Beneath the mid morning sun and it's calm sky. In a lone beaten road of dirt and the soft breeze of the wind.
The rattling of steel echoed. With the rustling of leaves from the nearby trees.
Men fought against men, each holding either a sword, an axe, or a spear as they tried butcher each other.
One such side is a band of warriors wearing hardened leather, with steel weapons at hand. Each, uniformly similar with personal differences, showing unity and personal freedom.
They fought against a number three times their size, defending a carriage with broken wheels and dead horses.
The other side is dressed with weathered red cloaks that engulfed their bodies and hoods with masks to hide their faces.
But beneath is a well made gambeson and even a layer of chainmail. Each man held well made weapons, with sharp, gleaming steel. And a rusted spare weapons on their waist.
And they fought like madmen. Swinging and hacking without order nor command.
The fight went on, with the warriors fighting to defend the inhabitants in the carriage and the cloaked individuals killing to reach it.
Second after second, the defenders shouted and cursed but their strengths waned. And eventually, their line wavered.
—.—.—.—.—
At the side watched two individuals. Both observing the fight. Watching and listening to the killing.
One is a beautiful woman wearing a revealing set of clothes that exposed her figure and a see-through long skirt that did nothing to hide her legs and a pair of matching detached sleeves.
She has multiple golden bangles on her wrist and ankles that sounded everytime she moved. With multiple scimitars hanging off her waist, gleaming with sharpness like her white, long, ponytailed hair that shone silver beneath the light.
"I never liked you're men, Davernoch. They tend to be... disappointing." the woman remarks making the man next to her scoff.
Wearing a long red robe with bone-white pauldrons, and a face, half corpse and half skinny. His sunken eyes shined red with glee as more and more blood is spilled.
And the more died, the more eerie light poured from the orb on his hand.
"I care not for their methods." the undead grounded out. "It is their result that matters."
"Tsk- result? I would have achieved said result by now if I had been the one to deal with it. Instead I get to watch men after men bash each other with their pointy sticks with as much grace as a troll dancing in the king's ball."
"And yet you didn't."
His words made her pause.
She looked at him with lips curling into distaste but her eyes. They shined with greed and curiosity at the orb in his hands.
The undead smiled and said- "Face it Edström, you want to know as much as I what an Orb of Death could do."
The woman clicked her tounge before turning back to the fight. Sending one last lingering look at the artifact in the Undead's hand.
The last of the warriors fell, clutching his sides while their enemies cheered.
The largest of the cloaked men hefted his axe and swung at the door of the carriage, prompting screams from within. Hearing the screams of girls emboldened the others, with some of them hacking at the carriage. Hoping to dig in another entrance or just simply to bring out more screams.
Amidst jeers and cheers, the door was shattered. One man eagerly stepped through only to receive a sword to the face and out his skull.
The dead man fell, followed by the attacker. Laughter and cheers went to the killer who appeared to be a young woman with blonde hair. Cloaked in white and lined with fur.
Before she could stand, she was restrained. From the carriage, two more people were tossed out and together, they were tied and made to kneel.
One was a a grown woman wearing a maid's outfit and the other was a nobleman. With a well kept blonde hair, with soiled pants and an empty sheath at his waist.
"Hahaha! Limped dick bastard got saved by a girl and peed himself!!"
"""""Hahahahaha!"""""
With their targets secured, the undead walked forward and looked to the large man with the axe. With a nod, some of the men suddenly became quiet and then-
*Shluck!
He burried his axe vertically, into the skull of his own man.
All were quiet for a second before the sound of spilling blood resounded again.
With a swing of his axe, the large man beheaded two of his own. And this time, everyone reacted.
They snarled, spat, fumed through their noses, but they made no sounds. No screams came out, only panic, anger and fear as the people who fought side by side had now started to kill each other.
The clashing of steel again echoed in the road. With a few soft grunts and the sound of flesh torn and body falling.
Amidst it all, Edström and Davernoch stood to the side passively. Watching the chaos unfold. When only a third of their numbers remained, they stopped.
And those who survived, drenched in blood, look to each other and laughed. As if satisfied with their work and efforts.
"Well done." Davernoch said. "All of you deserve a reward."
His eyes then roamed the two women. With the maid breathing rapidly with tears in her eyes and the young blonde glaring with gritted teeth and unshed tears all the same.
With a nod, Davernoch said- "Do with them as you pleased."
The men cheered hearing his words but Edström's words cut them off.
"No." she said, making the others glare. "Our job was clear, the Princess comes with us."
"And she will, eventually." he answers dismissively. Irritated, Edström held one of her blades at the Undead's throat but Davernoch was unfazed. "Have you gotten soft?"
"Soft? Pfft! You can put a baby in her and keep her as your toy. Even display her for everyone to see and I wouldn't have cared. But letting your men touche her is taking too many chances. I will not have this operation fumble at the finish line because you decided to play with your food."
"Says the woman who toyed with her boys. Was it fun fucking your own sons Edström?"
Blades were pointed at her as she pressed at the undead closer. "If I have to, I will kill you... All of you."
"Ah yes... very well. Kill them."
The men looked at each, confused with a couple of them getting angry. "Uhh... boss? Maybe just a tast-" *slick- *spurt!
A fountain of blood erupted from the neck of the man who spoke with his head removed.
"Wait-!"
And another massacre followed.
Davernoch watched, nodding in both appreciation and impressed as Edström danced among a dozen men. Her body moved with grace and inhuman flexibility. Every wave of her hands and feet was followed by the floating scimitars that served as the dancer's fabric.
The large man with an axe swung with his martial art, [Strike], missing by a small margin to the naked eye, but might as well be a meter wide in comparison to her speed.
Edström smiled, and paused just as her scimitar poised sharply at his neck. Neither moved for a second while the woman regarded her opponent. Suddenly, she straightens herself, tapped his alarm softly and said- "I'm keeping you."
Davernoch and Edström shared a look where the undead nodded, as if pleased with the outcome.
And just as they turned their attention to the three who remained shaking and kneeling, a large roar of monsters burst through the nearby treelines and rushed at them.
"Hmmm... It seems we have overstayed." remarked Davernoch.
"You think!?" screeched Edström.
Suddenly, she heard first the sound of hooves and the rolling of wood on dirt. She turned down the road and saw carriages rushing in their direction.
"Shit!" she then turned to her target, then to the monsters and then the carriage.
"Let's leave them to their fates then." said Davernoch before walking in the other direction.
Edström clicked her tounge before sending her blades to cut off the Achilles tendons of the maid and the nobleman.
She then grabbed the princess, and signaled for her new pet to follow her.
"They should just die." interrupts Davernoch. "She may be worth some measure of wealth, but you didn't really think that Eight Fingers was going to let her live did you?"
"That's not the problem!" Edström gritted out. "If we don't bring her back, then we don't get paid!"
No other word was said, keeping quiet and walking deeper into the forest. Not caring about what they left behind.
—.—.—.—.—
Mave cursed himself as he ran through the thick forest, chasing the running ogres.
It was huge, muscle bound and ugly. Looking like a deformed lump of flesh with too long arms and too short legs.
And yet they were all muscles. Evident by their sheer strength as they brushed and broke through trees with ease.
Mave kept quiet yet he couldn't help but question what is driving them.
Ogres aren't trolls. Goblins hunt like a pack, trolls kill what it could reach because they're too stupid to hunt, but ogres... they don't rush out in great numbers unless there's a feast.
The thought alone made his stomach churn.
They were called 'Men-eaters' for a reason.
Suddenly, they roared as if celebrating. He felt it vibrate against his skin, foul, smelly, and slimy. It was disgusting.
["Mave-"] the voice of Belotte rang in his mind. ["This is our last message scroll! How far along are we, and how bad is it!?"]
The ranger looked to the road's direction and saw it in the sky, a [•Flare•] spell.
["You're close! Just continue down the road and just beyond the bend! These beast are approaching a feast Belotte! Be careful."]
The spell cut off, it's purpose served. And as he ran from one tree to the next, he noticed the light, showing the edge of the treeline.
He then rushed forward and left the small horde behind. Keeping as quiet and as unseen as before.
It was there that he saw a sight that made him swallow.
At the middle of the road is a broken carriage, surrounded by various bodies of dead men. With the dirt thick with blood. But what stood out frightened him.
It was three people of noble birth, a maid, a noble's son, and if the clothes and the flags on the carriage is to go by...
'A Princess...'
She was then hauled by a dark-skinned woman with floating curve blades behind her.
Followed by a mage with a red hooded cloak and finally, a muscular warrior in black cloak and mask.
They entered the forest a safe distance from he horde, and as he snuck close, he caught the faint conversation.
"She may be worth some measure of wealth, but you didn't really think that Eight Fingers was going to let her live did you?"
The red hooded man made him freeze...
'Eight-Fingers!! Fuck!'
"That's not the problem!" the woman gritted out. "If we don't bring her back, then we don't get paid!"
Hearing their intent, he knew he had to intervene. But... the more he observed, the more the idea sounded ludicrous to him.
Not only was he out-numbered, he was also out-skilled.
The floating curved blades, Edström... the name is a well known one. She was an adventurer, one said to have reached Mithril status, bordering on Orrihalcum. Yet she suddenly quit when she realized how little the pay truly is.
Despite losing both her dignity and standing. She was still a well known figure.
And he didn't even want to know who the man is but the Black Orb in his hand was an indicator.
A member of Zuranon.
'Gods fucking damn it, Belotte! What did we get ourselves into!'
Yet despite his internal panic, the fear and muffled cries of the woman in their shoulders demanded action. He knew, despite the taboo of interfering with Kingdom Affairs, they would have to help regardless.