Chapter 76 – Duel Amidst a Sea of Blood
The war horns blared again. The fourth day of battle was far from over, yet the field had already become a furnace of death. Soldiers clashed with spears and shields, cavalry thundered past, arrows shrieked across the sky.
On the right flank, Eisenwald's men—only 2,800 remaining from the 3,500 who had set out—fought tooth and nail. Their small numbers were offset by unyielding discipline, holding ground against waves of enemies.
Then, a crushing pressure descended. Fenrir froze mid-swing as a chill ran down his spine. The air itself seemed to bend under the weight of an approaching aura.
From the enemy lines, a tall figure emerged. Broad shoulders, long black hair tied back, and a jagged scar ran down one cheek. Resting on his shoulder was a massive greatsword, broad as a shield and heavy as doom.
"So, you're the baron's pup from the swamps…" the man's voice was deep, contemptuous. "You dare humiliate my troops with your tricks? I'll end this farce here."
Fenrir's eyes narrowed. He knew who stood before him.
Count Valgaard von Eisenmark—lord of the eastern marches, commander of the enemy's right wing.
His aura burst forth in a tide of deep blue, dense and suffocating. Even seasoned warriors flinched.
Fenrir lifted his bloodstained sword, crimson aura flaring around him like molten lava seeping from a volcano. Heat shimmered from his body, his will unshaken.
"If you want my head, Count… then try. But know this—wolves don't bow to lions."
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Status Before the Duel
[Status Panel – Fenrir Eisenwald]
Name: Fenrir Eisenwald
Title: Baron of Eisenwald, The Crimson Wolf
Age: 17
Level: 15
EXP: 21,000 / 26,000
Aura: 150
Stamina: 148
Strength: 112
Cunning: 198
Charisma: 125
Mental Fortitude: 168
Skills:
[Aura Control Lv.3]
[Swordsmanship Lv.3]
[Leadership Lv.4]
[Tactical Instinct Lv.3]
[Passive – Legacy of Strategies]
Traits:
[Wounds That Shape]
[Lord of the Marsh]
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[Status Panel – Count Valgaard von Eisenmark]
Age: 45
Level: 28
EXP: 58,900 / 62,000
Aura: 310
Stamina: 340
Strength: 295
Cunning: 180
Charisma: 160
Mental Fortitude: 240
Skills:
[Aura Domination Lv.4] – Exerts crushing aura to suppress foes.
[Greatsword Mastery Lv.4] – Deadly wide arcs and crushing strikes.
[Battlefield Tyrant Lv.3] – +15% Strength when fighting before his men.
Traits:
[Iron Beast] – Endures longer in duels, reduced stamina loss.
---
"RAAAHHH!" Valgaard roared, bringing his greatsword down with earth-splitting force.
CLAAAANG!
Fenrir caught it, blade to blade. His crimson aura flared violently, sparks and heat bursting out as the ground beneath them cracked. The impact hurled Fenrir back several paces, knees buckling, but he did not fall.
Eisenwald's men cried out, "Our Baron holds against a Count!"
Fenrir steadied himself, eyes like steel. He's strong, too strong head-on. But size always comes with slowness.
---
Fenrir shifted his approach. He circled Valgaard, striking quick, shallow cuts at the Count's sides and knees. Each swing of the greatsword shook the ground, felling unlucky soldiers nearby, but Fenrir slipped past again and again.
Never meet strength with strength. Exploit the gaps. Always the gaps.
A feint here, a real strike there—Fenrir's blade left shallow wounds on Valgaard's arms and legs, red lines crisscrossing his massive frame.
Valgaard snarled. "Enough of these flea-bites!" His aura flared brighter, pressing outward like a crushing tide. Soldiers around him staggered under its weight.
Fenrir gritted his teeth, blood trickling from his lip. His aura… he's using it not just to attack, but to grind down my will.
Then, faintly, he remembered his father Celdric's words: A wolf does not bow. Not even before a beast larger than itself.
---
The fight became a storm.
Fenrir feigned weakness, letting his foot slip just enough to bait Valgaard into an overextension. The Count lunged, greatsword swinging in a brutal arc.
Fenrir struck back like lightning—his blade slashing across Valgaard's wrist, drawing blood.
The Count howled, furious, aura pulsing. "Wolf or not—you are prey, and I am the hunter!"
He smashed his greatsword down. The impact cratered the ground, earth and dust exploding outward, throwing men aside.
Fenrir stumbled, chest heaving. One mistake, and I die here. But I won't die. Not today.
---
Aura boiled around Fenrir once more, crimson lava brighter than ever. The air crackled with heat, the battlefield itself pausing as all eyes turned to the duel in the midst of carnage.
On this day, one fight eclipsed the clash of thousands:
Baron Fenrir Eisenwald, the Crimson Wolf
vs.
Count Valgaard von Eisenmark, the Wolf-Hunter.
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