The warhorse, propelled by inertia, charged into the crowd, instantly knocking down a swath of people. An unlucky townsman was hit head-on, his body emitting a dense series of bone-cracking sounds as he was flung four or five meters away. By the time he hit the ground, he was already dead.

The brutality and strength of this knight made everyone involuntarily let out a low gasp.

Nolan looked at the severed arm on the ground, his face as pale as paper, but he gritted his teeth and did not utter a single cry of pain.

Brandon sneered coldly, “You can still dodge my sword—your legs are quick, at least.”

As he spoke, he turned his horse, preparing for another short-range thrust.

However, he ultimately stopped—not out of mercy, but because, in the town’s street, a young man had walked out.

The soldiers in the town hadn’t noticed anyone leaving; they were still circling inside.

The youth carried a longbow on his back and a woodcutter’s axe at his waist, walking step by step up the hillside. It was Devon.

He could not stand by and watch Uncle Nolan be killed right before his eyes. Even if it meant death, he had to die before the old hunter, so he could have no regrets.

Even if he was to die, he would never surrender—he could only die fighting!

Chapter 10: The Wild Woodcutter

The townsfolk all watched the youth walking out of the town gate, falling silent for a moment.

The old hunter Nolan was stunned for a while, then shouted furiously, “You brat, what are you doing out here? Run, now!”

As soon as he shouted, a soldier beside him raised his sword and slashed at him.

But the blow didn’t land—a hardwood arrow flew up from the foot of the hill, striking the soldier’s hand.

The soldier wore thick cowhide gloves, which blocked the arrow, but not its force. His hand was struck hard, pain shooting to the bone, and he couldn’t help but cry out. The sword in his hand clattered to the ground.

Seeing this, Brandon said disdainfully, “Not a bad shot.”

His father, the old lord, chimed in, “This guy’s archery is impressive—he’s killed plenty of soldiers in the castle.”

Brandon sneered coldly, “No matter how good he is, he’s just a lowborn. These lousy wooden arrows are only good for hunting rabbits!”

He pulled the reins and spurred his horse toward Devon, who was not far away.

Taking advantage of the sloping hillside, after just a dozen meters, his warhorse reached its top speed.

The knight’s sword and armor both glimmered with a white light—slightly stronger than that of a mute servant, but with the momentum of the charging horse and his fine equipment, this knight’s combat power was several times that of a mute servant.

Thunderous hoofbeats rang out, the earth trembled, and the hearts of those watching trembled as well.

The knight’s charge was wild and unstoppable.

Nolan closed his eyes. He had poured so much of his heart into Devon, he couldn’t bear to watch him be killed before his very eyes.

At the foot of the hill, Devon tossed aside his longbow. Against a knight in full armor, a bow and arrow had lost all threat.

He drew the woodcutter’s axe he’d worn at his waist for ten years, gripping it tightly, his eyes fixed on the charging knight, not blinking once.

Devon was already prepared to die; even he didn’t believe he could withstand the opponent’s thunderous blow.

Unconsciously, his breathing deepened, and his heartbeat grew heavy once more.

That burning energy surged through his body again, even stronger than when he’d hunted the mute servant.

He felt as if his body was on fire, burning hot all over.

The wooden handle of the axe in his hand creaked and cracked, barely able to withstand his grip.

In Devon’s eyes, the knight’s previously rapid movements seemed to slow down, every detail crystal clear.

Of course, he didn’t just stand there waiting for the charge—he began to run sideways.

The charging knight immediately adjusted his direction, his path curving, his speed dropping slightly.

But Brandon didn’t care at all. In his mind, even without a charge, he could easily cut this kid down from horseback!

The old lord laughed heartily, “Look at this poor wretch—he’s about to be trampled to death!”

It looked just like a giant dragon chasing a tiny rabbit. The kid was doomed; this was nothing but a final struggle before death.

Many townsfolk turned away or closed their eyes, unable to bear witnessing such a tragic scene.

The distance between the two sides closed rapidly.

Soon, Brandon was upon Devon, his heavy sword swinging in a wide arc, whipping up a fierce wind as he slashed viciously at the youth’s head.

Devon suddenly stopped, raising his axe without fear to meet the blow.

He had never received any formal warrior training; his technique was exactly the same as when chopping wood. When the opponent’s greatsword came down, he struck at the sword.

Wherever he aimed, he hit—never missing. This was the result of Devon’s ten years of hard practice.

At this moment, he had set aside thoughts of life and death, unleashing all the strength in his body! The ordinary woodcutter’s axe sliced through the air, making a sound like tearing cloth.