The moment the iron chain came whipping through the air with a vicious howl...
Don Quixote flicked his wrist, bringing his longsword up in a horizontal block.
Clang!
The blade perfectly deflected the heavy iron head of the chain.
In almost the exact same instant, the flayer on the right brought his blade crashing down.
The stench of blood hit his face!
Don Quixote violently threw his body to the side.
Half of his body was practically hanging off the horse.
The bloodstained iron blade scraped past his shoulder, missing him by a hair's breadth.
Boom!
The sheer force of the swing chopped the air itself, creating a muffled boom.
Don Quixote's left hand whipped out in a blur.
A dagger strapped to the side of his saddle was instantly drawn from its sheath.
The next second!
The dagger pierced clean through the throat of the flayer on the left.
"...Guh, guh."
The flayer's eyes bulged wide as broken, gasping sounds forced their way out of his throat.
He clamped both hands desperately over his neck.
But he couldn't stop the hot blood bubbling and gushing out from between his fingers.
The iron chain slipped from his slackened grip.
Right after!
His body convulsed twice in the saddle before he tumbled to the ground like a broken sack, splashing into the bloody mud.
Seeing his comrade killed in an instant, the pupils of the flayer on the right shrank to pinpricks.
A furious, terrified roar tore from his throat as he swung his iron blade once more.
The blade cut through the air, aimed squarely at Don Quixote's head.
This time!
Don Quixote didn't dodge or evade.
He brought his longsword up in a mid-air block.
"Clang!"
A sharp crack rang out, and a massive recoil force reverberated through the flayer's arm.
The man felt an agonizing jolt of pain in his grip, nearly dropping his iron blade.
The shock caused the flayer to freeze for a split second.
And then!
A longsword pierced straight through his heart!
The flayer went rigid in the saddle. The blade slipped from his grasp, and his body crashed heavily to the ground.
The young girl who had been dragged was left slumped in the freezing, muddy water, covered in blood and horrific wounds.
She had cried until she was on the verge of passing out, exhausted by sheer despair.
Don Quixote sheathed his sword, his gaze sweeping over the grotesque, bleeding gashes covering her body.
Just then, his two Cerwyn city guard subordinates, Nathan and Vincent, arrived on the scene.
Don Quixote immediately issued orders:
"One of you stay and look after her, the other find a chance to save the rest.
"Be careful. These raiders aren't your average thugs. Don't go getting yourselves killed!"
"Don't worry, My Lord!" Nathan nodded grimly, then turned to Vincent:
"Vincent, you stay here. I'm going to help the others!"
Vincent hesitated for a moment. Consumed by rage, he desperately wanted to go kill these raiders.
But he also knew this wasn't the time to argue.
He steadied himself and quickly said:
"Be careful, Nathan!"
Then Vincent locked his eyes on Don Quixote and said coldly:
"Be careful, My Lord! And... kill every last one of those animal bastards!"
With that, Vincent dismounted, took off his animal skin cloak, and draped it over the girl's frail, shivering body.
He carefully half-carried, half-supported the girl to a spot out of the wind and said gently:
"Don't be afraid. We are soldiers of House Cerwyn. Reinforcements will be here any second."
The girl trembled uncontrollably, tears and blood mixing as they streamed down her face.
————
Deeper in the market, the sounds of weeping, screaming, and slaughter grew even more intense.
Don Quixote looked up.
He saw a raider on the left standing over a corpse, rummaging through its clothes for valuables.
Don Quixote spurred his horse into a charge.
Sensing the movement, the raider looked up.
Don Quixote sat straight in his saddle, riding right past the man.
His longsword came down, bringing the stench of blood with it.
"Ah!"
The raider let out a bloodcurdling scream as his head rolled to the ground.
Don Quixote reined in his horse, his longsword lowered.
Beads of blood ran down the blade, dripping from the tip onto the crimson-stained earth.
In the firelight filling his vision...
Raiders were still tearing through stalls and crates!
The sadistic laughter of the flayers and the desperate, agonizing screams of the smallfolk blended together until they were indistinguishable!
"Still plenty left to kill!"
He glanced at the numerous notches on his sword, then spurred his horse and charged straight toward the area where the screams were the loudest.
Behind Don Quixote.
From the direction of Castle Cerwyn, the thundering of hooves began to shake the earth like rolling thunder.
Reinforcements had finally arrived.
Some of the more clear-headed and cautious raiders quickly noticed the sound.
They didn't raise the alarm.
Instead, they immediately stopped their pillaging and sprinted toward the outskirts of the market to escape.
Their comrades, still utterly absorbed in looting and killing, provided the perfect cover.
As long as they made it out, they would be safe.
The North, which was roughly the size of the other six regions of Westeros combined...
Was vast, sparsely populated, and mostly covered in wastelands, forests, and towering mountains.
This expansive, desolate, and untamed land was a natural hiding place.
Before long.
House Cerwyn's black battleaxe on a silver field banner snapped wildly in the firelight.
A tide of cavalry poured into the utterly chaotic market like a river of iron.
Leading the charge, Ser Kyle gripped his sword, his face dark with fury as he roared:
"Seal all the exits! Don't let a single one of these bastards escape!"
"Kill!"
The raiders, whether they were slow to react or completely blinded by bloodlust, instantly panicked.
Realizing the situation had gone south, they abandoned their loot and scrambled desperately toward the edges of the market.
Some dropped their stolen goods and tried to run, only to be quickly pinned to the ground by cavalry lances.
Some swung their blades in stubborn resistance, only to be surrounded and hacked to death by multiple cavalrymen.
Blades rose and fell, and screams echoed one after another.
————
Don Quixote, his face devoid of expression, slowly raised his longsword and pointed it at a raider kneeling before him, begging for mercy.
A flash of steel, and the head hit the dirt.
"About time they showed up."
Covered from head to toe in blood, an exhausted Don Quixote sheathed his sword, took a deep breath, and scanned the area.
By now, the Cerwyn soldiers had the situation completely under control.
The raiders and flayers were either dead or captured.
The sounds of weeping and screaming were gradually being replaced by the angry shouts of soldiers and the quiet sobbing of survivors.
"A lot of them got away!"
Standing at the edge of the market, he stared into the dark, foreboding Wolfswood not far away.
A significant number of raiders had already disappeared into the trees.
Soon after, a large detachment of Cerwyn cavalry rode out of the market, giving chase to the fleeing raiders.
Don Quixote didn't join them. He stayed where he was, trying to calm his nerves while thinking to himself:
"I need to buy a suit of plate armor!
"This chainmail just isn't cutting it. I almost got seriously maimed just now!"
In a cramped environment like this market, personal combat prowess was still somewhat effective.
But on an open battlefield, no matter how strong an individual was, there was a limit to what they could do.
Even if he could fight ten men at once, he would eventually be surrounded and killed.
Unless he could push past the limits of the human body, become a supernatural being, and grow strong enough to tear dragons apart with his bare hands.
Then, his personal combat prowess would be impossible to ignore!
But that level of power was far too distant for Don Quixote right now. It was something he could only fantasize about in his dreams.
In reality, he still needed to consider practical ways to increase his chances of survival.
Like wearing a full suit of plate armor.
That would absolutely skyrocket his survivability on the battlefield.
He could still be surrounded and killed, but it wouldn't be nearly as easy.
Especially given his current physique, Don Quixote was more than strong enough to wear a full suit of plate armor without it slowing him down.
Just then, a Cerwyn cavalryman rode over and stopped beside him.
The man was covered in blood, clearly having just fought a brutal battle, and his eyes still blazed with fury.
He looked Don Quixote up and down, his gaze pausing on the fresh notches covering his sword, his blood-soaked chainmail, and his blood-spattered face.
He quickly said in a grim voice:
"Knight Don Quixote! The Earl requests your presence!"
...