Ash slamd his shoulder into the lizardman’s chest, knocking it off balance, then drove his dagger straight into its neck and yanked it sideways, tearing its neck apart.
The archer collapsed without even a scream.
Ash twisted free and spun just in ti to block a desperate strike from the uninjured Lizardman.
Sparks flew as their blades clashed again.
The injured Lizardman tried to rejoin the fight, but his arm trembled violently, with blood soaking into the ground beneath him.
Ash didn’t give him any ti, as he feinted toward the healthy one, then pivoted sharply and lunged at the injured Lizardman instead.
With a clean thrust, his dagger pierced straight through the lizardman’s throat.
Its body stiffened, then fell with a thud.
The last Lizardman hesitated for half a second, but that hesitation would cost him his life.
Ash closed in with his daggers flashing in a tight yet ruthless sequence. One dagger knocked the enemy’s weapon aside; the other plunged into its left eye and pierced the skull.
Ash exhaled slowly, lowering his daggers as blood dripped from their edges.
Aside from a shallow cut on his side, his body was intact, but he could feel his heartbeat clearly now that everything was over.
He then tilted his head and saw that Old Ni was already standing amid fallen bodies.
The old man glanced at Ash and smiled faintly, satisfaction written on his face.
Uncle Zan had also finished his battle, resting the Gravehorn Longsword against his shoulder as he observed the field.
Only Vakra was still fighting.
The remaining 4th Rank Lizardman roared, swinging its curved blade in a brutal arc that Vakra blocked head-on with his Cragfist Gauntlets, the impact sending tremors through the ground.
Old Ni cupped his hands and called out with a chuckle. "Until when do you plan to keep us waiting for you?"
Vakra snorted, muscles bulging as he pushed back against the blade. "Old man, you know this guy’s the stronger of the two! Just wait a bit, it’ll be done soon!"
...
At the sa ti, on the subjugation team’s side, they almost arrived at the Redhorn’s Stronghold as they fastened their pace.
In the vast adow ten minutes away from the dungeon, 52 people could be seen heading south at extrely fast speed.
The mont they were a few hundred ters away from the stronghold ahead of them, a loud horn song could be heard.
Harold raised his hand and slowed down his pace before stopping fifty ters away from the stronghold.
Judging from the wooden palisades alone, their stronghold’s size seed to be smaller compared to the current Ragh’Tal’s. Though the quality of the wood being used was obviously much better compared to the Ragh’Tal’s previous wooden palisades.
A few seconds later, the gate finally opened, and 31 warriors ca out of the gate, holding their own weapons with furious expressions.
A middle-aged man in his mid-50s with a spear in his hand stepped forward, exuding his 4th Rank power. "You!"
He paused for a mont, then showed a look of disbelief when he realized who Harold was. "Aren’t you the one from the Ragh’Tal Tribe?"
"Indeed I am." Harold nodded his head, then chuckled as his hand reached over his shoulder and drew his spear while walking forward with a calm expression. "It’s good to see you again, but I don’t have much ti now. So, listen closely to what I’m about to say because this will decide your people’s fate."
Before the middle-aged man could respond, Harold continued. "Our purpose for coming here is only one. We want the Redhorn Tribe to rge under the Ragh’Tal na from now on. Of course—"
Harold was interrupted as a lean old man with an ugly face and long beard shouted angrily. "Are you insane?!"
Riven, who had been watching by the side silently, finally stepped forward and exuded his 4th Rank as he unsheathed his saber. "If you dare interrupt the conversation again, I’ll make sure that you’re going to die horribly."
"Watch your words! Even though you’re stronger than him, he’s still our War Chief and—" The middle-aged man frowned.
"Cut the crap. I’ve told you that I don’t have the ti for this." Harold snorted.
"It seems that your small achievent in reaching the 4th rank has gotten to you..." The middle-aged man shook his head.
"I’ll handle these two, the rest of them are yours... Even though they outnumber you, most of them had just reached the 3rd rank. So, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to hold them out for a while." The middle-aged man glanced at the war chief, thinking that it shouldn’t be a problem to handle two 4th Ranks at Riven’s level with his strength.
Unfortunately for him, Harold’s strength wasn’t the sa as Riven’s because his strength was multiplied by 5 tis instead of 3 tis like Riven’s.
"I’ll handle him alone, you can go on a rampage and finish them as fast as you can." Harold smiled and stretched his right hand, rotating it as if preparing himself for a battle.
"Are you sure?" Riven raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I’ll probably be at a little bit of a disadvantage, but that’s all." Harold chuckled and raised his spear above his head.
"Kill!"
Harold burst forward the instant his shout faded, his spear sweeping low as he closed the distance.
The middle-aged man reacted imdiately, planting his foot and thrusting straight toward Harold’s chest.
CLANG!
The two spears collided head-on, the impact ringing sharply through the open field.
Harold felt the vibration surge up his arms as he slid half a step back, his bare feet grinding against the ground.
The man before him didn’t waste the opening as his spear spun fluidly, the shaft whipping around in a tight arc before stabbing again with precision.
Harold twisted his body and barely deflected it aside. The tip still grazed his shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood.
"Tch." Harold clicked his tongue.
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