Runeguard 031

I spent the next few minutes walking a careful circuit around the camp while Night poked her invisible nose into every tent.

When we were done, I turned to my spirit guard. “Well Night, what do you say?”

“The south side of the camp will work best I think,” she said. “It’s the most populous end of the encampment, and the neighboring camps encroach closely too.” She chuckled. “Your plan will create the most chaos there.”

I nodded. “I agree. Let’s be about it.”

With Night leading the way, I found four empty tents in the south camp and doused them with oil. I didn’t stop there though. Using some rope and sticks that Night spotted lying about the camp, I jury-rigged a few traps with Alexis’ bombs.

The traps were crude in nature, and in the light of day, even the most unperceptive player would have spotted them. But I was betting that the darkness and chaos Night and I hoped to cause would be enough to hide their presence—until too late.

Unfortunately, I didn’t acquire any new skills from my makeshift traps. According to Adi, trap-making was a skill from one of the crafting Essences, and while the System didn’t prevent me from attempting to craft a trap, it did not reward my efforts with further skill.

I used all the bombs I had but two. I had something else in mind for those. With the southern end of the encampment rigged, Night and I made our way back to the center of the camp. 

Getting as close as I dared to Marcos’ tent, I configured three smoke traps to the north, east and west of it. Then I crouched down at my chosen location, a spot from which I had a clear run to Marcos’ tent.

We were almost ready.

I drew out my battlehammer and laid it on the ground at my feet. For the upcoming encounter, I would forgo defense altogether, and every little bit of extra damage I could muster would help.

“Night, I’m almost set,” I said. “You know what you need to do?”

“I do,” she replied.

“Take up your position then,” I said. “And give me a minute to finish my preparations before you begin.”

“Happy hunting,” the black dragon said, as she drifted away from me.

“You too,” I replied.

I felt the connection between my companion and myself weaken and stretch as she made her way south. Only when I sensed Night was stationery again, did I bend my head and finish my own preparations.

Calling upon my mana, I whispered the words to the lesser bless spell.

You have increased your constitution Essence by 10%. Your max health has increased to 297 HP. Duration: 5 minutes.

I extracted the healing ward scroll and two terror bombs from my inventory. Laying the items on the ground besides my battlehammer, I rested my hands on my haunches.

All that was left now was for Night to begin her own assault. I fixed my eyes on torches surrounding Marcos’ tent and waited.

It did not take long.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed flames exploding upwards into the sky. Night had set alight the first of the oil-doused tents. I smiled. It had begun.

I picked up the two terror bombs and strained my ears. At the first distant cry of alarm from the southern end of the camp, I wound back my arm and lobbed the magic grenades forward.

I could not see the guards or even Marcos’ tent itself, of course, but it mattered little as I used the surrounding torches to guide my aim.

You have tossed a terror bomb. 5 unknown players have been affected by its psychic waves, debuff: panicked.

You have tossed a terror bomb. 4 unknown players have been affected by its psychic waves, debuff: panicked.

 I grimaced. My throws had not been as accurate as I liked. Each bomb had panicked less than half the guards. But more importantly, had both bombs landed in the same place and affected the same guards?

From this range, I couldn’t tell. Nor did I have time to worry further about it. Picking up the healing ward scroll, I quickly unrolled the parchment and incanted the words of the spell, directing its energy towards Marcos’ tent.

Adi had already informed me that the healing ward would only affect me and my allies. She had also told me it would be visible once cast. It was the reason I hadn’t cast the spell earlier.

As I invoked the spell, the scroll’s mana was released. Directed by both my will and the spell, it flowed into the ground beneath the tent and the nearby surroundings, bathing them in a gentle silver glow.

You have cast minor healing ward. The HP of all allies within the ward will be restored by 1.5% every second. Duration: 2 minutes.

Bending down, I picked up my battlehammer and raced forward. 

It was time to take down Marcos.

✵ ✵ ✵

As I charged towards the torches surrounding the tent, behind me I sensed more flames erupt into the sky, and the cries of panic and shouts of alarm increase.

Night is doing a fine job, I thought. It would be enough, I hoped, to draw all eyes towards the southern end of the Crows’ encampment and away from what I was about.

Ten yards from Marcos’ tent, I finally spotted the guards. I couldn’t make out their numbers clearly yet, but there were at least four of them. The rest must have fled in terror. The four were scanning the surroundings frantically.

 A guard spotted me. I saw his eyes widen and his mouth drop open to yell a warning. There was nothing I could do to stop him. I was still too far.

“Intruder!” he shouted.

The eyes of the nearby guards fixed on me, and one of them ducked into the tent—presumably to warn Marcos.

Things weren’t going as well as I hoped. Grinding my teeth in frustration, I pounded toward the three remaining guards.

As I closed with the Crows, I crossed the boundary of the persistent spell I had cast.

You have entered the area of effect of a minor healing ward. 

Dismissing the alert, I narrowed my eyes and took a moment to study my foes. The Crows all wielded short swords, one in each hand, and right away I could tell they were no ordinary thieves. 

Unlike the other Crows I had encountered thus far, the three were fully dressed in leather armor. One even sported a chainmail vest.

They had to be the vaunted headhunters.

Still, I wouldn’t let them stop me. Raising my battlehammer up high, I brought it down in a sweeping arc. The Crow to my right dodged out of the way, while the ones to the front and left raised their crossed swords to deflect the blow.

They would have done better to follow their companions’ example. 

Heavy hammer head met thin blades and swept them—and their wielders—away. The first guard only suffered a glancing blow across the head. Yet, it was still enough to cave in his skull. 

The second was no more fortunate. My weapon completed its arc and buried itself in his chest, crushing bones and organs alike.

Both men crumpled to the floor, and I swung to my right. The last headhunter was lunging forward, and with my own weapon out of position, I couldn’t block the twin blades heading my way.

So I stepped into them.

As the Crow’s swords pierced my sides, I bit back a grunt of pain and brought my own weapon around. 

Too late, my foe realized the danger.

He tried to backstep, but with his blades buried in me, the headhunter was hampered in his retreat. With a single, mighty heave, my battlehammer crunched into his head.

He dropped to my feet. With an involuntary gasp, I yanked out the swords from my torso. While the wounds hurt like hell, they didn’t concern me, and I didn’t bother healing them. 

As long as I remained within the ward, I would quickly regain my full strength. And besides, with Night’s high maintenance cost, I had precious little mana at my disposal.

No more headhunters approached me. They had either all run off—or were waiting inside the tent with Marcos and the other guard. 

Using the moment of respite, I looked around and took stock. To the north and east of the tent, thick, black smoke billowed. I hadn’t realized it, but at some point during my fight with the guards, the smoke traps must have triggered. For a second, I studied the dense clouds warily, but no Crows emerged from them.

Satisfied, I turned my gaze south. To my surprise, instead of seeing four distinct fires—one for each oil-doused tent—I beheld a raging inferno.

The fire has spread.

Players were running to and fro, and I heard frantic cries of “water!” and “wyvern!” 

I smiled grimly. Night had done a much better job than I expected. Marcos and his guards would be getting no help from the rest of his merry band any time soon.

I turned my gaze towards the tent. Time to end this, I thought and ducked inside.

✵ ✵ ✵

There were three men waiting for me. 

One was the guard who had slipped inside earlier, and another was a tall striking figure with the tattoo of a grinning skull on his forehead. Yannick.

Both Yannick and the guard radiated tension. They stood with their weapons bared. Yannick carried twin axes, and the guard, a longsword.

Behind the pair, lounging on a throne-like chair was a slim, dapper figure with manicured hands and a neat, trim goatee. Marcos. Dressed in silk black clothes, he wore no armor, nor bore any weapons that I could see.

“Well, well,” Marcos said. “If it isn’t the very one I have been hunting high and low for.” He steepled his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to visit, Dace?” he continued, assuming a familiarity that we most assuredly didn’t share. “All that wasted effort,” he said with mock sadness. “Tsk, tsk.”

I narrowed my eyes and stared measuredly at the suave figure. He didn’t look the least bit intimidated by my presence, even though my hammer dripped with the blood of his guards.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that now,” I said. “After all, it let me rid this world of a few dozen scum.” 

Marcos’ lips turned down. “Don’t be like that, Dace. Can’t we just be friends?”

“Friends?” I laughed. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if I could help it, Marcos.”

The Crow leader sighed. “If you’re going to be like that…” He opened his hands wide, and his voice turned cold. “Then I’m afraid I’ll just have to kill you.”

“Yeah?” I said. “And just how are you going to manage that?” I glanced pointedly at the open tent flap through which the burning camp could be seen. “After tonight, I don’t think you are going to have much of a guild left.”

“You have much to learn, Dace,” Marcos said with a sad shake of his head. “Yannick, kill him.”

The big, bearded man grinned. “My pleasure, boss.”

Almost too fast to follow, Yannick whipped his arms back. Those are throwing axes, I realized. More by instinct than anything else, I dodged. 

The first axe sailed past me and out the tent. The second buried itself in my thigh.

Goddamn! That hurts. I refused to let any of the pain show on my face, though. Bending down, as nonchalantly as I could, I yanked the axe free and tossed it aside.

“Impressive,” Marcos murmured as he watched the wound begin to close the moment I removed the axe. He gestured to the luminous silver sheen covering the floor. “So, the healing ward is your doing too?”

A dismissive grunt was my only response.

“What are you, I wonder,” the Crow leader mused, drumming the fingers of one hand on his chair. When I still did not deign to respond, he waved his arm and in response, Yannick and the guard moved forward to engage me.

I edged left to stop myself from being flanked. The guard, I wasn’t worried about. Yannick though… he had pulled out another axe, a big two-handed monster. He would be more problematic.

I waited for the two to draw close, the wound on my leg closing further with every passing second. Those on my torso were already fully healed.

When the pair were almost within reach, I dashed forward, my shoulder raised and pointed at Yannick. The big man’s eyes widened—no doubt suspecting I intended to ram him—and instinctively, he leapt backwards. His weapon—like mine—was not well suited to close quarters.

But it was no accident that I had so telegraphed my maneuver. I had wanted Yannick to retreat. 

Given space to face off with the guard alone, I wasted no time in swinging my weapon around and bludgeoning the smaller man. In the process of launching his own attack, the guard was helpless to stop the blow, and he staggered back as the battlehammer smashed into his chest. 

I didn’t relent.

Advancing, I struck him again, and he slumped lifelessly to the floor. 

At a flicker of movement from behind, I spun around and met Yannick’s axe mid-stroke—barely stopping the blade from slicing through my own neck.

The headhunter stepped back and warily, we circled each other. The tattooed man’s face was fixed in a snarl of rage. He hadn’t enjoyed being caught out by my feint and being made to look the fool.

“Well, well. Yannick, I do believe you’ve met your match in Dace here,” Marcos said with a chuckle. “This should be interesting.”

I risked a quick glance at the Crow leader. He had still made no move to rise from his throne or otherwise participate in the battle. While this relieved me somewhat, at the back of my mind, I worried. 

Why is Marcos so confident?

Yannick lunged forward, his axe sweeping in from left to right.

I ducked under the whistling blade, then struck upward with my own weapon. The big man had anticipated the counter-attack, though, and sidestepped the blow easily.

I followed up with a second attack, keeping Yannick on the back foot. The headhunter blocked my blow. And the next. And next.

I didn’t let up, and we walked a slow circle around the tent, with me raining down blows while Yannick parried or dodged like a fiend. He was good. Perhaps even better than me. 

But I didn’t let myself get frustrated. 

Our sparring match, I knew, would end when one of us made a mistake. One false step, one missed parry, or one attack extended too far: that was all it would take to change the complexion of the contest.

Yannick, however, was not as patient as I. 

Every moment longer we sparred, the headhunter’s embarrassment mounted. His face grew redder as he found himself unable to mount any attacks of his own. His boss’ intermittent chuckles and derisive laughs didn’t help matters either.

Eventually, the Crow had enough, and with a snarl of fury, he pushed aside my latest attack and threw himself at me.

But by doing so, he left himself exposed.

I didn’t fail to see the opening. Whipping my battlehammer forward, I struck the bigger man in the midriff before his own maneuver could be completed.

In a whoosh, the air was expelled from Yannick and he was flung backwards, crashing amongst the chests littering the back of Marcos’ tents.

I stomped forward, shooting a glance at the Crow leader as I did, wondering if now he would finally intervene. 

But Marcos still lounged back in his chair.

Ignoring his puzzling behavior, I turned my attention back to the headhunter. The blow had dazed the tattooed man, and he was struggling to rise to his feet.

I raised my battlehammer up high. Yannick glanced up. 

“This is for Gorman,” I whispered and brought my hammer crashing down.