Overlord: Welcome the Birth of the King

Suddenly—

From beyond the chaos of the battlefield, a small squad of human warriors burst forth like a lightning bolt, cutting into the rear of the Grey Dwarf army with breathtaking speed. Every dwarf soldier who stood in their way might as well have been made of damp paper.

Leading the charge was a figure clad in dull grey plate armor, followed closely by his daughter, Yaral, and a group of sturdy young fighters from the settlement.

"Everyone, get behind me! Keep formation!" the middle-aged chieftain shouted, still unsure what had just happened. But deep down, he felt something stir. The crushing despair that had wrapped around his people like a noose… was starting to loosen.

Meanwhile, the Grey Dwarf Grand Commander was practically twitching with rage, his thick beard trembling as he roared at his subordinates.

"You lot are useless! You can't even stop a few humans!"

Then he turned toward a heavily armed dwarf warrior beside him. "Oloron! Gut those upstart humans!"

At once, the armored dwarf stepped forward, rallied a team of soldiers, and charged toward the intruders.

And under the commander's glare, the two forces clashed.

But what happened next was not what anyone expected. The man in grey armor wasn't blasted back, nor did he falter. Quite the opposite.

With a single clean swing of his sword, he split Oloron cleanly in half.

The Grand Commander froze.

"Impossible…"

Oloron was the strongest warrior in their entire battalion. And he had just died in one blow.

The battlefield plunged deeper into chaos.

Everywhere the armored human led his squad, dwarf bodies were torn apart like rotten cloth, the ground becoming a sticky tapestry of blood and entrails.

They carved through the outer ranks like a blade through snow, eventually breaking into the heart of the human formation.

Seeing this blood-drenched figure marching from a hill of corpses, the chieftain flinched despite himself. The stench of iron and death was so thick it hit like a wave.

"Father!" Yaral called out breathlessly, her face flushed with excitement and exhaustion.

"Yaral!" Relief washed over the chieftain's face at the sight of his daughter. He wanted to rush forward and embrace her, but the moment demanded discipline. He asked instead, voice cautious, "Who is that warrior?"

The strength this newcomer had shown was monstrous. The chieftain had no idea why someone so powerful would show up with his daughter of all people—but there was no denying whose side he was on.

"Father, we're saved," Yaral said, silver eyes wide as she looked at the figure beside her. "Thanks to him."

She wasn't alone in her awe. Every young human who had come in with her looked exhilarated, almost high.

The truth was, they hadn't really fought their way through the enemy ranks. Not exactly.

It was Lyle.

Yaral, panting, suddenly hesitated. "He is…"

She realized something awkward: she didn't even know his name. In this kind of world, powerful people rarely bothered to introduce themselves to the weak.

But before she could recover, Lyle waved a hand as if brushing aside the conversation.

"Now's not the time for idle chatter."

He lifted his oversized magical greatsword, turned without another word, and dashed back into the fray.

After all, these dwarves weren't just enemies. They were free experience.

This time, he didn't bother holding back.

Without the others slowing him down, Lyle unleashed his full speed. His sword danced through the battlefield like a shadow given form, reducing armored dwarves into nothing more than bursts of red mist.

Most of these soldiers were level 7 or 8, maybe even higher.

But to Lyle?

It didn't matter.

One swing. One corpse.

"AAAAH!"

"Monster!"

"The one in grey armor—he's a demon!"

"Stop him! Archers! Archers!!"

"…"

Panic swept the dwarf lines like a plague.

"Mass Tranquility!"

The Grand Commander barked the order, activating a skill that tried to soothe the fear in his troops. He began organizing a counter-assault to surround the invader.

"Father, we can't let him fight alone!" Yaral shouted, noticing the dwarves moving to encircle Lyle.

"Those without weapons, fall back! The rest of you, follow me. We're helping that warrior!" the chieftain bellowed.

The humans rallied.

Hope—raw and burning, surged in their hearts. If they didn't take this chance, if they didn't stand with this mysterious juggernaut now, they might never get another opportunity.

If this dwarf army fell, the humans would finally have ten years of peace. A decade to rebuild.

No weapons? No problem.

They scavenged from the fallen, stripping weapons from cold, dwarven hands. Cowardice was no longer an option.

Led by the chieftain and Yaral, the humans surged forward like a tide, crashing into the dwarf lines in support of Lyle.

The Grey Dwarf army was only five thousand strong, but when spread across the battlefield, the numbers looked intimidating.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Arrows rained down from the rear ranks, clinking harmlessly against Lyle's armor. It echoed like dull wind chimes.

White marks appeared where they struck, but Lyle didn't even flinch. Without enchantments, these arrows were little more than toys. Even if they did scratch the surface, he could always patch the armor up with healing magic.

It was, after all, a living part of him.

"A command-type class, huh?"

Lyle's eyes gleamed as he spotted the enemy general deep within the dwarf formation.

It had been hard to tell the dwarves apart. Most of them had the same huge beards covering half their faces. But now, thanks to the enemy using an obvious commander skill, the real boss couldn't hide.

Surrounded by dwarves with iron shields and anxious eyes, Lyle grinned.

He raised his greatsword and roared, "Mana Slash: Wind!"

A crescent of green energy erupted from his blade, slicing through the air like a storm-born scythe.

A path opened before him, lined with nothing but mangled bodies and drifting blood mist.

This was a new trick he'd learned, by combining the elemental conversion of his Mad Archmage class with the slashing techniques of a Magic Swordsman, he could release four elemental blade waves.

"AAAAHHHH!"

"Help us!!"

The screams returned with fresh volume. Fear gripped the dwarves once again.

And Lyle? He dashed down the cleared path without hesitation, heading straight for the heart of the dwarf command.

"He's a Hero-class warrior!"

"A Hero! It must be a Hero!"

"Why?! Why would someone like that help the humans?!"

The Grand Commander sat down hard, legs giving out as he watched dozens of his soldiers die to a single swing.

Then Lyle locked eyes with him.

The dwarf paled.

"Stop him! Stop him!!" he shrieked, his voice cracking in panic.

But by then, even his own soldiers were trembling in fear.

In a blink, Lyle appeared before him.

Two nearby bodyguards lunged forward.

Too slow.

Two swings.

Two corpses.

Lyle looked down at the commander, who had collapsed on the ground, trembling and stammering.

"You're the one in charge, right?"

The dwarf couldn't see his face, hidden behind the grey helmet. But that calm, almost casual voice sent a chill down his spine.

"I... you... I..."

"Yeah. Thought so."

Shnk!

With a single upward slash, Lyle cleaved the Grand Commander in two.

For a heartbeat, everything fell silent.

"The commander is dead!!"

"Run!!"

"Devil! Monster!!"

The scream of fleeing dwarves echoed through the canyon, their will shattered.

Lyle, of course, wasn't about to let them go.

He leapt back into the fray, slicing through the crumbling army like a man possessed.

And the humans? Once the shock wore off, they joined the slaughter.

The stench of blood hung thick in the air. The sand had turned red, like the whole valley had been soaked in wine.

Dwarf and human corpses lay strewn across the battlefield.

It was over.

The war was won.

The surviving humans collapsed where they stood, breathing heavily, not even caring about the gore around them. Relief, disbelief, and raw emotion etched itself into every face. Some slapped themselves just to be sure they weren't dreaming.

The once-feared Grey Dwarf army… had fallen.

And all eyes turned toward the bloodstained knight in grey.

Yaral's silver eyes brimmed with tears, awe flooding her face. She suddenly threw back her head and screamed.

"Grey Knight!!"

One voice became many.

"Grey Knight!"

"Grey Knight!!"

"Grey Knight!!!"

"GREY KNIGHT!!!"

The canyon roared with their chant.

Lyle, still catching his breath, blinked.

"Grey Knight? That's a terrible title," he muttered, chuckling softly.

Vrrrmmm—

His status screen suddenly shuddered with power. Lines of glowing text began to scroll across his vision:

[You have fulfilled the conditions to obtain a class.]

[Answer their expectations.]

[Accept their cheers.]

[Welcome their reverence.]

[You, clad in grey, are their hope.]

[Only bloodstained blades can ensure your kind survives.]

[You are the Grey Knight.]

[The Grey Knight is you.]

[You have acquired the Unique Base Class: Grey Knight.]