*
A flock of crows startled from the forest, flew over the mysterious river. Amidst the murmuring of flowing water, Vasili, resting on a fallen decaying log, stretched his right hand towards the sky, gazing intently at the flame of Varmah in his palm.
The flame of Varmah leapt and danced in the hands of its new owner like a mischievous fairy, seemingly wanting to play with Vasili. Vasili chuckled and used his other hand to soothe the exuberant flame. The flame was full of vitality, but destined to not last forever and would eventually slowly extinguish with time. The divine flame in Vasili's palm was so dim that it was unclear how long it had burned in the chest of its previous owner, a mercenary named Graslic. Or perhaps, Graslic's portion of the flame was always quite small, and he had only just experienced the warmth of the divine fire before the surging power urged him to make a foolish move against Dàn, causing him to lose his life.
How long could such a weak flame burn? The choice to keep the flame was now like an indigestible berry churning in Vasili's stomach. He knew in his heart that the outcome was already determined: after the weak flame died out, he would gradually lose his radiance and become dead ash. However, even if it was only for a brief moment, he was still fascinated by the light and warmth in his hand. It was this warm current that, even fifty years after everything had ended, gave him the illusion that everything was not yet over - he had not completely faded away, still burning in some dark corner, still able to face Vitulus squarely.
Vasili's heart tightened and he unintentionally clenched his fist, and the divine flame flickered between his fingers. He felt as though Dàn's small hand was wrapping around his rough palm, with her cold forehead pressed against his five fingers, making a promise: she was willing to accompany him to the Stone of Destiny, to assist him in becoming the High King. The era of man was about to end, and the era of beasts was about to begin.
Perhaps Dàn would think that Vasili, who gave up going to the Stone of Destiny, was pitiful, but Vasili knew that she was the real pitiful one.
She was the baby born after Luthera's death, the adopted daughter of the beast spirit Danu. From the moment she let out her first cry, fate had left an indelible mark on her like a flame. For her small body, the burden she carried was too heavy; and the lifespan of a demigod made her carry the burden for too long. Moreover, she placed her own fate in Vasili's hands - an unchosen spark, a despised thief struggling for the remnants of fire. Vasili could only assume that deviating Dàn from her destiny was true mercy for her.
Vasili thought of his whimsical desire for seclusion, and now he could no longer be sure if it was just a simple lie or his true inner hope. With this flame, anywhere could be his place of rest. The forest clearing by the bend of the river must be quite beautiful after sunrise. He could stay here until the flame extinguished. Afterwards, his heart would be filled with anxiety and fear, and perhaps he would also think of Vitulus's face and how he wanted to touch that face.
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But as long as he persisted, he could completely walk towards darkness and become dead ash.
The tense tree branch snapped, and Vasili felt as though his wrist had been stung by a bee. The arrow that pierced through his forearm emitted a cold sharpness under the moonlight. Vasili tried to stretch his fingers, but his stiffened fingers did not respond, and the flame disappeared from his palm. His right hand was now useless.
Vasili sat up and struggled to his feet, dragging his right hand. More than ten archers emerged from the shadows behind the trees, nocking their arrows and taking aim. "Aim! Fire!" the signal rang out, and the mercenaries all fired at Vasili. He drew his flame-bladed sword from behind his back with his left hand and swung it to deflect the arrows, breaking some midair and deflecting others. Despite wielding the sword with only one hand, he adopted the two-handed stance to prepare for the next wave of attacks.
"Don't shoot together! Shoot freely! Don't stop! Try to tire him out!" Pugio, riding a chestnut stallion, gave orders behind the archers. Arrows fell like rain, and as Vasili moved forward, he spun the hilt of his sword, the flammenschwert turned into black whirlwinds that deflected the incoming rain of arrows.
When the mercenary on the right wing was still twenty feet away, he confidently took an arrow from the quiver and aimed his bow. By the time the man drew the bowstring to shoot, Vasili was still five steps away from him - what he did not know was that this was the last thing he would ever see. Vasili aimed the tip of his sword at the mercenary's forehead, which he could not detect from his perspective because of the thin sword blade. Vasili stepped on a corpse and kicked the impaled face off his sword, then dodged a cluster of arrows and lunged forward with a stride. He swung his greatsword around his head in a sweeping motion, and two more heads fell to the ground.
"Archers, fall back! Infantry, advance!" Pugio, who was wandering behind, gave the command to change the formation. The surviving archers retreated to the forest line, and the infantry with round shields rushed forward to form a wall, separating the knight and swordsman. The spearmen then stepped forward and placed their sharpened wooden spears between the oval scutums.
Facing the huge monster covered in iron armor and thorns, Vasili spun his sword and engaged the enemy. Even though the blade was already corroded, the flammenschwert held high under the moonlight still looked like dancing silver flames. Wherever the flames licked, the spears were either knocked aside or cut off. As for the gladius swords of the shield bearers, they couldn't even scratch Vasili, but their hands that reached out from between the shields were soon cut off by the black storm. Then Vasili grasped the ricasso, or the blunt end of the blade, held the sword in a half-sword stance to thrust the heads behind the shield wall.
"Get down!" Just as the human wall was about to be destroyed, Pugio seized the opportunity and ordered the remaining troops to squat down. At the same time, a round of arrows flew from behind their heads. Vasili swung several arrows, but some of the flying arrows came too fast for him to parry, and he could only block them with his intact right hand. Blood gushed out from the deep-set arrow cluster on his right hand, shoulder, and ribs. Vasili stopped his smooth movements and slowly knelt down.
Dàn, who was watching from a distance, gasped. The river bend fell into silence, as if even the flowing water was reluctant to move, only the restless pace and breath of Pugio's chestnut horse.