Chapter 2: Resolution
There were nine uruk who ambushed the wagon train.
Russell had taken care of one, leaving eight. The hired mercenaries numbered fifteen, but the uruk were monsters of great strength and leathery hide.
Two to three mercenaries were against to one uruk, but they were not easily dealt with. Since these guys were strong enough to be compared to demon beasts and even wore armor, it was natural that it wouldn’t be easy to just use blades.
Mercenaries with minor wounds stood by, clutching the injured areas. There were no fatalities, thanks to the priestess and the wizard who were able to cast blessings. The wizard was Evelyn, who had alighted from the wagon earlier.
“Benevolent light, your servant implores you for the strength to oppose our foes.”
“Blazing embers. . .”
Russell glanced at the priestess and Evelyn’s incantations. The blonde priestess, holding a mace in one hand, raised her empty hand straight up as she prayed, and golden light enveloped her entire body.
The brilliant golden light spread like ripples as it touched the ground, enveloping the fighting mercenaries. Their bleeding stopped, and their wounds closed up.
The exhausted men were revitalized and fought the monsters with renewed vigor.
“Fire Arrow!”
Evelyn chanted the trigger word, and a blazing ball of fire formed between her hands. The ball of fire grew in size and soon transformed into dozens of flaming arrows that shot through the air and embedded themselves in the uruk.
The uruk writhed in pain as the flaming arrows pierced their limbs or grazed their heads, and those who were hit screamed as they were cut down by the mercenaries.
But the battle was far from over. The uruk were taller than adult men and covered in muscle. They realized who they needed to kill first in order to win this battle.
“Fire Arrow!”
Without hesitation, the wizard was targeted. The priestess must have been included in their target list, but the pain from the flaming arrows lodged in their skin seemed to be too much to bear.
“Kuaak!”
Suddenly, a large one let out a roar and brandished a broadsword. Two nearby mercenaries were sent flying, spraying blood. Its murky yellow eyes, gleaming fiercely, caught sight of Evelyn nearby.
“They’re after the wizard!”
“Dodge it!”
Evelyn’s face hardened as she continued to assist in the battle by casting spells. The uruk charged like an angry bull. The other mercenaries were struggling to deal with the uruk they were assigned to.
She drew the short sword she had at her waist. However, it was less than half the size of the broadsword the charging uruk wielded. She quickly formed a hand sign with her other hand.
“Stone Will!”
As Evelyn slammed her hand on the ground, a wall of stone rose up from all four directions, enveloping her. The uruk, unfazed by the stone walls trying to trap it, snorted and charged, shattering the stone wall and scattering debris.
“Damn. . .”
Evelyn, who had not expected it to be broken, cursed and fired a fireball. However, the fireball, hastily prepared in a short amount of time, lacked sufficient thrust and exploded against the swinging broadsword. But that was what Evelyn had intended.
She had deliberately made the core that maintained the sphere’s shape unstable, so the flames it contained quickly devoured a certain space.
“. . . . . .”
Evelyn, who had raised one hand to block the spreading smoke and flames, opened her eyes wide. Inside the flames, the uruk, its gray skin charred in places, glared at her with fierce eyes. It roared and pounded the ground.
“Kaaaaaa!”
“I, I command you to stop. . .!”
The squeezed-out magical power took on a blue form and grabbed the uruk’s legs and arms. However, it held on for only a second or so, as the uruk quickly shook off the spell and charged again.
Evelyn, who had involuntarily taken a step back at the sight of it, stumbled and fell backward.
Even in her disheveled state, she held the sword in her hand and raised it high, but her arms trembled with fear.
The uruk raised its broadsword high as it charged towards her.
Evelyn’s green pupils dilated and absorbed the light. Death was right before her eyes. In the form of the broadsword held by the gray-skinned monster.
Her mind went blank. She could not recall a single spell she had learned over the years. The magical power flowing through her veins seemed to have frozen and would not move.
Time seemed to slow down. All she could feel was the broadsword coming down from a high point, the smell of blood, her dry saliva, and the hot air. In a second, she would no longer be able to feel these things. As she resolutely closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of such certain death.
A flying axe came out of nowhere, whistling through the air and embedding itself in the uruk’s chest. The force behind it was so strong that the uruk dropped its broadsword and flew almost in a straight line, crashing into the ground behind it.
Evelyn slowly opened her eyes. Death had not come for her. She had been pushed away by someone’s thrown axe.
The eyes of everyone fighting turned to the one who had thrown the axe. Of course, it was Russell.
The uruk that had been knocked down by the axe tried to get up, but it collapsed, blood pouring from its split chest.
The uruks, angered by the death of their comrade, bared their sharp fangs and charged at Russell, ignoring the mercenaries they had been fighting.
“W, What!”
“Uwaaaah!”
Some mercenaries were knocked over by the force of the charge, but others managed to successfully attack the uruk as it retreated. However, those who neglected to defend themselves shrugged off the flying blades and axe blows with their armor or tough bodies. The uruks’ sights were set on one man.
A man taller and larger than an adult Uruk. Russell muttered as he watched the Uruks running towards him, shaking the ground.
“I’ve drawn their aggro properly.”
“W, What?”
“I’m talking to myself. Don’t mind me.”
Russell, who answered Evelyn’s question, lifted the spear that had fallen on the footbridge with his instep. It was a practical spear made for actual combat, made by humans, not Uruks, who did not have much dexterity. Russell immediately got into position and threw the spear.
The uruk were a race that, while somewhat lacking in intelligence, possessed sharp combat instincts. They were also strong enough to defeat a bear, so they were able to block the flying javelin with the side of their sword. However, the power behind the javelin was not comparable to that of a bear.
In an instant, the sword broke and the spear, piercing its chest, pierced the stomach of the uruk behind it. The uruk that had been killed instantly collapsed, and the one with the spearhead protruding from its back fell over face down, clutching the shaft of the spear with both hands.
While the others gaped, the remaining five uruk charged at Russell. However, they did not all charge at once. Being monsters with large bodies and stature, their range of motion when wielding their weapons against Russell was limited.
If they had known how to use combination attacks, they might have been able to corner and trap Russell, but the uruk were not that intelligent. They simply charged one after another, with the one in front attacking and the one behind following suit. Of course, combination attacks were an offensive technique that even humans could only perform after many years of practice.
The first thing that came flying was the blade in the Uruk’s hand. Russell showed quick movements for his large size. He dodged the tip of the sword aimed at his head to the left and grabbed the Uruk’s wrist with his left hand.
He stepped forward with his left foot and swung his right elbow, which had been tucked inward. His elbow slammed into the uruk’s mouth as it tried to scream.
There was a crack, and the neck snapped back 180 degrees. The front of the neck, unable to withstand Russell’s strength, was completely torn. The uruk could now see behind it without turning around, but the light in its eyes was gone.
Russell kicked the corpse, and it rolled away, splattering blood. He wiped the splattered flesh and blood from his cheek with the palm of his hand.
There were four uruk left. Despite the deaths of their comrades, the uruk seemed to be driven more by anger than fear of Russell, and their speed did not slow down.
Russell’s crimson eyes flashed. For a moment, his senses perceived more than others could see, hear, smell, and feel.
The dull blade and the bloodstains on it, the flesh. The uruk’s ragged breathing. The smell of blood-soaked mud and sweat. The wind against his skin.
Russell lowered his waist and head slightly. In doing so, he smoothly dodged the thrusting sword and delivered a punch each to the exposed belly and side of the uruk. The punches were so fast that they sounded like one.
Those who watched without daring to intervene saw the two uruk who had been wielding swords suddenly being blown away as if pulled by a string.
The two uruk, their armor shattered, coughed up blood. Red pieces of flesh could be seen amidst the blood they coughed up. They were pieces of their torn internal organs.
The remaining two pounced. Russell, who had retrieved his extended fist, waited calmly.
In the midst of the bloody and muscular battle, his heart was calm. It was no different from when he was riding in the carriage. Russell liked that strong heart very much.
An axe came flying. Russell, who dodged the axe’s horizontal swing by a hair’s breadth, dug inward and, with an odd motion of his hands, twisted the uruk’s wrist and caught the falling axe.
Using his right foot as a pivot, Russell swung his left arm twice. The uruk’s shoulder was split open, severing its arm, and a deep laceration on its lower back severed its spine. It died without even being able to scream.
The axe handle snapped off. It could not withstand Russell’s strength. Or perhaps it was simply too old.
The last one was a one-armed man with a sword in each hand. It was the largest of the uruk, and its footsteps were heavy as a result. It roared and thrust the two swords in its hands straight forward.
Russell, who had casually tossed aside the broken axe handle, twisted his body sideways and faced the thrusting blades.
His eyes were flashing again. Like a high-performance camera capturing a moment in time, Russell’s eyes perceived the movements of the thrusting swords.
He swung his left leg up, pivoting on his firmly planted right foot. His left foot pushed away one sword and his right arm’s gauntlet deflected the other, while his right hand grabbed the wrist of the uruk’s left arm. It could not escape now.
The uruk tried to pull its left arm back, but it was as if it was stuck in a stone crevice and would not budge. The panic made its movements slow. It was a golden opportunity for Russell to launch a fierce and overwhelming attack.
As he dug in deeper, the gap between Russell and the uruk narrowed. His tightly clenched left fist connected with the wide-open chest.
Thud.
The dirt dust that had drawn a circle around Russell and the Uruk was pushed away, and the back of the Uruk’s breastplate bulged and shattered, scattering the debris.
The sword in the uruk’s hand fell to the ground with a clang.
The monster fell backward in the same position it had stood. Its exposed gray skin bore the deep, distinct imprint of Russell’s fist.
There was silence. The ones who had been hit in the stomach and side had already died.
Those who were crouching, standing awkwardly, or waiting for a chance to charge with their swords drawn when Russell was in danger all looked at him with awe.
A single mercenary had defeated five uruk, which were difficult to defeat one-on-one even for knights who were called superhuman. And he had done so with his bare hands, not even drawing the sword at his waist.
And he had also killed the three uruk before that. In effect, Russell had single-handedly fended off all nine uruk that had attacked the wagon train.
Russell, who had been standing blankly, met their gazes and said.
“Why are you just standing there? We need to clean this up.”
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