Asabasha 23, 350 AOR

Reaching the plaza where the celebration had entirely ceased, Cal met with Dirah and Lisa as Lucie and Bea helped the citizens flee to the town hall. The on-hand militia members who were sober enough gathered too, turning to the raiders tearing through the town, destroying the windows of homes, and ransacking what goods they could find.

As usual, when with the town’s leader, Cal fell back, allowing the former knight to take control. Dirah’s booming voice tore over the sound of chaos. “Militiamen! Half on me! Half with Gray!” Dirah looked at Cal as Bea returned from the town hall with Dirah’s axe. “Confront the first wave at the South Gate. We’ll wrap around and fight the ones that are already on the side street.”

Cal nodded, though he stopped as Lisa’s voice sliced through the air. “Beatrice… a blade.”

His eyes widened before he turned around, anger in his facade. “Mother!”

“Do not stop me, Cal Gray,” she retorted, tearing the sleeves of her blouse off before she caught a sword Bea had tossed. “Our home is under attack. I will not idly stand by… You wish to protect me? Then stand by me.”

Cal met her eyes. When he couldn’t find the words or time to argue, he unsheathed his blades and stepped next to her. She smiled with confidence.

“What about the professor?” Dirah questioned as he grabbed his weapon from his daughter.

“He’s not assisting,” was Cal’s quick response.

Smacking his teeth, Dirah rolled his shoulders. “So be it.” Markstead’s leader looked over his shoulders at the dozen militiamen they had on hand, raised his axe, and shouted, “Our home is under attack, but it shall not fall, shall it?”

“No, sir!” roared the militia.

“I’ll people shall not die, shall they?” he bellowed.

“No, sir!”

“Then fight till you die, you pitiful souls!”

“Yes, sir!”

With a final battle cry, the group of just over fifteen raised their weapons, splitting into their groups and rushing toward those who threatened their homes.

Cal could hear Dirah and Bea’s group clash with their first enemies as he laid eyes on his first target, a man backed by a dozen of his allies; however, before he could make a move, Lisa rushed forward. Jumping nearly ten feet into the air, Lisa shouted. “Wind Slice!”

Cal’s eyes widened as a light green aura formed around her blade. When she swung, an arc of energy shot out of it before it hit the man. The bandit cried out as his arm hit the ground, but before he could even react, Lisa descended, her sword plunging straight through his chest.

What was to be a battle ceased as Lisa, crouched above the slain, removed her blade and slowly stood. Her head hung, light brown locks a veil to her expression, which revealed itself as she whipped her head back… It was bafflement reflecting off of her hazel eyes. “Oh my. I think I put too much into that one. It’s been so long since I used attack magic.”

Silence surrounded the two sides as Lisa proceeded to tip-toe off the freshly made corpse, apologizing when she stepped on its arm. She looked up at the rest of the enemy with a smile on her face. “Well… who’s next?”

“Hoorah, Lady Lisa!” shouted a drunken voice.

From the side street where Dirah’s squadron had split, one auburn-haired Gordon ran at the group of unsuspecting raiders, his shoulder tucked. Cal watched with unamused eyes as the monster of a man slammed his shoulder into the smallest of the raiders, sending the poor woman flying dozens of feet into Mrs. Lee’s shop.

That was the sign, spurring Cal and the rest to charge forward. They were each forced to fight at least two enemies, worrying Cal when it came to the more inexperienced militiamen; however, with him were Gordon and Lisa, alleviating his hopes to a degree. Still, not even five seconds into the fight, one of their allies dropped with a sickening thud as a mace to the chest sent them to their demise.

Cal’s heart sank, but mourning would come later.

Sheathing his left dagger, Cal pounced at his ally’s killer. He bashed their face with the butt of his blade. When their head snapped back, Cal used his now free hand to grab the back of their head and throw it down onto his upcoming blade. It went clean through their neck, probably the only opening when it came to bypassing these bandits’ plated armor. Such was proven when Cal tried swiping across the chest of another. His blade simply scratched it with a grating sound, causing Cal to wince as he flipped his blade and pushed forward.

The next enemy to confront Cal was a woman with two daggers. When their eyes met, an almost competitive respect passed between them before Cal yanked his second blade from its confines.

“Markstead’s Shadow… Please don’t disappoint,” she said before flying towards him and swinging at his chest.

He back-stepped the attack; however, her missed blade flipped to a reverse grip before pulling it back towards Cal. By the time he parried that one, her second blade shot towards his chest. He barely managed to dodge it, but she flipped that blade as well. The tip was practically inches from Cal’s chest before she plunged it toward him.

Cal’s world froze, his eyes widening as a sense of hopelessness washed over him. She was quicker than he expected; it forced him to fight on his heels the second she swung first. So was this really it?

He understood that fighting could always result in quick, almost meaningless deaths. But here, right now? After he’d just properly buried his father? He was going to die?

His mother, sisters, Dirah, and Bea—they needed protecting. And his father, Aldera, the Dark Magic… Airetore’s smirking face flashed in Cal’s mind, causing the young man to scowl.

“Like hell!” he shouted.

In the second he had, Cal recollected the sensation he’d felt during the first night in the woods with Airetore. The caustic sensation of lightning that had enveloped his arm and caused him to react within the blink of an eye. The same happened in that instance. Beforehand, her blade was practically touching the fabric of his tunic, and in the next instance that he blinked, her blade was knocked out of her grasp. The bandit’s eyes shot open, but not because she was now without her blade, but because Cal’s dagger was currently lodged in the side of her head.

Her second dagger clattered to the gravel road before she dropped dead. Cal withdrew his blade as she did so before wincing at the pain in his arm.

Lightning Magic. That’s what it was, and it was something Cal only used in what could be considered a last resort, moments where he genuinely felt as if there were no other options. That was because every time he did so, the mana coursing through his mana chords burned like it was full of lava rather than the energy that made up his very being.

Cal released a haggard sigh and shook his arm before looking down at the dagger wielder. “You fought well,” he muttered.

He checked his surroundings, taking note that his mother was perfectly fine at the moment as she pulled her hammer out of the abdomen of a bandit. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the drunken Gordon as he was thrown off of his feet by a mage warrior who had used a Water spell to blast Gordon into Mrs. Lee’s shop.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Cal couldn’t be certain if the groaning was Gordon or the bandit he’d previously launched into the store—currently crushed beneath the former. Seeing that Cal couldn’t spot the latter, he opted for the second option.

Dragging himself from his observations, Cal blocked an incoming attack after two bandits quickly made work of a militiaman and changed sights to him. He blocked the first attack with the swipe of his right dagger, and as the second bandit rushed him with their spear swinging low and wide, Cal changed targets to the second bandit. He kicked the first bandit and ran towards the second before jumping over the swipe in a horizontal manner. The missed attack gave Cal all the time he needed to hit the ground, roll, and spring up in front of the second bandit.

Cal pushed both daggers at their torso, but their spear’s shaft came back to smack the attack away, which then created a series of flashing attacks and blocks as Cal took the offensive and the spear-wielder continuously spun their spear to deflect his attacks. The first bandit reappeared then, but Cal simply took a quick moment to parry the obviously weaker bandit before he kicked him to the ground again.

Attention returning to the spear-wielder, Cal brought both blades up and brought them down. The attack was swiftly blocked before the bandit mirrored Cal’s attack. With a cross of his blades, Cal caught the shaft of the spear; however, when their eyes met, the bandit smirked and kicked the butt of the spear toward Cal’s groin. Cal saw this and swiftly pulled his thighs in, essentially catching the spear before it could connect. He looked back at the bandit, who scowled, more so once Cal used the trapped spear to smack the bandit’s head.

“Bastard,” the bandit grunted.

Cal ignored him and simply repeated the motion again and again until he dropped his blades, grabbed the spear, and smacked its butt into the bandit’s face. The action caused the bandit to stumble back, grabbing at their bleeding ear. Cal closed the distance in a matter of seconds. He spun, creating momentum, and swung from the upper right. It slashed diagonally across the bandit’s armor, hardly making a scratch. The force was enough to knock the bandit to the ground, however, allowing Cal to raise the spear and thrust it with enough force to pierce the bandit’s chest.

Retracting the spearhead, Cal spun it in his grasp before launching it behind him.

The first bandit, struggling as he had been, fell to his knees, grasping at the weapon lodged in his chest. Cal hardly batted an eye as he returned to his blades and picked them up, but before he could keep with the fight, he found himself off his feet and flying down the main road into the plaza.

Slow to gather his bearing, Cal deliberately blinked a number of times as he picked himself up, groaning all the way up to his feet while grabbing his blades.

“Are you okay, brat?” Airetore asked. He hadn’t moved an inch since the battle started.

“Fuck off,” Cal called out as he massaged his temple and looked ahead.

Down the main street, he watched through blurred vision as several figures walked toward him. One took the lead with slow, thunderous steps. Unease washed over Cal.

“Do you want to know something?” Airetore asked as the figures drew closer.

“I can’t say I do actually,” Cal shot back.

Despite his response, Airetore spoke with the voice of an instructor—a mentor. “You’re overcompensating—too much mana. Lessen the output.”

Cal ignored Airetore, though not out of spite or some childish reason, but because his eyes finally cleared, allowing him to see as the bandits he’d yet to defeat stepped into the front of the plaza with an unconscious Lisa Gray, her slumped form thrown across a larger man’s shoulder.

Rage began to boil in the depths of Cal’s soul.

Gravel to the right shifted. Emerald greens flicked over to the path between the inn and town hall, where Dirah, Bea, Pierce, and three others stood captive by the enemy’s sword. On top of the enemy in front of him, they were still outnumbered two to one.

Cal clutched his daggers and looked forward again as the front figure took a few more steps into the plaza. It was a man with a few inches on Cal despite his hunched shoulders. He possessed dirty blonde hair and sunken, muddy-brown eyes that bore into Cal’s with an almost bored expression.

“Cal Gray…” his voice drawled, its tone as dull as his expression. “For a boy, you’re quite hard to kill.”

“Who’s asking?” Cal queried as he began to circle the plaza, eyeing the Melds as they shifted in their compromising positions.

The man mirrored Cal, wrapping around the gravel ring at the same sluggish pace. “The name’s Jay Silverden. I’ve been itching to get my hands on you, Cal Gray.” Jay scratched his chin, eyes still on Cal. “Two days ago, you killed my little brother. I thought I’d send him as a welcoming party, take over the town, and welcome me with open arms and your head. Instead, our scout returned, claiming you’d killed him. I was somewhat peeved, killed the poor scout, and made haste for this… little town. It doesn’t look like much… as do you. How do you have such a bounty on your head?”

“Ask your brother,” Cal jeered. “Oh, that’s right…”

“How cocky,” Jay said as he stopped in front of the inn. “We have the heads of your leader and who I assume to be your mother—do you really wish to test me?”

“If it offers me a better fight than your brother, why not?”

Jay chuckled. “I like you, Cal Gray. You’re sharp, proves the rumors true.”

“And what might those be?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely… There’s the rumor of the boy who defends Markstead with eyes as dead as the bodies he leaves behind, blades as sharp as his emerald green eyes, and skills on par with even an Eldan Knight. Though that’s not the most troubling…”

“You need any help, brat?” Airetore asked as Cal came to a stop in front of him.

“Shove it,” Cal muttered, eyes locked on Jay.

“He’s strong.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t forget what I told you.”

Gravel shifted beneath Jay’s foot as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “They say that the boy’s father died years ago. They say that he was killed by demons backed by one of the region’s most despicable bandit leaders. But the boy lived, and over the course of two years, he hunted down each and every bandit to find the mastermind. Men, women… children—any and all connected—killed by the sister blades as dark as the Lord of Shadow’s coat. The leader then died pitifully. Unforgivable, truly.”

Cal stilled, eyebrows slanting as Jay unveiled what he felt he buried two years ago alongside all those corpses. Behind him, Airetore released an impressed whistle.

“How do you know about that?” Cal asked.

“In regard to the powerhouses, there are very few factions left. With each one that’s fallen, they form into bigger and bigger groups. Of course, survivors tell their stories, word is spread. In Eastern Wyze, yours are the most notorious. But, as mentioned…”

Snapping his fingers, the raiders around the bandit leader hollered to the sky. Nothing immediately occurred; however, as boisterous laughter and shouts boomed over the silence surrounding the plaza, the ground began to rumble, gravel shaking. Moments later, nearly two hundred men and women surrounded the town, their weapons raised as they swarmed Markstead’s defenders, down to less than a dozen.

“What you are looking at is what’s left of the factions of Eastern Wyze,” Jay announced. “Many are criminals—others are tired of the modern age and its ways… It’s why we do what we do. You might have thought this was all for the hell of it—that we were greedy pillagers—when in fact, we only fight because we’ve been wronged. Past the wrongdoers and mavericks, we are soldiers, former Eldan Knights left to waste after injuries and deficiencies left us incapable of service. And what did Elda do, the kingdom we cherished and fought through Hell for? They tossed us aside without so much as a thank you. So caught up in their fight with the Elves of Everhold and Witches of Kroath, they tossed us aside and called us trash. You’re a victim of it too, Cal Gray. Eastern Wyze used to be safeguarded by Elda, but then the Civil War came, and with it, resources were drawn back, never to return. This became a lawless land not because of the Arclydes or distance from Wyze’s Three Great Kingdoms, but because the powers of this world deem us unworthy of their graciousness. I believe that makes us one and the same, yes? Hell, if it weren’t for Elda and King Crim, perhaps your poor old father would still be standing alongside us.”

A hush as tense as Cal’s grip on his blades filled the air of the northeastern edge of Eastern Wyze. Only the beat of his heart could be heard over the rushing thoughts within his mind. The overwhelming number of enemies, his family’s capture, and the revelation of the factions and their origins.

It was all such a—

“… fucking mess,” Cal drawled as he took a step forward. “Your idea of riling me up is pitiful. One and the same? I’m flattered, but I’ve been told I’m like a lot of people recently, and I don’t like seeing myself more than I do in the mirror, so how about I lower the number of me’s in the crowd?”

“You wish to fight us, all two hundred and twenty-five?” Jay questioned.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cal!” Dirah shouted.

Bea backed up her father’s words. “You’re not a hero, you stupid bastard! You’re going to die!”

Not batting either an eye, Cal crouched into position as his body relaxed. “You wish to destroy that which I love… I have no sympathy for you. I’ll kill as many of you as I can and not bat an eye. Besides, even if I die here, the result will be the same. You’ll kill the men, rape the women, and steal the gold… You’re broken soldiers? No, you’re worthless excuses of life that defend your actions by calling them justice.”

“Then what does that make you?” Jay inquired as he held his hands behind his back. “You kill the killers, but that still makes you a killer yourself. You’re no different than us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You hide from what you are—pathetic low lives with no purpose in this world. On the other hand, I know what I am,” Cal spoke with conviction. “I’m a murderer, I’m a liar, and I’m a poor excuse of a son and brother. I’ve killed men in more ways than one and I’ve isolated myself to protect myself from unwanted pain. But you know what… I’ll live that way forever if it means not dropping to the level of you disgusting fucks.”

A grin tugged at the corners of Jay’s lips, but it did little to hide the irritation welling behind his eyes. “You’re really something, Cal Gray… Very well. Kill him.”