Michael

The site of the battle was much less chaotic than Michael would have expected. The line was still holding strong, but he could still see why the young barons had called for aid.

A large group of Rangda warriors were baring down on the orderly line of men-at-arms while mages were trying to pick off singular targets. House Ragar and Tengel knights were doing their best to mitigate their effectiveness, but they were struggling.

The magic didn’t seem to be the biggest problem though, quite literally. A giant of a man, at least two meters tall, was swinging what looked like a boulder on a stick like it was nothing.

Michael knew from Rat’s reports, that the man was probably the chief of the Crested Clan, Cigurt the Giant. He also knew that the man was considered the physically strongest man in this forest.

A light javelin blinked into existence in Michael’s hand a moment after spotting the man. With the blinding light all around him, he no longer had any trouble gathering its parts.

The javelin snapped toward the chieftain at the speed of an arrow. The man seemed to sense the incoming danger and smashed the projectile to the side even though it was just a light construct.

Did he know about Michael’s hard light, or did he simply react on reflex?

It didn’t matter, with a war cry the small reserve charged into battle to bolster their beleaguered allies. Michael wanted to follow but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

He turned around to look at Lance. A lot of communication happened in just a moment of eye contact as Michael could see that Lance wanted to leave him behind with Erhen, but Lance could see that that was never going to happen.

“Stay next to me at all times,” the knight finally said and went ahead.

They waded into the line on the edge of the fighting. Michael stayed right behind Lance, supporting the knight and the surrounding soldiers with his magic. He knew that he might disrupt the formation when a dwarf like him stood in the front line.

Lance scythed through the warriors like a farmer through a field. With Michael behind him to block any riposte with his light he focused fully on crushing as many enemies as possible before they could mount a reasonable defense.

The first inkling of a response was when a spear of rock came flying right at the knight. Michael tried to block it with a shield, but the rock crashed through it with overwhelming force.

Lance reacted with the speed of an enhanced human and put his magical blade between him and the attack. Any normal blade would have surely shattered, but Blacksteel was known for its durability if for little else and the enchantments on the blades only increased that property.

Michael spotted the faint trail the magical strike had taken through the press and prepared a counter when an arrow vanished exactly where Michael would have launched his spell off to. It was hard to tell through the noise of the battle whether the projectile had hit its mark or not but if Erhen had picked the mage as a target then Michael would concentrate on his surroundings and trust him.

A loud crash drew Michael’s attention over to where the giant of a man was swinging his hammer around. Spikes of rock were protruding all around him as he lifted the unwieldy thing from the ground.

“We need to stop him,” Michael yelled over the noise. His voice was muffled by the chainmail shawl that covered his lower face but still loud enough for Lance to hear.

The knight continued to swing for a few moments, hesitancy in his movements. He probably didn’t want to bring Michael anywhere near that behemoth, but he also knew that if the chieftain fell then this attack would also crumble.

After a moment of contemplation, Lance began to fall back slowly, allowing his neighbors to close the gap.

“You need to promise me that you will stay away from him,” Lance told him as they followed the line over to where Cigurt was wreaking havoc.

“I do not intend to be smashed to paste,” Michael replied. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he could fight a man like that. He couldn’t beat the knights in training and that giant would give Geron a hard time.

Michael came to a slithering halt and threw another light javelin at the chieftain while Lance dashed forward to join Samuel and the old Sir Kilev in the melee.

The light javelin smashed into the chieftain and shattered against his skin. Michael shuddered as he saw his magic being disintegrated by a thin layer of mana vibrating as a second layer of skin.

Sir Pyke has shown him that ability once. It was an aura skill that required an insane amount of control over one’s mana. It was a natural counter to all but the most charged spells but also devoured mana like a ravenous beast. In a situation like this, it would mean that Michael would be completely useless if he didn’t intend to throw all the mana he still had left at the chieftain.

It also meant that the man was on an aura level.

“He is using aura armor!” Michael warned the two knights and his friend of Cigurt’s ability. It wouldn’t do anything to stop a blade in the way he was using it, but mana blades would be ripped apart like Michael’s spell had been and it could quickly turn offensive if the user wanted it to.

Michael fidgeted on his heels as he watched the fight begin in earnest. There was not much he could do right now.

His gaze snapped to the rest of the battle. The Telios soldiers were doing well but it didn’t look like a winner would be decided anytime soon.

I can’t do anything here, but I can help in the line. Cigurt might be stronger than I thought but even he can do little if he is fighting alone. He might be able to hold us back, but the encirclement job isn’t to advance anyway.

Michael apologized to Lance quietly and stormed over to the chaotic edge where Cigurt had broken the line.

His father’s sword sang as Michael appeared in the chaotic melee; he was faster than an unaugmented human could hope to react to, and his fueled strength could easily match those of grown men.

First, he parried an overconfident strike, and his sword claimed the arm of his attacker for the offense. Michael stepped forward and the man back. He wasn’t fast enough and after his arm, he also lost his throat.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“PUSH THEM BACK!” Michael roared and next to him, the men-at-arms of House Ragar began to fight with more fervor to reform the frayed edges of their formation.

If we rout them here then we can concentrate our efforts on bringing down Cigurt, Michael thought as he sidestepped a spear.

They were all so slow but the combat still excited Michael. The heat of battle, this primal excitement to measure up to an enemy in a life-or-death scenario.

Michael had never felt it before, his previous fights all had some measure of desperation or hatred to them but not this time. He didn’t hate the Rangda for what they were planning, he wasn’t desperately trying to stay alive in a hopeless situation, he simply was fighting, and it felt good.

A part of him was rebelling against the joy he felt for the fight. He violently pushed that part of himself down. This was not the time for emotions or rationality, it was the time to fight.

He smacked the spear to the side with his armored vambrace and lunged into the warrior's guard. He could see the shock in the man’s eyes, but Michael didn’t process it. They were both warriors in a battle, they had both agreed to kill or be killed.

His sword cut a deep gash through the man’s shirt, and he screamed in pain. Michael heard little of that, the blood was rushing in his ears as he fell deeper and deeper into his battle lust.

Sidestep, lunge, slash, pivot, riposte, kill.

He could hear someone call out to him; the voice was clear as day, but Michael couldn’t understand it. Another step forward, new targets in range.

Michael swung wide with one hand and drove a man back, snapping his fingers at the same time to conjure a barrier of light to protect the man next to him.

Blood spilled as a sword scraped past his cheek. His eyes snapped to the man who had suddenly appeared in front of him. He was mostly unarmored, as most of the warriors had been but his movements were faster than Michael had seen yet.

His father’s sword pulled a bloody arc through the air as Michael swung it at the neck of the oathbound. This decapitating strike would have been too fast for any normal human in such a disadvantageous position as his enemy. The man was nimble though and ducked while pulling his sword back and down from next to Michael’s face.

A shield of light made the blade glance off, and the two combatants split up for a moment.

“What the fuck is that light?” the oathbound asked, probably not even expecting Michael to understand. He didn’t receive a reply either way. Michael didn’t care for what the man had to say.

He stepped forward, more mana circulating in his body than before. His sword shot forward like a snake, seeking an opening.

The oathbound parried and dodged most of his blows but his face was straining. He wasn’t on a knight’s level.

Michael lunged again and his adversary’s face contorted to a nasty grin. He blocked the blow and shoved their blades out of their way with his greater strength. Michael could see the fist come barreling down on his face, but he simply grinned back at the man.

A blade of light flickered into existence on Michael’s free hand just a moment before it connected with the oathbound’s fist. The thin blade pierced deep into the man’s arm. He flinched back with a grunt, but Michael wasn’t finished yet. He let go of the blade and stepped in again, a new blade appearing in his hand.

The oathbound tried to get away from him but he was still out of balance from his strike. The blade of light found its target and buried itself deep into the man’s gut.

He finally managed to jump back and get some distance between the two of them, but blood was gushing out of both of his wounds with the hard light blades vanishing into thin air.

Michael wanted to keep following him, to finish his prey off but his training overcame this impulse. He would have to chase the man into enemy lines and that was simply not worth it.

He growled as the man slunk back through the enemy lines while spitting blood. and took a short look around.

The battle was still raging all around, his part of the line had pushed forward a couple of meters, but the rest were still hard-pressed. Samuel was nowhere to be seen close to Cigurt, Lance, and Sir Kilev’s fight, and Michael hoped that he was alright.

A deep breath pushed away the roaring blood in his ears and he began to calm down. The enemy warriors were keeping away from him right now, so he had a moment.

My mana is almost gone, fighting against adults is too draining, Michael thought. He wasn’t sure how long he had been on the front here, but it must have been at least a couple of minutes.

As he lost sight of the oathbound he had just fought, Michael also fell back through the line. With the little mana he still had left, he wouldn't be much help, and even if his blood was howling at him to fight, his rational mind was in control now.

Lance and Sir Kilev looked hard pressed against the chieftain even with a couple of arrows sticking out of the giant. Michael didn’t know what to do, this fight could go both ways, and the more time passed the more the Rangda could reorganize and the more the exhaustion from the night march would wear down his men.

He found Richard with the archers.

“How is the situation?” Michael asked.

“Lord Rowan,” Richard greeted him but stumbled a little in his turn when he saw Michael.

Michael blinked at the strange reaction and looked down on himself. His black armor was covered in slick red blood from head to foot. It hit him like a cavalry charge what he had done. He had slaughtered maybe a dozen men and had felt nothing just the joy of the combat. A part of him was feeling disgusted. They were still in battle so again he violently forced his normal-day-self down and away from his battle self.

“Ehm,” Richard caught himself. “We are basically out of arrows. I am preparing the men to charge, milord.”

Michael nodded approvingly. He could see Richard shake in his fine chainmail. He didn’t want to fight that much was clear, but he would do so anyway.

He had hoped that they would have a couple of volleys left for Cigurt, even if arrows were little use against an aura-level augmenter they could distract him and maybe a couple would even get through to do some damage.

Michael waited next to Richard as the archers piled up their bows and checked their weapons one last time. Michael was breathing deeply, trying to pull as much mana from the air as possible when he heard something from behind them.

What is that? he thought and pushed a little more mana into his ears. “Horses?” he mumbled which got Richard’s attention.

“What did you say?” the plump man asked and followed Michael’s gaze into the forest behind.

Flickers of blue and the sound of hooves got louder.

“Enemy attack?” Richard asked with widening eyes.

“No,” Michael answered and turned back. He ran over to the line and yelled as loudly as he could. “TELIOS REINFORCEMENTS FROM BEHIND. PRAANEN COMES TO REINFORCE US, SO HOLD YOUR GROUND!” One after another the soldiers repeated the call until it was going down the entire line.

It was important that they knew what was coming because a soldier would always expect an enemy when something unknown approached from behind.

Michael then turned around and sprinted in the direction of their reinforcements.

It was a group of around fifty mounted men in the blue of House Wallsten with Duke Wallsten’s son in front.

“Ho, Lord Rowan. Seems like it is quite the bloodbath up ahead,” Theden Wallsten said as he stopped his horse in front of Michael. The poor animal looked like it was about to collapse, honestly, the other horses didn’t look much better.

“My father is a couple of days behind us, but we are here to help. Your messenger caught us on the way so, we know what is happening. I have twelve knights and thirty-five men-at-arms, where do you need us,” the noble continued.

“We are getting pressed hard here, there is an aura-level augmenter. Please help us here and send half of your men around the line to the southeast to look for other areas in need of assistance,” Michael replied quickly.

Theden nodded and then turned to his men. “Lidur, split the unit. You take half around the line and the rest follow me into battle!”

Half of the unit dismounted and followed their commander toward the line and the fight, while the rest forced their mounts into a gentle trot south.

Michael followed Theden much more slowly as his muscles were beginning to show their displeasure with the past hours of marching, the tension of holding the grand spell, and then minutes of all-out fighting.

He came to a halt next to Richard and looked at his much older friend. “Seems you are being denied the glory of close combat. I don’t think we need to send the archers into the thick of battle,” Michael said while beginning to breathe heavily.

Relief was the first thing on Richard’s face but that quickly contorted into concern. “Are you alright, milord?”

Pain had begun to erupt as he started to relax, and the tension fell off his physical and astral body.

“Yeah ... I don’t know. My chest is hurting,” Michael replied. He was sure that he hadn’t been hit there but it felt like he had cracked something important in his chest. Not much just a hair fracture but still painful. He knew that feeling.

“We should get you to the priest,” Richard suggested and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder to carefully guide him.

“I’m fine,” Michael protested but as he took one forced step his grip on his mana slipped and everything went white.