A thick mist of blood swirled in the morning light.

The stench of blood permeated the entire battlefield, and since the war began, this odor had never dissipated.

A wind, blowing from some unknown direction, gently stirred the blood mist. Under the light of the early morning sun, the battlefield appeared even more brutal and bloody.

Iron Thorn Plain.

Before the rat plague broke out, this place was not well-known; it was a name casually given by passing travelers.

It is called this because some branches were often entwined with vines known as iron thorns on this plain. From a distance, under the sunlight, the vines gleam like iron, hence the name.

As for how the name of this battlefield will change after this battle, no one knows. But undoubtedly, it will be closely tied to this bloody combat.

On the battlefield, the sharp whistles of blades cutting through the wind intermingle with the muffled sounds of axes chopping.

At this moment, the plain battlefield has indeed descended into complete chaos.

Perhaps in the early days of the war, there were some back-and-forth strategic plans, conflicts between military governments, and coordination and interspersing between units.

But now, all those have lost their meaning. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

What remains is the most primitive hacking and slaughter and endless death.

Lak’s leather boots sank deeply into the mud soaked with blood; maybe a small rain a few days ago contributed to the mud.

But when he stepped down, what emerged was like a flood of blood, there is no doubt about that.

But whose blood is it?

No one cares.

The burly man opposite him, wearing a horned helmet, was struggling to pull a war axe out of a comrade’s shoulder blade. The axe blade was caked with rust sticking to bits of flesh, drawing out scarlet threads.

The so-called comrade in arms was merely a Ratman fighting alongside him.

To the barbarian warrior on the battlefield, Ratmen are but obstacles to be casually cleared away, like pests.

They have come here following the summoning of the Blood God, and slaughter and battle are their entire life.

Even the Ratmen fighting alongside them, as long as they block the way, will be killed casually, sacrificing more blood and death to increase their power.

"Bastard!"

Lak stepped forward quickly, his curved saber slashing diagonally down, the brass bell on the hilt jingling.

The axeman hastily raised his axe to block, sparks flew in all directions from the rusty blade.

The veins bulged under his fang-like neck guard, a foul stench blew onto Lak’s face.

Suddenly, a glint of cold light flashed on the left side. Lak quickly crouched and rolled to dodge. A longsword grazed his scalp, slicing off the tassel on his leather helmet.

Mud seeped into the gaps of the chainmail, Lak saw a messenger with a broken leg, vigorously stabbing the enemy’s throat with a flagpole.

The gold finch bird embroidered on the flag turned into a bizarre purplish-black under the saturation of blood, the place where the bird beak was located happened to be impaled with half a broken finger.

Lak was not a Night Watcher; he belonged to the Kingdom the flag represented.

The ax-wielder approached again, Lak grabbed a handful of mud mixed with blood froth, flung it at his face, and then swiftly stabbed the curved saber into the gap of his armor under his armpit.

Warm blood gushed out along the blade groove, the ax-wielder staggered and fell, the axe handle hitting the ground, startling a swarm of bloodsucking green-headed flies.

However, this was evidently not enough to kill him.

Despite being scarred all over and not knowing how many heads he had chopped off in this battle.

Just as Lak lifted his weapon to deliver the fatal blow, the dull sound of armor colliding came from behind. He turned and saw a young man with burned scars on his face stabbing his short sword into the fallen man’s eye socket.

Suddenly, the copper-plated wrist guard on the youth exploded, an arrow flew from somewhere piercing his youthful wrist.

"Ah!"

The youth let out a wretched scream, then another arrow flew, piercing directly through his mouth and out the back of his head.

Seeing such an attack, Lak quickly rolled to dodge, grabbing a corpse as a shield, hiding behind a tree trunk.

The barbarian warrior just freed crawled up from the ground, the wound that had just been pierced continued to gush out blood, but he seemed utterly indifferent.

"Roar! Head!"

He shouted a strange slogan, lifting his axe again rushing towards Lak.

This battle scene was seen everywhere on the battlefield.

A non-human wail suddenly erupted from the center of the battlefield.

A heavy-armored cavalry swung a wolf fang club, blowing off the skull caps of several fleeing Ratmen, brain matter traced milky white arcs in the air, splattering on the wreckage filled with arrows.

Next, a javelin flew from somewhere, piercing directly through the heavy-armored barbarian cavalry, pinning him firmly to the ground.

The warhorse he rode on galloped wildly in panic across the battlefield.

An old soldier in scale armor suddenly leaped from a pile of corpses, hooking a light cavalry leg armor gap with a rusty sickle.

The two grappled together, rolling into a burning grain wagon, flames instantly devouring metal and flesh.

From their attire, it was difficult to discern who they were or which camp they belonged to.

Fighting on this battlefield were not only the United Army but also berserkers under the Blood God’s command from various races.

Their armor styles were uninhibited and wild, they would even casually pick up weapons and equipment from corpses on the battlefield to use.

Whether they were teammates, the United Army, or Ratmen, all fell within their range of slaughter.

This chaotic situation continually unfolds on the battlefield.

Lak’s weapon had chipped blades countless times, he casually discarded it on the ground.

Picking up a thick sword from a corpse, he swung it a few times randomly.

At this moment, his hands were already swollen and cracked, his tiger’s mouth split, his face splattered with blood stains.

He felt he was on the verge of exhausting all his strength.

"What a hellish place."

He murmured to himself, sitting down on the ground in exhaustion.

Just then, a giant red-skinned wolf hound charged fiercely toward him.

"Bastard."

He only muttered quietly, then calmly closed his eyes.

The slaughter had left him physically and mentally exhausted; the seductive voice of the Blood God in his ear was as annoying as a crow’s, utterly foolish.

"Slash!"

Suddenly, the sound of a blade cutting through the air was heard.

Hot blood splashed onto his face, hotter than any before, causing him to open his eyes and reach up to wipe it away.

He saw that the wolf hound that had pounced on him had lost its head.

"Night Watchers... don’t they ever tire?"

He had lost count of how many times he had wondered this.

His savior was an ordinary Night Watcher Warrior riding a Land Bird.

During the fighting in this area, he had been saved multiple times by this Night Watcher Warrior.

The warrior seemed to fight tirelessly within this area.

Just then, the sound of a trumpet came from the distance. Hearing this, Lak seemed to regain all his strength instantly, struggling to rise from the ground.

However, the trumpet sound seemed somewhat strange.

"Isn’t it a rotation attack?"

Then, a tremor came from behind.

A large cavalry force galloped past him, the wind causing his face to sting.

He helplessly sat down again, watching the troops previously resting in the rear now charging across the battlefield.

"Could it be a full-scale attack?"