Reborn as shield hero with Garps Template

"It's you who not only smashed my house but also injured my father?"

Before reaching the entrance of Lute Village, Wordsworth's roar echoed loudly.

The soldiers standing at the entrance of the village turned their heads immediately upon hearing it and saw Wordsworth approaching slowly.

The leading soldier immediately recognized him as part of the group that had just tried to enter the village.

"Boy... I remember you didn't pay the toll. How did you get in here?"

The lead soldier didn't answer Wordsworth's question but scolded him instead.

"You still haven't answered my question!"

Wordsworth's eyes were bloodshot as he towered over the leading soldier, questioning him again with an imposing stance.

"I'm not obliged to answer you. But you... you sneaked into the village without paying the toll. Do you know what crime that is? This offense alone is enough to throw you in the dungeon."

Despite Wordsworth's towering figure, the lead soldier wasn't intimidated.

In his eyes, they were under the protection of heroes and Myne, and no one would dare harm them. Besides, there were about ten of them, while Wordsworth stood alone, seeming foolish. They had nothing to fear.

As the lead soldier sneered, the surrounding soldiers laughed as well, seeing their captain taunt the "big dumb man" as a way to pass time while guarding the village.

What they didn't expect, however, was for Wordsworth to suddenly grab the leading soldier's head with his enormous right hand, lifting him effortlessly like a child.

"What are you doing... let me go!"

The lead soldier clutched at Wordsworth's arm with both hands, kicking wildly in the air. The pain in his skull intensified, and he growled angrily.

"Since you refuse to answer, I'll just kill you all. I've already confirmed that you're the ones responsible."

Wordsworth spoke coldly, then clutched the lead soldier's head with both hands. Before the other soldiers could fully react, blood began to pour from the soldier's nose, eyes, and ears as he screamed in agony.

"Release him!"

The soldiers finally reacted, drawing their weapons as they prepared to rush forward.

"Get out of here!"

Without flinching, Wordsworth hurled the lead soldier's body at the group of soldiers.

Instinctively, the soldiers reached out to catch their captain.

But the force was far greater than they anticipated. Though they managed to catch the body, the impact knocked them all backward.

Upon closer inspection, deep finger impressions were visible on the sides of the lead soldier's face. He was motionless, clearly crushed to death by Wordsworth's immense strength.

"The captain... he's really dead."

"Damn it! Do you even realize what you've done?"

"We are not only the subordinates of Spear hero and Myne, but also soldiers of the kingdom!"

The soldiers were too shocked to act, shouting instead of attacking Wordsworth.

"So what? All of you are going to die today!"

Wordsworth drew the massive sword strapped to his back and swung it fiercely.

In an instant, three soldiers were decapitated, their heads flying into the air, their eyes still wide with terror. One sweep of the blade had ended them.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!!!"

Finally understanding the dire situation, the soldiers raised the alarm, realizing they were facing a ruthless, unstoppable werewolf.

But the warning came too late. In the next moment, Wordsworth's enormous sword cleaved through one soldier, cutting him cleanly in half like a piece of firewood.

The blade didn't lose momentum, continuing its deadly arc toward the others.

As the alarm blared, the sound of running footsteps and clashing armor grew louder from inside the village.

Before long, seventy or eighty soldiers gathered at the entrance of Lute Village, but they froze in their tracks upon witnessing the carnage before them.

Wordsworth stood surrounded by a dozen mutilated corpses.

His sword dripped with blood, and his body was streaked with crimson. His eyes, glowing red, gave him the appearance of a demon.

The soldiers gulped in unison, knowing without a doubt that Wordsworth was responsible for the massacre.

"Form ranks! Form ranks!"

Despite the horror in front of them, the soldiers acted swiftly, raising their spears and forming a defensive line.

Undaunted, Wordsworth gripped his sword tightly, advancing toward them at an increasing speed.

As he neared the formation, he swung his sword with terrifying strength, tearing through their defenses as if they were made of paper.

In the next moment, Wordsworth plunged into the midst of the soldiers like a beast among sheep, cutting them down one by one. With each swing of his sword, blood sprayed into the air.

"Damn it, where did this monster come from? Why is he so strong?"

"No, we can't hold him back at all!"

"Don't panic! There's only one of him!"

The soldiers screamed in fear, trying desperately to regroup.

Wordsworth didn't give them the chance, killing over ten more in the blink of an eye.

By now, his vision was clouded by bloodlust. Suddenly, a sharp pain flared in his left calf.

Looking down, he saw that his leg had been cut, and blood was pouring from the wound.

Wordsworth knew the injury wasn't from the soldiers' weapons. A magician, skilled in wind-based magic, had to be lurking nearby.

With a powerful swing of his greatsword, Wordsworth forced the nearby soldiers back, scanning the surroundings to locate the magician. He knew that if he didn't take out the spellcaster soon, his chances of survival would be slim.

"He's hurt! This is our chance!"

"Everyone, attack!"

The soldiers were overjoyed when they saw Wordsworth stumble, seizing the opportunity to surround him.

Wordsworth, still unable to locate the magician, found himself forced to fend off the advancing soldiers with his sword. His attention was divided, and just then, another sharp pain shot through his right calf.

He spotted the magician finally, hiding in a corner, but with both legs injured, he could barely move. Taking even a single step nearly caused him to collapse.

Sensing his vulnerability, the soldiers surged forward once more.

"Get out of here!" Wordsworth roared, mustering all his remaining strength. He swung his sword with both hands, cutting down three more soldiers. But as he did, a sharp pain tore through his chest—the magician had struck again, taking advantage of the moment.

Now wounded multiple times, Wordsworth could feel the strength draining from his body.

"Am I going to die here?" he thought, his mind wandering. "If I die, Lord Shield Hero will surely scold me harshly for my failure."

Wordsworth could picture it vividly, the rebuke from Jason. But then, his thoughts shifted, a bittersweet smile creeping onto his face.

"But it seems... there won't be a chance for Lord Shield Hero to scold me again."

His smile deepened, a mix of disappointment and self-mockery.

Just as he was preparing for the worst, something caught his eye. In the distance, a carriage was slowly making its way toward Lute Village.

Before Wordsworth could fully process what he was seeing, a familiar voice rang out from the carriage.

"Jack... didn't I tell you not to abandon your companions?"

Wordsworth's heart skipped a beat—he knew that voice all too well.