Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 170: A Kingdom Drowning in Smoke
Atop the fallen mount, Gregor Clegane’s gaze shifted from savage delight to stunned disbelief.
Magic?!
This man could use magic?!
That cold white glow, the invisible force that had swept the horse’s legs away, none of it belonged to the natural world.
But Gregor had no time left to care whether something was natural or not.
Relying on the weight of his armor and the sheer tension of his muscles, he managed to wrench himself clear before the rolling warhorse crushed him beneath it. The giant knight, standing at least two and a half meters tall once armored, discarded the lance and hauled his sword from the dying horse’s side.
The blade was monstrous. The width alone rivaled a grown man’s palm. Most men would struggle to lift such a greatsword with both hands.
Gregor wielded it one-handed.
His other arm carried an iron-banded oak shield.
More than twenty warriors in leather armor reinforced with iron plates burst from the woods behind him.
Ten remained mounted. The rest had deliberately advanced on foot, clearly intending to support Gregor after the loss of his horse.
They had seen the pale magical aura around Lannor’s hand.
But the fever of battle, the promise of coin and glory, smothered fear of the unknown.
These men lacked the knowledge to understand what happened when someone who already stood among the deadliest swordsmen alive also possessed magic.
Their simple minds settled on only one thing.
He was still a man.
A sword could kill him. A blow to the skull could still knock him senseless.
That was enough.
Eddard staggered to Lannor’s side now, blood wetting the corner of his mouth where he had bitten through the flesh during the fall. He shouted toward the five guards who had already drawn steel.
“Keep the cavalry occupied! We can’t retreat while that archer’s alive! We hold them here!”
Five riders against ten left no room to support Lannor and Eddard.
Now the two of them would have to face over a dozen enemies themselves, including the Mountain and that monstrous archer.
Eddard could taste iron every time he breathed.
His hand kept tightening and loosening around the sword hilt.
Years ago, during Robert’s Rebellion, he had led a group of men against the Kingsguard defending the Tower of Joy.
And in the end, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had nearly butchered all of them.
Without a desperate strike from behind, Eddard would never have lived to stand here tonight.
He still remembered that terror.
And because he remembered it, he understood better than anyone how horrifying it was to face overwhelming numbers alone.
Against armies, strategy and maneuver could overturn numbers.
In a small skirmish like this, survival depended on only two things.
Skill.
Equipment.
“We have to kill Sweetmouth first, Lannor.”
Eddard kept his eyes fixed on the approaching enemies as he spoke between breaths.
“I’m not asking about the magic. That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is this ... do you have a plan?”
“Plan?”
The witcher repeated the word strangely, calm as still water.
Then he lowered his stance slightly, like a runner preparing to explode forward.
Eddard stared at him blankly.
“The plan is simple.”
Leather soles screeched against the dirt.
“The plan is to kill our way through.”
Lannor launched forward.
The core footwork of the Bear School made his acceleration terrifying, almost spectral. Gregor, closest to him and by far the greatest threat present, watched the movement happen with sudden numbness crawling across his scalp.
The feeling was unfamiliar.
Usually, he was the one who made other people feel this way.
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