Taree was incredibly confused. More than that, she felt betrayed. The man who she thought was the Chosen One was surrendering without a fight?
He used such noble and domineering words, 'No one has to die today,' as if with a wave of his hand, he'd swat aside Yoshio and his goons into meat-paste against the mountainside.
Taree had really wanted to see the storied Meat-to-Paste Technique.
He even put his wrists together in a strange, almost ritualistic display, as if he was confident of his actions-- as if he'd practiced the movements hundreds and thousands of times in the past.
Taree really wanted to see the storied Turtle Beam or even the Hadou Fist.
No. Taree shook her head. It must have been some trick. The Chosen One could handle himself-- he must have some ulterior motive. Even a coward would run away before surrendering so thoroughly!
Pale was holding a thick log, half his size, balancing that, his metal spear, and Tamaki, the unconscious archer.
"Meet you back at base, Lone!" He yelled.
Then Pale started running.
Taree was caught by surprise-- he ran quite fast, and his short running legs looked funny carrying all the extra and unbalanced weight. Tamaki looked especially pitiful with how his long legs dangled over the short boy's shoulders and an arrow still sticking out of his back.
"Taree! Gotta keep up!" Pale yelled.
"Oh!" Taree yelped, dashing away and creating a cloud of dirt. A group of four ninjas converged on her location with swords drawn-- moments too late. She had sprinted away with Pale's warning, her leg strength leaving a deep divot in the dirt.
…
"Awww, Boss! Bucket didn't even try!" Dragan shouted indignantly.
Tycon didn't respond to Dragan's moaning. He found Bucket's actions perfectly acceptable.
It was the situation with Barza that left him clueless. Surrendering to the enemy without a fight? Was he a genius for the distraction? What kind of plan was running through the man's head? And if this was all his plan, how would he guarantee his own safety?
The risk that Barza was taking was so grossly perilous that Tycon refused to believe it was so simple. And it was only further hazardous, realizing that the enemy would also refuse to believe it.
But unpredictability shatters the status quo. With the enemy unbalanced, Barza could land a fatal strike at a revealed vulnerability.
Brave or foolish?
Tycon sincerely hoped he'd be pleasantly surprised.
…
Barza Keith stared blankly with a turned head after how quickly Pale had deserted him. He slowly turned his head to look back at Yoshio.
He knew he had f*cked up.
"Chosen One!" Taree yelled from a distance.
A new thought had quickly solidified in Barza's mind and alerted every sense of his being. He needed to run. He needed to run as fast as or faster than Pale. Or Taree. Or maybe he'd beg Pale to drop the blonde kid, in order to slow the enemy.
Though his energy was drained after the Gann fight, hearing the young girl's voice spurred him to action. He yelled out powerfully, blood coursing through his leg muscles and courage filling his heart.
"I'm coming!"
Pain surged through his body.
During Barza's lapse in concentration, Yoshio had closed the gap, sinking a solid knee strike into his abdomen. Yoshio's hands never left behind his back, nor did the sadistic sneer leave his face.
The white-robed youth hopped up with a spin, and a second kick sent Barza skidding along the ground until he smashed through a rotting log.
Yoshio landed expertly on the toes of his left foot before pointing at his subordinates with his chin, "You, you, and you, come with me after the girl. The rest of you, take care of the outsider!"
…
Dragan continued to complain, "Boss, did you see? He just ran!"
Tycon raised a hand to stop him, "Mister Dragan, your capability to react quickly and accurately during combat is admirable and I daresay one of your best traits."
"Oh! Thanks, Boss--"
"--But your plan is reckless. Bucket would be outnumbered, entrapped, and without support. At Bucket's level of combat, he is able to effectively resist the attacks of two Bronze-Rank combatants, at best... and only for a finite amount of exchanges."
Dragan gnashed his teeth and averted his eyes but didn't argue. Tycon felt that Dragan had been Iron-Rank for so long, he'd likely forgotten what it was like to be weak. A normal mercenary would despair at becoming surrounded. Dragan, however, would revel in that there'd be so many enemies to murder.
"Mister Wroe, I approve of both the coordination method and, if the opportunity arises, attacking and slaying the team leader. However, the teamwork is unreliable. On the field, there is an unfortunate casualty and a young girl whose ability cannot be easily gauged. That considered, with the number of attackers the situation is rather dismal."
Wroe nodded slowly in understanding, "So the tactical withdrawal?"
"Or a quick withdrawal as Bucket has chosen. Full points to the boy." Tycon stated calmly as if the boy wasn't in a life-threatening situation below them.
"Well, where are they going?" Wroe asked.
"They need something-- anything, a chokepoint, an ambush, coordinated hit-and-runs…" Tycon opened his arms, motioning to the two of them, "Or perhaps reinforcements? Mister Wroe."
Wroe's blue eyes glowed like sparkling gems underneath his white hood. "You have need of my services, Boss?"
"Must you?" Tycon groaned, "You're not impressing anyone. It's just Dragan and me up here."
"What? Am I doing something?"
"...Disregard." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Mister Wroe, go assist Bucket."
Wroe leaned backward, his head resting on his interwoven fingers, still glaringly suspended in the air. "Huh? He looks like he's got it, though."
"The boy was being chased by--" Tycon sighed. He didn't know why he bothered explaining, sometimes, "Just… just go."
Wroe stood up, taking care to keep his balance on the tree branch. "Aye, Boss. I'll be goi--"
"Wait." Tycon raised a hand, his head down, deep in thought. "Are you… Seven hells, I still can't believe I'm asking this, but are you capable of assisting the whelpling without revealing your presence?"
"Oh, sure," Wroe responded a bit too quickly for Tycon's comfort. "He'll never know what hit him."
As Wroe was about to turn, Tycon quickly stopped him, "Hold!!"
"'Sup, Boss?"
"For the purpose of this exercise, you may not directly attack Bucket."
"Got it."
"W-wait..." Tycon held up his hand, stopping Wroe again... "For the purpose of this exercise, you may not summon creatures incapable of distinguishing Bucket from an enemy."
The last command seemed to stun Wroe. He lowered his hood and scratched at his blue hair in thought. "Oh. Um. I'll think of something?"
"And Mister Wroe, do watch your step."
"Don't worry, Boss, it's probably fiiiiiiiiiii--" Wroe slipped off the tree branch, falling-- screaming the whole way.
Tycon didn't bother looking down. "Mister Dragan, the Veil will soon be... Ugh. What is it?"
Dragan was trying to stifle his laughter, "That guy's only been messing with magic for like a week, right? I wonder if he knows that a Short-Teleport Spell usually brings the momentum from the beginning of the cast and carries it past its completion."
Tycon shook his head, "That's his problem, not ours."
Dragan returned his grin, "What's the plan, Boss?"
"Mister Dragan, do make certain Mister Barza isn't killed. Discreetly, if possible. With violence and great prejudice, if you must."
"Caaaan I do both?"
"Have it known that I admire your creative mind, my friend." Tycon nodded, "Do as you will."
"Ahaha!" The big man chortled, hefting his dark-metal greataxe onto his shoulder. "What'll you be doing, Boss?"
Tycon took a deep sigh, looking off into the distance after Bucket and his whelpling companions. "I'll be ensuring our spellcaster doesn't accidentally kill the boy."
"Ehhh. He's f*cked, Boss. Can't we just get a new kid?"
"Sod off, Dragan."