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The situation was not favorable for Urich. Three northern warriors stood before him, and about ten more ran along the edge of the lake toward him. Even for Urich, the chances of winning when surrounded by more than ten northern warriors were grim.
Urich knew he didn’t have a single second to waste. This wasn’t the time for idle banter, and he had to act swiftly. He grabbed his weapon and leaped between the three northern warriors.
"Hup."
Urich took a deep breath as he swung his arms. The blade swirled, and the axe cut through the air.
Krika, watching the fight, opened his eyes wide. The arms and legs of the northern warriors dropped to the ground like flies.
Urich tore through his enemies without hesitation, splitting heads and severing limbs. It was by no means an easy task. A warrior always fought with his life on the line. No matter how great a warrior was, all it took was one mistake for them to die.
"Phew."
Urich, covered in blood, looked at the warriors running along the edge of the lake. Fortunately, they were coming in a single line with some space in between each of them.
"Hmph."
Urich gathered several throwing axes from the fallen warriors. Northern warriors favored axes, so they usually carried one or two made for throw...
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