Resting the cudgel on the ground with his good arm, Mican kept a steady gaze on the enraged knight as he struggled to stand up.

A slight calm set over the battlefield as the knight struggled to his feet, and Mican took the time to catch his bearings.

The knight had fallen off of his horse, in full metal armor. Mican was surprised to see him even have the energy to scream, seeing as how the average man would have been completely immobile, but he decided not to judge this strange place with his old common sense, and didn’t let his guard down.

He turned his eyes over the clearing, surveying his situation and considering his odds of survival.

A figure in a green cloak, Erving, could be seen running around the battlefield, rushing to pick up scattered arrows and checking on the condition of his companions.

Brewster was in a sitting position, supported by Mirabel who was giving him sips of a blood red liquid from a small vial. His studded leather breastplate was sitting on the cobblestone beside him, a deep indentation on its center.

The scholar, Leigh, was chanting constantly in a strange language that Mican could not make out, his eyes locked on Mican.

The young man didn’t mind the gaze, but his instincts were warning him of a danger from the scholar that grew more and more prominent over time. Feeling uncomfortable over it, he decided on his first course of action.

Leaning the Mace onto his leg, he vigorously wiped off the fresh blood on his free hand onto his shirt.

Tearing sounded across the clearing, breaking the slight silence and slightly startling all of the party members. Mican ripped off his shirt, wrapping it around his unbroken hand, gripping the mace in his palms with a steel grip.

Strong muscles covered in sweat gleaned in the morning light as Mican began walking forward, his destination being the chanting scholar.

Thwum!

A twang sounded out and an arrow whistled forward as Erving, quick to react, pulled the string on his bow, firing directly at Mican’s head.

Completely prepared for it, the young man raised his arm and shattered the arrow on his shoulder upon impact.

A slight vibration was sent through Mican’s body shaking his broken fingers, making him clench his teeth in pain.

Immediately after the impact, the loud clanging of metal sounded out as the knight, having gotten to his feet, rushed towards Mican.

The scraping of metal on metal hissed as the knight drew his sword from his scabbard, his shield having been abandoned on the ground in his haste.

Mican refused to give the man any ground, and sprinted towards the knight himself, raising the mace above his head in a swinging motion.

Seeing the rampaging man charging towards him, the knight immediately stopped in his tracks, crouching and placing his knees shoulder-width apart. He gripped his sword with both hands, raising the blade above his head, pointing the tip at Mican.

Dust was sent flying up with every step the young man took, and the air brushed past his bare skin, cooling his sweat slightly.

All it took was a few seconds for Mican to reach the man, the muscles in his arm bulging as he swung down with all of his strength.

Before the mace could even properly swing in full motion, its momentum was broken by an arrow that shot itself into Mican’s shoulder.

The arrow was sent directly into the arm that was connected to his broken hand, and pain tore through his body as he gritted his teeth.

Taking the opportunity, the knight stepped forward with one leg, and swung his blade in a clockwise motion.

A silver arc cut through the air as the blade whistled towards Mican, directed at the shoulder of his good arm.

“GRAHH!”

Letting loose a shout, the young man stabilized his footing, stomping the ground hard. He rested the mace on his shoulder and a loud clash reverberated throughout the clearing as the sword struck the mace, sending him to his knees.

A strange standstill was presented as both men fought for control. The knight pushing the sword down with both of his hands, pressing the blade towards Mican’s throat.

The man on his knees was forced to even use his broken hand as leverage, not having the luxury to care about the screaming pain that shot up his arm.

A thud sounded out, then another, and another.

Arrows whistled through the air as the archer of the group repeatedly pulled the string of his bow in a swift motion, sending them straight into the kneeling man’s back. The arrows tore into the weakened man’s body, burying themselves into his flesh.

Cold beads of sweat dripped down Mican’s forehead, but he did not utter a single sound, only gritting his teeth as a line of blood ran down the side of his mouth.

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“Curse you to a life of lead!”

The voice that had been chanting inconspicuously in the background suddenly became clear and comprehensible, turning into a commanding shout, full of rage.

While Mican was unable to turn his head, he knew the source to the voice to be the scholar he had been worrying about.

“Grah!” The young man forced out all of his adrenaline with a shout, pushing his knee into a standing position and shoving the armored knight onto the ground with the shoulder of his broken hand.

His vision grew slightly blurry as he forced his body to move and beads of sweat fell from his face onto the ground, sizzling upon contact.

Swiveling his body on the spot, he turned his head towards the source of the voice, red filling his vision.

Leigh had raised his staff, pointing it at Mican. The scholar was no longer chanting, but merely staring at Mican in complete focus.

Taking a step towards the man, Mican quickly realized the effect of the strange chant, and the meaning of the words spoken out before.

The young man felt his body stiffen up as he raised his left foot to take a step. It was stiffening, but not stiffening of the muscles or the body. This was a stiffening as in he could not move as he willed himself to.

He comprehended his step to be extremely slow, but he could not force himself to move faster, as if he was already at his maximum speed.

Mican’s eyes slowly widened, and he was forced to take a closer look at the world, his pupils dilating at a snail’s pace.

He could see the dignified stance of a green cloaked man, as another thud sounded out in the air, an arrow striking his body and digging into his chest. Erving finally put down his hand and gazed at Mican, his eyes firm and unblinking.

The arrow had been slowed considerably after it had entered the area of around a foot in front of Mican, but it had no less of an impact, and there was nothing he could do about it as it struck him.

Mican could hear the scholar’s words, and could see the arrow, but the pain didn’t come until several long seconds later, and the thought to dodge or block didn’t even register in his head. He felt like he was in a sea of syrup, and the only way he could describe it was slow-motion.

The clattering of armor sounded out behind Mican, and in the shadows of the sun, he could see the knight standing back up.

The shadow of the knight lifted up a long cross-sword, pointing is directly at Mican, and he took his previous guard stance.

“Demon, you will suffer for your actions. Prepare yourself.” While Mican could not fully comprehend the situation he was in, he could hear every word that came out of the knight’s mouth.

The knight’s tone was full of anger and shame.

He stabbed the blade forward, sparing no time, and Mican could only watch the shadows as the blade slowly pierced towards his heart.

“Ahhhhhhh!” An ear-piercing scream of pain sounded out in the middle of the battlefield and echoed across the plains.

“Milton, no!” Another scream rang out, but the source of it was from directly behind Mican.

A heavy thud sounded out in the air, along with a grunt of pain, followed directly by another louder thud.

Time seemed to break apart for Mican, and it felt to him as if he had escaped a wall of ice, everything immediately speeding back up.

He completed the step he had taken before he had slowed down in the direction of the scholar, and immediately after, he felt a pain shoot through his backside as cold steel entered his body. The blade cut forward swiftly, glancing off a rib and breaking its momentum.

“Argh!” A scream of pain rang out from the young man, and he toppled unsteadily, nearly falling.

Forcing himself to catch his pace, he steadied himself on one leg and turned around, swinging his mace in one fluent motion.

Splurt.

Blood flew out everywhere as the head of the knight was caught in the full swing of Mican’s mace, being blasted off of its body. A red fluid sprayed out onto the battlefield from the decapitated corpse, spraying onto the ground and covering Mican’s frontside.

A thwack sounded out as a pulverized mass of flesh and metal splattered onto one of the trees in the forest, falling to the dirt.

The body of the knight fell to its knees, falling forward onto the ground. Blood quickly drained from the body, forming a thick pool beneath it, and the corpse twitched continuously even after death.

Having no time to spare, Mican immediately dropped his mace and grabbed the blade of the sword that entered his body.

“RAAAGHH!” In one fluid motion he yanked the blade out, letting loose spurt of blood along with a cry of pain.

Unraveling his torn shirt from his hand, the young man wrapped the wound in his back in an extremely tight knot, pulling the shirt together with a grunt. His muscles trembled and he panted heavily out of sheer pain and exertion.

Looking at the blade on the ground, he realized that he had only survived due to that step he had made before being slowed by the spell, breaking the position of the sword.

Turning his head, the young man examined the battlefield and the source of the scream with furrowed brows.

Leigh was lying on the ground, completely unmoving. He was lying back-first in a pool of his own blood. The scholar’s face was pale, and his eyes were rolled back into his head. He was evidently dead.

Turning his head once more, a large and muscular red arm entered his field of view.

Mican recognized the arm to belong to the demon, completely soaked in blood. It extended out from the jail wagon, the metal bars warped around its limb as if clay.

The arm punctured the body of a red-haired woman, Mirabel, and supported her in the air very close to the jail wagon. She hung in the air motionlessly, drool and blood running down her chin, her eyes wide in shock and fear.

The scream Mican noticed had likely come from Mirabel after she had died.

In the grip of the demon’s hand was the blood head of the party leader, Brewster. Mican noticed that he had likely died in silence along with Mirabel, having not even noticed the demon’s movements, as his eyes were still stuck in a glare of fury in what would have been Mican’s direction.

His headless body was on the ground at the side of the carriage, near an equally dead horse. A half empty red vial was clutched tightly in its grip.

Mican crouched down and grabbed his mace, his adrenaline spiking once again as the arm made a move.

It pulled back far and swung forward, releasing the head in the young archer’s direction.

Erving stood there motionless, in horror, as the head of his party leader and old friend sailed through the sky, flying towards him.

A loud crack sounded out as the head struck Erving with intense might, and he fell to the ground motionless.

“Haaahaaahaaahaahaaaaaa!” A laughter sounded out from the jail wagon, full of glee and joy.

Mican looked on in revulsion and horror, a bile welling up in his stomach as he scanned his eyes across the field.

“Blerghhh!” The young man gave several dry heaves, but nothing came out as his stomach was completely empty from the void until now.

“Haaaahaaaahaaaahaa! Ahem…ahem…” Another bout of sickening laughter rang throughout the clearing, as if to mock the young man.

The laughing was followed by several harsh coughs, and Mican could immediately see why.

As the demon lowered its arm, and Mirabel’s body slid off, he was given a much better view.

The first knight that was in charge of the horses had also been killed along with his horse. His headless body could be seen lying beneath the carriage, but he didn’t go down without a fight.

A cross sword had been stabbed deep into the demon’s side, the hilt sticking out of its ribcage.

“Hahaha…”

Seeing this scene, the young man gave out a dark chuckle and steadied himself on his feet.

With a sinister rage brewing in his heart, the young man dragged himself towards the carriage.