Our Family Has Fallen

This was the Armor Energy Absorption, simultaneously distributing the impact to other parts of his body. Otherwise, that last kick would not have been so simple.

The Baron’s plight was even worse than Reynard’s. He forcibly tore off his deformed helmet, revealing a middle-aged man’s face and a trail of blood flowing down his head—clearly the result of the previous blow.

However, the helmet’s deformation had absorbed most of the impact, and thanks to the Baron’s robust physique, he did not succumb to dizziness.

Yet, the injury caused no change in the Baron’s expression; such a wound was not enough to affect his condition.

But an injury meant that the balance between the two had been broken.

The Baron nonchalantly tossed his helmet aside, reached into the beastskin pouch at his waist, and pulled out a vial of Potion to drink; its effects were unknown.

”That’s hardly knightly behavior,” Reynard scoffed, his voice full of disdain.

Drinking a Potion during a duel would be talked about for a lifetime.

”You did not accept my duel challenge earlier,” the Baron cleverly retorted, even managing a laugh, though his smile was tinged with bitterness.

Reynard knew the Baron was stalling for time to recover, so he cut the chatter short and pressed his attack with his sword.

Without a helmet, a single successful sword strike in the ensuing fight could incapacitate his opponent.

The advantage is mine!

But the Baron showed no panic, for the Potion’s effects had already taken hold.

CLANG!

The Longswords collided, just as they had many times before, but Reynard instantly felt the returning force was much heavier.

Before Reynard could react further, the Baron attacked with even greater speed, pressing his advantage.

Although the Potion had minimal side effects, its effects would fade quickly. He had to defeat his opponent before that happened. Bastia had lost, and he must win!

Under the Potion’s influence, the Baron erupted with greater strength and speed. The most terrifying part was his ability to both withstand and control this newfound power.

Reynard was unexpectedly overwhelmed by his ferocious assault. Sword slashes repeatedly scored his armor, and some sections, battered by multiple strikes, could no longer hold.

Successive heavy blows made it difficult for Reynard to defend. The Baron, not waiting for Reynard to react, gripped his sword hilt tightly with both hands and smashed the pommel onto Reynard’s helmet as if it were a heavy hammer.

He could perform similar moves as well.

A sudden wave of dizziness robbed Reynard of control over his body, and the Baron seized the opportunity, swinging his Longsword with all his might.

The tremendous force behind the attack finally tore through the battered armor. The Baron then fiercely kicked Reynard away before pulling his bloodied Longsword free.

”HAHAHA!” The Potion’s exhilarating effects made it nearly impossible for him to control his emotions, as if he were indulging in a final, frenzied celebration.

Having suffered consecutive heavy blows, Reynard first felt a momentary dizziness. An instant later, he was slashed by the sword. Excruciating pain tore through his body, and that kick sent him tumbling to the ground, blood pouring from the gash in his chest.

Lance, who was tending to the wounded and gathering horses, seemed to notice something and glanced over.

When he saw the Baron resorting to petty tricks, his brows furrowed.

Fight your own fight. Why drink my Potion?

”Reynard, stop playing around. We have a lot to deal with,” Lance’s voice drifted over, seemingly carrying some miraculous power.

Reynard, lying on the ground, felt the dizziness vanish in an instant as clear awareness regained control of his body.

Precisely because of this, he could feel his flesh knitting, the exhaustion from battle swiftly dissipating, and a power as intense as the midday sun surging from within his body.

That was the Lord’s power, like the sun spreading its strength over the land.

”The sun has not yet set!” Reynard declared, propping himself up with his Longsword and standing again, showing no signs of injury.

The Baron naturally sensed the change in Reynard and moved to finish him off with a sword strike.

”Get back!” But as he swung his sword at Reynard’s head, Champion’s Proof was already raised, effortlessly deflecting the blow.

The next second, Reynard kicked out. The explosive force sent the Baron staggering back.

”I bathe in the sun’s embrace!” Reynard declared, gripping the hilt of Champion’s Proof high above his head, his conviction unwavering.

Lance, watching from the side, was even more shocked. Reynard clearly hadn’t awakened any Supernatural Power, but...

It was true. Junia had said she could feel the Power of Holy Light within him, and now Lance saw it too.

The dazzling light swirled around him, even resonating with the sun above.

The Baron couldn’t see these phenomena, but his life-or-death instincts screamed that the next move would be decisive. Without hesitation, he roared and charged.

”Bastia shall never fall!”

”Behold the brilliance of the blazing sun!”

Almost simultaneously, Reynard also moved, sword raised, charging forward.

His ordinary Longsword, now seemingly coated in golden light, resembled an angel’s Holy Spear as he held it aloft in his charge.

The distance between them closed instantly. The Baron’s fine armor was pierced as easily as paper, as if a scorching spear of light had run him through.

The two figures came to a halt. The Baron looked down at the Longsword impaling him. Before he could react further, Reynard fiercely yanked it out.

The damage from withdrawing the blade was even worse than its entry; blood surged from the gaps in his armor.

This blow completely drained the Baron’s Life Force. He swayed before falling backward, his grip on his sword hilt loosening, though he still clutched it.

”It’s... my loss...”

Who could have imagined that Baron Lawrence—who had clawed his way up over the heads of Barbarian Tribesmen, earning the name Bastia’s Left Hand—would fall in such a remote village?

Even more laughably, to the very end, he didn’t even know who his opponent was.

And this was the fate of the invader who held life cheaply, who drove the Warwolves, and who had attempted to unleash slaughter in Hamlet.

Perhaps only then did Lawrence realize that this treacherous, unjust war had finally drawn to a close.

But that was Lawrence’s realization; for Reynard, it was different.

He could feel his old hidden injuries dissolving, as if shackles were being shed. He had never felt so light, so full of vitality. He couldn’t resist raising his Longsword and roaring.

”Hamlet Must Win!”

Freed from his psychological burdens and hidden wounds, Reynard returned to the realm of a Master in that instant!

The surrounding soldiers, still caught up in the battle, finally reacted, and cheers erupted one after another.

”Alright, alright! Hurry and save them! Don’t let them die—they’re all money,” Lance called out.

Lance emerged from the crowd. His figure showed no signs of battle fatigue; instead, he had a relaxed demeanor, as if he had just been out for a stroll.

Those soldiers also snapped out of it. Their earlier excitement gave way to intense fatigue. Even with Lance’s healing, the blood they had lost was real.

Moreover, Lance hadn’t bestowed overly strong Blessings on them, merely healing the hidden injuries sustained from their training.

The reason was simple: widespread Strengthening consumed a prohibitive amount of Spiritual Essence. Thus, he could only select a few outstanding performers for focused Strengthening, providing minor enhancements to the others.

As a result of this battle, the gap between some of them was destined to widen. But such was reality.

The strong remain strong because they have access to more resources.

But it shouldn’t be forgotten that these men were destined for the Honor Guard. Lance didn’t need personal protection; this meant these were special troops he was cultivating to confront Transcendents and various other chaotic monsters.

This still aligned with Lance’s creed: enjoy the privileges you are given, and bear the responsibilities that come with them.

For now, however, clearing the battlefield was more important.

Lance dragged someone over and casually tossed him beside the Baron. Looking at the exquisite armor—wasn’t that Alvin?

Sensing the Baron’s condition, Lance waved his hand. Most of the penetrating wound healed, leaving only a superficial injury as a souvenir—just enough to ensure he wouldn’t die.

”My Lord, what is this?” Reynard asked, noticing Lance’s intervention.

”These guys are all subordinates of Great Nobility, who have plenty of money,” Lance said, kicking Alvin to emphasize his point. ”For this one alone, I can demand a ransom of one hundred thousand Gold Coins, and they’ll have to pay. Why would I let them die, eh?”

The smile on Lance’s face grew increasingly audacious...