Alone, Riding Solo! Please Follow

They were truly in pretty bad shape this time.

Duncan and the others abandoned their horses after entering the mountains. He carried Severus on his back while Anya supported the weakened Triss, and the four of them staggered along until they found a massive oak tree to rest beneath.

—Abandoned Druid Circle.

There was such a marker on the God's Eye View map. There were no buildings nearby, but a ring of oak trees had been planted around the area. Judging by their age, they were likely nearly a century old.

Duncan took off his clothes and spread them on the ground, then helped Severus lie down.

Triss struggled to her feet and instructed Duncan to use the herbs on the druid to treat his wounds again. Anya tore apart her long dress, using the softer lining as bandages, then helped Duncan bandage Severus for the second time.

"I'll gather some firewood."

Anya got up to search for kindling nearby. She was occasionally scratched by thorns, and this witch who looked like an aristocratic lady immediately seemed on the verge of tears. It did not look like an act. More than a hundred meters away from the others, she had nearly cried from the pain of being scratched by the thorns.

A pampered Roman noblewoman whose former husband had been an Empire general.

Duncan secretly observed her through God's Eye View.

When Anya returned, she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. Carrying a bundle of firewood in her arms, half-wrapped in her long dress, she limped over and placed it beside the oak tree.

She really was a Two-Star Blank witch.

In the projection, Duncan was marked with "Fatigued," "Weakened," and "Severe Bruising." His Health Bar had dropped by roughly two-fifths, while his Stamina Bar's maximum had fallen by nearly a third. Beside him, Severus was marked "Gravely Wounded and Dying," "Severe Blood Loss," and "Mild Disability." Raven Queen—Triss was marked "Mana Exhaustion," "Severe Weakness," "Mental Lethargy," and "Minor Backlash."

Anya was the only one in the group still in perfect condition. She had been fine when she left, but after returning from gathering firewood, she had gained "Minor Bruising."

There was mud on the witch's forehead. Duncan did not know whether she had taken a nasty fall while he was not watching.

Duncan found a way to give Severus some water.

He looked at Triss beside him and said in a low voice, "We need to find somewhere safe and recuperate for a while first."

"Otherwise, Severus won't last much longer."

Raven Queen—Triss looked pale as she gazed at Duncan. "You decide what to do."

Duncan nodded.

He lit a campfire before the three of them and placed Severus beside it, under the shade of the tree. Reaching out, he touched the druid's forehead. He did not have a fever; it was simply severe blood loss. Then Duncan looked toward Witch Anya, who sat blankly beside the fire, looking somewhat frightened and uneasy. "Stay here and take care of them."

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

By then, night had already fallen.

Upon hearing Duncan's words, Anya looked uneasy, seemingly worried that he would abandon them and flee alone. After turning to look at the weakened Triss, the witch gritted her teeth and nodded. "All right."

The witch looked delicate and frail, but when something truly happened, she could still make a decision.

Duncan did not explain any further.

He turned and looked at Triss, seeing trust in her eyes.

Supporting his exhausted body, he picked up the Northern War Bow, fastened the Farron Throwing Axe at his waist, then drew the longsword "Oathkeeper." He looked up at the sky before quickly disappearing into the dense forest.

Eleven arrows remained.

Duncan moved along the rugged mountain path, stopping every so often to rest briefly. After being injured, his Stamina Bar recovered noticeably more slowly.

The Weakened status had disappeared, but the Fatigued status would last another ten hours or so.

Severus could not wait that long.

If it rained, Severus might not make it through tomorrow after being drenched.

"I can still draw the bow."

"But I can't pull it to full draw. My Stamina Bar is running a little low."

Dimensional Space.

Duncan stared at the projection before him and enlarged the God's Eye View map. Soon, a building marker appeared several miles away.

—Bandit Stronghold.

They lacked food, clean water, and a place where they could shelter and recuperate.

Going to another town now would be even more dangerous.

"Severus needs proper rest and further treatment, or he won't last much longer."

From the moment Severus gave up his horse, he had become Duncan's comrade-in-arms.

Move!

Duncan made his way toward the Bandit Stronghold ahead. He had stopped in this area precisely because he had spotted the Bandit Stronghold marker on the larger map.

Not until the moon rose did he finally reach the edge of the stronghold. It did not seem very large, merely a crude wooden camp surrounded by a simple fence, with a small cave inside. Rebellions had frequently erupted across Gaul in recent years, and many rebels had turned into bandits and fled into the wilderness.

—Weapon Master (Sword): Your mastery of sword weapons has become as natural as moving your own limbs. It is as though the sword were a part of your body. Greatly enhances combat techniques with sword weapons.

After killing the Ascetic Order Sanctuary, a master-level branch had appeared beneath Military Weapon Mastery.

Military Weapon Mastery covered most conventional melee weapons. The enemies in that battle had mainly excelled at swordsmanship; the others likely had not reached the master standard. Only sword weapons had therefore developed a master-level combat technique.

--Throwing Mastery: You were proficient in all types of thrown weapons. When using javelins or throwing axes, your accuracy was greatly increased.

Many Roman armies trained with throwing javelins, while Frankish soldiers excelled at throwing axes.

--Arrow Deflection [Special Ability]: An exceptionally advanced combat technique, a battle instinct formed by the body. You could use any weapon to deflect arrows and attempt to deflect thrown weapons. The success rate depended on your overall combat skill and physical condition.

Without a doubt, this was an ability of the Ascetic Order Sanctuary.

--Blood of the Holy Grail (False) [Special Ability]: Though it was not the true Holy Grail, the Blood of the Holy Grail still granted mortals unimaginable power. Your physical abilities could surpass ordinary human limits and gradually improve over time, while strengthening your overall base attributes.

Hmm?

So the Holy Grail rumored to be in the Ascetic Order's possession was fake?

It seemed King Arthur had once sought the Holy Grail as well.

The real Holy Grail had probably been lost.

This was likely the key to the Ascetic Order Sanctuary's absurd physical prowess. Even with Adrenaline Burst active, Duncan could only barely fend off a few blows.

--Combat Style - Assault: With astonishing speed and unimaginable explosive power, launch a fatal strike against the enemy. This was the combat technique of a Stealth Assault Assassin. It followed no pattern, seizing fleeting opportunities to unleash all of one's strength at any moment and strike the enemy by surprise.

This combat style was closer to a charging assault. It had only one move and no defense whatsoever. Once launched, even the force behind it could not be pulled back.

Fast, precise, ruthless!

Centered around the basic move, "thrust," it excelled with short weapons. Life and death were often decided in an instant. Whether it succeeded or failed, one could still be hacked to death by the enemies nearby. (A full-force surprise assassination thrust left no opportunity to change moves and evade.)

This was an early assassin's combat technique, usually trained only by death warriors.

In the medieval era, there were not that many flashy moves to begin with. Even later, during the Crusade, the most important things in battle were still basic sword techniques. Those martial arts moves were better suited for one-on-one fights. Try pulling off such fancy motions against an army, and you would be hacked to death in seconds.

In a one-on-one fight, you did not need to defend against so many enemies, leaving room to employ all sorts of techniques. But on the battlefield, all you needed were the most basic thrusts, chops, and slashes.

After this battle, all of Duncan's basic combat styles had turned blue. Among them, the core moves—thrusting, chopping, slashing, and the like—had already become deep blue. The basic move "thrust" had even gained a faint golden border.

The Empire's armies mostly defended with shields and wielded short swords for slashing and thrusting. After countless repetitions, Duncan's casual thrusts were now as fast as afterimages, as if he had trained that single move for more than a decade.

This was practically muscle instinct by now.

"Looks like the later it gets, the harder it is to improve combat skills."

"But the basic moves will still improve slowly, bit by bit. For now, I still don't know where the limit is."

Most weapons—swords, sabers, axes, and the like—shared the same basic moves. Only long-handled weapons such as spears and pikes had additional exclusive basic moves. Sometimes, when Duncan pondered it, he felt there was a sense of all techniques returning to their source, because these basic moves were the origin of every technique.

"If there is any weakness, it is that Western life-or-death combat does not have that much footwork. It places more emphasis on adapting to the moment."

Duncan had improved tremendously in this battle.

Because Raven Queen Triss, whether intentionally or not, had left those enemies not quite dead, allowing him to claim all their heads.

He suspected that Triss had guessed he grew stronger through killing.

Master-level combat skill probably truly had to be built upon mountains of corpses and seas of blood!

Bandit Stronghold.

Through God's Eye View, Duncan marked the enemies one by one.

--Saxon Hunter.

--Gaul Rebel Raider.

--Bandit.

--Frankish Light Infantry Axeman.

There were twenty-seven people in the entire Bandit Stronghold—not a large number. Five of them were marked in blue, labeled "slave," "farmer," and "farm woman."

Three farmers were locked in a room in one corner.

The other bandits were scattered around the stronghold. Two or three were on patrol, but they were already drowsy.

The most dangerous target was the "Frankish Heavy Axeman" (bandit leader). He was a one-star unit and was in a room with a unit marked "slave." In another room, a unit marked "farm woman" was together with three hostile units that had additional labels but were not bandits.

Twenty-two enemies. He should be able to deal with them.

The night was pitch-black.

Duncan crept closer bit by bit. Through God's Eye View, he could see every enemy's position. The patrolling bandits were listless and muttering curses, occasionally turning to look toward the rooms where the "farm woman" and "slave" were held.

Whoosh!

Duncan fired an arrow, blowing the bandit's head apart on the spot. The bandit fell with a noise, drawing the attention of the others.

Rapid fire.

Duncan did not hesitate. He drew and fired repeatedly, one arrow per target, every one a headshot. These bandits were basically unarmored. Only a few special units wore leather armor or half-scale armor, but they were presumably enjoying themselves right now and had not noticed the commotion.

They would probably never get the chance to put on their armor.

Duncan grabbed the wooden frame and flipped himself up. He glanced at his Stamina Bar. If he had not been injured, this should have been even easier.

--Farron Throwing Axe.

A bandit was drawn by the noise. The instant he poked his head out, he was killed.

Splat.

The Farron Throwing Axe split straight into his forehead. Duncan walked over unhurriedly and casually pulled the throwing axe from the enemy's brow.

The Farron Throwing Axe in his hand spun once before whistling through the air. With a thud, it claimed another headshot.

All six men patrolling and taking turns on night watch around the Bandit Stronghold were ruthlessly killed!

Duncan pulled out his throwing axe and glanced to either side.

Some of the bandits slept in the caves, while those of higher status stayed in the wooden huts inside the stronghold.

Faintly, the pained moans of a woman drifted from ahead.

Duncan's gaze turned icy. He silently approached and gently knocked on the door. An impatient voice sounded from within as a nearly naked Saxon Hunter approached the door and opened it, about to unleash a furious curse.

"I told you, it won't be your turn until the second half of the night... You lot..."

Splat!

Duncan cleaved the enemy's skull apart with one axe blow, spraying blood and brains everywhere.

Clang.

His figure lunged forward as he instantly drew his sword. The blade flashed like an afterimage, slicing off one enemy's arm as easily as cutting tofu. The man had just reached for his weapon when, the next second, he clutched his severed arm and howled. The lingering glint of the sword pierced his neck. Duncan shifted and thrust through the room; under the dim lamplight, the last man had only just grabbed his hand axe when Oathkeeper's blade pierced straight through his heart.

The entire process took only a few seconds.

Only then did the battered, naked peasant woman on a crude bedding of rotten cloth let out a piercing scream.

The bandits' spurting blood had drenched her hair and face.

A commotion came from the neighboring wooden hut.

Under God's Eye View, the Frankish Heavy Axeman shuddered, climbed off the slave, and hurriedly grabbed his weapon and put on his breastplate.

Duncan reached the door and kicked it open.

The bandit leader circled to the side of the door, preparing to ambush him. But suddenly, the female slave climbed up, somehow produced a dagger, and stabbed straight at his neck.

Blood seeped out.

After all, she was a female slave with no combat experience. Her dagger struck his back instead, and the bandit leader flew into a rage, swinging up his battle axe to chop her to death.

—Farron Throwing Axe.

Duncan lunged into the room. In midair, he hurled the Farron Throwing Axe. At close range, it landed a headshot. With a thud, the bandit leader's corpse crashed to the floor.

Inside the room.

The female slave was likewise covered in wounds, her skin mottled with bruises. She pulled out the dagger and looked at Duncan without saying a word. She showed no intent to attack, and her blue marker turned green.

"Stay here."

Duncan took the Farron Throwing Axe from the enemy's forehead and glanced at God's Eye View in the direction of the caves.

With the combat skills he had seized through all this killing, if he wanted to play Assassin's Creed, he could probably only cosplay that axe-wielding assassin Berserker. He was becoming more and more adept with the Farron Throwing Axe, and an axe's fighting style was all about chopping. With a casual strike, he could split a person's skull open.

Among the Germanic Barbarians were many high-ranking warriors skilled in using axes.

Whoosh!

An arrow tore through the air, and a bandit who had just poked his head out amid the chaos with a weapon in hand instantly fell.

The bandits' equipment was terrible. At best, they had leather armor; most wore no armor at all.

One arrow, two arrows, three arrows.

At this moment, Duncan seemed like a merciless killing machine. By the time he ran out of arrows, the cave entrance was already piled with corpses.

"He's out of arrows!"

"It's only one man!"

Shouts rang out from the cave as a Gaul Rebel Raider urged the other bandits to charge first.

Thud.

The Farron Throwing Axe lodged directly in the skull he had just poked out of the cave.

He had actually dared to stick his head out and speak.

Duncan's God's Eye View showed everything with perfect clarity, even the positions of the bandits inside the cave.

He drew Oathkeeper, casually picked up a battered round shield, and walked step by step toward the cave, leaving one clear, bloody footprint after another on the ground.

Clang!

The round shield blocked an attack from the right as Oathkeeper flashed out in a cold gleam. When the sword swung back to parry the short blade chopping in from the left, the bandit holding a small axe only then realized what had happened. He clutched his throat as blood gushed wildly from it, already unable to speak.

Blood sprayed over Duncan's body, and droplets of filthy red ran down the shield.

His longsword swept up, and he closed in with a thrust, piercing straight through an enemy's throat. Oathkeeper withdrew. He turned, shifted his step, and slammed the shield forward, knocking an enemy trying to ambush him to the ground.

Squelch.

Duncan crouched slightly, gripped the sword in both hands, and thrust downward. The blade pierced the enemy's heart.

"Devil!... Demon!..."

The remaining bandits had already broken down. Some fought back desperately, some dropped to their knees and begged for mercy, and some tried to flee—but there was nowhere to run.

--Combat Style: Decapitation!

A head flew into the air.

Blood spurted like a fountain, frightening the bandits into shrill, maiden-like screams of terror. When they had humiliated and abused those peasant serfs, they had probably never imagined they would one day meet such an end.

One step, one kill!

His absolute superiority in combat skill crushed them. The occasional counterattack was easily blocked by his shield.

The Ascetic Order Sanctuary had greatly increased his strength.

Duncan advanced step by step, leaving corpses strewn across the ground as he slaughtered every last enemy.

When he emerged from the cave, two trembling women were already kneeling at the entrance. Corpses lay everywhere throughout the stronghold. Of the twenty-two bandits, not a single one had survived.

"Release the three farmers."

"Find a stretcher somehow. All of you, come with me."

Duncan pulled arrows from the corpses. He was drenched in blood from head to toe, like a murderous god who had walked out of hell. He took a tattered bandit coat from one of the wooden huts, put it on, and hurried back toward their shelter with the five trembling farmers.

Dawn was breaking.

A faint glimmer of morning light appeared in the distance.

"Who goes there?!"

Anya, who had stood watch all night, had been drowsy, but the instant she heard movement, she sprang up alertly and drew her sword.

Duncan's low, hoarse voice sounded from the darkness. "It's me."

Raven Queen Triss opened her eyes. A brilliant gleam surfaced in her azure gaze as she stared at the man slowly emerging from the darkness.

Although Duncan had changed clothes, the stench of blood around him was so thick it could not be dispelled.

He gave Raven Queen Triss a slight nod and said hoarsely, "I'm back."

Nothing more needed to be said.

Raven Queen Triss looked at the man before her and revealed a breathtakingly beautiful smile. The light in her eyes shone like stars.

She had never doubted that Duncan would abandon them.

The three farmers and Duncan carefully carried the stretcher, bearing Severus—who drifted in and out of consciousness—toward the stronghold. The female slave voluntarily supported the weakened Triss, while just as the farmer's wife tried to offer her help, Anya recoiled with an expression of disgust, looking at the woman with naked contempt.

At last, they returned to the stronghold that morning.

Triss gazed at the corpses covering the ground inside the stronghold and remained silent for a long time, only occasionally raising her head to look at Duncan's back ahead of them.

Anya was utterly stunned.

She had known Duncan was powerful, but she had never expected that, even while dragging along his heavily wounded body, he could wipe out an entire Bandit Stronghold by himself.

A spark lit up in the noblewoman's eyes. She secretly glanced at Triss, then shifted her gaze toward Duncan in the distance, lost in thought.

Duncan was too exhausted.

After settling Severus inside a warm wooden hut, he was finally able to let the Human Form in the projection interface fall asleep.

In this battle, he had given everything he had and was completely spent.