Seeing the large-bodied creature charge towards it, the crimson wolf’s first instinct wasn’t to engage but to retreat. The unfamiliar and intensely revolting scent plastered on the large-bodied creature caused the crimson wolf to be hesitant about confrontation.

Baron Helm, on the other hand, possessed none of that hesitation. Taking advantage of the beast’s hesitance, he quickly aimed with his wooden spike. Cocking his arm back, he took a deep breath, clenched his muscles, and threw the armament with all the force that he could muster.

Swoosh! A sharp sound ran out in the air as the spike sliced through the wind and headed towards the crimson beast’s head.

Overcome by the feeling of fatal danger, the crimson wolf stopped its retreat. It then puckered its limbs and hurriedly leaped to the side, narrowly missing the wooden spike. Landing gracefully, the crimson beast was about to release a growl when it suddenly caught sight of another spike heading towards it. The spike had been perfectly aimed and was heading towards its throat with deadly accuracy.

A beast was a beast after all. No matter how intelligent or cunning it was, it could never match a true human in its intelligence. Where the crimson wolf saw one step ahead, Baron Helm saw two.

While the beast was fixated on narrowly avoiding his initial attack, Baron Helm had already accounted for his follow-up. By precisely aiming at the beast with his first attack, he forced the beast to dodge in a certain direction, setting up the stage for his next true attack.

His first shot was a ruse. A trap that would increase the chances of the second attack succeeding.

Having just dodged the first attack, the crimson wolf was in no position to dodge the other one. Leaping away would cost it precious time that it did not have; the attack was almost upon its throat and was inches away from claiming its life.

Pushed to the edge, the beast’s survival instincts triggered. It hastily moved its throat away, offering its right shoulder instead. The wooden spike struck true, piercing the target.

Hooowl!~ The beast howled, bemoaning its injury. Staring at the audacious prey that had managed to injure it with bloodshot eyes, the beast growled. Its slightly parted maw and furrowed brows emanated a suffocating amount of killing intent.

Facing such copious amounts of killing intent, a lesser man would’ve folded. Baron Helm did not. In fact, he welcomed it.

“Killing you using those spikes would’ve been a mercy. How fortunate that my prayers were answered.” Baron Helm removed the object that he was carrying on his back. Unwrapping the cloth used to tie it to his back, he held the naked object in his hands and said, “Beating you to death would be a fitting justice and would pacify the souls of the fallen.”

The crimson wolf let out a roar in response to his provocation. Although it could not understand his words, it would more or less understand the underlying intent.

This prey dared to provoke it. Such audacity could not be tolerated.

Pushing aside its unconscious instinct to retreat, the beast let out another howl to bolster its spirit and charged towards the large-bodied prey. Baron Helm raised the thick club in his hands and replied in kind.

Man and beast once again engaged in a fateful battle for survival.

---

“We– We’re saved!” A member of the seven surviving warrior-miners exclaimed when he spotted a throng of people exiting the tree line. These people, led by Scout Team #2, arrived at the blood-soaked clearing, gasped at the cruel battlefield with horror, spotted the remaining wolves, and charged toward them with righteous fury.

Wielding spikes, clubs, and a variety of other creative armaments, the crowd cut down the last remaining vestiges of the wolf pack. Not a single wolf mounted any resistance of any sort for they too, like their leader, smelt the revolting scent wafting from the bodies of the newly arrived reinforcements. This scent dampened the fighting spirit of the wolves and made them unconsciously retreat.

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Except that there was nowhere to retreat to. The tables had turned on the wolves as in mere moments they went from being the corner-ers to the cornered!

Facing an enemy that possessed no fighting spirit and was actively retreating, the reinforcements cut them down with little effort. Not even a minute had passed when the last wolf, excepting the crimson beast, fell.

Watching this sight, the seven surviving warrior-miners faced the heavens and let out a resounding roar. Their eyes rained tears as they cackled with a dry mouth, producing an ugly expression of pure joy.

They had won. They had survived. They had lived.

Khawk! A few of the miners suddenly coughed out blood and collapsed unconscious. The others also felt the energy drain from their bodies as they fell to the ground. The ordeal having passed their strength left them.

“Gods! They’ve collapsed! Someone quickly get to ‘em.”

“Where’s that lass from the Medical Center!? Someone’s gotta staunch their blood!”

“Carefully lie ‘em down on those wooden boards that we brought. We gotta get ‘em out of this cursed rain and back to the camp that we set up at the spot where that tree had fallen.”

“You and you, take out those vats that we brought here on the carts and pour the sap around the border of this place. Do it quickly. All this blood might attract some other wild beast from the forest.”

“These fu*king beasts! How many of our people did they kill!? Someone come here and help me gather their remains!”

“Where are the rest of the miners? Does anyone see them?”

“The entrance to the mines looks collapsed! Are those poor fellows stuck in there!?”

“Good Gods, we have to dig ‘em out!”

“Heavens! Look at the lord baron’s battle! Which’s the beast and which’s the man!?”

“Is this the Baron’s strength? How frightening!”

“Don’t get too close! Getting caught up in the battle is the last thing you’re gonna want.”

After organizing themselves, the rescue workers quickly got to work. They were already instructed prior to leaving on this mission and each person was assigned a dedicated role by the young prince. Some tended to the injured miners while the others gathered the remains of the fallen warriors. Two workers walked around the perimeter of the clearing, pouring out a mysterious liquid from the vat in their hands. A few gathered in front of the collapsed entrance and tried to make sense of the situation there.

Most, however, watched the ongoing battle between the crimson wolf and the Baron from the corner of their eyes. They couldn’t help it. After all, the Baron was…

…beating the living hell out of the crimson wolf.

–--

Smack! Slam! Bang! Strike after strike rained down on the crimson wolf as the club in the Baron’s hand blurred in and out of sight. Baron Helm’s footwork was exquisite as he weaved in and out of the wolf’s attack range, one-sidedly raining blows on the beast.

The crimson wolf had no chance. The crimson wolf stood no chance. All it could do was obediently sit there and get beaten up.

And what a beating it got!

Bang! Bang! Bang! CRUNCH! The telltale sound of bone being broken echoed in the air. This wasn’t the first time that this sound had rang out since the start of the battle, but it marked another step on the wolf’s inevitable path to hell.

Unlike the untrained, unlearned miners who fought against the wolves while relying purely on their spirit and momentum, Baron Georg Helm was a man who had trained in the ways of a knight since a very young age. His overwhelming physique granted him an unnatural amount of power and stamina, making him an excellent frontline warrior. Even by this world’s standards, Baron Helm was a rare fighting prodigy.

The club that he wielded wasn’t a normal one either. It had a dense wooden core, constructed from some sort of special tree, and was coated in iron. Normally, such a weapon would prove too heavy for an average club wielder to swing around. However, the Baron’s physique granted him the strength to easily wield this weapon, making it the perfect tool for the hulk of a man. Swords and spears were simply too brittle in his hands.

Smack! Smack! BANG! With a final resounding bang, Baron Helm delivered the finishing blow. While his anger against the beast hadn’t been fully sated, the crimson wolf could bear no more.

With its head smashed and its skull crushed, the crimson beast, a rare mutant of its kind, fell limply to the ground. Its eyes –or what was left of it anyways– held none of the previous expressions of mockery or annoyance. It held pure, unadulterated fear.

And the recipient of that fear, stood tall before it. The iron club in his hands dripped blood from the wolf. Neither anger nor joy was found on the Baron’s face at this moment.

His face was filled with regret.

‘I could’ve arrived sooner. I should have arrived sooner!’ His mind repeatedly recalled the scene of the miner’s remains; the sight that he had seen when he arrived at this clearing.

‘I’m not fit to be a leader.’