Were they truly doomed this time?
Although Jack Williams usually had a carefree and easygoing demeanor, he had his own bottom line. He had never sought unnecessary trouble, but now that such a large pack of Gale Direwolves was clearly charging straight at him, a surge of anger boiled within him. Muttering to himself, he growled, "Damn it, what's there to fear about a bunch of mangy mutts? Let's see if these beasts are stronger than humans. I'll make them understand what real power is."
He unsheathed his single-handed sword, his gaze locked onto the approaching wolves, his brow furrowing as he calculated his strategy.
As the saying goes, desperation can spark ingenuity. Though pressure could cause panic, it could also inspire sudden flashes of insight.
The midday sun blazed over the Arletta Canyon, casting a scorching light.
Beads of cold sweat formed on Jack Williams's forehead. It would be a lie to say he wasn't nervous—so many Gale Direwolves… even if they simply trampled over him, he'd be crushed into a pulp.
How could he turn this battle in his favor?
Licking his dry lips, he rapidly sifted through strategies in his mind. Many historical battles were won against overwhelming odds, but those victories often hinged on terrain, weather, or other external factors. At this moment, however, as the wolves closed in, a particular passage from an ancient tome he had read surfaced in his memory—one about battlefield formations.
Perhaps this could help.
Military formations held a unique place in the history of warfare on the Western Continent. They were crucial in organizing troops and executing battle tactics. One formation in particular seemed perfectly suited for the current situation.
The Arrowhead Formation. In this arrangement, the commander positioned themselves near the rear while the main force concentrated in the center, spreading forward in a wedge-shaped "arrowhead" designed for aggressive assaults. The strategy revolved around "central penetration." While its defense was superior to that of the Fish-Scale Formation, the primary vulnerability lay in its exposed rear.
Jack Williams didn't fully understand all the intricacies of this formation, but there was no time for hesitation. He bellowed, "Bruno, Bone One, Bone Two, Bone Three—gather the troops! We're wiping out these damn wolves!"
He unsheathed his single-handed sword in one swift motion, taking his place at the forefront.
Bruno hesitated momentarily. Though he wasn't sure how Jack planned to take down over fifty Gale Direwolves, he obediently moved to stand beside him. Behind them, Bone One, Bone Two, and Bone Three—the three skeletal captains—took their positions.
Jack quickly marshaled the rest of the skeleton soldiers into a wedge formation. The five strongest warriors took the lead, forming the sharp tip of the arrow, while the others created a defensive perimeter. The skeletons at the very rear were in the most precarious position, easily susceptible to encirclement, but there was no time to dwell on that now.
The Gale Direwolves drew ever closer.
One hundred fifty meters. One hundred thirty. One hundred…
Jack Williams's sword glowed with a fierce black radiance, exuding an air of sheer confidence and dominance.
Every man possessed a burning fire within him. Even when faced with overwhelming odds, true warriors never surrendered.
The warm sunlight poured down from above, yet Jack's heart was as cold as steel. In this moment of carnage, he forgot that he was merely a traveler from another world.
"Kill them all!"
His roar echoed through the canyon as he charged at the enemy headfirst.
A lone human, a Rank Six Dark Bone Dragon, and forty-five skeleton soldiers—together, they surged forward like madmen, showing no fear, no hesitation.
The fifty-odd Gale Direwolves momentarily hesitated, stunned by the audacity of their opponents. But as they watched the skeletal warriors and their seemingly insignificant human leader charge at them, disdain flashed in their eyes.
To them, those skeletons were nothing more than brittle, useless husks—trash to be swept aside effortlessly.
A Dark Bone Dragon? If it were of Saint-level power, perhaps it would pose a threat. But at Rank Six, it was hardly worth their concern.
Then, the battle erupted.
Three grueling days of harsh training had transformed Jack Williams's body significantly. His endurance, strength, and agility had all undergone a qualitative leap. As a Gale Direwolf lunged at his chest, his sword swung like the scythe of death, severing the beast's throat. Blood gushed out like a broken dam, soaking the ground beneath him.
Beside him, Bone One and Bone Two unleashed their own vicious strikes, cutting down wolves left and right.
Bruno, the Dark Bone Dragon, spewed forth a stream of dark energy. Though his breath attack wasn't potent enough to instantly kill Rank Seven magical beasts, it was sufficient to slow them down, giving Jack's forces a crucial edge.
The Arrowhead Formation thrived on swift, decisive strikes to disrupt enemy lines. With the remaining forty-two skeletons shielding their advance, Jack and his four strongest warriors tore through the wolves' ranks like demons from the abyss.
The first round of combat lasted a mere fifteen minutes. Twelve Gale Direwolves lay slain, six more injured. Meanwhile, Jack's side had only seven skeleton soldiers wounded.
But more than just numbers, the true victory lay in the chaos they had sown. The once-coordinated Direwolves were now in disarray, their battle rhythm broken.
Drenched in blood—most of it his enemies'—Jack Williams grinned savagely at the frenzied pack. "Not bad, not bad! Everyone, follow me again! Kill them all!"
Bruno let out a cackling laugh. "Master, this formation is amazing! Let's wipe them out!"
"Charge!"
For the second time, they surged forward. Ignoring his exhaustion, Jack raised his sword once more, charging headlong into the fray against these superior foes.
Their initial charge had already instilled fear in the Direwolves. Though their pride as magical beasts refused to let them retreat, they had no idea how to counter this onslaught. Frenzied howls filled the canyon as they lunged forward in reckless defiance.
Just as Jack prepared to slay another wolf, he saw something alarming—a wind blade spinning rapidly toward him.
"Damn it! Watch out!"
His face paled. How could he have forgotten? Gale Direwolves had magical attacks!
With no time to think, he tucked his body and rolled forward, barely evading the deadly blade as it whizzed past his head.
Boom!
Behind him, Bone Three managed to raise its sword just in time to block the attack, but the force sent it staggering, nearly shattering its skeletal frame.
"Die!"
Jack roared, swinging his sword downward at the nearest Direwolf's front legs.
The beast howled in agony as both its forelimbs were severed. Blood poured freely as it collapsed onto the ground.
Learning from his near miss, Jack no longer stood still—he kept rolling forward, relentlessly hacking at the wolves' legs. Four or five more Gale Direwolves fell, their severed limbs staining the battlefield red.
Bone One, Bone Two, and Bone Three wasted no time, swiftly executing the wounded wolves.
The bloodbath raged on for over an hour.
By the end, fifty-three Gale Direwolves lay dead. Blood soaked the canyon floor, severed limbs piled atop one another, turning the battlefield into a nightmarish slaughterhouse.
Fifteen skeleton soldiers had perished. Bone Two and Bone Three sustained severe injuries, while Jack himself bore deep claw marks across his chest.
But they had won.
"We did it! Victory!"
Jack Williams raised his bloodied sword high, his weary face alight with triumph.