The Adventures of an Overpowered Knight in Another World Chapter 565- Eleanor In Peril? Achieve Level 6!!

CLANG... The enormous creature got flung sideways, smashing into the cliffside with a force that quaked the earth.

Before recovery was even possible, Vangeance closed in on it. He charged ahead and unleashed a mighty upward vertical chop with the Second Light of the [Holy Blade Arts].

The outcome?

It sliced right through the Storm Sovereign’s right wing, stripping away its power to fly.

BOOOM... Vangeance struck repeatedly without pause. The mountainside got scarred with deep gouges. The Storm Sovereign was forced deep into the rock, half its form buried amid pulverized stone.

Lightning crackled over its shattered wings. It struggled to stand. But Vangeance stomped his boot down on its neck.

Then, channeling a burst of radiant holy aura, he landed the killing strike.

Blood gushed out, cleaving its head from the body.

The monster’s huge corpse slumped onto the slope, as the lightning whirlwind overhead faded away gradually.

Even the howling gales eased somewhat.

As quietness returned to the peak once more, Vangeance’s silhouette stood tall over the fallen foe. His blade and plate were drenched in blood, sweat dripped from his brow, and his breaths came heavy.

Yet, his upright stance and piercing presence were fierce enough to terrify any foe.

The fierce clashes and ordeals of recent days had driven his flesh and spirit to their limits. Unbeknownst to him, a deep change had swept through during the fight.

At that instant, footsteps echoed closer, revealing Silvia’s form.

"Well done, you’ve slain the Storm Sovereign."

She noted his shifts, nodded approvingly, and stepped nearer.

"Now let’s grab the Storm Sovereign’s egg to finish your trial."

Vangeance, still buzzing with thrill, snapped back and trailed after her.

Quickly, they located the Storm Sovereign’s nest atop the summit.

Three eggs lay there, each as big as a football.

Vangeance took one and tucked it into his pouch.

This fulfilled one of the Altar’s trials: securing the Storm Sovereign’s egg.

Next, they headed to the following challenge.

.

.

In a different location.

Within a dilapidated stone hut on the edge of some forgotten village.

Around a dozen rough men gathered at a table, guffawing coarsely while devouring fatty chunks of meat. The atmosphere hung heavy with fumes, body odor, and booze.

Their rugged looks and the raw murderous intent radiating from them screamed that these weren’t good folk.

Truth be told, nearly every one bore wanted posters and bounties across the seven realms.

They formed a notorious mercenary crew bold enough to claim the moniker of the mythic abyssal horror, Cerberus.

"Tch." Abruptly, one fellow—obviously hammered and full of himself—tsked and remarked.

"Eleanor, that performer, you guys catch her show? That tempting figure’s squandered under all that fabric. I’m dying to see her bare."

His lip-licking came off as utterly repulsive.

He wasn’t alone; the whole pack fantasized, mentally peeling off her garb.

"Yeah. Wager she’d moan even lovelier."

"Pretty little bird. Just gotta clip her wings."

Vulgar quips bounced around, each nastier than the previous.

The group pounded the table, bellowing in mirth, swigging harder fueled by liquor and mutual filth.

One figure among them drew notice. Boots propped on the table, a scar over one eye, and a hulking build marked him as the mercenary chief.

"Remember our purpose here." He twirled his flask, sipping casually while drawling.

His voice dropped the noise instantly.

The boss snatched a hefty sack nearby and tossed it table-center.

Amid rattling dishes, coins chimed sharply. As gold spilled from the bag, all gazes locked on instantly.

"The employer shelled out big. We just spook her, force her out of showbiz. No dumb antics."

"Just scare her? Nothing more?" A guy sneered.

"Quick cash. Bust some stuff, hiss a few warnings. Done." Another smirked.

The leader exuded menace, sure. But this crew were certified madmen with piles of sins. Controlling them wasn’t simple.

Soon, grumbles rose. Not all seemed content with the deal.

One wiped fat from his digits and grinned wickedly as he suggested.

"Why hold back? Since we’re that close, why not grab her? Just briefly. Some fun. Then leave her wrecked and tossed aside."

Silence gripped the room.

All harbored the notion, though few voiced it. Now aired, the idea ignited their twisted dreams.

Smirks widened, excitement building.

"That’s no simple task. Client says she’s shielded by knights from one of Solaris’s Seven Great Knight Orders."

The chief cut in, alerting them to the opposition’s strength.

Still, a few underlings scoffed, egos flaring.

One jeered and explained. "Knights of Solaris’s Seven Great Knight Orders are tough, yeah. But from what I’ve spotted, her guards are mere whelps. Probably new squires and rookies out for field training."

His point sparked fresh howls of laughter. Savagery rippled through the group.

"If her protectors are kids, this gig’s a breeze. Those pups haven’t tasted true gore. They’re clueless about terror. I’ll teach ’em what knighthood really demands."

"There he goes, his brutal streak’s kicking in."

"Can’t stop him, he gets off on offing young ones."

Solaris’s famed knight orders might cow others. But Cerberus wasn’t your average sellswords.

They were hardened felons with rap sheets spanning minor lands. Plenty were ex-knights or wanderers who’d flocked to Cerberus post-exposure.

Veteran squads might give pause. But greenhorns barely gripping blades? No fear there.

The lot leered, lost in visions of claiming their fantasy prize.

Noticing their resolve, the boss didn’t object. They all shared the same dark tastes, after all.

He unrolled a map across the table and plotted their scheme.

Timing, spot, getaway routes—all picked with precision. It showed this was routine for their long history of jobs.

With each raunchy chuckle and glass clash, the scheme took shape.

A scheme rooted in hubris.

A scheme driven by avarice.

A scheme doomed to crash against forces way beyond their grasp.

And when collision came, remorse would find no place.

.

.

Morning rays poured through the pane, bathing the slumbering Eleanor.

The stunning lady with flowing golden locks streaked in crimson roused slowly. She stretched languidly like a cat before her sight cleared.

Fresh blooms and varnished timber scented the breeze, easing her dawn. Far from the tense starts she once knew before his aid.

Eleanor got up, cleansed herself, and donned her attire.

The routine day kicked off. By her exit, the meal waited ready.

The servants dipped in courteous bows.

Eleanor acknowledged them warmly, sharing light greetings.

She’d been off filming, distant from the metropolis and realm alike.

Her cozy life stemmed solely from Reinhardt handling it all.

These attendants weren’t mere help; they hailed from Reinhardt’s own staff, loyal to the city governor. Their service to her now signaled clearly.

She enjoyed his safeguard.

That truth always warmed her heart. It left her feeling truly valued.

Post-meal, Eleanor ventured out.

Beyond the entrance waited her day’s guards. Her preferred team.

"Good morning, Lady Eleanor!"

A lively youth shouted. Dark-haired, clad in crisp knight gear, bursting with boundless vigor.

Beside him was Gwen. Her rose-gold tresses gleamed in the light, her features a mix of loveliness and poise. She held herself with refined elegance, aura serene—contrasting her companion.

It hinted at her aristocratic roots.

"I hope you slept well, Lady Eleanor."