"Militia! We're under attack! Repel the attackers! Defend your town!" a Rodvan Charles, a man Andy had never seen before, roared the command.

Andy had never laid eyes on the man before.

Towering and powerfully built, he was locked in a clearly elite-level duel with the leader of the attacking soldiers.

Each clash of their weapons sent shockwaves rippling outward, shattering the cobblestones beneath their feet and nearly knocking Andy off his own.

Elite, meaning a skill level of 70 – a height Andy could only dream of reaching.

“Hah! You bait the local yokels into serving as cannon fodder?! Traitor!”

The attacker’s leader roared, his spear a blur of motion, clashing against the warhammer of the Charles family elite with a resounding clang.

“Listen! We are soldiers of the Republic of Ijera, acting under the orders of the Council. The Charles family are traitors to the Republic. Do not interfere, or you will die!”

Resentment churned within Andy, but he obeyed.

Though a desperate urge to join the fray consumed him, this battle was beyond his capabilities.

He was a warrior who never backed down, but he also knew his death must not be meaningless.

“Northmen! Earn your coin! Hold them off as long as you can!” the hulking Charles elite bellowed.

At his command, the tavern doors creaked open.

Dozens of fur-clad warriors surged out, brandishing an assortment of weapons and roaring savage war cries.

Their heavy footfalls kicked up dust as they charged towards Andy and Galsworthy.

“The Vantanbek barbarians!”

They were sworn enemies of the Republic, and the very reason Andy was an orphan in this life.

Before being taken in by the orphanage, he had been found as a wailing babe amidst a bloodbath of corpses, the remnants of a coastal merchant caravan ravaged by the Vantanbek.

That day, his parents in this life were slain, his destiny irrevocably altered.

His wretched existence as an orphan was entirely due to these savages.

A flush crept up Andy's face, his breath catching in his throat. The heat of battle surged through his veins.

Grip tightening on sword and shield, he stood firm, refusing to yield an inch, a bulwark beside the soldiers of the Republic.

He knew little of the intricacies of this conflict, but hatred, whispers of treachery, and the damning truth of the Charles family's collusion with the savage barbarians were enough to solidify his resolve.

The Republic's legions were loyal, standing against the stark treason of House Charles.

Was there sense in thrusting himself into a fray far beyond his meager experience?

Logic screamed 'no.'

Would he heed such a pragmatic whisper?

By the gods, no!

Andy was but a novice in the art of the sword.

Yet, etched into his muscles was the memory of countless hours of grueling practice, sweat soaking his brow.

The burning thirst for challenge, for improvement, the inferno of hatred that stoked his heart...

The scrabbling, desperate fight for survival that defined his orphaned youth, the harsh lessons learned in the crucible of hardship...

All converged, a torrent of will that roared defiance.

He stood with these loyal sons of the Republic, bracing himself for the onslaught of the savage reavers from across the sea.

They came like a tide of darkness, their footfalls a thunderous rumble, their cries a cacophony of shrill war-whoops that tightened the very air.

Andy stood firm, his gaze resolute and fearless. Grip tightening on sword and shield, he braced for the oncoming charge.

Above, mages astride silver-feathered griffons rained down bolts of shimmering, deadly magic upon the tavern's protective barrier.

The dense orbs of energy slammed against the barrier with deafening booms.

Despite the ferocious bombardment, the barrier held.

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Behind him, Golsworthy and the rest of the Sappho Valley militia, including the formidable cavalry, were in full retreat.

Their flight was panicked and chaotic; some even discarded their weapons in their haste.

Were they cowards? Or was Andy the fool, reckless and doomed?

Time would tell.

A flurry of steel clashed, followed by the abrupt cessation of several roars.

Warriors on both sides traded blows, metal ringing on metal, sparks flying.

The Charles clan forces, comprised primarily of barbarians, exuded a palpable aura of menace.

Fortunately, the rank-and-file barbarians were mere initiates.

The first wave, a dozen or so barbarians, were swiftly cut down by the Republic Loyalists, each a seasoned warrior.

They had charged like a surging tide, only to be broken just as quickly.

The Loyalists' weapons flashed, each strike imbued with devastating power.

The struck barbarian crumpled to the ground with a scream, blood spraying outwards.

As more and more barbarians fell, their charge began to falter.

But some remained, and Andy found himself facing one of them.

A barbarian apprentice warrior, eyes like a hungry wolf, raised his weapon high, a bestial roar ripping from his throat.

He brought the axe down in a ferocious overhead swing. Andy raised his shield just in time. The clang of metal on metal was sharp and loud, the impact sending a jarring numbness up his arm.

The axe bit deep into his shield. The barbarian yanked, trying to wrest it from his grip.

Green recruits often cowered behind their shields – a habit the new militia were drilled to break.

　　但安迪不同，他在加入民兵之前便一直在战斗，战斗本能早已在一次次的磨砺中变得敏锐。

　　But Andy was different. He had been fighting long before he joined the militia, his instincts honed sharp by countless scrapes.

He angled the shield, exposing the barbarian’s arm to his view.

With a swift, brutal stroke, his sword flashed out, severing the limb.

The barbarian shrieked, a high, keening wail of terror and agony as his arm tumbled to the earth.

Another swift strike, and Andy's sword found its mark, slicing across the barbarian's throat. Blood gushed out, hot and thick.

Andy had killed before, during his rough upbringing, grappling with another street urchin over a piece of stale jerky.

But this was different. This was face-to-face, a life-or-death struggle.

This, this visceral, intimate act of killing, felt…right."

Five more barbarians charged, their faces contorted with rage, intent on tearing Andy limb from limb to avenge their fallen comrades.

Though skilled, Andy knew he wasn't capable of surviving a five-on-one assault.

As the barbarians closed in, ferocious as wild beasts, a wave of despair washed over him, the icy grip of death tightening around his heart.

But before they reached him, a figure, a master swordsman loyal to the Republic, arrived like a bolt of lightning.

His movements were a blur of incredible speed and precision, his sword and shield working in perfect harmony.

With a flash of steel, the five barbarians crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

He too wielded a sword and shield, like Andy, but his fighting spirit and skill were something Andy could only aspire to.

"Boy! What are you doing fighting here? You'll be killed! I respect your courage and fighting spirit, but get out of here! Now!" the master swordsman shouted from behind his shield.

Before he could say more, the air vibrated, and a powerful shockwave sent Andy sprawling backwards.

A massive axe whistled through the air, cleaving the swordsman and his shield in two with a sickening crunch.

Andy's eyes widened in horror. His savior, a master warrior, killed in a single blow.

The barbarian was enormous, larger than the largest orc, a hulking behemoth.

He was almost the size of an ogre, his presence radiating an aura of terrifying power.

"Tch... I send these whelps out, and they die like cockroaches. These new generations, sheltered from true bloodshed, have no talent. What is wrong with the youth of today… the blood of Vartanbek should not be so weak." the ogre-like barbarian rumbled, his voice like thunder.

As he spoke, a female warrior, her eyes blazing with killing intent, charged towards him, a thin, deadly rapier held tight in her grip.

Her eyes were glacial, each movement laced with lethal intent.

Her sword darted forward like lightning, too swift for Andy's eyes to follow.

"You will pay for this!" she hissed.

She unleashed a flurry of attacks, a dazzling display of flashing steel.

Unfortunately, the ogre-like barbarian seemed utterly unfazed.

He watched the skilled warrior's advance with a contemptuous smirk.

Worse, three more barbarians emerged from behind the initial wave.

Their faces were grim, eyes predatory, as they advanced on Andy.

Andy raised his shield and sword. The first barbarian, screaming like a madman, swung his axe in a high, powerful arc.

With a swift, decisive step, Andy sidestepped the blow.

He slammed his shield into the barbarian with a resounding thud, knocking him off balance.

Andy followed through with a thrust, his blade finding its mark with deadly precision.

However, the other two were upon him in an instant.

They flanked him, one on each side.

Fighting two opponents of his caliber at once; it was an uneven fight from the start.

But what did two-against-one matter!

Rage and the thirst for battle roared within Andy, his blood burning like fire.

He would show these Northmen what true ferocity meant.

A scream born of a desperate battle lust ripped from his throat as he charged, defying odds, towards one of them.

His fighting spirit startled the barbarian, a flicker of surprise and fear crossing his face.

Andy seized the opening.

He roared, he hacked, he slashed, he kicked, he punched, he headbutted.

His assault was a whirlwind of furious motion, impossible to defend against.

Though wounded himself, blood welling from multiple gashes, Andy delivered a fatal blow.

His sword found its mark, piercing the barbarian's vital organs, sending him crashing to the ground with a scream.

Unfortunately, common militia like Andy weren't issued armor, leaving him vulnerable.

A deep gash opened on Andy's thigh, a searing pain blossoming as blood gushed forth.

Yet he didn't flinch. Instead, with a savage cry, his sword plunged through the body of the last Vantarbek.

Disbelief etched itself on the barbarian's face. He hadn't expected the weak Republican militiaman, even wounded, to fight with such ferocity, to forgo retreat and press the attack.

Then, capitalizing on the barbarian's momentary shock, Andy brought his sword down in a powerful overhead swing. The blade cleaved through the barbarian's helmet, splitting his skull in two. Blood and brain matter sprayed outward in a gruesome spectacle."

Andy swayed, grievously wounded, his body on the verge of collapse.

Without intervention, death was certain.

Yet at his feet lay two of Vhanturbolk's apprentice barbarians, slain by his hand.

They had departed this world before him.

His fighting spirit had proved too overwhelming.

[Sword Mastery increased from 34 to 35]

[Shield Mastery increased from 23 to 24]

[Unarmed Combat Mastery increased from 19 to 20]

[Combat Mastery increased from 11 to 14]

[Fioreto, God of War, smiles upon you]

[Blessing Received → Heart of the Warrior - Bestowed by Fioreto, increases talent and learning speed for all warrior-related skills]