CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A Knight of the Twelve Kingdoms

  To send a thrown weapon flying back to its wielder was a feat of such skill that the gathered mercenaries couldn’t help but knot their brows.

  “Fuck!”

  Meanwhile, the player who’d thrown the spear jumped out of the way as it hurtled toward him. Slaughter made the smart choice too. For when the spear landed, it split apart the craggy ground in a resounding crash. When the dust settled moments later, a tiny crater was visible on the ground as if the spear that made it had been as heavy as an iron anvil.

  Blood dripped down from Bram’s nose, but he didn’t mind it. He was more excited that he’d managed to use ‘Ability Replication’ in that brief time to copy such a rare and advanced ability few swordsmen could manage.

  Unfortunately, though ‘Ability Replication’ had evolved along with his status growth, one ability was all Bram could manage to learn in this exchange even though his seneschal had shown him more.

  “Did you use magic to increase the spear’s weight?” he asked.

  Ser Anthony nodded.

  “It’s a spell called Hardening — using magic to strengthen metal.” The old knight glanced at the prince who was wiping away the blood from his nose with his handkerchief. “I assumed you would copy it too.”

  “Didn’t get the chance,” Bram admitted. “I was too focused on replicating the first ability.”

  He put his handkerchief back inside one of his purple coat’s many pouches.

  “And I already have Iron Blood.”

  Indeed, there were similarities between these two spells, but it wasn’t the real reason Bram didn’t replicate ‘Hardening.’ He barely noticed it, the deft management of magic Ser Anthony applied to the tip of his sword’s blade just as it clashed with the mercenary’s spear. Where it not for the telltale sparks of magic drifting from the blade, Bram might not have caught it at all.

  Fortunately, the old knight was too busy to catch his prince in a lie.

  The mercenaries who’d been surprised by Ser Anthony’s prowess were once again surging forward as if believing their numbers could make up the difference in skill.

  Bram knew better.

  He cast a sideways glance at Rowan on her mount and recalled with ease her conquest of the von Galen skyship.

  Numbers meant nothing to a master.

  “Are you alright?”

  Usually, she’d be the one standing where Ser Anthony now stood. But today she looked a little tired. Just like yesterday and the day before that.

  “I am.”

  She wasn’t though, he knew.

  The strain of empowering the Loom for more than a hundred players was starting to get to her. Bram needed to find a relic to replenish Rowan’s power, and he needed to find it fast.

  This was why the prince had asked his seneschal to join them on this adventure. So that Ser Anthony could take Rowan’s place if it came to a fight of one against many.

  He sighed.

  Must it always come down to fisticuffs…?

  The answer was obvious, and so Bram decided not to argue against it. Rather, he would raise his blade and fight it out until these fools were too beaten to move about…and he wasn’t thinking of using Dusk. Today, the prince had an even sturdier blade…one that the Sovereign’s court had once called her most loyal hunter, his mother’s ‘Gray Hound.’

  “It’s time, Ser Anthony.” Bram’s gaze turned to the man he trusted most in all the world. “Reclaim the legend that you’d given up while caring for me… Go wild.”

  “By your will, Your Highness,” Ser Anthony answered.

  Suddenly remembering the last time he’d said those words to a swordmaster, Bram thought to add one restriction.

  “But don’t kill them. We’ll need this lot intact for the expedition.”

  His gaze drifted toward Slaughter who’d exchanged his lost spear for an axe in one hand and a short sword in the other.

  “Especially that one. I don’t want to have to tell his monitor that his first death came at our hands…”

  “First…he must be disciplined,” Ser Anthony insisted. “They all do.”

  With those ominous words, Ser Anthony dismounted, and leaving his hart’s reins in Chris’ hands, the old knight was free to brandish his sword in a knight’s salute. There were no knights among those gathering opposite him to return his respect though. No matter. They would respect him soon enough.

  “You blighted nobles have lost your marbles,” Brown Beard growled.

  He raised his arm to the side.

  “There’s more of us here…and there’s plenty more behind me.”

  As he said these words, a loud hunting horn resounded. No doubt signaling those within camp that an enemy had appeared.

  Ser Anthony chuckled.

  “Bring as many as you’d like. His Highness needs many hunting dogs.”

  Bram resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

  “Ser Anthony…”

  What was the point of his disguise if his own knight was willing to expose him so easily.

  Thankfully, the mercenaries didn’t seem to understand Ser Anthony’s words. Or if they did, they didn’t care. So focused were they in fighting him that nothing else mattered. Not even the fact that a prince was watching. Or that they were about to commit treason against Lotharin’s governor.

  “Oi, Stripling, that was a good throw.” Brown Beard aimed his spear at Ser Anthony though his words were obviously meant for Slaughter. “You’ve got skill, I’ll give you that. But wielding a spear’s got more to it than a strong arm.”

  His lead foot slid forward almost casually, but then his spear shot forward without warning, lancing toward Ser Anthony’s gut. It was a thrust committing his entire body to the attack, and it could have been a devastating blow, one that would have penetrated even the thickest gambeson—if only Brown Beard managed to hit the old knight.

  However, as Ser Anthony had done the first time his sword clashed against a spear, his blade deflected the enemy’s weapon, sending its tip right into the shoulder of a mercenary who thought he could catch Ser Anthony from the side.

  No, not a mercenary… The scream of pain had come from a player. Slaughter’s alien curse gave him away.

  “Fuck!”

  Being stabbed in the shoulder by a spear must have been painful, especially to a player who’d probably never been in a real sword fight before. To his credit, Slaughter didn’t panic or run away in tears. Instead, he backed off, getting swallowed into the crowd of mercenaries now surging toward Ser Anthony from all sides. No doubt waiting for his moment to strike again.

  As for Brown Beard, his eyes were wide with surprise. Perhaps no one had ever managed to repel his attack so easily before. If so, then he’d only been fighting small fries, which Ser Anthony clearly wasn’t.

  The old knight’s fist found Brown Beard’s chin. It was a blow that brought the lanky man to his knees and right where Ser Anthony’s boot would reach him. A second blow to his chin and Brown Beard crumpled to the ground unconscious.

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  He didn’t use his weapon to deal the final blow because it was no longer in his hands.

  “Sweet Christmas,” Chris whistled. “Is that a magic sword…?”

  The longsword that had left Ser Anthony’s hand was now floating beside him and parrying another sword that had tried to slash the old knight’s side. Funnily enough, the mercenary who held the sword that had been blocked looked just as surprised as Chris did.

  “It is an enchanted sword,” Bram agreed, “but the Griffin’s Blade doesn’t usually move on its own.”

  The old knight’s longsword—a masterfully crafted golden blade with a golden griffin’s hilt—flew forward, driving the mercenary back with ease as if it were still held by a swordmaster’s hand.

  Watching its smooth movements, Bram recalled how he’d recently seen a broom sweep someone’s front yard when he’d observed Nike’s first adventure. The principle of their magic was the same, sure, but the skill in which Ser Anthony applied such a common spell like ‘Telekinesis’ was on a whole other level.

  “That’s what it means to be a swordmaster,” Bram explained.

  With his hands free, Ser Anthony wrestled an axe from the hand of another mercenary who’d arrived to attack him. Once he relieved the mercenary of her axe, he kicked her in the gut and sent her sprawling back. Then, with her axe in his hand, its blade sang, cutting through the air to tear another mercenary’s wooden shield in twain.

  “Arse!” was all that mercenary could yell before Ser Anthony’s hand came reaching through the space he’d cut into the broken shield. His fingers thrust into the man’s throat, causing him to double over as he lost his breath.

  “Shit, that’s gotta hurt,” Chris commented.

  Wary of Ser Anthony’s overwhelming prowess, the mercenaries backed off temporarily. Only then did the Griffin’s Blade return to the old knight’s hand.

  “I am his Highness’ sword.” Ser Anthony raised his longsword’s hilt to his chest in a knight’s salute. “If you keep fighting me, you will fall like countless others before you.”

  Bram hoped Ser Anthony had shown off enough to make the mercenaries lose their spirits. However, instead of causing them to falter, determination filled their faces almost as if beating Ser Anthony was now a matter of pride for the lot of them, and there were a lot of them now. More mercenaries poured out of their camp, and they surged toward Bram’s party like a tidal wave.

  The prince and his friends didn’t ride away though. Instead, they kept their gazes on Ser Anthony’s back. There was no better reassurance than that man’s broad back standing in front of his prince’s.

  “On your heads be it then.”

  Ser Anthony drew his sword arm back as if preparing for a thrust, its blade shaking as slivers of magic seeped into it.

  “Warbringer’s balls,” a mercenary cursed.

  Before everyone’s eyes, a pale blue aura—like the first rays of sunlight appearing over the horizon to banish the night—wrapped around Ser Anthony’s blade, enveloping it in sorcery only a chosen few swordsmen could harness.

  “That’s sword aura, ain’t it?” another mercenary asked.

  No one answered.

  They didn’t need to.

  With wide eyes they witnessed the ‘Sword Aura’ that manifested one’s will upon the world expressed in vivid color by Ser Anthony’s sorcery.

  Not wanting any of them to get too injured, Bram yelled. “Flee, you fools — flee!”

  He hoped they would listen.

  ‘Ba-dump.’

  Bram heard the familiar sound of a drumming heart as Ser Anthony sent his lead foot stomping forward. His boot cracked against the craggy ground, hinting at the spring of force climbing up his body to empower the stab meant to wound the world.

  “Earthly Ruination!”

  With a sonorous boom, the Griffin’s Blade came streaking forward, and the barricades in front were swept away by a blast of aura that was like dozens of shining blades launching across space to pierce everything within a straight path.

  “Ugh…”

  Bram tasted blood on his tongue.

  Such was the price of copying a powerful ability…but he did manage it.

  Despite being stuck as an [Administrator Lv.1], Bram’s abilities were growing along with his status so that ‘Ability Replication’ now allowed him to copy two abilities a day, though the price of the second ability was much higher. In this case, eighty percent of his remaining health.

  Losing so much life force in one instant gave Bram a nasty headache. He found himself out of breath too.

  He slumped forward but managed not to fall off Renfri thanks to the hands that kept him upright. The one on his back was small but felt much sturdier than the hand on his right shoulder.

  “Greed can be a harsh lesson,” Rowan whispered.

  Bram chuckled weakly. “I couldn’t…miss the…opportunity.”

  “Take a healing gel,” Chris recommended. “Fire’s not out yet.”

  Once the quaking earth stilled, a line had been made across the mercenary camp’s encirclement leading all the way to the hole that was Einsamer Krieger’s front door. Barricades, tents, and supplies lay ruined on the ground. No corpses though.

  The few mercenaries who’d failed to flee as ‘Earthly Ruination’ struck lay sprawled on the ground, sure, but their chests rose and fell in erratic intervals, proving they were indeed still alive despite the grievous wounds they now had.

  As for Ser Anthony, in his zeal to cause mayhem, his hood fell off, and now his face was exposed to all.

  Unsurprisingly, many of the mercenaries still standing recognized the old knight. Of course, they would. They did name their company after him.

  “Venna’s tits,” one mercenary cursed.

  She was tall and tan-skinned with hair styled in a warrior’s dreadlocks.

  “It’s Ser Anthony Holmes,” another mercenary replied.

  This one had curly hair and was taller even than Bram, though his belly was equally large.

  “The Gray Hound himself,” Brown Beard weighed in.

  Yes, the spear-wielder was back up and shaking off the blow that had knocked him unconscious.

  “I was feeling bad about getting clocked so easily,” he grinned bloodstained teeth at Ser Anthony, “but now I think it’s an honor getting beat up by you.”

  The other two who’d spoken up laughed out loud too.

  Bram frowned.

  Despite their grins, he could feel the tension growing around him. He was suddenly happy that he’d listened to Chris’ advice and slapped a healing gel on himself.

  “If you know of me, then you know you won’t win this fight. Surrender,” Ser Anthony recommended.

  “And miss this opportunity to fight the man we’ve idolized since we were kids?” the woman grinned even wider. “Never.”

  “What she said,” the fat mercenary added.

  His look of excitement seemed more pronounced, though it was quickly replaced by sudden realization.

  The fat mercenary aimed his cudgel at Bram. “If it’s the Hound we’re up against, then wouldn’t that make him the imp governor?”

  “Sarde off, Bolin,” the woman spat. “Everyone knows all the imps got sun hair.”

  “He’s wearing a disguise, Basma,” Brown Beard replied.

  One of Basma’s thick eyebrows hitched upward.

  “Shit, now that I’ve got a closer look at him, he does look like that bitch…”

  ‘Bitch’ — Bram doubted they meant his mother. The Sovereign’s reputation was great even among the downtrodden commoners of the Imperium. So, he assumed they meant one of his sisters.

  “Same eyes too,” Bolin weighed in.

  The tinted specs Bram used to hide his molten gaze had dipped lower down the bridge of his nose so that eyes of molten gold peeked out from their tops.

  Bram took off his specs and sighed.

  “I put so much effort in my disguises, and they still figure it out… I’m slipping.”

  “To be fair, you’ve had a lot on your mind lately,” Rowan said comfortingly.

  He chuckled. “Yes, let’s go with that excuse.”

  His face revealed, Bram turned his molten gaze on the three mercenaries standing in Ser Anthony’s way.

  “So, which of my sisters messed with your fine company?”

  All three mercenaries frowned.

  “Asteria,” they all growled together.

  “Ah.”

  Of course, it would be the eight princess who’d mess with Bram’s plans even though she knew not what he was up to.

  “Yes, I don’t like her much either,” he admitted. Curiously, he asked, “I don’t suppose our shared annoyance of my sister is enough for you to put down your weapons?”

  “Not likely,” Bolin replied genially.

  “Never,” Basma answered less politely.

  Bram shrugged. “I had to ask.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw movement.

  “Uh, y’all notice we’re surrounded now,” Chris pointed out.

  Mercenaries with shields encircled them now.

  Bram recognized the strategy.

  They used a formation called ‘Orbis’ but turned inward to enclose those enemies trapped within believing this might be enough to keep even strong opponents like Ser Anthony fenced in.

  It wouldn’t.

  If it came to it, the four of them could break through this bunch. Bram doubted trapping them was this orbis formation’s goal though.

  On cue, Brown Beard proved him right.

  “You said you came to bargain.”

  “I have.”

  “We don’t trust nobles. We don’t trust imps even more.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Mercenaries value strength.”

  His bloodstained grin returned to Ser Anthony.

  “You may not remember me, but you save my life when I was a boy.”

  He glanced left and then right.

  “These two are the same.”

  His gaze drifted to other members in the encirclement.

  “A lot of us, actually.”

  Ser Anthony’s brow furrowed. A second later, he said, “Orphans.”

  Brown Beard, Bolin, and Basma all nodded.

  “So that’s why they named their company after him,” Bram whispered.

  Tales of Ser Anthony’s adventures before he took charge of Bram were plentiful. Bram had even learned a few of the songs.

  A limerick came to mind now — one of Ser Anthony taking on the mantle of an errant knight who’d traveled the kingdoms to give aid and hope to orphans who’d lost their families in the War of Thirteen.

  The golden knight with the golden sword

  Filling orphans’ bellies with warm food

  Brought hope greater than any proud lord

  For he stood for what was right and good

  Ser Anthony had jokingly insisted that helping orphans was how he learned to take care of Bram after he was born. But it was more than that. Bram could see it now.

  With his gaze sweeping the mercenaries of the Gray Hounds, seeing the gratitude reflected in their expressions, Bram didn’t doubt that his seneschal had affected their lives in a similar way to how he’d helped his prince. In this, he was truly a great knight of the twelve kingdoms.

  “Ser Anthony,” the price called, “fight them.”

  It was clear. The path forward lay in the fulfilling of a dream. Bram of all people understood this.

  “Show them they weren’t wrong to idolize you.”

  At his prince’s command, Ser Anthony let go of his Griffin’s Blade so that the longsword floated to his side. Most people didn’t know this, but Bram knew that this was Ser Anthony’s stance whenever he got serious.

  Still, now that he was committed to a serious duel, Ser Anthony’s killing aura spread outward, and the three mercenaries who felt the brunt of it couldn’t keep their shoulders from shivering. None of them backed away though.

  Brown Beard nodded to Bram.

  “You might not be as bad as Asteria after all…”

  “You may come to regret pushing for this fight.”

  “Win or lose, we want to show him that we’ve become strong.”

  “Sure. Go get beat up then.”

  On that happy note, all three mercenaries charged—and these three alone would feel the brunt of Ser Anthony’s might.

  As he watched alongside Bram and Rowan, Chris whispered, “Round two. Fight.”

  The Forum Event's 2nd scenario is now up on the Discord server. For those of you participating this time, the event will last three days. The topic "One against many — the strength of a named NPC against a small force and player." Basically, it's about the stuff that happens in this chapter. For participants, the scenario rules are in the server as written by @AsteriusDaemon. Looking forward to seeing what y'all come up with!

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