"What the hell are you guys?"
"Us?"
Yuri gave a glance, then spoke.
"I'm Yuri, the mat seller from the mountains!"
Laurent followed.
"Low, the schoolmaster!"
Jared shouted loudly.
"Javid, the butcher!"
Then all three said at once,
"We're sworn brothers!"
At a glance, it seemed like a ridiculous scene, but Yalta, who was facing them, sensed that their appearance was no ordinary matter.
"Tch…"
First, their voices overlapped in perfect unison. This indicated that the three were masters of joint attacks, honed through long years of coordination.
It was already difficult enough dealing with that bastard Hopper, and now three sworn brothers had suddenly shown up—it was a troublesome situation for him as well.
Jose, who had been closely observing Yalta, opened his mouth.
"Hey, barbarian. Don't tell me you're scared?"
"What did you say?"
"One of the Ten Strong, and you're thinking of running away just because of a mat seller, a schoolmaster, and a butcher from some mountain village in Yoheim?"
Yalta's face flushed red.
He was practically immune to mockery.
It wasn't widely known because he had always killed those who dared to sneer at him, but he was, in fact, someone who was easily provoked.
But that temperament was, ironically, a strength for Yalta.
"You think guys like you will be easier to deal with when I'm angry."
Mana began to boil from his body.
"But it's the opposite."
Yalta's muscles swelled.
He was a man who grew stronger the more enraged he became.
In battle, he had no technical form to speak of. He simply unleashed his instincts. If he got angry, he just fought more explosively.
Yalta kicked off the ground and shot forward like a bullet. He swung his sword with great force.
His movement was too large and reckless—something no proper knight would attempt—but Yalta didn't care.
Even if there were openings, he would overwhelm them with sheer destructive power.
That was his fighting style.
Jose raised his sword to block it, but his body was lifted into the air and smashed into a tree. Several large trees collapsed on top of him.
"Kuahahahaha!"
Yalta laughed wildly and was just about to dash forward for a follow-up attack when the three sworn brothers appeared behind him.
Yalta immediately reacted and swung his sword.
"Get lost!"
Any ordinary knight would've been torn apart by the pressure alone.
But the three were only pretending to be commoners—they were anything but ordinary. In fact, the complete opposite.
"Not bad, Yalta."
Yalta's eyes twitched.
His sword had been blocked by a massive woldo.
Laurent, who had even changed his weapon to conceal his identity, spoke.
"But that won't be enough to defeat us."
As Yalta momentarily paused, a spear with a snake-like curve stabbed toward his throat from the side.
"Looking elsewhere, are you?"
Yalta dodged the attack and backed away. But behind him, twin swords were already waiting.
The two swords moved gracefully, as if they were living creatures.
Yalta barely parried the strikes that aimed for his openings and kept retreating.
"To block my Twin High Swords… you're better than I thought."
The three had donned slime masks to hide their identities, and even changed their weapons.
Yuri wielded twin swords, Laurent used a woldo, and Jared fought with a snake spear.
As the saying goes, "All streams return to the source"—having mastered the sword, the three could also handle unfamiliar weapons with skill.
They might not be as proficient with them as with their primary weapons, but they could still hold their own in battle.
But their opponent was Yalta.
"You bastards…"
Yalta's face grew even more savage. They thought he had no more room for anger, but Yalta was a man who could always get angrier.
Fierce mana surged from his body like fire.
"People from Yoheim, they really know how to piss me off."
"Unlike you, Yalta, you actually make me happy."
"What?"
Yuri smirked.
After exchanging a few blows, he now understood what Jose had meant.
Yalta was strong.
But he only barely managed to hang on to the tail end of the Ten Strong. He could never go beyond that.
Just as Jose had explained, he lacked depth.
"Looking at you confirms that I was right."
Yalta, who rampaged based on emotions and killed indiscriminately, would never understand that. Or maybe, deep down, he did. He just lacked the resolve.
You can't only do what you want.
Pursuing a goal was exciting and meaningful, but it also required enduring things one didn't want to do.
Even for Yuri, swinging his sword every day wasn't always enjoyable. The struggle to change the future was often painful.
But to achieve his aim, he had to do it.
Yuri threw away one of his twin swords.
Laurent and Jared also discarded their woldo and snake spear and drew the swords they had hidden.
Jose, having recovered, also walked forward.
Yuri spoke.
"That's why, effort is necessary."
"What the hell are you babbling about!"
"A sword swung on impulse… that's your limit."
Yalta became enraged.
It wasn't the first time he'd heard something like this.
Most notably, there was that guy known as the Black Knight.
He was also one of the Ten Strong, and stronger than Yalta.
That man, too, used to spout similar lectures. If he hadn't been stronger, Yalta would've bashed his skull in long ago.
"Don't kill people recklessly," "A sword that only pushes with brute force has limits"—he was sick of hearing such crap.
"You or that guy…"
Yalta chuckled as his shoulders shook.
"Yeah. Anyone can talk big."
No matter how much they ran their mouths, he was still the one who had survived. All his enemies were dead.
This time would be no different.
Yalta raised his sword.
At that moment, several knights from the Imperial army, who had been watching the battle, joined in.
"Sir Yalta! Let us assist you!"
"Assist?"
"Yes, Sir Yalta, you—"
The knight who was speaking had his throat cut. A hiss of air escaped from his slashed windpipe, and blood poured out.
The sudden attack shocked not only the Imperial knights but even Yuri.
"You're just getting in the way. Get lost."
Yalta snarled, glaring at the remaining knights.
Having just lost a comrade in an instant, they nodded in terror.
Chasing them off, Yalta turned his eyes back to Yuri's group.
He instinctively knew how to seize the momentum in a fight.
When facing multiple opponents, the most effective tactic was to eliminate the weakest one first.
Having chosen his target, Yalta charged in.
"Poor sucker."
Yuri muttered, then rushed to stop Yalta from attacking Jared. But Yalta relentlessly focused only on Jared.
Wounds began to accumulate on Jared's body.
"Stay sharp!"
"Yes!"
Jared evaded the attacks with his characteristic reflexes, but in terms of physical prowess, Yalta far surpassed him.
Yalta mirrored Jared's movements and struck.
Blood spurted from Jared's arm.
"Ugh!"
Yalta's sword came crashing down mercilessly. Jared rolled across the ground to avoid it, and the spot where he had just been exploded.
Yalta immediately changed direction and resumed his pursuit.
The other three attacked Yalta from both sides, but he simply took the hits and continued pressing the attack.
"Javid, just dodge!"
"Yes!"
Jared focused solely on evasion, while the others constrained Yalta's movements through offense.
But Yalta's persistence defied their expectations.
"Got you."
Bleeding from his side, Yalta grabbed hold of Jared.
He had exposed a vulnerable spot to catch his target.
Jared tried to counter with his sword, but he couldn't overcome Yalta's strength.
Yalta slammed his fist into Jared's abdomen, and Jared spat blood and collapsed to the ground.
Yalta then hoisted Jared's body and used him as a shield.
The others, who were about to attack, had to hesitate momentarily.
"Hopper."
"Yes."
Yuri exchanged a glance with Jose.
Then he charged forward.
Yalta hurled Jared's body. Yuri and Jose leapt over it simultaneously, and Laurent caught Jared as he tumbled to the ground.
Yuri and Jose attacked in tandem.
With two instead of four, they had more space to maneuver.
The synchronized attacks from two masters were fast and precise enough to throw even Yalta off balance.
Yuri's swordsmanship, in particular, was Yalta's worst matchup. In terms of depth of technique, Yuri even surpassed Jose, and he completely toyed with Yalta, who relied only on brute strength.
Yalta couldn't properly deal with Yuri's attacks because he had to concentrate on defending against Jose.
"Grgh…"
A look of confusion spread across Yalta's face.
With one down, there were three left.
The weakest one was tending to the fallen, and the two coming at him were difficult to rank in terms of superiority.
Yalta swung his sword, but the two dodged like the wind.
Instead, shallow cuts began to appear on his body.
For now, they were minor, but if this continued, he could end up in trouble.
Yalta considered one option.
Retreat.
But he absolutely didn't want to.
"Uaaaagh!"
He let out a savage roar and swung his sword. One of the larger opponents went flying.
Yalta immediately tried to finish him off, but the smaller one stepped in to block.
"Die!"
This time he swung at the smaller one. But the opponent's sword coiled up his own like a snake, slashing a wound into his arm.
"Grgh!"
In that instant, the larger one returned and struck again.
Yalta planted both feet firmly and had to endure both their attacks.
Eventually, a deep gash opened across his chest.
Blood spurted out.
He was now in shambles.
The enemy was bleeding too, but their wounds were shallow. Compared to the cleaved-open chest Yalta bore, they were minor injuries.
"You, you bastards…"
Yalta involuntarily glanced behind him.
He had to retreat.
But his pride wouldn't allow it.
"Damn it all!"
Yalta let out another furious roar and charged again. But it was a mistake. The enemy's sword aura slashed across his face.
His cheek split open, and blood burst forth.
His vision turned red.
Yalta collapsed. The enemy's sword didn't stop—it came down toward his neck, and he rolled desperately across the ground.
He had to live.
That was the only thought in his mind.
Yalta turned his back and ran. Ignoring the taunts and sword auras that followed him, he fled toward the edge of the forest.
"Running away, are you!"
"Yalta!"
With the leader retreating, the Imperial forces he had commanded fell into disarray and also began running backward.
The Imperial army's formation had been loosely connected, and so the entire force was affected by Yalta's flight.
In the end, the Imperial army as a whole began to retreat.
"The Imperial army is withdrawing!"
"They're retreating!"
"Strike their backs!"
Arrows from the Aloy Brigade pierced the backs of the fleeing soldiers.
Amid the chaos, the only unit maintaining composure was the one led by Graham.
***
"What is going on?"
Graham, who had been advancing steadily, suddenly halted.
He could feel the disorder spreading through the forest.
A messenger delivered unexpected news.
"Sir Yalta suddenly began retreating! It's thrown everything into confusion, and they're all trying to get out of the forest!"
Graham realized something had gone wrong.
If Yalta had acted out of impulse, there was no turning it around.
He sighed and looked beyond the woods.
He had thought this was just a weak, insignificant country, but it seemed they had been sharpening their blades all this time.
He didn't know the knights of Yoheim were so adept at guerrilla warfare.
If a country with this level of power remained at their rear, it would be an ongoing thorn in the Empire's side.
"It can't be helped."
They couldn't advance alone. Graham decided to pull back his forces.
"We're retreating for now."
"Yes, sir."
They had moved cautiously while entering, but their retreat was swift and unhindered. Graham led his troops out of the forest.
Outside the woods stood Yalta, visibly seething.
Graham approached him.
"Yalta."
"Sir Graham."
"You retreated all of a sudden. What happened?"
"It was nothing."
Yalta's bloodshot eyes gleamed with rage.
Up close, Graham could see Yalta's entire body was covered in wounds. A battle priest was healing him, but the wounds hadn't closed yet.
It was clear how intense the battle had been.
Yalta suddenly spoke.
"Sir Graham."
"Yes?"
"Let's burn that forest."
He panted heavily as he continued.
"Don't let them hide in there. Smoke them out. If we light a fire, they'll crawl out on their own. And if they don't, they'll burn to death."
A murderous aura radiated from Yalta.
Clearly, something had happened.
He was filled with murderous intent.
"No."
Graham shook his head.
"We're not doing that."
Yalta stood there silently, head bowed.
Graham felt something off about Yalta's behavior.
And in that moment—
Yalta shot out his hand like lightning and grabbed Graham by the collar.
Graham felt the air escape his lungs.
Yalta's bloodshot eyes, red from burst vessels, loomed close.
Through clenched teeth came a voice.
"Listen to me, Sir Graham."
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