Lances and Daggers

24. Battle in Ashenbrook

I looked at the two enemies who had appeared out of nowhere. They resembled neither the possessed townspeople nor the crazy cultists. Yes, they contrasted starkly with other humans. Their predatory glare reminded me of Laikos. It was as if they had been...

"Human Aberrations," Demetrius said.

"Yes, they're invincible specimens." Christopher Fergus tapped the ground with the Stabilizing Staff. "They know neither fear nor hesitation."

"Trent the Slick and Ormond the Giant," Reinfried said. "They were bandits. I arrested them several months ago and sent them to the prison dungeons."

"Well, Faust must've used them for a little experiment," Demetrius said. "I'll handle Fergus."

"Leave the guy with the sickles to me," I said. "Trent's his name, right?"

"Yes," Reinfried said. "And Ormond's mine."

I stood facing my new opponent. Trent the Slick... Faust made him into a monster. Those sickles were so fast that I could barely see them. If I had been seconds late, my head would've been chopped off. The two sides stared at each other in silence. No one blinked; no one moved. Everyone was waiting for a chance to strike.

"Lance, Reinfried," Demetrius whispered, "prepare yourselves. I'll cast a spell."

As a gust blew across the street, Demetrius unleashed his power. Green magic circles dotted the dirt road, and metal stakes popped out from new crevices in the crumbly earth. They split the road in half and punched holes through anything they encountered.

"Is that your best?" Fergus laughed. It seemed that he had also been reciting an incantation under his breath. Immediately, there was an overwhelming burst of flames. The heat melted the stakes and nullified Demetrius's attack.

"Dear me, I think I'll have to go all out." Demetrius placed his hands on the ground, and a red magic circle appeared. It glowed for only a second before a pair of long chains materialized.

Fergus attacked with more fire, but Demetrius whipped the chains, and the gust that their movement created sent the flames back at Fergus. Meanwhile, Ormond the Giant lumbered toward Reinfried, and Trent the Slick zoomed to confront me. A three-versus-three battle had started.

Trent pushed me back with repeated slashes. As light-footed as a Laikos, he lunged, twisted, turned, bent back, bent forward, slid, jumped, growled, bit. I couldn't keep up with him, but I managed to protect myself against his most malignant attacks.

When a chance presented itself, my blade stopped his sickles. The friction between the weapons created sparks, but I stayed strong and refused to yield. Then, with a wide slash, I forced him to retreat a few steps.

I need to do something before my head gets added to this year's harvest.

Trent's attack resumed. I absorbed one hit after the other with my sword. Then I stopped with a solid footing in the dirt, avoided one of his sickles, and slashed his stomach. My sword left a horizontal slit, but it wasn't enough.

He's still moving.

Trent didn't need to recover. He didn't seem to feel pain or understand the meaning of danger. Lusting for blood, he aimed a new attack at my head. This time, he was so close that I didn't have a chance to put up my usual defense. His crimson eyes stared into my soul, and his teeth clattered hungrily.

No, I won't die like this. In my moment of despair, I remembered my practice duel with Reinfried. When I had the advantage in close range, what did Reinfried do? That's right—he didn't try to block or dodge but pushed himself forward!