The swordsmen armor was a very bland leather armor with a piece of metal pauldron on the right arm going all the way to right side of the chest, probably to protect the heart. That aside from the brand new look wasn’t something special. But thankfully for the loud armor on this quiet hall, that the drowsing mind of Mordread was cleared. And so in that moment when Mordread heard the very first words since arriving here, it speaker was a young man with his golden hair flying and a face filled with determination and the voice yet to mature totally, with a tint anger he proclaimed with great pomp as to everyone outside the hall could hear:

  “Ritm@Çǝʌ ǝnipkm asmʇuAS ru oɹɟkuRO AK*#KԀITER!”

  “…”

Mordread was at loss, not one word that he could understand, but the hostility is clear and without himself noticing that the custom of squinting his eyes when he was stupefied, was stamped on his new face, while his mind is trying to create a plan on what to do.

But such action was interpreted as an insult and his great tale about something that Mordread don’t have a clue about what he was talking about was cut short in a wrathful end.

  “If his only reason to come here was that what he was talking about, I’m sure that is quickly turning into a personal affai-  mordread thought was interrupted for a moment- ahh he even took out the sword to prove his point”

With a frowning on his face, the swordsmen pointed toward Mordread. His sword was, in a way, impressive, creating a strong contrast to the rest of his lackluster attire. The sword itself that was fairly normal for a one-handed sword, if it wasn’t for the strong metallic blue core.

Was that moment that Mordread got out of the throne, using the opportunity to finally see what he was wearing, but in order to be too conspicuous he decide to while got up he took out the strand of white hair from his face long enough to fall into his the thin dark red cape, that hides a fairly normal and plain black suit without any detail, but couldn’t cover his bare foot. The problem lies in the fact that he might have raised too fast for his newly arrived body, sudden vertigo assaulted him for but 1 sec, his body contracted while he tried to maintain eye contact with the swordsmen. The resulting scene was the slow hand swiping my hair and raised chin looking down on him.

Mordread controlled himself to not close his eyes and sigh on what he had just done, the swordsmen showed caution by Mordread sudden movement and but haven’t charged straight like Mordread expected. Looking him in the eye mordread asked this aggressive man, his voice was deep and raspy voice:

  “Who are you?”

Don’t drag on how was like to hear his voice like that, the bitter taste start to fill Mordread mouth as he looks at the hero reaction

  “Not a clue, hm...wasn't that the worst possible scenario?Ok, maybe that wasn’t the key language maybe…- after a brief pause he finished his plan- well nothing to lose...”

What happened was that the swordsmen looked equally confused as Mordread was when he first heard him, with a mix of confusion and wariness. Mordread, took a quick breath and tried again on other languages he knows, but even trying to maintain a more neutral intonation possible, but the sharp words were the basis of the language and each new word he made a more active gesticulation as if was giving a speech. Now in the inverted position is the young swordsmen that crumpled into hostility, each strong intonation getting worse, ending with a click of the tongue and thought:

  ‘Look like my manners seen to have upset the young man. making a straight face was harder than I thought. Have to extend on ‘who/what are you’ and ‘Why you are here’. Well, well,  but, was enough time to look around…’

The swordsmen blue eyes were already wandering over Mordread attire and posture, choosing his first strike dead set on his move. While thinking about his performance a mix of self-depreciative and excitement have turned his superiority gaze, into a condescending one without him noticing.

That was the last straw, the swordsmen lost his hesitation and filled with anger rush to sword high in his direction.

  “a-ah-aa…”

On a twist of fate, Mordread freezes when the sword really descended on him, standing there and stuttering gibberish, but he took his bearing back, least stopped trembling, and gracefully make a dodge roll to the left side. Or so he wanted, what happened was that the trembling was taken care of by the fear of being chopped in two and the dodge was a product of his instinct of survival but the graceful dodge roll was but a pipe dream. Even with Mordread showing the bare minimum skill to roll sideways, when coming to the action of jumping over the stairs, into the debris and with a weapon millimeters of taking his life, ended basically with him threw himself down the stairs like a tumbleweed and relying on pure luck.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Mordread mind was racing like his heart, while he clumsily got up while cursing all his way out of tangled cape, and each second spent fighting the cape, was an extra second for things get worse.

When he becomes free from his own cloth he finally could see the swordsmen and understood why he hasn’t been cut yet. Mordread only manages to glimpse the last movement before the swordsman entered in another attack instance, but his face was still showing a frowning doubt. Mordread wanted to make a small bitter smile while he imagined what was going through the swordsmen mind:

After all that talk, making such a big deal must be… unsettling at the least, the great enemy show such embarrassing- but Mordread thoughts were cut short even before that smile could form on his face.

So just as he got his equilibrium the young swordsmen followed the strike. His eyes changed, the anger is gone and now his face shows focus while his eyes confusion.

Mordread wasn’t surprised as last time and used his everything to dodge away from him while forgoing any roll, more often than not each jump and sidestep was meet by hitting or stepping on a sharp piece of rock and glass. He wanted to take something from the ground to defend himself but the swordsmen were tireless attacking him. He wanted to turn and run to the exit but with the swordsmen so close he couldn’t give the luxury of giving his back to it. He wanted to at least dodge on a place he would get the advantage of, but that was a back of the mind concern as he devoted entire attention or try to dodge.

The swordsmen were skilled and his attack firm, that riddled Mordread body with small flesh wounds. However, each a couple of swings he would make a pause and slight shock head and focus again on his attack because of each attack even if he manages to leave a wound his face crumpled and his eyes would quickly leave the battlefield.

And so for a while, the situation was looked in this dance of the weak attempt to dodge and the basic swings of the swordsmen, Mordread doing his wide steps and jumps was getting him out of breath, as the swordsman looked well rested and sudden his face became blank. But his attacks haven’t changed and Mordread was more interested when he would shake his head again.

Like the sun rising the small breathing time has come, closing his eyes to shock his head. Mordread eyes were already looking at a suitably placed iron bar, the swordsmen sudden rushed much faster than before.

Mordread had just taken away his eye from the swordsmen face. When the blue silver razor falls seemly dividing the heaven and making a straight line for his left eye.

Mordread once again panicked and hesitated for a second but was enough, even though that he broke away with quick arching his neck, it wasn’t enough to save his vision, and his face was crossed by a red line, passing right on his right eye. And before he could even understand what is happening,  the blade still hasn't finished his path and now with the head out of the way, the rest of the power had fallen right on his chest. Mordread wasn’t quick enough to save his face even less for the rest of his body.

Who would have expected that was the pain that informed what happens. First the pain of having his eyelid torn quickly to reach his brain, followed shortly by the pain from the chest being cut deep that was being suppressed by the cut on the eye, but what was more excruciating was the blunt pain on his bones and as the blade scraping its nerves, stopping from giving a fatal blow.

Mordread howled in pain, his mind was a mess for an instant before calmed itself and while he gritted his teeth fighting the suffering turning into raging growls he thought with some difficulty.

  ‘I'm surprised the metal on metal clash haven’t resounded… but...arggg… this the pain is…. fuck…’- the pain surged again messing his mind - 'this bastard is smirk at me!’

Mordread was quick to press against the bloody wound on his face with his right hand that as expected only made a wave of pain, stumbling to keep his ground. On the other hand, the swordsmen were momentarily taken back by how sturdy the bones are, soon, however, his mind relaxed and a smug smile crept on his face, like watching a fool. Therefore for a couple of seconds, they just stared each other the leisure positioning swordsmen and the twisted face of Mordread fighting the pain. Thick blood drip on the floor cracks and the cloth of both of them are covered in blood. Was when he opened his mouth to mock:

  "Unsmʇʇ-..."

Mordread just turned around and flee, while the swordsmen were busy with his taunting.

Quick some plans started to take form, but the plan was fogged by the excruciating pain of running while pressing his eye make him growly under my breath, but even with all this, his eyes are dead set on a suitably shaped piece of torn metal.

Mordread hasn't wasted time talking with the swordsmen, in such passionate speech. Was all in order to scan the local for the quickest weapon he could grab. Still in the few seconds he couldn’t find any magic sword, in fact all he could find at hand is only remain of stuff, broken staff, cracked red crystal, torn green book, a sword that was cut in exactly two halves, some bent metal poles and sharp rocks, there is more but they are all too far away to any use. So he used his previous plan with his perilous situation, he has forgone continue pressing his wound and now raise his bloody hand in the direction of the coiled pole and the other on his neck.

Was when feeling the cape pushing against him, strangling Mordread, in the moment a new tactic was about to be born. This unexpected result happened and in an instant, he found himself now flying in the air.

And was that exact moment that Mordread knew that he fucked up.