Chapter Seven
Jackson blew out a breath as he stood crouched and away from Dylan’s camp.
“I can barely see! I don’t understand why we have to be so far away,” Riselle protested. Her voice was a whisper, but it was still delivered forcefully. Melanie shook her head and sucked in a breath through her nose, letting it out before saying,
“We don’t want to risk being spotted, Riselle. We talked about this already.”
Adaran nodded in agreement. Riselle grumbled, but she fell silent. Players moved about the camp, which had large and small tents, and fires set up in two different places. A half-shod wall made of rocks and random stones surrounded the camp, not overly large, clearly sourced from the dungeon. Dylan himself was present.
He was similar to Jackson; ge grudgingly observed him with narrowed eyes, leaning, a sword at his hip. His hair was chestnut brown, almost artfully curled, and though Jackson had trouble making out all of his features, they were strong and almost noble. He wore brown leathers with a darker brown coat over them, and his hands were gloved. Dylan moved with the confidence of one used to being in command. He was to be Jackson's opponent.
Jackson felt his heart beat a little faster and shifted nervously. He steeled himself to stillness, taking a calming breath. He could do this, and he would do this. Now was the time to test himself, to truly see if he were a good swordsman or not.
Jackson brought up his katana skill.
Your katana skill is Journeyman level 10.
He had not expected it to progress so quickly, but it seemed the spiders had been high-level. Honestly, how did the Judge determine when a level was warranted? Jackson shook his head, dismissing the question; it was unhelpful for now. He looked over at Melanie and said,
“I’m going to approach now and set this in motion. Are you ready?”
She nodded and dove around the wall to the corridor that headed back the way they had come. A second later she returned, but this time she was followed by many players holding bows, as many as eight of them. She nodded, her eyes blazing with determination. Jackson took a deep breath and stood up.
Then he approached the camp, ready to confront Dylan.
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The two guards at what could be called the entrance of the camp wore the same basic brown leathers Jackson was beginning to see so much of; he held out a sword pointed directly at Jackson to bar their way and shook his head.
“Who are you?”a guard sneered. He was a bulky man with a very mouse-like face, dark hair cut short, and dull brown eyes. The sneer made him look particularly ugly. The one next to him was smaller in build, with a gruff face, unsmiling and considering as his brown eyes scrutinized Jackson.
Jackson analyzed the pair.
The one on the left is a level 11 warrior. The one on the right is a level 12 brute. Both are humans.
Jackson nodded, wondering if Melanie and the others were on a similar level. Why hadn’t they analyzed them? It just hadn’t occurred to Jackson before, and that was a mistake. That kind of information could prove useful; they needed to do it more often. They rested a hand on their katana.
“Where is your boss?” Jackson asked. The brute spit at their feet, his ugly features twisting into something even more horrifying to look at.
“That’s none of your concern, worthless newb. Get lost or else.” The warrior said nothing, but his gaze flicked to Jackson's katana and back to them. Jackson nodded pleasantly.
“I don’t think he’d be very happy to hear that you turned away a challenger. Haven't you analyzed me yet? Surely you can see I am a swordsman.” They touched the hilt of their katana for emphasis. The brutish guard narrowed his eyes for a flash of a second, but then he laughed, and there was no humor in it.
“I doubt you'd be much of a challenge; you're a low-level scrub, barely level 4. Worthless.” He sneered again as he glared at Jackson, his eyes full of hate.
“How would Dylan feel about you making that decision? Come on now, run and tell your boss, and at the very least he can decide for himself, or do you think you know better?” Jackson asked, eyebrow raised.
The brutish guard took a menacing step forward, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. The silent one placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and uncompromising. He shook his head as the angry guard glanced at him. He scowled but stepped back. The silent guard turned and went into the camp, his strides purposeful. Jackson smiled at the guard, whose eyes burned with undisguised menace.
“If the boss does decide to fight you, scum, you must know that you will lose. The boss will cut out your heart and send you to respawn in pieces.”
Jackson felt a pulse of fear tighten around his quickening heart. However, he simply smiled widely at the guard.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Which is it? Will he cut me into pieces first, or will he cut out my heart first? It seems to me that if he cut out my heart, cutting my body into pieces afterwards would be kind of redundant.”
The guard's fists whitened, and his breath came harder. He was a hair's breadth from violence. Yet he did not get his chance to act on it. The silent guard had returned, and Dylan was with him. Dylan scrutinized Jackson, taking in their stance and his eyes flicking to their katana. His sword hand gripped his sword's hilt, but it wasn't in anger but rather in anticipation. His eyes glittered, like those of a predator ready to pounce.
“My guards tell me you are challenging me. Are you sure about that? You're only level 4, which seems like suicide to me.”
Jackson had come this far, and he certainly were not going to back down from it now. They grinned at Dylan.
“Trying to give me an out? I hadn't heard you were a coward.”
That did it. Dylan's eyes went dead, and his face settled into a calm mask. His voice was colder than the winter snow.
“Follow me,” he replied.
Jackson followed him deeper into their camp, and they passed several cages. In them were players with dead eyes, and as Jackson looked into those dead eyes, he caught flashes of something precious, a light being corrupted by darkness. Something hardened within Jackson then, and their eyes narrowed. He took a breath, calming the flash of anger that lanced through them. Soon they came to a clearing where there were no tents or bedrolls. Mannequins had been set up, and it became clear to Jackson that this was a practice area. Players began gathering around Dylan and Jackson in a loose circle. Dylan drew his blade in a smooth motion.
“Let's get this over with; I have things to be about,” Dylan stated with a bored tone.
Jackson sighed, and he analyzed Dylan.
This is Dylan Roache, a level 16 swordsman.
His lips twisted into a frown; he was significantly higher level than Jackson was. Jackson weren't sure he could win this, and he could very well lose another life here. He wasn't eager to die; losing just another life would put Jackson on his last one. Lose that, and he wouldn't be coming back. He drew his katana and steeled himself. He really hoped Melanie and her people were getting into position. They were supposed to begin the attack as soon as the fight was underway.
Dylan held up a hand to the others.
“No one is to interfere,” he commanded.
Then he attacked. The first thing Jackson was forced to notice was that he were outclassed. Jackson was simply not prepared for his speed; the man moved like lightning itself. Instinct guided him, and he barely fended off his slash with his katana. Still, though he had fended it off, the blade had more reach than he accounted for, and it nicked Jackson's shoulder.
You have been lightly wounded and are bleeding.
He almost laughed at the Judge for pointing out the obvious. Except he had no time for laughter, and the pain was not pleasant. Jackson pushed the pain away; Dylan was sizing him up. His predatory eyes were scanning them, taking in Jacksons balanced stance and the way they held the blade. There was a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
That was when arrows began to slam into the crowd. Shouts of pain filled the air, and blood spurted from open wounds, coating the dark gray stone. Dylan did not seem to care. He merely watched Jackson and then struck like a viper. He came low, and Jackson managed to deflect the slash and then the overhead slash that followed it. Back and forth, they moved across that clearing, a dangerous dance of blades.
Your katana skill has increased to level 11.
He dodged an overhead slash, ducking under it as a massive roar echoed off the walls. Melanie's crew had attacked. Dylan cocked his head at Jackson.
“You're relieved. You shouldn't be,” Dylan said as he hurled toward Jackson like a lightning bolt.
Jackson earned a slice on his ribs, opening up his clothing and his skin like a ripe apple. The cut felt deeper than the last, and the pain was so much worse that it lit up Jackson's entire being, and he wanted to howl and fling his blade. Instead, he gritted his teeth and pushed the pain away. He would not allow it to take him. He had to acknowledge that he was losing. A thought floated across Jackson's mind, but its passing was a storm of warning.
Why wasn't Dylan concerned about the attack? Jackson understood that he had a hatred for defeating other swordsmen, some kind of complex, but anyone in his position should be showing some concern. His people were being shot with arrows; a battle was erupting around him. Why did he not appear the least bit worried?
Dylan did not give Jackson time to think it through; he was on him again, and his katana danced with his blade, fending off his attacks with desperation more than anything else. Then a deadly combination of blades led to both of their blades locked against each other. Dylan smiled at Jackson through the gap between the blades. He appeared not to struggle at all with holding them back.
“Did you think I had no contingencies in place for this? Melanie is my enemy. I knew she wanted my head, so I knew she would try something like this. Maybe not this specifically; I have to admit, she certainly knows how to push me, but I knew she would try something.”
Jackson's eyes widened, and then Dylan pushed him away with force and produced a dagger with his off hand. In one blur of motion, a burst of speed even faster than before, he stabbed Jackson. All he could do was turn to the side, trying not to take it directly. It slashed his other side, just under their other wound. More pain erupted—a fire that threatened to consume him.
Jackson intended to focus past it, but instead he simply dropped to the ground, like a stone, katana clattering beside him. Its sound a distant echo as his vision began to blur and twist, barely making out the notification that lit up his mind.
You have been critically injured. You have been poisoned with a paralytic; however, it is only partially effective.
Dylan crouched beside Jackson.
“I would have preferred to beat you in a straight-up fight. Frankly, though, you lack the skill to beat me. You wield the blade; you do it well, but you are not one with it. Your skill clearly came from your Domain, not added to it, but you do not embrace that part of yourself. Disappointing. Well, I suppose it's time to deal with this little incursion into my camp by your allies.“
Dylan stood and waved a hand. Suddenly, vines erupted from the ground and lanced through warriors and archers alike. The vines did not seem to have any kind of limit on distance; they moved like living spears, seeking out Melanie's people and piercing or grabbing them.
Jackson had not paid too much attention to the battle around them; he had been too focused on Dylan, but now he had plenty of time. Warriors engaged with one another, slashing with blades; one took the head of one of Dylan's followers with a brutal overhead slash. Mages wove spells and flung them at others, setting tents ablaze. Yet Dylan's vines snaked through all of it, unconcerned and unworried.
That was when something truly monstrous entered the battle. A nightmare roar split the air, and the hairs on the back of Jackson's neck stood up. Whatever that roar was, it was undeniably not human, not elf, not any race they had seen or heard of up to that point. It was hellish and rageful.
It was coming for them.