Beneath flickering flames, the bronze-skinned woman stared helplessly at the man who now held her life in his hands, her voice trembling as she pleaded softly.
"Please… spare me… I'll do anything…"
"Save your begging for the ones you've killed!"
The only thing more terrifying than death was waiting helplessly for it. The assassin, Mezu, who had been incapacitated after Lancer's previous strike, still hadn't recovered by the time he finished off her companions. And now, hearing her pitifully familiar pleas, he felt no shred of mercy. Coldly, he raised his lance in one hand.
As her pupils contracted in horror, the monstrous bone lance plunged brutally into her heart.
Blood spurted violently, splattering Lancer's cloak and deepening its crimson into a more sinister shade.
Glancing toward the main battlefield, Lancer sensed something unusual. Whether it was the Rakshasa Demons who attacked him, the elite temple masters holding back his commanders, or even the suicidal bravery of the ordinary monks, none of it looked like sheer hysteria—rather, it felt like purposeful, sacrificial resistance.
There's something else going on here! We sealed off their secret escape routes… so how are they planning to get away? Wait… who said they had to use tunnels? I placed heavy forces there, but what if they're doing the opposite, throwing everything they have into a frontal breakout downhill?
Whether or not he was right, the enemy was clearly buying time, and that was reason enough to shatter their plans immediately!
With a sharp crack of his cloak, blood splashed off the fabric, and Lancer hefted his lance again, turning swiftly toward the slope.
Lancer wasn't much of a tactician. Most of his so-called "military strategy" came from internet posts he vaguely remembered reading, and calling him a novice commander would have insulted novices everywhere. Yet he held a unique advantage: he always led from the front!
When he served in the Western Border Army, Lancer was both spearhead and rallying cry. His presence alone meant his soldiers would never despair—no matter how bleak the battle—because they knew their sacrifices would never be meaningless as long as he stood.
Though he had returned to the Capital and served with the Imperial Guard for some time, he'd rarely collaborated closely with them in real combat. The nature of the Guard meant few opportunities arose to prove his mettle. But today, every soldier present finally understood why General Budo placed his trust in this man so quickly.
"CHARGE!"
Amidst the chaotic battlefield, a roar like thunder shattered the air. A streak of scarlet flashed down from the distant hilltop, picking up speed before vaulting suddenly into the air…
BOOM!
A massive shockwave followed his landing, knocking countless monks off their feet. Dust obscured the view, and before anyone could react, a flash of cold steel thrust outward from the dust cloud.
Schlick!
The unarmored monks didn't even slow Lancer's lance; practice targets at least had armor to resist slightly, but these men offered no more resistance than paper.
"Haaah!"
Muscles surged under Lancer's light armor. With staggering strength, he raised his lance—impaling seven or eight men—and swung it savagely.
Splatter!
The mangled corpses smashed back into the ranks of monks. Though the attack itself inflicted little damage, the gruesome shower of blood and the nightmarish figure standing drenched in gore made even these fanatic monks falter in terror.
What kind of monster are we fighting?!
"CHARGE!!"
Lancer's voice roared once more, and this time, the Imperial Guards behind him snapped awake, finally grasping the true meaning of his battle cry.
The frontline soldiers swiftly discarded their shields, raising spears instead, reforming instantly from a defensive posture into a charging formation.
"CHARGEE!!!"
This third battle cry erupted not from Lancer, but from the boiling hearts of his troops, who now surged forward with unbridled zeal. A grim smile spread across Lancer's face.
Yet, paired with his blood-soaked visage, the crater beneath his feet, and the scattered corpses around him, his smile looked nothing short of demonic—like a fiend freshly risen from Hell, smiling cruelly upon his prey.
Once Lancer took point, the battle descended swiftly into slaughter. The temple monks finally understood the despair that foreign tribes felt whenever they faced him. No force could halt his rampage once he had begun.
When Lancer leveled his lance once more, a crimson tide engulfed the enemy line, grinding even the bravest monks into bloody pulp.
...
The great stone gates, which had defiantly resisted volleys of flaming arrows, shattered like brittle clay beneath Lancer's lance. Three perfectly aligned punctures marred the ancient stone after his [Triple Thrust], and with a thunderous blow from his [Charged Strike], the entrance that had stood proudly for a thousand years exploded into rubble.
"The Imperial Fist Temple has conspired with the traitor Honest, repeatedly plotting to assassinate His Majesty the Emperor! Today, none shall be spared! Kill without mercy!"
BOOM!
With Lancer's declaration, his lance slammed violently into the ground. Fragments of stone showered over nearby soldiers, but none flinched. Instead, they stared at their commander with awe-filled devotion.
The Imperial Guard was unlike any other military force. They served as the Emperor's personal guards and the Empire's final line of defense. Under General Budo's rigorous training, these men possessed peerless discipline and unbreakable will—and today, under Lancer's inspired leadership, they unleashed a ferocity beyond their normal limits.
In perfect unison, every soldier raised his weapon and slammed it thunderously upon the earth.
In stark contrast to the Guard's unshakeable morale outside, those gathered inside the Imperial Fist Temple felt their hearts grow cold, listening helplessly to their enemy's triumphant cries mingled with the crackling flames.
If they had clung to any hope before, it vanished entirely now.
As the blood-red figure of Lancer strode steadily closer, every gaze inevitably fell upon him.
Neither side wasted words. The temple monks knew none would survive; Lancer understood equally well how determined the Emperor was in his order to annihilate this place.
Only one word echoed clearly:
"KILL!"
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