"We told you, not until later in the night... You lot..."
Duncan swung an axe, splitting the enemy’s skull open, blood and brain matter spewing forth.
His figure darted forward, sword drawn in an instant, its gleam like an afterimage, slicing through an enemy’s arm as if it were tofu. As the foe reached for a weapon, he was clutching his severed limb and wailing the next second. The fragment of the sword light pierced through his neck, Duncan’s figure shifting and thrusting, under the dim light, the last person had just grabbed an axe when the blade of the Oathkeeper had already penetrated through his heart.
The entire process took mere seconds.
At that moment, from a ragged mat, a naked farmwoman covered in bruises let out a screeching scream.
Blood sprayed from the bandit onto her, soaking her head and face.
There was noise from the wooden hut next door.
With God’s view, that French armored axeman shivered, climbed off the slave, and hurriedly reached for a weapon and donned chest armor.
Duncan came to the door and kicked it open.
The bandit leader sneaked around the side, preparing to ambush, but suddenly the slave woman stood up, found a dagger from somewhere, and directly stabbed at his neck.
Ultimately, the slave woman had no combat experience; her dagger missed the neck and stabbed the back. Furious, the bandit leader lifted his battle axe, intending to kill her.
Duncan lunged in, tossing the French Flying Axe mid-air, hitting at close range, and with a thud, the bandit leader’s corpse collapsed heavily.
The slave woman was equally covered in bruises, her skin marked with welts. She pulled out the dagger, wordless, observing Duncan, devoid of any aggressiveness, the blue mark turning into a green one.
Duncan picked up the French Flying Axe from the enemy’s forehead and glanced towards the cave with God’s view.
All the combat skills and warrior skills he seized on this journey; it was as if he was trying to play Assassin’s Creed, likely ending up cosplaying that axe-wielding assassin berserker. He found the French Flying Axe became more adept the more he used it; even casually swinging could split a skull.
Among the Germanic Barbarians, there were many high-tier warriors adept with axes.
An arrow whistled through the air, instantly downing the robbers haphazardly grabbing weapons.
The robbers were poorly equipped, at most a piece of leather armor, most without armor.
One arrow, two arrows, three arrows.
Duncan seemed like an emotionless killing machine until every arrow was spent, and the cave entrance was piled with corpses.
"He’s out of arrows!"
A call rang from the cave, a Gaul Rebel Raider encouraging the other robbers to rush forward.
The French Flying Axe nailed into a head just poked out from the cave.
He even dared to speak while peeking.
Through God’s view, Duncan saw everything clearly, even the robbers’ positions in the cave were obvious.
He drew the Oathkeeper, grabbed a dilapidated round shield casually, walked towards the cave, and left bloodied footprints on the ground.
The round shield blocked the attack from the right, the Oathkeeper pierced cold light as it thrust forward, while the sword blocked a short knife slashing from the left, the robber holding a hatchet belatedly clutched his throat, blood spurting, unable to speak.
Blood splattered on Duncan, drops of gore flowed down the shield.
His longsword lifted, advancing sharply, piercing through the enemy’s throat, the Oathkeeper pulled out, turning, stepping, the shield slammed heavily, knocking down an enemy attempting an ambush.
Duncan squatted slightly, gripped the sword with both hands, and thrust it downward, the blade piercing through the enemy’s heart.
"Devil!... Demon!..."
The remaining robbers were broken, some fought desperately, some knelt pleading, some tried fleeing but found no escape.
—Combat Form: Beheading!
Blood gushed like a fountain, terrifying the robbers into shrill screams like girls. When they bullied and tormented the farmers and serfs, they probably never imagined such a day for themselves.
Complete combat skill domination, occasionally encountering resistance, all blocked easily by the shield.
The Hermitage Holy Hall greatly enhanced Duncan’s prowess.
Duncan’s figure pressed forward step by step, the ground littered with corpses, exterminating all enemies cleanly.
When he walked out of the cave, two trembling women were kneeling at the entrance, the entire bandit stronghold was filled with corpses, not a single one of the twenty-two robbers was left alive.
"Release those three farmers."
"Find a stretcher somehow, you all come with me."
Duncan pulled the arrows from the bodies, drenched in blood as if a war god emerged from hell. He grabbed a worn bandit coat from the wooden hut, donned it, and led five trembling farmers to the rendezvous point.
A faint glimmer of morning appeared in the distance.
Anya, who had kept vigil all night, drowsy, sprang to alert, drawing her sword at the sound.
Duncan’s deep, raspy voice emerged from the darkness: "It’s me."
Crow Queen - Triss opened her eyes, their sapphire glow reflecting a brilliant light, watching the man slowly emerge from the darkness.
Duncan, though changed his clothes, his scent of blood was overwhelming.
He nodded slightly towards Crow Queen - Triss, his voice hoarse: "I’m back."
Crow Queen - Triss gazed at the man before her, a peerless smile appearing, her eyes radiant as stars.
She never once doubted Duncan would abandon them.
The three farmers, along with Duncan, carefully lifted the stretcher, carrying the intermittently conscious Severus towards the bandit stronghold. The slave woman willingly supported the weak Triss, while the farmwoman, attempting to offer help, was shunned by Anya with a look of disdain.
Finally, by morning, the group returned to the stronghold.
Triss gazed at the corpses littering the stronghold, silent for a long time, occasionally glancing towards Duncan ahead.
She knew Duncan was powerful, but never imagined he could single-handedly annihilate the entire bandit stronghold despite his severe wounds.
This noblewoman’s eyes sparkled, stealing a glance at Triss, then shifting her gaze to Duncan not far away, her thoughts unknown.
Duncan was too exhausted.
After settling Severus into a warm wooden hut, he finally allowed his human form in the projection to fall asleep.
In this battle, he fought with every ounce of strength, utterly spent.