The hazy sky filled the woods above the treetops, while the rays of dawn penetrated the tree branches, creating a canopy. A light breeze rustled the leaves and the leaves appeared to be dying to fall from the tree, joining their companions on the forest floor.
The ground, on the other hand, was littered with carnage, blood, and gore. Broken heads. Spilled guts. Scorched flesh. A figure clad in a black robe stood in the middle of the sea of corpses, his hand holding onto a sword. Another figure, clad in a hooded robe, stood a bit away. It was a feast, a feast for the crows.
"Shall we finish our business?"
Aamon spoke as he focused his mana on his swords. His massive [Sword Aura] covered the blade, giving it a cold look.
"We certainly can't delay it any longer."
The MistSoul tightly gripped onto its staff as he said so and took a stance once again, to defend against the blows. Casting spells was no longer an option, direct combat was the only way.
"Indeed, we can't," responded Aamon, a cold look unique to his personality marring his face, "Reaper Seal."
With this, Aamon thrust his sword at the MistSoul. The sword trembled and a strange magical rune began to flash at the same time, oozing dark mana that made its way toward the MistSoul, trapping it in its place.
The duel between the sword and the wooden staff raged on, sending sparks into the air. The MistSoul almost escaped a lethal strike, but the blade found its way toward its left arm, resulting in a large wound. In the confrontation between a MistSoul of [Vlam] rank and an Auror Knight of [Aldor] rank, the outcome seemed obvious, yet the MistSoul found it unbelievable, almost indignant.
"Any resistance is futile. You will meet the same fate as your underlings."
And these cold remarks from his enemy didn't help either. "We will see about that," The MistSoul bit his lip as he replied.
Stab. Slash. Slice.
Aamon's sword was no longer limited to just thrusting now. It moved like a lightning bolt. The MistSoul's chest began to splatter with blood while his eyes widened in surprise at these moves.
Left with no more options, the MistSoul summoned all his might through his connection to the Demon in order to battle. Soon after, a dark aura began to swirl about the MistSoul as a strong force engulfed his body.
His body started growing in size, his torso became hunched while his hands transformed into terrifying bone claws. The mouth, which appeared humane earlier was now a maw crowding with razor-sharp teeth. A demonic transformation. It usually happened when someone offered themselves fully to a Demon.
The MistSoul slashed Aamon with its huge claw, wounding him severely. Aamon's body began to bleed heavily as the sharp bone claws scraped his flesh and delved deeper.
"SUCH ARROGANCE!"
The terrifying force emanating from the transformed MistSoul caused Aamon's knees to tremble, and yet he refused to kneel or fall. It was unmistakably a Demon. Now, he had little hope of succeeding.
'Is this the end?' he thought. He had always had life and death encounters before, but none of those was so severe. His depleting mana, coupled with his injury, was stating the obvious.
But when he thought about his end, the first thing that came to his mind was a visage of an auburn-haired woman, Adrienne. The only thing that he had desired for himself. And the thought of losing her when he had only spent a few moments with her enraged him.
He unleashed his last attempt. His perseverance was what got him there so far in his life. He continued to stab, to thrust. And while he did so, he felt a piercing agony that seemed to break his own existence apart.
"….what… how is this possible...?" This sudden barrage of strikes surprised the MistSoul.
But there was no time to be horrified. A plethora of sword strikes assaulted the MistSoul, each strike stronger than the last. The MistSoul used his claws desperately to repel the strikes, and just when he thought it was over, he knew he had lost.
"Don't be concerned. It's the end."
After saying this, Aamon willed the remaining mana into the sword, "Soul Severing".
A move that was unique to the Auror Knight. He knew this was his only chance, if he succeeded, it would be all over and maybe he could live. He didn't need to concern himself with the consequence of a failure.
The MistSoul itself was not the target of Aamon's attack but he directly attacked the connection between the MistSoul and the Demon. Without this connection, the MistSoul was nothing more than a pitiful monster who would eventually succumb to his injuries.
"AAAAARGH!!"
As the sword severed the connection, the MistSoul wailed in excruciating pain as he neared his death, falling to the ground, writhing in pain
"Kughhhh"
Aamon suddenly grimaced in pain, while the sword fell from his hands. The fight had dragged longer than he expected and he was in a much worse condition. All the bones in his body screamed in pain while the muscles seemed to have torn themselves apart.
'Damn it.'
It would need a day or two for him to recover from this condition, but he was alone in a forest at the moment, defenseless. If a monster approached me, he didn't have the energy to defend himself. He was at the mercy of others and it frustrated him.
"I should have brought one of the knights along with me." It was a stupid idea to come here alone. But his personality of the bone of all. He didn't have the energy left to return to the camp either.
No matter how hard he tried, falling onto his knees caused his eyelids to progressively droop and his vision to get smaller. As his consciousness faded, his frail body slumped to the ground, soaking him in the very filth he despised.
Two people fought over a difference in beliefs, yet the winner was evident. The dead of the losing side were scattered across the woods.
Two figures now lay on the ground in the sea of death.
* * *
Alexei walked by a group of knights preparing a pyre, nodding absently when they stopped stacking up logs to salute - his gaze wandered across the charred grounds, taking in the carnage that occurred the night before.
The sun had already risen, providing a little relief from the biting winter. The campfires were already burning out after a night's rest, and the knights were already preparing for the march. He'd join them eventually, but first, he had to report to His Lordship. The appointed company had already completed the duty of burning the goblin bodies, having worked all night.
Alexei came to a halt in front of a tent that was at least double the size of the others. Surprisingly, considering the previous night's raid and the knights' already limited manpower, there was no one guarding the entrance.
"My Lord, I have a report," he answered, his body stiff from the pressure. He had heard rumors about His Lordship's reputation. Yet there was silence and no answer.
He announced himself again, and yet again, there was no answer.
This time, he contemplated whether to not to enter without given permission - at the risk of being executed and his family in peril - but still decided to, for his honor as a knight commanded him to.
He carefully opened the entrance of the tent -
"My Lord…"
- and was left speechless.
The tent was decorated with hides of various animals, and a luxurious bed with quilt and other accessories but that wasn't what surprised him. The tent was empty and His Lordship wasn't there.