The Yarls' faces had turned deathly pale. It was too late to discuss numerical advantage. The warriors flooding in from the rear were already matching their numbers, even to the naked eye.
And three thousand warriors stood before them. A classic double encirclement.
Ivan looked up at the Yarls and spoke.
"What's wrong? Do you have plenty of time? If I were you, I'd make a quick decision."
"Keuugh...!!"
Surrender, battle, or duel.
These were the three choices given to them, and even those options were rapidly diminishing. If the forces from the rear made contact and close combat broke out, they would suffer great losses... no, victory couldn't be guaranteed.
Their camp now exposed its rear to enemy forces of comparable numbers. Even if they reversed their rear ranks to prepare for battle, it would be too late. Once either front began to collapse, one-sided slaughter would begin.
The hammer and anvil strategy became obsolete in basic warfare only after the modernization of weapon systems. In other words, from ancient times until the modern era in Earth's war history, the hammer and anvil remained one of the most effective basic tactics.
That's the situation now. In an engagement where no variables can be created, with limited troop types, ingenious tactics and strategies easily crumble before individual prowess and mass.
Meeting Ivan's gaze, the Yarls gritted their teeth and dismounted.
"Have you decided?"
"I... accept your challenge."
Baldur spat roughly on the ground and shouted.
"Baldur Skeggraud of Bloodbarr. Baldur Red-Beard."
"I'll join too. Ulrik Einaugarr of Skaldholm. Ulrik One-Eye. You wouldn't call that cowardly, would you?"
"Of course not. And you?"
Ivan nodded readily and glanced to the side. The other two Yarls hesitated, closed their eyes tightly, and sighed.
But soon they jumped down from their horseshoes and stood on the ground. In their eyes was a desire greater than shame.
"If we win, will you withdraw your forces?"
"I promise. I guarantee your survival."
"Sven Jotunbanil of Haskarfor. I'll participate."
"Bjorn Volfhrud of Stormbreak."
Ivan looked at the four warriors, each gripping their weapons. None seemed to dare call for a champion.
When accepting a challenge to a Yarl, it was rare but not unheard of for multiple challengers to face a single Yarl.
However, for a single warrior to challenge multiple Yarls was unprecedented in Droan's not-so-brief history.
With faces flushed with shame, the Yarls stood facing Ivan with weapons raised. It was fine without a champion. They were all veterans who had served since the Great War, two of them were Huskarls, and one of them even—
"Before I gave my eye to those orc bastards, there wasn't much difference between you and me."
Ulrik spat and growled. His remaining eye was bloodshot as he glared at Ivan.
"Reserve force. I too was in Einar's reserve force. It was believed that I could readily take his place if that madman died!"
Ivan knew this as well. One of the few remaining members of the "reserve force." The strongest few left in each country. Most had been consumed by war, but some still survived.
A year ago, Ivan had killed a Huskarl from the reserve force. So two had survived in Droan.
"If only Einar weren't here, I would be the strongest in Droan!!"
Ulrik charged forward with a fierce shout, his ferocity embodied in his two axes. Was his weapon choice conscious of Einar? His stance wielding two axes looked quite similar.
But it was clumsy.
-Kagak!
"Hup!!"
Ivan deflected one axe and slightly withdrew his head. The axe blade grazed past the tip of his nose. Without even looking at the axe before his eyes, Ivan turned his gaze to the Yarls around him.
In an instant, three were rushing in. The "Domain of the Transcendent" was delayed by half of a half-beat. Only that brief moment had passed.
But in that interval, Ivan's axe had already cleaved through Ulrik's nape.
"With such a clumsy imitation, how could you ever 'reserve' anything?"
-Kwajik!!
Ulrik's eyes filled with terror, shock, and disbelief. Convulsions traveled through the axe blade embedded in his neck.
As Ivan retrieved his axe, a violent spray of blood floated in the air. Splash, like wildly swinging a brush dipped in paint. Crimson droplets suspended in mid-air.
"What—!?"
The three Yarls charged forward in shock. Meanwhile, Ulrik's body stiffened and collapsed backward. Half-crumpled, he too stood frozen in relative time.
The dissipation of mana accelerating his neural network. In the battlefield of the transcendent, stillness means death. Ulrik's remaining life would continue for a few more seconds, but at this point, he was as good as dead.
For he could never again interfere in this time.
Ivan's gaze swept over the approaching Yarls. Greatsword, mace, and axe with shield. A classic confrontation.
The greatsword aimed for Ivan's head. He deflected it with his shoulder and extended his leg to strike. After striking the breastplate, he sank to the ground and slipped his left hand into his sleeve.
-Seureung!
He immediately drew a dagger in reverse grip. Lightly deflecting the axe blade falling toward his shoulder, he swung his leg from a seated position. Kwajik, the man blocked it with his shield, but the impact penetrated through to reach him.
"Keohek!"
The impact made him drop his shield, exposing his chest. Few in this time-flow would notice Ivan lunging forward.
Looking at Ivan's dagger rushing toward his exposed chest, terror rose in Sven's eyes. Death was coming. Death incarnate was pouncing.
-Kagak!!
Baldur appeared, shoving Sven aside, and hastily swung his mace. As if he had rushed in from nowhere, Ivan had already stepped back to avoid it. The mace struck the ground, raising dust that hung suspended in the air.
"Monster—!!"
In accelerated time, metal impacts move faster than sound. Conversation is difficult in such moments. But if sufficiently trained, one can still discern each other's intentions in that instant.
Moving the mouth normally would transmit sound only a beat later. But the mouth movements themselves move at the same speed as time.
It's like a conversation held in silence. Lip reading isn't a difficult technique for the transcendent.
Unlike the Yarls who rushed forward desperately mouthing syllables, Ivan stepped back while sheathing his axe blade and said:
"Your skills have dulled considerably."
"...!!"
Shame flashed across their faces. Ivan gripped his axe and resumed his stance.
"Just five years. You've grown soft in peace. If that was your intention—."
The next moment, none of the Yarls properly perceived Ivan's movement. Suddenly appearing, Ivan stood on Sven's thigh and was driving his axe down into his head.
-Kwajik!!
Until the axe deeply embedded in his crown was pulled out, the Yarls could only look up at Ivan, frozen in terror.
When? And how?
Even transcendents are human. The speed limit of human neural networks is the same regardless of mana or talent. The maximum speed at which electrical stimulation travels through neural networks is physically defined.
But in that moment, Ivan clearly moved beyond that speed limit. This means he is a being who can slaughter transcendents as if they were ordinary people...
"Perhaps you should have challenged Einar five years ago instead."
Rather than taking families hostage and starting a civil war.
As Yarl against Yarl, if they had challenged Einar who was asserting the unfamiliar concept of "king."
Then they could have preserved their territories and wealth while managing their clans. Einar would have killed challengers but wouldn't have touched their families.
Instead, these men who abandoned Droan's traditions and chose survival can no longer be called nobles, transcendents, or even warriors.
Strongest in Droan? No, absolutely not.
Not only Einar's Huskarls, but many among the warriors lined up behind them are stronger than these men.
They sought comfort over struggle in peace, yet claimed their desires without courage. Their prime passed long ago.
The time when they could pride themselves as the strong and rule has already passed. Their day is close to twilight, and they made not even the slightest effort to resist the approaching night.
Ivan pressed the blade of his dagger into Bjorn's nape and coldly said:
"Pathetic."
"Y-you... mon..."
"Don't leave last words. You don't deserve to."
-Kwajik!
This was no longer a challenge. Even four in perfect condition attacking simultaneously would have been insufficient, let alone this rabble rushing in while trapped in their past.
This is just senseless slaughter. Without any satisfaction.
Fatigue rushed in as his nerves overloaded. Even for a transcendent, it's impossible to remain in the "Domain of the Transcendent" for long. Thus, no matter how outstanding an individual's prowess, it has limited utility in the scope of "war."
In duels and battles, transcendents can only be matched by other transcendents. Knights must be faced by knights. But war is different.
Even steel has metal fatigue. The human body cannot maintain performance without fatigue for even four hours.
Ivan turned toward his last opponent and silently raised his axe.
Baldur charged forward with a desperate shriek. His determination not to stop and die was evident.
It didn't take long for death to reach them all equally.
Dust rose. To the eyes of those who hadn't entered the Domain of the Transcendent, their battle was like a flash.
Five shadows instantly rushed toward each other, and in their clash, the wasteland heaved and obscured their bodies with thick dust.
Under the sun already risen, on the late summer wasteland of Droan. The yellow dust stirred just once.
-Whoosh...
As everyone watched with bated breath, the dust slowly began to disperse. What remained were four corpses and one warrior.
Axes and daggers dripping with blood, his posture as he caught his breath maintained a straight centerline.
The four Yarls' bodies collapsed simultaneously with brief convulsions, then stopped moving.
"He faced all four without a single wound..."
"It's like... like seeing Einar from back then..."
The experienced warriors sighed briefly as they looked at Ivan. Wasn't this exactly how Einar looked when he slaughtered his opponents in rage?
A momentary clash, slaughter below perception, and a conclusion thrown without process.
Ivan shook the blood from his hands and wiped his axe blade with a cloth.
"Since Einar has gained such a son-in-law, the royal family will continue for at least another generation."
"They say he's from Krasilov. Who knows what will happen to this country in the future."
Concern, fear, and reverence were directed at him. Ivan calmed his excited neural network with short breaths and spoke.
"Are there any more challengers?"
"..."
By now, the northern territory warriors found themselves surrounded on all sides. With all the Yarls who led them executed, there was no way the warriors would dare rebel against a great warrior who seemed like "Einar's second coming."
They were Droanians, and regardless of generation or region, Droanians willingly offer reverence to the stronger.
A warrior holding Bloodbarr's banner quietly knelt on one knee and bowed his head.
"Guide us, warrior."
Following his words, the frozen warriors all knelt and bowed their heads in unison.