Chaos spread through the Wildlings' tribe.
Terrified screams, furious roars, the wild clash of weapons...
The Wildlings stumbled blindly through the smoke and fire like headless chickens.
Some tried to organize a counterattack, only to be swiftly felled by poisoned arrows flying out of the darkness.
More, driven by fear, instinctively surged toward the valley's only exit.
Then they ran headlong into the trap Lynn had carefully prepared for them.
Piercing screams rose from the mouth of the valley.
They added another note of despair to the chaos.
Torrhen's and Harvey's squads followed Lynn's orders to the letter.
They swept back and forth along the edges of the camp.
Each charge claimed several Wildling lives and set a few tents ablaze.
Then they swiftly withdrew into the darkness, giving the enemy no chance to rally and strike back.
Their goal was not to inflict casualties, but to sow panic.
They succeeded.
The entire Wildling tribe descended into chaos.
Lynn lurked in the shadows outside the bearskin tent, watching it all with cold indifference.
His heartbeat was steady, his breathing slow and deep.
The hellish scene before him stirred not a ripple in his heart.
Now it was the enemy commander's turn.
The bearskin tent's flap was thrown open.
A Wildling built like an iron tower charged out.
His upper body was bare, his bronze skin covered in savage, blood-red totems.
His muscles bulged with explosive power.
In his hand, he carried a massive bone battle-axe.
Dark bloodstains still clung to its edge.
"Roar!"
He let out a roar like a great bear, drowning out every other sound in the camp.
Hearing it, some of the panicking Wildlings seemed to find their anchor and instinctively gathered around him.
He was the tribe's chief, Ragnar "Bloodaxe."
Ragnar's bloodshot eyes swept over the chaotic camp, and he quickly assessed the situation.
"It's the Crows from the south!"
He bellowed in the Wildlings' tongue.
"There aren't many of them! Don't be afraid!"
"Warriors! Take up your weapons! Follow me and slaughter these damned Crows!"
His shouting did have some effect.
Some Wildling warriors began gathering around him, trying to mount an effective defense.
But it was too late.
Just as Ragnar focused all his attention on the chaos in the camp.
A black shadow sprang silently from the darkness behind him.
It was Lynn!
He had hidden here for this very moment!
The instant Ragnar turned, Lynn burst forward at full speed.
The Valyrian Steel Dagger in his hand traced a cold gleam through the firelight, driving straight toward Ragnar's heart from behind.
The strike was lightning-fast, coming from a vicious angle.
But Ragnar's reaction exceeded Lynn's expectations.
As though he had eyes in the back of his head, he suddenly twisted aside.
Rip!
The dagger's keen edge scraped across Ragnar's ribs.
The strike opened a wound deep enough to expose bone, and blood instantly gushed out.
But it had missed his vitals.
"Aah!"
The searing pain drew a furious roar from Ragnar.
He spun around.
His massive bone axe swept toward Lynn with an air-rending howl.
Lynn's pupils contracted. He pushed off with his toes and shot backward.
The axe blade swept past, almost grazing the tip of his nose.
The fierce wind of its passage stung his cheeks.
What a fast reaction!
What incredible strength!
A flicker of surprise crossed Lynn's mind.
This Wildling chief was far harder to deal with than he had imagined.
Having missed his strike, Lynn put away the Dragonbone Dagger, drew his sword, and gripped it with both hands, settling into a fighting stance.
Ragnar steadied himself.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto Lynn.
"A little rat."
He spread his lips, baring stark white teeth in a cruel grin.
"You actually dared sneak up on me."
He stuck out his tongue and licked the corner of his mouth.
"I'll tear you to pieces!"
Ragnar roared and charged again.
He swung his bone axe in broad, sweeping arcs.
Every blow carried tremendous weight, whipping up fierce gusts.
Lynn chose not to meet him head-on.
Though Frostheart Grass had greatly increased his strength, he was still far weaker than the monster before him.
I can't block him head-on!
He pushed his Light Sword techniques to their limit.
Amid Ragnar's storm of attacks, his figure flitted unpredictably like a leaf in the wind.
Each time, mere fractions of an inch made the difference.
He narrowly evaded the deadly axe blade.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The longsword in Lynn's hand struck the bone axe from time to time, producing a string of ringing clashes.
He did not block with the flat of his sword, but used the sharpest part of its edge.
He cut, redirected, and bled away his opponent's force.
Every clash left a shallow notch in the bone axe.
The longer Ragnar fought, the more alarmed he became.
The Crow before him looked so frail that a gust of wind might knock him over.
Yet he was as slippery as an eel!
Every attack Ragnar made seemed to strike empty air.
He had strength, but no way to bring it to bear.
His opponent's sword, meanwhile, was like a venomous snake's fangs, always thrusting from the most treacherous angle when he least expected it.
Though none of the strikes inflicted a fatal wound, each stab of pain steadily wore away his stamina and patience.
This was maddening!
"Damned Crow! Stop dodging if you've got the guts!"
Ragnar roared in frustration.
Lynn answered with another cunning thrust.
His longsword moved like a darting snake.
It slipped around the axe haft and stabbed straight toward Ragnar's axe-wielding wrist.
Ragnar was forced to pull his axe back to block.
Clang!
Another tremendous crash rang out.
Sparks flew.
Ragnar felt the web of his hand jolt violently, and his arm went numb.
To his horror, he realized his opponent was beginning to overpower him!
How was that possible?
In that instant of Ragnar's distraction.
A cold gleam flashed in Lynn's eyes.
An opening!
He stopped dodging.
He stepped sharply forward, closing in against Ragnar's chest.
The longsword in his hand drew back, then thrust again!
This strike abandoned all technique and variation.
Only the purest speed and strength remained!
Shhk!
The cold blade pierced straight through Ragnar's solid chest without resistance.
Its tip emerged from his back, carrying warm blood.
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