One Retreats Ten Thousand

Anno offered a perfunctory greeting to the leader of the surviving knights, stated his identity, and then plunged headlong back into the Orcs army.

The knight commander of the border town watched Anno, who faced tens of thousands of Orcs without a hint of fear, with a mixture of admiration, reverence, and terror.

He gazed with awe at this guardian knight of the King, murmuring to himself, "May the glory of Britain protect you, oh mighty and fearless Sir Anno."

His own battered and broken knightly order could not even draw the attention of the Orcs horde; as a mere ordinary knight, he could only pray silently for Anno.

A day passed.

Anno's left arm, which had only been reattached a few days prior, was fractured once again and hung limply at his side. The Treasure Armor on his body had lost its luster, and his face was smeared with blood, yet he continued to fight fiercely, wielding his sword with one hand.

Though his spirit was exhausted beyond measure, he swung the sword gifted to him by his friend Merlin without the slightest hesitation.

Around Anno, a thick layer of Orcs corpses had already piled up, most of them reduced to severed limbs and broken bodies.

The rising sun illuminated Anno's hair; the blood-stained knight had finally struck fear into the hearts of the Orcs.

The Orcs had gathered about ten thousand warriors to invade the human world, and Anno had single-handedly slaughtered a tenth of them. Although they felt they could kill this human knight, the Orcs, now chilled to the bone with terror, were unwilling to become the next corpse beneath Anno's blade.

One against ten thousand; the Orcs were so horrified that none dared to approach.

"I know there are those among you who can understand human speech!" Anno stepped onto the layer of Orcs corpses, forcing himself to stand straight. He slammed his sword into the ground, sending blood splattering from the blade. A sharp glint erupted from his dimming eyes as he shouted sternly, "This country is a country under my protection!"

The meaning behind his words was self-evident.

A commotion broke out among the Orcs.

Anno stood his ground, his cold gaze sweeping over the green-skinned creatures.

The Orcs collectively took a step back.

Anno remained motionless, his sword reflecting the rays of the sun.

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

Anno finally moved, taking a light step forward; the Orcs corpses beneath his feet emitted a squelching sound.

Unable to withstand the pressure of this one small human any longer, the Orcs began to retreat in droves.

Even though Anno had slaughtered over a thousand Orcs, more than eight thousand remained. During their retreat, trampling was inevitable, and countless Orcs met a miserable end beneath the feet of their own kin.

With the rising red sun at his back, Anno appeared as if he were a deity. He simply stood there, leaning on his sword, his tiger-like eyes filled with killing intent as he watched the massive horde of Orcs retreat with cold indifference.

He watched until these filthy, non-human things had completely vanished from the human world.

Anno finally could not bear the weight of a day and night of high-intensity combat and collapsed onto one knee—or rather, onto the thick layer of Orcs corpses.

He gasped for air in ragged breaths. His fractured left arm was swollen high from lack of treatment. Spitting out another mouthful of blood, Anno felt his vision gradually blurring.

He thought of the majestic figure sitting upon the Royal Court, and he thought of the heroic knight fighting the Demon Dragon in the north.

My King, I have resolved the crisis of the Orcs.

Merlin, my dear friend, please, you must stabilize the Royal Court.

As his vision turned to black, Anno finally reached his limit.

He collapsed to the ground.

The protagonist will not die.