Yariq Sahl the Ripper grinned beneath his linen wrappings, the mere slits of his eyes fixed cruel daggers on me. He must have felt the tension in the air, the oncoming fight, one that surely would have meant tragedy regardless. If Lenya and I were killed, the Wardship would redouble their efforts; of course, we were playing the role of bounty hunters, but dead outsiders, particularly ones that had faced the World-Eater demons heroically, would not be easily missed. The other option is a lot of innocent wounded or dead, and his capture. But still he watched on amused.

His fox, or whatever twisted desert beast it was, shifting backwards with him, hackles still raised, jaws parted to reveal sharpened teeth. Its white eyes glowed in the darkness, its lips wet. Yariq ruffled the thin blue fur between its massive ears and whispered something in his mother tongue — no doubt reassuring it that feeding time was coming.

Go’leb stood on the blackened rubble of the building, still silent, bearing his Iron Mace easily in his hand. His precise expression was quite inscrutable, but I felt he was simply awaiting a chance to have at me.

My senses were alight. Lenya fell back and drew her staff close to her, but raised a hand. The surge of magic picked up, presenting as a soft breeze which picked up and drew dust and debris past my feet towards her. The battered jungle-folk gathered in a loose semicircle around us, makeshift weapons in their hands trembling. I moved fully into a stance that I imagined was defensive, spear crossing my body, ready to lash out. I watched their expressions and the movements of their feet.

A young jungle-folk with dark fur, bearing a club, made the first move. With a yell, he leapt out with practised, powerful legs.

As soon as he was within a spear’s breadth, I answered. [Vigour] pulsed, almost as a reflex, and my thighs ROCKETED me forwards almost to his chest. His eyes went wide and he tried to bring the club down, but I wrenched my spear through the air and smacked the side of his head with the full force of the thick haft. He sprawled away, landing sliding on the wooden planks, knocked dazed out cold.

This gave the rest of them a moment’s pause, and they shared glances, but a call came from behind them:

“T’is is no duel. You fight for t’e freedom of your Dwellship. Kill him!”

Fully hyped, the remaining five broke into action. Full bore at me, they came on at once, bringing weapons out in front and aiming savage, wild blows.

I brought myself back a yard and flashed on [Weapon Mastery], the spearhead met the only true weapon, a glinting dagger, and bashed it out of a wielder’s hand. The now unarmed woman glanced down and had to move aside to pick it up.

In the moment, four others advanced instantly. I felt Lenya close behind me, still backing up but not fast enough, so I stood ground. With a savage lick of my spear, I cut open one of their calves. The jungle-folk man screamed, but didn’t relent the attack.

I spun my waist around, brought my spear up along my arm, and presented my shoulder.

THUDDING blows landed on shoulder and hip. These were untrained jungle-folk, certainly no Classes amongst them, probably no Skills — though I hadn’t taken the time to fully expect them — but even through my Constitution, a full-throated blow from anyone is a shock.

Allowing myself only a moment to feel, the agony pulsed through as I felt the Linothorax quiver with the attacks. I then steeled myself to the pain and brought [Battle Tactics] forwards. By instinct, the Skill coursing through me, instead of backing up, I launched myself at the nearest, bashing shoulder into chest, sending him back and almost toppled over.

The three others readied another blow, but I whipped my weapon around, hand halfway up the haft, and brandished the long, cypress-shaped bronze spearhead, having them fall back a moment.

That was all I gave them, and rushed forwards again. Two were closely huddled, another had stepped away another direction. I spun my spear as I went, caught it with both hands, and JABBED at the jungle-folk man’s face. The heavy wood hit him in the nose with a wet crunch, and he fell spluttering, weapon forgotten beside him, fingers clutching his face.

Turning my back on him, I faced the rest: the last two were joined by the man I’d thrown backwards. The woman wielding the dagger recovered and took their side. I moved my spear in front, the point reaching a three-inch from their chests as I circled. I felt the rush of [Vigour] leave, but [Battle Tactics] remained for another few moments, and each time I saw a muscle flinch or ready, I jabbed in their direction.

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“[Command : Kneel].” A stern, barked, royal voice came from behind me as a rush of arcane energy spilled out and blurred the dust over my shoulder.

The dagger wielder’s face screwed up with effort, her eyes almost closed, and then dropped to her knees. The weapon was dropped forgotten at her side as she brought her hands up to hold each side of her head. I remembered when Lenya had cast that on me when she’d met me, but I didn’t spare a moment’s sympathy.

So there were three: two fresh, one limping, a gash on their exposed, furry calf dripping red. I took the confusion as opportunity to reach the Analysis Card in my pouch.

Name :

Vaan, Level 3

Stats :

Str 5, Dex 9, Con 8, Mnd 4

Inventory :

3 Copper Coins (Ishkali)

Weakness :

Panics when disarmed

Home :

Ith-Korr, Barbican

Name :

Keska, Level 2

Stats :

Str 4, Dex 6, Con 9, Mnd 3

Weakness :

Fearful of the supernatural

Home :

Ith-Korr, Barbican

Name :

Haru, Level 2

Stats :

Str 5, Dex 8, Con 6, Mnd 5

Weakness :

Hesitates when injured

Home :

Ith-Korr, Barbican

As I thought. These are civilians. No Skills, barely anything in their pockets. Desperate.

Proud of how it was going, I twirled my spear and shouted out:

“No one has to die. Put your weapons down and leave Yariq to us. You have no loyalty to this criminal.”

There was a ripple of thought, but ultimately it fell on deaf ears.

No reasoning with them.

“Lenya,” I hissed through gritted teeth over my shoulder, loud enough that Keska could hear. “The one in the middle — burn her mind.”

Glancing back, I saw a moment’s shock on her face, then meeting my eye, she gleaned the situation. Her staff raised, the flow of magic picked up, and she pointed two fingers at Keska. The jungle-folk’s face blanched and she fell back a pace, eyes wide.

Dropping low, I pumped another [Vigour] through my muscles and felt them tense and turn iron. Pushing myself off with massive force, I brought myself level with Vaan, passing Haru, whose weight shifted back on his bad leg, wincing. My hand shot out and I got a hard grip on the club that Vaan wielded, and just before he could react, I smashed the pole of my spear into the side of his neck, pulling back the blow slightly.

He flinched and fell back, the club loosed from his grip. I tossed it backwards and it thudded and clattered on the wood. Unarmed, reeling from the pain, Vaan’s form tightened up.

This ends now.

I reached into the stream in my mind’s eye, and grasped [Weapon Mastery] again. Spinning to the side, I double handed the haft of my spear again and jabbed out with brutal accuracy at Haru. The butt of the spear caught his sternum with a CRACK and he was thrown backwards to lie in the dust, lungs smashed empty, breath caught in his throat.

// SYS : Your use of [Weapon Mastery] has upgraded the Skill to Level 2. You can now utilise [Weapon Mastery : Precision Strike]. //

I glanced up to see Go’leb drawing forwards, testing the weight of the mace in his hands.

Can test the new Skill on you!

Back to the action, I glanced over the rest of the combatants, beaten and bloodied. Only Vaan was still standing, still holding his neck from the hit, looking around for a weapon on the ground.

“Just leave, Vann. Take the money he gave you and go. He won’t be able to follow.”

He blinked at me, mouthing the words, “How do you know. . . .” But then he looked up at Yariq, scrunched up his face somewhere between shame and determination, turned heel, and set off at a run.

At this, Yariq the Ripper shot an order at him to stay, but he kept going. Before Vaan had made it twenty paces, Yariq stamped his heel and said something under his breath in his mother tongue.

The Lapis Urocryon at his side barked and growled. The beast’s fur rippled as a mound of muscle tensed and set off at lightning speed after his heels, jaw wide, teeth dripping, eyes fiery with hunger and savagery.