[THOMAS’S POV]
August 4, 1338
Stealth became my ally as I moved, treading silently upon the wooden floor, my every step a calculated effort to evade any telltale noise. With cautious intent, I maintained a delicate balance, keeping my trusty longsword within arm's reach, my stance poised and guarded against any impending threat. My back pressed firmly against the wall, positioning myself strategically to have a clear view of the door, a vantage point offering a better grasp of the unfolding situation.
Clutching the hilt of my sword with both hands, readiness coursed through me as I prepared for any potential intrusion. My body was taut with anticipation, every muscle primed to respond swiftly to the slightest provocation. With bated breath, I steadied myself, bracing for any unforeseen circumstances.
A murmur, barely above a whisper, seeped through the door, intruding upon the silence of the night. The voice, subdued and clandestine, bore a weighty inquiry that lingered ominously in the air.
“Have you located the Earl yet?” The words, shrouded in secrecy, hung on the precipice of the door, delivered in a hushed tone that resonated with an air of urgency and intrigue.
The sudden intrusion of this conversation outside my chamber door prompted a surge of adrenaline, heightening my senses as I remained vigilant, poised to react swiftly to any ensuing developments.
In the hushed exchange that danced just beyond the thin barrier of my chamber door, a voice responded with a cautious assurance, tinged with a similar covert undertone.
“No, this seems to be the last room on this story.” Their attempts at secrecy were rendered futile by the flimsy wooden partition that separated us.
As their conversation unfolded, a disquieting realization swept through me like a chilling gust of wind. They claimed this room as the final destination on this floor, a fact that raised an unsettling question: How could they swiftly incapacitate my squadron, seasoned soldiers, with such alarming efficiency? Their expedient triumph suggested a level of proficiency not typically wielded by amateurs.
Yet, amidst this revelation, a realization crystallized within me, a puzzle piece snapping into place. It wasn’t the work of an outsider but an inside job. The innkeeper, with his overly accommodating demeanor, and his wife, who was certainly privy to their plans, orchestrated this clandestine operation. The facade of her beads of sweat and shivers, masquerading as signs of pregnancy, now unveiled itself as a facade hiding the fear of our discovery of their nefarious intentions.
Rage surged within me, a fiery tempest threatening to consume my being. The betrayal, the calculated deception—they had exploited our vulnerability. The audacity of their deceit stoked the embers of fury within me, searing my resolve to avenge the death of my squadron. In the depths of my fury, I swore an oath—to return, to confront those conniving perpetrators once this harrowing ordeal had passed. Their treachery would not go unpunished.
The depth of my anger burned brighter than the flickering flames of the inn's hearth, igniting a resolve within me that transcended the immediate threat. Survival became a mere fragment of my ambition; retribution for this heinous betrayal now anchored my determination. If fate allowed me to emerge unscathed from this perilous situation, my return would herald a reckoning for those responsible.
"Very well, I'll enter, you all follow," the commanding voice directed, or at least that's what it appeared to be.
Suddenly, a realization struck me—'all.' The word resonated, indicating the presence of more than just the two individuals. Given how swiftly they dispatched my squadron, logic dictated a larger group. My mind raced, attempting to strategize amidst the urgency of the situation. Think, Thomas, think.
However, amidst the chaos of thoughts, I realized the futility of overthinking. Instead, I relied on my predetermined plan of action. The advantage lay in their unawareness of my presence, providing me with a critical edge. The door stood between us, concealing my readiness to confront them. As I prepared to act, a faint sound echoed—a subtle creak, imperceptible to most, yet loud in the silence of the moment.
Gradually, the door swung open with an eerie silence that caught me off guard. Their ability to move stealthily explained the silent massacre of my soldiers. A shadowy figure breached the threshold into the pitch-black room. Seizing the moment, I lunged forward, driving the pointed edge of my sword squarely into his temple.
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The force of the thrust caused a spurt of blood, painting the air in a gruesome spectacle. Blood began to flow, trickling down onto the wooden floor in a macabre rhythm, validating my suspicion about the earlier sound that had roused me from slumber.
The body, impaled by the sword, staggered briefly, as if suspended in time, before succumbing to gravity's pull with a resounding thud. But what followed seared an indelible mark into my memory, an image that may haunt me for the remainder of my days, however short they might be.
Two men, seemingly unphased by the corpse of their comrade, darted into the room with alarming speed, denying me the chance to thrust my sword at them. A third figure sauntered in at a leisurely pace, an unsettling calmness about his demeanor. Though obscured from my view, I could sense a malevolent smirk etched upon his face.
The confrontation escalated as the two men armed themselves—one confronted my sword head-on, a perilous situation when facing a longsword with a mere dagger. However, the confined space posed a substantial disadvantage. Any swift movement risked entangling my sword in the surrounding wooden surfaces, limiting my maneuverability and restricting the potential for a full, decisive strike.
Compounding the challenge, the second assailant strategically targeted me from a lower vantage point, employing a tactic aimed at destabilizing my stance. His focus on leveraging his legs to unbalance me, coupled with the readiness to employ his dagger at any given opportunity, intensified the imminent threat. Moreover, his gradual movement toward my blind spot at the rear added an element of another imminent danger, further compromising my defensive stance.
The final man remained positioned against the wall, orchestrating the skirmish between his two cohorts and me. Their assault was relentless—a slash across the arm, a cut on the cheek, a graze along the ankle. Each strike, though initially minor, accumulated to impair my fluidity of movement over time. The gradual erosion of my agility hindered my ability to retaliate effectively, rendering me increasingly sluggish in my defensive maneuvers.
Amidst the skirmish, a strategic shift occurred—I maneuvered myself to press my back against the wall, a calculated decision aimed at mitigating the threat from multiple angles. By limiting the field of engagement to just two sides rather than risking attacks from the rear, I sought to bolster my defenses and focus on countering the assaults directed toward me.
Amidst the chaos, my hand brushed against a nearby drawer, discovering a half-filled goblet of the potent brew I had reserved for the morning—a wake-up elixir of sorts. Maintaining a watchful eye on my assailants, I seized the goblet with one hand while brandishing my longsword with the other. The third figure remained obscured, veiled in the dimness of the room, granting him limited visibility as well.
In a swift and calculated move, I hurled the wine at the assailant targeting my legs. The unexpected shower momentarily startled him, granting me the crucial fraction of a second I needed. Utilizing this window of opportunity, I swiftly pivoted, bringing my right knee crashing upward toward his chin. The impact was jarring—I felt the unmistakable give of bone beneath the force of the blow, surely shattering at least two teeth upon impact.
As the wine-soaked assailant staggered back from the strike, I diverted my attention to his accomplice. With practiced precision, I flung the goblet in his direction. Though he deftly deflected the incoming crockery with his dagger, the distraction provided the split-second opening I required. With a swift lunge, I thrust my longsword toward his chest, aiming for his heart.
However, my strike fell short of its intended mark. His reflexes were swift—he attempted to deflect my blade with his dagger, but in his haste, he misjudged the movement. His hand veered off-course, narrowly missing my sword. Instead, the blade pierced through his wrist, slicing through flesh and muscle, leaving his hand dangling by a mere thread of tissue.
In the chaos of the moment, the agonized scream pierced the air as the injured assailant grappled with the excruciating pain coursing through his wrist. Seizing the opportunity, I drove my longsword downward, swiftly dispatching the startled assassin with a decisive blow to the head.
With the urgency of survival guiding my actions, I paid little heed to reclaiming my sword, opting instead to grab the dagger that had fallen amidst the fray. My priority now was escape—I scanned the room frantically, seeking a means to evade the looming threat. My eyes locked onto the window, conveniently positioned no more than three steps to my right, offering a slim chance at freedom.
Yet, even as I focused on the escape route, my attention was drawn to the third assailant advancing steadily, a short sword clenched firmly in his grasp. His demeanor spoke volumes—this man wasn't just moving, he was purposefully closing the distance with calculated intent. His methodical approach left no room for an opening, indicating that engaging him in combat would only lead to further peril.
Acknowledging the lack of a viable fight, I swiftly made my decision. Without a moment's hesitation, I made a determined stride toward the window. The urgency of the situation eclipsed any fear or doubt as I propelled myself through the opening, embracing the uncertainty of the fall as preferable to the danger lurking behind me. The choice to leap was made swiftly, driven by the instinct to survive.
Thud!
Crack!