Chương 1155: [1083] - Y05.083 - Vengeance III

'How many years has it been?' King Merryweather thought.

'Five? Six? Just what has happened in that time?' Standing before King Merryweather was not just any Iyrman, but an Iyrman he had faced once before. The memories of facing the Iyrman had returned to the King in an instant, though it had taken a half moment due to how different he looked. When he was still barely a boy, he had impressed the King with his great tenacity, and greater than his tenacity, his great strength.

"Allow me to stop this, Jurot, son of Surot, and I will ensure no harm comes to your brother." Jurot remained standing tall in front of the wall known as King Merryweather. King Merryweather, who was a legend among legends, surpassing even his own grandfather's fame. The old man had made a name for himself long before Jarot, and had continued to make a name for himself. Harold Merryweather, once referred to as Sir Merry, was the one. He was the one. Who else could stand up for his age old foe of Aswadasad?

Who else could draw their blade against their liege? Who else could split Aldland, the Aldland, in two, and claim the title of King? It could only be King Harold Merryweather, the greatest King's Sword to date. Except, Jurot was the one too. There was no one else who could claim the title granted to Jurot, a title even the King had acknowledged.

"I am… Uncle Jurot." King Merryweather could feel the weight of those words press upon him. Standing before the King was no longer the baby faced Jurot, who had only been an Expert. The King wasn't sure how powerful Jurot was, but if he had to take a guess, he would place his strength around the level of a Grandmaster. Even he needed to be wary of Grandmasters, though he had reached the level of a Paragon long before the young man before him had been born.

Last time they had met, Merryweather held particular thoughts. Thoughts of delaying the fight, not wishing to bully his junior. This time, however, he had no liberty to hold such thoughts. The Jurot before him today held a similar gaze as back then, he who had wanted to face the King's Sword. It would have been a dream to defeat Sir Merry, which had almost become a reality because his axe was just that vicious.

This time, Jurot had another goal, not for the story of wanting to face the King, but for the sake of living.

'What a scary young man.' It was a thought he had back then, but it was especially true today.

"I hope you can forgive me, Jurot." The King's blade shook violently with thunder, and he swung the blade downwards. Royce watched from the sideline, glued to the rematch between Jurot and his friend.

'Are you really going to hold back this time? Didn't I warn you?'

'Five rounds.' Jurot had that thought too, even as the blade, full of thunderous might struck his shield, while the rage began to fill him. The blade had not glowed blue and purple, meaning he had a chance. Jurot was strong, and his greatest ability was to take on almost all of the elements in his rage. This time, the King probably hadn't expected to face against Iyrmen, so perhaps he didn't have that particular spell prepared? Even if Jurot had taken the thunder to his body without his rage, he still had a chance.

Five rounds. Everyone gets lucky once in twenty rounds. Jurot was an Expert, so he could strike twice as much as the average warrior, so that would bring it down to once in ten rounds. Jurot was a Rage Dancer, and could throw all caution to the wind, so he could get lucky in five rounds.

'Five rounds, Jurot. With average luck, I can probably survive for five rounds against them both. I just need to kill them in five rounds, and it'll be okay. Five rounds, that's my limit.' As thunder exploded against his shield, and out of it towards the King's Sword, for Jurot wasn't holding back even the slightest, the knowledge that he only needed five rounds spurred him forward. He could already feel the weight of King Merryweather's blade against him, but he could still fight.

His limit was also only five rounds against such a being. Jurot could feel the magic of his shield, but it was the intense magic of his axe that spurred him forward. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Phantom Requires Attunement You gain a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this weapon. Deals 1D6 slashing and 1D6 psychic damage. Can store up to 3 charges.

1D3 charges are regained at dawn, or by expending Mana whilst holding the axe, at a rate of one Mana per charge. Charges can only be spent when holding the weapon, but require no action. Spend 1 charge or more to regain 3D6 health for each charge spent. On a hit, spend 1 charge or more to deal 3D6 psychic damage for each charge spent. In five rounds, if he struck at least half the time, he could at least cause the King to think twice about facing his brother. However.

In five rounds, if he could just manage to get lucky once, just once, he could cause the King to retreat. He just needed to get lucky once. 2D6 That's how much Phantom usually dealt, equivalent to a greatsword. 5D6 That's how much Jurot usually dealt with each blow of Phantom against most other beings. 11D6 That's how much Phantom could deal if Jurot expended all his charges at once. Today, however, Jurot was only going to expend his charges all at once, but only under a certain condition.

Misfortune had claimed the Iyrman this year. Not just once, but twice. Fate was a cruel mistress, for as the Iyrman had experienced misfortune not just once, but twice, on this day, under the gentle rain of duskval, the Iyrman experienced fortune not just once, but twice. 22D6 That's how much damage the Iyrman could deal upon expending all his charges upon a Critical Hit. King Merryweather's mind exploded with pain, the King stumbling backwards, having never taken a blow this heavy in this entire life.

For a moment, his mind went blank, having forgotten where he was, what he was doing, or even who he was. 26D6 + 20 In a single round, in two blows, Jurot dealt as much damage as Tonagek had dealt with seven blows against the Vice Commander. The difference between the Vice Commander and King Merryweather was pretty evident, however, as though the Vice Commander remained hacking up blood on the ground, under the depressed gaze of the Iyrman, the King stood tall, his gaze filled with the mercy of the strong.

The kind of mercy which meant Jurot could no longer get so lucky. Except Jurot's gaze had shifted too. It had shifted from surviving for five rounds against the King, to the mercy of his grandfather. Lord Marshal Royce let out a sigh, understanding what the King was going through, except the King was lucky today, because as much as Jurot was a terrifying monster, his strength could be understood.

"You! You're pretty strong?" called a voice. Royce's eyes fell to the drakken. The wild grin on his face was similar to the audacity of the Iyrmen, though his was far more untamed, more like the crippled Iyrman who caused as much trouble to the Iyr as he did to Aldland.

"Are you going to draw your maul?" Bael asked, cracking his neck from side to side. Royce held Bael's gaze, understanding he didn't have the liberty of looking away at this time.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Lord Marshal Rose?"

"Lord Marshal Royce," he corrected.

'Isn't that what I said?' Bael thought.

'Rose? Roise? Royce?'

"I may be the Lord Marshal in the South, but I've still got a Northerner's pride. No Northerner worth his salt is going to draw his blade today."

"I heard you Northerners were strong, though?" Bael asked, grinning wider.

"Why are talking like a weakling?"

"A father has every right to avenge his children!" Lord Royce exclaimed, managing to catch a time between the rumbling of thunder. Bael could feel the mood shift, and while there were those who continued to fight, he noted how many of the Aldishmen had shifted their position. It was only about a quarter of the Aldishmen around, those who came from three Orders in particular.

'It feels weird picking a fight with him now…' The Northern Orders shared the same thoughts.

"Why do you draw your blade today, Aswadian?" an Oathsworn from the Cherry Blades asked, holding up his blade, though his voice remained soft and gentle.

"If I did not draw my blade today, I will be unable to call myself a friend, or a father," Dunes replied, raising his own blade.

"I will not apologise for blocking your path."

"I will not apologise either," Dunes said, inhaling deeply, feeling the great magic within his sword. Unfortunately for Dunes, he needed to keep his mind focused on someone else.

'Five rounds.' Thunder's Triumph Requires Attunement You gain a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this weapon. Deals 2D6 slashing damage. Three time per day, on a hit, choose to Critical Hit instead. On a Critical Hit, deal 2D6 lightning or thunder damage.

"Do you speak?" Vice Commander Joshua of the Cherry Blades asked the figure before him. The figure was large, taller than himself, and slightly wider. He wielded a glave in hand, but he understood the weight of that glave was unlike any glave he himself had wielded. The tower wearing armour of the night sky remained silent, causing the Vice Commander to sigh, and the pair engaged in a terrifying battle.

Timojin glared at those who held the title of Warriors, his glare causing them to shirk, memories flooding into their minds of having already lost to the Iyrmen. No, what had happened to them could not be called something as gentle as simply losing.

'How annoying. I must step back since I have tusks?'

"Will you draw your blade?" Amokan asked, glaring at the Vice Commander of the Thousand Hunts. Vice Commander Harrison narrowed his eyes, feeling his fingers twitch to his blade.

"I cannot step back today."

"Good," Amokan said, gripping his Basic Enhanced blade tight in hand.

"This time, I will take an arm for Jaygak!"

'I want to fight too,' Bael thought, standing between Timojin and Mosen, his arms crossed, feeling the annoyance rising from one side, while Mosen stood within the chaos completely relaxed. Timojin kept his eyes upon Amokan and Jurot, while Mosen watched over Tonagek, having promised to bring back his tale, and Royce kept his eyes upon the fight between the King and the Iyrman. Bael's eyes darted to one side, where he could smell the sword, before they finally fell to the fight.

The one fight which mattered more than any other, and hopefully, with average luck, would only last five rounds. Mana: 25 -> 24 Spell: Shield Defence: 25 -> 30 Health: 122 -> 68 Strength Save D20 + 8 = 23 (15)