Chapter 8

I rode that high through the next three floors, idly wondering just how big this tower actually was. Even with my superhuman stats, I still felt the burning in my calves as I strode up another flight of stairs.

Each floor had kept with the theme; adding one new type of enemy each time, until the fourth floor, at which point it settled on two Guardsmen, one Footsoldier, one Axeman, and one Knight; the newest addition, the Knight, had appeared first on the fourth floor, rounding out the party with a heavy frontline presence, wielding an enormous shield and a two-handed sword. Now that I knew what to expect, their rhythms had become predictable, to the point that I barely took any injuries even on the fifth floor. My first sign that things were going to switch up again, however, was the solid doorway at the top of the stairs to the sixth, set into a wall facing the middle of the tower. I had gained another level, immediately dumping the points into Willpower without a glance. I felt as though every point directly improved my ability to create and control the firebolts; whether it was a placebo or not, I was now able to reflexively summon a firebolt in each hand, and my aim was improving with every toss.

I returned my attention to the door before me, and prepared to burn it down, focusing on the ability to wrap my hand in fire to deliver a mighty punch. I placed my left hand against the door, feeling it, trying to determine the right place to push, and where the hinges were; even that slight pressure was enough, however, to simply push the door inward, the well-oiled hinges nearly silent despite the groaning weight of the door. My disappointment fizzled along with the flames on my hand, their light unnecessary in the brightly sun-lit room beyond. A balcony waited at the opposite side, the interior illuminated by a series of cross-shaped slits cut into the stone, several more set high along the walls to let plenty of light in. In the center of the room stood a man wrapped in brightly shining plate armor, a noticeable change from the rust-pitted remains of the writhing soldiers below. A pair of all-too-human eyes stared out at me from the slit in the visor, flesh visible under the gauntlets that shrouded his hands, wrapped around the pommel of a two-handed sword.

“Long have I stood watch over these halls,” the man spoke, his voice thick with zeal and gravitas, “and long have I repelled the foes of the Greenwarden. Leave this place, or you will join them as my Master’s defenders below.” He made a sweeping gesture of his gauntlet at the floor beneath their feet, and the thin tendrils of ivy that seemed to form the mortar between the stones, vibrant green against the muted grey. Flowers bloomed, here and there along the walls and floor, bursts of bright color and fresh scent that gave the room an almost calming presence.

I splayed my hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, I’m David. I didn’t realize those… plants downstairs belonged to anyone. I wandered into the tower and got trapped. Can you let me out?” I spoke to buy time, glancing from wall to wall for anything that might help me out. This place definitely looked like a boss room, down to the cross-shaped shaft of light that haloed the man, and the ornately-trimmed chest that sat upon the balcony, its gilt trim catching the light in shining lines.

“Is it you that has wreaked such devastation without?” His gauntleted hand swept toward the balcony, where a grey haze hung in the air outside, the scent of burning foliage strong despite our height.

“It was an accident. A stray spell; it got out of hand.”

“My Master warned that a time would come when people such as you would walk this forest again. He warned us of the destruction you would bring.” His head tipped forward, as if in mourning, and then his blade swept upward, catching the light on its dazzling edge, shining as if the blade itself had been forged from sunlight. “My task is clear, and I carry it out joyously.”

He charged toward me, faster than I would’ve expected from his heavy armor. He seemed to move as if unencumbered, so acclimated to the weight of the armor that he hardly noticed it at all. The custom-fitted armor moved like water, joints twisting to accommodate the sweeping strike that tried to cut me in half. I jumped backward, but slammed into the closed door behind me, only buying just enough room that the blade tore the front of my robes and came close enough to my skin to feel the chill seeping from the metal. I lunged a couple of steps to my left, away from the blade, even as it swung back in a returning arc, this time aiming to carve from my right hip to my left shoulder. My first firebolt glanced from his armor, harmlessly dissipating against the stone behind him. The second was more fortunate, but only just – it landed a solid hit on his spaulder, and I heard a grunt of pain from within. I scampered back another handful of steps as he carried the swing’s momentum into an overhead strike, his last second lunge nearly enough for the blade to bisect me vertically, instead only leaving a long slender wound down my chest and stomach. The cut took a couple of seconds to begin hurting, the tip of the blade so sharp it split the skin effortlessly. My robes hung in tatters around me, only the sash keeping it closed. I threw another bolt at him, and to my surprise, he deflected it off of the weapon’s blade, the broad base turning it aside with only a ruddy glimmer of heat.

“Hey! I didn’t come here to fight you!” I called out, hoping to buy time as I retreated around the outside edge of the room. As long as I stayed close to the wall, he couldn’t attack from my right side, too little room there for him to wind up for a swing. “I’m just trying to leave!”

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

“Deceiver,” he snarled. “I can smell the blood on you. You’ll not add me to your tally, mage!” He shifted into a different stance, the enormous sword lofted over his head, the tip pointed straight toward my face. Staring at it tip-on, it simultaneously had the feeling of being imminently close and looming distant, all perception of length subsumed by the narrow profile of the blade. His attacks now became a lightning series of thrusts followed by sweeping cuts at my legs, clearly trying to slow me down or pin me against the wall, my enhanced dexterity keeping me barely a step ahead of him. He deflected my firebolts with his blade, dipping the tip down to catch them and swat them aside, the few that got through spattering off his armor near harmlessly.

I realized abruptly that keeping me at middle range like this was exactly where his blade shined. Its reach was long enough that he could keep picking where to strike at me, forcing me to focus more on evasion than on attack, denying me the strengths of my own abilities in favor of his own. Instead of conjuring another firebolt, I wrapped my fist in flames, and when he swept down for a cut to my leg, I stepped closer instead.

I heard his blade clang from the wall behind me, the tip ringing from the impact. I moved in close even as he tried to draw away, and hammered my fist into his cuirass, shouting in his face as I struck. Both of our eyes opened in shock as the plate dented around my fist with an enormous clang, sending him staggering back a step. Unwilling to lose momentum, I threw another punch, this one without magic, and it glanced off of his bracer as he lifted his arm to block, and tried to shove me backward with an elbow strike. I grabbed onto his arm, hooking my fingers over the vambrace and underneath, grabbing for the exposed wrist beneath. He shifted his torso, and the blade dropped flat, cutting a horizontal swipe through the air. I was too close for the blade to cut me, but the impact was bruising, focused down to a fine edge. The crossguard dug into my stomach, and the impact pressed me against the wall, pinning the blade between us as I frantically held onto the armored forearm.

He lifted his other arm from the blade, allowing me to keep us pinned close, and punched toward me. I barely moved my head out of the way, feeling stone crack beside me as he struck home. Oh, shit. I channeled flame into my hands, hearing a muffled grunt as it scorched into the arm I was holding. I brought up my own free hand, and blocked his next punch with it, feeling the flames around it soften the blow – but only just. Bone ached under the impact of his punch, creaking all the way up to my shoulder. I ducked under the next punch, and countered with one of my own, the impact to his helmet snapping it back despite the anchoring gorget, and I heard the metal impact his forehead, grunting as he stumbled back half a step. It wasn’t much of an opening, but it was enough. I struck again, hammering at his cuirass with my right fist, left hand hooked into the leather straps of his vambrace, forcing him to stay in close, with the blade pinned between us, unable to deliver much more than incidental cuts. The next punch struck at the joint of cuirass and spaulder, caving in the joint, and for the first time, I saw him bleed. “Enough!” He snarled, and body-slammed me back into the wall. The ivy tendrils on the wall sprung forth and wrapped around me, holding me back as he wrenched his wounded arm from my grip. His left arm seemed sluggish from where I had pinned the joint around it, blood shining on the silvery metal. He hefted his blade, and pointed it toward my chest, aiming to pin me to the wall like a butterfly on display. Instead of spearing through the center of my chest, he was delayed enough by the damaged joint that I was able to twist partially away from the vines, the tip sinking entirely through the meat of my left arm and into a crack in the stonework behind me. I screamed in agony as he stepped into the thrust, and the blade pushed through me nearly effortlessly.

Unfortunately for him, that step had taken him close enough to me to reach. I wrapped my right hand in fire, and chopped down at his right elbow where it extended out straight to hold the two-handed grip of the sword. He howled in return as the joint collapsed around the impact, bone and metal crunching under the force of the strike. He stepped back, relinquishing his hold on the sword, staggered by the pain.

I felt something odd from the wound; a presence of magic, energy flowing through the blade. Whereas before it had felt like an extension of the armored man’s body, now I could feel the loose magic contained within it, honing the edge to supernatural sharpness, repairing the nicks and dings normal combat would place upon it; the enchantment even seemed to shed stains such as blood or rust, keeping the mirror-like sheen bright and clear. I reached for that feeling of power, thinking of the new ability I had gained, and grabbed onto the blade of the sword with my free right hand.

The agony of my pierced shoulder was drowned in a torrent of power, the sensation of sharpness carrying over to turn the undirected flames into a welding torch, a cutting laser, the very essence of a plasma blade dragged into reality. I reached out to form a firebolt, and instead a slender ray of flame erupted from my palm, narrow as an awl, punching through the armor as if it were paper. He staggered back another step, his useless right arm coming up in a defensive posture, hoping to ward off any further lances of flame against his chest. Unfortunately, even that provided negligible protection, and the next blast transfixed his hand, burning through it and the already-dented shoulder joint beneath. This time, I saw the laser-like fire come out the other side, scoring a black weal against the stone archway to the balcony.

I kept pulling on the blade’s enchantment, sucking down the energy within as if a man dying of thirst. The sensation of power became painful, clawing at my shoulder as it entered me, as if the blade itself railed against death. When I reached for my next attack, it emerged from my palm as a dense pillar of searing power, silencing the armored man’s screams as it cut through his chest, warping his armor and setting the doublet beneath ablaze, even as it punched out his back and cut into the stone far beyond.

The beam cut out as the sword nearly disintegrated, the blade an ugly, tarnished grey, spotted with rust, its edge dulled with age and use, snapped off just before where I had taken hold of it. I stepped forward, wrenching myself off the agonizingly dull section of blade still embedded in the wall, and stared down at the severed halves of the man I had been fighting.