Chapter 9: One by One

The bars and inns closed their doors earlier than usual. It was the final night before the festival and the last chance for a warrior’s purge. They didn’t bother waiting for the roads to clear or the street lamps to go out. Once the last light faded and darkness swept the city, the battles began. The knights and soldiers quickly responded but put little effort into concealing the havoc after these past bloody days. They were just cutting revelers down as fast as possible and taking fewer prisoners.

Noah neither joined nor wasted his time watching any of the fights. Instead, he hurried to the warehouse while invisible and searched the area. If the Harajin were coming, it would be after the last light had faded, and Noah had no doubt they’d turn up. They’d arrive in some form or fashion and try to kill him rather than make the trade.

He had to convince them that a fight wouldn’t be worth it, and it would be better if he did it without killing them, especially Grond, as Cyrilo could find out and turn on him. That meant he’d have to be careful with his magic, using it sparingly so that Grond couldn’t learn anything and share that information with others.

Noah reached the warehouse before the Harajin and worked fast to set the scene to his advantage. Klein eventually arrived, with Grond and Tora keeping their distance and surveying the situation. He focused on a dead body lying outside, near the pier’s edge. He recognized the clothes, the dropped knight’s sword, and the smell of blood. Klein waited in the shadows, not daring to approach.

This couldn’t be real, could it? This stranger, having slain three Harajin, to be lying there in a pool of blood was preposterous. Could he really have fallen victim to the Red Revelry? Klein checked the warehouse but found no signs of occupation. He waited, letting a minute pass, then two, three, and several more, never taking his eyes off the body while his ears picked up the sounds of fighting throughout the city.

Patience was an assassin’s most outstanding quality and a staple of Harajin training, but still, the doubts eventually came. What if this was a trap? He could wait out a human threat, not a mechanical one, and the longer the body sat out there, the greater the risk of someone else discovering it.

This was not something he could simply walk away from, not after everything they had lost since coming and everything they risked by staying. He took a chance and hurled a dagger at the body. It pierced the side beneath the ribcage and dug deep. No reaction. Klein braced himself and stepped out of the shadows, approaching the body.

“Not one more step.” He heard it when he reached the halfway point between the warehouse and the pier’s edge. A ship was docked nearby, and while he could not see anyone there, the voice had originated from it. “You move at all, and the deal is off.”

“The same to you. Show yourself.”

Noah stood up, bow in hand, and trained on Klein. He had the drop on him. “Show me your hands. You try to use any hand signs, and you’re dead.”

Klein complied, raising his palms to show he wasn’t holding anything. Noah’s spells were active, and he separated from his clone and got into position by the body. It was a makeshift scarecrow wrapped in his clothes from the previous night and dabbed with blood. The Harajin would never have dared move if he had just left the goods exposed without it.

He set the fungal antidote and mystery potion down next to the body, wrapped in his mana, and by the time his clone made it to his position, it had worn off, and they appeared as if out of thin air. They were placed precariously at the edge of the pier, so easy to knock over.

“Here is how this is going to go: you are going to explain Bakudan to me, every single facet and detail. When I am satisfied, I’ll depart and leave these three items to you. You go home with your prizes, and my curiosity is sated. No one else will ever know what happened here or what you tell me. We can all walk away from this.”

“How can I know you won’t sell this information to others?”

“You can’t. You’re just going to have to take the risk. With this sword and antidote, you can secure an alliance between the Harajin and Uther, and this antidote I stole from your friend is clearly valuable to you. Are they not worth it?”

Klein took a deep breath. “Yes, they are worth it.”

No more words were spoken; he bolted towards Noah with sickles in hand. Noah fired his arrow and hit only Klein’s cloak. The way he moved made the fabric flap and billow, hiding his real movements like an octopus’s tentacles. Noah sent his clone sprinting to the side to draw his attention and reached for another arrow in his quiver. Before he could even feel the fletching, he saw Grond charge towards the supposedly-abandoned bottles, along with the third Harajin, Tora.

Noah grabbed the bottles and sword and chased after Klein. The Harajin’s speed and reach turned him into a storm of blades, and Noah’s clone could only move as fast as he could, so he focused on dodging Klein’s attacks and studying his movements, scrutinizing the few occasions when those sickles passed through the illusion.

Klein was utterly silent, despite his constant movement. None of his footsteps made a noise, same with his cloak, and rather than magic, it came down to pure skill. Unfortunately, using his clone like this burned through his mana at an exorbitant rate, so Noah could only maintain it for a short while.

Klein realized something was wrong just before Noah’s mana gave out, letting him step into the place of his clone and cancel the spells. He finally blocked one of his attacks with the knight’s sword, then disengaged and spun around to launch a kick to the side of Klein’s head. Klein dodged and closed back in, swinging both sickles at once like the mandibles of some giant beetle. Noah stepped back just far enough to escape, though they came closer to his face than he would have liked. Nevertheless, Klein pursued him, one blade after another.

Noah managed to dodge one of his swings and land a hit of his own, but Klein reacted instantly and pulled away from the sword as it cut him, thereby lessening the damage. He opened up some space between him and Noah, leaving Noah shocked. The way he moved, rolling over in midair the instant the blade touched him, was almost inhuman in terms of agility and reaction speed. Was that a monk enhancement or training? He could only hope the other two weren’t similarly gifted. He’d find out in a moment, for they were coming to join in the fight.

He pulled away from Klein and led him along the pier. They sprinted parallel to each other, hurling and dodging throwing knives, with a few even knocking each other out of the air. Like before, Klein used his cloak to block and deflect the oncoming attacks. The flapping and twisting fabric would catch the blades and direct them away from his body.

Noah continuously moved to keep Grond and Tora from sliding into his blind spots. Like Klein, they used their cloaks to conceal their actual movements and ward off attacks, so they were always in motion, never letting Noah get a precise lock on them. Their technique was the same as Klein’s, so Noah’s analysis with the clone served him well in surviving their onslaught.

Even when he did land a hit, their reaction speed was so good that they could pull away from his blade as it cut them. These Harajin well surpassed the hobgoblin, ogres, and other armed opponents he had encountered thus far. It had been centuries since he faced opponents near this skill level. His body was strong, but theirs were shaped since birth for combat. Were he in his prime, he could kill all three without even needing magic. Unfortunately, that life was long ago, and his skills were rusty.

Continuing to move back, Noah stepped on a piece of rotten fruit. The momentary loss of balance was all Klein needed to get past him. Noah spun around to try and catch him and found only empty air. He sensed Tora approaching and turned to block, only to feel blades slice his arm and leg. Klein had appeared from the darkness and attacked him from behind. Blood poured freely despite his leather armor; even worse, Tora had disappeared from view.

‘Bakudan.’

Noah managed to pull away from both Grond and Tora. The moment he turned, Klein appeared in his blind spot and attacked him, but Noah dodged his attacks and got all three in his view. He was starting to figure out their tactics, and now he just had to deal with their poisoned weapons.

He knew it from the wounds Klein had inflicted and could feel his movements slowing and his senses becoming foggy. He could power through as long as he didn’t take any more hits. Tarnas had made a big deal about Grond poisoning two knights, meaning whatever was on his blades was the greatest danger. He’d have to deal with him first. They were still on the pier, giving him an idea.

He charged back into the group while keeping his eyes fixed on Grond. The Harajin scattered, and as expected, Klein and Tora activated Bakudan as soon as he averted his eyes, while Grond dared not cast it under Noah’s gaze. About to enter Grond’s range, Noah suddenly stopped and spun around, aiming behind him with his sword. He wasn’t trusting any of his senses, only his hunch, and that was all it took for him to slash Tora across the stomach. It was deep but not fatal.

No time to celebrate—he escaped Grond before he could go on the offensive. Klein was nowhere to be seen, but Noah knew where he was and how to flush him out. He kept his eyes focused on an area of space and pulled out the poison bottle he had looted from Oritz. He smashed it against the ground, spraying glass and liquid in all directions, with several shards and droplets hitting an invisible shape. Noah replaced his sword with his bow and fired an arrow, striking the invisible Klein in the shoulder.

“So that’s how you do it, how you get so close to your victim. You approach from their blind spot, and just before entering their field of vision, you activate Bakudan and become invisible. When they look around to find you, your friends attack or play decoy. You release the spell and close in as soon as they look away again. You can’t move while it’s active, so you can only use it to lie in wait or fight when you’re in a group.

It doesn’t matter how much blood you spill to protect your secrets. I’ll squeeze them out of you, bit by bit. Tell me what I want to know while you’re still capable of talking.”

Klein and Tora were temporarily down, but Grond was itching to cut Noah’s head off. Noah returned his bow to his ring and faced Grond barehanded. Noah should have been at a disadvantage without a weapon, but freeing his hands put him on equal footing.

Whenever Grond reached out with a blade, Noah would aim for his wrists to block the attack or direct it away from his body. It was easier said than done, as Grond was an expert in his blade work, and Noah avoided injury only by the skin of his teeth. His hands were a blur from the motions, and he did his best to tough it out. When the perfect moment finally arrived, Noah went on the offensive.

He delivered a kick to the balls, a chop to the windpipe, and a punch to the solar plexus so fast that not even Grond could react. Noah finished by kicking him off the pier and into the shallow water. The pain from Noah’s attacks left him unable to think, let alone stand up, and his wet clothes weighed him down. It took all his strength just to keep his head above the water and breathe while the fungal spores and poisons were washing off his weapons.

Despite neutralizing Grond, Noah failed to prevent Tora from sinking her sickles into his back. Both lungs were punctured, leaving him struggling to breathe and racked with pain. Regardless, he turned around and kicked her square in the chest, knocking her through the air in a similarly breathless state. He turned around and drew his new sword just in time to counter Klein’s attack. Unfortunately, with these continuous assaults, he didn’t have a moment to take a potion, and Tora’s poison was taking effect, this one devouring his mana.

Now that it was one-on-one with Klein, Noah could finally take the offensive, if only for a few seconds. He disengaged and then closed in again, slashing and stabbing with all the strength and coordination he could muster. The sword’s weight in his hand had become so familiar that Noah almost didn’t regard it. While the intricacies of specific styles were still beyond his reach, he had relearned and remembered how to feel through a blade and use it as an extension of himself.

Noah wasted no motion, as his damaged body needed every spark of strength to function. Even with two sickles, Klein couldn’t get past Noah’s guard. His sword was hitting its marks, all his attacks aiming for body parts that weren’t moving, thus unprotected by the Harajin cloak.

Noah tried to press him further, but his momentum broke. He had managed to ignore his pained breathing until a bloody cough worked its way up to his throat and demanded an audience. Klein seized the opening and kicked Noah in the side of the ribs, knocking him off his feet. He was hacking and spitting up blood, but Noah rolled to the side to avoid another attack and got to his feet, unsteady as they may be.

“You guys are really starting to frustrate me,” Noah wheezed. “You’re so stubborn and refuse to see reason. Just tell me what I want to know, and this fighting can stop.”

“You’re in no place to talk, looking like that.”

“You three aren’t doing much better. I’m after your knowledge, not your lives, but the more you drag this out, the harder it’ll be for me not to kill you.”

“We will die for our clan and our secrets.”

Noah spat out a glob of blood. “Don’t.”

“You know nothing about us.”

“I don’t need to know anything about you. You say you’re willing to die for your clan. Should you? There are countless things worth living for and many worth killing for, but nothing is worth dying for. All you truly have is your life, the brief privilege to enjoy an entire universe of experiences. Everything else is expendable, replaceable, and pointless. Whatever you care about, be it your clan or your faith, I guarantee you, I promise you, it is not worth your life. Live for the Harajin if you want, but do not die for them.”

“We are proud of our commitment, proud of our loyalty to our clans and our gods. It is with pride that we die in battle, and also with shame, for to be slain by another is to be inferior to them, too weak to carry on our duties. I swear, I swear on my pride as a Harajin, you will die here, bereft of the knowledge you’ve so foolishly pursued.”

“Your friend, Hulf, do you know what I told him before he died? I told him that if he didn’t give me answers, I would hunt down the rest of his team, one by one, and pull the information out. If that didn’t work, I would cross the sea and hunt down the rest of the Harajin, one by one, until I got what I wanted or they all died out. Don’t make them die for your pride.” He turned, hearing something very familiar and very troubling. It was an explosion, and he could see a pillar of flames and smoke rising from the city’s center. “Well, that can’t be good.”

“Just give it up already,” said Foley.

“Quiet, I’m working,” Roc shot back.

“You’re not working, just failing. I was hoping you had a better idea than just trying to pick the lock. If it was something original, I could have followed that. There are literally a dozen other guys in here that have tried this.”

“You’re ruining my concentration.”

“What concentration? You’ve just been jamming that stick into the keyhole all afternoon. It’s probably filled with sawdust and wood pulp at this point. They could come to let us out, and their own key wouldn’t even fit. You’re actually making us even more trapped. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Hey, it’s better than doing nothing.”

“Is it, though? Is it really? Do you even know how locks work?”

“No, not particularly. I’ve actually only seen this done once before, but I’ve never faced a problem I couldn’t solve without perseverance.”

“You’re using a piece of scrap wood to try and pick a magic lock. That’s not perseverance; that’s the result of you being dropped on your head as a baby. I pity the poor lass who receives your horrendous technique.”

“Instead of complaining, how about you do something to help? I’m pretty sure these locks are dwarf-made.”

“What do you expect me to do? Give it three taps and whisper sweet nothings?”

“No, I expect you piss yourself and dance a jig!”

Foley snorted in laughter. “I’ll give you honest points for that one.”

“Shit.” The stick, worn down to crayon size, finally crumbled in his hand. “I need the spoon.”

“Hey, we already agreed you can’t use the spoon.”

“Just give me the damn spoon!”

“Fuck you.” Roc turned to him, flashing his unblinking thousand-yard stare. “Oh please, I ain’t afraid of you.” Roc continued glaring. “You look like you need to take a shit.” The glaring intensified. “Fuck, fine, take it.” Foley tossed him the spoon, and Roc went to work digging out the ground-up wood from his earlier attempts. All the spoons in the dungeon were bent and twisted by prisoners trying to pick the locks. “Look, I don’t know what you got waiting for you out there, but you’re not going to get to it any faster.”

“I have to try. The sooner I can get out of here, the sooner I can get back to hunting. I need to find a letter of recommendation before tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t you have just done it the normal way? Most nobles give them out like candy.”

“I thought this would be an easier method. Was it the wisest choice? No. But right now, it’s the only option I have. Besides, I’d rather die than accept anything from those Uther nobles.”

“Well if you’re going to the academy, how long do you think you’ll have before you’re found out?”

“Hopefully, long enough to grind all noble brats into the dirt. Damn.” He had dropped the spoon, and while reaching down to retrieve it, he suddenly jerked back as something struck his arm. It was the magic lock falling off the door.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Did you really do that?”

Roc picked up the lock and examined it. “No, it wasn’t me.”

The shackle was broken, but it hadn’t snapped. It was cut. All the other locks were likewise falling off the doors throughout the dungeon, alerting everyone. The guards posted at the exit were left utterly stunned. Someone or something had just unlocked every cell. Just a moment of hesitation, then the doors were flung open, and the prisoners burst out of the cells, Roc and Foley included.

The guards didn’t even last a second before being slaughtered. Even while unarmed, most of these prisoners were skilled battle junkies. The wave of escapees flooded through the dungeon, most looking to collect their belongings, while others decided to simply flee as they were.

In various storerooms, warriors seized their confiscated gear. Shoving his way through the crowd, Foley found his buckler and grinned at seeing the sealed envelope tucked within. This was a chance to upgrade for many, and they started stealing whatever looked good, including Roc. He had no interest in weapons or armor, only healing potions. He fixed his shoulder and other wounds and saw a redheaded young man move towards the door.

“Hey, buddy, mind telling your name?” Roc asked as he approached.

The alarm rang as the prisoners rushed out of the dungeon and into the night air. Horns and whistles blew, and the flashes of spells lit up the sky as the battle began. Swords and other weapons clashed, and arrows filled the air like raging hornets. The prisoners focused on escape, so they fought only long enough to get by those standing guard.

Archers manning the walls around the dungeon tried to rain death upon the prisoners. Outside the building was open ground with no cover, a killing field designed to keep any escapees from reaching the wall or the single exit. However, this was no mere breakout of common criminals. These were heavy hitters, and the archers were fired upon with spells and arrows and knocked from their perches. The heavy iron gate, the single entrance and exit to the facility, was ripped off its hinges by a sword swing with the power of a speeding truck, courtesy of warrior magic.

The evening had just begun, and everyone, both military and civilian, could hear the commotion and see the flashes of spells. The knights and soldiers rushed towards the scene of the violence, now spreading as the freed warriors put more and more distance between them and the dungeon. They’d start fires and kill civilians as a distraction, and the revelers in the streets couldn’t help but join in the chaos.

It was turning into a riot, with mounted troops rushing down every road and shouting at civilians, “clear the streets! Everyone, get inside and lock the doors!”

The doors were sealed at the Knight’s Sheath, with men and women alike pressing their noses to the windows and watching the havoc in the shrinking distance. Daniel, still bedridden in the backroom, could only listen to the fearful voices in the parlor.

In the Town Square, Sir Berholm was barehandedly dispatching troublemakers with masterful skill and frightening power. Things had become too chaotic for the privilege of being taken prisoner, so anyone he deemed an enemy received a crippling or even fatal blow.

Despite his size and age, he was fast as lightning with fists like sledgehammers. He could crush bones and splatter organs with a single strike, and anyone who dared attack him would see their weapon smashed to pieces. Swords snapped like twigs, shields crumpled, and arrows were snatched out of midair.