24th day of Zun’s Rest, twelfth month of the year, 983:
After they parted ways with the paladin of Zun, Albestus started to explain his fears about what they had found in the forest.
“I fear that man deciphered that spell circle. He was right. After giving it a bit of attention the sigils are all completely wrong but it could, theoretically, work. The problem is that it has the same ‘feeding’ spell circles as normal spells added around certain parts of the construct. So….”
Before Albestus started to go on a tangent, Andras asked about what he thought was the true problem. “The thing we just escorted to the city is….?”
“A normal man, cursed, but normal.” Said without a doubt Albestus. Seeing the look of doubt on Andras’ eyes, he added, “When I touched his shoulder earlier I sent through him a wave of holy magic. He didn’t even flinch so it's impossible that he is an undead. A paladin cursed by whatever fits both his exile from the lands he so likes and the unholy amounts of grey mana he holds. I give him a year before he dies from exposure.”
“....I see.” Pitying the sapient they had just met, Andras refocused on the spell. ”Is it dangerous?”
“From what I saw is just a common water spell that grants control over liquids. It appears to be heavily customised, hence I can’t really pinpoint the use. But I can make a guess.” Lifting a finger into the air theatrically, he exclaimed, “I bet it’s a water cutter or something like that. Unorthodox, doubles as a shield, very difficult to defend from AND it is regenerable in the middle of combat, right?”
“But there wasn’t any river near the spell, wouldn’t it need water?”
“Oh, right. Well, the quick explanation is that the name ‘water spells’ is a colloquialism. While it is true most of those spells use water, the spells themselves can target any liquid; letting somebody as broody as our Lord Black of the Blackest Armour cast ‘blood cutters’ instead of ones made of water, turning the blood of your enemies into your ammunition.” As Andras had started to laugh, Albestus realised he had talked in the same way he talked at the Druid Guild. Cursing inwardly, he asked softly, “Do not tell him what I said today.”
“Granted.” Returning to seriousness, “A spell befitting of an undead. The disadvantages?”
Albestus nodded, impressed, as Andras addressed the underlying problem. “They lack force and cutting power. Completely useless against anything remotely armoured, they are the spells novices try to master because they look cool.”
“So, the parts you can’t translate are the ones that are the true danger.”
“Litio! You should come to my guild, you have enough quick wits to be a mage. Some mediocre mages tried to complicate the spell, none succeeded. It is unachievable to get it to both defend against magic and be able to destroy magical defences and not turn it into a waste of mana. Two separate spells would have ten times the efficiency. Their only use could be to reap unarmoured targets as flies, not that there aren’t hundreds of cheaper spells that can do that. Nonetheless, here we have a finished product that an undead themself is using, and undead are not as foolish to just try to appear cool.”
“Decipher it as soon as possible.”
“I will tell you when it is done.”
Separating in front of the castle. Andras went to the throne room and addressed that day's matters. A few hours later a guard handed him a letter without a seal. Putting it out of his mind, he finished his work and left the castle after nightfall. For a few days he maintained that routine while he was waiting for Ablestus’ research to complete.
…….
A snow storm was raging outside on the way to his home. Thinking absent minded about the difficulties of the journey Soral was on, he entered his house and sat in the kitchen. His daughter had made him dinner before going to sleep. He was growing uneasy with the slow research of Albetus and, trying to ease his mind, he started to eat.
Not calming down with only eating, he opened the forgotten letter from a few days ago to read it, thinking it was but the usual joke as it lacked a seal and waiting for it to calm down his nerves.
“To our illustrious Count of Alpin, Lord Noct of the Ashen Household
We are regretfully communicating the passing of your sister by writing. The Stars weep from her passing and the realm of the Empire today lost a capable person. She was attacked on the road by a bandit group and soon died to the sword.
But her passing marks a new beginning for your Baronny, Lord Noct. No longer constrained by her authority, you are to rule as you see fit. May the Empire prosper.
A fellow noble.”
The sounds of a paper crunching could be heard in the kitchen as the worst fears of Andras resurfaced with the force of a geyser. Looking at the clock, it had been 4 days since they had left, not enough time to find Soral was missing, send a search party and report the findings. “It had been planned all along.” Rising from his chair, he quickly wore his coat and rushed to the Druid Guild.
……….
“This fuckin’ storm is going to be the end of us.” Gumbled Lipos, one of the 3 veterans that had come with the carriage. He was an older refugee of the Republic from its centuries old war with the Empire.
“Thank the Gods we camped as soon as we did.” Spat Ymus, a far northerner. Looking at a magic device, he testified, “It’s -35ºC outside, and the wind sure ain’t helping. I pity the fools on watch.”
“Noct would be fine even on ‘the Frontier’, bastard’s as cold as ice. On the other hand, that elf chick is going to freeze alive.” Chimed Man, an old criminal. “Well, they got the dwarf, so I am sure they will be fine.”
In contrast to the tranquil atmosphere inside the tents Noct had enchanted, the outside was a veritable moving wall of white and snow. Seeing was as easy as running around without falling, something that, the winds promised, would be painful. Pellets of ice worth an inch were constantly striking the area as a howling wind of no less than 60 kilometers per hour carried its fair share of snow and smaller hail.
In this dangerous climate only the eyes of an elf or a wizard could see across the chaos. Lia was regretting being born an elf, for nothing she was wearing, even the mage’s coat, could stop the freezing cold from stinging her like an angry swarm of bees. Fixing the hood of the coat, she pressed on together with both Likos and Noct.
“You see something out of the ordinary?!?” Screamed, a few times, Likos.
Trying her utmost to see anything out of the ordinary, her eyes suddenly located an anomaly, a focal point of unnatural and clear shining, 70-80 meters away. “Yes!!! I think there….”
Before she could finish her answer, a crossbow’s bolt aimed from the east, from the right of where she had seen that light, hit her in the side of the head and bounced right off as if it had hit steel. Lia, on the other hand, lost consciousness and fell to the left side, pushed by both the wind and the inertia of the bolt. Before she hit the ground, Noct catched her and quickly rested her on the ground, not minding the snow nor the attack, and started to create tens of tiny spells on his fingers and positioned his right hand on the struck side while his left arm pushed her shoulders to rot her in place.
“Enemy attack!!” Screamed Noct. Before Likos could process the situation another bolt crossed his eyes, now aimed at Noct, and bounced off of the spheric magic shield that it made visible as the bolt struck, to quickly return to its transparent state. His voice was carried unopposed thanks to another magic spell.
“Defensive formation around this area!! Bring both Soral and Sorak, now!!!” Likos rushed to his side and quickly unbinded the shield he was carrying, putting himself in the middle of the bowman and Noct. Two metal hits and one against rock, the one hitting the magic shield, were heard, the metal hits originated from the small battle that the bolts had against the shield of Likos. Noticing a sudden pain on his guts, Likos could but fall backwards into the area the shield of Noct protected. Looking down, he saw that both his shield and mail had been clearly penetrated and that he had two bolts deeply embedded in his guts. Getting up thanks to sheer force of will he noticed a charging swordsman and engaged him in battle.
The clashing of swords and sudden screams could be heard from the camp and, soon enough, Tiamat and Itmas came to reinforce. Their readiness had come more from necessity, as they were the next lookouts, than from quickness, but here they were.
“Great, a brain edema. The bolt was enough to both break the skull and cause brain haemorrhage.” Analized Noct, with a medical spell, as Lia started to slightly bleed from the ears.
The spell itself was an analytic construct, working on the same principle as the spell of ground remediation. It sended waves of mana and recollected their echoes, letting the mage see inside the patient. A revolutionary method of wound treating only available to nobles, as it was a very complicated spell, it relied on knowledge of the structure and functioning of the body in question and, thanks to his experiments to recreate an artificial vampire, he had that in spares.
Fine tuning with illusion magic to focus his field of vision to the inside of the wound, the outside and the flow of the blood at the same time, he started to stabilise and repair the damaged zone with water and reinforcement magic. The bolt had struck on the side of the skull, just above the temporal bone, and had caused the skull to break inwards, towards the brain matter, increasing the pressure on the brain, causing acute subdural bleeding and intracerebral haemorrhage.
Sensing both a stroke and a seizure, he casted invasive necromantic spells to control the body, artificially stabilising the heart rate and keeping both the blood flow and respiration steady. “The complicated part comes now.” As time was of essence he forsake the possibility of his guards failing and he dying, and deepened his concentration, starting to both regrow the brain matter and the different stratus of the skull bones while regressing the latter to its original position. Having to act with haste before the brain suffered complications or memory loss, he was forced to use his internal mana, forcing his eyes to slowly turn a bright but creepy dark green.
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“Slow and steady, slow and steady.” Trying to keep his concentration against both the chaos outside and him starting to cough up blood, as his internal mana suffered an anomaly and turned inestable. As he had not the time to care about any of that, he upped the speed of the treatment, starting to sweat heavily. About ten seconds after the treatment began, Lia breathed in and tried to get up, the iron hold of Noct maintaining her immobilised. As soon as she awakened she started to scream in pain and rebelled against his unrelenting grip, as she could feel her bones and brain twisting and mending.
After a few moments of the status quo, Sorak arrived first and tried to start healing her before Noct screamed. “Don’t!! Join the frontlines, I need a mage!!” Nodding, surprised by the desperation in his voice and the odd choice of words, she quickly joined the fight against the bandits.
A few seconds later, she realised he was needed there, as Likos had already reached his limits and had fallen to the ground while Lipos had lost an arm and was screaming in pain on the ground. Four enemies remained standing. She gasped and instinctively evaded a bolt shot that cut her in the left cheek and soon heard it ricochet against the magic shield of Noct. Rising her shield higher, she charged towards the sapients, the storm difficulting her movements and reflexes.
Meanwhile, Soral arrived at the side of her brother, who had his face drenched in his blood, thanks to his eyes as they had started to bleed a bit. Gulping her unease together with her saliva, she asked, “What do you need me for?”
“Hold her down!” Soral quickly grabbed her by the shoulders and locked her in place.
“Done, now what?”
Noct made another spell, on his now free left hand, that rotated around it and grabbed Lia by the face. Moments later, she fell asleep.
“Hold the spells!” Not a second later he got up and phased in her shadow and out of there.
“Hold the, wait!!” She had no time to think before she had to rush her hands towards the spell circles that had become orphans. “I see, only sending mana. I could have used an explanation nevertheless.” Soon enough snow started to pile on top of her.
……….
“Is she still alive?!?” Tried to question Jetsun, the Commander of the small military detachment of the army of the Duchess of the North. Under their bandit-like clothes they wore some badly hidden clothes from the men at arms of the Astar County, as per their agreement with the ‘Hands’ to frame the countess as the killer of Soral.
“Yes, we only killed two and neutralised four of her guards. They are better than we hoped.” Answered the crossbowman. Taking aim at Sorak again after having his four earlier shots aimed at Noct blocked, he cursed, “That paladin is the last problem, she is holding up our last four men by herself. The rest ar…wait a second, where’s the healer who was next to….?”
Before he could finish the sentence Noct rose from the ground he was currently lying on and impaled him from the forehead to the back of the head. Drawing back his blood drenched gauntlet and smacking the air to drop the blood and brain matter on the snow, he looked towards the captain and the look-out.
“The-the black demon!” Stuttering, the look-out screamed, an old bandit made a soldier. Noct truly was honouring his fame; alien green, piercing eyes, dressed in a black light armour with spikes and drenched in blood, topping it all, the face of a mad man with the unfocused gaze of someone not seeing reality. He was a sight to behold.
In fright, the ex-bandit tried to run while the commander, now cursing under his breath, unsheathed his sword thanks to muscle memory. The plan relied on Noct not being invited to the celebration of the countess, doomed to fail otherwise as they had not brought any mages to counter him. Seeing Noct dashing towards him, he rose to parry a feint that found Noct’s fist in his guts, stabbing him and grabbing his intestines. Not wasting a second, Noct disembowelled the bastard, who fell to the ground thinking about the dark fate that awaited his family with his failure and death.
That regret was soon overshadowed by the heavy pain he was feeling. Not wanting to spare the soldier the slow end, Noct focused on the retreating soldier, who found himself skewed by a necromantic bolt to the back. Already rushing to the other crossbowman he didn’t spare a glance to both of the dying men he had left behind.
……..
Sorak had grown severely tired and cold. Fighting four coordinated enemies at the same time wasn’t easy, even less so in a winter storm. Her shield had almost been broken with the last strike of a mace and her armour was on its last legs, the only reason she was still alive was the very storm that she was cursing, as it caused the same difficulties to her enemies and disrupted their coordination.
Against all odds, she had managed to strike one bandit down. A fleeting victory as, as soon as she prepared the next strike she failed a parry and was stabbed in the left shoulder, nullifying her shield arm and making her stagger backwards. Getting ready for a last stand, as her lady was a few steps behind her, she raised her sword and swore to take down another.
What nobody expected of those three left was a young woman, armed with a dagger, to blurt out from the storm and collide with the soldier further back, stabbing his side. Distracting the middle soldier and letting Sorak parry an uncoordinated strike and slash the neck of the first one, they had managed to turn the 3vs1 into two ones at one. Sorak quickly rushed to the second soldier who, watching the still favourable situation they had, took advantage of her exhaustion and played the defensive game, waiting for his comrade to deal with that harlot and come to his side.
A scream from Mulia made Sorak’s blood boil. She could do nothing but watch as the bandit pushed Mulia away, pulled the dagger off his side, approached and promptly lose his jaw from a hook that came off the shadows of his feet. Reeling back from the strike, he tried to stab the new enemy, enchanted dagger sinking into enchanted armour and managing to win, drawing blood from the deep wound in the flank it made before tearing his flesh as it exited. With his balance broken, he was quickly punched in the face and stepped on his chest after he fell from the hit, crushing his ribs and sending their shards into his internal organs.
The last bandit tried to collapse Sorak but she was now the one who played the defence game and was soon grabbed by the back, knocked on his back and plummeted with a stomp.
Sitting on the snow and doing the best to breathe again, she heard Soral scream.
“Noct, what do I do now!?!” Growing increasingly fearful of the circles she was trying to stabilise.
Noct, however, was still hitting the now dead body while muttering something.
“Lord Noct!!” Screamed Sorak. Seeing as he remained irresponsible, she grabbed his coat and pulled, knocking him into the ground.
“Reality to Noct!! We need to start healing now!!” Focus returning to his eyes, he scrambled to get near Lia while Sorak rose up and ran to tend the dwarf.
“What do I do now?” Asked Soral, again.
Noct, pressing his side, looked into the wound. The brain matter had, thankfully, been restored to before the hit and, while it hadn’t fully healed, the skull was fixed moreless. Awaking her, Lia started to cough.
Dispelling the spells, he said, “Care with the head. Take it easy and do not think nor speak. Good job Soral.”
Trying to nurse Lia, she didn’t realise the injury of Noct, who went back to heal together with Sorak.
Likos, who had already received treatment for his three stab injuries, tried to support Noct before being turned away.
“How many deaths?”
“Three, four if Lipos bleeds out before treatment.” Quickly rushing towards Lipos, Noct grabbed the neat arm, almost frozen solid, and pushed it towards the stump while he started to weave more spells..
“Aah. Did we….win?”
“No, I’m a ghost.”
“A fucking scary one.” Joked Lipos. “Does it look bad?”
Tracing the wound that connected both the severed arm and the stump with a finger, its touch mended the skin, not leaving a scar.
“Whoa.” Exclaimed Likos.
“What did you want to work on, Lipos?” Noct evaded the question and treated the wound from the inside.
Realising what he was telling him, he meditated for a while and answered, “.....being a bartender doesn’t sound half bad. I always loved drinking.”
“Then I will grant you a recommendation note for the Carpenters' Guild, they will give you a good price for your tavern. Do not fear, you will keep the arm. Won’t work the same, but close enough.”
“Thank you,.…the others?”
Sorak, having finished his treatments, answered from behind. “Tiamat, Man and Ymus are dead. The rest are battered but well.”
“...I need a drink.” Cursed Lipos. Likos quietly passed him his wineskin, both of their faces cold after losing friends.
“I will keep watch, rest up men.” Said Noct absentminded.
Both saluted and watched him go away.
……..
Out of earshot, Noct cursed aloud while he pressed his wound, walking towards the bodies of the bandits. “Those bolts and blades were enchanted, fuck.” Tripping on a root and hitting a tree made him scream, a sound the storm drowned out. Crouching near a bandit's body, he cursed himself for his lacking as a leader. It had almost been covered up by the snow, and he tried to analyse the mail and clothing they wore. “Troops from, the countess?!?, weapons and enc…ugh….enchantments from skilled magic binders. Too skilled.” His blood forming a small pool beneath him, he found green eyes staring at him. Cursing his delusions caused by pain he tried to move the bandit’s body to find his hands trembling, without force. A sudden strong wind knocked him onto his injured side, causing him to scream again.
“By Elenia!! Can you hold still before you bleed out!?!” Sorak, who had followed him as soon as he had finished tending the other wounded, quickly grabbed Noct and supported him by the shoulder towards a nearby tree.
“By the Gods…How can you walk is beyond me.” Noct, trembling from the cold, could not respond. She quickly gave a prayer to her Goddess and put his now healing hands onto his wound, sending him holy magic. Noct started to scream as if he was being skinned alive and his wound started to bleed out more. “It is just a simple stab, the worst part is that the serrated edge of the dagger tore a side of the wound while it exited but it should be easier than the other wounds, why is this happening? Could it have been poisoned? No, the others were fine.” Before she could send another pulse of healing, Noct pushed her hands away and looked at her with an unfocused gaze, one eye green and the other brown.
“Do not do more. I, I can deal with it.”
“Noct, you are dying. If you do not let me heal you, you are going to bleed out.”
“I said to leave me alone!!”
Taken aback by his sudden outburst, she backed a bit and looked at Noct. A completely battered appearance, drenched in blood and snow, his eyes shifting tones between the green and the brown continuously. “He is suffering from grey…” She cut her line of thinking before it arrived at a place she couldn’t have ignore as a paladin of Elenia.
Tearing a piece of his clothes, she tried to bandage his wound while Noct casted and failed the execution of some spells, the runic spells flickering green and blue before shattering. Seeing that it was his concentration that was failing him, she tried to calm him up using his battered shield, reinforced by his faith, to hide them from the worst of the storm and speaking as softly as she could.
“Breath in and out. The injury is not that bad for your healing. Calm down.”
“It, it is the same that happened with Simon, tried to save him too, cost us men. The same, it happened again, I killed him again.” Seeing Noct descend into a panic spiral she took the risky bet. With a controlled punch she knocked him out and forced with sheer faith the wound to heal ignoring its unnatural sizzling and bubbling until it formed a horrible scar that extended way more than it should have, now lording almost half of his side.
Rising him up and carrying him on her shoulders while feeling her recently treated wounds scream in pain, she returned to the campment.
……………..