Chương 27: Bards and Assassins

The hours passed. Ishmael was annoyingly chatty. He was reminded of the days between the Battle of the Red Rime and the ambush by Warlord Bjorn, when Roland would follow him around and persistently ask questions regarding his past and origins. Alcyr never gave anything but the vaguest of details, but somehow, that always made the tale-weaving even more ridiculous."'Born of foetal divinity, baptised in hellfire'," Ishmael murmured to herself, writing in her book once more.

"'His steps herald death, his form devours'..."

"Why do bards like you and Roland always come up with the most ridiculous verses?" he complained.

"At least make the ballad make sense. What does 'foetal divinity' even mean?"

"I have no idea," she confessed.

"The words write themselves; I'm just the means by which the narrative is delivered. But so long as you keep performing impossible feats in the future, people will make their own interpretation of your legend. The tale will make sense eventually. My job is to make it sound impressive."

"And that gives you relevant skill experience?"

"Bardic skills level differently from normal ones," she shrugged.

"Hard work and danger don't necessarily equate to more levels. Rather, the more people who know and spread the tales we make, the more experience we gain over time."

"So it doesn't matter whether what you spread is true so long as it's popular?"

"You're getting it backwards. When something becomes popular enough, it becomes the truth," Ishmael explained patiently, her warm eyes gaining a sharp glint.

"Irrespective of accuracy, belief, or sincerity. The only objective measure of a truth is in how many people believe in it. Nothing else matters." Alcyr kept his expression even.

"That is irrational. I'll even go as far to say it is madness."

"Hey, I don't make the rules!" Ishmael laughed, raising her hands.

"You don't have to glare at me like that." Alcyr sighed.

"Enough talk. The creature will be coming soon. Do you remember the plan?" Ishmael sealed her book shut and held up the sealed ceramic amphora in her hand. A viscous liquid could be heard sloshing inside.

"Just stand in the middle of the room and throw this at the assassin the moment it comes through the door, right?" Alcyr nodded.

"After that, jump through the window and go get help. I'll do the rest." Ishmael handed him her longsword. He tested the weight and balance of the weapon, finding it more than acceptable. For all the misgivings he had with the 4th Regulars' quartermaster, he could not deny that the man made good steel. It was good to have a proper sword in his hands again. It would be better if I just had my dagger… Even after a hundred loops, he was still no closer to finding the precious blade given to him by his mentor.

He had managed to distract himself from thinking of it too much thus far, but the anxiety brought forth by its loss still acutely remained. Killing the creature would have been a breeze if he just had that weapon. No defence would have been able to resist the bite of its mythic edge. There's no use complaining, he admonished himself. We work with the hand we are dealt with. He moved to stand beside the door, noting the increased smoothness of his movements.

Restorative Slumber and the pain drug had done what they could, easing the stiffness and sharp pains of his muscles. He would be able to fight at a third of his usual overall capabilities. Alcyr prepared himself, a sword in one hand and an incendiary flare in the other. The ceramic container he had given Ishmael and the incendiary flare were both bought from the quartermaster earlier that day. Both objects would be essential for his plan.

Last but not least, he soaked one of the cloths around the infirmary in water before wrapping it around his nose and mouth. The countdown to the assassin's arrival ticked down to its final minutes. Alcyr was tense with anticipation, while Ishmael looked utterly relaxed and unconcerned. Perhaps part of her did not fully understand the severity of the threat. Or perhaps there's more to her than meets the eye, he thought grimly. More seconds passed.

Alcyr kept his breathing low and his heart rate steady, trying to be as silent as possible. Suddenly, Ishmael frowned.

"Huh," she said in surprise. He glared at her, trying to tell her to be quiet with his eyes. She ignored his hostile glower and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You never told me your assassin was a feral beauty. I would have let her kill me for free." He blinked. What? There was no more time for talk. The door suddenly creaked open inwards. Ishmael reacted without hesitation, throwing the amphora at the creature immediately. Flung with the great strength of a Regular, the ceramic container immediately crossed the distance between them. The creature reacted with incredible speed, its axe smashing the jug instantly into a scattering of clay shards.

That act, however, proved to be its downfall. The shattered amphora released its contents. A deluge of murky liquid poured over the doorway, dousing the creature from head to toe… In highly flammable drake acid. The caustic gases of the corrosive liquid filled Alcyr's nose, powerful enough to sting even through the wet cloth covering his nose and mouth. None of the acid landed on him, however.

The creature, on the other hand, was drenched in it, and that erosive stench immediately began to assault its enhanced senses. The assassin writhed in place uncontrollably, clearly gagging in pain. Acid hissed against its skin, disrupting the shadowy illusion over its form. The vague outline of its head violently recoiled, futilely trying to prevent the caustic gases from entering its sensitive sinuses.

To Ishmael's credit, she was already sprinting for the window the moment the amphora left her hand, moving with the inhuman speed expected of a Regular. Unfortunately for her, the creature was far, far faster. In the blink of an eye, the acid-soaked beast crossed the length of the room and slashed with its silverite axe. Ishmael was instantly severed in two, split diagonally from shoulder to hip. She was dead before either halves of her body hit the ground. Alcyr wasn't shocked by the suddenness of her death.

Quite the opposite. He had engineered that outcome from the start. In the first place, he already knew Ishmael would never survive. The creature possessed the strength and speed of a Master, maybe even a Grandmaster; the Regular's death was set in stone the moment she threw the amphora. However, her sacrifice served three purposes. First, it allowed Alcyr to douse the creature in the flammable oil without risking himself.

Second, it drew the creature's attention away from him, allowing him to light the flare and throw it without it noticing in time. And third, because he told Ishmael to run for the window, he already knew where he needed to throw to hit the creature before it was even there. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Under normal circumstances, the assassin's reaction speed would be too fast for Alcyr to land his throw.

But with its senses disrupted by the acid, its attention drawn entirely towards Ishmael, and its position by the window manipulated in advance by Alcyr, there was no way it could avoid the flare in time, especially as he had thrown it before it even slashed Ishmael in half. The burning incendiary struck the creature's square in the back… And its entire body erupted in a flood of flames.

[Throwing Weapon Discipline has improved to 34] [Sneak Attack has improved to 19] For the first time in one hundred loops, Alcyr had the pleasure of hearing the creature scream. From the moment it opened the door to the moment it was set ablaze, not even three seconds had passed. The creature's speed left Alcyr with no room for hesitation or pause.

Even now, with its body set aflame and its enhanced senses overwhelmed by burning smoke and searing light, it was still already turning away from Ishmael's corpse, its axe raised to split Alcyr in half. But Alcyr was already in motion before the creature even started to turn. His longsword was clenched tight in both hands. He channelled all his strength and struck.

[Sword Discipline has improved to 48] This time, rather than the blade breaking, the powerful steel of the longsword held firm, hitting the creature squarely in its burning chest and sending it flying at the infirmary's window. The crash of stone, glass, and wood roared around Alcyr's ears as the assassin smashed through the wall and landed outside the building. It tumbled against the slippery stone once before instantly rolling to its feet. Its illusion was all but shattered.

Though a hazy shroud remained, Alcyr's Illusion Discernment skill allowed him to see the true appearance of his tormentor for the first time. His first coherent thought was that Ishmael had not lied. It — she — was indeed a feral beauty. Where Lenore had been slender and lithe, the predatory huntress before him screamed of vigour and vitality. Unruly silver-blonde hair whipped about her powerful figure, flowing past bare shoulders as the burning woman crouched low.

Her build was almost aggressively athletic: tall, lean, and perfectly defined, with the hard muscles of her arms, abdomen, and legs flexing under porcelain skin at every movement. Clad in rugged straps of black leather that left most of her pale body provocatively bare, Alcyr could see the bestial corruption that ran rampant across her intimadating physique. Curved black horns rose from her brow, while her forearms were mutated into silver crystalline claws that ended in jagged, obsidian edges.

Slanted golden eyes glared at him, her lips curled into a ferocious snarl. The silverite axe remained clutched in her inhuman hands, and he could tell from her furious expression that she was a heartbeat away from splitting him in two with it. The feral woman lunged at the same moment Alcyr opened his mouth and howled. [Deathbound Dirge has improved to 20] Deathbound Dirge struck the assassin when she was a mere few feet away from him. She instantly crumpled to the floor, her hands clutched over bleeding ears.

Her body continued to burn as she screamed, writhing on the ground in uncontrollable pain. Alcyr was in no better position. The moment he finished his howl, he collapsed to his knees, held upright only by the longsword embedded in the ground. His throat had burst open like a ripe fruit, the remains of his ruptured larynx dangling from the hole in his neck. Both of them were a few feet away from each other, completely vulnerable and incapacitated. Yet neither was in a position to take advantage of it.

The assassin had been assaulted through her enhanced sight, smell, and hearing, while Alcyr's existing injuries had crippled his body to uselessness once more. Get up! Alcyr could not even snarl. A tortured wheeze dragged its way out of his mangled throat as he shakily pulled himself to his feet. His muscles were liquid agony, and the flesh of his neck felt like it was one strong breeze away from tearing off completely. His blood soaked the ground. The scent of iron overwhelmed the reek of burning flesh.

Alcyr dragged his feet forward. Strike. Strike her now! He couldn't. The sword felt impossibly heavy. Alcyr would have as much luck trying to lift a mountain. To his frustration, the assassin recovered first. The burning woman stood, blood dripping from her eyes and ears. The incandescent glow of the inferno dancing on her bone-pale skin turned her furious golden eyes into radiant halos. She opened her mouth, revealing fangs and a barb-covered tongue, and lunged.

There was no way Alcyr could dodge, not in his weakened state. Her mouth closed in around his opened windpipe like a wolf leaping upon its prey. Fangs crushed down upon his neck. There was a horrid and utterly alien sensation as her razor-strewn tongue invaded through his throat wound and began flensing the flesh of his neck, shredding its inner lining. Alcyr choked and gurgled blood. Despite the pain and indescribable discomfort, he raised his hand. Channelling Cleave into his fingers, he struck.

He was surprised when his desperate attack didn't just bounce off the assassin's naked skin. Instead, his hand sunk deep into her shoulder, chopping off a chunk of bone and flesh. Her defences are weakened… Is it because the shadow shroud is gone? Weakened or not, however, the woman didn't care. She didn't even flinch at his strike. If anything, the moan she released when he struck her sounded like… pleasure?

She continued suckling and devouring the flesh of his throat, as if she were a newborn cub struck by ravenous hunger. Her claws dug desperately into his back as she held him closer, her body pressing against his. Blood loss was taking its toll. Alcyr barely held on to consciousness. His various resistance skills were working hard to stem the blood flow, but even then, his legs nearly gave out when the feral assassin finally reared back and ripped a massive chunk of his neck out with her teeth.

[Tempered Flesh has improved to 24] He collapsed to one knee, already a foot through Death's door. The assassin's flesh rapidly healed as she swallowed. Within seconds, all signs of the shoulder wound he had dealt were gone. Not even a scar remained. Alcyr felt something akin to exasperated dread. Of course. So on top of magic, enhanced senses, strength, speed, and endurance, she has regenerative abilities as well. Perhaps it might be a bit rich coming from him, but her powers were complete bullshit.

The assassin was no longer looking at him. She seemed lost in thought, murmuring to herself, her voice sounding scared and confused.

"This taste, it's… What is this flesh? I… Impossible. You are a Godless! How are you—!" The woman didn't have time to finish. Alcyr's longsword came around. With the last of his strength, he swung the blade right into the side of her torso. [Cleave has improved to 39] Her blood sprayed upon them both. Though it was a critical strike, the blow was not fatal enough. He had hope to bisect her in two with that slash alone, but the blade ended up being stuck a quarter-way through her abdomen.

Even with her physical defences seemingly weakened by the absence of that hazy cloak, she was still ridiculously tough. Damn. He gritted his teeth, trying to saw the sword deeper, but it was useless. The blade was well and truly stuck. Meanwhile, hissing in pain and pleasure, the feral woman brought her clawed hand up and gripped the steel protruding from her stomach. She began pulling. Her greater strength fought against Alcyr's faltering might. Slowly, inexorably, the blade began sliding its way out.

Darkness crept at the edge of his vision. He had seconds left before the power loaned to him by Mortal Defiance expired. She was close. Taller than him. Alcyr could feel her laboured breath. Her pale throat was right before his eyes. An eye for an eye. Alcyr opened his mouth and lunged, aiming for the jugular. And blood for a bite! His teeth bit into the pallid flesh of her neck. The assassin's scream was cut off as his teeth ripped deeper, drawing a massive gush of blood as he tore into her vital artery.

She staggered back. They both lost their balance and fell to the ground. Her blood — hot and unnaturally invigorating — poured down his mangled throat. The flesh around the wound began heating painfully. This taste… The same as the warlord's potion? Through this sanguine connection, something powerful thrummed within them both. The pulse was familiar. He recognised it as if it were an old friend. Divinity. [Warning: Fallen Divine essence detected.] [Body Corruption increased.] [Your fealty stirs a Corpse God from its grave.] Alcyr ignored the message. Instead, he focused on his throat, willing the powerful essence he just drank to saturate the wound. His damaged flesh painfully re-knitted itself. The older wounds on his body mended rapidly as an invigorating rush flooded him, burning away his fatigue. Before he could drink more, the woman raised her leg and kicked him in the chest. He was flung back, but Blunt Resistance reduced the severity of the strike from breaking his ribs.

He rolled to his feet some distance away and spat out a glob of hissing blood. His body was still not fully recovered, but he was no longer at the brink of death. Nevermind that. That notification earlier… This woman is—!

"You are a Corpse Spawn?" His voice came out as a rasp, his throat still raw from healing. The assassin snarled.

"Godless wretch! My divine blood is not for the likes of you! How dare you drink it!"

"You're the one who started eating my flesh first. Seems only fair I took a bite." Alcyr rose to his feet. His original strength had returned somewhat, but he was still horrifically outmatched.

"Besides, calling me a wretch is a bit much from you, isn't it? You, a spawn born from the unholy union between a human and a dead god." The assassin's eyes flashed. Alcyr drew up his sword at the same time she swung at him. Before the both of them could clash, the roaring of a great drake erupted over the field. The assassin cursed as she was forced to leap back from finishing him. Mighty wingbeats descended. Past the snarling of a draconic warbeast, he heard someone speak.

Lenore's voice was glacially cold as she addressed the assassin.

"I have plans for him. You'll pay for trying to take him from me."