“What do you mean you haven't heard from fourth garrison?” The mercenary screeched to the man striding along on his left.

 

     “They are your men, are they not?” The man with the silver chain around his neck spat back. “If there is a problem it's your responsibility. Do what you are paid to do and fix it.”

 

The mercenary stopped in his tracks and a column of other mercenaries stopped with him. That alone was all they could do to finally make the other man stop after taking a few more steps on his own. He turned about slowly, and with tired and annoyed expression, levied his sunken brown eyes backward. Each blackened bag beneath his eyes added another decade to what should have been a relatively youthful face, the disgusted frown furthered the premature grumpy old man visage further.

 

     “You can pull that fat head from your pompous ass, you git.” The mercenary screamed with fiery black eyes and pox scarred face contorted with rage. “Don't think you are so high and above it all to the point you look down and think we are all the same. You ain't so high and mighty because of who you choose to lay in bed with.”

 

A quick glance by anyone and they'd initially claim there is no difference in the build between the two men. They clad themselves with similarly; chain mail tunics and a few plates to protect the joints. Both were marked with familiar battle scars and carried arms that suggested they likely fought with similar styles. Yet if this person were to look closer, and notice that distinctive silver chain and fluttering flag medallion around his neck, his conviction would evaporate.

 

Their job descriptions were as separate as night and day. The mercenary's provocative remarks didn't ruffle the feathers of the adventurer one bit. Talismans jingled off his armor and each carried with it a minor charm. His natural strength was augmented with a hint of magic energy and the average man had no access to that level of sorcery, let alone the ability to soak it in and put it to use.

 

The Bannerman threw themselves into mortal combat with monsters and their careers were oft short if they could not quickly bring themselves up to a supernatural level of combat. Novices that passed their initial training and apprenticeships were inducted as acolytes. These men and women were gifted with the wards and magics of the guild and soon passed the regular rank and file soldiers and mercenaries of the Empire. Equipping such trinkets onto whole armies was prohibitively expensive and the knowledge to their creation were fiercely protected to maintain a competitive edge. And the Silver Bannerman's effectiveness in both has lead to their meteoric rise over the past couple decades.

 

And with that air of superiority over his fellow man, the man turned around without a word and continued on. His high and mighty act remained impervious to other man's protests.

 

     “Fourth Garrison were part of another company,” the mercenary said while lunging forward to buzz around the Bannerman like a mosquito. “We work together on this job, but that don't me their damn keeper.”

 

     “Then send your own runner and find out what the matter is.”

 

     “We did that!” the mercenary officer roared back. “And don't tell me how to do my damn job! And don't try to hide it. You have as much to lose as we do!”

 

     “Hardly,” The bannerman snorted, stifling a laugh.

 

The mercenary stopped dead in his tracks with a flabbergasted expression slapped across his face.

 

     “Our job is entirely different to your own. We are not paid to tussle with other men.”

 

     “Then why in all the hells are you even here!” the other man roared. “The Brightkeep garrison is on the loose and you don't care? It's not a matter of if they come this way. Don't act as though this doesn't concern you!”

 

     “I doubt it. I suspect my Captain will inform us that he has completed our business here. We'll depart soon after. Dealing with your little insurrection is not in our—”

 

The adventurer's eyes narrowed and he turned his gaze back to where he was walking. He ignored the seething anger of the mercenary which is about to boil over, but soon both their eyes settled onto the shapes in the distance. A vague human shape crouched in the distance at an intersection in the tower's labyrinthine maze. The adventurer broke out into a sprint, but keep his weapon stowed away in its sheath. Unsettled by the sudden flurry of activity from the disinterested, stubborn and arrogant man, the mercenary and all his men trundled afterward a mere second of hesitation.

 

Two shapes took on their proper form as the distance closed. One man crumpled on the floor and the another lithe figure of a woman knelt down to inspect him. The bright red gown caught the eye as it contrasted with the pitch blackness of her hair and pearl whiteness of her skin. Her ear twitched as the sound of clanking metal boots echoed down the hall toward her. She rose to her full height, which wasn't much, and faced the approaching men. A pair of thin slit jade colored eyes, highlighted by long feminine eyelashes, cautiously monitored their approach.

 

She had the appearance of someone from the furthest east. A young and beautiful woman from beyond the roiling eastern seas, the coastal marches of a separate great landmass, across its barren steppes and nestled in the infinite temperate valleys of its opposite coast. Long ago it was home to another great kingdom whose true name has since passed into obscurity and folk lore of its exiled people. Few kept its traditions alive as overtly and fewer still carried such pure blood after a thousand years.

 

Her red qípáo clung tightly to her curves, or thereof such on her chest. Two long slits in the sides revealed a great deal of the skin of her thighs and prevented the gown from restricting her movement. Her raven black hair tied in a bun on the back of her head. Around the knot is a long white silk ribbon that snaked into twin mountain paths that nearly reached the floor.

 

     “Lieutenant Fan,” the adventurer addressed the woman as he came to a halt and saluted.

 

     “...Baldwin,” the girl's indifferent voice replied.

 

And without caring to address his proper rank in kind..

 

The mercenary watched with utmost confusion. This woman before him hardly came up to either man's chest, yet he could feel a great deal of tension radiating off the other man. He could describe it by no words other than fear, and respect.

 

     Her bored eyes slowly rolled over onto the mercenary, “Lieutenant Yù Fan of Nerick's Redeemers: Knights of the Silver Bannerman,” the woman introduced herself in full.

 

The man's back went rigid on instinct, but he did not get the chance to respond and introduce himself. Her tired voice asked the all important question.

 

     “This man is one of yours, is he not?”

 

The mercenary officer maneuvered into a better position so he could see the fallen man's face. He recognized the man immediately. His body moved on its own to lunge forward and see for himself if he was alive. The Bannerman lieutenant threw her arm out in front of him to bar his way.

 

     “Leave him be. He is alive and merely unconscious... And it would be better he remains that way. The longer the better.”

 

The mercenary followed Yù's gaze down to the lower half of the fallen man's crumpled body. Both his knees were dislocated and bent at a distressing angle. Far beyond their natural state. Mere glances were enough for anyone to shiver due to sympathetic pain.

 

     “Why not kill him?” The other Bannerman asked.

 

A simple question, but one that provoked a lot of thought in the heads of all present. The question wasn't one anyone close to the man would bring up. There's a sense of relief that he hadn't been killed, so why sour it by asking in the first place? But knocking someone out on the battlefield and then render them immobile took a great deal more effort and time than merely slitting a throat. Choosing the latter had a better track record of success as well. That was the question Yù had been contemplating before the men arrived.

 

     “So you do recognize this man then?” Yù asked the mercenary once again.

 

     “That's right... I sent the lad out as a signal runner,” he said while throwing an accusatory glance back at the other adventurer.

 

     “Then it's as I suspected. We have an infiltrator running amok in the Keep. They're choosing their targets carefully. Maximizing the supply line of information and trying to keep as much of the Keep in the dark as possible. I've come across three others like this over the past fifteen minutes.”

 

     “Three? Four in total,” the mercenary balked.

 

     “I hope they don't have to pay extra for you to count,” the other Bannerman said, full of snark.

 

That almost started a fight, but the woman put her foot down and stood between the men. She hushed them with a single shush with closed eyes. Everyone became silent immediately and watched as the girl's ears twitched and her eyebrows furrow.

 

     “They're still here... She is still here. I can sense her now,” Yù whispered.

 

But who? That's the question that was on the tip of everyone's tongue, but no one dared break her command of silence to ask it.

 

     “Baldwin, extract this man and take these men away from here.

 

     “Hold on one minute— ” The Mercenary officer attempted to interrupt.

 

     “You,” She said and jabbed her finger into the space in front of the man's face. “Inform others not to approach this place as you take another route to your intended post.”

 

This time the man did not get a chance to say anything, because the petite eastern girl turned his back to him and strode another ten meters down the hall before coming to a stop. She slid her feet across the stone and took up a defensive martial art's stance.

 

     “Come out of hiding, coward!” Yù shouted into the darkness.

 

No one answered. All the men present were readying their weapons. Yet more than a dozen alert eyes and ears could not sense a thing. The only man who remained calm and unconfused was the other Bannerman who watched the back o the girl with a stern eye and deep heavy breaths. The mercenary officer's eyes darted back and forth and he craned his neck in every direction, but didn't spy a thing. Everyone, but the two Bannermen, slowly dropped their guard. Just as the officer' eyes passed over what had been empty space, they returned to find another short silhouette standing another ten meters further down than Yù.

 

To their eyes, the cloaked figure appeared out of thin air. A symphony of steel clattering out of their sheaths filled the hallway.

 

     “I said get back!” Yù ordered.

 

     “Yù...” Baldwin said while breathing through his teeth.

 

     “Yes. Exactly what you think it is,” she replied coldly.

 

He nodded and released his hand from the hilt of his sword and let the sword's sheath drop back down against his thigh.

 

     “We're getting out of here,” Baldwin said while backing away and grabbing hold of the mercenary's shoulder.

 

The other man spun around and would have fallen flat onto the ground had he not manged to catch his balance.

 

     “Can at least on of you tell us what is—”

 

     “This is a fight beyond any of you. Leave now, or be killed,” Yù said, her voice instilling an icy chill in all those present.

 

One by one, the men took step after step backward before turning and storming off back down the hall. The newcomer's head tilted under the hood of her cloak as her veiled eyes watched them depart.

 

     “An interesting breathing technique,” Yù said and drew the attention of the hooded figure back toward her. “Or should I say an interesting lack of breathing? It's not a spirit holding technique... Could it be... Yes. Of course. Breathing through your skin... How fitting. Something so disgusting and unnatural would be fitting your kind. You monster.”

 

The figure's fists clenched and the muscles in her legs tensed, but those subtle signals did not go undetected by Yù. She swung her arms around and morphed her defensive pose. To an untrained eye, it seemed frivolous, but the other figure froze in place and watched intently.

 

     “I can't let you pass. And I can't let you run. Not that you would get away. Not now.”

 

Yù moved her arms once more, the fingers on her hands twisted into strange contortions. They left behind ethereal blue afterimages. An aura of ki radiating off her person. Her jade eyes glared forward and saw a thin purple shimmer surrounding the cloaked figure. She now had her target's aura identified and would follow any trail of ki left behind. An uncommon technique mastered only by those with an aptitude and mental clarity. A last resort because she could not track the stranger by her vitals. Her breathing was too shallow or non-existent and the thumping of her heart was far too quiet to be natural.

 

A fluttering of cloth shattered the silence as the other girl pulled the cloaking draped over her shoulders and let it drift away on a short lived current of wind disturbed by the bewildering speed of her arms. The human silhouette gave way to something slightly more inhuman. Minte, The Green Reaper stared down her opponent with indigo eyes. Two other pairs of yellow insectoid eyes picked up hundreds of images that watched Yù from a hundred different slight differences in angle.

 

The eastern marital artist frowned at the sight of the two long blades attached to her wrists and resting against her forearms. Her hands clenched tighter when they snapped forward into place. Minte did not budge an inch otherwise. A pair of antenna twisting and twitching above her head and nothing else. The two of them stared each other down for a few moments longer. They studied one another intently and planned their next series of moves far in advance. When they did move, it was together and toward one another at lightning speed.

 

***

 

A ring of gold fashioned into a crown spun round and round on the floor like a stray hubcap in its death throes. Battered, beaten and now nearly bent into a completely unrecognizable clump of raw soft metal. It preceded the man who so callously tossed away. No doubt it had at least a hundred times more history and prestige than his whole family name, but the rough contours of his scared face didn't show a single ounce of remorse. The man's eyes, nearly bulging with barely contained rage, burrowed into me.

 

     “I hope it was a pleasant dream, but all good things end.” His raspy voice seethed.

 

He stopped his heavily armored body plodding down the red carpeted stairs in order to fish a pipe out from his pouch. He lit it with expert quickness and took an extraordinarily long puff and expelled a whole ash tray's worth of smoke.

 

I knew immediately why his voice sounded the way it did. He has to have one hell of a case of smoker's lung.

 

     “Nightmares end too,” he said with a little twist of a smile on his lips. “But I'm gonna make yours doesn't end too quickly.”

 

     “You don't strike me as the eloquent type,” I fired back. “Did you spend the last few hours on that throne thinking this introduction through?”

 

Not a word in return, but the smile slowly turned into a frown. That and the furrowing of his brow told me what I needed to know. I puffed out my chest the best that I could, but that didn't stop me from being half the man's size. We were probably the same height, yet his arms were the size of my thighs. My toes curled in my boots and my fists balled hard inside their gauntlets till they turned bone white. That was the best I could do to stop myself from shaking.

 

His dark brown eyes bubbled behind his neanderthal-like brow. He had many scars across his face and one of them wiped one eyebrow clear off his face. I had seen many types of eyes belonging to a lot of different men, but these were different. I had seen the psychotic eyes of a zealot hellbent on my destruction out of sense of duty. I had witnessed the indignation of a highborn looking down at me as though I were a pebble in his way on the roadside. I had weathered the bestial anger of a giant mutated man acting on twisted fraternal and paternal instincts. But this anger I was feeling now. It's cold and calculated hatred.

 

     “...I suppose talking this out isn't an option?”

 

     “No. I'd say not,” he said and took a few lumbering steps further down the stairs.

 

I slowly moved my hand over to the hilt of the side-arm currently waiting at my hip. It didn't offer me the sense of security I would have liked. Maybe it had something to do with the axehead of his had double the iron in than my sword.

 

     “I'm not on the clock for this. This ain't business. This is personal,” were his venomous words as he dropped his full weight floor we now shared.

 

My steel toes scraped against the floor as I shifted my center of mass into a defensive stance. Having a little extra spring into my step might stop the initial blow from killing me outright. Being caught flat footed would certainly be my end. I could picture how easily my body could be cleaved in two if that blade hit me at full force with those muscles working behind it.

 

     “And I am on business,” I said taking one step backward to finalize my defensive stance. “So how about we wait a minute and let me finish up—?”

 

     “I expected something more from the man walking hand in hand with the Thorn Knight,” the man said. “Are you telling me I have to kill a sniveling coward? It would be a bitter drink to swallow, but no matter... This is medicine I've needed for a long time.”

 

     “And you're already on a prescription by the looks of it. Didn't the apothecary tell you not to mix your meds?”

 

     “Do you still think this is a joking matter?” he said and let his axe drop into the stone floor beside him.

 

I would have thought that would be bad for the edge. Rolling the edges of the blade right before a fight seemed a stupid thing to do, but it was the solid stone tiles which rolled out of the way. Or should I say they were obliterated out of the way? It slammed into the ground with an ear piercing clank. I would have sworn he had hit it with a hammer three times its size had I closed my eyes and merely listened to it. A puff of dust erupted from the fresh wound in the otherwise pristine and ancient masonry. The axehead, about the size of my face, dug half way in with no problems.

 

     “No, I'll admit I'm just buying time,” I replied with a coy smile.

 

     “Time is what we got a lot of,” the man said while striking a piece of flint with both hands to reignite the dried weeds in his pipe.

 

He took one more long lung filling puff and let a whole weather system billow out and up toward the ceiling. Its pungent and revolting smell nearly caused me to retch as my eyes felt ready to tear up. The man then pulled it out and used it as a pointer to outline the frame of the massive oaken doors behind me.

 

     “Everiron oak. I heard it doesn't grow anymore. Not anywhere where men walk the world that is. Queer elven wizardry. You ain't knocking it down and you ain't slithering your way through it either. Not unless...”

 

He produced a delicate and ornate key in his stubby and ugly fingers. And he just as soon snapped it in two between them. The handle fell onto the ground with a metal ping and he palmed the head. That's when he squeezed his leather gloved hand and balled it into a bundle of scrap and tossed it toward the ground in front of me. Its copper sheen made a lovely pair with the mangled gold crown.

 

     “See? All the time in the world. Just you and I. Doesn't matter who opens that door. I'll have no regrets either way. And now I, Captain Nerick of the Silver Bannerman Redeemers, will cleanse this world of your evil.”

 

Nerick pulled his axe free from the ground and changed his casual intimidating gait into a menacing stride. I had my hand on the hilt of my sword, but as the man stormed closer and closer, the thought of that heavy axe bearing down caused me to rethink meeting it dead on. My gut told me to get the hell out of the way, so I opted to make a sideward roll to the right.

 

I hit the ground shoulder first and somersaulted forward. My feet and ass hit the floor when I failed the execution, but it was better than the alternative. I scrambled to stand back up I glanced back at Nerick who had been trapped in the inertia of swinging that tree trunk with the sharpened anvil on the end of it. True to his word, the axe hit the door and it resisted the blunt and cutting force. No normal oak should have survived.

 

There was the thunk that you'd hear from chopping wood behind the shed, but the door remained completely unscratched. Worse yet, Nerick seemed completely unfazed by the shock that should have washed over him. I had an almost cartoonish expectation that he'd shake like a struck tuning fork, but that certainly did not happen.

 

Nerick glared back at me with eyes which were now boiling with anger. Now there was also a sprinkle of disdain and a hint of impatience. I also spied a tinge of pain, but it didn't slow him down or show in the way he continued to move. His silver sheen breastplate heaved outwards and another jet of putrid smoke billowed out of the corner of his mouth.

 

     “Are you going to stand and fight, or am I going to chase you to death, you worm?”

 

     “You're slower than I am used to, so that just seemed the best option,” I snapped back while finally drawing my sword.

 

That part wasn't a bluff. I've had a number of impromptu training sessions with Rose over the past couple months. They involved running and dodging her as she flung her sword around. She moved a lot faster than Nerick and his swings were by comparison 56 kbit/s modem to fiber optic. Yet if I had to say who had more weight behind their swing... It would have to be this pissed off gentleman by an order of magnitude.

 

     “So it's dancing and fancy foot work, and nothing else, that you are good for? I expected more from the man who ended up at the Thorn Knight's side.”

 

He spat after saying that. Like you would if you were chewing on tobacco, but I'm sure it had to do with mentioning Rose. Even if were by her nom de guerre, the amount of disgust and anger in his voice when doing so struck me as rather odd. I was lacking some piece of knowledge to put this whole death match into place.

 

     “Come on, show me what you're really made of!” Nerick screamed as he went into another charge.

 

This time I leaped back while thrusting my sword forward to meet the edge of his axe as it came swinging in from my left. He slapped away the tip of my iron blade with ease, but I already took two steps back. Thus, I avoided his follow through. He followed through by pulling it back and thrusting the tip forward like a spear. This time I swung across with the tip of my sword facing down and tried to push it aside. Had I not taken another leap backward it may have pierced deep into my stomach. I would have had a better time trying to push the wind away with a whistle.

 

And that's when I backed up into a wall. One of the room's many book shelves to be precise. It rattled back and forth a bit and a couple dusty old tomes fell to the floor further down. Nerick wasted no time bearing down on me with his axe. I would never stop it with this sword and I would not have enough time to slip away. He probably saw it coming either way, so I grit my teeth and waited for the very last moment.

 

His axe came down from above and I shifted my head ever so slightly to the side. I heard another loud thunk as the axe bit into the bookshelf. It made contact with the spine of a book above my left shoulder, but did not dig in any further. A rain of books came down like hail and a few bounced off the top of his head. Nerick had to use his other arm to shield himself and I used that opening to strike. He got too close to strike with my sword, so I slipped out and struck with my knee at his side. Just above his hips was the place where the front and back of his breastplate tied together and I aimed my knee there to hit his left hypochondrium. With any luck I'd crack a floating rib bruise his spleen.

 

There was a satisfying crack as my knee made contact, but the following whip-crack made it null. A backhanded slap across my chest landed square and true. It sent me fllying off my feet and sent and I hit the ground. Hard. A half dozen or so messy rolls across the floor is what it took in order for me to come to a complete stop. The impact left me winded and I flailed and my hands slipped a few times pushing myself off the ground.

 

Nerick nursed the spot on his side with his hand and looked like he was in pain for a brief moment before taking another long drag on his pipe. His expression mellowed for a second before it gave way to rage. He poured all his frustration into freeing his axe from the bookshelf which pretty much disintegrated as he wrenched it loose. Loose leafs of paper fluttered about like confetti.

 

     “Yes, that's better,” he said while trembling with barely contained anger. “This is the stuff good memories are made of. You've got something, it ain't much, but it beats cutting a useless coward to pieces wouldn't be as sweet.”

 

I coughed a few times before managing to spit out a few choice words, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell are you here and what do you want? What do you really want?”

 

     “Revenge. It's revenge I want, Laven. Nothing more nothing less.”

 

     “You didn't know me more than a week ago! And if this ain't business, then no one paid you to kill me.”

 

     “No. I'm actually going against orders killing you. Not that it matters,” Nerick said as he took a few steps closer before stopping seven meters away. “Four years ago I worked for the Haldoe Brothers. Light infantry and cavalry. Paid for reconnaissance work and paid well. The last job I took, I encountered the Thorn Knight. She buried a sword right into my chest.”

 

He traced his hand over the front of his breast plate as his eyes became distant and his rage traveled back in time.

 

     “Somehow, she missed my heart, and so I lived. But for months I writhed in a church's prayer housing. The pain. It wouldn't stop. My chest felt like it was on fire. It's as though it were burning from the inside out. And it wouldn't stop. Told one of my lungs had been mangled. That I wouldn't fight ever again. But I knew that wasn't all. That Thorn Knight, the salamander, the lizard with the burning tail and the scarlet hair. I had been cursed. For a long time I thought dying would be better than laying on a bed and shivering in pain with every breath I took.”

 

     “Ha! So that's how it is,” I laughed. “You call me a coward, but you are too chicken shit to take Rose on, so you come after me instead. Going for the soft target, huh?”

 

Nerick's back straightened out while his face contorted with anger. To his credit, the man managed to clamp down on it and keep his cool.

 

     “No. This about doing the most harm. She didn't kill me, so it's hardly fitting I return the favor that way. No. That would be too quick. Too painless.”

 

He took another couple steps forward into charging range and I forced myself to stand upright and hold out my sword toward him.

 

     “This ain't my first song and dance. When I was back at that church and about ready to pack it in, the Commander himself happened to stop by. He heard what I had been through and when I told the story myself, he extended his mercy. He let me into his Bannerman and gave me purpose.”

 

     “And make sure you get your fix,” I said glancing over at the pipe protruding out from the corner of his mouth.”

 

     “It makes the pain go away. A godsend from the Almighty himself. The Commander found it during his travels long ago. And when I joined him. All those months of agonizing pain were nothing but a nightmare. I saw the world. More than just The Empire. I saw lost lands. Great ruins of forgotten civilizations razed by Demon Lords of old... I've also killed men like you and their whores many times before. And their whores always act the same way. One: They shut down and lose the will to live. Taking them prisoner and watching as they refuse to eat or even drink and simply fade away. Others wander into the wilderness and are never seen again... Some rage. They rage like nothing you've ever seen before. And I'm curious what the Thorn Knight will do when I tear you in half.”

 

I gripped my sword tighter and my arms began to shake. My eyes tried to burrow holes into the mercenary's forehead with their anger. He looked on with a twisted smile.

 

     “You finally in the mood? Good. When I put the feelers out about you after the Count's ball I expected you would be more entertaining than that sad display back there. And when I am through with you, for better or worse, I will have taken out three or four birds with one stone. Incubi like you— Need to be put down like the dogs you are!”

 

This time I would stand my ground. Nerick came bowling toward me, but I swung back trying to threaten him. He couldn't swing that cleaver on a telephone pole as freely as he wishes he could if I snuck in some thrusts and slashes of my own. If he hit me, I'd surely die, but that's if he could hit me. That axe of his carried with it some vicious momentum that could not be stopped very easily. What he could throw were certainly deadly, but each swing telegraphed itself long before he committed to letting it loose.

 

Granted, there wasn't much room to move out of the way. If his axe did miss, the man came right behind it. He'd need to throw his shoulder forward, tackle me and knock me off my feet. The man had to have a good twenty to twenty-five kilos on me. I weathered the blows of the axe's pole and tried to avoid direct contact and dodged the lethal arcs the axe made across the air. It briefly left an iron gray crescent as it whooshed in front of me, beside me and above me.

 

I had a second or two before they flew at me, but when he did swing, the blows were terribly fast. There's a lot of explosive power in those gnarled muscles. Yet attacking back put me at more risk than before. Add to that the fact he would have to hit me eventually if he swung enough as I began to tire.

 

The bite of steel raked across my chest and cut through the leather jerkin protecting it. It served its purpose and the tip of the axe nicked me, but went from my lower right abdomen almost to my shoulder. It split my jerkin in half and shredded the shirt underneath it. A trickle of blood followed and the stinging sensation came soon after. Nerick stopped his onslaught for a brief moment before resuming the assault.

 

I tried in vain to parry and slash, but every blow that landed on his thick rubbery hide left nothing but paper-cuts. The thin trails of blood didn't stop him and his face and body language didn't leave me with the impression that he felt any of those slashes. I certainly felt the next one though. It passed right in front of my face. My head jerked back, but I could feel the cold metal brush past the point just below bone and slice into the cartilage. After that, the only thing I could smell was iron. Blood poured down off my nose and out the nostrils.

 

It could have been worse, I could have had my face managed and my brain cleaved in half. Nerick paused altogether and retreated back a few steps to admire his handiwork. He full intended to savor everything and felt confident his victory was inevitable. His arrogance caused my blood boil.

 

     “Getting slower already? Come on now, you need to make this more interesting,” Nerick said with a grin.

 

Come on Laven! Five more minutes!

 

Rose's voice echoed in my mind. I could picture the scene before my eyes. Rose with her playful smile flourishing her practice sword and lunging in again to continue sparring. Watched off to the side were Susan and Chris. Susan with a detached and clinical expression, but her pose and the way her tail moved gave it away that she's really worried. Chris cheered me on and encouraged me to press harder. I could see a glimpse of Minte watching from above and following my every move. A tweak of her antenna showing what her stale facial expression wouldn't, or couldn't. Ba'el lay off to the side, napping. Yet she couldn't hide the glint of her green eyes which kept watch nor the subtle fist pumps when I managed to hold my own.

 

Whenever Nericked opened his mouth that image fluttered and wavered. His interruptions and his constant taunting, which felt so distant now, gnawed on my patience. I wiped my arm across my face and a trail of blood painted it red. I shifted my feet into an aggressive stance and gripped my sword so tight that the steel of my gauntlets squealed.

 

     “You don't have a monopoly on being pissed off, NERICK!” I screamed.

 

This time it was I who charged headlong into the mercenary. He smiled and pulled a foot back and assumed his own defensive stance. He readied his axe to block and then no doubt deliver a devastating blow. I wrapped both hands around the hilt of the one handed sword and closed the distance. However, I knew full well I wouldn't have the reach or the strength to beat that guard. I'd need to be more innovative than a straight forward charge. Not that Nerick had to know that until the last second.

 

I pivoted just outside of his range and jumped to the side. Row upon row of book shelves provided plenty of sturdy footholds. Nerick's shoulders twisted as his pulled back like a spring to let loose another meaty iron arc with his axe, but he committed to a chop that ended up far too low. I pushed off with one foot and landed the other on the nearest shelf. My bent knee snapped the muscles of my thigh and kicked me ever higher. I sailed over the axe as it came swinging across.

 

Nerick grit his teeth and I watched as if in slow motion as he tried to throw up a last minute defense. My right foot drew back as I propelled myself forward. He watched my sword approaching out of the corner of his eyes while he glared at me and silently cursed at me. He could not reign his axe back in time, so he had to let it fly away out of his grip and sent skidding across the ground and it set off sparks at it ground to a halt. Swinging down with my sword would be too slow. That's why I snapped my right leg out and clean cocked Nerick in the side of the head as his arms tried to reach up and catch my sword. My steel toed boot connected with his jaw and his pipe popped out of his mouth and got sent flying. It struck the ground, bounced a couple time and poured its charcoal weeds across the floor as it went.

 

I came down where he had stood before, the man had been sent reeling and covering his face with his arms. I bounded forward and charged forward with my sword ready. I ignored the relatively unarmed arms and legs and went right for the sweet spot. My sword struck his breastplate like a mallet on a gong. Not a scratch, nor a dent, but the loud bang and ring told me the concussive force would do something. The vibrations passed down into his chest and he roared in pain.

 

Nerick covered and protected his chest beyond all else. The left Rose had left years ago must be incredibility sensitive. He had to take a constant prescription of pain killing narcotics to dull the pain. That's what the man had told me himself a few minutes ago. It appears he wasn't exaggerating.

 

I rained my sword down on his chest again and again. I treated it less like a sword and more like an axe of my own. The mightiest tree in the forest will fall if you chip away at it enough. Nerick took step after steep in retreat. But that's if the tool can last. One last swing and the sword bent beyond its limit and then snapped clean in two.

 

My anger outweighed my dread and I pressed closer to swing with the broken hilt, but it's one step too close. It was well within Nerick's reach and his hands struck like vipers. They wrapped themselves around my neck and their thumbs pressed in on my trachea. I grabbed onto his combined wrists with one hand while the other slumped down at my side, sword gripped firmly.

 

He had eyes which were now bloodshot red. Every vessel had burst and it gave him the look of a demonic bull. My eyes were ready to bulge out of their sockets and I couldn't get so much as a gasp into my starving lungs. Now it's his turn to push me back in turn. Each passing second was one second less till my throat collapsed and my spine snapped in two.

 

At least I still had something sharp.

 

I brought the sharp point of the broken sword up and stabbed it through his left bicep. One of hands convulsed and quickly pulled away. I lost grip of it then, but it had pierced completely through his left arm. That left him with one free arm left, but he used that to toss me away instead. A barbaric roar gave him the strength he needed to send me flying backward and coming to a rolling stop several meters away.

 

     “You little shit!” Nerick screamed

 

He desperately fumbled to get a grip on the sword embedded in his arm. When he finally managed to get a grip, he huffed a few hyperventilating breaths and then pulled it free. A pool of blood spilled out onto the ground below him from the wound. He tossed the bloody dagger sized blade to the side in anger. I watched as he couldn't decide which hurt more: his chest, arm or face.

 

Not that I had a much better position, or anything. I found myself sprawled out on the ground in a coughing fit. Every breath I took resulted in a painful resetting of the cartilage in my throat. The cartilage in my nose, which nearly split from the face, had a tiny stream of blood ran off the tip of my nose onto the floor. Another little river poured down onto my lips. Lastly, a line of blood got left on the floor wherever my chest made contact. I struggled with weakening limbs to push myself off the floor once again. A nearby table holding a priceless vase helped, but my floundering body caused it to rock, shake and sent the artifact crashing to the floor. It served as an auditory cue to Nerick that I was getting ready for action again.

 

The mercenary graced me with another one of his death glares. His eye twitched in pain, but we both looked at the same thing below me. I had landed nearby to Nerick's axe which remained the sole serviceable weapon within sight. He also threw a glance off to the side where his pipe had landed, but that was off to his right instead. An addicted mind had other priorities as his furious eyes morphed into desperation as he stumbled toward it.

 

I dove forward and greedily grabbed the great axe's handle. Yet I couldn't pull it off the floor. Try as I might, the axe wouldn't budge.

 

     “What the hell is this? Mjolnir?”

 

The thing had looked heavy, but this weight is ridiculous. I couldn't understand what it could be made of that made it so heavy. That lead to the realization that Nerick had been swinging this thing around no problem. When I glanced up after struggling in vain, the man had retrieved his precious pipe and desperately tried to relight it. I forgot to keep trying to free the axe from gravity's pull when I spied the dull red light reappear.

 

Nerick breathed deep and he breathed it like a gluttonous chain smoker. After a few deep puffs, he appeared to have calmed down tremendously. His shaking form became calm, but only for a moment. The bruise on his face, the arm which still bleed and the pain in his chest faded away. When the pain had left, the vacuum got filled with fury.

 

That's when I realized that this wasn't just any pain-killer. His strength and the immunity to pain were not natural. All the pieces fell into place. My attempts to wield this axe and failing sealed the deal. This narcotic he smoked gave him strength... No, that's not quite right. It didn't give him strength. It let him use it. No man should move as he does and perform feats of strength as he does. Not without hurting himself. The body can exert itself like that for a second and not more. Any more and it would damage itself. That's why you feel pain in the first place. But what feats could you do if you were not afraid of the damage and could not feel the pain?

 

I watched as the man turned and faced me. He lumbered forward at first, but quickly turned that into a stride. My arms pulled at the axe a couple more times in vain before I had to stand and fight. We were both unarmed, but I now realized that didn't matter much for him. He broke out into a sprint for the last few meters. I could not help but be put on the back foot by the charging bull of a man. It's a desperate attempt to take a defensive position, but there isn't anywhere to go.

 

My arms flew up to protect myself. Nerick's feet left the ground and his whole weight flew at me like a missile. He turned himself into a weapon, feet first.

 

No one expects you to open with the flying drop kick, huh?

 

Furious, roided out, over a hundred kilos flying at me at twenty-five km/h. His weight caught me square in the chest and sent me flying. I went straight through the bookshelf behind me. There wasn't a wall to stop me either. Wood splintered, books and paper flew. Behind the library a drop waited to welcome me. Below was another level of the throne room's halls. I had missed the stairs, obviously, and so I plummeted down three and a half meters. I hit shoulder first and my head took the softer second blow and it knocked me out like a light.