Chapter 47 – Duel in the Bloodied Marsh
The stench of iron and blood clung to the damp air of the marsh. Mud squelched beneath the boots of soldiers, churned and blackened by the trampling of thousands. The clash of spear against shield, the cries of men, and the storm of arrows had momentarily faded—because now, all eyes turned toward the center of the battlefield.
There, two figures stood locked in silent defiance.
Fenrir Eisenwald, the seventeen-year-old baron of Eisenwald, his armor battered and drenched in both his blood and that of others, yet his crimson eyes still burned with a fire that refused to die. Around his body flared an aura like molten lava—red, thick, and boiling with unyielding heat.
Opposite him towered Baron Heinrich von Falkenrath, a broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties with long black hair tied back. His presence exuded raw, oppressive strength. Around him seethed a black aura, heavy like toxic smoke, threatening to choke everything it touched.
Heinrich hefted his massive greatsword, pointing it at Fenrir. "A mere boy dares challenge me head-on? Do you wish for a quick death?"
Fenrir steadied his breath, tightening his grip on his chipped blade. His voice, though strained, carried across the marsh. "I do not fight for a quick death, Baron Heinrich. I fight for my land and my people. And you will fall here."
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BOOM!
The two auras collided, unleashing a shockwave that blasted mud and water outward in a violent spray. Soldiers were forced to step back, forming a vast circle that became an impromptu arena for their lords.
Heinrich struck first. His greatsword came down with the weight of a hammer, an avalanche of steel and aura. Fenrir raised his blade to block, but the impact nearly tore the sword from his hands.
"Ghhk—!" Fenrir staggered back three steps, mud splattering his face.
Heinrich barked a cruel laugh. "Is that all you've got, boy? Your crimson aura shines prettily, but it's useless before true strength!"
The second blow came even faster. Fenrir twisted away, but not fast enough—steel carved across his shoulder, blood spurting to stain his armor.
Gasps erupted from the Eisenwald militia. Their young baron was being pushed back, inch by inch, by the ruthless might of Falkenrath.
But Fenrir's gaze did not waver.
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Fenrir knew brute force alone would not save him. Heinrich was stronger, faster, more seasoned.
Then… I'll use my mind. Use what I've learned before.
He recalled Sun Tzu's words: "If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. If he is arrogant, entrap him with pride."
Each time Heinrich swung, Fenrir gave ground deliberately, slashing only when safe, feigning exhaustion, showing weakness in his stance. His breath grew ragged by design, his shoulders slumped as if ready to collapse.
And Heinrich, ever the warrior of sheer might, sneered with growing arrogance. "Pathetic. You are nothing but a child playing at war. I'll cut off your head and parade it through Falkenrath!"
The Falkenrath soldiers cheered, morale surging. Eisenwald's men clenched their teeth, some shouting desperately for their lord.
Fenrir bowed his head, blood dripping from his chin. Inside, however, his mind was sharp as a blade. Come closer, Heinrich. Just a little closer…
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The next strike from Heinrich's greatsword slammed into the marsh with a thunderous crash, throwing mud into the air. Fenrir rolled aside and in the same instant lunged low, slashing at Heinrich's leg.
"Bastard!" Heinrich snarled, jerking his shield down to intercept—but not fast enough. Fenrir's blade tore through greaves and flesh, leaving a bloody gash across the baron's calf.
The Eisenwald ranks roared in triumph, their faith rekindled.
Fenrir stood panting, lips curling into a grim smile. "Strength alone does not win battles, Heinrich. You rely too much on your body."
Heinrich roared in fury, his black aura exploding outward in a storm. "Impudent brat! I will crush you!"
His sword swung in a flurry, each blow heavy enough to break bone. Fenrir blocked, parried, dodged, but each clash sent lightning bolts of pain up his arms, his bones shuddering. His vision blurred from the sheer force.
Then Heinrich overextended. His strikes grew wild with rage, accuracy faltering. Fenrir saw it—the opening he needed.
Feigning collapse, Fenrir dropped to one knee, letting his blade dip as though he'd lost all strength.
With a snarl, Heinrich raised his sword overhead, ready for the killing blow.
That was when Fenrir moved.
With all the aura he had saved, he thrust his sword upward in a blazing crimson arc.
SLAAASH!
The blade sliced through Heinrich's armor and deep into his abdomen.
Heinrich staggered back, choking, blood gushing down his torso.
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The battlefield fell into stunned silence.
Heinrich dropped to his knees, his greatsword slipping from his grasp with a heavy thud. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, fixed on Fenrir—yet his body refused to rise.
Fenrir himself wavered, his entire body shaking from pain and exhaustion. Cuts and bruises marred his frame, blood soaking through his armor. Yet he refused to fall. He planted his sword into the mud, leaning on it to remain standing.
"CRIMSON WOLF! CRIMSON WOLF!" Eisenwald's soldiers erupted in cheers, their morale soaring.
The Falkenrath warriors froze. Their invincible baron—fallen. Fear crept into their hearts, breaking their formation.
Fenrir limped closer, his crimson aura flickering like dying embers. His gaze locked coldly on Heinrich. "It's over, Heinrich. This marsh… was never yours to claim."
Heinrich coughed blood, lips curling in bitter spite. "Damn you… boy… you are a demon of war…"
And then his head slumped forward, defeated.
Fenrir swayed, on the verge of collapse. Only the hands of his soldiers rushing to support him kept him upright. The battle was not yet fully decided—but the tide had turned.
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🔻 [Status Panel – Fenrir Eisenwald] 🔻
Name: Fenrir Eisenwald
Title: Baron of Eisenwald, The Crimson Wolf
Age: 17
Level: 14
EXP: 18,200 / 22,000
Aura: 135
Stamina: 102 (reduced due to severe wounds)
Strength: 105
Cunning: 190
Charisma: 120
Mental Fortitude: 160
Skills:
[Aura Control Lv.3] – Refined manipulation of aura in combat.
[Swordsmanship Lv.3] – Trained sword techniques, adaptive strikes.
[Leadership Lv.4] – +20% morale to units under command.
[Tactical Instinct Lv.3] – Advanced battlefield adaptation.
[Passive – Legacy of Strategies] – Knowledge of ancient stratagems can be applied in battle.
Traits:
[Wounds That Shape] – Trauma of war permanently increases Mental Fortitude.
[Lord of the Marsh] – Fighting in swamp terrain grants +25% Cunning and +15% Strength.
Condition:
Severely Wounded → -20% Stamina, -10% Strength until healed.
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🔻 [Status Panel – Baron Heinrich von Falkenrath] 🔻
Name: Heinrich von Falkenrath
Title: Lord of Falkenrath
Age: 45
Level: 18 → RESET → Level 0 (defeat, EXP reduced to 0)
EXP: 0 / 2,000
Aura: 0 (core shattered)
Stamina: 0
Strength: 0
Cunning: 0
Charisma: 0
Mental Fortitude: 0
Condition: Defeated, gravely injured, aura core destroyed.
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Fenrir raised his head, sweat and blood streaking down his face. His soldiers' cheers echoed in the marsh, their morale ignited into wildfire. The enemy lines faltered, shaken by the fall of their baron.
The Eisenwald–Falkenrath war was not yet finished. But in this moment, the Crimson Wolf had proven that even a boy could slay a giant.
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