The fight progressed. At the command of a voice I recognized as Fred, the four lines of defense moved up. The boards were being carried ahead to make sure the Valantian troops didn’t gain any extra ground. They succeeded. I wondered if they needed our help. They could clearly take on this army. The next cavalry charge would be the last, given their attrition. And the infantry couldn’t really travel over half a kilometer without losing at least half their men. And then the numbers were evenly matched for a melee fight. We could help easily there. The only problem was I couldn’t see Morgan or Azrial. Any surprises from them and these defenses would crumble easily.
Then Karn pointed to my left. My question was answered. There were two other battles happening, which would determine the fate of the village’s defense. When I saw the villagers involved there, my heart skipped a beat.
Azrial was on his horse, Keshin, moving around a group of seven people, fighting them at the same time. I recognized his opponents. It was the village guard and Parshtel, with various weapons. But they were playing a support role. The main fight was between Azrial and a completely armored person, with the largest blade I had ever seen. This person was of medium height and slender build.
The armor I sensed was made from Azmoq, giving the person some real strength to hold up against Azrial’s blows. Azrial was also wary of the blade. I could sense some Azmoq in the blade’s hilt and a little in the blade as well. But it wasn’t the blade’s composition that was interesting.
It was at least seven feet in length and probably a foot in width. It was a beast of a sword, which could probably be wielded only by the strongest of warriors in the village. I figured it might be Johotei, although I was surprised he had grown that strong. Johotei was wielding the blade extremely dexterously, moving it around at speeds that made Azrial really wary to come too close, allowing the others to attack him.
But he was still Azrial, number 67 of the Final 100, among the best warriors in the continent. The seven were slowly taking hits from Azrial, none of them able to keep up with his speed and his ability to disappear. “Mine,” said Elbir quietly, as he bolted to join that fight. I would have preferred him joining the main fight. But I couldn’t blame him. Here was a chance to take his revenge, and in the process, bring us closer to victory.
The other fight nearly stopped my heart. I had to join that one. I looked at Karn. “That is Grim.”
Karn nodded at me. “I’ll handle the army with Kazena.”
Grim was fighting Morgan and the assassin, alone. This was the first time we were seeing Morgan after the Round Lotus barracks explosion. It did look like he had taken a beating. His jaw was broken, covered with what looked like a steel plate. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, with his complete left forearm covered with a steel plate, with his hand being covered in armor as well. He had lost his right leg below the knee, which was replaced with a metallic stump.
But this was Major Morgan, one of the top warriors of the continent, against one opponent. A man who survived an actual building collapsing on him, fighting a blacksmith from an isolated village in the forests. It seemed like a no contest. Morgan had a battle axe in his right hand, and a massive chain mace in the left. Grim was already grievously injured, with his clothes already bloody with multiple hits from both weapons. And he had a small sword. It was a barely a sword. It was probably a foot and a half in length, and slightly wide, probably three inches or so. It looked completely out of place, like a six-and-a-half-foot tall man holding a knife to cut his bread.
The assassin was just there. He was more of a nuisance to both Morgan and Grim. He was clearly participating in this fight to avenge his fallen comrades. But he kept his distance from both Grim and Morgan, throwing his little daggers at Grim whenever he could.
As I reached Grim, I saw the state of his wounds. His clothing was torn and bloody, but he had no wounds. Just like during the assassination of Olmot. Then I saw the duel. Morgan swung the axe around at Grim’s neck and simultaneously launched the mace at his chest. Grim used his sword to block the axe and just took the hit from the mace on his chest. As his chest spouted blood, he caught the mace with his hand. He then slid his sword along the axe and chopped Morgan’s first two fingers off. But Morgan didn’t drop the weapon, he swung it with his remaining fingers onto Grim’s neck, almost embedding the weapon in Grim’s neck.
What stopped the weapon was my extreme anguish. As I saw the weapon dropping, I screamed, “Grim!” stopping the weapon just short of going through his neck. It was made of Azmoq. I could control it. Despite the distance and Morgan’s strength, my emotions fueled my ability to control the metal.
But Morgan was immensely strong. He smiled and swung the weapon further before I could react, before I could increase my grip on his weapon. It entered Grim’s neck. It was over. My master had just died in front on me.
Or so I thought. Grim relinquished the mace, and stepped back. Then without pausing, he swung around from the right with his sword. As he swung, I saw his neck and chest heal, right in front of my eyes. I was shocked. My master was some immortal god. He could continue fighting with half his neck severed.
I rushed to assist him. I was barely a few meters away.
Morgan parried the blow with his axe, but the strength of the blow was enough to push the axe out of Morgan’s broken hand, leaving the little sword a free path right up to Morgan’s neck. Morgan then twisted his left hand, pushing the mace yet again at Grim, only this time, the spikes shot out.
The force with which the spikes shot out was possible, only in an Azmoqian weapon. They pierced every part of Grim’s body, and carried his massive six-and-a-half-foot frame a couple of feet away, pinning him to the ground. Morgan did not pull it back.
“How will you heal now, you freak?” Morgan spoke with much effort. He moved to pick up the axe with his right hand, despite having only two functioning fingers. “I have enough strength to cut you to bits with just two fingers. Let’s see how fast you heal from that. Will your head reattach, once I severe it?”
He moved to severe Grim’s head, as Grim struggled to get the mace spikes out. It was no use—the mace that was pining him down drew its strength from a large brown Maktsten, it was difficult to stop the energy flow. I knew what I had to do. I was still a couple of meters away. As he swung the axe, I summoned all my willpower and strength, my love for my master, and focused on the axe. I felt I was exerting all possible strength. But I was still afraid that it was not going to be enough.
And that’s when I felt the warm tendril of thought entering my mind again. It was Rishyadh’s mind. I let it in, immediately. It was different this time. I didn’t have any images flashing. There was no thought flowing into the consciousness that entered my mind. There was only power. Unbelievable power. I tapped into that. I felt my mind gain complete control of the Azmoq weapons in front of me. The axe was less than a hair’s breadth away from Grim’s neck. It had the full strength of Morgan’s swing behind it. And I stopped it. And tossed the weapon away.
Morgan turned around to see who did that. He saw me. And grimaced. “So you survived the blast. For months, I thought you were suicidal. I guess you did have a plan, after all. And the strength to weather the blast.” I said nothing to correct him. Grim also saw me then. He grimaced as well. “You came early, kid… I wish you hadn’t.” I knew he was being protective, but that hurt.
Morgan started to evaluate what he had to do. His axe had fallen a few feet away. His other weapon was the only thing that was keeping my seemingly immortal master pinned down. As he started to process what to do, I started slowly loosening the bonds that held Grim down. It was tough work, given the amount of energy the mace’s Maktsten was putting in.
Morgan took a chance. He dove towards his axe, with his left, as I launched Dhronari at him with all the force I could muster, while trying to loosen the spikes from the ground. I was focusing only on spikes on one side of his body so that he could loosen the other side himself. Dhronari hit Morgan on his le
g. It barely scratched the Major. He got his axe in his left and charged at me as the spikes came off Grim’s right side. With Herculean effort, Grim tore most of the other spikes off, leaving large chunks of his body on the ground, still on spikes. But by the time he reached Morgan to attack, all his body parts had regrown. He was whole again.
“So you are some sort of a god,” I said casually as Grim came to my side. Grim grunted. “Not even close. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you if we live through this experience.”
Morgan slowly walked back, and picked up his mace. If Grim was a god, Morgan definitely a demon. The force with which I threw the Dhronari at him was beyond anything I had mustered earlier. And it barely scratched him. But with his injured hand, Morgan was at a disadvantage.
“I can read your movement through your sword. Please lead, I can mirror or support,” I said to Grim. Grim’s sword was short, but it was definitely powerful. The blade and Maktsten emitted power I hadn’t seen before in any weapon, but for the spear and Kazena’s blades. He nodded.
We went on attack together, me taking the right and Grim taking the left. But Morgan more or less ignored me, focusing, instead on Grim. He initially focused on me a little, probing me to check if I had any great offensive ability, given my survival from barracks blast. But I clearly didn’t. He did deflect me a couple of times, but he eventually felt I was useless in the battle. And I did feel so. My blows were just bouncing off him. Even my strongest hits, with the Dhronari reinforced by my mind, barely cut his skin. His skin, muscle or maybe whole body seemed reinforced with some metal. That was the only explanation. That’s why he saw no need to wear armor.
I was able to fend off his blows well enough. The glove held me in good stead. It was deflecting and absorbing most of his blows. That seemed to annoy him. But he couldn’t let go of Grim. Grim was fierce—slashing, stabbing with his sword, switching up hands to block or hold the mace with his bare hands, trying to yank it from Morgan’s hands. If not to grab the mace, just to get in a good punch. Morgan was definitely taking a beating from Grim and his sword. But the wounds he had were mostly superficial, with no real reduction of Morgan’s strength.
Then I heard a voice in my head. It was almost impatient. It was Rishyadh’s. “Use all your abilities child,” he said. I thought I was. I was using about all I could. Then I realized what he meant. I hadn’t used my two-handed attack. Morgan was anyway ignoring me. I could get in a shot easily.
I pivoted around him, to face his back, not allowing him to see what I was doing. Then I grabbed the hilt with both hands. The glow and power were greater than usual. Probably because of Rishyadh lending me his strength. With this super energized sword, I stabbed the Major in his back. This blow Morgan did notice. Anyone would notice a glowing sword sticking out of his stomach. Hard to miss.
At the same moment, Grim, seeing the glow from my sword, smiled, and held his sword with two hands. That sword also glowed, much brighter than mine. It basked all three of us completely in its light. Morgan was almost blinded by the light. Grim also slashed, taking advantage of Morgan’s surprise at my attack and the all-encompassing light emerging from his blade. Grim’s slash was even more effective. It cleaved the great Major Morgan, ranked number 12 in the Final 100, the leader of the continent’s largest barracks, clean into two parts.
He died instantly, with a surprised expression on his face. We had won. All of a sudden, Rishyadh left my mind. Surprisingly, I sensed regret. I wasn’t sure why. Nor did I care in that moment. Both Grim and I collapsed to the ground, panting. It looked like both our swords had a similar effect. But without Rishyadh’s strength, the effects of my sword’s power were greater than usual.
That’s when a dagger flew at me. I blocked it with ease with my glove, even in my weakened state. I recognized the weapon. The person had been hiding, in the small shrubs located towards the hills, waiting for either of us to weaken enough to make a move. It was the assassin. The man responsible for Olmot’s death. The man I had promised myself, I would kill. I had finally come to face him. I stood up and started to walk towards him, slowly, panting. I was extremely tired. But this task would be a joy. Grim started to walk with me, but I stopped him.
“This is my task. You should rest, or aid the rest of the village in their defense.”
Grim nodded and walked away.
“We meet again,” said the assassin. This was the first time I had heard him speak. After months of chasing this man, through forests, across plains, cities, I had finally come face to face with the last surviving assassin. He sounded nervous. He must have assumed I wouldn’t be able to dodge his attack. Now that he had let go of his only easy opening, he was staring at almost certain death. I had just taken down Major Morgan. Surely, the assassin didn’t fancy his chances of survival.
“You bring shame to the Yerin name, you soulless merchant of death!” I said to him, coldly. How could a noble soul like Elbir belong to the same tribe as this man?
He laughed. Both of us were circling each other. I could have killed him in one blow. I really wanted to do it. But his laugh stopped me. I wanted to know why the human swine was laughing. He spoke, with every one of his words steeped in bile.
“Shame to the Yerins! Like that is even possible! The Yerin name was pulled in the mud by our glorious leader himself! I have just tried to survive after that, trying to forget that I am from that pathetic tribe.”
His words made me even more furious, but for some reason, I was even more reluctant to kill him. I wanted the man to repent, to feel bad, feel the pain of having taken an innocent life before he died. I didn’t have the opportunity to do this with the other assassin, and even though the time was not the most opportune, with a battle raging on, I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t too worried—Grim, a near immortal, had just entered the main battlefield. He was probably going to go through the entire set of troops present on the battlefield by himself. I was free to concentrate on my revenge.
I shouted back at that piece of scum. “Oh, so you think Yerins are terrible! So you decided to kill innocent people?!”
“Death is the only trade that the pitiful tribe ever taught me. It is the only thing that I could offer to survive.”
In all my anger, I felt pity for the deplorable man. “You are a spineless creature. Blaming your shortcomings, your decisions, your choices on your tribe. A tribe known only for its honor and courage.”
The assassin scoffed. “You really think you know the Yerins better than me? They are known for their honor because no one knows the real truth about them.”
“I know the truth. I have heard it directly from the last of the Cekic Ortaq.” I said, knowing that it’ll crush any lies emerging from the assassin.
However, I was wrong. The assassin was enraged by my comment, and threw another dagger at me. Again, I blocked it with ease.
“The last of the Cekic Ortaq! Another man who deserted us! What does he know?” he threw another dagger. “What does he know?!” He was now throwing them out of sheer frustration. “Only I know the truth!” He was beginning to unravel. He could see his side was going to lose. They couldn’t win without Morgan. The assassin was too far away from the forest, so he could not run away again. He was going to die today, and he knew it. And I wasn’t finishing him off. Which added to his frustration.
“What is your truth?” I asked the man. The assassin was within range of Dhronari. But I still not did not strike. I wanted him to repent.
The man was screaming. “You want the truth? Here it is! 15 years back, right at the pinnacle of our success, our great leader, Dag Heyat, abandoned us, to travel with General Zastraax. The only reason he did that was to become more powerful. In his greed, his selfishness, his thirst for power, he abandoned his tribe, his family! We waited for him. Like fools. But he never came back. The Ozek ruled in his stead. But they were incompetent. The tribe soon fell from the heights of glory to the pits of depravity. One man’s betrayal tore the tribe apart.
We soon learn
ed that greed was the greatest motivator for everyone. Why should we be any different?! So I left. Left the worthless tribe. The worthless Ozek. I left them all behind. Left them to become the master of my own destiny! That is the truth. That is what you should know! I am not ashamed of my choices. I am proud that I followed my leader in his selfishness!”
I was surprised by the opposing sentiments he had towards his leader. He felt the need to follow him and the need to denounce him.
“I don’t care what your version of the truth is. Elbir also lost everything. In fact, probably more than you did. But he stayed loyal to the principles of the Yerins. He didn’t sell out to the Imperium—very people who destroyed the Yerins. You sold out! You killed innocents for them! What had Olmot done? He was just an old man! He was kind and gentle! Why did you kill him? Why?” I was losing my temper as well.
The assassin was confused for a bit. He then realized who I was talking about. “That old man! He was a nobody. I don’t even remember his name. A nobody who had to be killed for aiding a thief….”
Then he paused… and started to laugh.
“That old man… that pathetic loser… What he did, unknowingly, changed the behavior of the Imperium for the last two years….”
I was taken aback. I never expected the man I hated to laugh so much.
“STOP IT! STOP LAUGHING! Why are you laughing?” I screamed.
The assassin just hissed back.
“I am laughing because of all that has started because of that man. I laugh because the death of that man has led to this situation. He aided a thief is stealing a priceless artifact, something that prompted the Imperium to tighten their grip on the continent. This crime compelled the army to send us to search and kill the man. This search led us to the discovery of an undiscovered Azmoq reserve. This discovery has so far led to the death of over 2000 men and the demise of my brother in arms. It will soon lead to the death of countless more, including me. All because of a man whose name I don’t even know.”
Age of Azmoq: The Valantian Imperium Page 42