Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World - Chapter 13

Risking Everything
However, despite the speed and abrupt movement, the barbarian appeared prepared to defend himself.

“Ruah!” – The barbarian bellowed, his back arching as he wielded his axe, parrying Henry’s powerful strike and compelling the young king to retreat, nearly losing his foothold. Henry swiftly regained his balance with the aid of his sword.

Despite the chance to counterattack, the barbarian remained still, hesitating – “A prideful society, huh” – Henry muttered through clenched teeth, rotating his wrist. Pain throbbed in his joints; the swift and forceful movements strained his body. The surge of Mana within him wreaked havoc, almost tearing apart his Mana circuits.

Henry took a deep breath, attempting to manage the pain – “And what of my soldiers?” he asked himself, casting a quick glance to the side. His troops were fully engaged with the barbarians.

They fought with a clumsy yet organized effort, each soldier playing their part in the battle. Despite their amateurish tactics, their formation provided them with a significant advantage over the barbarians, who charged recklessly into combat, seemingly unafraid of death. It was a frenzied dance of steel and blood, with each soldier steadfastly holding their ground amidst the chaos.

Henry’s soldiers thrust their weapons at the enemies, who even injured kept attacking and trying to break their formation. But, whenever an axe threatened to behead one of them, a fellow soldier would step in with a shield, protecting their comrades from death. They were coordinated, ensuring only small casualties under Stahl’s banner.

“Well, I also need to face my problems” – Henry thought, his gaze returning to the barbarian who remained motionless, waiting for him, like a proud gladiator – “I can’t hold out much longer, it seems.” – Henry knew that the previous exchanges had drained him of his strength, his body and circuits were almost tearing apart – “I need to stall until Luther finishes his battle.”

With determination, Henry tightened his grip on the sword and raised it towards the barbarian, beckoning him to come forward. The barbarian grinned maniacally, uttering words that Henry couldn’t comprehend, but he surmised were along the lines of – “Finally!”

Gritting his teeth, Henry braced himself as they clashed once more. The resounding clash of steel filled the air as they engaged in a fierce fight. Each strike was met with equal force, neither yielding nor retreating. In the span of a minute, they exchanged dozens of blows. Their feet danced on the snow, creating long lines that served as testament to their fight.

Henry parried blow after blow, his sword moving with precision and skill despite the exhaustion that weighed heavily on his limbs. It was like a mountain weighting on his shoulders and knees – “Again!” – Henry repeated the word in his mind, forcing himself to stay focused. Henry’s evaded and parried, evaded and parried.

Sweat dripped from Henry’s brow as he struggled to maintain his balance on the slippery, snow-covered ground. Every movement was a challenge, every breath a battle against the burning ache in his lungs and muscles. He felt exhausted.

“I can’t find it!” – Henry cursed inwardly – “I can’t find an opening!” – Despite his efforts, he couldn’t find an opportunity to counterattack, leaving him without a chance for respite.

The barbarian’s attacks grew heavier and stronger, while Henry’s body faltered under the strain. He struggled to parry while maintaining his balance, the weight of battle bearing down on him with each passing moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep the pace.

Suddenly, unable to parry, one attack cut through the air and managed to land on Henry’s arm. Fortunately, it didn’t reach his bones, merely slashing his flesh and staining the snow with his blood. Yet, it didn’t hinder his will or capabilities. Fueled by adrenaline, Henry pressed on. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want the cold snow to embrace him and be his final resting place. However, despite his wishes, dozens of strike followed, painting the snow beneath them with the king’s blood.

With each passing moment, Henry felt himself growing weaker, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. He could no longer keep pace with the barbarian’s relentless assault, his lungs hurt with the lack of oxygen, leaving his body unable to respond in time. But as more blood left his body, Henry found himself unable to move, his limbs no longer obeying his commands.

“Move!” – Henry screamed in his mind, his gaze falling upon his blood-soaked attire. It seemed there was little blood left in his body, perhaps not enough for his heart to keep pumping. He would soon die.

Henry looked ahead, in time to see the barbarian raising his weapon for what could be the final blow. Henry’s mind raced with fear and desperation – “I can’t die here” – he thought, his vision blurring with exhaustion – “I can’t let it end like this.”

In a desperate plea, a desperate act of defiance, Henry tried to summon every ounce of strength left within him, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He felt an intense heat coursing through his body, as if something within him was igniting.