On the other battlefield, the ground looked as if it had been tilled by a volley of fireballs. The church was a ruin, only half of it still standing amidst a field of rubble and debris. The grand statue of Dracoth had toppled, its draconic head cracked, one of its horns snapped clean off.
Amidst the chaos, the percussive clang of steel on steel and the sharp crackle of aura continued unabated.
Alistair's knights, having dispatched the remaining priests, had already withdrawn to a safe distance under the command of Goodwin, their newly appointed captain. The aftershocks from a battle between high-level Earth Knights were more than enough to kill them.
Thorne was reaching his limit. The man before him was an absolute monster.
He seemed to feel no pain. Every attack was delivered with maximum force, even as the webbing of his own hands split open, spraying blood, his arm muscles tearing and fibers curling outwards. His assault remained as ferocious as ever, completely unaffected by his gruesome injuries. That, Thorne could almost comprehend.
What truly made the fight impossible was the creature's reaction speed. It was far beyond that of a normal Earth Knight. His instincts were like those of a wild beast, seeming to predict the trajectory of every one of Thorne's attacks.
"Heh, heh, heh… How many more of these can you take, old man?" Cole's eyes were cruel, his lips pulled back in a manic grin. His greatsword became a blur of afterimages, each chop and slash fast and vicious, shaking Thorne to the core and shattering the flagstones beneath his feet.
Dazzling Aura—one silver, one red—blossomed from their clashing blades. Their raw power was evenly matched, each collision forcing them apart. But Cole was relentless. Steam was now rising from his entire body, and his exposed skin had turned a strange, boiled-lobster red.
Facing the storm of attacks, Thorne was forced back step by step. His aging body finally betrayed him. His movements slowed by a fraction of a second, just enough to miss the parry for the next diagonal slash.
In the moment of crisis, the veteran knight's experience took over. He twisted his body, but could only manage a slight shift—enough to offer an arm in exchange for his life. It was the only choice he had.
Cole saw the intent and his grin widened, becoming even more unhinged. A one-armed knight would make for a much better toy, promising more pleasure in the game of cat and mouse to come.
CLANG!
At that exact moment, a greatsword flew in from the side, deflecting Cole's slash at the last possible second before being sent spinning away by the tremendous force.
Thorne reacted instantly, seizing the opportunity to roll across the ground, creating precious distance between himself and Cole.
"Tch—"
His attack thwarted, Cole spat on the ground in disgust, slinging his greatsword over his shoulder and glaring at the interloper. So, that useless Anselm is finally dead, he thought with contempt. Good for nothing. And to think His Holiness entrusted him with such an important task.
"My… my lord…" Thorne stammered, kneeling on the ground, using his sword as a crutch. His face was ashen with shame. "Forgive this old servant's incompetence…"
Alistair bent down, retrieved his greatsword, and walked to Thorne's side, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't blame yourself, Thorne. This thing is a modified Templar. Normal logic doesn't apply."
As he spoke, he eyed Cole with cold detachment. "It has no sense of pain. It's nothing more than a pitiful killing machine crafted by the Church. It's not even human."
"A Templar?" Thorne's eyes widened in understanding. He had heard the name back in the capital but had never had the chance to see one. Now, having fought one, he understood the terrifying reputation.
"Interesting! How very interesting!" Cole cackled, looking at Alistair with newfound curiosity. "You know quite a bit, boy."
Information about the Templars was an absolute secret, known only to a select few. For this Lord of Frostfell to identify his nature at a glance meant the boy had secrets of his own. If he could capture him and deliver him to His Holiness the Pope, it would surely be a magnificent achievement.
Cole's eyes narrowed dangerously. It was now two against one. If he didn't go all out, capturing the lord would be difficult. But to use that power… He hesitated, but only for a second. The moment he became a Templar, he had cast aside life and death. He trusted the Pope would take care of his family.
The thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant. In his vision, the old knight and the young lord were already charging him in a pincer attack.
"BERSERK RAGE!" Cole roared.
A scarlet mist erupted from his body. His height and build swelled in an instant, knotting muscles straining against the plates of his armor. Thick black fur sprouted from his skin, the bones in his hands thickened, and his nails elongated, transforming in moments into a pair of razor-sharp wolf claws. His head twisted and reshaped itself into a snarling, monstrous wolf's head.
"Insolent fools!" the creature howled at the sky. As the two swords swung at him from left and right, he met them not with his blade, but with his new claws. They were like hardened steel, one hand blocking Alistair's heavy chop while the other caught Thorne's blade, stopping both attacks dead.
Thorne twisted his arm, wrenching his sword free from the creature's grip as he leaped back.
"A… a werewolf?!" he cried out in shock.
"It seems the Church's modifications are even more twisted than we imagined," Alistair sneered. He planted a heavy kick on Cole's side to create space, his eyes already focused, inspecting the creature's information.
[Name: Cole (Berserk) (Temporary)]
[Identity: Templar]
[Power Level: Earth Knight Lv. 47 (41-50)]
[Other: Omitted]
Just a temporary skill. In that instant, Alistair made his decision.
"Thorne! His transformation has a time limit! Stall him and we win!"
The words had barely left his mouth when Cole was upon them again. A clawed hand swept horizontally. Alistair rolled clear just in time, the claws smashing the stone statue behind him into dust with a deafening crash.
Alistair scrambled to his feet as the beast charged again. Without hesitation, he activated the dragon crystal shield on his hero-grade armor and cast Glory Barrier on himself.
The phantom of a great golden dragon roared to life behind him as the holy shield sank into his body.
Alistair launched himself forward, activating Fearless Charge. Dragging his greatsword, he slammed headlong into Cole, getting face-to-face and trading blows in a desperate flurry. Thorne, seeing his lord creating an opening, focused his attention, using his mobility to harass the beast's flanks, looking for a chink in its defense.
"Insolent insects!" Cole roared. He felt as if he were clawing at a tortoise shell; his talons were going blunt. More shocking, while this lord was weaker than him in his berserk state, every simple-looking sword swing carried an immense, crushing weight, a kinetic force that bogged the creature down as if he were fighting in deep water. And every few seconds, the old knight would land another stinging blow from the side. It was driving him mad.
The longer he used Berserk Rage, the more of his life force it consumed. He couldn't wait any longer.
A fresh torrent of blood-red mist erupted from his body. His eyes glowed like embers. The skin on his wolfish face began to wrinkle, and the fur on the back of his head turned white before their eyes. He was aging rapidly, but in exchange, his speed and power multiplied several times over.
"Go to hell!" he shrieked. His claws, wreathed in a gale-force wind, smashed into Alistair's dragon shield. At the same time, he lashed out with a kick, catching Thorne in the side.
Alistair's shield shattered, reaching its breaking point. Thorne was sent flying, crashing into the ruins, his condition unknown.
Cole took a ragged, shuddering breath. The massive drain on his life had left him looking stooped and frail. He grabbed Alistair from the ground, seizing him by the collar of his armor and lifting him into the air.
"Originally… I was going to take you to His Holiness…" Cole's scarlet wolf-eyes stared malevolently at Alistair, his mind almost completely gone. "But now… I've changed my mind. I'm going to EAT YOU!"
"Let's see if you have the teeth for it! DESPERATE WILL!"
As Cole's massive, drooling maw lunged forward, Alistair roared. At that moment, his blood began to boil. With every beat of his heart, a surging power flooded his limbs. In a flash of motion, he swung a fist the size of a sandbag and smashed it square into Cole's jaw.
The werewolf staggered back, stars exploding in its vision as a shower of bloody fangs flew from its mouth.
With the buff from Desperate Will, Alistair's speed, strength, and regenerative abilities had all skyrocketed. The tables had turned. The weakened Cole was no longer a threat.
"You want to eat me, do you?" Alistair snarled, his voice a low growl. "I'll tear out every last one of your teeth!"
In mid-air, Alistair drove his knee up into Cole's head. Using gravity and momentum, he slammed the creature's skull into the ground with a sickening crunch. He viciously pried open the wolf's mouth and, with savage efficiency, ripped out the remaining teeth.
Before Cole could even react, Alistair had retrieved his greatsword. With a single, fluid motion, he swung it, severing the monster's head from its shoulders.
He stood over the twitching corpse, breathing heavily.
"I've learned my lesson this time," he said to the dead thing at his feet. "For faithful servants of the gods like you, the only way to make you stay down is to take your heads."