Chapter 4: Chapter Three: The Head Reaper

When the barbarian mercenaries suffered defeat, they would plunder imperial civilians to restore morale.

This was an old imperial tradition.

Those barbarian units had to burn, kill, and loot before they could regain combat effectiveness. If imperial pay failed to arrive during wartime, they could simply massacre nearby villages and towns to seize supplies on the spot. To some imperial elites, the barbarian armies might even offer better value—for sometimes, no pay was needed at all.

These enemies had numerical superiority, yet they did not launch a direct assault.

Because the caravan’s guards still possessed some combat strength; a frontal assault would likely incur heavy casualties.

The mounted guard captain shouted toward the distance in northern barbarian tongue—the caravan, having traveled far and wide, was fluent in many languages—and the meaning was roughly: surrender half the cargo, and we’ll spare your lives.

The barbarian routers rejected the offer.

A fierce man, resembling a leader, stepped forward, clad in bear fur, his expression brutal, his voice low: “Hand over all wealth and women. I’ll let you go.”

The barbarian scouts had spotted women among the caravan, and barbarian warriors immediately grew restless.

The caravan folk hesitated at the demand.

*Shhh!*

An arrow shot through the air, instantly exploding the skull of the nearest barbarian rouger—the negotiation shattered, battle imminent.

Deng Ken saw it clearly.

The arrow had flown out from within the crowd—no one had been seen nocking or drawing a bow—as if the arrow had materialized midair, making negotiation impossible.

The witch did it.

There were only a few women in the caravan; the moment they demanded women and treasure, one barbarian rouger was instantly killed.

The enraged barbarian army launched its attack.

They were likely a scattered hundred-man unit, numbering around thirty, armed inconsistently—unlike imperial troops, most wore animal-hide armor, some even bare-chested, wielding two-handed battle-axes or two-handed swords, as if remnants of different units had coalesced.

But these bastards ran fast!

If the knight who had chased Deng Ken around the pillar had this speed, he’d have been dead long ago.

“This speed is close to a hundred-meter sprint!”

“Are barbarians this physically strong?”

If they charged head-on, only a few skilled mercenaries could hold them—everyone else would collapse instantly.

“Give me a war bow!”

Without hesitation, Deng Ken dropped his inferior hunting bow and grabbed a northern war bow from a nearby guard. The guard was stunned—he hadn’t even reacted before Deng Ken snatched it away.

“Here.”

He tossed the inferior hunting bow over, instantly nocked an arrow, drew the war bow to full tension—the body he’d inherited after his reincarnation was in good shape, capable of fully drawing the war bow. As the crosshair flickered wildly on his projection interface, relying on over a decade of gaming experience, Deng Ken locked onto his target despite lacking archery skill, using the swaying crosshair to aim.

*Shhh!*

A barbarian berserker at the front exploded in a burst of blood—his health bar flashed briefly, then vanished, clearly longer than the health bars of previous enemies he’d encountered.

But still within the range of ordinary humans.

“As long as the reticle still corrects.”

“My skill is still alive!”

This shot stunned everyone on the battlefield—the barbarian routers looked terrified. The dead man must have been one of their leaders, or perhaps a barbarian warrior of noble rank—equivalent to an imperial noble knight.

These so-called high-tier warriors, blessed by shamans, possessed far greater vitality than ordinary men; unless mortally wounded, they were nearly impossible to kill.

During the empire’s conquest of the barbarians, they had dared charge head-on into imperial elite troops.

“One kill!”

Deng Ken nocked another arrow calmly, watching his stamina bar. Drawing a heavy war bow consumed considerable stamina. Perhaps because his previous shot had been so precise, the flickering crosshair had stabilized noticeably. From his old gaming knowledge, he knew that as archery skill improved, the reticle should grow steadier—until it became a fixed, pinpoint crosshair.

To max out archery meant rapid fire; before mastering the skill, one had to rely on instinct, feel, and manual estimation to aim.

Speed was out of the question for now.

“Blow Q!”

An arrow flew through the air, instantly decapitating another barbarian warrior clad in bear fur. Barbarians favored charging ahead, lacked discipline, prized bravery above all—often, their elite fighters charged too far forward and got killed. But their combat will was fierce; they revered dying on the battlefield as the mark of a true man, and considered dying in bed a coward’s fate. So even after losing officers, they kept fighting, and even after routs, they could regroup and return to battle—far superior in morale to imperial troops.

But losing two officers in a row made them hesitate.

These were routers—they’d already suffered a crushing defeat, morale already low.

As Deng Ken nocked another arrow, several barbarian routers visibly trembled with fear and turned to flee.

One arrow, one kill.

This was terrifying!

“A divine archer!” The caravan guard captain’s expression was stunned—then filled with relief. He and two guards moved to flank Deng Ken, clearly fearing he’d be targeted by barbarian archers.

In a small-scale skirmish, a divine archer’s deterrent power was immense.

“My touch is still there!”

Deng Ken grew calm.

If he’d been controlling his own body, he’d likely be trembling so badly he couldn’t even draw the bow—but in the god’s-eye view, the same fierce, one-vs-a-hundred aura from his gaming days surged forth.

“I am the divine archer of Calradia!”

“Champion of the arena!”

“Fearless knight of the battlefield!”

“King of Ashes!”

Deng Ken slightly raised his angle and fired an arc shot—while his touch was still hot, he took every opportunity to eliminate another.

“Blow Q!”

The arrow arced down, piercing a chest—though it didn’t kill outright, the enemy would surely die soon.

Barbarian mercenaries rarely wore heavy armor; these routers had abandoned much of their shields and armor. A divine archer against light-armored units? Pure bliss. Barbarian territories were mountainous, dense with primeval forests—archers posed less threat there, and they never trained to fight in heavy armor within such terrain.

Deng Ken’s touch was unmatched for now—he planned to secure a five-kill streak.

*Shhh!*

But at that moment, an arrow struck—within the god’s-eye view, Deng Ken instantly sensed he was being sniped by an enemy archer. Before he could react, the arrow seemed to hit something invisible in midair, veered off course, and fell weakly, embedding itself in the buttocks of a man slumped on the ground.

He screamed like a dying animal, convinced he was about to die.

The guard captain slapped him hard—knocking out a tooth, nearly knocking him unconscious.

“Shut up!”

A blade at his throat silenced him instantly.

In the god’s-eye view, Deng Ken noticed a hooded figure approaching—slender, unmistakably female. She’d just raised her hand slightly—and instantly, the arrow aimed at him had veered off course.

The witch!

The previously yellow neutral marker instantly turned blue, even showing faint signs of shifting toward green.

Had she become an ally?

Deng Ken didn’t hesitate—he turned his arrow toward the barbarian archer. He remembered that after killing enemies, he could steal their abilities. Eliminating one or two barbarian archers might unlock his archery skill points.

“Grab Q!”

“Spray Q!”

Deng Ken’s touch exploded—he fired a rapid volley, seven arrows, five kills: three dropped instantly, two critically wounded and dying. Alone, he shattered the entire barbarian assault.

Even the bear-fur-clad barbarian leader fled beyond the range of his bow.

In the god’s-eye view, Deng Ken’s pinpoint killing ability was overwhelming.

Their only chance had been to break through during the caravan’s panic—once the defensive formation was set, they could never breach it so quickly.

“I never thought, after playing games for over a decade, I’d be slaughtering like this!”

In the god’s-eye view.

The boy Deng Ken controlled wore a cold expression, like an emotionless divine archer—only the faintest, sinister smile curled at his lips.

Once in the god’s-eye view, the controlled body became a mechanical killer.

The barbarian routers numbered only thirty—now reduced by one-sixth, their morale was shattered. Trapped between advance and retreat, they retreated. They couldn’t break the wagon line in one rush—the caravan still had many guards. Give Deng Ken time, and ten kills weren’t impossible.

More importantly, the bear-fur-clad barbarian leader feared he’d be the next to have his head exploded.

Deng Ken’s archery wasn’t that precise—but with the god’s-eye view and crosshair correction, he didn’t need to control his body or worry about anything else. Once his touch returned, aiming meant instant execution.

Shooting arrows himself was nothing like shooting arrows in a game.

“They’re retreating!” The caravan guards cheered.

Deng Ken nocked his final arrow, aimed at an extreme arc—his arrow flew through the air, crossing the entire battlefield, over three hundred meters, landing just three meters from a barbarian rouger.

At that distance, the arrow had little lethal power.

But its psychological impact was immense—the barbarian routers fled into the forest at greater speed.

Everyone present stared in shock. Even the masked witch’s eyes widened—she hadn’t expected Deng Ken to nearly hit a target so far away. With a stronger bow, he might have killed another.

“Not out of combat state.”

Deng Ken, controlling his body through the god’s-eye view, maintained vigilance. The caravan’s others moved—guards spread around him, clearly treating him as their core protector.

The witch also kept a distance from Deng Ken, seemingly guarding him as well.

The caravan, chaotic, resumed its journey.

The young man with the arrow in his buttocks didn’t even glance at the corpse of his fellow villager nearby—he wailed for others to carry him. Finally, the guard captain, unable to bear it, grabbed him by the neck and tossed him onto a mule cart. No one touched the arrow in his ass—he screamed again when he touched it.

The enemy hadn’t given up.

The routers hung behind the caravan, waiting for an opening to seek revenge.

Deng Ken controlled his body, using the god’s-eye view to follow the caravan. They traveled half a day, until finally, after Deng Ken shot an arrow into the trees, the trailing barbarian routers withdrew.

They realized this divine archer was an eagle-eyed demon!

They were terrified!

If my archery were a bit better, and I had a horse and the right distance, I could take them all on alone.

With a perfectly stabilized crosshair from a god’s-eye view, Deng Ken was confident he could wipe them all out.

Of course, he didn’t want to take that risk yet.

Unless it was a matter of life or death, there was no need—he just needed to drive them off. His strength would only grow stronger from here.

——「Archery Mastery: You’ve acquired the Combat Skill of a Skilled Archer, becoming familiar with standard hunting bows, war bows, longbows, and other ranged weapons. Your accuracy and rate of fire have improved.»

——「Combat Style - Beheading: The barbarian berserkers excel at beheading strikes; their furious blows can decapitate enemies outright. Additional effects: Intimidation and Fear.»

——「Adrenaline Surge [Unique Ability]: A peculiar ability of the barbarian berserkers. After receiving a shaman’s ritual blessing, they can enter a frenzy in battle, triggering adrenaline release in a unique manner. When activated, their stamina bar is locked, greatly enhancing physical attributes, followed by a state of exhaustion and fatigue after use.»

This time, few skills dropped—it seems not every enemy yields a skill.

But in Deng Ken’s combat menu, the two basic styles—Slash and Chop—now had light blue borders, likely because the barbarian warriors excelled at these two fundamentals.

If I maxed all of them out, would it be one slash, one kid?

«Unique Ability?»

«Of course—there’s still plenty of supernatural power in this world.»

Deng Ken wished he could unlock a mana bar—at least something like a Witcher’s simple signs or spells.

A pure blade just feels lacking. Even Gandalf could cast a light spell.

Witch.

Now Deng Ken finally had a chance to properly observe the witch among the caravan. Her face was obscured, but her figure, hidden beneath the robe, was unmistakable—a classic witch-sorceress build, with piercing blue eyes. Even from her facial contours, her beauty was obvious; she was the type who could easily hold her own.

She seemed to have no presence in the caravan; others unconsciously ignored her.

«My insignia is trembling.»

Though curious, Deng Ken held back—he was dealing with a neutral unit bearing a skull emblem.

Don’t mess this up.

Before nightfall, the caravan reached a village. Border villages were small; this one had only a couple hundred residents. The villagers were highly wary and allowed them to camp only in the wheat field. A caravan attendant negotiated with them and exchanged goods for some supplies.

Deng Ken’s resting spot reeked of cow dung. Nearby lay a stack of straw; refugees, without permission, dragged some over and laid it on the ground as beds.

The young man shot in the buttocks had already pulled out the arrowhead—he had a minor wound, simply bandaged, and it didn’t hinder him. Now he was eagerly helping two refugees lay out a resting spot for Deng Ken, bowing and scraping, acting like a groveling lackey.

Before he could even bite into his dried rations, the caravan guards brought him food and a small jug of wine. The attendants had cooked a stew of fresh vegetables and meat, obtained from the villagers, and completely ignored the other refugees. One young attendant carried over a large bowl with great deference, placed it down nervously, then withdrew—glancing back at Deng Ken repeatedly, his expression tinged with quiet reverence.

The northern warbow lay beside him. The caravan guard never came to reclaim it—not even mentioned it—and even provided him with two extra quivers.

The entire village was eerily silent—not a sound of poultry or livestock.

Imperial tradition, old as time.

The cow dung remains. The cows are gone.

………………