Chapter 339 - Debts and Dues III

Claire turned back and headed for the cave as soon as the rain began to fall. She had been out for roughly an hour, during which she had scouted the perimeter and found nothing of note; Ephesus’ men had yet to enter her range. It was always possible that they had managed to conceal themselves, but if they were really his men, she doubted that to be the case.

Ephesus’ strength did not come from his secret service, his standing army, or even his economic weight. Rather, it stemmed from his ability to take decisive action. He had a reputation for making good decisions on the fly, and as such, was able to compensate for his weakness by rallying proficient fighters under his banner in times of need. Though Panda hadn’t specified as such, Claire suspected that the incoming assassins were borrowed troops of such a variety. And if that were the case, then they were sure to pose a threat.

Kael’ahruus’ schemes only added to the danger. If the escaped hunter reconvened with his allies and provided his knowledge, then they would have at least some idea of what it was that she could do. And that was precisely why she had hoped to find her enemies and take them out before she was caught unawares.

Alas, she was unable to find anything worth noting. The only creatures that roamed the vast jungle were those that belonged within it. Claire had considered checking the city, but she gave up on the idea as soon as it got into her head. The assassins were sure to stand out on account of their Cadrian races, but she didn't have time to scour the settlement, and asking around would undoubtedly draw her prey’s attention.

With her effort spent and nothing to show for it, she found herself back at camp with her mood as sour as the weather. What started as a gentle drizzle quickly transformed into a violent storm. The winds howled with such vigour that their cries echoed through the cave, robbing its residents of the ability to sleep. Sylvia was the only one still unconscious. While everyone else groggily climbed out of their bedrolls, the fox remained stuffed in hers with a soundproof bubble to keep out the weeping winds.

Having already voted in favour of a respite, everyone was settled around the campfire, with Krail emerging as the center of attention. The rambling old elf told tales of his past, enlightening his new companions on the journeys he sought with those that came before them. It was a bit of a curious development. In Cadria at least, the elves had a habit of keeping to themselves. Most outsiders had trouble getting along with them given their vehement denial of the gods above, but somehow, the old man had drawn a full audience to the fire. Like Arciel’s group, the adventurers and merchants they camped with had chosen to shelter until the rain abated; everyone was leaning in to listen to his tall tales.

Claire didn’t think much of it. The merchants were hardly in enough of a rush to risk damaging their goods, and the adventurers had the tendency to follow their own schedules. With the way that the elf was drawing in the dirt, it was only natural for the spectators to draw closer. And that was precisely why she was too late to stop the sword that pierced his gut.

The victim was one of the few not caught entirely off guard. Leaping backwards, he redirected the blow just in time to protect his heart. He waved his staff as he fell back and captured the responsible merchant in a root-laden bouquet. It was high elf racial magic—the ability to enhance and manipulate all manner of plants.

The rest of the camp rose with the roots. The other merchants backed off in panic while the soldiers and adventurers all reached for their weapons.

“N-Niran!? W-what are you doing!?” stuttered one of the peddlers. Like all the other muskrats, he spoke in an adorable squeak.

The man named Niran didn’t respond. He only twisted his lips into a smirk before cracking his neck and flexing his muscles. The roots were unable to hold. They snapped under the pressure, easily as if they were never reinforced.

A storm of arrows pelted the man from all directions, but he remained unflinching even as his organs were pierced. His mirage wore off, however. The shape of his body shimmered to reveal a rabbit with a coat of snow-white fur. The wounds that adorned it closed, but their traces were left behind. Bright crimson stains, just like his glowing eyes.

Krail gritted his teeth. “Be careful!” he shouted. “I can’t read his classes, but his le—” Both his words and his spells came to an end as a stone broke through the elf’s gut and brought him to his knees.

Having fully broken free, the rabbit pressed one of his feet against the ground and suddenly disappeared. The movement was like Nymphetel’s, only backed by so much force that it tore the cave apart. Everything shook and shuddered. The ceiling half collapsed and the tents were blown away. His target was the same man he had first struck; he was fully intent on finishing the elf, but Lana stepped between them, deployed her domain, and countered the blow with a swing of the axe.

His predictable trajectory allowed her to catch him. But that was about the extent of her achievement.

Her arms gave out before his raw strength. The bones in her wrists snapped as soon as their weapons collided. Her axe joined her in bowing to her enemy’s power. The rabbit’s sword ripped right through the cleaver’s edge and left a two-inch impression in the side of its blade.

She slowed him down for just a moment, but that moment was long enough for Matthias to descend upon his back. His scythes went straight for the ankles, a blow intended more for suppression than his foe’s outright deletion.

Ace was less naive. He drove his weapon straight into the cottontail’s chest, piercing both his lungs and heart.

Sophia arrived half a step later. She drove her fist straight towards the rabbit’s jaw in hopes of rattling his brain. It would have been the perfect decision had she timed it with the others’ blows, but having sat on the other side of the fire, her reaction was somewhat delayed. The rabbit recovered in time and impaled her fist before it was able to reach him.

And then, with a solid sneer, he twisted his blade and put it to work. Sophia’s fist. Lana’s axe. Matthias’ blades. Ace’s arm. Everything within reach of his sword was delivered a flash of lightspeed slashes.

Claire recognized the ability. It was not a skill, but an advanced technique practiced by all the springblade schools, and one that only a cottontail could perform. It took advantage of their unique biology. Their arms were short, flexible, and powerful, and when compressed with sufficient force, their tendons bounced back like springs. Combining each advantage in its optimal form allowed every trait to enhance every other.

It was the same attack each time, varying only based on the length and flexibility of a given rabbit’s arms. A knowledgeable Cadrian fighter would have movements to counter it. But none of the three had ever seen the flurry before.

Sophia and Ace each lost their arms. Lana’s weapon was completely destroyed, and Matthias only barely managed to weather the storm. His inbuilt weapons were nicked all over, covered from head to tail in tiny, bleeding cuts. But gritting his teeth and nearly howling in agony, he imitated his pain-resistant foe and forced his flesh to heal.

The man disguised as Niran raised a brow and twisted his lips into a grin. He had been told that the enemies were cowards. And though that seemed to be true for most of the weaklings present, he was glad to see that there were at least some disciplined fighters among them. He had every intention of thumping his feet into the ground and testing the rhiar’s tolerance, but a hail of blasts and arrows kept the rabbit at bay.

He leapt up to the ceiling, where he compressed his legs and prepared for another jump. He had identified his next target. As a pure, finesse-based warrior, his specifications were tuned for melees; he lacked the spirit required to mitigate the magic’s damage, and continuing to regenerate would cause him more trouble than not.

Jules clicked his tongue when Niran spun around and faced him head-on. The man vanished by the time the clam had registered his direction. But having anticipated his movements, he was not without a reasonable defence. The space between the two exploded. Everything from one point to the other was wrapped in crimson flame, including the caster himself.

And it was precisely that final set of attacks that caught the rabbit’s tail. Half of Niran’s fragile, fuzzy body was completely blown away, but the clam didn't emerge unscathed. His detonations had half peeled his shell and a sword had stitched it shut.

The Cadrian recovered before Jules could escape his range, but he was once again stopped short of an execution. Sophia inserted herself between them right as the world was robbed of shadow.

It was only for an instant that the darkness gathered. But that was all Arciel required to construct her ars magna. The tiny black blob that resulted—the culmination of all the world’s shadows—shot from the tip of her staff. There was hardly anything intimidating about the miniature projectile, but the rabbit refused to fall for the trick. He kicked off the ground, leaving his sword in the clam as he retreated at top speed. It was only the natural reaction. The moment that preceded its creation was far too conspicuous to ignore.

He swerved his body out of its path. He made sure that his dash was perpendicular. And yet, he was struck dead on. A vector altered the projectile’s momentum and accelerated it straight into his back.

The rabbit dug his fingers into his eyes as soon as he was blinded, but regenerating the organs failed to restore his vision.

The whole group followed with attacks of their own. Some threw ars magnae while others launched their weapons. But the cottontail remained unscathed.

He evaded all of their attacks by further boosting his speed.

He became a series of red and white blurs as he bounced from wall to wall. Tracking him was nearly impossible. The dashes were soundless, completely devoid of any resistance from the air that filled his surroundings. But it was not just his enemies that lost track of his position. The same skill that manipulated his friction prevented any sound waves from reaching him. And with his eyes blinded, his only source of navigation was through his sense of touch.

There was a map of the cave still built into his head. His memory allowed him to retrieve his blade and kick his way through Sophia’s gut. His next attack was aimed at Arciel, but she had already melded into the shadows and gotten out of his way. Likewise, none of the other targets stayed where he remembered them. He could do nothing but bounce around the cave whilst madly swinging his sword.

It was not an ineffective strategy—he cut off one of Matthias’ scythes, slew a random adventurer, and took half of Ace’s tail—but he took as much damage as he inflicted. He rammed his face into the rocks and sometimes met the brigade’s weapons head-on. His wounds were always closed. But that was the extent of his achievement.

Niran was hardly the adaptable type. He would have instated himself as a gladiator had his mind been quicker on its feet. But it wasn’t. He was only effective in high-speed combat because he had gone through the motions and baked them into his body. But the blindness that assailed him was beyond the realm of his practice. He knew he couldn’t slow. There were too many enemies. They were sure to pin him down if he removed his veil, lowered his speed, and allowed their sounds to reach him. He had nothing but worry for the result of his rampage.

And yet, when his vision finally returned, after his partner finally cleansed him of its effects, he found that he was victorious. The enemies were torn up. Some were even dead, though unfortunately, they were not his targets. Of those he had hoped to kill, half had missing limbs or massive gashes. He hadn’t been able to finish them off because they had hidden themselves behind an icy wall, crafted in one of the cave’s furthest corners.

The cottontail slid to a halt and inspected the barrier from afar. It didn’t seem particularly tough, but it was completely undamaged despite the dusty prints that his feet had left on its surface. Brute force was unlikely to prove itself effective.

So he stepped behind it instead.

Lightly tapping a foot against a nearby shadow, he appeared behind the half-conscious elf and stabbed him in the gut again. His second attack was more damaging than the first. He carved out the elf’s liver and pillaged one of his bladders. With a second step, he warped behind the lizardman and stabbed him through the neck, while a third took him to the Vel’khanese queen.

Her shadow, however, was not quite as welcoming. Opening its jaws wide, it ate the bottom half of his body as soon as he slipped inside of it. Another smaller jaw emerged from the first and dug through his ribs, but he regenerated his legs and escaped its range before it could consume his brain.

Though he had been forced to regenerate again, it was no doubt a fruitful venture. His sword had reached the monarch’s stomach. The mage was nowhere near as durable as the warriors accompanying her, and like the elf, she coughed a puddle of blood and fell right down to her knees.

A frown appeared on his lips as he flicked the gore off his trusty weapon. He didn’t understand. The capital was in a fuss. The brass was gathering the most powerful fighters that the nation could offer, just to face a group unable to match a warrior too weak to give his name.

It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the scenario, even as he settled his eyes on the barrier’s creator. Coincidentally, she was the only member of the group lucky enough to have escaped unharmed.

He knew who she was. She had put on her armour since the fight began, but the disguise came too little too late. He had already seen the face that lay under her helm and recognized it as would any half-decent spy. He didn’t know what trickery she used to remain in the capital whilst simultaneously exploring the world outside beyond it, but whatever the case, her identity was clear.

Knowing it, however, did nothing to quell his bloodlust.

His master surely would have dissuaded her murder, but from what the rabbit had gathered, said master had no idea who the nameless knight was. And that was precisely why he would seize the opportunity. He could only imagine the outlandish bonuses he would receive for killing the one true king’s daughter. If he were lucky, he would even be blessed with a bonus to his wit, maybe something gifted to him by Vella herself. He did worry for a second that she would defeat him, but the strength of the riffraff only worked to inspire his confidence.

Perhaps sensing his bloodlust, she stepped out from the barrier alone. The only weapon in her hands was a metal lance. He hadn’t the faintest clue as to when she picked it up or where she had even been storing it, but there was too much red in his eyes to care.

The only thing he noted before he charged was that her stance was perfectly practiced. Contrary to the data in his base, she had invested time and effort into the mastery of the standard Cadrian styles. It was a shame then that she would never be given the chance to put it to use.

The distance between them was closed in a fraction of a second.

All twenty meters vanished.

His sword shredded her armour like paper and pierced right through her gut as the shaft of her spear crashed into his shoulder. He followed with another slash aimed at the base of her neck, but strangely, his weapon refused to move. The blade only rattled in its guard when he tried to withdraw it.

Thinking it no matter, he decided to release the sword. But like his weapon, his fingers refused his orders.

Evading a stab with a casual bob, he looked down and frowned when he found his arms encased in ice. Still, he didn't mind it. His limbs were easily replaced.

He kicked off the ground with enough force to rip the joints on his elbows and grew them by the time of his landing. He didn't have a weapon anymore, but he was not concerned. Niran was a cottontail. His legs would serve just as well as his sword.

Lunging yet again, he twisted himself into a corkscrew and aimed a kick between the princess’ ribs. But when he tried to balance himself, he found his body spinning out of control. It took a moment for him to realize that the lack of balance stemmed from a missing part. His foot had been left behind. It was like something had affixed it to the ground right as he tried to hunt the halfbreed down.

It was most likely that same something which suddenly froze his body, but he cared little for the details. He was a missile regardless, and his body made contact with hers. The impact cracked his skull in exchange for peeling away her flesh. Given her lack of rapid regeneration, it was clearly a trade that worked in his favour.

He wasn’t afraid of her tricks. He had already heard of them through the grapevine. His magical defences were certainly still lacklustre, much like the soldiers she had duelled before, but he was more resistant than Titus’ pathetically vulnerable brood. His spirit was further shored up by a series of magics and amulets. She could waste her mana all she wanted. His mind would never be dominated for more than a tenth of a second.

Feeling rather invincible, he broke free of her invisible grasp, planted a foot on the ground, and prepared to drive the other straight into her neck when his body came to a stop. His entire one-meter frame was frozen.

Even his eyeballs were incapable of movement. Still, he saw it loud and clear. A cold gaze that melted right through his icy prison.

He tried to struggle, but like the sword in her gut, his body could not be moved. The whole thing was encased. There was no way for him to break free and regenerate the flesh he lost.

The only saving grace was her exhaustion. Her expression revealed none of it at all, but the barrier that guarded her allies had already melted. Tiny trails of blood leaked out of the holes in her helmet, and he could clearly see that the magical lines in her body were pushed beyond their limits.

He had clearly won.

She drove her weapon straight towards his brain.

But he escaped unscathed.

Niran wasn’t the best assassin. His techniques were below average, his speed was lacklustre, his power was pitiful, and he often underestimated his foes.

He did, however, have a trick—the ability to vanish and reposition.

Suddenly disappearing from within the ice, he crawled out of a shadow a few meters away and resumed his assault on her damaged form.

He bounced around the arena at his previous speed, pelting her with cuts and gashes. She managed to protect her vitals, and on occasion, she even caught him off guard with some strange counter or other. But her damage never stuck. She couldn’t pin him down for long enough to deliver a fatal blow.

And none of her associates were powerful enough to help.

Her head was his to take. Just like the arm he had already stolen.

That was at least what he thought, however, until the heat in his body suddenly gathered between his loins. Thoroughly confused, he found himself unable to tear his gaze from the party’s maid. There was something about her eyes, her ugly, furless body, that prevented him from looking away. But even that was a paltry distraction. He knew that, while it would have been a waste not to ravage her while she still held breath, he would only have to kill her first to return to his previous task.

He wasn’t worried. At least not until his partner cleared his negative status again.

It was only then that he noticed that the Vel’khanese queen was sitting atop a throne of blood. Sanguine fluid flooded from the chair and filled their surroundings. Dozens of ripples appeared on the surface of the lake, with a soldier of some sort rising from each distortion. He ploughed right through them. None of the unfamiliar summons were powerful enough to serve as a threat, and the bloodborne mantis was weaker than the already pathetic original. That was why he had expected the crimson lyrkress to serve as nothing but fodder.

But he was wrong.

The Claire clone was the only one that completely outperformed the original.

Without any crippling pain to haunt it, its movements were sharper and its magic was more potent. Arciel was incapable of fueling its divinity, but the clone was deadly enough without its unholy powers. Freezing him in place with a magical glare and tearing at his body with a storm of unchained vectors, it left him open while the real Claire grabbed ahold of his unguarded brain.

She ripped it from its cage and stole its health and mana away.

Niran tried to escape her grasp again. But he was too late. With his grey matter squashed flat, he was unable to form the requisite thought.

A few seconds later and he was dead, mind and body both completely destroyed.