Mark moved to the left to avoid the Mongols charging. Arthur moved to the right. The Mongol that decided to focus on Mark made a quick slash towards him with his saber, and Mark had to jump away, slipping a little on the grass of the hill. The Mongol’s reach was longer than he had expected, and he only avoided being grazed with the saber thanks to the small padding of his clothes.

  For almost a minute, Mark moved around the riding Mongol, his dagger ready, trying to find the weak spot of his enemy.

  But he couldn't find any.

  His dagger was too short. The Mongol made sure to position the horse so he would always have the reach on Mark, and he never allowed him to move to the back or the front of the horse. Even his slashes were calculated not to give Mark any opportunity to attack back. After one very open swing of the saber, Mark tried to jump in and close the gap, and only a certain look in the Mongol’s eyes warned him of the backswing that followed, which Mark only narrowly avoided by jumping back and falling on his ass.

  The Mongol tried to trample over him, shouting and spurring the horse with his legs. Only the fact that the horse slipped a little on the inclined terrain of the hill protected Mark from certain death.

  Then Mark found himself just running around, changing directions constantly, keeping his distance from the Mongol that was pursuing him. Safe as long as he maintained the distance, ready to jump away, and didn’t lose his footing in the inclined terrain of the hill.

  But unable to attack in any meaningful way.

  He looked at Arthur, about twenty feet away, also trying to maintain some distance from his enemy. He too had to run around, but he was a bit more aggressive, parrying with his sword some of the Mongol’s slashes, feinting to thrust towards the Mongol leg or the horse, but not yet daring to commit to an attack, also fearing getting too near the range of his enemy.

  And the Mongols knew what they were doing. They had stopped shouting when they realized they weren’t intimidating their enemies. And now they were serious, focused on their grim purpose.

  The Mongol made a few maneuvers trying to corral Mark towards the foot of the hill, where the horse would have an easier footing and Mark would be easier to hunt down. Mark avoided that by ducking under one of the Mongol’s horizontal slashes and running backward up the hill. The Mongol pursued, and Mark, having the high ground, saw the opportunity to kick the horse in the muzzle and at least scare it a bit. But the Mongol spurred his horse and pushed towards Mark, who made some quick steps back, almost losing his balance and slipping on the ground…

  “Mark!” he heard Arthur yelling, now behind him.

  But something had already awakened within Mark.

  A warning.

  An instinct.

  Even divided, the Mongols had been working together, and the Mongol that had been focusing on Arthur was now behind Mark, ready to finish the trap his comrade had set up.

  The Mongol slashed his saber towards him with a victorious yell, and something within Mark told him, without looking back, that the slash was vertical; he felt it like a shadow tearing through his body from above, so he jumped to the side and narrowly avoided the attack.

  He could feel that the Skill [Traitor’s Premonition], after pulsing within him like an intense fire, was now burning down quickly until it was barely a memory.

  [Traitor’s Premonition] was apparently a passive Skill.

  And it was now discharged. He wouldn’t get another warning.

  Both Mongols spurred their horses towards Mark, trying to finish the job. And Mark surprised them—and himself—by throwing his dagger towards the head of one of the horses, barely nicking it, but hurting it enough to spook it and make it rear up, its front legs kicking.

  Mark took advantage of the distraction by running towards the out-of-control horse, escaping from the other Mongol rider, ducking to avoid the swing of his saber. In a fit of overachievement that left for lying bastards everybody who had ever called him a loser without ambition, he even tried to dismount the Mongol riding the uncontrolled horse, and was rewarded with a nicely placed knee to the face.

  “Sorry!” shouted Arthur. “The motherfucker got away from me.”

  Mark got up from the ground, having fallen to his ass after the kick. He looked at his friend. Arthur was getting up after picking something from the ground.

  Their ambush failed, the other Mongol rider went back to harassing Arthur. Mark managed to get his dagger back, after running towards it while the Mongol finished calming his horse, which was bleeding a little from the muzzle, and snorting forcefully.

  And the cat-and-mouse game started again.

  They were in a terrible position. The only reason Mark and Arthur still hadn’t been killed was that this wasn’t their first time in a life-threatening situation, so they were capable of doing the basics: keeping their distance, not freezing up with fear, and avoiding slipping down in the increasingly muddy terrain, after all the trampling of the horses.

  Those were enough to keep them in the game. Alive. But not enough to win. Not enough to make a difference.

  It’s only a matter of time until we die, thought Mark, feeling a little bitter. So many things to explore, a whole new world to discover, and he was about to die right at the beginning?

  He had been postponing it as much as possible, because it was a crazy gambit. Maybe the craziest thing he had ever done. And he would only have one opportunity to do it. But [Traitor’s Premonition] had actually been useful…

  So why not trust his other Skill?

  The Mongol rider was coming for him, again raising his saber. Only this time Mark didn’t move away. He actually took a step forward. He hit his chest with a fist, his blood burning.

  “Come fucking get me!” he shouted. “Let’s fucking do it!”

  How much of it was an act? Not even he knew.

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  The Mongol smiled, thinking his prey had finally given up. He spurred his horse, raising his saber. The horse approached, only a few feet away...

  The Mongol lowered his saber, delivering the finishing strike…

  Mark waited as the diagonal slash came towards him. And then he reached within himself, in a hidden part of his soul he had never before known existed, and activated his Skill:

  [Phantom Presence].

  And the saber cut through him, brutally tearing through his body. But there was nothing there. And the Mongol lost his smile and his balance when his saber cut through empty air. And Mark deactivated his Skill as he grabbed the Mongol by the shirt to lower him enough from the horse so he could thrust the dagger into his throat.

  And he was dragged a few feet by the still-moving horse, while being covered in the pumping blood of the man he had just murdered.

  When he let go, he looked towards the other Mongol rider, who had lost focus by watching his comrade being taken down—and now was hit in the head with the rock Arthur had picked up from the ground.

  The Mongol tried to hold on to the horse, having lost one of the stirrups, his head bloody, but Arthur got to him almost immediately, ready to cut him with his sword, and the Mongol let himself fall from the horse, where he was defenseless, and still on the ground he slashed the air with his saber to try to keep Arthur away.

  But his movements were no longer precise. He had been stunned by the rock, and then by falling from his horse. And Arthur didn’t hesitate. He jumped in after the Mongol’s slash, and he thrust his sword towards the Mongol’s belly. The Mongol managed to sneak away from the thrust, and Arthur let go of his sword, and after blocking the Mongol’s arm holding the saber, he started beating the face of the Mongol with his fist. Over and over.

  He was bigger. Stronger. And the Mongol lay still on the ground after the first few punches. Arthur kicked the saber from the hand of the Mongol, and then focused on beating him with both fists, again and again, without mercy.

  His eyes barely flinching while he destroyed the other man’s skull.

  He only stopped when Mark arrived walking towards him. Arthur’s fists and forearms were covered in blood, and he was breathing hard. When he realized his friend was waiting, and the Mongol was unconscious with his body convulsing weakly, Arthur reached towards his sword, and with a fluid gesture put the tip of the sword on the chest of the convulsing Mongol, and tired after all the effort, he let the tip of the sword fall down towards the heart, helped with the weight of his own body.

  Mark watched how the body of the Mongol spasmed for a few seconds before lying still.

  “Fuck, that was exhausting…” murmured Arthur, putting his feet on the Mongol's chest so he could pull his sword from the body. It took him some effort. He was breathing very hard.

  “Well… get ready for more,” Mark answered, also breathing hard, and looking up towards the top of the hill.

  The fight had taken them to the bottom of the hill, on the same side where they had appeared when they had resurrected.

  But they were no longer alone.

  The end of their fight had been witnessed by about twenty Mongols standing on their horses on the top of the hill, their horses snorting and tossing their heads, nervous from all the noise. The Mongol soldiers did not seem happy after having seen their comrades being murdered.

  Apart from the Mongols, their fight had been witnessed by some Roman legionaries that had just circled the hill, and were keeping their perfect formation while they looked at Mark and Arthur.

  Mark focused on them for a moment and saw that they were from Julius Caesar’s army.

  One of the Mongols at the top of the hill nocked an arrow and pulled back the bowstring of his composite bow in an elegant, fluid motion.

  We’re dead, Mark thought.

  Nowhere to hide from twenty Mongol riders with sabers and bows.

  But the Mongol slightly raised his composite bow and shot towards a much more distant target.

  Mark followed the arrow, having to turn around to look at where it landed.

  The gamers that had stayed to witness a few minutes of the battle had tried to run away when the two Mongol riders had charged towards them. But the Mongol archers didn’t allow them to escape. The path towards the distant forest was littered with their bodies. About ten of them were lying still, dead. And only two gamers seemed to still be alive. One of them was on the ground, moaning and crying, with an arrow in his stomach. The other was still running, about three hundred yards away. And after flying for a few seconds, this last arrow took him down, hitting him in the back.

  The only gamer remaining was Tobias, with the frying pan. He hadn’t run and was now standing a few steps away from Mark and Arthur. He answered their silent question:

  “I realized they were picking us apart from the distance. And I didn’t want to die while running away,” he said with a shaky voice, leaning down to pick up the saber of the Mongol Mark had killed, “so I stayed”.

  The Mongols and the Romans seemed to be at a standstill. The Mongols were looking at the Roman army, which outnumbered them. The Romans had started moving a small detachment towards Mark and the others. But they were approaching hesitantly, worried about a possible Mongol charge.

  Mark wondered why the Romans didn’t just ignore them and kept moving to disappear into the forest, which seemed to be their objective.

  What was the point of risking their lives to kill them?

  “I think I prefer to die fighting,” Tobias continued talking, looking at the two armies and walking to stand next to Mark and Arthur, the saber trembling, “With a weapon in my hand.”

  Arthur looked at him for a couple of seconds. Then he said:

  “What’s your name?”

  Tobias seemed suspicious. He probably hadn’t forgotten the wedgie comment.

  “I already told you my name.”

  “And I didn’t care then. I care now,” Arthur answered, passing the sword to his left hand for a moment to extend his right towards Tobias, offering a handshake.

  The man extended his hand and took Arthur’s handshake with hesitation.

  “My name’s Tobias.”

  Arthur spent a couple of seconds in silence, still holding the handshake, looking deeply into Tobias, as if memorizing his face. And eventually said:

  “It’s an honor to die next to you, Tobias.”

  “Oh… Thank you, same to you, Arthur. It’s… it’s also an honor.”

  Mark, who had been looking at the two armies getting ready to destroy them, rolled his eyes, too used to Arthur’s bullshit. His best friend liked to hold a firm handshake while looking deeply into your eyes as if he were suddenly seeing you for the first time. And then he loved to say something “honest”, a “tell-it-how-it-is” statement about how special you were, about the incredible worth he saw in you.

  It worked great with women, who loved to be told how special they were by the beautiful, dangerous man.

  It also worked painfully well with insecure men. Mark hated to remember a time when they were both children, and he had fallen for Arthur’s bullshit and absurd sense of self-importance.

  Who gives a fuck about what you consider an honor, asshole? Mark thought.

  He glanced towards Tobias, and yes, he was fucking shining from the compliment. His whole body shook, probably completely unaccustomed to the adrenaline pumping through his veins. But his eyes were decided.

  He would prefer to die than to betray the magnificent, brave image of himself Arthur had made him glance at.

  Ten minutes ago, Arthur was threatening to give him a wedgie. Now he is a true believer in the Arthurian Church of Bullshit.

  Then they waited. They waited for the charge that would kill them all, not knowing if the Romans or the Mongols would get the privilege of taking their lives.

  “The thing about the beautiful women waiting on the other side… Did we reach some conclusion on how likely it was?”

  Mark looked at Tobias, surprised and a little disgusted that he would focus on something like that at this moment. And then he realized that Tobias was pale and terrified, but still trying to put on a smile.

  The guy was facing certain death. A gruesome death. And he had tried to make a joke! Mark laughed. Maybe there was something to this Tobias after all. And he answered:

  “It was inconclusive. But probably true. That’s what I heard anyway”.

  “If I get less than a hundred women for this bullshit,” answered Tobias, his voice shaking, and gesturing at the Mongols getting ready to start their charge, “I’ll totally file a complaint.”

  Then the Mongols started to charge down the hill. The Romans' detachment had started running across the hill towards the gamers…

  It was like a competition to see who would get the privilege of killing them.

  Thirty seconds for the battle to begin…

  “Arthur?”

  “Yes, Mark?”

  “When you murdered me… You know I totally could have taken your gun, right? And then make you my bitch. I just didn’t want to see you die of embarrassment.”

  Arthur chuckled.

  “Sure. Tell yourself that,” he answered, looking at the powerful mounted charge coming towards them.

  And they got ready to die.