A forceful strike sent the beast’s jaws off course, eliciting a pained yelp. PP had swung his sacks into the Dire Wolf’s face, sending it hurtling backwards.
“Get up!” he yelled.
His free hand reached out to grab him, and once he had a firm grip, he was hurled towards the group. He fought to stay upright. His knees threatened to buckle, but by sheer instinct, he managed to put one foot in front of the other. This time he ran. He fled. He didn’t dare look back to where he could hear the grunts and cries from the man who saved him. All he saw were the other slaves, clustered together just a short distance away. They were encircling the Blitz brothers like a kind of shield, yet no one came to their aid. I’m sorry, big man.
The Sword galloped past him in a blur. His horse swiftly bridged the gap between themselves and PP. He saw three Dire Wolves, each about his size, tearing into PP’s limbs, yet the big man held his ground. The Sword plunged his weapon into one of the wolves, and it collapsed instantly. The other two retreated, joining the rest of the pack emerging from the forest. PP was unable to join the others as they were entirely encircled.
“Grab the sacks and go!” the Sword ordered angrily.
PP seized four sacks with one hand while using the fifth as a makeshift flail to keep the wolves at bay. The Sword swiftly dispatched the wolves on his side before aiding PP. One wolf managed to bite the big man on his arm, and blood began to gush out. It clamped down with an audible crunch. PP recoiled in pain.
“Stay still.” With another deft strike, the Sword ended PP’s agony.
Just as before, it took only one hit to dispatch these massive wolves.
“Anything else?” the Sword asked the group.
Everyone surveyed the area, but no more wolves were to be seen. A collective sigh of relief was heard. I cannot believe how easy he made it seem. His attacks were so precise!
“Good. Now move it!” he urged.
There was no sign of worry. In fact, he sounded irritated.
“We can’t linger here too long.”
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The Sword retrieved some bandages from his horse’s saddlebags.
“Patch him up. First aid’s all we have until Reacher joins us.” The Sword halted his horse in front of him. “Don’t stop moving or there won’t be a second chance.”
They quickly rejoined the others, and the Sword assumed the lead once more. They didn’t pause for a moment to allow him to apply the bandages to PP. He had to do it on foot, all the while PP struggled to balance all five sacks on his uninjured shoulder. Not a moment was spent resting, no matter how much he needed a break to steady himself. As he wound the bandage around the gruesome wound, he noticed numerous similar scars from bites and cuts on the man’s arms. They all appeared old and healed. The God of Life must have shielded his other limbs.
He observed the other slaves who made no effort to assist PP with the pickaxes or inquire about his wellbeing. This has happened before. And for some reason, they think this is normal.
He looked up to see PP’s face, who appeared more irritated by the sun glaring down on him than by his fellow slaves’ indifference to the recent event. Why is no one helping him?
“Yours,” the big man said, passing him the sack as soon as his arm was treated.
Straight to the point. Efficient. Cold. Scary.
He accepted the sack and recalled what he knew about the man. He was undoubtedly strong and no-nonsense. People had given him their breakfast that morning. The others actively avoid conversation with him. Does he threaten them? Do they fear him? Then again, he isn’t assertive. He’s very quiet and obedient.
He remembered how PP was the only one not lined up when the Blitz brothers arrived at the camp. There’s a rift between Adventurers and Slaves, but there’s also a rift among slaves as well as one among Adventurers. The entire system is built on people looking down on and stepping over others who do the same in turn.
A clearer picture began to form. The weight of his sack of pickaxes was testament to it.
“Down here, we’re all just trash,” he remarked, just loud enough for the big man to hear.
There was no response. All he could hear was the unceasing march of two dozen men, poised on the brink of another wolf attack. His statement hung in the air, ready to bite him back if interpreted as an insult. He kept his head down. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
Then he heard a quiet chuckle. It was the first time he had witnessed the big man express any positive emotion. He had struck a chord. He had read the situation correctly. A vague plan started to formulate in his mind. It required Lord Varyan Blitz, Cadmun Frost, impoverished servants, grimy miners, and pieces of trash like them. That’s right. I must close the rift between us first. If we hope to escape, we must do so together.
image [https://c10.patreonusercontent.com/4/patreon-media/p/post/100222198/ca0578ba0d404f1b8c69d751e307087d/eyJ3Ijo4MjAsIndlYnAiOjB9/1.jpeg?token-time=1731628800&token-hash=xgOkoTJR59iZYYna6gqXVGavqGqdgo60PJ3djgZ7U3E%3D]
A horse approached from behind. He saw the Mace, or Reacher as he’d been mentioned earlier, rushing to join them. Now was not the time to attempt a break out. He needed more time to win everyone over first.
It’s a long road ahead.