Chapter 587 - 587 - Do It Well
Chapter 587 - Do It Well
Viscount Harrison rubbed his eyes with a raised hand, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
A sound like thunder roared, and the earth trembled as if struck by an earthquake. It was as if a thousand cavalrymen were charging, and the reason for the deafening sound lay before his eyes.
Beyond the land he had cultivated, an unprecedented number of boar beasts gathered, kicking up a cloud of dust.
It looked as though they had formed a colony.
The dust they raised wasn't a mere coincidence; it acted like a veil, almost as if they were cloaking themselves with magic. As a result, their numbers were difficult to estimate.
The only silver lining was that they were charging across an open plain, giving at least some time to prepare.
Yet, the reinforcements who had arrived marched on two legs to face the beasts head-on.
They had insisted on fighting alone, refusing outside interference.
This meant that without knowing how many boar beasts there were, these lunatics were willingly running out to meet the oncoming storm of dust.
If this wasn't insanity, what was?
Viscount Harrison rubbed his eyes again, but the scene didn't change.
He could still see the backs of those who had hopped over or bypassed the spiked barricades and moved forward to confront the beasts.
At first glance, they seemed disorganized, but their movements were coordinated and deliberate, with each individual maintaining a fixed distance from the others.
But none of that mattered to the Viscount at the moment, as he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.
"No!"
The only word that escaped his lips was filled with disbelief.
The rumbling of the earth grew louder with the steady beat of approaching hooves. The Viscount's hands, which had been rubbing his eyes, clenched into fists so tight that his veins bulged.
The sight alone was enough to make his whole body tense.
"These lunatics!"
Finally, he couldn't hold back his exasperation and shouted aloud.
What made the boar beasts terrifying was their overwhelming charge.
And yet, these madmen had rushed forward without even using the barricades for protection.
"What on earth are they doing?"
The head of the local militia, a former mercenary, stood slack-jawed.
He knew Viscount Harrison had sent out pleas for help far and wide, even to the royal palace.
But he hadn't expected reinforcements to actually arrive.
And now that they were here, their behavior made no sense.
Why were they wielding axes instead of spears?
Why were they wearing leather armor and capes that seemed to match, giving the impression of a well-equipped force?
As a mercenary, he had learned that encountering a group with matching equipment meant it was best to retreat.
A group well-equipped enough to coordinate their gear was likely well-trained.
But even with that in mind, to face the charging boar beasts head-on felt like a madman's gamble.
If the baron or the militia leader had had more time to think, they might have understood why these reinforcements were acting this way.
But neither had the luxury.
The moment the reinforcements arrived, the boar beasts had begun their charge.
There was no time for meals or formal greetings; the reinforcements had simply rushed out without permission.
Even when the militia guarding the barricades asked, "Who are you?" they had ignored the question and kept moving forward.
Now, those who had crossed the barricades formed a formation, while the boar beasts charged in a scene of utter chaos.
The beasts outnumbered the reinforcements several times over.
The viscount's eyelids twitched.
The overwhelming pressure and his exhaustion from sleepless nights were taking their toll.
If he had to watch the reinforcements get torn apart and disemboweled, he feared he might faint on the spot.
"Do it well!"
Someone among the reinforcements shouted.
Did they have a commander?
A messenger had lazily strolled over earlier, making the baron wonder what kind of person their leader might be.
He caught a glimpse of gray hair—someone without a helmet, casually observing the battle with arms crossed.
The figure seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place them.
Time flowed as naturally as the rising and setting of the sun, and eventually, the boar beasts met the reinforcements.
The baron belatedly realized he should have stopped them.
He only now arrived at this thought as chaos erupted.
Thwack!
On the open plain, the sound of flesh tearing mixed with the pounding of hooves.
Blood sprayed everywhere—thick, black blood.
It didn't just stain the air but soaked the ground in abundance.
"If any of you bastards die, you'll die by my hand!"
Amid the confusion, the commander's voice rang out again.
The boar beasts lunged with their sharp tusks, ready to crush anything in their path.
Their bites weren't something that would leave mere teeth marks—they were fatal.
But the standing army from Border Guard, the supposed reinforcements, drew their axes and swung.
Thwack!
The axes tore through the boar beasts' skulls, crushing and cleaving as the beasts' momentum carried them forward.
Everything had happened so quickly—from the initial charge to this moment.
"What is this?"
The trembling under Viscount Harrison's eyes subsided as he muttered in disbelief.
His question was directed at the militia leader but also to himself.
The militia leader had no answer either, only the thought that these lunatics could truly fight.
There were fewer than fifty of them, but every single one fought like a madman.
Rem had casually named his unit the "Assault Squad," but everyone else took to calling them the "Rem Assault Unit."
Thankfully, no one had called them the "Mad Axe Squad," though in truth, they wouldn't have cared much about what they were called.
Each member had undergone rigorous training under Rem's command, including learning basic curses from the twins.
"If only there were a curse to bring us back to life after dying... we'd just kill everything," Rem often muttered.
The intensity of their training was self-evident, and Rem was selective about whom he recruited.
He only took those who met his standards, with many dropping out along the way.
Eventually, the unit was reduced to fifty core members, three of whom showed exceptional talent.
One was a brawler with no other skills, while the other two were made lieutenants.
The lieutenants led the frontlines, swinging their axes with devastating effect.
While Rem preferred to fight with brute force himself, he knew that leaving his men to do the same would lead to unnecessary deaths.
His tactics were an amalgamation of lessons learned through observation, experience, and the advice he had wrestled out of Krais.
For the first time, Rem thought his unit was finally becoming useful.
"This is better than those monkey beasts hiding in trees!"
One of the lieutenants shouted, a man with closely cropped hair.
The others couldn't agree more.
Compared to the monkeys that silently snuck in at night to devour brains, charging boars were far preferable.
It was true, this was a playground.
The Pen-Hanil mountain range, once a training ground and now their battlefield, proved far less intimidating than the beasts that dwelled within it.
Their strategy?
Cut, slash, and strike down anything that dared attack.
And they did just that.
Axes swung over the spiked palisade as their foes charged forward.
These wild beasts may have been terrifying in their speed, but their movements were predictably linear.
For these soldiers, reacting and evading came naturally.
Each of them exhibited a boldness akin to the
Heart of the Beast
, their fearlessness molded by none other than Rem.
The
Heart of the Beast
had undergone refinement since Rem first taught it to Enkrid.
Now, with his improved skill, Rem had honed the technique to make learning it more efficient.
While it didn't render one completely unshaken by a blade flying at them, it allowed them a measure of calm even in chaos—a quality perfect for already audacious recruits.
Rem's shock troops, hardened through relentless training, displayed their mettle with pride.
"Woohoo!"
One soldier predicted the trajectory of a charging boar.
Calculating its speed, he pivoted his body and brought his axe down diagonally.
The boar impaled itself on the blade, its own momentum driving the weapon deeper.
Crunch!
The soldier twisted the axe's angle, bracing against the overwhelming force of a beast many times his weight.
His target?
The back of its neck.
With a precise lift and a twist, the axe tore through flesh and hide, spraying black blood into the air.
The technique was as much about power as it was finesse—a testament to their rigorous training.
The charging boar-like beasts fell one by one, some felled instantly with shattered skulls, others hamstrung and left to collapse under their own weight.
The carnage drenched the battlefield in black gore, leaving even the hardened Harrison Viscount, militia leaders, and their watching men slack-jawed in astonishment.
But for Rem, it wasn't enough.
"If you do well, I'll leave and not come back. But if I hear about any accidents or complaints, I
will
return."
His words of encouragement were peculiar but effective.
The troops lifted their heads, determination blazing in their eyes.
Even as they split boar skulls, they hung on his every word.
Especially the two deputies leading the charge—they were the most desperate to succeed.
"Yes, sir! We'll do our best!"
Rem nodded, turning away to survey the surrounding area.
The recent unrest caused by bandits piqued his interest.
Without a word of farewell, he left the battlefield, heading off to track the bandits' trail.
Tracking remnants of human presence was one of Rem's specialties.
These particular bandits had a camp two days' journey from the Viscount's city.
Their base, with its wooden palisade and shoddy huts, appeared pitiable—barely sustainable unless someone was backing them.
But Rem didn't care.
Whatever the circumstances, today would be their end.
The camp lacked any watchtowers, and the archers standing guard gawked in confusion.
What had they just seen?
Their arrows had barely left the bowstrings, yet the target—a lone figure—had seemingly teleported to the palisade.
Rem, under the effect of the
Feet of the Panther
spell, moved faster than the eye could track.
Boom!
He kicked down the wooden barrier, sending splinters flying as he bellowed, "Listen up! Your days are over. If you value your lives, run now. Got it?"
As debris scattered, Rem swiftly dispatched the two archers, leaving their throats split.
Startled, the bandits poured out of their huts, shouting indignantly.
"What the hell is this lunatic saying? We're the Blood Brotherhood!"
Their leaders—five sworn brothers—puffed up with bravado, proclaiming their loyalty.
"We live together!"
"We die together!"
Their unity earned a wry grin from Rem.
"Fine. Then you can all die today."
The bandits had a trick up their sleeve—a flute used to control beasts.
At its sound, a massive boar-like creature, twice the size of its kin, burst from a pit in the center of the camp.
Sporting two horns and red, ravenous eyes, the beast charged directly at Rem.
Whistle!
As the monstrous boar leaped through the air, Rem casually reached for his axe.
In a single vertical swing, he cleaved the beast clean in two.
The carcass fell on either side of him, spilling blood and entrails across the ground.
The bandit leaders froze, the sheer impossibility of what they'd just witnessed sinking in.
Rem murmured to himself, fingering the axe handle.
"What's that? Not feeling great today? Yeah, me neither."
To the bandit leaders, he seemed utterly unhinged—a madman conversing with himself or perhaps a second, unseen self.
Those who had, never forgot.
"I told you to run if you don't want to die," Rem said, resting the axe on his shoulder.
Four of the five brothers fled, leaving behind only the slowest, who hesitated with a spiked club in hand.
As his brothers vanished into the forest, the lone bandit swung clumsily, panic etched across his face.
Rem easily deflected the blow, severing the man's arm with a swift counterstrike.
"Ahhh!"
Rem wasted no time pursuing the others, cutting them down one by one.
"You called yourselves brothers, huh?"
The remaining bandits, numbering over a hundred, witnessed Rem's deadly precision.
He caught arrows mid-flight and hurled them back with lethal accuracy, leaving the survivors too stunned to act.
It was an outcome no one could have foreseen.

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