One Against Ten Thousand

Anno merely offered a perfunctory greeting to the head of the knights who had survived the ordeal, stated his identity, and then plunged right back into the Orc army.

The lord of the border town's knights gazed at Anno, who showed no fear before tens of thousands of Orcs. Awe, admiration, and terror filled his heart.

He looked at the king's knightly guard with reverence and murmured, "May Britain's glory protect you, mighty and fearless Sir Anno."

His battered band of knights couldn't even draw the Orc army's attention. As nothing more than an ordinary knight, all he could do was pray for Anno in silence.

A day passed.

Anno's left arm, which had only been reattached a few days earlier, broke again and hung limp at his side. The luster had faded from his Treasure Armor, and his face was smeared with blood, yet he still fought fiercely with his sword in one hand.

Though mentally exhausted beyond measure, he swung without hindrance the treasured sword his friend Merlin had given him.

A thick layer of Orc corpses now surrounded Anno, most of them missing limbs.

The rising sun lit Anno's hair. At last, the blood-soaked knight had made the Orcs afraid.

The Orcs had gathered about ten thousand warriors this time, hoping to enter the human world. Anno had slaughtered a tenth of them. Though they thought they could kill this human knight, the Orcs, cowed by the carnage, were unwilling to become the next corpse beneath his sword.

One against ten thousand—Anno had terrified the Orcs so thoroughly that none dared approach him.

"I know some of you can understand human speech!" Anno stood atop a layer of Orc corpses, forcing himself upright. He slammed his treasured sword into the ground, flinging blood from its blade. A fierce light flashed in his dim eyes as he shouted, "This country is under my protection!"

The meaning of his words was clear.

The Orcs grew noisy.

Anno stood where he was, his icy gaze sweeping over the green-skinned creatures.

The Orcs all retreated a step.

Anno remained motionless, his treasured sword reflecting the sunlight.

The Orcs began to panic, and some started fleeing toward the rear.

At last, Anno moved. He took one small step forward, and the Orc corpse beneath his foot made a wet squelching sound.

The Orcs could no longer withstand the pressure from this one small human. In great numbers, they began to retreat.

Even after Anno had slain more than a thousand Orcs, over eight thousand remained. As they fled, a stampede was inevitable. Countless Orcs perished beneath the feet of their own comrades.

The newborn red sun behind Anno made him seem like a god. He stood in place, leaning on his sword, his tiger-like eyes full of murderous intent as he watched the Orcs retreat in droves.

He watched until every one of those filthy nonhuman creatures had vanished from the human world.

At last, Anno could no longer withstand a day and night of high-intensity battle. He dropped to one knee—not on the ground, but atop the thick layer of Orc corpses.

He gasped for breath. His broken left arm had swollen badly after going untreated for so long. He spat out another mouthful of blood, and his vision began to blur.

He thought of the imposing figure seated on the throne, and of the valiant knight who had fought the Demon Dragon in the North.

My king, I've dealt with the Orc threat.

Merlin, my dear friend, please hold the Royal Court steady.

His vision darkened. At last, Anno could hold on no longer.

He collapsed to the ground.

The protagonist wasn't going to die.