The forest was shrouded in a thick blanket of darkness, broken only by the dim moonlight filtering through the branches of the trees. Talax's soft footfalls were barely audible, a whisper on the forest floor as he edged closer to the camp. With his stealthskill activated and covered in shadows, he crept closer to the camp like a shadow himself.
His targets, the two bandit scouts, snored loudly. Their snores like the growls of a bear, sounded awfully like Qalo. It reminded him of their previous banter and teasing, injecting his frayed nerves with a much-needed dose of levity. Talax was cautious with each step he took, his footfalls barely making a sound as he approached. His heart was hammering in his chest, the fear of being discovered making him sweat.
The lone bandit, who acted as a lookout, was slumped against a tree, his head nodding as he fought against sleep. Talax hoped he would remain unaware until it was too late. His eyes darted between the path before him and the sleeping figures in the camp, scanning for any signs of movement.
When Talax finally reached the boundary of the camp, he hid behind two vines and observed the sleeping bandits for a few moments, making sure they were completely unaware of his presence. The darkness was his ally, but he felt his stealthskill flicker, as he left the safety of the shadows. His heart raced faster, as he shuffled forward, barely daring to breathe.
He kept low to the ground, his heart pounding like a drum as he approached the bandits. As he got closer, he saw the two bandits lying side by side, their features illuminated by the faint moonlight that filtered through the clouds. He froze when one of them shifted, but when he realized they were still fast asleep, he breathed a sigh of relief and resumed his advance.
When he finally reached their laying forms Talax's hands shook with fear and anticipation, gripping two daggers tightly in his sweaty palms. He hesitated; his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. Could he really take two lives in cold blood? He had killed before, but never like this. These men were defenseless, and even though they were likely cruel and vicious, did he have the right to end their lives in such a way?
The sky was a blanket of stars, but the darkness did little to hide him as he stood beside the sleeping bandits, his mind racing with indecision. The fate of these men was in his hands, and he had to decide whether to act or not.
All thoughts of morality vanished from Talax's mind in a frenzy of adrenaline as the captive's loud moans pierced the silence of the camp, sending shivers down his spine. With a frantic look around, he saw both the guard and the leader jerking awake, their eyes bulging with shock and alarm.
His heart racing, Talax's hands moved with lightning-fast speed as his daggers pierced through their skulls with a sickening crunch, sending a wave of nausea coursing through his body. The two sleeping men let out a strangled moan before their bodies convulsed in a grotesque dance of death, their limbs twitching and spasming like marionettes without strings. Talax watched with a morbid fascination, unable to look away from the macabre sight before him.
“We are under attack!” the sound of someone roaring shattered the stillness of the night. Talax pulled his daggers from the bandits' skulls, the nauseating sucking sound making his stomach turn.
Suddenly, a sharp pain flared up on the left side of his face, and he realized he had been hit by an arrow. With a raised hand, he saw bright red blood shining wetly under the moonlight, and he knew he had to act fast. Another arrow whizzed by, and he quickly dove to the ground, using the dead bodies of the bandits as a shield. Arrows rained down around him, and he frantically searched for his knives that he had lost in his desperation to avoid the coming arrows. In the chaos, he saw one of the bandits racing towards him, his eyes gleaming with outrage and bloodlust.
The situation was dire, and Talax's heart sank wondering where Qalo was. If the big brute didn’t show up soon you would soon join the bandits, he was using as meat shields. But just as he was ready to accept his fate, a deafening bellow shook the trees, heralding Qalo's arrival. The bewildered shouts of the bandits followed Qalo's thunderous entrance, giving Talax a chance to get up, snatch his daggers and assess the situation.
Qalo's powerful muscles bulged as he grappled with the guard, his jaw clenched in concentration. The orc's face was a fierce mask of determination, and his eyes blazed with an intense fire as he fought to overpower his enemy.
Meanwhile, the bandit leader was desperately trying to put some distance between himself and the terrifying orc. He clutched his gleaming bow in his hand, ready to strike at any moment.
The other two bandits stood frozen in the center of the camp, their faces etched with expressions of confusion and disbelief. As if they had never seen a furious orc before, and they didn't know what to do.
Talax's heart was racing as he saw the glint of metal on the ground, the dead scout’s sword lay discarded next to him. He lunged forward and snatched up the sword, feeling a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. He knew that he needed a better weapon if he was going to survive this fight, his simple knives weren’t of much use in a fight like that.
The two bandits turned their attention back to Talax, their eyes narrowing with malice as they prepared to attack him. However, they must have decided that the fearsome orc was a more threatening opponent because after a few hurried words they split up. One went on to join the rest of their crew that strained against Qalo and the other one ran towards him.
Talax felt his legs shake as he saw the bandit close the distance with a bloodthirsty expression. He raised his newfound sword, that felt strange and heavy in his grip as if it was alive and was unwilling to cooperate. In a fighting position, with his knees bent and his sword raised, he took a calming breath.
He will make it. He will come out of it alive, like he had done all the other times.
Talax felt a surge of frustration as he realized that he didn't have any spells to aid him in the battle. He wished he had some spell to aid him, but the only spell he knew was still out of his grasp due to his low mana. He hoped that after he leveled up some more, he would have enough mana to cast the offensive spell.
The bandit charged at him, his sword raised high above his head and Talax felt his heart ready to come out of his chest.
The bandit swung his sword in an overhead swing, and Talax raised his own sword just in time to block the attack. The sound of clanging metal echoed through the camp, and Talax's arm shook with the force of the impact. Gritting his teeth, he fought to keep his grip on the sword using both his hands and pushed back with all his strength.
The bandit drew back his sword and prepared to strike again, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, but this time Talax wasn’t quick enough. He stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air millimeters from where he had been a second ago. A searing pain let him know he hadn’t gotten away unscathed as he had initially thought.
With a surge of adrenaline, Talax regained his balance and readied himself for the next attack, determined to come out of this alive. A grim realization washed over him when he saw the new wound on his torso pumping a trickle of blood. He had come too close to death. Had he not moved in time, he would have been skewered without a chance of surviving the deadly strike.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Talax tried to catch his breath, feeling like he had run a marathon, his lungs constricting with his every breath. The stinging pain coursing through his body was almost unbearable, like he was being consumed by a fire from within. His muscles burned with each movement, but he knew he couldn't give up. Talax tried to figure out a way to end the fight as quickly as possible having witnessed the bandit’s superior strength and skill in swords. It was a miracle he had lasted this long against someone with levels and skills so far above his own.
He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the pain as he attempted to defend himself from the bandit's next attack.
The sound of his enemy's laughter was like a taunt, mocking him for his weakness. But Talax refused to give in to despair. With a furious scowl he focused on the task at hand, scanning the battlefield for any advantage he could use to turn the tide of the fight.
As he moved, he could feel the wetness of his own blood soaking through his clothes. It was a stark reminder of the danger he was in, and the stakes of the battle. He knew that one false move could mean the end of his life.
Suddenly, he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Qalo was still fighting, locked in a deadly duel with another bandit, the fallen guard's body lay twisted and broken on the ground, a testament to the orc's incredible strength.
Talax felt a surge of hope as he watched the orc's massive frame loom over his opponent, his sword strikes pounding down like a hammer. The bandit moved like a graceful dancer, with every movement precise and economical, as if every stroke was planned in advance. Qalo, on the other hand, fought with the brute force of an enraged beast, his sword strikes landing with a force that shook the ground.
In the distance, the bandit leader cursed as he struggled to find a clear shot at Qalo. His arrows flew wildly, missing their mark by a hair's breadth as Qalo expertly dodged each one. Every time the bandit moved, Qalo moved with him, like a shadow that couldn't be shaken making it impossible to be targeted. The archer's frustration grew with each passing moment, making him reckless and more prone to mistakes.
Talax felt a surge of determination as he watched the battle unfold. He knew that if he didn't act fast, he would be overwhelmed by his own opponent.
Talax was brought back to reality when the bandit jabbed at him with his bloodstained sword. With a quick roll, Talax avoided another thrust and made a mental note of the two bodies lying on the ground.
An idea began to form in his mind as he realized that he might have a chance to turn the tide of the battle. Despite the excruciating pain that wracked his body, Talax summoned all his strength and prepared to make his move.
As he desperately dodged his opponent's slashes, he felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His heart raced, pounding in his chest as he tried to stay one step ahead of the bandit's deadly sword. Every move was crucial, and he could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead as he made a split-second decision to faint a dodge.
“Where do you think you are going little monkey?” The bandit's fury was palpable as he closed in, his wild swings creating a deadly symphony of steel. Talax felt the wind of the sword as it flew past his face, barely missing him by a hair's breadth. He could see the veins bulging in the bandit's neck, the spittle flying from his lips as he shouted taunts at Talax.
Talax's body was covered in shallow wounds, blood flowing freely down his skin, staining his clothes with a deep shade of crimson. Each step he took felt like he was walking on broken glass, his head spinning from the loss of blood. Despite the pain, Talax refused to give up. He had come too far to fail now. He kept leading the furious bandit around trying to find the perfect position for his plan.
Finally, Talax saw his chance. His heart raced with a mixture of adrenaline and hope. He took a deep breath, trying to focus and he made a quick feint. When the bandit went to intercept him, Talax threw his dagger, taking the bandit by surprise. The bandit's face contorted in fear as the blade flew towards him, causing him to flinch and lose focus.
And then, with a burst of renewed energy, Talax leapt forward, his eyes fixed on his opponent as he tackled him. The bandit exclaimed in surprise and stumbled over his dead comrade, with a pained yelp he fell to the ground with Talax on top of him. The sound of metal clanging filled the air when the bandit’s sword went flying. Talax's grip on his own sword was slipping, sweat making his palm slick as he fought to keep it in his grasp. The bandit's face contorted in rage as he saw the opportunity to end Talax's life.
“You little shit! I will kill you with my bare hands!” The fallen man said with gritted teeth.
They had fallen into an awkward position, with their feet in the air, tangling over the dead bandit, and their heads mushed together. It would have been funny, if the furious man hadn’t put his hands on his neck the first chance he took, trying to strangle him.
Talax thrashed around trying to dislodge himself from the man’s embrace, but his less than accommodating position didn’t let him escape. His struggles were in vain as the bandit had him trapped with his powerful legs and was slowly but surely suffocating him with his hands. Talax's face turned red as he gasped for air, his fingers clawing desperately at the man's neck. He felt like a fish out of water, flailing around in a futile attempt to escape. His feeble attempts to fight back only seemed to anger the man further.
As the oxygen drained from his body, Talax's vision grew blurry and his thoughts became muddled. He was barely conscious, his body going limp as he resigned himself to his fate. But then, he felt an insistent poking on his hip. In his oxygen-deprived state, he barely registered it at first, but the sharp pain finally broke through the fog in his mind. It was then that he remembered his original knife, the one he had used against Bene, still tied around his belt.
With a sudden burst of energy, Talax's hand scrabbled for the knife. He strained against the bandit's hold, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of the blade. Talax swung the knife with all his might, slicing through the air like a razor-sharp whip. The blade found its mark, sinking deep into the bandit's flesh.
Talax's body strained with the effort, and his mind went blank for a moment. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew that he had to keep fighting. He was a survivor, and he refused to die at the hands of this thug.
As the bandit's grip loosened, Talax sucked in a breath of air, his lungs starved for oxygen. He gasped and coughed, feeling the rush of air fill his lungs. It was a sweet relief, and he relished in the sensation.
Finally, as his mind cleared, Talax realized that he was still clutching the knife, which was now embedded deep in the bandit's head. The man lay dead beneath him, his eyes staring blankly up at the sky. One side of his face resembled minced meat. Blood, bone and grey matter had created a horrifying sight that made Talax wake up from his trance.
Uncontrollable coughing and desperate gasps of air wracked Talax's body, causing him to abandon his blood-stained knife and retreat from the dead bandit lying before him. He fell to the ground in a fetal position on the uneven terrain, tears streaming down his cheeks as he moaned in agony. It felt as though a collar of fire had been branded onto his neck, and he recoiled in pain when he tried to touch the tender flesh.
The agony persisted for several long, excruciating moments, during which Talax writhed in agony and struggled to regain control of his body. He could hear the clashing of swords in the distance, but he was too preoccupied with his own pain to investigate what was happening. Slowly, the pain subsided into a dull, burning discomfort, leaving Talax lying still on the ground, gazing up at the violet sky.
Despite the relief of the pain easing, his savaged throat throbbed with each breath, and his numerous cuts sent twinges of stinging pain through his body whenever he dared to move. He felt sore and battered everywhere, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
“That was close.” Talax muttered to himself Feeling a sense of relief. He barely recognized his own voice, his ravaged throat felt like it was spiting rocks instead of sounds.
“Ugh.”
Each word he uttered felt like barbed wire dragging across his throat. Suddenly, a shout from Qalo jolted him back to the present, and he watched as the bloodied orc pulled his comically small sword from the bandit leader's chest before delivering a decisive blow that sent the man's head flying.
“Hey, twig man, why are you wiggling around like a maggot?” Qalo shouted at him nonchalantly, like he hadn’t just killed three men.
Talax showed him his middle finger, but Qalo didn’t seem to grasp the meaning of his response.
“What? You need a minute?” Talax shook his head and with what strength he had left, stood up.
As the reality of their victory dawned on him, He exclaimed in elation, “We did it my man!” His abrupt response caused a new fit of coughing that had him doubling over.
When he could finally breathe again, he went over to Qalo and showed him his open palm.
“High five!” Qalo looked at his raised hand and then at him, incomprehension written all over his face.
“Just slap your palm with mine!” Talax mimicked the action with his other hand, the orc looked at him like he was crazy but then shrugged and did as he was told.
One moment he was looking at the orc’s ugly face and the next he was sputtering with a mouth full of dirt.
“Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” Rough hands grabbed him and helped him stand up as if he was a baby.
Still spitting dirt Talax responded. “Yeah, I didn’t think this through.”