In just two minutes, Henwell leads his men to completely annihite the attacking force of over three hundred.

  At that moment, another cavalry squad charges in from the distance, clearly having received the news, rushing forward in full assault formation.

  Seeing this, Obian grips his sword hilt, ready to shout for his men to mount and fight.

  But his adjutant whispers, “Sir, that looks like the kingdom’s cavalry. Their charge formation is simir to ours.”

  In the end, Obian restrains his impulse and watches the situation unfold quietly.

  Henwell and his group can’t make it back to the manor in time.

  Facing a cavalry charge out on the open pin, even knights risk being killed.

  Henwell pinches his thumb and forefinger together, bringing them to his lips and letting out a sharp, piercing whistle.

  Hearing this special whistle, Obian’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on his sword.

  Just as he’s about to leap down and verify what’s happening, a massive figure bursts through the darkness, charging straight at Henwell.

  Henwell sidesteps his Night Charger’s charge, swings himself off the saddle, and leaps onto a galloping warhorse.

  He draws his war spear from the horse’s side and charges headlong into the five hundred-strong cavalry force.

  Following Henwell’s lead, Orak arrives with dozens of warhorses beside the knights holding the defensive line.

  The knights mount their horses, draw their nces, and charge after Henwell, following Orak.

  By now, Henwell has plunged alone into the enemy ranks, swinging his war spear to unhorse rider after rider.

  Before they hit the ground, they’re already dead.

  The spear’s bde, over half a meter long, slices through armor and flesh with Henwell’s incredible strength.

  Leaving a massive gap in the enemy formation, Henwell breaks through their lines.

  Then, gripping the war spear tightly with both hands, he thrusts it hard into the ground.

  The spear’s butt digs deep into the soil.

  The huge momentum carves a deep, narrow furrow in the earth.

  Night Charger’s speed visibly drops as Henwell steers with a tight arc, turning toward the enemy’s rear to strike again.

  After all the trials in Newwood, Night Charger’s abilities have truly transformed. Its incredible physique grants it a fierce burst of power.

  After a few breaths, it catches up to the rear cavalry again.

  This time, it’s no longer a brief, intense frontal csh but Henwell trailing behind, unleashing ruthless sughter.

  Just then, Orak and the knights charge headlong into the enemy lines.

  Watching Henwell dart left and right through the enemy ranks, undefeated in every encounter,

  Obian’s adjutant remarks, “The Lord of Blood Hill’s bravery is truly well-deserved!”

  The king’s envoy nods in agreement, “This guy is fierce. To fight so skillfully in such chaotic night combat is impressive!”

  Obian mutters, staring at Henwell’s fierce battle, “Tell me, how much hardship and pain has he endured to gain such skill?”

  Everyone is stunned by Henwell’s valor, barely noticing Obian’s mood.

  The adjutant shrugs, “Who knows? They say he was once a gdiator. Countless battles, life hanging by a thread.”

  The envoy adds, “Though on different sides, no one can deny he’s remarkable. A son like that—if only all children were so. Luckily, he’s common-born; if he were noble-born, he’d be even more formidable!”

  Obian stares bnkly, “Do you think his parents would really want him to suffer so much?”

  The adjutant shrugs again, “If he were my son, I’d be ughing in my sleep!”

  The envoy chuckles, “Don’t even mention you! Even His Majesty would wake ughing if he had such a prince!”

  Obian says nothing.

  No, his parents would truly worry about him.

  Just then, Obian spots a group trying to scale the wall and sneak into the manor, aiming to sabotage Henwell’s carriage and the remaining warhorses.

  A sudden surge of anger wells up inside him. “Cowards!”

  Without hesitation, he draws his longbow and shoots an arrow, killing one of the attackers attempting to kill the horses.

  The king’s envoy looks at Obian in surprise. “Viscount, what are you doing?”

  Obian pauses, then frowns. “Though we have orders to eliminate Vorry’s faction, we are knights, not sneaky assassins! If we kill them, it should be through honorable, face-to-face combat. It’s respect for the enemy and for ourselves as Golden Guard Knights.”

  His adjutant nods. “Exactly.”

  He then fires an arrow, killing another attacker trying to ambush Henwell’s base.

  Obian shouts, “Shoot down those despicable scoundrels!”

  All the knights immediately leap onto the walls, raining arrows down on the attackers surrounding the manor.

  The ambushers, under attack, quickly realize the knights are not just Henwell’s men but a other force.

  They retaliate with arrows and split into over a hundred, preparing to rush and overwhelm the knights.

  An arrow, by chance, flies toward Obian. It don’t aimed at him but at the king’s envoy beside him.

  Heavily weighted, the arrow strikes with force, forcing the envoy to step back, leaving a dent in his finely crafted armor.

  The king’s envoy fumes, “Damn beasts! How dare they! Viscount, drive them back!”

  Just the words Obian waits for.

  He draws his longsword and jumps down from the second floor. “Knights! Follow me into battle!”

  Over eighty knights form up behind Obian, bypassing the main gate and smashing through the wall to charge at the approaching attackers.

  The Golden Guard Knights are Baleqi’s elite force, painstakingly assembled with great expense.

  Each knight is handpicked, meeting strict standards of personal skill and potential.

  The eighty-plus knights with Obian are the cream of his thousand-strong unit.

  Among them, including Obian, are five Battle Knights.

  They are the elite of the elite.

  Without counting Henwell’s men, this squad matches the Western expedition force in individual skill and overall strength.

  Faced with the Golden Guard Knights’ charge, the attackers stand no chance. They’re shattered in a single assault.

  Obian leads the charge into the manor, wiping out every intruding assassin.

  Half an hour ter, a bloodied Henwell returns to the manor gate.

  Seeing Obian standing there with his sword, Henwell lowers his head, avoiding eye contact.

  Orak dismounts and steps forward. “Thank you for your aid. May I know your name?”

  “Fourth Captain of the Golden Guard Knights, Viscount of Mengluoso, Obian—Obian from Diversion Bay!”

  Orak blinks, puzzled by the unusual self-introduction.

  Still, he bows. “Orak of the Phoenix family, Knight Lord of Beasley. Thank you for your help!”