Propelling myself off the waves, I once again soar onto the pier.
Sword Throw!
The boatswain doesn't even turn around. The jian draws a line in a reverse grip, and, humming with vexation, "Word" returns to my hand, never reaching its target.
I need a new plan!
Sliding!
Throw!
The sword sails into the formation, and I, clutching "Purity" in a reverse grip, collide with this overly skilled skeleton. Yes, such risk didn't go unpunished: the jian exacted its tribute, piercing my chest. But that's not enough to kill a Level 2 Knight.
Prana plunged to one-third. But he also lost his hook, the wakizashi cleanly severed the skeleton's right elbow in a return motion.
You're not the only tough ones to kill! Raigs are also more tenacious than regular humans!
I execute a somersault, dodge another attack, and catch the sword.
Block, strike, strike, block!
I bare my teeth in a predatory grin.
"Let's dance now, one-armed?!" I yell in his bony face.
The jian's wall seems impossible to circumvent, but I don't need that. The blades of "Word" and "Purity" are crossed in a hard "scissors" block. A thrust — yeah, I struck him. Just a scratch above his eye socket, but I got him!
I'm sliding to the side.
Sword Throw!
I don't forget to assist others.
He doesn't ignore me any longer! Instead, he spins around and attempts to pin me against the ship's side with a flurry of attacks. A bad move. This tactic doesn't work against raigs!
With a powerful push off with both legs, I leap along the plank, sending myself into a distant flight so that in a moment, like a living missile, fiercely rotating both blades, I carve into the ranks of skeletons that continue their assault on the other Knights.
My intrusion stirs confusion into the already thinned-out formation of the dead, thanks to the local raigs' efforts.
Thibault Cascade!
De Narvaez combination!
Lower recoil.
Minus five!
Sliding!
And I dart back to the ship.
"Hello! Where are you going? I'm here!" With the final word, I break into the nearly perfect defense of the skeleton boatswain.
This time my attacks are unsuccessful, but he can't inflict any more wounds on me.
A deadlock.
It would be if I weren't a raig!
"I am — Speed!"
Having lured this most dangerous foe closer to the sailboat's side and exchanging a couple of combos with him, I once again escape in Sliding, returning to the formation of regular skeletons.
Sword Throw!
"Purity," reap the harvest!
Another minus two from wakizashi and the same amount from the flight of "Word."
Again I return to the boatswain — and the sound of clashing blades rings out. I just need to hold you off, monster! No matter how skeptical I was about the locals at the onset of the Breakthrough, they're holding on! With my help, they've even managed to halt the advance of the bulk of the skeletons. I'm not sure what it's costing them. Apparently, they're managing to hold thanks to the armor. I don't care: if they're standing and keeping the enemies from entering the city — that means they're doing well, end of story.
"Is it tough without a hook?" I snarl, my teeth bared at the glowing eye sockets that burn with rage close by.
I attempt to make atajo, to bind the jian with "Word." He fell for it! No! It's a feint! Go, "Purity"! The right stump flings out in a futile block, unable to keep pace with the short sword.
Do-oh-ong!
The resonating sound of steel colliding with bone.
What is this, "Purity"? Why didn't you pierce that loathed skull?
Heat in the palm.
I understand you tried...
Retreat, block, retreat. There's no time to attack — this bone man seems to have decided to take me seriously. Retreat, I'm trying to escape. I recoil. The jian is everywhere! Left, right, and I can't even jump because this omnipresent blade will immediately slice my legs.
Argh!
You're mistaken. You won't catch me!
There it is — a gap in the steel wall!
And I nearly fall for this trick. Only at the last moment do I push off with the tips of my toes and evade his lethal lunge.
I feel the icy wet boards of the ship's side against my back. The boatswain still managed to corner me against the planking.
Interesting, I hope this wooden wall isn't too thick?
Sword Throw!
No, it's just a distraction.
I am fog! I am nothing!
And I step back.
It's viscous, difficult, and slow!
Faster!
Even faster!
The enemy hesitates, not understanding what's happening, as his adversary disappears before his eyes, merging into the ship's paneling.
The jian swings... Lunge!
Steel flashes before my eyes.
And yet I succeed. I hear another's sword striking wood from the other side.
The ship's board is relatively thin, merely the width of a hand, but it saves me from death.
The lower deck of the ghostly seafarer is dark. Yet, through the numerous cracks, a sliver of light seeps through. I discern how two skeletons that were previously carrying a hefty cannonball drop it onto their feet, noticing my unexpected appearance. A cross blow with the wakizashi — and two piles of bones collapse onto the hole-ridden plank floor.
No time to waste!
Again, the ship's board is before me. I step forward through the "wall." It's difficult and viscous, but the "flesh" of this ship is more malleable than typical material obstacles. Finally, my feet are on the pier.
The skeletal boatswain had just turned around and taken the first step toward the port when a precise and sharp attack from "Purity" impaled the base of his skull.
Heat in the palm.
Yes, well done. You corrected your mistake.
He is now a pile of bones.
I kick it with my foot, sending it into the sea.
What a repugnant and skilled creature. He almost killed me!
Bastard!
I sincerely hope there are no more like him on that ghost ship!
I really hope!
I won't survive another encounter like this one.
The wail of the siren drifts over from the port side.
I spring up.
Two police cars barrel along the embankment, tires squealing, scattering the few port workers. The screech of brakes — and two distinctly painted sedans barricade the entrance to the pier. The sharp, grating howl of the civil alarm sirens rings in the ears.
Local services are exceptional: they responded promptly and drew the right conclusions.
I land behind a line of skeletons, but before I can deliver the first blow...
The cannons bellow long and loud overhead.
The whistling of spectral shells.
Most of them fly high, the only damage they cause being broken glass and a crumpled harbor crane.
Most, but not all.
One hits an entirely different target.
The metal of the police car explodes from a powerful impact. Thick blood splatters the windows. A short, instantly fading cry of pain...
"Argh! Bastards!" I shout, powerless to reverse the irreversible.
Fury fuels me: "Word" rends bones apart, and "Purity" snuffs out the flame in dead eye sockets.
"Scum!!!"
The bugle bellows and nearly half of the skeletons pivot towards me.
I am a living weapon.
I am Death's reaper, returning the lost to Her embrace!
Dance, "Word"!
Extinguish the lights, "Purity"!
The soft sound of bone hitting rock echoes behind me.
No!
No...
I evade a triple attack and turn.
No!!! Damn it! Not again!
A skeleton in a grand tricorn hat and a tattered, once ceremonial, camisole; high boots, a horn hanging from a short chain around a bony neck, and a full-length officer's broadsword in his hands — this is the figure that just leapt off the deck onto the pier.
The captain of the "Ghost Dane"!
And I have no doubt that this foe is no less formidable than that cursed boatswain!
Sliding!
Strike him down while he's unprepared.
I execute a combination of swift blows.
And only a backward somersault saves me from decapitation.
He repelled all my attacks without moving an inch, simply by rotating his hand.
His movements aren't striking in speed, but their accuracy is phenomenal. My new attack — a cascade that morphs into an attempt to bind his broadsword with "Word" — this desvio[1] is extinguished at the very beginning of its execution by a skillfully performed counterattack. His blade would have skewered me if not for my speed.
I attack from a low position. The captain just brushes it off — and "Word" is almost knocked from my grasp.
He's good! Very good... On par with Vicky. His movements may lack a bit of fluidity, but the skill... The expertise I'll never attain.
All I can do is run and dash about, unable to harm him.
And he moves, taking measured steps toward the general battle.
He merely walks, and I can't halt him.
I attack from below, from behind, from the sides, from above, a leap back and a throw of "Word" — nothing so much as slows him down. All my attempts are ruthlessly cut short by the steel of his heavy broadsword, which always appears in the right place at precisely the right moment.
I'm no more than a fly trying to halt a truck by flapping against the windshield.
An apt comparison.
I am nothing, nobody, compared to such expertise.
Who were you, captain of a terrible legend? How many hundreds of battles did you conquer before your blade became so deadly?
Once again, creating distance after an unsuccessful flurry of attacks, I survey the battlefield. Less than two dozen skeletons remain, but the raigs have also taken a beating. Only four are still battling, while two — the dark-skinned one and the spear-wielding guy — are nowhere to be seen.
Could they be dead?
But the remaining four are holding their own! Their armor is pierced and battered, fragments of chain mail hanging off in places, and their helmets bear dents, yet they all still possess at least a third of their energy reserves.
Why am I not blessed with such superior armor? If my body were clad in Milanese plate, that skeletal captain would've lost his bony head long ago.
It's frustrating, just a bit.
I cannot allow him to advance until the common sailors are vanquished.
Yet, I don't want to die either...
The captain's hand moves to his chest, and he lifts the bugle.
Is he about to issue a new command?
That cannot be allowed!
There are at least fifty more skeletons aboard the ship. If he summons them, even a ghost of a chance at victory will vanish!
Sliding!
"Word" sketches a figure-eight with its sharp tip in front of his chest.
"Purity" reliably shields me from a potential counterstrike.
No, I'm not attempting to hit him. I'm not even trying to wound him. I just need to prevent him from bringing the bugle to his jaw, from issuing a new command. Serving as a distraction is all I can do for now.
Effortlessly parrying my strikes, the captain nevertheless has to lower the bugle, as he's wary of the wakizashi, ready to surge forward at the slightest error.
I don't manage to land a blow on the enemy, but his feints can still be anticipated early enough due to some excessive crispness of movements characteristic of all the skeletons. In addition, I maintain maximum distance and immediately retreat at the slightest threat, taking advantage of the disparity in speed.
While the pirate ship's captain was trying to signal with his bugle, he stopped, and by the time he took a new step toward the main battle, only a dozen of his subordinate skeletons remained on the pier. Our only chance is to gang up on him together, then, using the armor of the local raigs, briefly hinder his blade — and deliver a single, precise strike.
He's fifteen steps away, so I decide to assist the Knights with handling the common sailors.
Sliding.
Sword Throw!
Only a few ordinary skeletons are left, but the raigs are already on the edge. The wakizashi flies, severing the arm of the nearest skeleton. The moment he staggers, the xyphos of the Knight bearing the letter "Theta" cleaves through his skull, capitalizing on the opportunity.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Dodging a counterattack, I catch "Word," which returns to my palm, having reaped its toll. Something feels off here. These raigs move, albeit not very adroitly, yet fluidly and in harmony, covering each other and even executing coordinated assaults. I see the xyphos in Theta's hands obstruct a swing of a boarding saber, which is promptly capitalized on by a nearby raig. His straight Roman sword, the spatha, swiftly finds the eye socket of a skeleton whose weapon is temporarily hindered.
I've been hoodwinked. Witnessing a strange Knight, the locals staged a scene, pretending they were at odds with each other. If the Breakthrough had been less challenging, I wouldn't have discerned that this was merely a ploy. But such collaboration can only be accomplished through months of joint training. Not necessarily in fencing - any team sports offer a similar understanding.
I believe I can deduce why they went to such lengths. The uniformity of armor, the identical cloaks differing only in letters, plus this apparent innate comprehension of teamwork. Most likely, even before becoming raigs, this Greek quintet was already a team. It's clear that if they show a stranger their familiarity with each other, it wouldn't be hard for an adept investigator to reveal their true identities. It's difficult to locate a single raig, but five linked by a regular sports team, it's as easy as pie.
My assistance isn't needed here. They'll manage, as they've already grounded nearly eighty bone men before. Now, it's evident to me how, with a rather mediocre level of weapon skill, they were generally able to hold out and fend off the majority of the skeleton force, even with my help.
Sliding.
I swerve to the side at the last instant to evade running into the captain's broadsword. While I dashed to the general fight, he again tried to signal those who remained on the ghostly sailboat.
I carry out a series of deceptive feints.
I just need to distract him for a few tens of seconds, and help will arrive.
What's this? Why did he react so violently? This strike, with all the will in the world, couldn't have harmed him. "Word" missed his skull by nearly a hand's breadth, passing a millimeter from the bugle. Such a seasoned fighter couldn't make such an error, so why did he recoil like that?
My new flurry of attacks shatters against the well-timed movements of the broadsword. It fails, but I think I've understood! He defends the bugle more than himself.
Izao! Recall the legend! What is it about this seemingly ordinary bronze instrument?
No, memory gives no answers. More precisely, there is some echo, but no understanding.
"Don't engage without preparation!" I shout to the local Knights, who've dispatched the last of the common sailors.
That warning nearly cost me my head.
Stay focused!
I orbit at the furthest distance available for "Word." His broadsword matches my sword in length, so even such a distance doesn't assure complete safety. Nevertheless, I can't retreat further because he'd promptly switch to another target.
I need to demonstrate to the guys that this adversary is of an entirely different caliber than those they've previously dealt with.
"Word," "Purity," show your mettle!
Harnessing all my abilities, all my skills, I charge forward, executing one of the most spectacular combinations. Sword and wakizashi dance at varied heights, legs sliding along the concrete in flawless circles.
For five seconds, I had the full attention of the captain. And I nearly paid for it dearly. Like a living snake, the broadsword twisted and, gliding into a millimeter gap between "Word" and "Purity," left a deep scratch on my cheekbone. Of course, this wound instantly healed, such is the nature of the Break, but my prana plummeted to its lowest point.
"Theta, Kappa, Gamma, we must strike together!" The command is issued by the Knight with the letter Alpha.
They've arranged it conveniently: adopting pseudonyms from the symbols on their cloaks. Clever.
I spring away from the captain, hoping to sync with the rhythm of the reinforcements.
That was a mistake. The pirate leader instantly switches to another target. The raig, referred to as Kappa, who inadvertently approached him, was instantly assaulted. The scimitar whisks out in his hands, but this movement is effortlessly and somewhat elegantly halted by the steel of the broadsword, which then continues its trajectory. A strike on the bib - the armor holds up, merely caves in. However, the captain's blade doesn't stop: it glides along the metal until it finds a narrow gap and, with the very tip, pierces the throat of the Knight who underestimated the enemy.
We were five...
Now we're down to four.
No, the fallen raig is physically alive. He just drops out of the Break. But one more blow to his unconscious body, and this would mark the end of the Knight's life journey.
I can't let this happen!
But as soon as I launch my assault, I'm forced to leap to the side, dodging a sudden swing.
"Ah! Together!" Shouts Alpha.
Three blades rise, but only two descend.
Now we're down to three.
It's my fault. I didn't join their attack in time. As a result, another raig crumbles onto the pier like an insensate sack, and all the Greeks' attacks shatter against a flawless defense.
Seeing two comrades fall in such a short span, the raig pseudonymed Gamma grasps his flamberg like a spear and, with a furious cry of "Sparta!!!", charges at the captain, apparently hoping his armor would protect him and he could pin this undead to the pier with his two-handed sword.
Such an onslaught by an adversary, who may not be particularly skillful but is encased in metal from head to toe, wielding a heavy blade, barrelling at you at the speed of a race car, isn't something that can be simply blocked.
The captain is forced to leap away - a simple sidestep wouldn't have saved him in this situation. The broadsword in his bony grip readies its move.
We're down to two.
But this is the sole moment when something can be done.
The enemy is perfectly positioned between Alpha and me at a lunge's distance.
For a fraction of a second, I delay my strike to synchronize with the thrust of the estoc in the hands of the last Orpheidos Knight.
Our coordinated assault is unstoppable. It's impossible to simultaneously block attacks from the front and back with a single blade when your opponents outpace you in movement speed. Skill doesn't matter here; it's more about reaction, precision of movements, attributes that the skeletons inherently lack.
It's a flawless attack.
How did it fail?
I don't know.
I see him blocking the estoc with his broadsword.
That's anticipated.
But how did he contort himself such that "Word," merely leaving a slight scratch, slid over his skull without causing significant harm?
Does he have eyes in the back of his skull?
The broadsword traces a semi-circle and lunges at my neck.
I can't block the swift strike.
I've exerted too much force into this lunge, confident I would penetrate his hardened skull. All I managed to hit was the bugle, which, with the movement of the skeleton, lifted on a chain and hovered precisely before the tip of my sword.
I don't have time to retract "Word" for the block; even "Purity" fails to rise in time.
Just as the ghost ship captain's broadsword is about to slice my neck, "Word" strikes the bugle, splitting it into two unequal pieces.
A sound so sharp and bone-chillingly hideous it seems to halt time itself.
The deadly broadsword freezes, only a few centimeters short of its target.
The captain's mouth hangs open in a silent scream.
Alas, it's impossible to glimpse the depth of his disappointment.
The skeleton's bones lose their solidity, becoming increasingly transparent until they transform into a haze sucked in by the bisected bugle.
Then, following its captain, the eternal sailboat also morphs into a haze, also absorbed by the remnants of the bugle. As soon as its ghostly masts disappear, the powerful artifact, the gift of Death to the mad captain, disintegrates.
Yes, thanks to Izao's memory, as always - timely, this detail of the legend came to mind.
A slight chime in the sky announces the end of the Breakthrough.
That was close...
Two columns of bright light descend upon us.
Silver and bronze.
I stand frozen in this silver light, contemplating which Gift of the Break to accept. The first option is to enhance Throw and Shield. This would give me greater control over the blade's flight and transition the mental shield from intuitive control to mind control. Very enticing, but the alternative is far more appealing. It's nothing less than another trick from the Jedi arsenal - the "Force Push." A sort of prana burst that can strike the enemy and even inflict minor damage to the projection and various Break creatures. I make my choice, and the column of light vanishes.
"Thank you for your help, Maestro," Alpha salutes me with his blade.
He doesn't grasp the caliber of the master he met through the Break. To him, the captain of the ghostly wanderer is nothing more than a standard boss of an ordinary Breakthrough. Even the fact that only two of us remain standing doesn't convey to him the thin thread we were hanging by.
An ordinary Breakthrough...
Indeed...
The Break Vortex offers to transport me back to where it whisked me from.
Can I stay here? There's unfinished business.
The whirlwind calms in response to my mental request.
Thank you...
"I was passing by," I respond neutrally to the Greek, while attempting to ascertain if all the raigs are alive.
"They're fine," Alpha answers my unspoken question upon noticing my gaze. "They'll be up soon."
At that moment, the police choose to make their appearance on the pier. Four of them in flak jackets, holding stretchers, hurdle over the cars and head towards the unconscious bodies of the Knights lying on the pier concrete.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Alpha immediately vanishes from the Break to manifest in the material world. His disguise is reasonably practical: desert military camouflage, high boots, and a tactical helmet with dark glasses. The lower part of the face is covered by a black scarf.
Raising his hand, he hollers at the cops.
"Stop! Do not move! Whoever gets close will die!"
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
For a moment, he returns to the Break and then instantly:
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
And now he's back in the real world.
"Your help is not needed."
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
I understand that with this "blinking," disappearing and reappearing, he's sending a clear message that he's not joking.
"Breakthrough is repelled! There's no danger!"
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
"The Knights of Orpheidos will be grateful to the police for their assistance in setting up a cordon and preventing the disclosure of the identities of the city's defenders."
Even I comprehend that he's entirely serious, threatening to kill anyone who approaches his unconscious comrades. The law enforcement officers understand too; they halt, freeze, and after listening to the order on the intercom, retreat behind their cars.
"The Orpheidos Police thanks the Break Knights!" A voice booms from a megaphone atop a dark armored car that's blocking one of the port passages. "Your demands are reasonable and will be met."
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
"Thanks again." Having concluded his admonishment of the local authorities, Alpha bows to me.
"Do you need help?"
"I'll manage." I see two forces warring within him, but pride ultimately prevails.
"It was an honor to fight at your side." Politeness demands such a response from me. "I hope that if fate brings us together again, our encounter will be under much more peaceful and ordinary circumstances." I am utterly sincere here.
"Good wishes." The Knight concurs with my sentiments.
"Good luck, Alpha!"
"Good luck to you, Maestro!"
With a farewell salute of "Word," I leap onto the water and engage in Sliding.
[1] AN: a technique aimed at obstructing the enemy's blade movement.