Chapter Seventy

Ambrose drove to the northern front. He parked on the ground, got out, and swept his gaze around the battlefield. The battle for Avalon was fully underway, with Draugr and Knights of Avalon engaging orcs in brutal combat. The sounds of clashing weapons, bursts of skill meeting skill sizzling the air, rocking the ground, and scents of sweat, flame, iron, copper, lightning, and the smell of an oncoming storm were on the wind.

It didn’t take Ambrose long to figure out the main problem his forces had. They were untested. The orcs, on the other hand, were experienced and disciplined. That didn’t mean his forces weren’t putting up a good showing. The draugr would reengage soon after being seemingly defeated, thanks to Vathwin’s power.

The Knights fought with the fervor of people fighting for more than just mere survival. They were defending something. A home they had built with their own two hands, the people they had come to care about and rely on. Ambrose wasn’t sure that would be enough, but they had one more advantage.

Him.

An axe of hellfire formed in Ambrose’s hand, chains appearing around him, striking out like living serpents, immobilizing orc after orc. His axe claimed life after life, burning the orcs to ashes. He was an avatar of the reaper, a harbinger of infernal wrath.

Ambrose Severen was a killer of men and monsters, and it showed now. As he moved across the northern part of the island, he infused little spots of land underneath some orcs, sucking them in with [Infernal Recall] and allowing his forces a more leisurely time, killing them.

Ambrose’s weapon became slick with blood, which burned off as flames coated the weapon.

It wasn’t long before Ambrose found himself face to face with the orcish commander of the forces sent to this point of the island. He looked like a monstrous knight in black, green, and gold armor. The armor was emblazoned with light green runes that flashed as weapons attempted to pierce him, repelling blade and skill alike.

Ambrose engaged him, axe whirling, flames dancing. The orc commander lifted his mace, repelling his blow. Once again, Ambrose found himself looking at eyes with no light in them.

That wasn’t right. There was some intelligence there; the way the orc used skills and his combat decisions showed that. What is going on with these orcs? Ambrose gritted his teeth as he exchanged several more blows with the orc.

He attempted to infuse the area around the orc to drop him into it, but the orcish commander grunted, and green mana repelled his own. A light, a malicious gleam, entered his eyes then. A voice came from the orc then that Ambrose was sure was not his own.

“Mr. Severen, as I live and breathe. What a treat it is to find you alive, old friend.”

A chill crept over Ambrose then, reaching into his chest and squeezing his heart. His breath came faster, his grip tightening around his axe, his teeth clenching so hard he thought they would shatter. Rage suffused his muscles, a storm brewing inside him.

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He knew who was speaking now. There was no mistaking the way the voice spoke.

Somehow, Eric was controlling the orcish commander. A twisted grin contorted the orcs face, bending around the tusks in a nightmarish expression of manic glee.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re not pleased to see me. Well, I admit, the orc I’m controlling isn’t much to look at, but what can you do? Good help is hard to come by.”

Ambrose roared; chains spiraled out to try and wrap around the orc but were repelled by a green burst emanating from the armor. The orc chuckled,

“This orc is a defensive monster; good luck breaking through. I must admit, Mr. Severen, you have grown far more formidable since last we met. Back then, you couldn’t even protect your pregnant wife.”

Ambrose had always been a very controlled person. He leashed his anger and used it as a tool, but it never used him.

Uncontrolled anger is a fast pass to the grave, boy. Don’t you forget it. His father had always told him.

But at Eric’s words, that leash snapped, and with it came a storm. Ambrose hammered at the orc with his axe, using [Hellfire Manipulation]. He continued to try to sink the orc into the ground, but his green mana flared every time, thwarting his attempts.

The orc commander had a hard time doing much to Ambrose; either, his mace was knocked away by Ambrose every time the orc tried to do him in with it. Ambrose growled his rage, his fury a palpable, living thing.

“Is this all? Tut tut, Ambrose. I expected more from all I have heard about you. I must admit, this serves as a nice distraction while my forces tear apart the rest of your people. Poor Ambrose, unable to protect anyone.”

Ambrose wasn’t thinking; he was a mindless force focused on just one thing: hurting the foe before him. His axe was a blur of fire and steel, his movements a whirlwind of violence.

You need to think, sir Knight!

Vivienne’s voice was an annoying pest buzzing around his cloud of anger. He tried to push it aside but was unsuccessful.

Use your mind!

Ambrose growled, his anger bashing at the voice in his mind, seeking to destroy it.

Ambrose Severen, Knight of Avalon, you will LOSE if you do not use your head.

That got through. It burst his anger like a well-placed needle, and he leashed it again. He was allowing Eric to win, to push his buttons. His body was quivering so hard he thought for a moment he was having a seizure. He calmed his muscles, ceasing his quivering, and his knuckles popped, the white fading from them as he released the tension in his grip.

At the same time, he focused his mind and activated [Infernal Aegis]; his legendary skill, fueled by mana and spirit, blanketed the area.

This time, it affected the orc commander. He fell to the ground under the pressure of the skill as stygian-green flame blazed around Ambrose.

“How interesting. What are you doing to the orc, I wonder?”

Ambrose kept the pressure of his spiritual-based skill up as he sent chains to wrap around the orc. He squeezed the chains with his will, flooding the area with infernal mana simultaneously.

While that was going on, Ambrose used [Hellfire Manipulation] to form a cocoon of flame that began to build itself around the orc. All of this meant that the orc’s skill was sent into overdrive. The commander nodded,

“Ah, I see. You’re overwhelming the orc’s defensive skills. To fend off all of your brutal skills, the orc has to keep pumping mana into his skills. Yet, will you run out of mana first? After all, these powerful skills of yours cannot be cheap.”

They weren’t. However, Ambrose had been pumping points into willpower, and his bonding with the grimoire gave him an extra thousand mana to call upon that Ambrose was confident the orc could not match.

He was right. The green light began to flicker, like a lousy light-bulb, before finally vanishing.

“Pity. This was a useful minion. That’s okay, he served decently as a distraction while my forces slaughter their way to your town proper.”

The orcs voice faded as the orc began to blacken and burn away into green-grey ash, armor a melted husk of what it once was.

Nothing but a skeleton remained.