The soldiers shoved our people back with their shields, clearing the ground before the town hall. My mechanical joints whirred softly as I tracked their movements through Mind Sight, watching them form a rough circle in order to create a makeshift arena for this farce of honor.

  Marshes kept his rapier trained on me, his stance perfect as always. The others maintained their positions as well. Janis stood loose with her bow, and Coyle's magic caused his hands to glow. Jecker stood nearby with his sword drawn, and Andrim held his axe at the ready. These five had grown to know me over the weeks of their stay in Weath. They all knew what I was capable of. Yet still they chose to side with that pompous lordling.

  Through my Mind Sight, I caught movement at the edge of the square. Clarik emerged from his smithy, a long bundle wrapped in oiled cloth held carefully in his arms. It was my latest work, a longsword crafted to replace the one shattered in the Snapper Dragon's hide. The steel had sung with perfection as I created it, each fold and temper exactly as it should be. I had finished Assembling the weapon just this morning.

  The blacksmith moved slowly through the crowd, keeping to the edges where shadows grew long in the evening light. He was surprisingly stealthy for such a large man. His eyes glanced towards me briefly and he nodded, understanding passing between us. Clarik hid himself well back from where Marshes and his team watched me, finding a position where they couldn't see him.

  I kept my posture relaxed, giving no sign that I'd noticed anything. My mechanical body remained still, though inside I burned with the need to act. The sword would do Mallie no good as she was an archer, not a blade fighter. But having it close enough for me to take possession of; well, that might make a difference.

  I watched through Mind Sight as Kolin shed his fancy cloak, revealing an outfit that probably cost more than most of Weath's yearly harvest combined. The mage, Themas, helped secure a shiny, polished cuirass around the nobleman's chest. The armor's faint blue glow spoke of protective enchantments on it, likely designed to deflect or absorb blows.

  My porcelain fingers tightened against my sides as one of Kolin's men presented him with an estoc. The weapon's blade stretched longer than Mallie was tall, the obviously enchanted steel gleaming in the fading daylight. Another magical item, because of course it was. The young noble couldn't face a farm girl without having every advantage money could buy.

  Is this what passes for honor among those claiming nobility? The words emerged through my Mind Speech, reaching everyone in the square. Enchanted armor and weapons against a child?

  Kolin tested the estoc's weight with practiced movements. "I need no advantages to best a commoner. These are merely the tools befitting my station."

  I watched Mallie's small form through my Mind Sight, noting how her fingers gripped the bow with white-knuckled tension. A slight tremor ran through her shoulders, but she kept her chin high, green eyes fixed on her opponent.

  Kolin raised his estoc overhead, the enchanted blade reflecting brightly from the nearby torchlights. "Look at this pathetic excuse for a warrior." His lips curled into a sneer. "A dirty little farm girl who thinks she deserves to walk the halls of the War Academy. Your kind belongs in the fields, grubbing in the dirt."

  The crowd shifted, a low murmur of anger rippling through the villagers. Old Willem's weathered face darkened with rage. Sarah Goodmak's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Even Farmer Tull, who'd once feared me, now directed his hatred toward this noble brat.

  "At least I earned my place." Mallie's voice rang clear across the square. "You're nothing but a cowardly thief, hiding behind his father's wealth."

  Kolin's face predictably flushed red. "You dare speak to me that way? I am the son of Duke Redflight!"

  "And I'm the daughter of honest folk who taught me the meaning of honor." She nocked an arrow to her bow. "Something you clearly never learned."

  The noble's face twisted with fury. "When I'm done with you, peasant, you'll learn proper respect. Perhaps I'll have my men teach your family some manners as well."

  That threat sent a wave of hatred through the crowd. I could feel it building like storm clouds, dark and dangerous. Pitchforks and scythes appeared in calloused hands. The soldiers shifted uneasily, their shields rising higher.

  Through my Mind Sight, I tracked every subtle movement. Marshes' grip had tightened on his rapier, but there was hesitation in his stance now. Janis hadn't drawn her bowstring fully taut. Even Coyle's magical glow seemed to flicker with uncertainty.

  My mechanical body remained still, but my mind raced through calculations. Twenty soldiers. Five adventurers. One mage. And Kolin himself, all arrayed against a village of farmers and one broken monster. The numbers didn't matter. If Kolin's threats turned to action, I would tear through them all.

  But first, I had to watch this farce play out. Had to let Mallie face this challenge, because she'd chosen it. Even as every gear and spring in my frame screamed to intervene.

  "Begin when ready," Kolin's mage called out, stepping back from the makeshift arena.

  I watched through Mind Sight as Kolin burst into motion, his estoc drawn back for a killing strike. His form was precise, each movement showing years of expensive training. But after facing Chanos's lightning-fast axe and dodging the Snapper Dragon's bone-crushing jaws, the noble's attack looked pitiful in comparison.

  Mallie's hands moved with practiced grace, drawing and releasing an arrow in one fluid motion. Blue light traced its path through the air, marking it as one of the enchanted arrows I'd recovered from Qordos. Kolin didn't even try to dodge, clearly trusting his expensive magical protections to keep him safe.

  The arrow punched through his enchanted cuirass like it was made of paper. Steel plate crumpled and magical barriers shattered as the projectile buried itself deep in his shoulder.

  A high-pitched scream erupted from Kolin's throat. The estoc clattered to the ground as his hands flew to the shaft protruding from his body. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his fine clothing.

  "Impossible!" Themas shouted, his face pale. "That arrow! It has a Penetration-All enchantment! Only Level 40 Enchanters can create them!"

  "No filthy peasant should have such a weapon!" Kolin's voice cracked with pain and outrage.

  Mallie shrugged, already nocking another glowing arrow. "Guess those Qordos slavers must have killed someone really important to get their hands on these." Her tone was casual, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands. "Their loss was my gain."

  Terror replaced the pain in Kolin's eyes as he stared at the second enchanted arrow aimed at his chest. "Kill her!" he shrieked at his men. "Kill that peasant bitch!"

  The soldiers moved to obey, shields rising as they advanced. But that command broke something in the crowd. Hours of simmering resentment exploded into violence. Farming tools transformed into weapons as villagers surged forward with roars of rage. The sound of their fury filled the square like thunder.

  The chaos erupted around me as villagers clashed with soldiers. Through my Mind Sight, I tracked Kolin stumbling backward, clutching his wounded shoulder while barking orders. His men formed a protective circle around him, shields raised against the angry mob.

  Mallie's arrows whistled through the air in rapid succession. Each shot found its mark with deadly precision despite the chaotic melee. Her accuracy wasn't random, she was targeting soldiers who pressed too hard against our villagers, forcing them to fall back or risk an enchanted arrow through their armor.

  A group of farmers rushed at Marshes and his team with pitchforks and scythes. The adventurers turned to face this new threat, their attention briefly shifting away from me. In that split second, I caught the flash of movement through my Mind Sight. Clarik had emerged from the shadows, unwrapping the oiled cloth from my newly forged sword.

  The blade spun through the air as he tossed it. My mechanical arm shot out, catching it perfectly by the grip. The steel sang as it cut through the evening air, my body falling into stance without conscious thought.

  Marshes spun to face me, his rapier already moving in the elegant patterns of Court Style. But my limbs knew exactly how to respond, flowing through forms buried deep in my fractured memories. Each thrust he made, I parried. Every complex combination he attempted, I countered.

  Jecker flanked me, his shorter blade seeking gaps in my defense. But my body moved with practiced efficiency, my sword weaving patterns that kept both opponents at bay. This wasn't the raw combat I'd used against Chanos or the Snapper Dragon. This was refined, tactical swordplay designed for battlefield conditions.

  As I deflected another of Marshes' precise attacks while simultaneously stepping away from Jecker's strike, the memory surfaced like a bubble breaking the water's surface. I suddenly knew its name. Isparan Battlefield Fencing. This was a combat style developed to fight multiple opponents in the crush of war. My mechanical frame executed the movements perfectly, muscle memory transcending the loss of my original flesh.

  "What is this style? Who the hell are you?" Marshes grunted as I turned his thrust aside.

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  I had no answer for him. My focus remained on the deadly dance of our blades, my sword moving through forms that felt as natural as breathing once had. Thrust, parry, riposte; each movement flowing into the next with mechanical precision guided by ancient memory.

  The style was devastatingly effective against multiple opponents. Where Court Style emphasized one-on-one dueling, Isparan Battlefield Fencing had been created for the chaos of war. Every stance provided coverage against multiple angles of attack. Each strike could smoothly transition to defend against a secondary opponent.

  Through my Mind Sight, I tracked two of Kolin's soldiers as they joined Marshes and Jecker's assault. Their military training showed in how they moved to flank me, attempting to create openings in my defense. But something strange happened as they entered the fight. My movements became more fluid, more certain. The Isparan forms flowed together with an effortless grace that felt almost supernatural.

  Four blades struck at me from different angles. My sword wove between them all, deflecting strikes while my mechanical body pivoted and shifted. Each opponent's attack created opportunities for the others, yet somehow this made the style even more effective. The more they coordinated their assault, the more precise my counters became.

  Jecker lunged forward, trying to slip past my guard while Marshes occupied my blade high. At the same time, both soldiers drove in from opposite sides. In that moment, everything aligned perfectly. My sword disengaged from Marshes and swept down in a circular arc that caught Jecker's blade near the hilt. The force of my parry drove his weapon wide, leaving him exposed. My following thrust took him in the chest, punching through his leather armor.

  As Jecker fell, I continued the motion into a spinning slash that opened the nearest soldier's throat. His blood sprayed across my porcelain plating as he collapsed. The remaining soldier hesitated for just a heartbeat, which was a fatal mistake. My blade whipped around in a horizontal cut that separated his head from his shoulders.

  I pivoted to face Marshes, who had fallen back into a perfect Court Style defensive stance. Our eyes met across the blood-stained ground between us. He knew what was coming. We both did.

  My thrust was simple and direct; no flourishes or complex movements. His parry was equally clean, but I had already begun the disengaging riposte. His eyes widened as my blade slipped past his guard and drove through his chest.

  "Who... taught you... this style?" Blood trickled from his lips as he stared at me.

  I held him upright, my sword still buried in his heart. Through my Mind Sight, I watched his life ebbing away. A sad smile crossed his weathered features. He gave me a small nod, a warrior's final acknowledgment, before the light faded from his eyes.

  I had no time to grieve for this former friend. I still had many who were fighting for their very lives.

  I charged into the heart of the battle, my mechanical legs carrying me with inhuman speed. Bodies littered the ground, and my Mind Sight revealed faces I'd grown to know over these past months. Farmer Tull lay twisted on his side, those suspicious eyes now empty and lifeless. Martin and Tomas, who'd shared drinks with me just days ago, were sprawled amongst the fallen.

  Rage burned through my mechanical innards like molten steel. Two soldiers fell before my blade, their armor offering no protection against my precise strikes. But then two squad leaders stepped forward, their movements marking them as veterans. My Analyze ability confirmed they were both Level 12.

  These weren't common soldiers. They moved with practiced coordination, one always defending while the other probed my defenses. When I attacked one, the other would counter. Their teamwork spoke of years fighting together, each anticipating the other's moves.

  I tried shifting into more aggressive Isparan forms, but they adapted quickly. One feinted high while the other struck low. I caught the lower blade with mine, but the motion left me exposed. Steel crashed against my right arm, shattering the porcelain plating. Internal mechanisms sparked and ground together from the damage.

  My movements became sluggish, the damaged arm throwing off my balance. I fell back into defensive patterns, trying to protect my wounded side. The squad leaders pressed their advantage, their confidence growing with each exchange.

  Then an arrow punched through one soldier's helmet visor. He dropped instantly, the enchanted projectile having found its mark with deadly accuracy. His partner's discipline broke for just a moment as he glanced at his fallen comrade. That split second was all I needed. My blade thrust forward, sliding past his guard and into his throat.

  I looked up to find Mallie perched atop the town hall, her bow singing as she picked off soldiers with ruthless efficiency. She caught my gaze and smiled, that gap-toothed grin somehow unchanged despite the blood and death surrounding us. I felt my own face shift into what passed for a smile, grateful for her deadly precision.

  Suddenly, blue-white lightning crackled across my Mind Sight, a blinding flash that burned away all reason. The bolt struck Mallie in the chest, and time ground to a halt. In that single, eternal moment, I saw her smile fade, watched those bright green eyes go dim. Time quickly resumed, and I watched Mallie's small form tumble from the roof like a broken doll.

  Something inside me shattered.

  The scream that erupted from my throat wasn't human. It wasn't even monster. It was something ancient and primal, a sound of pure anguish that ripped through the evening air. Glass exploded inward as every window in the square shattered. Soldiers and villagers alike collapsed, blood streaming from their ears as my grief manifested as a physical force.

  Through my Mind Sight, I saw Themas standing in the town center, magical energy still crackling around his raised hand. His face showed no remorse, just the satisfied look of a job well done. He'd killed a child. Murdered Mallie. My Mallie.

  The sword fell from my mechanical fingers. I didn't need weapons anymore. Didn't need skill or technique or remembered forms. All that remained was the burning need to tear him apart with my bare hands.

  My legs propelled me forward with crushing force, porcelain plates cracking from the strain. The rational part of my mind that might have planned an attack or considered strategy had burned away, replaced by bestial fury. Nothing existed except the distance between me and Themas, and the overwhelming desire to destroy him.

  The mage's eyes widened as I charged. His hands moved through the motions of another spell, but I was beyond caring what magic he might unleash. Let him burn me, freeze me, tear me apart with wind. Nothing would stop me from reaching him.

  I barely registered the soldiers who tried to block my path. My mechanical body smashed through their shield wall like it was made of twigs. Armor crumpled under my grip as I threw men aside. Someone's sword caught in my side, but I couldn't feel it. Porcelain and steel shattered, falling off my loping form. I couldn't feel anything except the rage burning through every gear and spring of my frame.

  Themas. He was all that mattered. The mage who'd murdered a child. Who'd extinguished that bright smile forever. My Mind Sight focused on him with vicious precision as I crashed through the last line of defenders.

  The air itself became a weapon as Themas' spell slammed into me. My mechanical frame exploded, shards of porcelain and steel spraying outward like shrapnel. The soldiers around him screamed as fragments tore through their bodies, blinding some and killing others instantly. But their deaths meant nothing to me. My original form remained, the pale, invulnerable flesh that had crawled itself up from the earth. Half a torso, one arm, and a head were all I needed.

  I landed on him with inhuman speed, my sharp teeth finding purchase in the soft flesh of his face. My remaining hand dug deep into his shoulder, fingers piercing through muscle and sinew. The mage's scream turned to a wet gurgle as I ripped away a chunk of his features, blood spraying across my eyeless face.

  He fell backward and I followed, my teeth seeking his throat. Each bite tore away more of him, my rage driving me to reduce him to nothing but meat and bone. The surviving soldiers hacked at my pale flesh with their swords, but the blades couldn't penetrate my invulnerable skin. Others tried to drag me off their dying mage, but I was beyond their strength to move.

  My jaws snapped shut on his collarbone, crushing through it with savage force. His attempts to cast another spell ended in a choked scream as I bit down on his casting hand, severing fingers with my razor-sharp teeth. Blood filled my mouth, hot and copper-tasting, driving me into an even deeper frenzy.

  I didn't stop until there was nothing recognizable left of the man who'd killed Mallie. My teeth had reduced him to torn flesh and splintered bone, his fine robes now soaked crimson with his own blood. The soldiers who'd tried to save him had backed away in horror, their weapons hanging useless at their sides as they watched a monster consume their mage.

  I came to my senses slowly, like waking from a nightmare. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth, and my pale flesh was coated in gore. Antos knelt before me, his nose crushed and bleeding, but his eyes held no fear. Only deep sadness.

  "Are you alright?" His voice was tight, controlled.

  I managed a nod, though I wasn't sure if it was true. My mind felt fractured, pieces of memory floating just out of reach. Then they crashed back into place with devastating clarity.

  Lightning. Bright and terrible. Mallie's small body arcing through the air. The sound of her hitting the ground. The silence that followed.

  A sob tried to tear its way out of my throat, but I choked it back. My cursed voice had already caused enough pain today. I forced myself to look around with Mind Sight, to face what I'd done.

  The street outside the town hall had become a graveyard. Bodies lay scattered across blood-stained dirt, not just of soldiers, but villagers, too. People I knew. People who'd finally begun to trust me.

  Derek clutched his sister Pippa as they knelt beside their father's corpse. Their shoulders shook with silent sobs, too exhausted to even cry out anymore. Emma Goodmak rocked back and forth, cradling Sarah's lifeless body against her chest. Her daughter's kind face, which had smiled at me just this morning, was now forever still.

  Old Willem stood among a cluster of fallen young men, tears streaming down his weathered face. "Why?" he kept asking, his voice breaking. "Why do I survive when these boys died? What kind of cruel joke is this?"

  Near the hall steps, Clarik's massive frame trembled. He gripped a bloody hammer in white-knuckled hands, standing over Janis's broken form. The woman who'd brought him bread, who'd flirted with him so openly, had become an enemy that he had been forced to take down.

  The sound of familiar weeping reached my ears. Through Mind Sight, I watched Katherin nearby as she cradled Mallie's body. Her fingers were trembling as she brushed the blonde hair from her daughter's still face. The sound of her grief plunged deep into me, somehow bypassing my invincible skin. Next to them lay the prone form of Moskin, his body riddled with wounds. His final, desperate act had been to defend his wife and child. His calloused farmer's hands were still gripping his broken pitchfork, a weapon he refused to yield even in death.

  My teeth ground together, the sharp edges clicking against each other. This wasn't just murder. It was slaughter. These were farmers, craftsmen, simple folk who'd never raised a hand in violence until today.

  Antos. My Mind Speech reached out to the mayor. Where is Kolin Redflight?

  Tears carved paths through the blood on his face. "Ran. Him and what's left of his men. Headed west on the trade road. Probably running to Millbrook to get reinforcements."

  How long?

  "About an hour, I'd say." His voice cracked. "Just... just left them all here. Left us to bury our dead. Didn't even bother to collect their own. Bastards."

  Perfect. The trail would still be fresh.

  Clarik. I projected my thoughts to the blacksmith. I need your help.

  The big man's head snapped up at the sound of my mental voice. Life returned to his hollow eyes. He acknowledged me with a sharp nod, then hurried towards his smithy.

  Minutes later, I stood housed within my combat frame, four arms of gleaming steel each gripping a different weapon. The familiar weight of the mechanical body settled around me, internal clockwork systems integrating smoothly with my flesh.

  "No Eyes."

  Katherin's trembling voice stopped me as I turned to leave. I looked back to see her still kneeling beside Mallie, but her tear-streaked face had transformed into something harder than stone.

  "Kill them all." Her words dripped with venom. "Every last one of those whoresons. Make them suffer."

  I nodded once, then strode toward the western road.

  The hunt was on.