Chapter 887

Chapter 887

## Transformation of the Bear

While Venom was consumed by a volatile mixture of rage and frustration, Barik felt a silent jolt of alarm. Despite two concerted efforts, he had failed to leave even a minor mark on his adversary.

The level of skill on display was beyond logical; it was practically incomprehensible. He found himself wondering what kind of innate talent or grueling discipline was required to achieve such perfection. Amidst his confusion, a flicker of professional interest emerged. The opponent possessed breathtaking technique, yet Barik knew that technical brilliance didn’t change the fundamental nature of the struggle.

To demolish an obstacle, one didn’t need to master its architecture. A fortress wall could be brought down by raw, overwhelming power regardless of its design.

*Rrrrkkk.*

Elongated fangs burst from the corners of Barik’s jaw. Coarse, wire-tough fur erupted across his visage, and tiny droplets of crimson welled up where the hair tore through his skin.

*Crunch-crunch-crack.*

His skeletal structure shifted and expanded with a violent rattling of bone. The armor he wore, specifically engineered for this metamorphosis, settled into place over his bulkier frame. Barik was a bear beastman, an outcast born with a lineage and form that many considered a curse. In that regard, his path mirrored that of Dunbakel.

Naturally, his history remained a secret to the world, and Barik himself had long since buried those memories.

> “I am the leader of the Mud Order of Knights.”

Regardless of who he faced, he was known as a nightmare of an opponent. He hadn’t lost his sense of self; he simply discarded the past to focus entirely on the present. This moment was no different. He fought as the instrument of the High Pontiff’s ambition. By aligning his actions with that divine will, he would eventually claim a realm and territory of his own.

*Grrrrrk.*

A thicket of thorn-like bristles grew over his body, interweaving with his plates. Though he still gripped his knife, it had become a secondary tool. Eventually, the blade was swallowed by the expanding fur around his wrist. Aside from his claws, the sharp spikes protruding from every inch of his body served as his primary Engraved Weapon. Their durability matched the steel he once held; the material for his weapon was his own biology. He was a rare combatant who had forged his entire physical being into a weapon of war.

“Krhaaaugh!”

The beastman’s roar rippled through the air, a sound designed to trigger primal terror and make the skin crawl. However, Enkrid remained unmoved. Having survived the crushing presence of a Balrog, he was immune to such displays.

“A genuine bear beastman, then.”

Enkrid remained composed. He mentally noted that he’d have to recount this encounter to Audin—which meant, of course, that he intended to survive it.

“His style is defensively oriented. We just need to apply constant pressure,” Pustis remarked. His tactical perception was sharp, having quickly deciphered the essence of the enemy’s bladework. Longarm, his mobility hampered by a puncture in his thigh, retreated a step as blood continued to leak from the wound due to his recent movements.

*‘Minimize footwork,’* Longarm thought.

He would wait for a lapse and then drive his blade home. He still possessed a hidden technique that utilized the power of his conditioned arm muscles, allowing him to use his limbs like lashes. He could generate lethal speed through his upper body without relying on his damaged leg.

Meanwhile, Barod tucked his face between his twin shields, hunching his neck into a compact defensive posture. This was the setup for the “Turtle Charge,” a maneuver designed to repel even the most powerful strikes. Barod excelled at blending defense and offense into a single motion, crushing enemies while remaining an impenetrable wall. This stance was the pinnacle of that philosophy.

Enkrid held Dawn Tempering loosely in his right hand. To an untrained eye, he looked relaxed, perhaps even careless.

*‘That’s a stance primed to explode forward at a moment’s notice,’* Barik realized.

As the transformation took hold, Barik’s higher reasoning began to fade, replaced by a rising tide of predatory instinct focused on ruin and blood. Hot vapor curled from his maw, and saliva dripped onto the earth.

Pustis observed the standoff with a cold, analytical expression.

*‘There are four of us.’*

Defeat seemed impossible. While Jaxon of the Mad Order of Knights had proven formidable, the three of them hadn’t actually been overpowered. If one of them had fallen, would the others have simply watched? In a prolonged fight, victory would surely be theirs, even without the involvement of the Commander or Barod.

*‘Even if Barod hadn’t intervened.’*

Pustis wondered if he really would have failed to dodge that dagger aimed at his skull. If he had reacted at the point of impact, his reinforced Will and toughened skin might have bought him enough time to survive, perhaps at the cost of an eye, but not his life. The tactical advantage clearly belonged to them.

Yet, a sense of dread lingered. Pustis scanned the area, and his intuition signaled an immediate threat. His eyes locked onto the man named Jaxon. The warrior, who had been on the brink of collapse, spoke a single word.

“One.”

Simultaneously, Jaxon launched a dagger. As if on cue, the Commander lunged and Pustis swung his flail. Barik led the charge, his foot slamming into the earth with such force that it felt like a localized earthquake.

The vibration was enough to unbalance most, but Enkrid didn’t waver. He met the Commander’s claws with a sword shimmering with pale blue light. Before Barik could complete his rush, Enkrid counter-charged.

*Boom!*

A shockwave echoed as Enkrid darted past Barik, pivoting instantly. Barik responded with a rising knee and a diagonal elbow strike. Enkrid spun his blade into a reverse grip, catching the knee on the tip and the elbow with the crossguard. The precision was startling.

Clangs and impacts rang out as Barik’s armored knee struck the steel. Enkrid used that very momentum to parry the elbow strike with his guard. It was a masterclass in fluid combat—a range where limbs were more effective than fists. Only someone deeply seasoned in close-quarters fighting could navigate such a dance.

Longarm was sidelined by his leg injury, and Barod, attempting to flank, had to reposition as the Commander and Enkrid traded places in a blur. Pustis let fly his flail, its three iron heads fanning out. He intended to cut off the escape route and crush the target, but Enkrid did something unexpected. He drew a second blade and lunged.

Had Pustis continued his swing, his throat would have been skewered. He was forced to abort his attack and retreat.

*Clatter-clatter!*

The iron maces collided uselessly.

“Guh.”

By the time that single exchange concluded, Venom was dead. Pustis’s earlier premonition had been correct.

Jaxon, the man who radiated a sense of impending doom, had cut the throat of the mixed-blood fairy. The dwarven assassin, who had spent a century perfecting his craft, collapsed as blood gurgled from a new opening in his neck. He clawed at the air in a futile struggle. Short of divine intervention or high-level necromancy, there was no coming back from such a wound.

Blood pooled beneath Venom, signaling a definitive end to his journey. The outcome was simple: Jaxon was the superior combatant. He had targeted Venom from the start, using conversation as a mere distraction. Jaxon had been prepared to trade his own safety to secure a kill—a tactic of sacrificing “flesh for bone.”

‘*Exactly what the Captain taught me.’*

Jaxon had left the four knights to his leader while he eliminated the assassin. His left arm was now heavily bandaged with a wrap soaked in Anne’s specialized medicines to stop bleeding and numb pain. He had even found the composure to dress his wound while dealing with Venom.

“Now, we truly begin,” Jaxon said, turning his gaze toward Pustis.

Pustis felt a wave of vertigo, as if he were teetering on a precipice. It was the mental shock of having his tactical assessment completely shattered.

“Pustis!” Barik barked, snapping his subordinate back to reality. “There are two left. We kill them, and it’s over.”

Even with his mind clouded by bestial urges, the Commander’s Will was unshaken. To him, Venom’s death was merely a localized loss.

“I understand,” Pustis replied, regaining his cool. He was a knight, after all. “Longarm, stay sharp. They are masters of the kill.”

Barod added his voice to the grim resolve. “Once that swordsman falls, the rest follows.”

Pustis steadied his breath. The next few moments would decide who lived and who died. Jaxon retreated three steps, his breathing becoming shallow and silent. He moved forward, his form blurring like a heat haze until he vanished from sight.

*‘What kind of trick is this?’* Longarm wondered, his eyes wide and unblinking. He knew an assassin couldn’t easily slip past a knight who was actively bracing for an attack. He gathered his Will into his vision. *‘I will survive this day.’*

The Mud Order of Knights thrived in desperation; they were survivors who had turned their tenacity into a weapon.

Barik, too, was pushing past his limits. Usually, his vision turned a bloody red during his transformation, but today, his mind remained sharp. The intensity of the crisis had forced his reason to stay afloat alongside his instincts.

“You are of the Mad Order of Knights, I presume?” Barik asked.

Enkrid shifted his stance, bringing his sword up near his face. His striking blue eyes locked onto Barik’s. He gave a microscopic nod.

“Enkrid of the Mad Order of Knights.”

“I won’t forget that name,” Barik grunted. He remained perfectly poised, ready to counter any sudden movement.

Meanwhile, Barod activated his “Silent Iron Armor.” Having studied the techniques of giants and witnessed his commander’s change, he had learned to wrap his entire body in a shell of Will as hard as plate steel. He was a human tank, capable of weathering blows from monsters like Ogres—beasts that could uproot trees to use as clubs. His defense was an absolute barrier that even such primitive strength could not breach.