When they left the thirtieth tent, just three enemies were left.

Asorfo, Vulture Company Chief, a broad bald man in his forties and strong. Glasses-clad Colin, the “messenger” apothecary with a wide straw hat. And the mysterious right hand, a hooded assassin with two daggers and a shaded face, all lined up with the sun behind them.

Torn black tents skewed in the background like the tombstones of an abandoned cemetery, while strewn about the grounds themselves were crates with swords, lanterns, clothes and hardtack for an army that no longer had any men.

“You’ve killed my Company,” Asorfo said, then repeated it as if that made it less real. “You’ve killed my Company. That’s—wow, you seriously did it.”

“Did I not say,” said Dr. Colin. “That an ambush would be the best course? Our ceaseless bickering has been our ruin.”

“Did I not say,” muttered the right hand. “That I could kill them all by myself? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I’ll fight them Chief. I’ve fought Rick before and he’s easy, while Pern’s just a textbook with a blade.”

“Sure. Prove you’re the best assassin, and all will be well,” Asorfo shrugged. “Colin and I will return to Caer Princips for the world’s largest recruitment drive.”

He whistled, and a horse came galloping through the plain. He mounted it, heaved up Colin, and an acrid feeling welled up in Rick.

“Oy, oy, oy. You’ve been on my mind for years. You’re not allowed to leave just like that.”

“But the years just fly by, don’t they? And so will I,” Asorfo said, as the right hand drew two daggers, one short and one long, rasping:

“Don’t worry about them. Worry about me!”

Rick allowed Asorfo and Colin to escape. He had a feeling they’d soon be in dire need of work, and he could probably afford to hire them with 1,000 gold he’d win from clearing camp. They could all be maids with Estelle.

But for the right hand he had no such forgiveness. He was a long man with a facecloth, and a posture suggested he was comfortable either lurking in the shadows or murdering people there. And his voice, that voice—it was the same voice from two years ago.

“I know you,” Rick said.

This was just a simple statement. It wasn’t drawn from malice or hate, but it wasn’t said lightly either.

However, the hooded soldier found it ridiculous. The hooded soldier found it as a joke.

“He… he…” The hooded soldier laughed. “He.. he… hahaha!”

He laughed and laughed. He threw back his head, and the hood and the veil fell away. The Chief’s right hand had a thin face and a dragonbone stuck through his nose, and a pallid skin that had much in common with a corpse. It was as though the Goddess had taken a man, turned him inside out and had done the same with his soul.

It was not the face of a stranger.

“Guess I didn’t really know you,” Rick said. “Maybe I was just too drunk to find out.”

“Failure.” Isaac crowed, cackling. “Nuisance!” Isaac threw the word in Pern’s face.

“Nuisance!” Pern was aghast. “Nuisance?!”

“A mythril cockroach who just won’t die,” Isaac said. “Do you have any idea how much frustration you’ve brought me?”

Confused, crackling sparks leapt everywhere from the lady knight. She brought her nails to her hair, she itched, then scratched, then tore.

“You did that!” Pern shouted. “You set the trap! You left us for dead in the cave!”

“Yes.… is that why you left us at the lake?” Rick mumbled. His thoughts churned as Isaac bared his teeth.

“You see—” Isaac chopped his sound. “No, no, no. No monologue. It’s not part of the paycheck.”

Isaac caused the landslide? That made sense. Or it did, mostly. But something… something wasn’t… it was as though Rick’s thoughts were a river that had washed up upon some rocks.

“Failure,” Isaac interrupted, and tapped the splint through his nose. “These dragon bones. You want to know where they’re from? A certain elf girl’s abandoned smithy…”

Rick’s flow of thought turned into a torrent. A white rage roared and carried him forwards—through the grass, past the crates, right up to that smirking face. He swung his fist — and Isaac effortlessly tripped him.

“The mad ones go down quick. Preparador!”

A yellow light jaundiced Isaac’s body, and tendriled out to his knives. With a weapon in each hand, Isaac moved to slash the carotid on Rick’s neck and the aorta stemming out from his heart.

“Thunder!”

“Redirector!”

Isaac flipped up the blades, then twisted, robe bunching up like another loose skin. The thunderbolt ran along the knife and came out from the other, and it shot right back at Pern.

“Aghhh!!!” She shuddered, and—

“Arghhhhhh!” Rick punched at the source of all his pain. He couldn’t grab him, couldn’t hit him, and the right hand man vanished whenever he made his try. Then Rick’s fist cut into a blade, with one of his knuckles popping open like a zit; he shouted in a raw voice that sounded like a stranger’s.

“Hope that leaves a scar,” Isaac said.

“You’re the one who needs to leave, stupid idiot.” Pern kicked, and Isaac rolled back. “Rick! Are you okay?”

“Doesn’t hurt too bad. If you’re fine, then I am.”

“You’re bleeding out! Hey!” Pern yanked Rick away from the tent as Isaac emerged. She parried the first dagger, stepped back from the second, then thrust the Thunder Sword forward— and Isaac leapt back through the cloth.

Rick pulled up the stakes and tugged on the rope. The tent collapsed and there were muffled curses as a man-shaped bulge tangled with the canvas.

“You’re finished!” Pern poked a hole through the tent… then another, and another, but the bulge shifted at just the right moment each time. “I said you’re finished, you stupid imposter!”

“He’s a scoundrel, a killer, a sadistic fool.” Rick said. “But most of all he’s a rogue. He’s good at dodging attacks and reacting quickly.”

“Thunder!” Pern said.

“Rmphdiremphtor!” came through the tent, along with an electric shock that jellied Pern’s knees. Rick half-caught, half-hugged her as she stumbled.

“If I get in one good Thunder I can end him,” Pern said. “He’s got no defense!”

“He’ll just redirect it with his knives,” Rick said, as Isaac slashed through the canvas.

Shnn! Shnn! Shnn! The rogue drove Rick back in a flurry of attacks; Rick tossed his coin pouch in the air and Isaac cut through its binding.

Rick caught the coins between his knuckles and his blood mixed with the iron tokens. He wound up for a fantastic punch that would capture all his swirling feelings. The joy of having a partner to fight with, the pain of risking her loss: it would create a light and powerful blow.

Isaac put a dagger in his teeth, caught Rick’s wrist with his freed hand, and in one fluid trick tossed Rick against Pern, who had been sneakily approaching the rogue from behind.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Agh!”

Rick slammed into Pern’s breastplate. It wasn’t soft or bouncy, for it was pure mythril steel, and his face was smashed into something like a jigsaw puzzle. The two of them then flew for a hundred paces, collapsing together on the cold morning grass—even if they still had the will to fight, their bodies were swiftly reaching their limit, and they were forced to rest.

In battle, a few seconds is a pleasant eternity, and their devil took his time. Isaac leered at them both.

“Failure. It’s an apt name for someone who’s kept the same awful fighting style for two years straight. I, on the other hand, am much improved.”

Isaac wagged a black-coated tongue. It was comprised of hundreds of small inked lines, murders and hired atrocities that all indelibly etched into his identity as the Vulture Company’s number one assassin.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk,” Rick said, charging.

Rick had a lumbering, desperate strength. His fists and shoulders curved in arcs, and Rick heaved and weaved like a drunken bear. He punched and uppercut and kicked and jabbed at all places, all times, no-holds-barred, but his desperation just wouldn’t land.

Isaac fought in short jerks like that of a broken doll’s, though that descriptor belied his true agility. His thrusts and parries appeared stilted because he always put his daggers where they needed to be, and no further—and the two brawled with such speed and fierceness that any support from Pern might risk harming Rick.

A naive onlooker would call the match drawn. Rick had suffered many cuts, but he returned just as many punches where a single one could floor the rogue. Yet any impression of a tied fight would be completely incorrect.

Drop by precious drop… Rick was losing.

Pern readied her sword, aiming carefully.

“Thunder!”

“Redirector!”

Plit. Plit. Red drops fed the soil, running down from Rick’s cheeks. Pern writhed on that same cruel earth a few feet away, then breathed in again:

“Thunder!”

“Redirector!”

Plit. Plit. Plit.

“Pern, stop—”

“Thunder!”

“Redirector!”

“Pern!”

“Thunder!”

“Pern!!!”

“Touching.” Isaac licked Dragonbone through his nose. Rick had merely managed to graze him, but Isaac jumped to a barrel and screwed up his face. “I don’t like being touched. Thunder, redirector, cross strike, feint and a punch and slash and a dodge to the side… was that how it went?”

“What are you doing?” Pern struggled up. “Finish him!”

The last redirected Thunder had damaged her. Her bottom lip was cut open from where she had bit into it from pain, and her right hand’s fingers flopped dead til she wrapped them into a fist with her left. Her sense of balance was also shredded and Rick had to pull her up.

“Stop shocking yourself. You really are some kind of maso, aren’t you?” Rick muttered to her.

“I just need to get him once. I can take it.”

“Isaac cuts, gashes, and dodges; he never parries, stabs, or blocks. He moves in a way where he always has total control of his knives so he can always redirect Thunder.”

“So you’re saying that if he doesn’t have control of his knives, that he wouldn’t reflect it?” Pern cast Rapid Regeneration C, and flexed her fingers.

“I’m saying to stop shocking yourself.”

“Why don’t you try it then?”

“Shocking myself?” Rick said. Pern ignored him, as she carried on.

“You have the skill stone for Thunder A. All I have to do is strike the blades away, and you shock him.”

“You can’t.” Rick was still bleeding, and a familiar panic rose from his throat.

“I can!”

“You’re textbook,” Isaac said. “Come give your try.”

Pern winked, and threw something bright— the Thunder Sword fell heavy in Rick’s gloves.

Pern Arienette, S-Rank Adventurer, warrior, lady knight, and Rick’s most powerful partner stared down Isaac the Rogue unarmed. This horrible vision was tinged red; Rick’s legs lost their strength, and he felt as though gravity had doubled its force. And he was still bleeding.

“Pern! Third rule! Remember the third!”

Pern Arienette was an honorable girl. She always fulfilled her obligations, no matter what their cost, and Rick would abuse that sense of duty to force her to run. When Rick had hit Isaac, it wasn’t because of a sudden burst of energy or skill. It was simply from recklessness, and a long cut flapped on his upper-leg where Isaac had slashed him in exchange.

He could no longer protect her, so she had to leave, retreat, and find help. And she promised that. She swore to Rick’s third rule! But Rick had forgotten something about her…

“Three rules, Rick? I thought there were only two.”

She was an idiot who couldn’t count. The only number that mattered to her was one hundred, the lie that everything would work out one hundred percent of the time.

“Oh! Are you trying to say we need a surprise? I could surprise him, and then you could strike him with Thunder ,.” Pern wondered.

Stupid. So stupid. If they needed a surprise attack to win, why mention it out loud?

“I’ve got one,” Pern said. “I’ve got a good surprise, a strange fighting style that no one would expect… and something that… I might even be... okay with.”

She glanced at Rick’s leg, the one he had sacrificed for his own stupid strike. Rick saw a conflicted emotion flicker in her, and Rick wished he could force her to stop.

She raced toward Isaac with two fierce little fists. He raised his knives as she pursued him, as she went faster, faster… so fast that it was as though she had cut through time.

She charged at the man,

She charged at the man,

and hoped to distract him.

and hoped to distract him.

She would use her own body

She would use her own body

To stop the blow;

To stop the blow;

And countered. And while the man struggled:

““Thunder!””

Rick panted.

She was dead, she always had been. Veins and arteries excised by an assassin’s precise knives; blades stuck through her as she and the assassin fell. Nothing could ever bring her back.

But Pern was alive.

“I’m never doing that again,” Pern said. She latched her plate back on. “That was — I got caught up in the moment… it was needed. Okay!”

“I didn’t enjoy it!” She shouted.

When Isaac plunged his knives, she’d popped off her mythril plate and had used it as a shield. She’d blocked the blow and deflected the blades; and Rick had used his Thunder S. She’d even worn a swimsuit underneath it: was that the same elemental-resistant once he’d suggested for the slime?

“You’re pretty. Stupid. Pretty stupid,” said Rick. “Aw, shit. Aw. I’m not used to giving compliments.”

“I can tell.” Pern tore cloth, rags, and papers from Isaac’s robe, and rolled them into bandages. She gently tied them to Rick’s tattered skin, and despite not holding any magic, her touch alone seemed healing.

“I’m really glad you’re not dead,” Rick said, and that had to be enough. “Oh, and don’t use that paper as a bandage. That’s another important letter.”

***

TO: ISAAC ALEXANDER

A certain adventurer has given my inner circle a great deal of trouble, as we’ve already discussed. In earlier times it would have been easy to be rid of them, but this pesky new Guildmaster has made our traditions difficult.

I entrust this task to you and my other capable retainers. What this personal quest lacks in prestige I will be sure to make up for in gold.

Glory to Galon!

***

“That’s the King’s Seal below the line,” Rick said. “There must be someone at the capital that wants to kill you. Though they wanted to kill other Adventurers close to you, too…”

“Then l have to get over there as soon as I can. There’s only a handful of people that can use a royal stamp, and I bet King Galon can probably get to the bottom of it as long as the culprit doesn’t have time for a coverup.”

“You’re already leaving?” Rick said, feeling a lump in his throat. He must have struck his head too, when he hit the ground, because he had a great deal of trouble finding the words to express how he felt.

“Listen, Rick. If you need a pretty girl, with a thousand gold you could have anyone.”

“It’s just that… I really want… I think I kind of… you, Pern.”

“Rick…? You… me? You.. me!”

“I can’t, I really think, I think you’re really cu—, I think, I can’t replace you, Pern. I really think, that when I think of you, I think of— I don’t think of anyone else, I just really think of you, a lady knight in shining mythril with a soul to match that — and the good looks, and a spirit and just— Pern, I really do like—”

“Huh?”

Rick realized he was babbling, then Rick realized he was dead.