Chapter 14: Duel With the Black Knight

To the question of the price, the black-armored beast of a man Danomeir shrugged his shoulders. “Half my normal rate, but I thought it would be an easy job.” He looked down at the bloodied corpse of one of his compatriots. “At least you’ve reduced the number of shares more than a bit.”

“I’d be happy to oblige reducing the rest,” Orswyth offered cheekily. He flicked his halberd in such a way that blood flew off of the spearhead into one of the men’s faces, who cursed and sputtered as he wiped it off.

“I must decline, as my numbers would grow too thin for my tastes. You may have noticed, some of the remaining are among my best.”

“I didn’t.”

Danomeir laughed. “Yet they still live. I’d keep it that way if it's all the same.”

“Well, I’d prefer them dead, honestly.”

“I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, then.” A pause, then he gestured with a hand. “The glowing square, the halo. I don’t recognize those. A powerful enchantment. You’re truly a crafty old root to keep some one-use wonder like that around. No one had any idea.”

“You are too kind, oh king.”

Wow, they sure have their own kind of reverse shit talk here. Sammy did not exactly find herself bored with the strangely polite banter — it was fascinating — but it was getting to be like a DJ never dropping the beat.

“I don’t suppose we can wait out its duration here, perhaps over a drink?” Danomeir mused.

“I’m afraid I must insist on the contrary. Your men knocked over my wine.”

“A pity.” In an explosion of movement that made Sammy jump and grip the arms of her chair, Danomeir dashed forward, his sword flashing in a two-handed arc that was parried, followed up with a clanging exchange of sheer blurs as weapons spun together, and both of them narrowly dodged strikes, Danomeir’s armor just getting scuffed by the halberd’s spike. In the separation, they paused.

Danomeir made a quick gesture, which caused the nearby men to back off a bit more and give room. “Looks like I have to actually put effort in. It’s been a while.”

“Exercise is good for the soul, lad.”

Sammy took a look at Orswyth’s status, then mentally sent, “Less than a minute and a half on the buff!”

Though it was supposed to take focus/effort, Orswyth seemed to fairly easily send back, “Thank you. Rumors of Danomeir’s Brute capabilities vary; trying to be cautious.”

“Orient him to face the mirror, and I’ll flash something weird and loud mid-attack. My signal is: meep.”

There was no banter as Orswyth moved in and to his left, causing Danomeir to immediately sweep in and attack. The flash and clash of metal turning metal in a spin and dance of weapons blossomed again, and once more Danomeir missed a nasty skewering attempt, then dodged a head strike by a halberd narrowly.

The exchange didn’t end, however, as Danomeir pressed and Orswyth backed up closer to the mirror. The black-armored knight flashed his steel dead-on to Sammy’s perspective…

Sammy ‘meeped’ at Orswyth, then produced the most jarring jump-scare she could think of: a hideous killer clown face with a bright strobing/flashing background, and screaming laughter that she tried to focus on the black knight as much as possible.

It caused only a misstep, but it was enough for Orswyth to easily dodge instead of parry the errant blade and he used the opening to snake in his halberd, bringing the spike down into Danomeir’s leg, piercing the armor but not quite burying itself. It came free almost immediately, bloodied.

With a roar like an angry bear, Danomeir’s body seemed to glow with a baleful aura, and he moved in with his blade with force and fury like an unleashed demon.

Orswyth backpedaled in a retreat from the sudden onslaught, perhaps hoping to go defensive and let blood loss do its work, but the blade made an unusual turn once as it was being parried by the haft of the halberd: it chopped the weapon in two with a clean cut.

Fuck!

Some of the men cheered at that moment, and she heard a few calls of ‘Sundered!’

Positions had reversed to Sammy’s perspective, Orswyth on the far side of the room and Danomeir’s back almost to the mirror as he was pressing his advantage. He was delayed only slightly by a halberd head hurled point first at his head, necessitating a parry to knock it aside.

As Orswyth neared a spear-wielding soldier, the soldier was almost behind him, so he tried to impale the knight from behind. But Orswyth dodged sideways at the last moment as if he'd had known all along, then elbowed the man in the face from behind, with great force in addition to the other man’s momentum. With a crunching sound the man dropped, and Orswyth kindly accepted the gift of a spear left in the wake of the brief exchange.

“Don’t interfere, you fucks! Clear away!” Danomeir shouted, even as he charged at his elusive foe.

Orswyth neared the wall as he retreated. He turned aside several sword strikes admirably before the spear was cleaved just past the head. He tripped slightly over something and almost fell, and found an overhead strike coming down with nothing to do but block it with a staff.

The sword cut right through the staff as if it were made of butter and came down directly, forcefully into Orswyth’s shoulder.

Sammy screamed out, finding herself standing with her fists clenched, knowing it was a fatal blow from such incredible strength.

But when she blinked, Orswyth was still standing, the sword embedded in the armor at the shoulder but only just, as if it refused to penetrate the skin.

The buff — my buff! The wound negation!

Orswyth took firm advantage of the time, oddity, and confusion. The staff was dropped and a long, thin dagger was pulled from his belt, in one motion thrust hard right into Danomeir’s poorly-armored armpit to the hilt, inward and likely piercing his heart. He pulled it out just as quickly, blood cascading out with it.

Danomeir jerked and seized, but Orswyth had him grappled by the arms at that point, which caused them to careen into the wall. Orswyth was effectively embracing the dying man, who was going progressively weak and limp as he convulsed, with the baron’s back to the heavy wood.

Gasps and cries resounded from the stunned men, as that aura around Danomeir winked out.

“A valiant effort,” Orswyth said breathlessly, “but even kings must fall.”

“All too true,” Danomeir managed before likely expiring a moment after.

Sammy’s faux heart was pounding in her ears. He’s alive. Orswyth is alive. He won. We won. Right?

The stunned men had gone silent and had not moved. Orswyth threw the heavy, armored body off of him with the loud crash of dead weight, though he took the greatsword up in the process. He pointed it at the rest of them.

“You mangy lot had best leave,” Orswyth declared with fierce authority. “Run. While I still have a heart to-”

They did not wait for him to finish, running for the exit immediately and speedily, practically fighting to get through the door.

Orswyth let the sword lower, finishing in a murmur, “... honor the death of a mighty warrior with a moment of peace.”

The mercenaries were soon gone, the last — shockingly — a couple helping an injured man out. But Sammy had heard him calling for his ‘cousin’ a few times.

The baron leaned against the nearby wall and seemed content to rest. He certainly looked exhausted, which was no surprise. His armor had a few additional minor dings in it in addition to the massive gash in the shoulder. It was also generally covered in blood.

Everything is covered in blood here. And destroyed. Like a storm swept through, the rain thick and tinted red.

“Congratulations, Baron Orswyth,” Sammy said soberly, “on your resounding victory.”

The quest “Reversal of Doom” is complete. 110 FE gained. Free Minor Divine Enchantment (Weapon) gained.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Orswyth replied, “I’m sorry you had to see this. I know it is not for your innocent, virgin eyes.”

Sammy squinted at him — as if she could even see his expression — but his tone was entirely sincere and free of sarcasm.

Goddamn this virgin label!

“That’s quite alright. I’m no Britney Spears, but I’m not that innocent. And I was studying to be a… a healer, of sorts. So I should be able to handle it.” Radiologist, but close enough. She had to eventually get into med school, volunteer, etcetera.

“Perhaps Your Majesty can become one in the divine sense.”

Sammy made a noncommittal noise. “Depends on how basic it is to gods. I think… domains have to be related. Anyway, what will you do? I guess you need to get out of here?”

“Indeed.” He pushed off from the wall and slowly made his way closer to the mirror. “I had only a skeleton crew here. A large contingent of my men are in the south under Sir Galynth, reinforcing efforts against invasionary forces. What we are commanded to regard as ‘raiders’ politically, regardless of what they’re doing. We sent a raven about this matter, but I’d prefer to go myself at this point. If you’d grant me the leave.”

“Of course, Baron. But, if you would: invasionary forces? Are you saying there is a foreign power trying to conquer this region?”

He nodded as he lifted his visor up, his other hand using the sword almost like a cane. “Recently, there is a faction appearing to do just that, at the very bottom of the Endless Crescent, which is the same region landlocked Lowbarrow here is in. We’re all hills and swampy valleys of middling interest but for pipeweed harvesting, with thick mountains as a border north.

“Forces of unknown but significant size took Merrington, though I imagine it's claimed to be sacked to maintain illusions. Count Ambrose no doubt aims to retake it.”

“Why the illusion?”

“So the foreigners are seen as a nuisance easily dealt with rather than a concerning threat. Only the real players and those of us in the thick of it understand what’s really happened.”

“And these mercenaries… Who sent them here? Why?”

Orswyth scowled balefully. “Baron Gerehart and the Count, a ‘neighbor’ and his dear friend. He covets the land, and they conspire that my death would grant it for the lack of an heir. No doubt Gerehart gushes about how much more profitable he’d make it. He tried to weasel me into silly ‘partnerships’ for the pipeweed before…”

A different sort of glint appeared in Orswyth’s eyes and he muttered in practically a different, faster voice, “To think, I could’ve made them front development costs and manpower in a three-way deal that profited us all when I streamlined and expanded the production process, maybe even added another investor from other lands…”

Sammy blinked. The baron was also blinking in confusion. Oh. His past life flaring up.

“No heir,” Sammy commented on, instead of the other thing. “So they didn’t murder your family, here, or anything? I suppose that’s why things were somewhat cordial.”

The baron’s eyes cast downward as his expression was grim. “I lost friends, Your Majesty.” After a lengthy pause he said, “But they were all fierce fighting men who understood they’d die in battle one day. They died well.”

“Well, I- that’s goo- no, I mean… you have my condolences.” Lame, Sammy. Fuck. Fidgeting, Sammy finally sat back down on her throne. “And what of Sir Galynth? He would not be an heir?”

Orswyth looked up as if he’d been bonked on the head. “Galynth? Bah, he’s not ready! Just a pup.” He rolled his neck, appearing uncomfortable at the thought for some reason. “The Count would decide such a thing and would simply consolidate the lands under Gerehart. As I didn’t have anyone named…”

At such thoughts, the baron now seemed possibly regretful, but he said, “He just could not possibly, not at this stage, not as a Transplant. He’s only been a couple of years in the role, and though I’ve trained him as best I can, he’s still very ignorant and wet behind his ears. Even down south, he’s not really the general, just the figurehead and trainee — I have my best captain leading him by the nose.”

Sammy was once more at the edge of her seat. “E-excuse me, did you just say Transplant?!”

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