Reacher yelled, his bow drawn tight, arrow quivering against the string. “I don’t remember asking you a goddamn thing!”

Just as they had planned, Reacher became the only Adventurer able to pursue them. Now, they were alone, with him and the last usable horse in the entire estate. If we get Reacher off that horse, we basically guarantee the Lords’ escape. Not only that, but I still have rations in my Inventory. If I catch up to them in Pridtur, we’ll save so much time getting help.

“That meek arrow won’t do, John,” Cadmun taunted, with Becket dragged in front of him like a shield. “Or do you really think you have that great of an aim?”

Reacher’s eyes scanned Cadmun’s gauntlets, boots, and helmet. He inspected Becket, missing those exact pieces of armour, who in ashamed silence looked at the blood dripping from his nose onto the ground. The sign of being reduced to 0 Life Points. A flicker of something crossed Reacher’s face. Confusion, suspicion.

“How did you get his stuff? What did you do to him?”

Cadmun’s grin widened, malicious. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You really want to die, Cadmun?” Reacher narrowed his eyes, voice low with a dangerous edge. “Is that so?”

He lowered his bow and slung it over his back, which made it disappear, drawing his mace and shield instead.

“Do you think the barking of a lapdog can intimidate a knight of the House Blitz?” Cadmun spat, pushing Becket forward slightly.

Reacher’s horse took a tentative step forward, its powerful hooves leaving imprints in the dirt.

Cadmun’s voice sharpened, “Hold your horse! One more step, and he gets it.”

The horse stopped, but Reacher only tilted his head slightly, the edge of a grin tugging at his lips. “You know killing him won’t change a thing? The next Player in line will come around and replace him. And guess who’d be up for a promotion if that fucker’s gone.”

Cadmun’s blade hovered at Becket’s throat. “Wanna test that theory out?”

image [https://i.imgur.com/1FEnmLz.jpeg]

“You’d be doing me a favour.” Reacher shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“Just returning the gesture.”

“See if I care.”

“You’re bluffing,” Reacher said, his voice calm, probing.

“And you’re stalling,” Cadmun shot back.

Reacher’s expression shifted. The two men stood in a tense silence, both weighing the next move. It was as if time had frozen around them, the air thick with tension.

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Then, Reacher broke it with a sneer, “Is that the honour of the House Blitz you’re so proud of? Face me like a man.”

Cadmun sneered, “Then why don’t you get off that horse, John?”

Reacher dismounted slowly, his eyes locked on Cadmun’s. Stick’s heart leapt for a moment—Reacher was off his horse! Great work, Cadmun.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to kill you, Baldy.”

“I can face the God of Death with no regrets. Can you do the same?”

Reacher’s smile was cold, his mace heavy in his hand. “I won’t have to because you’ll be sending him my regards.”

Reacher dashed forward, closing the gap between them in an instant. With a snarl, Cadmun threw Becket to the ground and rushed to meet him. The clash of metal rang out as their weapons collided with each other’s shield, the force of the impact reverberating through the air.

“I’ll feed you to the wolves, you little goblinshit!” Cadmun bellowed, his voice cutting through the tension like a jagged blade.

Reacher sneered, eyes wild with fury. “I can’t wait for Stamos to rip your tongue out too, you fucking pushover!”

Cadmun’s face twisted in anger. His pent-up fury snapped like a taut string. With a guttural roar, he released the interlocked weapons and pushed back Reacher, sending him staggering back. Reacher barely had time to recover before Cadmun drove his shield upward, bashing it into the opponent's face. Reacher recovered quickly, his mace swinging in a brutal arc toward Cadmun’s head. The heavy weapon connected with a metallic screech, and Cadmun, to his credit, took the blow without hesitation. He used the opening, driving his sword between the gaps in Reacher’s stance, stabbing into his opponent’s torso. Yet, no blood flowed. The sound was a metallic clank, as if the sword had struck iron instead of flesh. Each blow that landed—the mace, the sword, the shield—seemed to enter and exit the body without leaving a mark, but with the unmistakable sound of metal as if the weapon had hit itself.

“Fuck,” Reacher grunted, stumbling slightly, but remaining uninjured.

The same was true for Cadmun, whose temple showed no sign of blood. It seemed that victory in this “game”, as the Baron had once called it, wasn’t just about skill, it was about drawing first blood. And right now, both were waiting for the other’s Protection to fall. Both men knew what was happening, of course, but it was still all new to Stick.

Cadmun’s eyes gleamed with a feral hunger. “Afraid of a little blood?”

Their battle was marked by sheer, raw aggression. Every swing of their weapons was intended to inflict maximum damage, as if each were racing toward the moment when the other’s Protection would shatter. Mace met sword in a furious, unrelenting rhythm, the clang of metal striking metal ringing in their ears. Focusing on defence was optional. Every few seconds, however, one of their shields would flare crimson red, blocking an incoming attack every time without fail. It was in these moments that the weapons seemed to move on their own, drawn to the glowing shield like magnets. Reacher’s mace crashed into Cadmun’s crimson shield with brutal force as if the mace was being pulled by some unseen power. The same happened when Cadmun’s sword was drawn to Reacher’s glowing defence, battering it with a series of rapid strikes. Not willingly.

Stick had been watching the battle unfold from the sidelines, wondering what the glowing shields meant, but more important matters guided his attention. His eyes darted between the men and the abandoned horse. Now was his chance. While Reacher and Cadmun were distracted, he could steal the horse and escape. His feet took flight, and he made a run for it. He sprinted as fast as he could, his lungs burning from the winter cold and all exhaustion accumulated over the course of the day, but he ignored all of it and kept running. He didn’t turn around, confident that Reacher had no possibility to come after him. Not with Cadmun on his neck!

The horse was at arm’s length, freedom within his grasp, but just as Stick reached it, a figure appeared from behind a nearby treeline. It was none other than PP. The traitor.