Fifty meters.
For a Fourth-Level Knight like Ora Stonebeard, that was only three thunderous heartbeats.
His lungs were like a red-hot bellows, every breath spewing scorching white vapor.
The strength granted by Unyielding Aura coursed through his blood into every muscle, sweeping away all fatigue and leaving nothing but pure, boiling fighting spirit.
"In the name of Stonebeard!"
Ola let out an earthshaking roar and accelerated again, his charging figure becoming a heavy demolition hammer.
The beetles blocking his path did not even have time to execute their rigid tactics before his savage axe blade tore them into flying scraps of flesh.
Reckless Charge!
Ola held his battleaxe across his body and leaned almost parallel to the ground, smashing every obstacle ahead of him aside with brute force.
He spared no glance for the monsters he scattered in his wake.
He had eyes for only one figure.
The young man who had sat leisurely on horseback since the battle began, as though none of this concerned him.
Weilin Klein.
Forty meters.
Ola saw him finally stop writing with that damned pen, calmly close his notebook, and slip it into the leather bag beside his saddle.
Thirty meters.
He saw Veylin raise his head, those wine-red eyes watching him calmly.
No fear. No panic.
Something in his gaze felt painfully familiar to Ola-approval, gratitude, regret.
Ola had often seen that look on the battlefield. He had even given it to others himself.
It was the look one gave officers retiring because of crippling injuries.
A humiliation more piercing than defeat stabbed deep into Ola's heart.
He actually thought I was useless?!
"Bastard... die!" He poured all his fury and strength into the battleaxe in his hands.
Twenty meters.
Just one more breath, and he could cleave that arrogant head in two,