I’m a Rebel in Another World

Chapter 20: The End of the Battlefield

Now both sides were in a situation they couldn't back down from. The noble Fabio had killed was the youngest son of an Ika Kingdom earl.

The allied forces that later came as reinforcements were the older brother of that unfortunate young man.

Upon learning of his younger brother's tragic death, he naturally sought to demand justice.

Like limbs connected to legs and tendons connected to muscles, more and more people joined the battle.

By the time Henwil received the news, the constant reinforcement from both sides had created a chaotic melee involving tens of thousands of people on the plains.

There were even regular army regiments from both sides engaged in fierce combat, while other regiments in the main camp were urgently assembling.

Other commanders of the serf soldiers were also mobilizing their personal guards and the serf soldiers under their command, gradually joining the chaotic battle.

As for Henwil, who was known throughout the camp as Fabio's attendant, all the noble private armies in the camp had already gone to provide support.

If he didn't go, it would obviously be unreasonable.

His young age?That didn't matter!

As long as he was tall enough!

In others' eyes, he was already capable of going to battle.

Many people had seen him training normally - this youth's sword techniques were fierce and quite systematic, praised by numerous officers.

Thus, Henwil finally stepped onto the battlefield he had been trying so hard to avoid from the beginning.

Henwil didn't ride Fabio's spare warhorse, nor did he mount his mule, choosing instead to advance with the infantry.

His small frame standing that high would obviously be unwise. If some knight targeted him, thinking he was a noble's son, he'd be in serious trouble.

If captured, what could he say?!

That he was a commoner of the kingdom, just a prisoner in the enemy army?

What commoner child prisoner would receive such good treatment?

If he encountered someone with a bad temper who didn't even look before cutting him down with a sword, that would be even worse luck.

So, staying obediently mixed in with the infantry was safest.

However, it was only relatively safe - anything could happen on the battlefield.

Despite having made complete preparations with chainmail underneath and leather armor on top that would be difficult for serf soldiers' weapons to penetrate, offering excellent protection against arrows.

Additionally, Henwil had sparred with serf soldiers - he could hold his own against three attacking serf soldiers without being at a disadvantage.

But as the saying goes, this damned battlefield place - any accident could happen.

There were examples of knights falling from horses and being stabbed to death by serf soldiers with pitchforks - his small frame wasn't much stronger.

Henwil had tried hard to calm his emotions, but as he got closer to the battlefield, his heartbeat grew increasingly intense.

Finally, the serf soldiers he was with charged into the combat zone - screams, the clashing of weapons, officers' commands.

All these mixed together like the whispers of demons.

Yet also like the calls of family, reaching deep into his ears.

These noises made Henwil's head feel numb, a dizzy sensation causing him to forget all the plans he had made before.

He didn't know how much time had passed when a serf soldier in front suddenly clutched his neck and fell backward.

Blood sprayed out, drawing a mist of blood in the air that solidly splashed onto Henwil's face.

First Henwil's vision turned red, then a nauseating bloody smell rushed into his nasal cavity before seeping into his taste buds.

Before Henwil could figure out what was happening, he felt a strong gust of wind attacking his face.

Henwil instinctively leaned back to dodge, then felt a heavy impact on his chest that threw him off balance and onto the ground.

The opposing serf soldier, having missed with his spear thrust after Henwil dodged, immediately smashed it down onto Henwil's chest.

Henwil rolled on the spot, again dodging his downward spear stab.

In this life-and-death crisis, Henwil's survival instinct took over.

He reached up and grabbed the opponent's spear shaft, using the force of the retraction to spring up from the ground.

The opponent, pulled by this motion, lost his footing and involuntarily stepped forward.

Henwil, now standing again, took advantage of the momentum and thrust into the man's chest.

The man tried to push Henwil away, but with his heart pierced, all strength drained from his body as his hands went limp and rested on Henwil's shoulders.

Henwil was pushed down by him, only pushing him off after coming to his senses.

Henwil stood up again, looking at the man with the short sword embedded in his chest.

The man's eyes began to glaze over, blood foam continuously bubbling from his mouth, his dying body still twitching slightly.

He was young, maybe twenty years old?

Must be!

He must have been an adult!

Henwil comforted himself this way.

Henwil tried hard not to look at the man's face, grabbing the sword hilt to pull out the short sword.

But the short sword seemed to have grown into the man's body - no matter how hard Henwil tried, it wouldn't come out.

Perhaps Henwil didn't realize he had no strength left in his hands.

Even though he had imagined killing countless times, when it came to actually killing another human being...

Henwil, with his normal values, still suffered tremendous mental and spiritual impact.

This wasn't playing games, watching movies, or reading novels!

This was really killing a person!

Someone only a few years older than himself!

But the screams around him forced Henwil to struggle out of this emotional state.

Gritting his teeth, Henwil stepped forward and pulled out his short sword, glanced down at the dead youth, then strode forward to meet his next opponent.

He didn't know how much time had passed when Henwil wiped the blood from his face with his arm, breathing heavily - this was his fourth opponent killed.

This one had been particularly troublesome - tall and wearing makeshift leather armor of his own making.

Though ugly beyond description, its defensive capability was real, and he was slightly stronger than Henwil.

If not for Henwil using his small stature and flexible footwork to circle to his attack blind spot and stab through his heart from under the rib, the fight might have lasted much longer.

Henwil knew he couldn't keep killing - not because his conscience couldn't bear it, but because he didn't want to stand out too much.

This was a massive melee of tens of thousands - no matter how many you killed, there would always be new opponents.

Since that was the case, better to find a safe opponent and slowly stall.

Soon enough, Henwil found a qualified opponent.

This was a middle-aged man who clearly wasn't skilled in combat, only capable of straightforward attacks.

If not for Henwil not wanting to change opponents, this man would have been stabbed to death long ago.

Henwil maintained this slacking behavior until the battle ended. Both sides had fought to exhaustion and slowly separated at the sound of horns.

Upon hearing the retreat horn, Henwil immediately kicked away his unarmed charging opponent and turned to run back toward the main camp.

Leaving his opponent, who thought he was doomed, completely bewildered about what had happened.

Back at camp, Henwil removed his armor and chainmail and began bandaging his wounds.

There was a cut on his left arm and a gash on his right leg from an arrow graze.

After cleaning the wounds, Henwil began suturing them himself while praying those weapons didn't carry tetanus.

He couldn't feel any pain at all - he knew that was the adrenaline starting to work.

Damn it!

I'm just a child!

Speaking of which, does using too much adrenaline affect fertility!