized the chance and brought down a claw. Although Ake's astonishing reflexes allowed him to block it with his shield once more, the sheer force sent him tumbling backward.

"Roar!"

How could it possibly let this opportunity slip by?

A fierce glint flashed through its murky, savage eyes. A massive paw, roughly the size of a normal human's torso, reared up high, its razor-sharp bone claws gleaming with deadly intent. Zanfrey could practically picture the gruesome scene of Uncle Ake being mangled the moment those claws descended.

No!

No!

He didn't know if it was the boiling hot blood intrinsic to youth, or the ferocity left deep within the family bloodline by his Legendary ancestor who bore the title of "Shield of the Silver Lake."

The searing flames suddenly surging from the depths of his heart completely burned away the restraints of fear and logic in the young man's mind.

He gripped the short-handled Faceted Hammer he carried with both hands, unleashing the loudest roar of his life.

Closing his eyes, he abandoned all caution and charged straight toward the Manticore.

The last shreds of reason and thought in his brain had been entirely incinerated by his blazing heart.

He even threw his own survival to the back of his mind.

He completely ignored the deep, ethereal wolf howl that inexplicably echoed just as the lion's claw was about to drop; the shrill screech of an object moving at high speed tearing through the air; the sickening squelch of sharp steel piercing flesh; and even the monster's abruptly cut-off roar...

Zanfrey merely kept his eyes shut, gripping his weapon and screaming as he sprinted madly at the Manticore.

"Crash."

Right in front of him, accompanied by the wet sound of spurting liquid, came the muffled thud of some heavy object collapsing to the ground.

He didn't even have time to think.

Legs pumping wildly, Zanfrey tripped over a rock on the ground and completely lost control of his momentum.

In an exceptionally ungraceful display, he sprawled face-first onto the dirt.

The sharp pain of the impact, combined with the incredibly pungent stench of what felt like a monster right next to him, momentarily jolted his consciousness back through the haze of hot blood. Zanfrey subconsciously opened his eyes.

His pupils contracted violently. His breath caught in his throat.

Fierce, golden lion eyes, jagged beastly fangs dripping with saliva, a thick mane swaying in the wind...

In just those few short seconds, he had actually reached the Manticore.

And its horrifying visage, bearing deformed, humanoid features, was pressed right in front of his face!

They were only inches apart. Just a fraction further, and his head would have plunged directly into its gaping maw.

'Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!'

Zanfrey wailed in despair.

He squeezed his eyes shut once more, waiting for death to arrive.

Except... one second passed. Then two...

The agonizing pain he imagined of sharp teeth crushing his skull never came.

Stunned, Zanfrey blankly opened his eyes.

The Manticore's face was still there, completely unchanged, looking as though it were going to bite down at any second.

But...

Zanfrey suddenly realized that given the Manticore's massive size, even if it intentionally lowered its body, its head couldn't possibly be parallel with him while he was lying flat on the ground.

Reason trickled back into his brain.

He inexplicably noticed the monster's fierce but completely glazed eyes, and its viciously agape yet rigid, motionless jaw. Pushing himself up slightly with his hands, the young man struggled to lift his head, trailing his gaze upward.

What entered his sight...

...was a cleanly severed neck stump gushing blood, and the monster's massive, hill-like corpse slumped against the earth.

And even higher up, standing atop the prey, framed so sharply against the orange-red sunset that only a silhouetted outline could be seen...

...was a sharp figure holding a straight sword angled downward, pitch-black yet tinged with faint crimson, looking as if they had melted into the depths of the setting sun.