HOURS EARLIER
“They’re going to do what?!” Haggard heard Bjorn shout, the dwarf’s angry shouts booming over the deck of the Draugr’s Haunt.
“They’re going to kill James and that shaman! Probably do the same, or worse, for your other friends,” Brant explained.
“You haven’t told us this, why?” Haggard stepped up to the injured man, his voice calm and still.
“They ordered me not to. Jarl Ivan and Gryff wanted us to keep watch on James and report back to him,” Brant said, shifting in his seat. His friend Finn looked anxious.
“Brant! Quiet! If they know you talked…”
“Then so be it! I’m abandoning the clan. I’m done with being Ivan’s pawn in all this.” Brant shouted back. “James does not deserve to be killed like this!”
Haggard rubbed his chin, looking over at everyone else. “Archibald, how long will it take us to get to Yorktown?”
“Not long enough to get there before Frostbite, I’m afraid,” the elf responded.
“Then set a course now. We will need to get there as soon as possible.” Silas ordered.
“Wait! You can’t seriously be thinking about fighting the Lumen Knights?” Finn protested.
“What do you expect us to do?” Haggard asked, raising an eyebrow as he turned to Finn.
“It’s just that… Why would you risk your own lives for this James Holter?”
The question hung in the air like a fog, with everyone on deck giving each other looks. Haggard frowned a bit before moving to answer. He wouldn’t get the chance, as one of the freed prisoners on board spoke out.
“He freed us, saved our lives while risking his,” a scarred man stood up, his words gaining agreeable murmurs from the other prisoners.
“He saved my life,” Bjorn added before Edmund spoke up,
“He risked himself for most of us… Even when he was met with the possibility of dying.”
“Human freed us too, trusted us orcs enough to leave us with a longship,” a greenskin called out.
“He listened to reason when no one else was willing to,” Silas commented. Everyone murmured their responses, with some orcs proclaiming James as a Draugr chosen by Dremor, God of the Dead. Still, it had all boiled down to one consensus.
“He’s a good man. Someone who would be willing to save us if he was put into our position,” Haggard stated.
Finn swallowed, his nervous eyes looking at the rest of the crew.
“We’re going to Yorktown. Whether or not you like it,” Haggard muttered. He turned to the intelligent orc, who was watching the whole ordeal with crossed arms. “Silas, Archibald, set a course towards Yorktown. Time isn’t on our side for this.”
Silas nodded before facing the rest of his orcs. “Get this ship turned around right now! The elf will tell you all what direction to sail in.” The crew reacted to his words, quickly moving to set the longship on its new course. As the orcs and humans worked together to accomplish this, Bjorn hobbled up to Haggard, his hand carrying that golden flask.
“Are you well enough to fight, dwarf?” Haggard asked.
“Please, I’ve fought in worse conditions.” Bjorn grinned. “The only thing I’m worried about is our opponent. What kind of Lumen Knight are we dealing with here?”
“We’re dealing with two, and from what I’ve seen of them…” Haggard thought back to his first impression of the two knights, back when they had first arrived. “One is a spellcaster who uses either ice magic or pyromancy judging from his hands. The second is a brute, taller than me. Still, despite his armor and weapon choice, I doubt he’s the one we should be worried about.”
“What do you mean?” Bjorn took a swig from his flask, some of the healing liquor dribbling down its opened hatch.
“I can deal with brutes. Brutes are predictable and show their hand outright. Spellcasters are something else. They usually like to keep their spells hidden until needed. That Gryff fellow back at Yorktown seemed to be sharp. Bit of a cocky bastard, but sharp.” Haggard frowned, thinking back to how the spellcaster’s eyes had pierced through his soul. “I just hope James and the others will stay alive long enough for us to arrive.”
“Don’t you worry about them. Judging from the way he and that shaman had carried themselves on the islands, those two will be unstoppable working together.”
Haggard thought back to the marauders’ invasion and how James and Dahlia had managed to defeat a group of marauders and that abomination all on their own.
‘Let’s just hope they hold out long enough for backup.’
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Mida was scared shitless, his back pressing against the stone wall of the nearby building. Everything was supposed to go well until those guardsmen had ambushed them. Despite killing off a good number of the young guards, the ambush had taken a toll on the soldiers. Harin was dead, Doren was most definitely captured, and most of the others were gone from sight, either picked off or taken. All this left the soldier alone, his spell crystal blinking as it tried to get his attention. Mida grabbed it, activating it as he looked around.
“Hello?” He answered quietly.
“Mida? We got arrows coming down on us over by the tavern! What’s your position?”
Mida gulped as he answered back, his hand slowly putting pressure on the crystal. “I’m hiding in the burnt area of the town.”
“The hel are you doing there?!”
“I’m staying alive; that’s what I’m doing! My troop is gone, either dead or captured…”
“What?! How?!”
“You fucking tell me! Those damned guards are everywhere.”
“Alright, try to see if you can regroup with us by the marketplace. We should be able to–Oh shi–!”
The crystal suddenly lost its blue glow, turning dead gray. This signified to Mida that the corresponding crystal was now destroyed.
“Oh, shit.” The soldier felt his heart drop, his eyes looking up at the rooftops nearby.
There was then the sound of boots scraping against the cobbled ground, catching Mida’s attention. A man was rushing at him, his sword raised as it swung down on the soldier. Mida dodged the attack, scrambling as he tried to avoid another swing. He brought up his own sword, watching it clash with the other man’s blade. As they struggled, Mida could see his opponent’s face, which was that of an older man, his gray hair tied up into a tight knot.
“Who the hel are you people?!”
Mida didn’t get an answer as the man forced his sword aside before suddenly thrusting his sword’s tip into the soldier’s torso.
Mida staggered back, his eyes widening as he looked down at his chest. The sword had perfectly pierced through the small gap in his armor, a feat that usually required either luck or practiced skill. The older man shoved the blade deeper, drawing a pained gasp from Mida. He looked up at the unforgiving eyes of his killer, who held Mida’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” the old man whispered before he let the young man drop to the ground. Blood filled Mida’s mouth as he stared up at the gray sky of Valenfrost.
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Lilith could still remember that night, how embers floated in the sky of her hometown. It was a small town stationed at the western port, away from the major settlement of Aldren. She could remember how she and her brother were watching the stars, his dark bowl-shaped hair gently swaying in the wind as his green eyes stared at the stars up in the sky. It was an image she cherished deeply, as it was her last happy memory before it had all gone to hel.
Lilith recalled how her brother had rushed her to the family home and how his hands had covered her eyes. She could only remember seeing the flames and hearing the screams, her confusion growing as both siblings reached the home. Her mother’s red hair was loose and wild as she tried comforting Lilith, her father calling her brother to barricade the door.
Lilith wanted him to stay and have her father protect her. Her father, a tower of a man, had told her to be brave before he rushed out into the outside, closing the wooden door behind him. Her brother barricaded the door with their mother, the shouts and screams outside growing. Lilith’s memory was blurry then, clouded by the tears that filled her eyes. Her brother escorted her to her room, and her mother’s voice was drowned out by the sounds of something banging against the blocked door.
At some point in the night, she and her brother were hiding in their room, Lilith’s hands clutching her bear. Lilith could still remember him shushing her, his finger moving up his lips as he signed with his other hand.
Do not speak. Do not make a sound. Be silent.
Lilith had taken those words to heart, her eyes staring at the door to their room. She heard her mother screaming, followed by the shouts of barbarians. Blurry and hazy, Lilith recalled the emotional scene after that. Both siblings had escaped from the house, its roof on fire as more shouts sounded off in the distance. She hurried ahead, holding her brother’s hand.
Lilith remembered the frosty night air, the freezing gust of wind as it numbed her face and hands. She remembered the feeling of warm specks of blood landing on her hands and cheeks, her eyes widening as she looked back at her brother.
He had an arrow in his throat, his green eyes wide with fear, and his other hand clutching at the wound. He fell, his hand letting go of Lilith’s. The traumatized girl looked up, her eyes focusing on the man in the distance, his face obscured by a white, grinning mask with beady eyes that threatened her with the same fate as her brother.
“Run.”
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Lilith slowly came to, her blurry vision soon growing clearer. She could hear the sounds of fighting, along with the taunts of the man who had knocked her out. Lilith blinked multiple times, her eyes focusing on the fight in front of her. She could see Seamus there, his bowl-shaped hair now a sweat-dampened mess. The shadows of the dimly lit room hid his eyes, making him seem cold and unforgiving. Lilith tried to move to help but was stopped by the sharp pains in her left arm. She looked upon her hurting forearm, a short blade pinning it to the wooden wall. Lilith struggled to pull it out, her right arm using all of its strength. No luck.
She moved to see if she could break the handle off, her fist wailing on the hilt. Nothing. Lilith was growing agitated, and her frustration was made clear in her unarmed strikes against the handle. Lilith needed to get out to help Seamus. She grabbed her ax, raising it above the sword’s hilt. Hesitation then made itself clear as her ax stayed in place. Lilith was about to give up until she heard a loud crash. She turned to see Seamus among some broken crates, his body slowly trying to get up.
“Come on, Halvorson! You can do better!” The armored man from before kicked at the young man, sending him rolling toward the center, right where the broken table was. Lilith watched as Seamus stood back up, his heavy breaths audible from where she was. Blood ran down his forehead, his green eyes staring at the giant with a mixture of anger and fear.
He was hurt, injured, and losing against the terrifying man. He was going to die, and she wouldn’t be able to stop it.
‘No. Not like last time.’
Lilith felt her strength return, her anger coming in as a blinding rage that took over every fiber in her body. The young woman slammed her ax’s edge against the sword’s hilt, putting all of her strength into the attacks. The hilt slowly bent at her repeated barrage before finally being hacked off. Lilith screamed as she pulled her arm through the blade, wrenching herself free from the wall. The loud commotion caught the attention of the two men, who stared at her with bewilderment.
Lilith immediately charged after the armored man without hesitation, rushing headfirst with her ax. Her good arm swung down her ax on the tall figure, all of her strength put into the strike. Her ax struck his vambrace, which had blocked it from hitting his helmet. Lilith recoiled back from the man, her teeth gritting as she fought the pain in her left arm. She quickly ducked beneath the giant’s counter-attack, feeling the air from his swing. Lilith maneuvered to his left, her ax slamming against the giant’s arm.
No luck. His armor was deflecting her attacks like nothing. Still, she could spot the dents caused by her attacks. An idea popped into her mind, and her feet quickly moved away from the armored man’s kick. Lilith caught her breath for a moment, her hand ripping off a piece of the cloak she had tied around her waist. She quickly wrapped the cloth around her bleeding arm, tying it up nice and tight. It wasn’t the best solution, but it was better than nothing.
‘Make sure Seamus is alright.’
Lilith risked a glance at the young man. Seamus was looking at Lilith with wide eyes, his calm and cold demeanor now replaced with his usual confused and frightened self.
“Lilith? What… What happened? Why am I bleeding? I… What…” Seamus turned to the bodies littered on the floor, his face growing pale. “No… No, no, no! Not again!”
“Ah, shit,” the giant sighed, his head shaking as he stepped closer to the two. Lilith bared her teeth at the threat, her ax positioning itself. “It seems as if the fun is over. A shame. I was enjoying our little spar.”
“S-Spar? Those dents, that blood… I did that?”
The armored man chuckled at Seamus’ terrified realization, his hand moving to pull his dented helmet off.
Lilith nearly recoiled in surprise when she saw a man with webs of scars and burn marks covering nearly every inch of his bald head. He had a square, clean-shaven jaw and another scar that ran past his lips and eyebrows. The scarred giant looked at both of them, his unsettling red eyes focusing on the young man.
“You were a ruthless killer, Seamus Halvorson. No hesitation, no mercy,” the behemoth chuckled.
“I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Ha! You were exactly what I’ve been craving these past few years. So long has it been since someone has piqued my interest like you have, Halvorson.” He grinned at Seamus, who recoiled in surprise. “Alas, I knew it wouldn’t last. If only Delphine had given me just a few more moments with that side of you.” The giant sighed, shaking his head as he prepared his weapon.
Before he got the chance to use it, Lilith used the chance to charge at the giant. She quickly closed the distance between them, her ax swinging at his exposed head. Her attack would be blocked once more, her ax’s edge impacting with the man’s staff weapon.
“Ah, you are a berserker, aren’t you? You rely on anger for your strength and speed? What a barbaric tactic.” He pushed Lilith back, the ax end of his staff swinging down on her. Lilith moved her left arm up, preparing to take the hit with her injured limb. Seamus stepped in, his left arm blocking the attack with the shield he had on him earlier. The wooden round shield took the hit head-on, the ax end of the staff bouncing off its surface. Seamus visibly recoiled back but kept his ground, his shaking sword moving in for a strike.
The armored man blocked the strike from hitting his head, his gauntlet deflecting the blow with ease.
“Still have some fight in you? Good!”
He shoved Seamus back with the blunt end of the staff weapon, leaving Lilith exposed. The berserker didn’t stand around like a fool. Her feet skidded against the floor as she evaded the ax head. Lilith’s own ax moved in for a downward strike on the man’s arm in an attempt to lop it off. Instead, her weapon bounced off his armor, missing the small gap by his steel bracers. The young woman braced for an attack as she saw how the grinning maniac stepped up, his foot moving to kick at her.
However, the kick would never come as a spear’s end suddenly ran the man’s leg through, its bloodied tip pulled back as soon as it had come. The armored behemoth stumbled forward, a painful shout coming out of him as everyone turned to the perpetrator.
Lilith blinked, her eyes focusing on the person who had saved her. It was the blonde woman from earlier, the one who Lilith had thought was dead. Her golden hair was bloodied and wild. Dark crimson ran down her bruised forehead, her right hand carrying a spear while her mangled left was wrapped in ripped cloth. She had a wide grin on her face, azure eyes burning with a look that would make an orc flinch.
“You…” the injured man spoke out, his surprise clear in his deep voice.
“Did you miss me, love?” Helen called out to him. “How about we go for a second round? This one’s on me.”
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Miles kicked the orc back, sending the green dolt back onto the railing. Dimitri came at the brute with his spear, stabbing the orc in his arm. The brute shouted in pain, clutching at his arm before Miles shoved him off of the deck and back onto the ice below. Both the mercenary and shipmaster were currently on the enemy longship, an idea that was showing its flaws. The ex-follower caught his breath, his head turning to the rest of the brutes on the longship. A couple of goblins were still nearby, their spears aimed at Miles and Dimitri.
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An orc stepped out from the group of green bastards, his blunt club wrapped in wire and nails. This brute was bald, his scarred scalp catching Miles’ eye. There was an ax head stuck in this orc’s skull, its steel long rusted and caked with dirt. The mercenary could remember the last time he had seen it, during the battle in the clearing.
“Krik, was it?”
The orc scowled at the mention of his name, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Miles and the rest of the crew.
“Where are the rest of your companions? Where is that bastard Haggard?”
“Far away from here, judging from the last I saw of him. He’s probably halfway to Vindis already,” Miles responded. He could clearly see Krik’s agitation, the orc clenching his jaw as he stepped up.
“Lies,” the orc growled.
“Do you really doubt me?”
Krik stared daggers at Miles, his hand clenching onto his club.
“Dammit!” Krik kicked at a nearby bucket, sending it flying out of the deck. “If I can’t get my revenge… Well, I can always take out my frustrations on you and your blond friend.” The orc gave a heavy sigh, his club raised towards Miles and the shipmaster. “I hope your friend Haggard finds out what I will do to you. So he can suffer the same way I have.”
“Why don’t you try it, then?” A familiar voice rang out. Everyone on the deck turned to the source, which was coming from the rear of the ship, opposite where Miles and Dimitri were.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” Miles muttered.
Haggard was standing at the end of the longship, his contagious grin visible from afar, as well as his signature hammer.
“Did you miss me?”
The orcs all scowled in anger. Krik stepped towards the long-haired man, his hand gesturing towards Miles and Dimitri.
“Argo, Fron, take the goblins and deal with the follower and his friend… The rest of us will handle this bastard.”
“That doesn’t sound too pleasant,” Dimitri panted out, his spear raising.
“You want to switch with Liam?”
“Ha! I never said I was hesitant, my friend…” Both men readied their weapons, watching the armored goblins close in on them. Miles was the first to step up, his sword and dagger quickly moving in for a stab.
“Precision Strike!”
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Haggard watched as Miles and Dimitri dealt with their side of the longship, leaving the drifter to his own side. He had reached the vessel after Draugr’s Haunt had landed on the thick ice, the same ice that had trapped the orc’s longship and allowed the drifter to walk his way to the rear of the vessel. He had initially been worried about the lack of challenge but was pleasantly surprised to find a certain orc from the island. Haggard grinned at the thought of payback, his eyes focusing on that bastard Krik and his fellow orcs.
“Well then, let’s see if you’re all as durable as poor Krik over there,” Haggard taunted. The orcs all growled at him, their axes and clubs readying themselves.
“Wait!” Krik suddenly spoke out, the orc stepping up to Haggard. “I want this one to myself,” the orc growled, waving away the others. “I never got to fight fairly with you, Haggard, never got to have the challenge of facing you at your best.”
“Believe me. You wouldn’t last five seconds if I truly tried my best,” the drifter said.
“Hmph, really? Would your best consist of ambushing like a coward?” Krik called out. “Fight your best, Haggard, or I’ll have fun scraping your brains off the deck!”
“Fine, I’ll do my best,” Haggard waved it off, his grin not even faltering for a second.
‘Orcs, always thinking they’re better than people.’
Krik took his stance, his club preparing for an advance on the drifter. Haggard sighed, taking his own stance. Both fighters slowly stepped closer to each other, their weapons brandished. Haggard was the first to attack, his hammer swinging down on Krik’s exposed head. The orc dodged quickly, surprising the hammer wielder. Krik’s club lunged at the older man, its blunt end impacting Haggard’s torso. He staggered back, watching as the brute came in for another strike. Haggard quickly regained his footing, his hammer raising to block the swing.
Their weapons clashed before Krik kicked at the drifter, sending him stumbling back again.
‘How the hel did he get so quick?’
Haggard gritted his teeth as he swung his hammer again, putting in more force this time. Krik blocked the attack with his club, the hammer’s blow visibly cracking its wood. Haggard was about to pull back before Krik grabbed at his wrist, the act surprising the drifter. Krik twisted Haggard’s arm quickly enough to catch the man off guard and make him drop his hammer. In only a matter of seconds, Haggard was kicked away, hammerless.
He blinked, his eyes returning to the smug orc and stolen hammer.
‘How did he…?’
Krik, as it seemed, was much more clever than what the man had given him credit for.
“Really, Haggard? I thought you were going to give me your best. How disappointing.” Krik tossed his club aside, his arm testing the weight of the steel hammer. “It seems your best isn’t as exciting as I had hoped for.”
“You really want to see me at my best?” Haggard called out, his eyes narrowing. The damned orc was pissing him off to the point where Haggard was ready to show the bastard real strength.
“Ha! Another lie?” Krik guffawed, lowering the stolen hammer. “You know what? I’ll entertain you.”
“You sure you want a repeat of the last time you had my hammer? You will not get up this time,” Haggard warned.
“Trust me, I won’t let you take it so easily.” Krik readied himself, his hand raising the hammer in a way that made its owner internally cringe.
“Try me,” Haggard hoped his taunt would work, as he would only have one chance of getting his precious weapon back. Thankfully, it worked.
Krik charged at Haggard with a wild swing, aiming for his head. Haggard quickly evaded the swing, feeling the wind from the attack as it struck nothing but air. He grabbed at the orc’s wrist, not unlike the way Krik had done to him. This time, the only difference was when Haggard’s clenched fist struck the orc’s elbow, bending it in the wrongest of ways. He watched as the hammer was let go from the orc’s grip, the weapon falling to the deck. Haggard grabbed at the wrapped pommel before it hit the ground, using the momentum of its fall to swing it back in a quick circle right back at Krik.
“Power Strike!”
The enhanced hammer collided with the orc’s head, the strike obliterating it in a shower of bone and crimson. Bits of bloody viscera flew in all directions, Krik’s lifeless corpse going limp right after. Haggard kicked the body back, an armored orc catching it out of surprise. Haggard closed the distance in a breath, his hammer coming down on the surprised orc.
“Power Strike!”
The hammer crushed the brute’s helmet inwards, forcing the head it was protecting into the creature’s torso. The dying corpse seemed to grasp for something before it went down like Krik.
There was an air of silence as Haggard pulled his bloody hammer away from the second corpse. His body was overheating, but it wouldn’t matter to the drifter. He had dealt with worse conditions. The last two of the orcs stared at Haggard with terrified eyes, their hands shaking as they brandished their rusted axes.
“Well then,” Haggard breathed out, a small grin forming on his lips.
“Who’s next?”
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Felix resisted the urge to cough in the heavy smog, his hand waving it off as his other clenched onto his bow. Once the Fireballs had struck the building, most of the soldiers and men had scattered, a good handful of them heading into the alleys and streets nearby. However, it was all part of their plan, as the new guardsmen had tied up their snares in those pathways and were adding parts of the town to ambush them.
Unfortunately, there were a couple of outliers. Felix looked over the inside of the tavern, his eyes looking over the men with arrows in their necks. He sighed a breath of relief. These assholes were hard to take down since their armor was making things much trickier. One of them even used something similar to the shaman’s fog cloud spell, filling the courtyard with smog before Felix had put an arrow in him. Thankfully for the archer, he was able to kill a good number of them before the smog spell took place.
As Felix looked over the tavern, something caught his attention. He spun to the sound of boots scraping against the cobbled ground, his eyes focusing on the visible silhouette of a man.
‘Callsign. Callsign.’
Felix aimed his bow toward the sound and moving figure before shouting out to the unknown person.
“Bloom!”
The silhouette tensed up to Felix’s voice, staying still before Felix shouted out once more.
“Bloom!” No response.
‘Is it one of the townsfolk?’
The mystery man remained still for a moment before he suddenly rushed at Felix, his hand brandishing something. Felix loosed an arrow, the projectile striking against the figure. The man still ran. Felix loosed another arrow, then another, before the man finally stumbled and fell to the ground. Felix slowly approached the body, his eyes scanning over the man in a green tunic, his hawk insignia signifying him as an enemy.
“Thank the gods,” Felix relaxed his shoulders before hearing another scraping of boots. He aimed his bow at the next shadow in the thick smoke, his hand pulling the fletching of the arrow back on the string.
“Bloom!” The man tensed up, turning to Felix.
“Horcus!” It was Harald, the old veteran’s voice calling back in response to the archer.
“Delphine’s tits, Harald! You scared me. Weren’t you supposed to be at your post?” Felix watched as Harald emerged from the smoke. The veteran’s armor was covered in dirt and blood from the soot.
“I already dealt with the men there. The rest of the guardsmen should take care of the others,” Harald explained.
“What about the townsfolk?” The captain asked.
“Scattered,” the veteran responded.
“No shit. Will they be able to handle themselves?” Felix questioned.
“They’ll be fine if they could find a place to hide,” Harald muttered.
“Which is?” the archer asked.
Harald didn’t pay attention to Felix, his hand clenching onto his broadsword.
“Harald…?” Felix wasn’t sure why the veteran had shifted his focus.
“Prepare yourself. There are men approaching us now,” Harald answered.
“What?”
The veteran didn’t have the time to explain as the sound of boots running on the cobbled ground reached Felix.
The archer stuck close to Harald, his hands nocking another arrow on his bowstring. Both men braced themselves, their eyes watching the smoke before two men in green rushed out of the smog, coughing as they brandished swords. Harald moved in to attack, not giving either of them the chance to recover from the smoke.
Felix followed his example, his hands loosing an arrow at one bastard. The projectile struck his target in the shoulder, the injured man stumbling back before Felix loosed another arrow. Then another. The man’s green tunic was soon stained red, his hands clutching at the arrows in his neck and gut. Felix nocked another arrow, this time aiming at the man Harald was fighting. Before he could loose his arrow, however, someone suddenly tackled Felix.
The archer and his attacker rolled around on the floor, with Felix struggling to use his dagger. The other man prevented this by slamming Felix’s hand against the ground, forcing the dagger out of his hand. Felix saw his chance in this moment, his free hand moving to the quiver on his hip.
Without hesitation, Felix took out and shoved an arrow into the man’s throat, dark crimson speckling all over him and his armor. With some effort, the guardsman kicked the body away, catching his breath as he did so. As Felix moved to his fallen bow, which was by his feet, he noticed a man charging at him with a spear.
Thinking fast, Felix quickly nocked the arrow on the string, his right foot pushing against the bow as he pulled back the string. He raised his leg, pulling the nocked arrow back with his weight before loosing it at his oncoming attacker. The arrow struck true, piercing the man’s chin from beneath. As the body fell to the ground, so did Harald’s opponent. The veteran looked at the sight, raising an eyebrow.
“Mind getting up? We’re far from resting.”
“Fuck you,” Felix panted out, his hand grabbing at his bow as he stood back up. “Let’s get to the rest of the guardsmen and help them finish the rest of these bastards.”
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‘Get up! You need to get up!’
James groaned as he opened his eyes to the cold gray clouds of Valenfrost. He slowly moved to get a view of his surroundings, to see what was happening.
“What the…” He wiped his eyes, unsure if he was seeing things right. He blinked a couple times, his eyes focusing on the charging group of armed orcs and men, their weapons raised.
“For the Draugr!”
“Take that bastard down!”
‘Am I hallucinating? Has my body finally gotten a heatstroke?’
The constant switching between James and Faust had been mentally and physically exhausting, the tactic heating his body to unbearable temperatures.
‘No. You’re not hallucinating.’ Faust sounded just as exhausted as James felt.
The young man slowly moved to stand, his breath coming out in large clouds of steam as he got a better look at the situation. He could see the group of fighters charging, their entourage consisting of the mercenaries, Silas, and even two orcs he had helped free. The Lumen Knight was currently staring at the charge, disbelief on his face as he moved to prepare himself.
Archibald was the first to reach Gryff, his silver rapier glowing a bright blue.
“Multi-Strike!” The elf’s arm moved in a blur, his rapier’s tip rapidly stabbing at Gryff. The knight evaded the attacks, most of the rapid strikes scraping against his steel armor rather than doing damage. Gryff moved to cast a spell but was interrupted by Edmund, who hefted his broadsword in a downward swing toward the cryomancer. The strike missed, the broadsword’s edge slamming against the ice as the knight backed away.
Gryff prepared to stab at the young mercenary with his ice dagger, but Brant stepped in, the injured man wielding an ax with his good arm. He swung his weapon at the cryomancer, who evaded the strikes before he tried for a stab at Brant. However, before Gryff could land a meaningful blow, an orc interrupted, his roar heard for miles.
“Dog won’t let you hurt anyone!” The orc swung both of his clenched fists down at the knight, who tried to retreat. However, before he could do so, Silas came in. He rammed his shoulder against Gryff, knocking the knight off balance. Silas was quickly backed up by another of his allies, Fero, from the look of it. The orcs all came at the Lumen Knight, who had trouble dodging and examining their moves.
“Ice Lance!” Gryff’s spell impacted with Dog, the sharp piece of ice hitting the brute’s shoulder. Gryff dodged another swing from Silas and Fero, safely avoiding their strikes. Unfortunately for the spellcaster, he forgot to account for the rest of the mercenaries.
“Power Strike!”
Bjorn’s enhanced strike was short of the momentum needed to do some actual damage, but the magically powered swing from his axe was enough to send Gryff flying to the ice, his steel breastplate sporting a nasty cut. The Lumen Knight landed on his hands and knees, back exposed to all.
“He’s down!” Archibald shouted.
“Get him!” Edmund soon shouted right behind.
Everyone moved in on Gryff. Even Dahlia joined the fray, dagger in hand, as she limped to the fallen knight. James watched as they all kicked and stabbed at Gryff, who was doing his best to defend himself from the attacks and loud shouts from the group of fighters.
“Fuck him up!”
“You like that?!”
“Lumen bastard!”
James stared with clear surprise as both man and orc shoved and struck at the Lumen Knight, who could do little to nothing about the situation. Anytime he tried to defend himself, another strick came in and knocked him off balance, leaving him more open. However, James noted the way Gryff’s hands glowed a dangerous blue, his eyes wide with anger as he hunkered down.
“Wait… Wait!” James coughed as he tried to move, his muscles screaming at him to stay down. Fear was gripping at his heart, his hand clenching at the fallen sword nearby. “Stop! He’s going to–!”
James would be too late.
“Push!” Gryff screamed out, his arms extending as everyone around him was suddenly thrown back. There was a gust of wind that drove even James back, making the young man fall back on his ass. Gryff stood up, panting heavily as blood ran down his forehead and lips. Everyone was trying to get up from the icy ground to go back to fighting.
The first one to go at Gryff was Bjorn, the dwarf rushing in with his axe. The cryomancer evaded the attacks, his boot quickly moving to kick at the dwarf. Bjorn stumbled back from the strike, clearly dazed, before he tried for another swing, his voice shouting out with magical weight.
“Power Stri–!”
“Ice Lance!”
Bjorn was interrupted mid-swing when a bolt of ice pierced his right eye, making the dwarf’s head recoil back violently.
“Bastard!” Edmund shouted, the young man moving in with his broadsword.
“Frost Petals!” Gryff’s hands quickly formed a circle in the air, and small shards of ice formed right after. He sent them to Edmund, the shards piercing the young mercenary’s torso and, soon enough, his face. The young man’s head whipped back from one of the ice petals, blood speckling onto the ice below. Gryff was about to form another set of petals before he was interrupted by someone else’s shout.
“Precision Strike!” An enhanced silver rapier suddenly pierced Gryff’s chest, and this attack succeeded in stabbing through the knight. James could see how its bloodied tip protruded from the spellcaster’s back, something that shocked both him and the cryomancer.
Archibald twisted the hilt of his rapier and struggled to pull his weapon out from in between the plates. Gryff didn’t allow it, his hand grabbing the elf by the collar before promptly landing a punch on Archibald’s jaw. The sudden strike sent the elf to the ground, stunning him momentarily. Gryff huffed and yelled in pain as he yanked the rapier from his body, more blood staining his armor and the surrounding snow.
“Insolent little…” Gryff moved to cast another spell but was interrupted by Dog, who swung at the cryomancer with angry swipes. Gryff caught one of the attempted hits, twisting the orc’s wrist in a way that forced him to his knees. Then, as quick as Dog came in, Gryff put his right hand at the orc’s throat, his fingers forming a rune.
“Ice Lance!” The orc’s body recoiled violently, a bloody tip of ice protruding from the back of his neck.
“Dog! No!” Fero rushed in, the orc swinging his club at Gryff in hopes of striking him down in one hit. Gryff would disappoint him as the cryomancer quickly evaded the swing. In one swift motion, Gryff planted his knee in Fero’s gut, forcing the orc to gasp out as the wind was knocked from his lungs. As Fero tried to regain his breath, Gryff grabbed at the orc’s face, his free hand forming a rune behind the grab.
“Deep Freeze!”
James watched in horror as the orc’s head quickly wilted, ice forming on his shriveling skin. Once Fero’s body stopped moving, the knight clenched his hand inwards, the act shattering the frozen head in multiple bits of frozen viscera.
Just as James thought it wouldn’t get worse, Dahlia stepped in, her dagger slashing and stabbing at the knight.
“You bastard!” Dahlia shouted. She tried for a stab at the knight’s exposed throat but missed, Gryff’s hands moving to disarm her. Dahlia was pushed away, her dagger now in the spellcaster’s hand. Before he could have time to use it on her, Archibald rushed in, his bloodied rapier in his hand once more.
“Over here, you heathen!” The elf shouted, his rapier scraping against Gryff’s shoulder.
The knight turned around, evading another of Archibald’s strikes before stabbing at the elf’s shoulder with his ice dagger. Archibald visibly winced at the slash, his incoming rapier faltering its stab.
“Precision—Agh!” The elf’s attempted thrust was interrupted when Gryff grabbed at his wrist and pulled. The rapier went wide, its tip hitting the air as it missed. Stunned, Archibald could do nothing as Gryff raised and brought down an elbow. The sudden blow broke Archibald’s arm with a resounding crack, contorting it in the other direction. Ignoring Archibald’s screams, Gryff slammed his elbow into the elf’s face, breaking his nose and sending him back onto the ice.
‘Have to get up, now!’
James was forcing himself to stand, his knees weaker than they had ever been and his arms feeling as if they were tearing themselves apart.
He could see Silas stand back up, his club cautiously raised in defense as he kept his distance from Gryff. The Lumen Knight seemed unfazed, his eyes staring at the orc with clear annoyance. Then, without much of a word, Gryff closed the distance, his boot kicking Silas back. He quickly formed a rune, aiming it right at the orc. Dahlia rushed in, the shaman screaming as she swung Fero’s fallen club. She struck at Gryff’s back, making the knight stumble forward, canceling his spell.
“You little–!” He was interrupted by Dahlia, who raised a hand to his face.
“Flare!”