Chapter 8: The End
By the time Hutson returned, the battle was still raging.
At the heart of the bloodstained battlefield, Emil stood alone, facing two deadly foes—the female knight and Marco.
Both Emil and Marco bore wounds, crimson staining their armor, but the woman… was untouched.
The clash of steel echoed in the night, their movements lightning-fast, a whirlwind of lethal precision. A ring of archers surrounded the fight, but none dared to loose an arrow.
They couldn't.
Their eyes couldn't keep up with the sheer speed of the combatants. One wrong shot, and they might hit their own side.
Hutson took in the battlefield at a glance, his mind calculating.
He picked a strategic position—one with cover, yet offering a perfect vantage point.
He nocked an arrow.
Drew.
Loosed.
Thwip!
A strangled cry.
One of the archers dropped dead.
"We're under attack!" The remaining archers panicked, scattering for cover.
They couldn't see him.
In desperation, they fired blindly into the shadows of the forest.
Hutson counted. Eight left.
He intended to kill them all.
Thwip! Another arrow. Another body fell.
A soldier, once safely hidden behind a boulder, slumped forward, lifeless.
Hutson moved. Silent, swift—before the enemy could pinpoint his location, he was already somewhere else.
Another shot.
Another corpse.
The remaining archers were drowning in fear. No matter where they hid, the arrows found them.
Death came from behind, from the side— from the shadows themselves.
A one-sided slaughter had begun.
To the archers, Hutson wasn't a man—he was death itself.
Within ten minutes, they were all dead.
Hutson didn't celebrate.
He remained in the cover of the trees, bowstring drawn, waiting.
Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The three warriors fought on, a blur of steel and fury.
AI chip analyzed their every move, calculating weaknesses, searching for an opening.
But the female knight was watching him.
She fought cautiously, leaving no opportunities.
Marco, however…
Marco was losing himself to rage.
He was fighting not with strategy, but with a burning desire to kill.
That was a mistake.
And AI chip never missed a mistake.
"Marco," the female knight spoke, her tone light, almost amused. "You're close to breaking knight-level. But this job… has cost me. Once this is over, you'll need to pay me extra."
Marco snarled, fury rising. "Shut up! If you'd fought seriously, he'd be dead already!"
The knight laughed softly. "If I fought at full strength, he'd fight to the death. Right now, he's just trying to outlast us. And sooner or later… he'll fall."
The battle continued.
For an hour.
The combatants were slowing.
Fatigue set in. Their speed, their strength—they were not what they were at the start.
Marco realized it too.
His breath hitched. His grip tightened on his greatsword.
And then—he roared.
"IT ENDS NOW!"
His muscles swelled, veins bulging. A secret technique. A final gamble.
Gripping his sword with both hands, he leaped into the air, blade poised for a devastating downward strike.
Emil braced himself.
If he blocked, the female knight would seize the opening.
But then—
Thwip!
A single arrow.
It tore through the sky.
Marco's eyes widened.
He couldn't dodge.
The arrow pierced straight into his left eye.
His scream shattered the night.
Emil saw his chance.
His blade flashed.
Marco's head tumbled from his shoulders, rolling across the ground.
The female knight stepped back, landing lightly.
She lowered her sword.
"Hm?" Emil tensed. He had expected a final duel to the death.
She smiled.
"He paid me to fight. Not to die."****"
She flicked her blade, sheathing it with a click.
"He only paid me for combat—not for my life."
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
She never even glanced at Marco's severed head.
"Lord Emil!"
Hutson emerged from the shadows.
Emil exhaled sharply, relief in his eyes. Then, with a tired smile, he chuckled.
"I thought I was dead. That arrow… was perfect."
Then, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Wait… you're still alive?"
When Shaun had gone after Hutson, Emil had assumed the worst. A knight-level assassin against a single unranked fighter? The odds were grim.
Hutson shrugged. "My arrows were poisoned. He got a scratch."
Emil let out a low whistle. "Even poisoned, he should have been able to kill you easily. You must have some serious skill."
He shook his head. "Come on. Check the horses. We need to recover the bodies."
Hutson moved into the forest.
To his surprise, all eight horses had survived the battle untouched.
He secured the bodies of their fallen men, tying them to the horses. Then, he and Emil took two for themselves, leading the others behind them.
On the road, they finally met the reinforcements.
At the front of the column stood Baron Buck.
A man built like a warhound, his face hardened with battle scars.
Despite being a noble, he wore practical combat gear, exuding the presence of a warrior rather than an aristocrat.
After listening to Emil's report, his expression darkened.
"It's not that simple, Emil." He crossed his arms. "They weren't just after you."
Emil's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, my lord?"
Buck's voice was cold.
"Marco was working for Simon. That bastard's men attacked the southern mines at the same time they came for you."
Emil's stomach dropped.
"They wanted you dead. They thought this time, for sure, they'd eliminate you. That way, I'd lose one of my best men."
Hutson and Emil exchanged glances.
This… was just the beginning.
Here's a cinematic, epic fantasy-style adaptation of your passage while preserving its meaning and cultural depth:
Baron Buck was a man who understood the game of power.
His lands were poor in resources, his tax revenues meager, and his people restless. For years, he had survived by **playing the long game—**subtle moves against his neighboring territories, small provocations that never escalated into outright war.
But Simon, Lord of Beihard, was different.
Buck's expression darkened. "This year, Beihard was struck by drought. Their lands are starving. Riots have already begun."
His voice was calm, but the weight of his words pressed against the gathered men.
"Meanwhile, our Dur Valley has seen a year of abundance. You can bet they won't sit still."****"Expect more trouble. We need to tighten security."
Emil nodded solemnly. "Understood, my lord."
Buck then turned his gaze toward Hutson.
A moment of scrutiny.
Then, a grin. "You're… Hutson, right? Damn fine work, kid!"
The news had already spread—one man, twenty kills. And not just common soldiers—Hutson had even turned the tables on a knight-level assassin.
The men Buck had brought with him exchanged doubtful glances. Some whispered among themselves, struggling to believe such a feat was even possible.
But Emil had spoken the truth.
And Emil didn't lie.
Hutson, however, remained indifferent.
Praise, reputation—none of it mattered to him.
In his mind, he should have died.
The fight against Shaun had been too close. A single mistake, a stroke of bad luck, and he wouldn't be standing here now.
He needed to become stronger. Much stronger.
"AI chip, analyze Baron Buck's combat capabilities."
Curiosity flickered in his mind. He wanted to know what it meant to be a true Great Knight.
"Analysis Complete."
Buck Sala: Strength 3.8, Agility 3.5, Constitution 4.1, Spirit 1.3.
Body suffused with unknown energy.
Hutson's pulse stilled.
Even in his past life, these numbers would have been considered superhuman.
But one thing stood out.
Buck's entire body was infused with this unknown energy.
That was different.
Emil and Shaun—both knight-level warriors—had only traces of this energy within them. Even when Shaun had pushed himself beyond his limits, his strength had surged momentarily—allowing him to shatter a tree trunk with a single strike.
But Buck?
His entire body radiated that power.
A terrifying thought crossed Hutson's mind.
"If Shaun could temporarily boost his strength to that level… then does that mean Buck, at any moment, is capable of striking harder than Shaun at his peak?"
His grip on his bow tightened slightly.
This world was deeper than he had imagined.