CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Squires and Novices

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“Power Strike!” Chris roared.

He swung his bastion-forged steel sword down at the beast with all the strength his right arm could muster—and he hit nothing but air. For this beast—a wolpertinger twice the size of a large hare—flapped its wings and flew into the thick canopy of leaves above before Chris’ strike could land.

 

 

“It didn’t work y’all!”

To Bram, who was observing from nearby, this was a foreseeable outcome. In his eyes, Chris’ attack, though executed as if the Texan was a natural at swordplay, had fumbled in its final step—the harnessing of magic to fuel his sorcery. Without it, the result was a clumsy attack that the wolpertinger could dodge with the barest of effort.

“I got the steps down like the Loom gave it, but the darn thing just—”

The wolpertinger dove down headfirst, its sharp antlers aimed at the Texan’s head.

“Aw, shit!” Chris cursed.

He raised his kite shield high in time to block the furry beast’s antlers from skewering his face, though the impact of the wolpertinger’s dive held such force that it pushed the larger man back a step or two.

“This goddamned rabbit’s…a tough fella!” Chris complained, sounding a little out of breath.

“Chris!” Bridget yelled. “Duck!”

While the Texan did as she asked, Bridget pulled her bowstring taut.

“Let all dark things be pierced by light…” she chanted under her breath.

Brilliant golden sparks flared to life at the tip of the arrow notched to Bridget’s short bow.

“Fiery Arrow!”

She let the arrow loose, and it flew across the forest floor to pierce into the wolpertinger’s thick hide, causing the fur on its hindquarters to burst into flames.

“Yes!” Bridget whooped.

The beast let loose an indignant screech of pain that was quickly silenced by Chris swinging his sword down on the distracted wolpertinger at a spot right behind its long ears. It was a well-timed strike that sent the beast crashing onto the forest floor where it lay dazed and unable to dodge the blade that stabbed its chest a second later.

 

 

“Doing it normally…gets the job done too,” Chris said, breathlessly.

From ten paces behind him, Bridget raised a fist. “Nice teamwork!”

As he was still trying to catch his breath, Chris’ only response was a thumbs up.

“You alright?” Bridget asked.

“Fatigue’s a little”—he raised his hand above his head—“up there…”

“That’s because you keep yelling at the top of your lungs,” she teased. “You’re aware that it’s not necessary to call out your spell’s name, right?”

“It’s not that…it’s this place. It feels too real.” Chris straightened up and stretched his back before he replied, “Besides, y’all do it too.”

“That’s because it is real. We’re not inside a game,” Bridget reminded him with a laugh. “And yeah, I yell it out too. Invoking the spell helps me concentrate.”

“Good for you… It hasn’t helped me one bit,” Chris sighed.

“You can try again”—with this encouragement, Bram trained the light of the sunstone in his hand at a nearby bush—“on that one.”

It stepped out of the shadows creeping at the edge of their vision and into the spotlight, a gray-furred beast whose red eyes shone with rabid hunger. Antlers protruded from a hare’s head, while a thick canine musculature rippled underneath bristling fur.

Written in bright yellow on the nametag that briefly appeared over the beast’s head was [Wolpertinger].

“At least it ain’t orange anymore,” Chris said.

From what the party’s learned of the Loom’s combat system—a system that had only become available after the seventh prince and the trickster began recruiting otherworlders in earnest—they now knew that a yellow tag meant caution instead of the danger that an orange tag foretold.

“Don’t get smug,” Bridget warned. “It still takes two of us to kill one of them.”

“I know…” Chris raised his shield. “But we’ve got this.”

Bridget notched an arrow to her bow. “Yes, we do.”

Bram, who remained a bystander throughout this encounter, watched with a smile as Chris and Bridget stood their ground against a beast that had the strength to kill even trained soldiers of the Leyen barony. It was proof that these two otherworlders had improved greatly in the six days since their party entered the Red Forest.

Six days…considering the massive size of the woodland realm, this was a quick pace of travel made possible only thanks to the ‘Waypoint’ that the Coven of Stargazers had established at certain locations of the forest during their failed expedition ten months ago. Each waypoint contained a ‘Door of Dimensions’—a powerful spell of the summoning arts that connected two points of varying distance—transporting Bram’s party from one waypoint to another, allowing them to reach the Red Forest’s western half in record time.

Still, these six days were a heavy price to pay. With conflict brewing on the horizon, time was a luxury Bram had little of. Despite his misgivings though, the seventh prince recognized the merits of accepting the quest the Loom had given them on Ravi Samal’s behalf. For with a show of competence, he would earn the loyalty of a coven capable enough to produce a ‘Door of Dimensions’ whose magic hadn’t withered even after months of neglect.

“Power Strike!” Chris roared.

This quest also provided Bram and Rowan with the perfect opportunity to train their new companions in Aarde’s ways of combat. However, it was clear from the way Chris flailed around that there was still much room for improvement.

‘Goddamn it!” the Texan cursed. “I still can’t get this spell to work!”

Since he’d been observing Chris’ fight with a deft eye, Bram deduced that the squire’s failure to wield sorcery had nothing to do with his swordplay. Indeed, Chris, who had a high ‘Athleticism’ passive ability, had effortlessly performed the three-step movement Sir Anthony had taught him during his brief training with the seneschal when the otherworlders first visited Bastille.

“You’re too focused on correcting the sword’s path that you’re forgetting to channel your magic into the attack,” Bram explained.

The seventh prince may have no talent for sorcery, but he’d studied the sorcerous arts so thoroughly that one might call him an expert at noticing the quirks and flaws of others when it came to spell casting. Moreover, Bram’s talent with a sword—honed through the guidance of many masters—was at a level that Chris, despite being much older than Bram, felt fortunate to be learning swordplay from the younger man.

“Focus!” he instructed.

“It’s a little hard to focus on the inside when”—Chris just blocked the wolpertinger’s claws with his shield—“this bastard’s going all berserker on me!”

“Despite the threat, you must focus. Breathe,” Bram insisted. Then he added, “With each breath you take, imagine the magic flowing inside of you. Feel it…”

In his mind’s eye, the seventh prince recalled the time when he’d tasted Rowan’s power flowing through him and how he’d used that power to slay his enemies.

“…Feel the magic rippling through your veins like a great wave crashing into every bit of you…” Bram couldn’t help feeling a longing for that taste of power himself, though he knew it wasn’t yet the time for ‘Status Emulation’ and its limited usage. “Channel that wave of magic into the tips of your fingers, to your sword’s blade, and into the very moment you strike!”

“Sounds like you want me to”—Again, Chris blocked another claw with his shield, saving his neck in the process—“meditate while I’m fighting!”

“Just try it!” Bridget yelled.

She’d moved to stand beside Bram, leaving Chris to face the wolpertinger alone.

“Alright!” Chris breathed in, but then, “Goddamn it!”

The wolpertinger refused to give him the time. It attacked with reckless abandon, forcing the Texan to stay on the defensive as if it instinctively knew that giving him room to breathe would be dangerous.

Worriedly, Bridget notched another arrow to her short bow. “Should I…?”

Bram shook his head. “Let him have the chance to learn what you already understand.”

It took many more attempts and several lacerations to his arms and legs before Chris finally managed to properly cast his spell. He dodged to the left just as the wolpertinger’s antlers tried to pierce the padded leather protecting his chest. Then, with his lead foot sliding forward, Chris raised his sword high, and with butt clenched, the Texan roared, “Power Strike!”

This time, Chris didn’t forget to weave the magic in his veins onto the tips of his fingers, and the result was a spectacular finish. Glowing slivers of magic wrapped around the edges of his sword’s blade just as Chris swung it down on the wolpertinger’s head.

‘Wham!’

It was a blow that crushed the beast, sending it crashing into the ground that cracked from the impact of an empowered strike. Blood spurted upward, splashing against Chris’ clothes and his face as if he were a man in the middle of a warrior’s baptism.

 

 

“Yippee-ki-yay, mother—”

“Chris!” Bridget yelled. “Watch out!”

The Texan had been so distracted by his victory that he failed to notice the threat coming at him from behind. He had just enough time to look over his shoulder before a third wolpertinger struck his back. Or it would have had Bram not arrived in time to save Chris from sudden death. With a single mighty swing of his new bastion-forged steel longsword, the seventh prince cut down the wolpertinger that attacked Chris, sending the beast’s severed head flying into the thick foliage above while its body fell lifeless onto the forest floor.

 

 

 

 

Bram had seen this message so many times these past six days that it no longer irked him. Besides, he knew he could increase his attributes another way.

“Sweet Christmas,” Chris said, his mouth agape.

It wasn’t just the Texan. Bridget also noticed that Bram had killed a beast she and Chris had trouble defeating together with a single swing of his blade and that he’d done it without sorcery too. It was a great feat of strength that would have been mocked by any learned sorcerer of the imperium, but not to these otherworlders who knew nothing of the convenience of sorcery.

“A one-shot kill.” Bridget nodded appreciatively. “Remind me…why do you need us again?”

Bram couldn’t help smiling at the rare compliment. It wasn’t lost on him that he’d been getting more of them since meeting Rowan than he’d ever received in his entire life.

“Any man who diligently trains with their sword can slay a beast,” he insisted.

Bram nodded to the east, where they caught sight of the other half of their party through the space between the trees. The thick canopy above kept the forest floor dark even under the watchful glare of the midday sun, but the telltale sparks of magic flashing yonder gave them light to see.

“But against sorcery,” the seventh prince’s brow creased, “even a diligent man is little more than a beast with dull fangs…”

Rowan had been instructing Hajime in the elemental arts of sorcery. However, since the arcane novice wasn’t yet proficient with his aim, the trickster thought it best to separate him from the others so they could avoid accidents.

“Form into a fist, o rumbling earth,” Hajime chanted, “and strike down my foe with hardened dirt!”

Rock and dirt flew up to form a large fist that floated next to Hajime’s outstretched hand.

“Shatterstone!”

At his command, the boulder-sized fist shot forward and smashed into a wolpertinger that had been diving toward him antlers-first. The collision didn’t end well for the beast.

There came the sound of crushing bone and smashed innards, and then Hajime pumped his fists into the air.

“Yatta!” he yelled. “I did it!”

Back in Bram’s group, Bridget said, “I might have been hasty choosing to be a squire.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Chris weighed in.

Envy flashed on both their faces.

“I disagree.” Bram was cleaning his longsword’s blade with a cloth he’d pulled out of his pack. “Hajime’s spell might be more devastating than yours, but the time it takes him to cast Shatterstone compared to Fiery Arrow or Power Strike makes a world of difference in a fight.”

With his authority as the Loom’s chief administrator, Bram pulled up the status of Hajime’s spell so he could show it to the two squires.

 

 

“Without Rowan protecting him, a wolpertinger would have killed Hajime before he could complete his incantation,” Bram explained. “Also…”

The seventh prince pointed to the four small craters close to where Hajime’s wolpertinger had fallen.

“So long as you’re quick on your feet and keep Hajime from finishing his invocation,” Bram put the cloth back into his pack, “he would lose in a duel against either of you four times out of five.”

Of course, there were plenty of exceptions to this rule of quick attacks being dominant in a fight like how the armor of a knight of the White Rose had raised a ‘Barrier’ to repel Bram’s attack moments before the seventh prince had slain Jasper von Galen with an enchanted arrow to the neck. Truthfully though, Bram was biased. He favored the squire job more because it was a prerequisite to advanced professions that he wished to take if only his role as an administrator didn’t bind him to the job.

The sound of rustling leaves caused the three companions to turn to their left.

Bridget’s eyes squinted at the shadows beyond the light of Bram’s sunstone. “What is that…?”

“I think it’s a tail,” Chris replied uncertainly.

They saw a wagging tail whose tip seemed coated in flames, though its light did nothing to disperse the shadows around it.

“Seems like we’re done with wolpertingers,” Bridget whispered.

The two otherworlders stepped back at the sight of the thick bushes parting to accommodate the beast pushing past them. The canopy above swayed, causing a great many leaves to fall around the trio.

“I see…” Bram glanced down at the nearest wolpertinger’s carcass and the blood pooling underneath it. “You caught the scent of lingering death.”

He gazed forward just as a pair of orange eyes stared back at him.

“But these dead belong to us,” Bram insisted.

The beast stepped forward, allowing the sunstone’s light to reveal its full form. It was a feline of a size that could rival Bram’s stallion. There were orange spots around its yellow fur, and these spots seemed to sprout with flames every time the beast took a lumbering step forward.

Above the giant cat, a nametag appeared in bright orange...

 

 

Flames sprouted at the tips of the feline face whose growling mouth was filled with sharp fangs. In response to its growl, Bram flipped the flametail leopard the middle finger. He would not be intimidated. Not by any beast.

“Um, Your Highness…” Beside him, Bridget’s brows were knotting together. “…How are we supposed to fight this monster?”

“Together.” Bram brandished his sword forward. “We’ll slay this thing together.”

 

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