Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 446: Chapter 67 Requesting! _2

Winters’ hands were sweating, and the sight of the massive, one-ton creature charging straight at him would make anyone fearful.

He gauged the distance. When the iron giant on its warhorse rushed within fifty meters, he took a deep breath.

In just the time it takes to breathe, the pitch-black warhorse closed in another ten-plus meters.

Now!

Winters entered his spellcasting state. He gripped the lance in reverse, took a short run-up, and poured all his magic into the lance before hurling it directly at the steel giant.

[Arrow Flying Spell]!

As soon as the lance left his hand, Winters rolled to the left on the spot.

A thrown spear? The Hurd champion sneered in his heart.

Though a javelin was powerful, it was slower than an arrow and its trajectory was clear. It shouldn’t be hard to dodge.

But this javelin was far from ordinary; it was too fast, faster than any human could throw, and the Hurd champion didn’t even have time to react.

A flash of cold light, a blink of an eye, and the javelin was already at his brow.

“Clang!!!”

The lights went out.

The lance struck true to the face of the steel giant, who fell backward, hands raising weakly, slowly toppling from the saddle.@@novelbin@@

Few saw the earth-shattering throw, but everyone heard the crisp clash of metal against metal.

Winters, rolling forward to the left, narrowly avoided the charging warhorse.

Without its rider, the warhorse didn’t stop its pace, instinctively fleeing towards the riverbank.

Winters climbed up from the ground without hesitation and drew his dagger, rushing towards the fallen giant.

The life force of the Hurd champion was terrifyingly tenacious. Over an inch of the lance’s tip had penetrated the helmet, and he was still breathing, though the fierce blow to the head left his consciousness blurred.

Mak’gora ritual… to the death.

Winters removed the giant’s helmet and gorget, the man’s face obscured by fresh blood.

Unwilling to look at his opponent’s face, he pinned the giant’s head to his chest using his iron vice-like left arm.

The Hurd champion struggled instinctively.

Winters gritted his teeth and slit the giant’s throat.

First the skin, the tissue, the artery, and the vein on the left side; the sharp dagger sliced through them effortlessly. Then came the windpipe, protected by cartilage, making his cut laborious.

Blood splattered into Winter’s helmet, the giant’s struggles diminishing, until they ceased altogether.

Exhausted, Winters collapsed backward, gasping for breath. The Hurd champion’s throat now bore a grisly wound truly from ear to ear.

But the giant need not worry about that anymore, for he was already dead.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

Suddenly, Winters understood the situation; neither friend nor foe could discern who had won or lost.

He had to finish the job. Winters got to his feet. Stepping on the giant’s back, he grasped the knife with both hands to cut through the giant’s nape.

Soon, only the spine and a little flesh remained, connecting the giant’s head to his body.

The Blood Wolf stood on the giant’s body. With both hands gripping the hair and a fierce shout, he tore the Hurd champion’s head from the torso.

He held the giant’s head high, his roar amplified by magic, resounding across the wilderness:

“The enemy leader! Has been vanquished!”

The response was an initially deathly silence, then followed by deafening cheers from the fortress.

Paratu soldiers screamed, roared, and beat their weapons maniacally. Amidst the tumult, an overly excited gunner thrust a red-hot iron rod into the touch hole.

Every cannon on the fortress roared, and gunners fired their firearms into the air in a frenzy.

On the other hand, the Herders’ ranks were eerily silent.

In the world of the Herders, beheading meant they couldn’t return to Tengri’s embrace, signifying eternal and complete death—a fact unknown to Winters.

And the Mak’gora had been decided; further desecration was considered a dire taboo—an insult among insults, also unknown to Winters.

The Herders were thoroughly enraged. Two deranged Herder Centurions shot forth from the formation, eyes bloodshot, lances at the ready, and charged towards the Paratu champion in the heart of the battlefield, one from the left and one from the right.

An agreed duel one-on-one—Winters was furiously angry—what was this?p>

The Herders lacked honor, so Winters wouldn’t be polite.

He returned to his warhorse, drew the revolver from the saddlebag, stood his ground steadily, and aimed.

As the two chargers reached within twenty meters.

“Bang!”

“Bang!”

Both Herder Centurions were shot down, one bullet each.

The war drums sounded once again. The flamekeepers waving their flags, the Herders charged forth in a frenzy, proceeding to lay siege again.

Even before the Herders closed in, Winters unhitched his horse from the stake and safely returned to the fortress.

The Paratu People prepared for battle to the beat of their own drums.

The wind howled angrily, foretelling another bloody battle.

Paratu soldiers watched with a mixture of awe and reverence as the rider on the silver-gray warhorse entered the Bridgehead Fortress.

Bard and Xial waited at the entrance of the fortress. Seeing Winters return, they hurried over.

Winters dismounted. He raised a hand to signal them to keep their distance: “Don’t talk to me, I feel sick to my stomach right now.”

After a few deep breaths to steady his emotions, Winters solemnly handed the head tucked under his arm to Xial: “This was a brave warrior. Don’t let him feed the fishes, find a good spot to bury him.”

Xial swallowed and carefully asked, “You… don’t want to keep it?”

“Why would I keep this?” Winters was puzzled.

“Oh, oh… All right.” Xial bobbed his head like a pecking chicken and disdainfully carried the head off at a quick pace.

Bard carefully examined the bloodstains on Winters’ armor and said helplessly, “We didn’t need to provoke them like this.”

“We needed to provoke them,” Winters blinked, “Wasn’t that the plan?”

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