Felix watched as the armored men shoved more of the townsfolk into the town’s center courtyard, their shouts and protests doing nothing to stop the men from doing their apparent objective. He had to hold himself back from loosing a couple of arrows at the bastards, as he knew it would only erupt more chaos. He looked at Harald, who was gesturing towards the other guardsmen to move into their positions.
They finally set everything up, which left the guard feeling more than a little nervous. Everyone would need to do their part flawlessly to keep casualties to the bare minimum. Even then, Felix knew it would end with some of his own guardsmen dying.
‘This is the risk we take in protecting this town.’
He turned to Harald, nodding at the veteran to prepare himself. Both Harald and Felix pulled out the Fireball runes from their satchels. The rune’s magic visibly grew weaker, but the archer knew it could still do some damage.
‘I just hope it doesn’t set the whole town aflame.’
Felix peeked out again, seeing how one townsfolk loudly voiced her concerns. It was Nora, the councilwoman who had blatantly tried to convince Felix earlier that day that his worries were unfounded and paranoid. She was trying to get their attention, shouting at them to listen before one of the armored men shoved her into the courtyard with the rest of the townsfolk.
‘It’s now or never.’
Felix swallowed his fear and hesitation, aiming his rune straight at the nearby burnt building. It wouldn’t catch on fire; at least, Felix hoped it wouldn’t. It’ll hopefully be enough to distract the men long enough for them to enact their plan.
Felix took a deep breath, his will focused on the rune before he shouted out.
“Fireball!”
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Dahlia faced off against the Lumen Knight before her, his grin mocking her. She could see how James’ body slumped against the angled deck of the royal ship, his breathing slowing down by the second. She took a deep breath, her eyes focusing on the knight. There was a solid chance she was going to die in a direct fight against the cryomancer. He was strong, experienced, and without remorse. Dahlia would have to use everything in her knowledge to defeat him.
‘You will also have to kill him. Just like with the marauder.’
Dahlia took another deep breath, closing her eyes as she remembered the burning flesh and screams from that fateful day. Today, she would have to do the same to Gryff, regardless of mental scars.
“I’m ready,” Dahlia breathed out, her eyes opening to see the real world.
Gryff was the first to move, his feet scraping against the ice below. He ran to Dahlia at frightening speed, crossing the entire length of the half-fallen ship in the span of only a couple of seconds. Dahlia put her hands together, quickly forming a rune.
“Fog Cloud!” As soon as Gryff reached her, the spell activated, and a cloud of gray smog appeared between both spellcasters.
“Dispel!” Gryff’s voice sounded out right after, the cloud of fog suddenly dispersing to reveal the cryomancer, one hand forming the Dispel rune. In contrast, the other hand formed a much more familiar one.
“Ice Lance!”
Thankfully for Dahlia, the Ice Lance missed her by a couple of inches. That was due to Gryff’s multitasking of spells, which fortunately threw his aim off. The shaman quickly evaded the knight, her fingers forming another runic spell.
“Ignition!” She focused on the knight’s chest, watching the runes form on his steel breastplate. Unfortunately, Gryff quickly evaded her focus, the spell immediately failing as soon as he moved out of the way. Dahlia cursed, knowing full well that the spell could only work on stationary targets.
“Ice Lance!”
“Flare!” Dahlia ducked as low as she could, her hand outstretched to form the runic symbol necessary to summon the blinding ball of light. Luckily for her, Flare had a faster casting time than the knight’s Ice Lance, its light blinding him before he could properly aim his spell. Dahlia quickly shut her eyes to avoid getting blinded. She moved back to the ship’s lowered front mast, her hand grabbing onto the gold and white sails.
“Fog Cloud!” The cloud of mist accompanied Flare’s blinding effect, giving her time to think as the knight dealt with both.
The shaman caught her breath as she dug her soapstone out of her tunic, quickly drawing onto the mast and then onto her own arms. She wasn’t sure if this would work since her reserves were running low. Her head was already experiencing migraines, a drawback from casting so many spells.
‘Just need to get him to make a mistake.’
Dahlia pressed her hand against the drawn rune, focusing her will as the fog cloud spell suddenly dissipated.
“Dispel.”
Gryff was standing in front of her now, an annoyed look on his face. “I would expect a little more from you, shaman.” He stepped forward, hands behind his back as the shaman stared daggers at him.
“Don’t talk to me like you know me,” Dahlia panted, straightening herself as the cryomancer grew closer.
Gryff just smiled. “Judging from what I’ve seen in your home and what you’ve written in your old journals. I do know you. I know that the man who raised you was a shaman in Yorktown. I know he practiced rituals in front of you and taught them to you. I know he was the only one there for you after your parents—”
“Don’t,” Dahlia interrupted, voice quivering as she gritted her teeth.
“Your father. He was a soldier, correct?” Gryff spoke out regardless, chuckling lightly. “I read your old journal. Seen his records in the town hall. He served in the Outsider Wars and was stationed on that island to protect it from barbarians. I’m willing to bet that’s where he met your mother, correct?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I knew men like him, good men who fought in the war. Talented, strong, yet they always had a weakness.” Gryff turned to James’ body, the young man’s blood staining the ice. “They sacrificed and gave up everything for a special someone.”
Gryff turned back to Dahlia, his cold blue eyes piercing through her amber irises.
“Your father gave up the Lumen Kingdom and destroyed his honor for his love. You destroyed the ley lines of your home and doomed the world for yours.”
There was an air of silence, the wind blowing as Dahlia stared at Gryff, who grinned at the shaman mockingly.
“Fuck you,” Dahlia spoke, her words coated with venom.
The knight laughed at the response, his hands moving to the snow below. “Summon Ice,” he chanted out, his hand making circular motions onto the snow, which reacted to his fingers. Dahlia watched as Gryff formed a long ice dagger, its clear blade emanating magical particles.
Gryff sprinted towards Dahlia without a word, his dagger already readying itself for a stab.
“Flare!” Dahlia chanted, forming the rune towards the knight as he neared her. Gryff immediately countered it this time, his dagger suddenly moving to slash at the materializing ball of blinding light.
“Dispel,” he chanted. The enhanced ice dagger sliced through the magical ball of energy. However, Dahlia had counted on it and used the quick distraction to leap away from Gryff. She skidded on the ice, spinning to face the spellcaster who was where she had wanted him.
“Ignition!” Dahlia shouted, hands clasping as she activated the chalk rune on the mast. While Ignition needed time to form onto a stationary target to set it aflame, a chalk rune would combust almost immediately. Gryff seemed to realize this too late.
“Shi–!”
The rune exploded into flames, setting the mast on fire and partially burning the Lumen Knight on his right side. The flames raged like a furnace, the heat making the ice around the source slick with water.
“Freezing Winds!” Gryff’s voice echoed with rage as he cast his spell. Strong winds whipped against the burning mast and nearby snow, resembling almost a small blizzard. The fire on the ship and Gryff’s armor dissipated almost immediately, leaving a charred mast and a pissed-off spellcaster with blackened armor; the runes on the steel burnt out.
Gryff turned to Dahlia with fury in his eyes, his hair singed, and his face a raw red. His scowl sent waves of fear throughout the shaman, who almost flinched at the sudden gaze. Dahlia steeled herself. She wasn’t out of tricks yet.
Dahlia raised her dagger and muttered a few choice words to its ornate steel. Soon, the blade glowed a soft, magical white. Gryff stared at her, confusion settling on his face. Dahlia raised her dagger before her, which glowed with the same magical properties as that fateful night. The night she had revived James from certain death.
It was a simple incantation that made it so the steel wouldn’t warp and bend when it came in contact with overwhelming magic. That’s what made it essential during the ritual that night. Now, however, Dahlia had an entirely different use for it.
“Ignition!” The dagger flared to life, red runes appearing on it before it burst into flames. The heat was blistering, but Dahlia’s hands and arms were marked with fire-resistant runes, the same ones she used for her fireplace.
She stood up, wielding her fiery dagger against the cyromancer.
“How…interesting,” Gryff commented in surprise, his anger from before faltering a bit. Despite his clear admiration of Dahlia’s improvised use of magic, the knight narrowed his eyes at her. He charged. Both spellcasters clashed, with the shaman’s flaming dagger giving the knight much pause as he tried to get in a strike of his own.
Dahlia slashed at his armor, her cuts leaving burn marks and charred steel. Gryff winced as she got a lucky strike at his side, the burning dagger hitting flesh as it sliced past the disenchanted steel. He backed up and tried to stab at her, but the shaman’s flaming blade blocked his ice dagger. Despite the intense flames of the Ignition spell, the ice dirk resisted the heat, its edge pressing against the burning dagger in Dahlia’s hand. In a desperate move, Dahlia forced both daggers to the side, her left hand moving to form a rune at Gryff’s chest.
“Ignit–”
A kick interrupted her, the boot strike sending her flying to the ice. Dahlia moved quickly to stand, her hands blistering from the heat despite the fire-resistant runes marking them. The shaman prepared her dagger for another attack, but the Ignition spell that had set it aflame suddenly died. She blinked, her eyes widening as she stared at the red-hot dagger, a couple of dying flames visible at its tip. The spell’s duration had ended. Dahlia raised her free hand, fingers forming for another Ignition spell to keep the flames alight.
Gryff’s advances interrupted her. Dahlia cursed as she tried to block his slashes, her knife moving sluggishly compared to the Lumen Knight’s lightning-fast slashes. Dahlia hoped to contest her heated dagger with his ice dirk to hopefully break it, but she failed to do so.
Gryff’s ice dagger opened new wounds in her arms and torso, the biting cold of the frost hurting like none other. Hope flared in Dahlia when she finally managed to catch his knife with hers. That hope vanished when Gryff twisted his weapon, slashing her hand and forcing the dagger from her grip. It clattered to the ice in a sizzle, leaving Dahlia disarmed. Gryff grinned as he kicked the dagger away from her, eyes flashing with sick glee. Dahlia felt the punch to her gut a second later, its impact drawing a gasp from her.
She fell to the ice a moment later, the pain of the strike enough to wind her. Dahlia took in quick, vapid breaths, hands clutching her belly as she tried to find her weapon. She spotted it from afar, the ornate blade skidding to a stop near James’ bleeding body.
‘Need to keep fighting.’
She crawled to the dirk, ignoring the sharp pains on her arms and gut. The shaman couldn’t give up, not now. Halfway through the crawl, Gryff’s hand pulled at her loose hair, forcing her on her knees. She could see how his ice dagger came into view, its bloodied edge sending shivers down her spine.
“Pain in my ass, but I’ll give you credit,” Gryff said. “You fought a good bout.”
The dagger motioned to her throat but stopped abruptly. Dahlia stared at the knife, wondering why Gryff had stopped. Then, something moved in her peripheral, catching her attention.
It was James. His body was slowly getting up from the bloodied ground of ice. She stared at the sight, seeing how James wiped at his bloodied nose. The young man’s broken arm and knee then healed. His joints fixed themselves, the sound of bones rearranging themselves audible to Dahlia. She watched in fascination and horror, unsure of what was happening.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
James reached for his sword before moving to stand up. His back turned to the knight and Dahlia, hand feeling the weight of the short sword.
“Bit heavier than my old blade,” James muttered. His voice sounded… strange. It was his voice, no doubt, but it sounded different in a way Dahlia couldn’t place. James turned around, his eyes glinting with a dangerous glow. He stared at both the shaman and knight, a small, unrecognizable grin on his face as he held his sword strangely. “You must be the Lumen Knight.”
Gryff stared at James, his eyes narrowing. “You are not James, are you? Your movements are distinct. Foreign. Who are you?”
James Holter, or the person who possessed his body, chuckled at Gryff’s words. “Found me out, haven’t you? You are right. I am not James Holter.” He pointed his sword in challenge, his excited grin off-putting to Dahlia. “My name is Faust Desimir, Champion of Caelus and slayer of Leonard Kord, the first Lumen Knight!”
With that, Faust kicked the ornate dagger to Dahlia, who snapped out of her stunned state. She grabbed at its heated handle without question. Without hesitation or pause, she cut her hair away from Gryff’s grip, quickly retreating from the stunned knight. The knight stared at both her and the possessed man, his hand still gripping a fistful of Dahlia’s hair.
“Are you alright?” Faust muttered, his ethereal voice sending a shiver down the shaman’s spine. He stood beside her, sword wavering as he took his foreign stance.
“I’m fine,” Dahlia said with a nod. She gave him a glance, seeing how the gaze of James’ possessed body glowed a bright blue.
“Good,” Faust said with a grin. His eyes flashed something fierce, and his body tensed. “I’ve been raving for a decent fight for ages. Let’s show this Lumen bastard what we’re made of.”
“Yeah. Let’s.”
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Seamus blinked, not believing for once that he was seeing reality.
‘This is just a nightmare. A result of that damned Horcus tea.’
Despite his constant thoughts running wild with excuses, he eventually came to a harsh reality. Helen was dead, her limp body dropping to the ground as her blood stained the wooden hull of Frostbite. His wide eyes stared at the ex-marauder’s body, hoping to see any sign of life from her. Instead, he only saw how her body slumped against the wall, blood dripping down from her forehead.
Seamus felt his fear quickly evaporate, a feeling of emptiness in his soul as he stared at the woman who had kept him alive during the fight—the same woman who had saved him once before, back at the purging of his clan, where the Blood Moons shone upon both of them. He had never repaid that favor, never once saving her. Now, he will never repay her.
A boiling rage suddenly replaced Seamus’ emotions, and as adrenaline coursed through his body, he saw red.
“You’re all fucking dead!” he screamed and forced the soldiers off of him. The men around him stumbled back, clearly surprised at the sudden burst of strength. Seamus ignored them and grabbed at his fallen sword, his eyes focusing on the first man he saw.
In a flash of speed, Seamus swung down his blade on the surprised soldier. Its sharp edge struck the man’s shoulder, scoring between the pauldron and cutting through gambeson. Blood speckled and stained both men, a howl of shock and pain echoing in the room.
Still in his rage, Seamus pushed his blade down further, his efforts forcing the injured man onto his knees. Without a second thought, he raised his foot and kicked the bleeding bastard away before moving on to the next soldier.
However, this man was ready, and his spear was raised to meet Seamus’ advance. Seamus did not care for it. On instinct, the enraged young man sidestepped the attempted spear strike, his sword moving to strike down at the soldier’s hands. The sword struck the shaft in a flash, its edge lopping off fingers. The affected soldier yelled out in agony, hands dropping the weapon as Seamus moved in. The young man used his sword’s pommel to hit the stunned soldier’s throat, silencing him as he dropped to the ground in writhing pain.
“Who’s next?!” Seamus shouted. His heart beat like a drum, adrenaline flowing like hot liquor in his veins. Seamus couldn’t help but pant and heave, his chest tightening with anxiety as he tried to steady his shaking hands. He would never get the chance.
One soldier rushed in and wrestled with Seamus, trying to disarm him. Seamus tried to fight back, shoving the man off for a moment before he was tackled by two more. The young man yelled incoherently as he tried to stab at them, only for one of them to slam him against the hull, forcing the sword away from his hand. The sudden impact of his skull striking against the hull dazed Seamus. Before he knew it, he felt the attacking soldier’s hands on his throat, thumbs pressing hard against Seamus’ windpipe.
Seamus felt his fear return as breath escaped him. His eyes widened, and he tried to pry the man’s fingers away from his throat.
“Shit! No! Stop,” he managed out in desperation. He struggled and kicked before feeling the hands slam him back against the hull, the soldier’s hold tightening on Seamus’ neck.
“You really expect us to give you mercy after what you just did?”
“I… You...” Seamus couldn’t get the words out. His vision began to blur as he felt his air run out, his vision darkening as his fists weakly struck the man who was choking him. In the end, Seamus could do nothing.
“Look at him, still trying to fight back!” one man jeered with clear disdain. “Pathetic little bugger, no?”
‘You don’t understand...’
Seamus could no longer speak. He watched as the world around him darkened and grew distant. He could feel how his heartbeats slowed down, his body going limp as his eyes rolled to the back of their sockets.
‘In the end, you return to your instincts.’
Seamus was no longer in control.
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Hugo watched the young Halvorson lose consciousness, his weak attempts at freeing himself finally stopping.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he called out tiredly, wanting to get this over with.
“Just a little more. This lordling caused us enough problems,” Samuel said as he choked Seamus. The men all jeered and prodded the young soldier on, wanting to see Halvorson suffer a bit more, even if he was passed out. Hugo noted the use of the word lordling, a term used to describe the children of Noble Lords back in Lumen. He shrugged, not really caring about it. Young Halvorson technically was a lordling, the son of a high-standing Jarl. That was if that marauder woman was telling the truth about him. Which Hugo doubted.
“Do whatever you want with the boy. Just kill off the gnome and that mad woman when you’re finished,” Hugo advised with a yawn. He cared little for Yorn’s vault since the Lumen Knights could only go so deep into Valenfrost territory. To even attempt a raid on the late Yorn’s vault would be folly, especially with the Marauders of the North looking for it. Hugo watched as Samuel slammed Seamus against the hull once more, the kid’s face already turning purple.
“Little bastard! Thinking you’re so tough? Well, let’s see how tough you are when–”
Blood sprayed over Samuel’s hands and face, the soldier’s eyes wide with fear as his hands fell to the ground with a wet thud. Samuel pulled his stumps back from the young man, blood staining his armor and clothing.
“Wha–”
A blur of steel slashed at Samuel, his throat now open to the cold air. Drowning in his own blood, the soldier fell to the deck.
Hugo had barely seen the movements. His usually perceptive eyes were caught off guard when he saw Seamus unsheathe Samuel’s sword and slice the man’s hands off. Speed like that was a rare sight to the veteran knight. He watched with curiosity as Seamus slumped over, his face obscured by the shadows of his hair. Despite being slouched, Hugo could see Seamus’ footwork was as still as a statue, his right hand clenching onto the bloodstained sword with tight knuckles. The other men seemed shaken and caught off guard, their eyes staring at the young man with surprise. Even that red-haired girl was quiet, her primal yells and shouts now absent. The men gazed over at Hugo, who was watching with interest. He gestured for them to go at the young man.
“Do what you will. He is only one man, after all.”
The first of the men hesitantly charged, his spear aimed at the young man’s throat. Seamus leaned forward, his feet propelling him towards the attacker. He quickly ducked underneath the spear’s thrust, his new sword swinging upwards. With a motion that seemed second nature, Seamus lopped the spear in half with his blade, turning it into a useless pole. Before the soldier could even react, Seamus stepped into his strike and thrust his blade forth. His sword sank into the other man’s throat, drawing an attempted shout that turned into a pained gurgle.
One of the other soldiers moved in to help, spear abandoned as he drew his own sword. He moved to attack the young Halvorson, who didn’t even seem to care. Without wasting a movement, Seamus twisted the blade in his victim, ripping it out in a shower of crimson. He turned to meet the next man’s attempted strike, sword raising in a quick motion. Seamus’ own sword parried the attack. There was a ring of steel, and Hugo’s man stumbled back in surprise. Seamus did not hesitate. He swung at the soldier’s exposed face, his strike a blur of scarlet and steel. In the end, the other man’s jaw hung at the side of his face, bloodied and mangled, before it fell onto the deck.
This was all done in under a minute. To the normal eye, it would’ve looked like a blur had gutted a man and dispatched another without fail. Hugo, however, could see how Seamus’ movements were clean and precise. It was as if he had practiced these strikes and counters a million times beforehand. The other two men who were left, the ones Seamus had injured before his sudden change, stared at the young man with visible hesitation and fear.
“Well?” Hugo asked, gesturing towards Halvorson. “If you refuse, I will kill you myself.” That seemed to do the trick.
Both men, Gregory and Nicholas, readied themselves with a spear and sword, clearly against the idea of fighting Halvorson, but not enough to face off against Hugo himself. They both charged at Seamus, simultaneously attacking the young man. Seamus dodged the first attack from Nicholas, who held the sword. He spun to meet Gregory, who tried to thrust with his spear. Seamus reacted by countering the spear with his sword, blocking and redirecting its lunge to the floor. The spearhead struck the wooden boards, stuck in place.
Seamus focused his attention on Nicholas, whose short sword clashed with his. With an effortless motion, Seamus deflected the strike and created an opening. Hugo expected to see Seamus finish the soldier, but instead, he moved to dodge an attack from Gregory, who lunged with his now unstuck spear.
Seamus backed away from the two men, gaining some distance. He was still for a moment before he took a deep, sharp breath. With practiced ease, Seamus retook the stance he had earlier. He exhaled and rushed to Nicholas, narrowly dodging the soldier’s wild sword strike. Seamus repeated an action he had done earlier, his sword parrying the blade once more. Sparks flew from the contact, and Seamus moved like a raging wind. He sidestepped and thrust his sword into Nicholas’ right side, between the gaps in the man’s plate armor. His blade went deep, and Seamus twisted the pommel, violently ripping through flesh and gutting Nicholas like a silverhead.
Nicholas didn’t even have time to go through his death throes before Seamus wrenched the bloodied sword out of the gushing wound. Flowing like a master swordsman, Seamus dodged Gregory’s attempted spear strike, which came at him just a couple seconds later. Two more strikes sounded out, one of wood and one of flesh. Seamus didn’t move after that; his sword hand was still as can be.
Hugo watched in anticipation as Gregory also froze in place, body tensing. The soldier’s spear dropped onto the floor in two pieces, dark crimson dripping onto the remains. The dead man fell back onto the deck in a heap, blood running down his open throat.
“Interesting,” Hugo grinned with excitement as he stepped up to Seamus. “I wonder, will you be the challenge I waited so long for?” He chuckled and readied his halberd. The Lumen Knight watched as Seamus leaned forward in his slump from before. A tense few seconds passed before he inevitably charged.
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Miles stared into the eyes of the dying man, his blade forcing itself into the other man’s throat a bit more. The act was enough to kill his victim, the soldier’s body going limp. Miles’ boot pressed against the other man’s chest, kicking the corpse away. The ex-follower slowly caught his breath, his eyes moving to the last of the men, who were currently dealing with Dimitri and Liam.
Dimitri was armed with his broken bottle, while Liam held the dagger he had stolen from the other dead corpse. The rest of the crew waited by, some of them with visible injuries and stab wounds. Still, Miles could see how little they cared for the wounds, either out of drunkenness or pure adrenaline. Maybe both.
“Get the fuck back from me, you savages!” The armored man shouted, using his spear to fend off the rest of the crew. Miles watched from the back, slowly regaining his composure as he planned on how to deal with the last of the soldiers. Before he could, however, one of the crew members tapped his shoulder. Miles sighed, wondering if the bastard from earlier was still kicking. Instead, he was met with a confused crew member, Norman, from what Miles remembered, his dirty hand gesturing towards the sea.
“Ship, heading towards us,” Norman panted out.
“What?” Miles looked to where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was a longship, its red sails billowing as it neared Frostbite’s starboard at a frightening speed.
‘Is that the Draugr’s Haunt?’
Before Miles could confirm, a shout suddenly interrupted him, grabbing his attention. He turned to find the surviving soldier rushing at Miles, spear in hand. Miles barely dodged the attack, the spearhead scratching against his white mask and tearing through his hood. The ex-follower evaded the follow-up attack, his sword and dagger returning to offensive positions. The spearman went in another strike at the mercenary, this time aiming for his torso. Miles easily dodged the attack, his blades coming down on the attacker’s exposed hands.
Both dagger and short sword stabbed through the fingers of the spearman, causing a pained cry of agony. Miles moved in for the kill but was interrupted by a war horn’s echo. He froze in place, his gaze turning to the source. The ship from earlier was now even closer, enough that Miles could see the oars by its side, quickly boosting the vessel. The ex-follower knew it was going to collide with the ice that held Frostbite and the royal ship in a matter of seconds.
“What the hel is—?”
There was then the sound of ice being rammed through, large cracks forming in it as the longship scraped against the ice and, soon enough, the starboard side of Frostbite’s hull. The deck shook once more, Miles falling to the deck with the spearman and the rest of the crew.
Miles slowly moved to stand, groaning as he heard the familiar shouts of orcs.
“No… No, no, no.” Miles quickly stood, his eyes settling onto the hooks attached to the railing.
“Get those hooks off now! Hurry!” Miles shouted. The crew followed his instructions, quickly detaching the hooks from Frostbite’s starboard. Miles kicked the spear away from the soldier he injured before, ensuring he wouldn’t try anything while the crew fended off the new threat.
Despite their combined effort, the crew failed to prevent one of the hooks from attaching long enough for a green hand to grab onto the railing. The orc pulled himself onto the deck of Frostbite, a rusted axe in hand. Miles had tried to prevent the orc from climbing but was too far away to reach in time.
The ugly bastard was grinning as he stepped onto the deck, his single eye focusing on a crewmate nearby. The half-armored orc moved to swing his axe down at the shoddily dressed man, his eye glinting with malice. Miles stepped in, however, pushing the crewmate away as the axe made its way downwards. The ex-follower narrowly dodged the axe, watching as it struck against the deck. Miles forced his dagger and sword into the orc’s exposed bald head.
“Precision Strike!”
The sword and dagger glowed a magical blue as they flew towards the brute’s face, burying themselves deep into his eye and throat. The orc was dead in less than a second due to Precision Strike’s added speed and accuracy to vital points.
Miles could feel his body burning with the exertion of the casting, this one being the third one today. He had used this particular casting one too many times, and it was taking its toll on him. The mercenary tore his weapons out from the orc’s head, his breath now coming out in clouds of steam. More orcs were making their way up onto the deck, most of the crew backing away as their numbers increased.
‘Protect the crew.’
James’ words echoed in his head. With a heavy breath, Miles rushed at the closest one, his short sword slashing at the orc’s side.
“I’m over here! Come at me!” he shouted across the deck, catching their attention. They all looked toward Miles with interest, one of them pointing at the masked mercenary.
“I know him! He’s the one who blew up the vault Blood-Irk wanted! He and his friends!”
“Get him!”
The brutes moved in on Miles, cudgels and axes raised. The mercenary took a deep breath of the cold Frost air.
‘Four castings left, five orcs on deck. I’ve worked with less.’
Miles grinned underneath his mask, taking his stance as he prepared to fight against the brutes in front of him.
When it came to an interesting life, Myr never disappointed.