“Just call off the attack and run,” Anton said. He pointed at the fallen wizard. “I have what I need.”

Rhenar grimaced, but gripped his sword more tightly. “The Grey Oaths don’t abandon our clients,” he said. “We always see things through to the end.”

“Is that normal for mercenaries?” Anton asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Not at all,” Rhenar admitted. “It’s our selling point. It’s why we’re called the Grey Oaths.”

“I didn’t think that meant anything,” Anton confessed. “I took you for common bandits.”

“Have a care, Baron,” Rhenar snapped back. “Our contract called for your wife to be taken alive, but there are many things that can happen to a person before they die. It’s our honour that protects her.”

Anton felt the anger flow through him. Oh yes. He was angry enough to do this now.

“Talk about honour when you’re not thieving on my lands,” he said. Then he jumped.

It wasn’t Leaping Attack. Rhenar had seen him use it; he was almost certainly ready for it. As experienced as he looked, he was probably ready for this fakeout as well.

Anton’s strength let him leap further than one would expect, even without using his Trait, but he made sure to fall well short of the commander. He dived to the ground and rolled under the man’s guard. Not a trait, just long practice under the eyes of his parents.

The commander was a veteran of many battles, but adventurers fought differently. He seemed to sense the move coming, but he couldn’t get his sword down in time.

Normally, Anton would be in no kind of position to attack. His sword, while still in his hand, was out of line, and Rhenar was now too close for the long blade to be used effectively. None of that mattered, though. Anton just needed to have his feet under him. It was just a matter of finding the right timing as he tumbled…

Leaping Attack.

Too close for the sword, Anton used his hand, launching himself up and planting a fist deep in Rhenar’s stomach. The chainmail protecting the mercenary yielded to the blow. The metal links dug in at him, but Anton had Stoneskin and thirty toughness. His hand was stronger than mere steel.

Sadly, Rheyner was nearly as tough. The hit knocked the wind out of him, driving him back with a whoof. But when Anton tried to follow up with his sword, it was blocked by a parry that had all the hallmarks of a trait.

Undeterred, Anton launched Quick Attack after Quick Attack, hammering the mercenary's defence. But he held firm, and a shimmering field sprung up around him, reducing the force of Anton’s blows.

“Low blow, Baron,” he gasped as his breath came back. “But I started on the lines. You don’t come out of that without a defence. I think you’ll—”

Whatever he was about to say was lost, as a sharp, searing pain exploded across Anton’s back, causing all his muscles to spasm violently. Crackling energy surged through him, leaving his nerves screaming in agony and his vision swimming with bursts of light. His legs buckled under the shock, and he collapsed forward, his breath catching in his throat as the acrid smell of burnt fabric and flesh filled the air.

Rhenar stared at him for a moment before catching up to what was going on. “Or,” he said. “My wizard client could finally pull himself together enough to cast a spell.”

He looked behind Anton.

“You doing all right there?” he called out to the wizard. Anton could hear weak cursing coming from behind him. “Yeah, you’ll be fine. Liria, can you see to our client? Can’t have him dying.”

Anton rolled over onto his back. Under the circumstances, he considered it a triumph. His muscles were still trembling from the spell.

Rhenar looked back at him. “Shame,” he said. “That lightning would have killed most people. Guess you’re too tough to let that happen.”

Anton didn’t bother replying. He needed to focus on getting up.

Rhenar sighed. “I really don’t want to have killing a noble on my record,” he said. “But you are another witness. Tough or not, a sword through the throat will kill you.”

Anton thought that might not be true. With an ordinary Tier One sword, it would take significant strength to push it through the skin of his throat. Rhenar had the strength to do it, though. Easily.

Rhenar raised his sword. Not overhead, ready to slash down, but held up to his chest, the point facing down. He was going to thrust it right through Anton.

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“Sorry to have to do this, but I took an oath.”

He drove the blade down. Anton dodged.

He shouldn’t have been able to. His body was still a twitching mess. But Uncanny Dodge didn’t care about that. It moved his body the way it needed to, not how he wanted to.

Anton convulsed. It felt like every part of him had moved randomly. Some of them in ways they weren’t meant to. The result of all that randomness, though, was that his throat moved just enough to the side for Rhenar’s strike to go wide. The blade plunged deep into the earth. Rhenar hadn’t been holding back.

“What the?” Rhenar said. His eyes were wide with surprise. “How?”

He tugged on his blade, trying to retrieve it. For a single second, the earth held onto it. In the second second, Anton was.

“Hey! Let go!” Rhenar objected. In the heat of the moment, there was no time to point out how silly a command that was, and Anton’s voice wasn’t up to the task anyway. Instead, he just glared at his would-be killer and focused on his other hand.

To his surprise, Anton was still holding his sword. He’d been drilled to do that, to always hold onto his sword, no matter what. Now, he had it clenched in a death grip. He wasn’t sure he could let go of it at this point.

Anton swung his sword. It was possibly the worst swing he’d ever made, surpassing the pathetic efforts of his childhood. But it was a swing, made with some portion of his strength, and the blade was sharp. Rhenar had no choice but to let go of his sword if he wanted to avoid injury.

Anton tried to chuckle. It came out as a crackling rasp. But now he had both swords. He grabbed the hilt of Rhenar’s and tried to use it as leverage to get up.

Rhenar backed away. “Liria. Get me a spear.”

“But sir!” a voice that must have been Liria’s protested. “I need to—”

“That’s an order, soldier!” Rhenar barked.

Anton ignored the byplay. He was trying to stand up, and that took everything he had. He climbed laboriously to his feet and looked around. Not much had changed. The wizard was still on the ground. Liria had left her bandaging job unfinished and was rummaging around in a pile of supplies.

Rhenar was trying to stand between Anton and his two allies, but the angles were too disparate. He couldn’t cover both of them.

“Holding a spear makes you a combatant,” Anton rasped. Everything felt better, now that he was up. His legs seemed to be remembering what to do. His arms were still weak, but he was getting there. With a wrench, he pulled Rhenar’s sword out of the ground and held it pointing backward, resting on his shoulder. From there, he could easily throw it.

Liria froze.

“Demon’s tears, girl, this isn’t the time!” Rhenar shouted. He moved to stand in front of her. Anton looked at the wizard, and Rhenar cursed and moved back.

“I’m just a medic!” Liria cried. Anton wasn’t sure if she meant that she shouldn’t be attacked or if she meant that she shouldn’t have to fetch equipment. Not that it mattered. As long as she wasn’t moving, Rhenar didn’t have a weapon, and Anton had more time to recover.

“Just run,” Anton suggested. “I don’t have time to hunt you all down.”

“Grey. Oaths. Don’t. Run.” Rhenar snarled.

“I bet you do, when the time is right,” Anton said carefully. Just as carefully, he took a step forward. Just to see if he could. The results seemed promising, so he took another step.

“If you run now, you might get away,” Anton said. His voice was almost normal now. “I already sent for the King, so you’re going to be hunted. It’s not a matter of witnesses any more. They know.”

“Might be better to— the man muttered before breaking off. “Liria!” he shouted.

The girl yelped and then dashed into the pile of supplies. Anton threw a sword at her, but he didn’t bother trying to aim. He needed to finish the commander.

Leaping Attack.

Predictable or not, it was all he had at this point. He needed a Trait to move his body; he didn’t trust it on its own. Rhenar must have seen it coming; he was cursing furiously as he raised his arm to block.

Blocking a Trait-powered blow with your forearm, even if it is wrapped in chainmail, is not a wise move. Rhenar did his best. The shimmering barrier sprang up again, reducing the damage. And his natural toughness helped.

It wasn’t enough. Anton’s sword sliced through the mail and into the man’s bones. He didn’t sever the arm, but he came close. Rhenar screamed in pain, which panicked Liria. She popped out of the pile clutching a spear, but after one frightened look at Anton, she screamed and took off running.

Still clutching the spear, though. Good discipline, Anton noted. Then, the arrow struck him in the shoulder.

Now it was Anton’s turn to scream. The arrow didn’t punch through; it lodged in the muscle of his shoulder. It felt like liquid fire every time he moved the arm, but he had to. The archers were assigned in pairs.

Uncanny Dodge.

Anton twisted out of the way of the second arrow, screaming with the pain of moving. More would be coming, Anton knew. He needed cover, and the best bit of it was standing right there, clutching his almost severed forearm.

Rhenar didn’t react when Anton grabbed him and held him in the direction that the arrows had come from. Not in time, at least.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked groggily, looking at the arrow in Anton’s shoulder. “Is that one of ours? Couldn’t you have made it a bit earlier?”

He called that last out into the darkness. Not waiting for an answer, he dropped to the ground, or tried to. Anton held him up.

“Call for them to surrender!” Anton told him. Rhenar ignored him in favour of clutching at his wound and trying to stem the bleeding with his good hand.

“Come out without your weapons, or he’ll bleed to death!” Anton called out.

“Grey Oaths… don’t surrender,” Rhenar mumbled.

“He doesn’t have much time!” Anton shouted. He glanced around at the other possible combatants. Liria had stopped running and was hiding in what she thought was darkness. The wizard was still on the ground. Casting that spell had taken everything out of him, it seemed. Anton kept an eye on him, looking out for a surge of magic.

There was a tense pause. Then Liria screamed.

“What’s the matter, haven’t you ever seen a skeleton before?” A familiar voice called out. Liria backed away from it, back into the clearing.

Four skeletons walked out of the forest, grinning.

“Careful,” Anton called out. “There are archers in the trees.”

“Wasn’t it me who warned you about them?” Kelsey asked. “Don’t worry, I got it.”

She stepped out of the forest, holding a contraption. It took Anton a moment to realise that it was a bigger version of her torch. The only reason he made the connection was that it immediately lit up with a dazzling light. A bright beam shot across the clearing and illuminated the trees.

“You see them now, right?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Aris said. She stepped forward and raised her rifle to her shoulder.