Chapter 10: Black Eyes X
[CORBIN VILLAGE - Village Center]
Muse disappeared from the rooftop they were on, and Cain let loose a barrage of arrows from his bow, notching them then shooting them as fast as he could.
His foes had seen his new trick of curving shots, which had been invented on the spot and unpracticed. It wouldn’t hit again, not until the battle was over and he could work on improving his skills the old-fashioned way.
A veritable hail of projectiles fell in the direction of the bandits, and they recoiled as the cloud of death descended upon them. That was, until McDougal took the lead and swung his war axe from earth to sky.
Cain thought it was just for show, until he saw the surface itself change.
The ground roiled and bubbled, and then burst upward, scattering the swarm of projectiles. Cain’s eyes widened - this was new! Wet earth flew above them in droplets, reflecting the light cast by the moon.
“I am Milverton McDougal, the Red Beast of Ermire!” screamed the man. “Lord and master of the land!”
He then slammed the war axe down into the ground, bending over the side of his mount to do so. Cain felt the ground quake beneath him, and the building that he had been shooting from sank into the mud as if a swamp had replaced solid ground.
He jumped back, quickly. Control Scheme allowed him to do so without paying attention to where he was going, and soon enough he was back on another rooftop, notching another arrow and letting it fly.
Magic... That had to be magic!
If Control Scheme hadn’t been in charge of his body at the moment, he would’ve been shaken. He knew nothing about magic or its rules in this world. Now that the bandit leader had introduced something new into the battle, he felt hopelessly out of his depth.
McDougal batted the arrow out of the air before it could approach his underlings, and reeled his arm back. Just as he was about to toss out another powerful swing - no doubt with some form of earth magic attached to it - he was blasted off of his Dire blue lizard mount and hit the ground.
Reacting quickly, he threw his free hand out and managed to land gracefully. In the shadow of the trees he saw a half-orc wearing the mantle of one of the Six Orders.
That had been... wind. He touched his side with his free hand and brought it back up to his face. Blood from a clean cut. Slicing winds, then.
A bronze insignia emblazoned with a symbol he knew well. A squire of the Iron Bars? A squire of all people had landed a blow on him - she clearly wasn’t getting her due.
In her hand was a saber, wispy smoke arising out of the tip. Judging by her weapon and the boots she wore which covered neither the front of her feet nor her heel...
“Iron Bar crony of the Windmother,” mused McDougal. “Rue your misfortune for being sent out on a scouting mission cursed enough to have you encounter the Red Beast.”
He motioned to the other two bandits.
“Go, you two go bring me the archer’s head. I’ll take this one.”
The lackeys nodded, and ran off. Muse couldn’t intercept them now, not when she had the undivided attention of the king of beasts.
Muse said nothing. From the reports, she already knew what McDougal was capable of.
Milverton McDougal had been a decorated veteran. He had a talent for combat that few could match, and was a decent enough tactician when occasions called for it, but these were not the only factors that made him dangerous.
A warcaster.
Magic was not something that ordinary people used for combat - it was tedious, finicky, and things went wrong easily. That’s why the professionals they called mages were often more so researchers and engineers. They could understand and manipulate, but only through specific rituals and by implementation into devices.
But a warcaster was a mage built for battle.
Through rigorous training, and a specialized program of medicine, the body’s natural magic circuits were rewired. What required careful, deliberate management in order to manifest magickal phenomena before was transfigured into something more akin to a muscle to be used and abused.
It meant that they could never use the particular, finicky spells that mages used, but it also gave them incredibly unique powers that grew stronger as they used them. In place of rituals and equations, warcasters became creatures of instinct and feel, able to freely manipulate the elements of their choice.
That said, Muse was not intimidated.
A warcaster was dangerous, yes, but she had a contract with the Windmother. Those who forged promises with the Divinities were often known as contractors, or simply the chosen, but to those who studied magic in its entirety they had a different name.
Godcaster versus warcaster.
A sputtering chill. A deadly rattle.
Scratch that. It was godcaster versus warcaster, and a Dire magical beast that, in her recollection, took six senior active knights to deal with.
Muse wondered jokingly to herself if it was too late to retreat. Only jokingly, of course. She reminded herself. This was what she became a knight for.
She gripped her saber, turning to her side in her own personal fencing stance. The Heraldic Academy’s basic curriculum at heart, but she had made her own adjustments on it after obtaining the Windmother’s blessing.
A messenger hawk was already on its way to let the Grandmaster know she had headed to Corbin Village, if it hadn’t gotten to him already. If she didn’t return, an investigation would occur. The Red Riders had already lost. They would not leave the kingdom alive once the Iron Bar were made aware that McDougal had survived.
But if she had a chance here to save lives, she would take it. Her resolve made, she prepared for the most difficult battle of her life.
A thump alerted her to the presence of somebody behind him. It was Cain, tossing the body of one of the two bandits that had been sent after him. In one eye was an arrow with a broken shaft. Cain was breathing heavily.
“Didn’t take you long,” said Muse, her eyes never moving off McDougal’s face.
“One of them came up from behind,” said Cain. “It turns out arrows are as sharp in your hands as they are flying from a bow.”
McDougal laughed with delight.
“That’s all my men, then!” said the man. “Good job, good job! I guess I didn’t train them up well enough.”
Muse and Cain took their battle stances, their backs rotated slightly so that they were behind each other. This way they had each other’s backs. No point in leaving more blind spots than needed.
Despite the man’s self-effacing words, the little street road they were on was still mired in an atmosphere of madness and dread. It wasn’t from the blood or the smell, or even the body pile just ahead. Despite the death of all the underlings, it was as if the man had forgotten about them immediately.
Cain stared at the man, his black eyes burning. The sight of him standing over Bron’s prone form in the moonlight wouldn’t leave his mind’s eye.
Muse noticed his stiffness, and gently touched her back to him.
“Don’t tunnelvision,” she whispered. “Focus.”
He let out a long breath.
McDougal had pulled out his bottle again, and continued to drink. Cain could see his adam's apple rocking as he chugged. Then, with the drink having been drained, McDougal smashed the bottle onto the ground, breaking the glass.
With a roar he charged, and the battle was on.
Muse weathered the storm of blows with her sabre, deflecting each blow where she could to avoid the full front force of the blow. It was likely that if she were to attempt a block, the man’s crimson oversized beast of a weapon would snap her sword in two. Well, she couldn’t have that. It wasn’t paid for completely just yet.
As Muse blocked for him, Cain let off shots where he could. He used both the trick shots that he had come up with so far, but neither the multishot nor the curved shot worked.
Each time the arrows would almost strike true, a mud wall would arise out of the earth and block it just in time.
The Dire did not ease up either, charging into the fray to support its master. Powerful tail swings came in from the left and the right, attempting to knock Muse off her defensive course. That might’ve worked, had Cain not used those opportunities to attempt his own strikes, and so the lizard had to stop short to not take a serious wound.
It was a defensive battle, one that they were slowly losing. Cain’s mind raced. Was there anything they could use to turn the tables...? He had to think, but the swift flurry of attacks that came from in front gave him no time.
“SPIDERBITE!”
Two swift strikes enhanced by Divine essence.
For a moment, both McDougal and the Dire were blown back, but only for a moment, as McDougal grinned and swung his axe at the air.
The ground burst upward in a hail of solid mud bullets, smashing Muse and Cain’s bodies against a nearby wall. They gasped before recollecting themselves, only to see that they faced a fierce charge by the Dire.
It was coming right at them, the entire force of its body weight being thrown forcefully forward. If they took a hit like that head-on, there would be nothing left of them to bury.
Muse, reflexively, tossed her free arm out.
It caught Cain’s shoulder. The momentum repelled the two of them away from each other, just in time as the Dire smashed through the wall where they had been standing, leaving a cloud of smoke and debris. They coughed, wiping the smoke away from their face. The dust cloud generated by the charge and destruction was in their eyes, preventing them from seeing.
Muse got her bearings back quickly, but a lapse was a lapse. A shadow cast over her from on high, and she followed the sight only to see a war axe coming down right on top of her head.
Her sabre was on the ground, right next to her feet.
There was no time, Cain had to act.
Muse’s push had been more helpful for him than her. Without Control Scheme, he probably would’ve been a confused pile on the floor, but thanks to the system he had recovered almost immediately.
But McDougal had been faster. He had been aiming for the moment she dodged the Dire from the very get go.
No time to loose an arrow. That wasn’t fast enough. He’d have to draw the bow, aim for McDougal’s weapon, fire, and then wait for the arrow to travel the distance and hit.
The blade was already on the way down - there was no time.
He trusted in his [SPEED] stat of 17, and charged.
