The blade hissed through the air, inches apart from Mjel’s ear. The knight did not leave her a chance to breathe: the man followed with a back-handed cut, then slashed at her twice, both directed at her upper body—he did not target vital points, Mjel was aware of that, but any of his attacks would wound her massively, leaving her incapacitated and prone.

Mjel ducked, backed away, side-stepped, jumped to the side. She did not cherish the idea of fighting Vardille either. Stalling would only delay her inevitable demise; Bryne would die, she had no doubts, and once that happened, Vardille would be furious. Thus, she had to knock him unconscious. Soon.

The former Shadow was being aggressive, instincts of his past life drove his arm. Mjel knew he would not stand a chance. The realisation came suddenly, and its gravity shattered Mjel’s confidence in the fight. She was sluggish, her moves clumsy, her reaction dragging as compared to Vardille’s.

The war hammer deflected a low cut aimed at Mjel’s thigh, throwing the man off balance. Mjel quickly darted after him, swinging her hammer just a tiny bit stronger than what should have been necessary. The knight ducked and rolled aside, crouching with his blade already in position for a parry. Mjel backed away, weapon at the ready.

‘I knew you’d fight well,’ Vardille muttered. ‘But I need to get down there. Please.’

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

‘You’d only have yourself killed,’ Mjel gasped, and braced herself when the man sprang forward.

The blade sang as it kissed the handle of the war hammer. Mjel was struggling to keep the knight’s pace; down, left, right, left, up, right, down, left, right … Cold sweat broke on Mjel’s brow as she quickly jumped back from a wide slash just to then dash forward, headlong into Vardille as a battering ram, shoving the head of her weapon into the man. Vardille fell to his back, sword still clutched in his grip. Mjel held the hammer over him, gasping hard.

‘Please, stop—’

Vardille shamelessly kicked at her knee with full strength. Pain burst in Mjel’s leg as she dropped to her knees. Vardille quickly kicked two more times at her, shoving her away from himself. Frustrated, Mjel swung her hammer at Vardille in her fall, but the knight had already stood, blade in hand. Mjel was about to rise when Vardille’s blade cut her left hand; a thin trickle of blood ran through her fingers, and the acute pain caused her to drop her hammer.

Vardille dashed to her, kicking Mjel under her ribs; forceful, but not with full strength. The swing nonetheless flew Mjel to the ground, coughing, hands on her belly, bent double on the ground.

‘I’m sorry,’ Vardille whispered to her ears, his voice trembling. The next moment he was off rushing down the slopes to reach the demons.

Mjel groaned in pain. That bastard really was good. She rose to all fours, watching helplessly as Vardille headed towards his death.