"You seriously want to fight me with a stick?"
"No. I want to kill you with a stick."
"This must be a joke," the tall man coughed on his laugh. The other bandits also started to hoot and giggle again like a pack of hyenas. "It's not very funny."
"It's not a joke. I will you kill you with this stick." Vlad held it over his head. "How else would I kill a dog, if not with a stick?"
The bandits froze.
The tall man's lip tightened.
"Now you've done it, kid," Horris, the guard, said from behind him.
"Say this again," the tall man said slowly. "Tell me again what you just said."
"Apologise to him," Mikkel hissed. "Or we'll all be killed!"
The tall man's eyes glittered, but he nodded approvingly at the words. "You should listen to your friends."
"Are you stupid?" Vlad asked him, looking puzzled. "Did a sheep bite your ears when you were trying to hunt it? It must have shocked you so much you have become deaf."
"How dare you?" A bandit screeched, darting out of the crowd. His hatchet lifted high.
As he launched himself at Vlad, the tall one snatched him out of the air and slammed him down.
"No!" He snarled. "This little leech is mine."
"You could not hunt sheep," Vlad sneered. "But you think you have what it takes to hunt me?"
The tall man thumped his chest. "I am Freck the Frenzy. I shall teach you today how I got this name."
"I am Vlad. And I think your name is too big for you. I shall call you Puppy, as I doubt you are skilled enough to hunt on your own."
Freck's eyes narrowed. "Since when have the fledglings of that decrepit place spoken such bullshit? I thought we pulled your fangs years ago."
"Now it's you who is speaking bullshit."
"I'm going to pull your fangs out of your stupid head," Freck said, cracking his knuckles. "And wear them around my neck."
Vlad hefted the heavy stick in his hands.
He didn't drop into a stance.
Not yet. He didn't see any reason to.
"I will take nothing of yours, Puppy," he countered. "For you have nothing worth taking."
Freck's face turned red with anger as he thrust his arm out and one of the bandits shoved a heavy two-handed sword into his waiting fist.
Steel.
Vlad felt his lips curl at sight of it. It looked suitable.
Freck, mistaking Vlad's interest for fear, sneered as he rolled on his heel.
Lifted the blade in both hands.
Then, foaming at the teeth, he lunged.
Vlad almost died.
It wasn't the man's speed which shocked him. It was his stance as he attacked. While not perfect, it was a simple copy of the first step of the Black Dragon Great Sword Art.
Only instincts honed over hundreds of years kept Vlad from freezing completely and he wrenched his body out of the sword's path with a gasped curse.
But didn't counter the thrust.
His mind was too clouded by rage.
"The first step," he breathed. "How do you know this form, dog?"
"Surprised?" Freck rounded on him, lifting the sword into an aggressive pose as he prepared to strike again. "I guess it's okay to tell you, as you will be dead soon. But we're not simple bandits! No, we are here to give our youngest soldiers some practice against weak Romanian scum. Behold, the strength of the Full Moon Clan Great Sword Art!"
First step flowed into the second as the man whirled into range.
The sword lunged first, the thrust tearing so swiftly through the air that Vlad felt the rippling wind howl in its wake. With a terrifying amount of strength, Freck then swung the blade at Vlad's belly.
Each flow of the Great Sword Art connected almost seamlessly from one to the next.
Performed consecutively, there would be no interruption.
No pause.
No gap to penetrate.
The second moved into the third.
Then the fourth.
While Vlad scampered out of the sword's path. His wooden stick wouldn't be able to block steel. It would only be split to pieces by steel.
In truth, he hadn't expected to block.
He'd planned to use the first step himself and spear the man's chest with the stick's sharpened point.
That plan was now out the window.
In fact, all plans were in the wind to begin with. His mind was still circling the reality that this mere bandit was using the Black Dragon Great Sword Art. And that he had dared to call it the Full Moon Great Sword Art!
As though the Turkish dogs had invented it instead of stolen it!
The insult burned through Vlad's heart as Freck's blade started the opening arc of the fifth step.
Halfway through, the man faltered.
He didn't have the strength for the full step which required absolute mastery of the sword's weight and balance.
Still, the shockwave as the blade split the air an inch from Vlad's nose was enough to make him stagger.
This weak body! Vlad screamed at himself.
He shot a glance to the wagon. Where Elder Miklos was watching with a look on his face Vlad couldn't decipher.
Beside him, Roland's face was worried but fascinated.
"Dog," Vlad spat, turning back to Freck, who was heaving in front of him as he raised the sword to start the cycle again. "How dare you steal the Great Sword Art from the Black Dragon Court and use it against me."
"What bullshit are you speaking?"
Blinded by rage, Vlad tensed, ready to throw himself forward.
Freck didn't wait.
He started with the first step again, before trying to catch Vlad off-guard by slipping straight into the third step with its quick percussive strikes.
Against any other fledgling, it would have worked.
But Vlad had been fighting with the sword for a whole lifetime before this. His mind, recovering from the shock of seeing Freck use the Black Dragon's sword art, knew the small movements which hinted at the next step.
Freck wasn't good enough to mask them.
He'd never be good enough.
Flowing under the first blast of Freck's blade, Vlad felt the air scream past his face as he brought his stick hard up in an uppercut which was the opening of the seventh step.
The wooden stick slammed into Freck's abdomen with a sharp crack.
Freck's steel sword whipped towards Vlad's own exposed belly and, had Vlad continued with the seventh step, it would have sliced deep.
But the vampire had moved already.
Bouncing back out of range and then darting in again as the blade whistled past.
Crack!
The stick smashed down onto Freck's left shoulder.
Freck swung wildly.
With no ability to block Freck's sword, Vlad resorted to ducking out again.
Then used the first step to lunge for Freck's stomach again.
This time, he hoped to pierce the bandit's belly!
Wheeling desperately to avoid the thrust, Freck threw himself into the ring of bandits behind him. The force of impact knocked one down as the other snatched Freck's arm to help him stay upright.
The two bandits shuffled in a quick dance of frustration before Freck threw the other off with a snarl.
"Huh," he growled, clenching his jaw. Each word hinted at grudging respect. "So, you're not completely useless with a blade."
"It's not a blade," Vlad reminded him, forcing himself to stay calm. "I told you. It's a stick for beating dogs to death with."
"Bastard!"
As Freck began the first step again, Vlad's rage ignited. A deep rage which was like burning oil in his veins. It made him want to tear into the bandit with everything he had. Leap in close and just smash and smash and smash his stick into the bastard's head.
But he didn't.
Instead, using the experience of a lifetime spent at war, he forced himself to be cool.
To hold his temper.
The key to the Black Dragon Great Sword Art was to temper one's mind to match the tempering of the sword. Be cold. Be calm.
Flow with the flow of battle.
If he threw himself in, he would die. He reminded himself over and over that his stick couldn't block steel.
As he evaded Freck's attacks, which were becoming as frenzied as his name, Vlad's thoughts were a still lake. Not a single ripple disturbed the surface as he watched.
Waited.
And, as soon as the opportunity revealed itself…
He struck!
The stick smashed down on Freck's wrist, sending the sword spinning from the tall man's grip as he dropped to the ground in agony.
Something had broken in the man's hand.
Vlad grinned tightly.
But before he could make his move, the tall man's head snapped up and fixed him with a glare of melting hatred. Freck's eyes suddenly blazed and shifted as they changed colour.
From bright blue to sick yellow.
Freck, werewolf of the Full Moon Clan, howled as long deadly claws burst through his fingertips. Hair sprouted and his face twisted as a doglike muzzle emerged with a crack of bone and tearing of flesh which made his whole body shudder.
The surrounding bandits howled as one. An excited howl which rang with bloodlust as they cheered their leader's transformation.
Eagerly, they anticipated watching their leader devour the fledgling.
Foaming at the mouth, Freck snarled as the human skin melted and sloughed off his bestial form. It fell to the ground with wet slaps.
"I'm gonna eat you," he growled, his voice distorted and thick.
"Tch," Vlad sneered back at him, eyes narrowing to slits. "Dogs shouldn't try to bite the hands of their master. Kneel like a good dog, and I might let you live."