Chapter 201: We Better Die Far Apart

South of the Belair Territory, Puniel finally awaited Marl’s return for resupply.

After being informed of the plan to launch the final assault, Marl immediately expressed his intent to advance southward directly through the pass.

Marl led his warriors along the lakeside, pushing forward all the way. He had already scouted the border where the Nation of Werewolves met the Church Nation—it was a dead land, utterly devoid of life.

In Marl’s somewhat superstitious words, he felt a malice seeping up from the ground itself in that place.

Puniel couldn’t quite grasp the sensation Marl described, but he understood that this world held Mystery, so all he needed to know from Marl’s report was that there were no humans or werewolves at the border.

Thus, he issued the order: the army of over a thousand troops already gathered at the southern pass was to march out.

He was the overall commander for this campaign, and Marl clearly stated that he and the warriors of the Church would follow Puniel’s command.

This greatly relieved Puniel.

Warfare required experience. He didn’t deny that some were born with a genius for battlefield maneuvering, but it was clear from observing Marl alone that he was not one of them.

He dispatched light cavalry equipped with horses as scouts to gather intelligence around the main force.

However, after sending out the scouts, Puniel noticed something strange—on their route of advance, he saw no werewolves at all.

Not even roaming Transformed Werewolves. Only dilapidated villages remained.

Rather than bringing relief, this troubled him greatly.

The number of werewolves was fixed, so if there were none in the south, it meant they had all gathered in the north.

The greatest threat of werewolves was their numbers. Scattered werewolves were far easier to eliminate than those gathered together.

Puniel ordered the scouts to widen their reconnaissance range, but even by the time they reached the Holy Land Town where Leo and the others had once lived, they still saw no werewolves. This was already near the Marquis’s castle, and further north lay the Northwind Mountains.

He shared this intel with Marl, which troubled Marl as well.

The two of them were confident that their combined force—over two thousand warriors and more than ten knights—could eliminate the werewolves. However, if the werewolves had clustered together, they would still suffer significant losses.

York Territory and this region had already lost nearly three-quarters of their population due to two years of chaos. Puniel’s method of advancing the war was designed precisely to minimize casualties.

Especially after both of them learned of the current fertility crisis in York Territory, they understood all the more the importance of avoiding losses.

After all, once the werewolves were expelled, if they wanted to annex the entire Marquisate, they would border both the mad dogs of the Church Nation and the barbarians to the north.

While the two of them found their progress concerning, Knight Julian had no such troubles.

He sensed the chaos among the werewolves, as if they had been struck from another direction, and so he ordered his squire to light the signal fires.

Smoke columns rose into the air, and scattered knights and warriors gathered together, forming a dark and dense formation of elite troops on the front line.

Knight Julian, mounted on his warhorse, loudly proclaimed, “To the south! Baron Puniel has already led over a thousand warriors northward, and under the Baron’s assault, those werewolves have fallen into disarray!”

“This shall be the final battle! Look ahead—those are the cruel werewolves, but likewise, they are also your merit!”

In truth, Julian didn’t need to rouse morale much.

The mercenaries brought by Puniel had all been paid, with generous death benefits. There were additional rewards for killing werewolves, and more importantly, they knew that once the werewolves were cleared and they returned to York Territory, they would be welcomed with white doves leading the way and flowers paving their path—a hero’s glory.

Julian, who had never witnessed such a scene, couldn’t understand their fanaticism.

The warriors who had previously fought alongside Knight Bedi were already filled with hatred and rage toward the werewolves.

As for the knights and their squires, dying in battle was a creed ingrained in their very identity.

So even before Julian could finish his morale-boosting speech, the warriors were already brimming with fighting spirit. He simply raised his sword and ordered the advance.

And not just the warriors—even Julian himself, fueled by hatred, always maintained his will to fight when facing the werewolves.

…

But at this moment, the chaos among the werewolves wasn’t due to the main force resting in the Holy Land Town under Puniel—it was caused by George, Leo, and Vito.

The three of them had only traveled a couple of days after leaving the Holy Land Town when the number of werewolves they encountered began to surge.

Moreover, they were all packs of Lower-Ranked Werewolves led by Upper-Ranked Werewolves.

Their state was bizarre—their fur bristling, their eyes glowing red as if emitting light, drool constantly dripping from their jaws. Each werewolf appeared completely deranged, with no hint of reason, driven only by their instinct to kill.

The moment they spotted George’s group, they let out a howl, which was answered by countless other howls in succession. More and more werewolves surged toward them.

They had come to the right place!

That was the first thought in all three of their minds.

Followed by numb scalps.

There were simply too many werewolves—as if every werewolf in the Nation of Werewolves had gathered here. This could no longer be considered the heartland of the werewolf nation; rather, it seemed the entire Nation of Werewolves was right here.

These werewolves surged like a tide, continuously crashing against the trio, trying to engulf them.

But with Paradise right before their eyes, and the foe being the evil werewolves, how could the three of them retreat? They drew sword and shield and plunged into battle.

Leo and Vito donned their helmets. The longswords in their hands emitted a faint Holy Light—each swing easily severed werewolf limbs. Their fine armor rendered the werewolves’ claws and teeth useless.

Even with shattered teeth and split claws, the werewolves still surged at them, knowing no pain, no fear, with only one goal in mind: to kill the humans before them.

George’s condition was even more astounding. Thick Holy Light radiated from his body, burning or even melting anything that came near. His physique was far superior, allowing him to carve through the werewolf ranks—Upper-Ranked Werewolves fell before him like Transformed Werewolves, slain in a single stroke.

Without George’s assault, Leo and Vito couldn’t have held the line.

None of them knew how long the battle had raged. Shattered werewolf bodies littered the ground. They began to question whether they had even moved forward amidst the werewolf tide.

Leo and Vito’s arms were going numb. Their armor now bore werewolf claw marks. George had also stopped charging, choosing instead to fight close to them, so they could watch each other’s backs.

“How many of these werewolves are there?! They’re all Lower-Ranked Werewolves, right?! How the hell did they make so many?!” Leo couldn’t help but shout, wasting precious energy.

“The secret must be inside Paradise!” Vito shouted back from nearby. He glanced at the endless horde and yelled at George, “Knight George! If we keep going like this, we’ll all be worn down! Don’t worry about us—just charge ahead and see what Paradise really is!”

They both knew full well—with George’s power, he could break through. It was only because of the two of them that he hadn’t already.

Even as fellow Guardian Knights of the Church of the Sanctuary, they could still feel the vast gap between themselves and George.

“…!” George grit his teeth.

Just as Vito said, this many werewolves didn’t need to overpower them—they could simply wear them out.

These weren’t slow zombies that one could kill at leisure and rest between waves.

These were werewolves—natural-born hunters. Even without armor, Leo and Vito couldn’t outrun them. Only George could.

As for their riding horses—those had been torn to shreds the moment the werewolves showed up.

And when they’d spoken with Ymir, he’d personally said there were thirty thousand humans in Paradise.

If they had used those humans to turn into werewolves, there could be up to thirty thousand werewolves here.

Three against thirty thousand—George didn’t believe for a moment they could slay them all.

Even a rain of arrows wouldn’t help much.

Nor could he dare use the Holy Light blast like he had against Ymir. That had cleared a path, yes—but the werewolves were so fast, they could refill that gap in the blink of an eye. He’d be left lying on the ground, drained and waiting for death.

Miracles were called miracles because they rarely happened twice. He had no faith that after being torn apart by werewolves, another miracle would come to heal him.

So, he gritted his teeth and nodded. “You two be careful. If you can, escape.”

With that, the Holy Light flared around him, and he charged forward. The werewolves could not stop his advance.

But soon, the gap George carved out was swallowed by the surging werewolves.

Leo and Vito suddenly found themselves under immense pressure. Forced to fight back-to-back, they could no longer swing their swords freely. Without George’s radiant Holy Light shielding them, the two were quickly buried beneath the pack.

Fortunately, their armor had been forged by York Territory’s finest blacksmiths and blessed by the Bishop. Back-to-back, necks protected, the werewolves couldn’t break through—and faint Holy Light still seared those who got too close.

Yet, pressed tightly together by werewolves, all they could smell was the fetid stench of werewolf bodies. In this tight, oppressive space, they began to struggle for air.

“…Leo, we’re not going to die in our first battle as knights, are we?” Vito gasped, dizzy from lack of oxygen.

He could hear the scraping of helmets being chewed on.

“If we die, we die. I’ve killed at least a hundred of them just now. And we will win. Our corpses will be taken back to the Church for burial,” Leo replied in a muffled voice.

“You’re already thinking about what happens after we die?” Vito said.

He felt a werewolf tugging at his arm, trying to pull away the shield guarding his neck. But just werewolves alone couldn’t pull away his indestructible shield.

“Of course. People die. And I’m dying on the path of righteousness, in the fight against evil. What’s there to regret?” said Leo.

“Think of our old lives back in the Newman Family. All we did was train, kill, and then get abandoned, never even knowing what we were living for.”

“Think of the people in Odo Village we saw not long ago—their smiles, their peaceful lives. That’s the meaning I’ve found through this battle.”

“Now I know why I live, and why I die. I don’t regret being killed by these werewolves. Compared to those who served the Newman Family, what do I have to complain about?”

Vito chuckled, feeling suffocated. Leo’s thoughts were the same as his. He was about to reply, when Leo suddenly said—

“No, wait. I don’t want to die like this after all. Our deaths might be considered heroic, but that bastard Oscar—if he writes our story without us in it, who knows what he’ll write!”

Vito recalled Oscar’s draft and got worked up too. “We have to keep an eye on him! Even with us alive, he tries to sneak dirty stuff into our stories.”

“If we die like this, he might write something weird about the way we died!”

The moment he said that, both of them fell silent—then began struggling fiercely.

“No! If we’re going to die, we better die far apart!” Leo roared as if squeezing out the last of his strength.

“Yes! Die far apart!” Vito shouted and struggled too.

Yet from the outside, the werewolves piled atop them had already formed a hill. Packed so densely that the two beneath couldn’t even tell—the werewolves pressed against them had been crushed to death by their own kind.

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