Published at 9th of September 2025 12:28 pm

Book 5: Chapter 10 A Reckoning [Part 2]

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He had no clever retort, no hollow denial to offer. Horror etched itself deeper into his features as the truth settled in. Bereft of words, he reached for his weapon—a silent admission of his own moral bankruptcy.

I looked at the sword at his hip, its shape and form familiar to me.

His sword was elegant, I'll grant him that. An archaic blade of eastern design—single-edged, with a curved, wickedly sharp tip. It was akin to Fen's weapon, but a pale imitation crafted from inferior metals and wielded by a lesser man.

Still, his sword, like the rest of his gear, was of sufficient quality—perhaps even enchanted—to resist my raw magic. This would be a test of skill in the old-fashioned way. His magical trinkets might level the field somewhat, but I too wielded a weapon of power.

He drew the blade with practiced ease—a flash of silver that caught the eye. For a moment, it distracted me, and I felt the slightest prick at the back of my knee.

I glanced down to find a diminutive figure, smaller than even a dwarf, had stabbed me with a needle-like dagger. What did they hope to achieve with such a pathetic attack? The wound, which could barely be called a wound, was insignificant.

Then I felt it—a searing fire spreading from where the blade has kissed flesh, an insidious pain that threatened to override my defenses. The blade had been poisoned.

The weapon of cowards, women, and the weak.

"You pathetic wretch..." I snarled, but before I could finish, Canis and his escort lunged at me.

I rolled to my left—an awkward move, but effective. My weight crushed the diminutive assassin beneath me who was not fast enough to get away. My evasive action had elicited a shriek that was music to my ears. A fitting recompense for the inconvenience he had inflicted upon me.

My Mimic shield sprang to motion, its monstrous eye glaring as it intercepted their strikes. Meanwhile, the poison coursed through me, battling against my god-given regenerative powers—and winning. My health waned, my leg aflame with a cold fire, both pained and numb, unable to bear my weight.

Like a crazed madman I was forced to hope about ungracefully on one leg.

Thinking swiftly, I began to summon a spell I rarely used—Purify. The incantation echoed in my mind, but it seemed to drag, taking longer than usual. Was it the armor? The pain? The chaos of combat? Perhaps a cruel combination of all these factors. The opaque nature of the game's systems was infuriating!

I swung Bellringer in wide, sweeping arcs, my Mimic shield—its eye wide open—blocking unseen strikes. It was enough to buy me precious moments. Holiness itself filled me as a great cleansing song of raw purity to wash away my sins. The spell completed, and a cleansing warmth flooded through me as Purify burned away at the toxins and poisons. My health began to tick up once more. Canis, you have failed, I mused with savage glee.

Later, I would need to discover what manner of poison could challenge my Regeneration so.

With a satisfied smirk, I noted the sour twist in Canis's expression—a mix of confusion and frustration as his gambit failed. I gave a quick glance at the men with him, gauging the threat they posed. The men at his side, visors down, looked like second-rate automatons marching to their doom. Not much then.

At first, I resisted the urge to taunt him; it seemed unnecessary. But sometimes, you had to take satisfaction where you could.

I called out to him, "Canis, Canis, is that the best you can do? Was that your only ploy? Avaria's Justice cannot be so easily undone! I have come for you and your little band of infidels!"

Canis snarled, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and desperation. "You underestimate me," he spat, raising his blade. “Underestimate us, the followers of the Mother!”

The air between us crackled with tension as his men circled around, tightening the noose.

I felt the weight of their gazes, the collective hatred of a dozen warriors who had lost comrades to my hand. Good. Let them come.

With a roar, Canis charged, his sword slicing through the air with deadly intent. I met his strike with Bellringer, the clash of metal ringing out like a bell tolling doom. Sparks flew as our weapons locked, the force of his blow pushing me back a step.

Around us, his men surged forward. I spun, bringing Bellringer around in a wide arc, forcing them to keep their distance. My Mimic shield shifted, its eye darting to and fro, anticipating their moves.

Canis pressed the attack, his blade a blur of silver. He was skilled, I'll give him that. Each strike was precise, aimed to exploit any weakness. My armor, however, was not so weak and I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

Our duel became a dance—a deadly waltz of steel and fury. He lunged; I parried with the haft of my weapon or blocked with my shield. He slashed; I dodged. Each movement was a calculated gamble, each breath a measured beat in our reckoning.

Yet the man was cheating. I had learned that his blade could at times, seemingly pass through the metal of armor, not all the way, and kiss the flesh beneath. Did the weapon have a form of armor-piercing? I had wondered why he had drawn such a light blade against a man in full armor.

Behind him, I caught a glimpse of the Geomancers, their hands weaving intricate patterns as prayed to the Earth itself, preparing another combined spell. The ground beneath my feet trembled—a warning of what was to come.

And something did happen, but not by the Geomancers’ hands. A thunderous blast echoed as a small part of the great dome they had raised fractured violently, shards of stone and earth inwards. All eyes turned to the source of the destruction.

Through the jagged gap emerged a figure, wreathed in a sickly green aura that seemed to poison the very air around him. Rooted to his spine were grotesque tentacles of bone, writhing and lashing like furious, living appendages.

And I laughed—dark and triumphant—for the day was done for the Guild. The Necromancer had arrived to claim his pound of flesh.

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