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“Quickly Sparrow! My cane!” Arrosh’s command cracked like a whip.
He had been awake for all of 5 minutes and already he had a better grasp of the situation than me. Figures.
Arrosh’s command did more than just stir me into motion. It stabbed a shot of adrenaline straight into my brain and spine, driving lightning-speed tingling sensations down my neck, back and all the way to the soles of my feet. I pivoted, my mind already beginning to protest against the possibility of getting hurt right after escaping torture, and grabbed Arrosh’s Cane that I had seen leaning against the wall. When I turned around, Arrosh had found large billowy pieces of cloth and wrapped himself in it. He stuck out a hand and I placed the cane.
Gripping it tight, he drew it.
I’d never seen Arrosh’s sword either. Hell, I hadn’t even known his walking stick was a sword.
It was a straight double edged sword with a rounded fuller, the length of the blade gradually narrowing into a sharp tip. The blade’s edge shone with a light blue-and-green sheen and in the dim light of the torture chamber, it played tricks in my eyes, giving off a aurora-colored hue with each movement. Arrosh took the sword and held it up to his eye, tip pointed away from him. Then he took it and did some kind of snappy wrist movement, scissoring the air in front of us and whipping the blade back and forth.
He let out a satisfied sound and sheathed the blade, turning towards the door. “We must leave this place at once, young storm. Come!”
The elderly swordmaster orc dashed out ahead of me, the rags billowing out like a cloak behind him. Grimacing, I quickly gave chase.
In an instant we cleared the large chamber outside and stepped into the passageway which was no doubt the exit.
And came face to face with two Scavengers.
Arrosh killed them before I could blink.
He raised the cane to his forehead, gripping the hilt and scabbard, in some kind of strange salute. Then he drew it with a fierce cry, steel ringing and sparks flying from the force of the draw, and beheaded the first Scavenger with a cut so clean it took a second for his head to roll off of the neck. Then in the same breath, he whipped his sword in a return stroke and gutted the second man –through his breastplate– and from hip to shoulder. The sword continued past the man and Arrosh sheathed it into the scabbard which was still held against his forehead.
…Holy Crap.
He had never stopped walking.
We practically flew past the two corpses, never bothering to look back. My adrenaline was running full force now and I pumped my legs for whatever they were worth, trying to keep up with Arrosh. But the orc swordsman never leaped too far ahead, staying just a few paces ahead of me. One more Scavenger appeared from around the corner and Arrosh bent his legs and slammed his own hips into the man, flipping him over. The orc kicked him towards me while he was still falling and the man landed in a flop right at my feet.
“Take him, young blade! Others approach!”
I had been wheezing for breath and in a half-daze. The exhaustion plus the disorientation from the sudden rush of battle had gotten to me and as the Scavenger in front of me moved to his feet, his fingers scrambling for his potion my hands acted on reflex. I closed the distance between us in one powerful step and slapped his potion away, opening up his guard. He wasn’t wearing any metal armor –only leather as far as I could see.
I fumbled my visor closed, the Seeing Crystal working as normal.
There was no point in letting myself think. If I thought too hard, panic would set in, the trauma turning my hands and feet to jelly. I drew the sword from my back quickly and taking inspiration from Arrosh’s move earlier, used the same move to crush the man’s feeble attempts at a defense with a downward elbow strike. My elbow crushed his fingers and in the same movement, I slammed my shoulder into the man’s chest, sending him stumbling back and creating space. Holding the sword in a high guard I swung downwards.
And with a sickening crunch, rendered him from shoulder to hip.
Blood poured out of the wound.
Oh god, I wanted to throw up.
It wasn’t the act of killing so much as what cutting into his torso had reminded me of.
Shaking my head, I stumbled back, trying to rub the vision of Coum’s instruments out of my eyes. Somewhere along the torture, he had opened up these holes in my ribs and stuck in disgusting squirming, slithering worm-like blind things with claws and teeth and-
I threw up.
Over the sound of my retching, I could’ve sworn I heard the chittering of those creatures again.
I rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t eaten for two or three days and my vomit was nothing more than clear viscous spit and stomach acid. Still, I coughed violently in horrible wracking movements, trying to purge the memories out of me along with whatever was left in my stomach. My eyes stinging with tears, I felt the aftertaste of vomit as someone patted me on my back.
“At times, branches must be cut away before the parasite takes too deep a root within the tree. At times, the mother stork casts out the runt, to raise the strongest young.”
I looked to see the blind man, patting my back.
Behind him lay four more bodies. All headless. A single stroke.
I threw up some more.
He let me.
When I had gathered myself, my hands were trembling and my legs were jelly. Escaping? Sure. I could do that easily, I just had to put one leg in front of the other. But fighting through a whole horde of Scavengers who were out to kill me? With the chance that I would come face to face with Coum again? Wading through gore and body parts? Even just the thought of it made me wretch again.
But I found out one thing through this fight.
I could still kill. I could still take the weight of a life and not be crushed by guilt, especially if it was a Scavenger who was nothing but a criminal. If it came down to me or them… I still chose myself. My determination to survive hadn’t abandoned me. Which meant…
What had happened with Horse-head… I hadn’t hesitated at all.
Those fuckers had played me like a fiddle. The whole thing had been a set-up. I was sure of it now. Trying to play off the Core ability like it was some empathy for [Players] who were in the same situation as me, coming in at just the right time with just the right type of food. They had pancakes for god’s sake. I’d never seen pancakes in this world before until they brought it in. They’d orchestrated the whole thing and I’d bought it like a fat kid buying a dollar meal at a fast-food joint.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Yet, realizing their scheme didn’t make it better. If anything it turned the whole experience increasingly sinister, like they’d planned to damage me from the start. They didn’t kill me, not physically. But they’d broken me enough to make sure I could never become a threat again, even if I got out of this hellhole alive. What kind of warrior became disabled at the sight of blood?
The advice that Khan had given, the so-called ‘mind control’ that I had done to myself. It was all just bandages over the wounds. Bandages that had been torn off in the heat of battle and the wound had been torn open. I closed my eyes, trying to still my breathing and push the memories away.
And when I finished pushing those memories away, I found rage.
Smoldering inexplicable anger that smoldered white hot at the edges, crumbling into a deep dark abyss where there was no return. These fuckers had toyed with me.
I held up a hand and saw how much it was trembling. I grabbed onto the wrist to try and make it stop but it just wouldn’t fucking stop.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck FUCK FUCK!” I screamed, uncaring that Arrosh was right in front of me.
I found Arrosh staring at me.
“Sometimes,” He said quietly. “I have bad dreams too, young leaf.”
My anger disappeared in the face of his sorrow.
“When I was but a young twig, I had a younger sister. We had no parents and as far as I could remember, I was all she had and she was all I had to call kin.” Arrosh flicked his sword to the side, splattering the ground with droplets of blood. His sword was clean again. He leaned against the wall next to me, staring at the sword despite being blind. “To keep ourselves clothed and fed… I did things. Things I shouldn’t have done.”
It was one of those rare moments when Arrosh was lucid, speaking in regular speech instead of the strange metaphoric riddles he often employed. His milky eyes were looking at something I couldn’t see and he reached out a hand, like he could touch something.
“I had a gift, a gift of quick hands and quicker feet. Once I had set my mind on a particular coin pouch, none could evade my grasp and no one was wiser afterwards. Even if one should catch the whispers of my disappearance, there was no better runner in the horde than I.” He continued. “Soon, my sister and I weren’t alone. I had other mouths to feed. Those who worked for me. Those who stole for me and if needed, those who killed for me. Family. Friends. Comrades.”
“I grew greedy. Shortsighted.” He touched a finger to his eyes. “I could see, but I refused to see. What was happening to me. I picked the pockets of powerful men, eager to prove my worth. For in those days, actions spoke and coins louder still.” Sighing, “One day, I pickpocketed the son of a Local Warlord. Oh, there were better targets but I had a reason for it. I saw how he looked at my sister, you see. When she went to draw water at the well. So I pickpocketed him, beat him and left him for dead. A petty offense, meant to goad the Warlord into anger, for he had many, many sons. To see his reaction, trying to gauge his power.”
Arrosh smiled sadly. “I was caught and tortured for days.”
I listened, breathless.
“Eventually I escaped. Upon escaping, I hunted down the Warlord’s sons and daughters, one by one. Consumed by rage, for I believed I had nothing left but revenge for what the man had done to me.”
I shook my head, feeling a chill go down my spine.
“Within a day, they found my people. The warlord burnt them and my sister alive.” Arrosh closed his clouded eyes and he looked ages older. The wrinkles in his face seemed more pronounced, the crow’s feet larger than before. “Right before my eyes.”
“I still hear their screams sometimes.”
It was a short story. Something that reminded me of a folktale, something to warn me against becoming too greedy. There were plenty of details missing too, leaving me full of questions. Like who was this Warlord? Was he still alive? How was Arrosh still alive if he had been captured a second time? But none of those questions mattered.
“How did you get over it?”
“There is no getting over fear. Fear gives birth to anger. Anger gives birth to selfishness and selfishness to revenge. And from revenge comes despair.” He shook his head, a gesture out of place from his usual persona.
Arrosh took his hand and placed it on the hilt of his sword. “Do you remember his face, young cloud?”
I tried not to twitch as I remembered Coum. “I remember.”
“You must live. You must live until you no longer remember that face, or live long enough to erase it. Whichever path you choose is your choice, my Disciple. So you must live. By living, you make all their efforts for naught.” Arrosh hissed and spun on his heel. “And for you to survive the web of fate we find ourselves entangled in, we must leave this place.”
Then he began to walk. I caught up to him thinking.
“Wait, you didn’t mention which path you chose,” I asked after awhile, “The Warlord… What happened to him?”
“It’s not always bad dreams I have,” Arrosh shot me a look over his shoulder. “...I hear his screams too.”
This time, I did twitch and it wasn’t because of Coum.
Then he started sprinting down the corridor and I followed, hot on his heels.
Arrosh was right. The best way to take revenge on these fuckers was to get out of this hellhole and live to see another day. These [Players] had been here for years, of course I was weaker than them. That was a given. Years to get the right Cores, to find the right items and to bring your character build to completion.
I wondered how long it would take for me to surpass them.
After a moment, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, no doubt leading into another room. “Master! Ahead!”
“I sense the presence of evil! Stains upon this world! Ready your blade, disciple!”
We burst into the room and my absorbed the scene like flash photography before everything descended into chaos.
The room was rectangular in shape, similar to the others and had the Scavengers strewn about. What was interesting however was the fact that the Scavengers were injured. Some of them sported cuts and others sported burns. Still others seemed relatively fine except for the damaged armor. They must have been using this place as something like a medical bay.
For one crazy second, they looked at us not knowing what to do or what was going on. Arrosh didn’t hesitate to waste that precious time. Arrosh strode in first, drawing his blade. He turned the draw into a horizontal swing and gutted the first Scavenger to react, leaving the man’s entrails spilling down to the floor.
Following his lead, I let loose too.
“Master!” I cried out and he ducked.
I grabbed the Lunar Shield from my back, once again taking inspiration from Arrosh’s ruthlessly efficient draw attacks. I drew the Lunar Shield over my head and threw it like a frisbee in one smooth movement.
Except I channeled Aura into it.
The Lunar Shield, usually around three feet long in width, combined with my Aura to created a lethal weapon of twice that size. The shield spun like a scythe, the Aura lacerating steel and flesh alike. The first man had chose to hold his shield up –a very cheap looking shield– and my aura cleaved straight through the shield and then through the man’s armored helm. The Aura-covered Lunar Shield left behind a standing corpse with the top half of its brain plopping on the floor, the man's eyes still blinking. But the shield didn’t stop there, it continued on its way and the aerodynamic profile caused it to curve like a boomerang, causing much more mayhem than it would have otherwise.
“Fuck! It’s [Aura]!”
“Grab it! Grab the shield!”
The shield reached the end of its path and embedded itself into the stone wall, the [Aura] surrounding the weapon rapidly decreasing in size. The Scavengers rushed to grab it, greed lighting up their faces.
I waited for them to gather up then used [King’s Guard], snapping the shield back to me. There was only a thin outline of [Aura] left but it was enough –more screams followed in the shield’s wake. As soon as the Lunar Shield was within distance, it locked back into orbit.
The Scavenger’s looked confused at one another as black ink began to bloom around their injuries.
｢Lock Slaveborn casts [Hateful Wound] ｣
Blood was spilled and ink came to life, stabbing into their hosts and maiming them.
Only half of them remained.
“Fuck! It’s that prisoner!”
“Someone tell the Clan Master! Get Clan Head Tanya!”
“MY ARRMMM!”
“HOW DARE YOU-”
I moved in like a whirlwind of blade and shield, causing destruction in my wake.
And in my wake flowed down the reaper of death, Arrosh Bloodedge and each movement of his blade claimed another life.
Whoever I wounded, an instant later Arrosh finished off. A dwarf cried bloody murder and used [Gigantification], growing larger. Before he could grow too large, I ducked underneath him, copying Arrosh’s throwing move, and used my hips to get under the dwarf’s center of gravity to topple him. The orcish swordmaster swooped in, his cloaks stained red with all the blood now, and beheaded the dwarf in one clean move. Then before the dwarf could fall, Arrosh jumped off of the dwarf and fell between two Scavengers, an elf and a human.
I ran towards him, my sword in a two handed grasp.
Sliding across the ground on my knees, I hamstrung the elf and Arrosh leaped above my head, parallel to the ground, spinning like a top and beheaded the elf. I continued my slide and turned in place, landing on my feet and struck out with a stab, skewering his comrades’ stomach. Arrosh completed his spin and landed behind the skewered Scavenger, cutting off the man’s arm at the shoulder moments before his morning star dug itself into my temple. With a savage cry, I moved my sword sideways, disemboweling him.
Now, we were the only ones in the room.
I was breathing hard and though unwanted memories resurfaced, I wasn’t shaking.
Arrosh nodded at me in approval. “Come, storm of winds. Quickly!”
We exited that makeshift medical bay and ran down the tunnels again. I was getting sick of being underground. I wanted to see the sun. I wanted to drink water and sleep without dreams. The kind of sleep where you just close your eyes and the darkness envelops you, not the unsettling kind but the type of darkness that comes from warm blankets on a cold winter night.
“Ahead!” Arrosh yelled out and we entered another doorway.
…Into the Arena where I had been defeated by Horse-Head.
And in front of us were two people.
[Players].
The amber-haired Dwarf with pouty red lips and large eyes. Her pretty face was squinted in anger and scowled openly at her partner. Tanya hefted the colossal Harpoon over her shoulder, which was two to three times her height, and pointed it at us. “You said you broke him. Explain what they’re doing killing my men in my own house?”
The bald elf’s flat reptilian eyes bore into my own. “It seems I was wrong.” His voice was just like him, melodious on the surface but empty of substance beneath it. The blue tentacles tattoos on his scalp writhed under the skin, displeased and upset. “I will give you a chance.”
He took a step towards me, his robe beginning to drip with dark-blue mana and spooling around the ground like thick paint. “Drop your weapon and join us. You know that you cannot stand against me.”
Breathing hard, I grabbed my chest. My heart was beating so fast. Could I do this? Really?
Then Coum finished his speech, his tone no different than reading the news. “Kill the [Player] besides you, and we shall show you mercy, Disciple of the Sword Saint. You could have a place among the new order, teaching [Aura] to the Chosen.”
He wasn’t even talking to me. He was talking to Arrosh.
Coum caught my stare then said in that same tone, explaining to me, “Nathan has no use for broken toys.”
I looked at Arrosh.
Arrosh looked back at me, smiling that toothless grin.
Then he took a step away from me, drawing his sword and holding it sideways across his body towards Coum and Tanya. An unmistakable answer to Coum’s offer.
Tanya snarled and took a step in front of Coum, holding another colossal weapon: a shield. “I’m so going to tell Nathan about this.”
Coum cocked his head to the side. “Disciple, I thought you were smarter than-”
“Silence.” Arrosh’s voice was quieter than either of them but cut through air like a… like a sword and I saw both the Players tense up, Tanya even taking a full step backwards.
When Arrosh spoke, it wasn’t the voice of a raving mad man that saw the future. It wasn’t the voice of a blind man, who I had found in rags and was naught more than a homeless person amongst a dying city.
No.
It was the voice of Arrosh Bloodedge, the Disciple of the Sword Saint, the Forgotten Berserker, the Last Keeper of the Sword Saint’s Legacy, the Failed Protector of the Samak Horde and the Sword Master of Lock Slaveborn.
And my heart swelled with pride, dispelling all the doubts and fears.
“Do not waste your breath, for I am deaf to the voice of Evil Ones.” Then, Arrosh’s Totem –the Raven– flew out of his back and enveloped the Swordmaster in its wings, ephemeral, beautiful and ominous all at once, a guardian spirit of the Orc People. “Master Nearnigh, give this foolish disciple strength, let me protect my disciple as you have protected me.”
“COME EVIL ONES! MAY THE CROWS FEAST ON YOUR CORPSES!”
Then all fucking hell broke loose.
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