Chapter 18: Chapter Seventeen: Alone, Single-Sworded! Requesting Follow Reads

This time, he was truly badly hurt.

After Deng Ken’s group entered the forest, they abandoned their horses; he directly carried Severus, Ania supported the weak Tris, and the four of them staggered to find a massive oak tree to rest.

——An abandoned Druidic Circle.

On the God’s-eye map, there was a marker here; no buildings were nearby, but a ring of oak trees surrounded the area, their age estimated at nearly a century.

Deng Ken took off his clothes, spread them on the ground, and helped Severus lie down.

Beside him, Tris struggled to her feet, guiding Deng Ken to treat Severus’s wounds with herbs from the Druid’s body; Ania tore her long skirt, using the softer inner lining as bandages, then helped Deng Ken re-bandage Severus.

“I’ll gather some dry firewood.”

Ania rose to search for kindling nearby, occasionally scratched by thorns; this woman who looked like a noblewoman immediately wore an expression on the verge of tears—not feigned—she was over a hundred meters away from the group, purely because the thorn scratches had nearly made her cry out in pain.

A pampered Roman noblewoman, once married to an imperial general.

Deng Ken secretly observed through the God’s-eye view.

When Ania returned, she wiped tears from her eyes, hugged a bundle of dry wood to her chest, half-cradling it with her skirt, and limped over to place it beside the oak tree.

She really is a two-star blank witch.

In the projection screen, Deng Ken’s status showed ‘Fatigued’, ‘Weak’, ‘Severe Bruising’; his health bar had dropped by about two-fifths, his stamina bar’s maximum reduced by nearly one-third; beside him, Severus showed ‘Critical Injury, Near Death’, ‘Severe Blood Loss’, ‘Mild Disability’; the Crow Queen—Tris showed ‘Mana Depletion’, ‘Severe Weakness’, ‘Mental Lethargy’, ‘Mild Backlash’.

Ania was the only one in perfect condition; she had been fine when they set out, and after gathering firewood, she now had one new status: ‘Mild Bruising’.

The witch’s forehead was smeared with mud; perhaps she had fallen hard when Deng Ken wasn’t paying attention.

Deng Ken found a way to give Severus some water.

He looked at Tris beside him and said gravely: “We must find a safe place to rest for a while.”

“Otherwise, Severus won’t last long.”

The Crow Queen—Tris, pale-faced, looked at Deng Ken and said: “You decide now.”

Deng Ken nodded.

He lit a small fire before the three, placed Severus beside it near the shade of the tree, reached out to feel the Druid’s forehead—no fever, just severe blood loss—then turned to the witch Ania, who sat by the fire, dazed and visibly anxious, and said gravely: “You stay and care for them.”

“I’ll return as soon as possible.”

The sky had already turned dark.

Hearing Deng Ken’s words, Ania looked uneasy, as if worried he might abandon them and flee alone; after glancing at the weak Tris, the witch gritted her teeth and nodded: “Alright.”

This witch looked frail and delicate, yet when real trouble came, she showed some resolve.

Deng Ken offered no further explanation.

He glanced at Tris; in her eyes, he saw trust.

He pushed himself up on his weary body, picked up the Northern War Bow, fastened the Frankish throwing axe to his waist, drew the ‘Oathkeeper’ longsword, looked up at the sky, and vanished swiftly into the dense forest.

Eleven arrows left.

Deng Ken moved forward along the rugged mountain path, pausing occasionally to rest, for his stamina recovery had slowed noticeably since his injuries.

The Weakness status had faded, but Fatigue would persist for another ten hours or so.

Severus couldn’t wait that long.

If it rained, one downpour might kill Severus by tomorrow.

“I can still draw the bow.”

“But I can’t pull it full—my stamina’s nearly gone.”

Dimension space.

Deng Ken stared at the projection screen, zooming out the God’s-eye map; soon, a building marker appeared several miles away.

——Bandit Stronghold.

They lacked food, clean water, and a place to rest and recover.

Going to other towns now would be more dangerous.

“Severus must rest properly and receive further treatment, or he won’t last.”

Since the moment Severus gave up his horse, he had been Deng Ken’s battle companion.

Go.

Deng Ken crept toward the bandit stronghold ahead; he had stopped here because he’d spotted its marker on the large map.

Until the moon rose.

He finally reached the edge of the stronghold; it wasn’t large—just a crude wooden stockade surrounded by a simple fence, with a small cave inside. In recent years, frequent rebellions in Gaul had turned many rebel soldiers into bandits roaming the wilderness.

——Weapon Master (Sword): Your mastery of swords has become second nature; they feel like part of your body. Greatly enhances combat skills with sword-type weapons.

After killing the Hermitage Chapel, a master-level branch appeared beneath Military Weapon Proficiency.

Military weapons cover most conventional melee arms; this battle’s enemies primarily used swords, and none of the others reached master level, so a master-tier combat skill was carved out specifically for swords.

——Throwing Proficiency: You are skilled with all thrown weapons; your accuracy with javelins and throwing axes is greatly increased.

Many Roman soldiers trained in javelin throwing; Frankish infantrymen excelled at throwing axes.

——Deflect Arrows [Unique Ability]: An extremely advanced combat skill—a battle instinct formed by the body. You may use any weapon to deflect arrows, and attempt to deflect thrown weapons; success rate depends on your overall combat skill and physical condition.

Undoubtedly, this was the Hermitage Chapel’s ability.

——Blood of the Holy Grail (Fake) [Unique Ability]: Though not the true Holy Grail, its blood still granted mortals incredible power; your physical condition can surpass normal human limits and gradually improve over time, enhancing all base attributes.

Hm?

So the Holy Grail rumored to be in the Hermitage’s possession is fake?

Arthur supposedly once sought the Holy Grail.

The true Holy Grail is probably lost.

This must be why the Hermitage Chapel possessed such monstrous physical stats—Deng Ken, even with adrenaline surge, could barely parry a few blows.

——Combat Style—Ambush: With astonishing speed and unbelievable burst power, deliver a lethal strike; this is the combat technique of the Shadow Assassin, unpredictable and fleeting—seize the momentary opening, unleash all power in sudden ambush.

This combat style resembles a charge-ambush: only one move, no defense whatsoever; once launched, you cannot retract your force.

Fast, precise, brutal!

Centered on the basic technique ‘Thrust’, excels with short blades; life and death hang by a thread—success or failure means you may be cut down by nearby enemies’ blades. (Full-force ambush thrust, no chance to evade or change tactics.)

This was an early assassin’s technique, usually trained only by death-sentenced warriors.

In the medieval era, there weren’t many flashy techniques; even during the Crusades, the most vital combat remained basic sword forms. Those martial arts moves from wuxia novels suit solo duels—step onto a battlefield and try those flourishes, and you’ll be cut down in seconds.

In solo combat, you don’t face multiple enemies, so you have room for complex moves; on the battlefield, you only need the basics: thrust, slash, chop.

After this battle, all of Deng Ken’s basic combat techniques turned blue; the core moves—thrust, chop, slash—were now deep blue, and the basic thrust technique gained a faint golden border.

Imperial armies relied on shields and short swords, honed through countless repetitions; now, Deng Ken’s casual thrust was swift as a blur, as if he’d practiced it for over a decade.

This was essentially muscle memory.

“It seems the later you go, the harder it becomes to improve combat skills.”

“But basic techniques still slowly improve—still don’t know the limit.”

Most swords, axes, and knives share the same basic techniques; only polearms like spears have unique ones; sometimes Deng Ken mused, feeling a sense of ‘all arts return to one origin’, for these basics were the origin of all moves.

“If there’s one flaw, it’s that Western life-or-death combat lacks elaborate footwork, relying more on adaptability.”

This battle brought Deng Ken massive gains.

Because the Crow Queen—Tris, whether intentionally or not, left most enemies barely alive—he harvested all the heads.

He suspected Tris had guessed he gained strength through killing.

Master-level combat skills probably must be forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood!

Bandit Stronghold.

Under the God’s-eye view, Deng Ken marked each enemy one by one.

——Saxon Hunter.

——Gaulish Rebel Raider.

——Bandit.

——Frankish Light Infantry Axe-Wielder.

The entire bandit stronghold had twenty-seven people—small scale; five were marked blue, labeled ‘Slave’, ‘Farmer’, and ‘Farmer’s Wife’.

Three farmers were locked in a room in the corner.

The other bandits were scattered around the stronghold, with two or three patrolling, but already half-asleep.

The most dangerous target was the ‘Frankish Heavy Axe-Wielder’ (bandit leader); he was a one-star unit, sharing a room with a unit marked ‘Slave’. In another room, a unit marked ‘Farmer’s Wife’ shared space with three other enemy units, not labeled as bandits.

Twenty-two enemies—should be manageable.

The night was pitch black.

Deng Ken crept forward slowly; through the God’s-eye view, he saw every enemy’s position—the patrolling bandits were lethargic, grumbling, occasionally glancing toward the room holding the ‘Farmer’s Wife’ and ‘Slave’.

Shhh!

Deng Ken fired an arrow, instantly killing the bandit with a headshot; the body fell with a thud, drawing attention from others.

Rapid fire.

Deng Ken didn’t hesitate—he drew and shot continuously, one arrow per kill, all headshots; most bandits wore no armor, only a few special units had leather or half-scale armor, but they were likely drunk or distracted and hadn’t noticed the noise.

They wouldn’t get the chance to wear armor now.

Deng Ken climbed the wooden frame, flipped over, glanced at his stamina bar—if not injured, he’d have moved even more easily.

——Frankish Throwing Axe.

One bandit, drawn by the noise, barely showed his head—dead before he could fully emerge.

Thwack.

The Frankish throwing axe split straight into the skull; Deng Ken walked forward calmly, plucked the axe from the enemy’s forehead without haste.

He spun the Fran battle-axe in his hand, hurling it through the air—thud—another head exploded.

All six bandits patrolling the outer perimeter and taking turns on night watch were mercilessly slaughtered.

Deng Ken pulled the flying axe free and glanced left and right.

Some bandits slept in the cave; the higher-ranking ones were in the wooden huts of the stronghold.

Faint moans of a woman in pain drifted from ahead.

Deng Ken’s gaze was icy. He crept forward and softly knocked on the door. Inside came an irritated voice. A nearly naked Saxon hunter approached the door, flung it open, and opened his mouth to curse.

“I told you it’s your turn in the second half of the night… you lot…”

Pfft!

Deng Ken split the enemy’s skull with one axe blow—blood and brain matter sprayed.

Clang.

His figure surged forward, drawing his sword in an instant—blade-light like afterimages, severing an enemy’s arm like cutting tofu. The enemy reached for his weapon; the next second, he clutched his severed arm and screamed. The sword’s lingering glow pierced his throat. Deng Ken’s form twisted and lunged—under the dim light, the last man had just grasped his handaxe when the Oathkeeper’s blade pierced straight through his heart.

The entire process took only seconds.

At that moment, on a rag-strewn floor, the naked, scarred peasant woman let out a piercing scream.

The bandits’ blood drenched her head and face.

A noise came from the neighboring hut.

From the God’s-eye view, the Fran heavy-axe warrior shuddered, climbed off the slave, and frantically grabbed his weapon and strapped on his breastplate.

Deng Ken reached the door and kicked it open.

The bandit chieftain circled to the side, preparing to ambush—but suddenly, the female slave rose, pulled a dagger from somewhere, and drove it straight into his throat.

Blood oozed out.

She was a slave with no combat experience—this dagger struck his back. The bandit chieftain flew into a rage, raised his battle-axe, and swung to crush her.

—Fran flying axe.

Deng Ken lunged into the room; midair, he hurled the Fran flying axe—point-blank, skull shattered—thud—the bandit chieftain’s corpse crashed to the ground.

Inside the room.

The female slave, too, was covered in scars and bruises. She pulled out the dagger, stared silently at Deng Ken—no desire to attack. The blue marker turned green.

“Stay here.”

Deng Ken plucked the Fran battle-axe from the enemy’s forehead and glanced toward the cave entrance through the God’s-eye view.

The combat skills he’d seized along this path, meant to play the Assassin’s Creed, would only make him cosplay some axe-wielding berserker assassin. His Fran flying axe grew more natural with use—and its combat style was pure cleaving. A casual swing could split a skull.

Among the Germanic barbarians, many high-rank warriors excelled with axes.

Shhh!

An arrow pierced the air—the chaotic bandits who had just grabbed weapons and stuck their heads out dropped instantly.

The bandits’ gear was terrible—most had no armor; at best, a leather jerkin.

One arrow. Two arrows. Three arrows.

At this moment, Deng Ken became a merciless killing machine. By the time his arrows ran out, a pile of corpses blocked the cave’s exit.

“He’s out of arrows!”

“Only one man!”

Shouts came from the cave direction—a Gallic rebel raider egged the other bandits forward.

Thud.

The Fran flying axe drove straight into his skull as he poked his head out of the cave.

He actually dared to stick his head out and speak.

Deng Ken’s God’s-eye view saw everything clearly—even the bandits’ exact positions inside the cave.

He drew the Oathkeeper, snatched up a broken round shield, and stepped slowly toward the cave, each footstep leaving a bloody, distinct imprint on the ground.

Clang!

The shield blocked the attack from the right; the Oathkeeper flashed like cold light, thrusting out. As the sword parried the short knife slashing from the left, the bandit with the handaxe only then realized—he clutched his throat, blood gushing, unable to speak.

Blood sprayed onto Deng Ken. Drops of gore dripped down the shield.

He swept his longsword upward, lunged forward, and pierced the enemy’s throat. The Oathkeeper withdrew, spun, stepped aside, and the shield smashed hard—flipping a bandit attempting an ambush to the ground.

Pfft.

Deng Ken crouched slightly, gripped the sword with both hands, and stabbed downward—the blade pierced the enemy’s heart.

“Devil!… Demon!…”

The remaining bandits broke. Some fought desperately. Some knelt and begged. Some tried to flee—but there was no escape.

—Combat Style: Decapitation!

A head flew into the air.

Blood spurted like a fountain, making the bandits scream like terrified girls. When they tormented the peasant serfs, they never imagined this day would come.

One step, one kill!

Absolute combat skill suppression. Any counterattacks were easily blocked by the shield.

The Hermitage’s Sanctum had greatly enhanced his strength.

Deng Ken advanced step by step, the ground littered with corpses—every last bandit slaughtered.

When he stepped out of the cave, two women knelt trembling at the entrance. The entire stronghold was strewn with corpses—twenty-two bandits, not one survivor.

“Release those three peasants.”

“Find a stretcher. All of you, come with me.”

Deng Ken pulled arrows from the corpses. He was drenched in blood, like a god of slaughter risen from hell. He picked up a tattered bandit cloak from a hut, draped it over himself, and led five trembling peasants toward their camp.

Dawn was breaking.

A faint glimmer of morning light appeared in the distance.

“Who?!”

Aniya, who had kept watch all night, was half-asleep—but at the sound, she snapped awake, drawing her sword.

Deng Ken’s low, hoarse voice echoed in the dark: “It’s me.”

The Crow Queen—Tris opened her eyes. Her sapphire irises shimmered with brilliant light, fixed on the man slowly emerging from the shadows.

Though Deng Ken had changed clothes, the stench of blood clung to him, thick and unyielding.

He gave the Crow Queen—Tris a slight nod, voice rasping: “I’m back.”

No words needed.

The Crow Queen—Tris gazed at the man before her, a breathtakingly beautiful smile forming on her lips. Her eyes glowed like stars.

She had never doubted Deng Ken would abandon them.

The three peasants, along with Deng Ken, carefully carried the stretcher bearing the semi-conscious Severus toward the stronghold. The female slave stepped forward to support the weak Tris. The peasant woman tried to speak—Aniya recoiled with disgust, her expression toward the woman brimming with contempt.

Finally, by morning, the group returned to the stronghold.

Tris stared at the corpses littering the stronghold, silent for a long while, occasionally lifting her gaze to Deng Ken’s back ahead.

Aniya’s face was filled with shock.

She knew Deng Ken was strong—but she never imagined he, wounded and weakened, could single-handedly annihilate the entire bandit stronghold.

The noblewoman’s eyes gleamed. She stole a glance at Tris, then turned her gaze to Deng Ken nearby, lost in thought.

Deng Ken was exhausted.

After settling Severus in a warm wooden hut, he finally allowed his mortal vessel in the Projection Page to fall into slumber.

This battle had drained him utterly.

………………