Long has the other aristocrats find escape, as they force themselves from the fire, and driving them forward, is the fear of death as I bring my sword to them with utter glee. Those who are too slow, and too weak in their legs find my sword a very amicable companion.
Dark murky blood drenches my boots, and bodies of dead aristocrats litter everywhere. The orange flames share a hue of gold as blood drips from my sword.
My sword, Count Galen's son's sword thirsts for blood. The irony is quite appealing, and just imagine how poetic it will be if this sword finds its mark on Count Galen's flesh.
The sound of steel echoes in the burning mansion.
Sword and sword collide, while man and elf tussle in a dance of death, the Roswell mansion continues to crumble with the cinders that threaten to devour everything in its path.
~Clang~
A crisp sound shudders in our steel. I feel the vibration of my own strike numbing my bones as Galen successfully parries my sword to the side. We come to an impasse.
The sinful Count Galen stands meters away from me with bated breath clearly finding our bout as exhausting. While I may have inexhaustible stamina, my vitality is finite. The broken bones and the unreasonable pain coursed through my veins reminding me of my close demise at hand, however, despite this, it didn't move my mentality even just a little bit.
Maybe if I had Trudviar drink that Godly Berserker Potion, this duel here would be a cinch. Though I fancy myself cruel, facing the elf that I first scammed into believing me and pushing him to the pit of no return are proving to be very distasteful for me.
I laugh at my hypocrisy. "This is just too great of a death… A too eye-jerking honor…" I am not really sure either if what I plan to accomplish by dying here will have any meaning. I just know that my conviction is not false. I may not trust the future, but I trust my comrades.
My mind is strong, and my desire is true. Vengeance is almost at hand. I point the tip of my sword to the faltering count who takes a sip of his precious Life Potion. "This really is a coincidence. You kindly invited all of these nobles for me to kill, didn't you? You are so kind…" I mock the Count with my hostile words getting him to acknowledge his defeat.
"Would you kindly share with me that delicious drink?" I lunge with the same bravado I carry since the very start. I feign reaching for the barely half potion. While at it, I ready my sword to snap at him the moment he shows a gap.
The count thinking to himself that it is better I don't get his potion decisively shatters the bottle of red liquid in his hand by squeezing it. Red drips from his palm identical to the blood pouring through the wounds from the shattered glass, the Life Potion exhibits its marvelous effects as it heals the wounds faster than a quarter of a blink of an eye.
My steel crashes down at the count with momentum. The count parries it to the side with experience. He rubs what remains of the Life Potion in his palm to the bruises and bleeding in his soring wrist and abused fingers that result from the accumulating collisions of his weapon.
"It has a wide range of applications." I compliment the miraculous potion.
Unlike in games where the basic healing potions can increase the reduced health that is in data form, the real deal is so much worth more. I frown at the very mind-boggling existence that is the Life Potion. Even in my past life, this thing will be standing at the height of unheard myths belonging to the realms of the impossible and at the level of miracles.
"Yes, they are my greatest work…" The count shamelessly takes credit for the Life Potion, when everyone knows that it is the master alchemist behind him who is responsible for this panacea. Continuing with his mocking words, the count angles his sword in a receiving stance. "You look like you are flagging on your strikes. Are you well? Sadly, I don't have any Life Potions in my person anymore."
I squint my eyes at the count. My eyes are starting to get blurry. I can still feel great strength in my limbs as boiling blood proceeds to circulate in my system, however, some of my organs are starting to fail me already. My eyes getting blurry is just the start.
I have to finish this.
Flames dance around us like an accompaniment for war. We exchange our swords once more, each of us careful to not to let the other connect their steel to the flesh.
It is a duel of attrition. The first one to fall will be the loser. I feel bitter about this. I am thinking of something grander to which I can execute the bloody count in front of me. Nail him into a cross, put his head on a pike, and more… desecrating his dead body by feeding it to the pigs are as much as appealing as the other ideas.
"Tell me, you lowly human… Why my village of all places? Just why?" I let my emotions out as I make them my fuel to resist the pain that my failing organs are bringing me.
"Tell me! You fucking pest!" I scream at him in anger as I feel my left side starting to numb.
"There are so many other elf villages, and you just have to come to mine!" My left ear is barely working as I cannot even fully hear my own shouting.
"I just want a fucking quiet life with the people I love, and I had it for a streaking century, and you just have to ruin it with your greed. Know this, Galen Urden, that it is your greatest sin to slight me!" I address his name with so much hate the control of my sword bursts forth with so much impact it shatters mine and the count's sword.
I take a swipe at him with my left hand that I cannot feel anymore, still, the count is able to quickly dodge it by a hair's breadth thanks to his survival instincts.
The count takes several steps more backward creating the proper distance to react just in time if I am to explosively leap forward keen to take a hit on him.
I feel my bladder failing me as urine drenches my leather trousers. Thankfully, there is so much blood in me that the shameful leaking is not so visual to ruin my image. I laugh in my mind of this little silver lining, though not of real use, at least preserves whatever respect I have left of me.
Wisley, that chubby merchant… I wonder whether my moral blackmail with him will remain working even after my death. That won't concern me anymore though after I die as the handling of Wisley will then end up in Lafira's hands. Aaahh… I really have no respect… except for the self-respect I am yet to lose.
Vain, but this little bit rouses a smile from my face. "Count… Why don't you talk to me? Since our deaths at this point are already certain, why don't you allow me a bit of luxury by engaging in this small talk?"
Sensing my desire for an idle chat, the count reciprocates with a smile of his own. "You asked me that it is my greatest sin to slight you, correct?"
I nod at his asserting question, which oozes with arrogance. Fuck him. I will just be more arrogant than him. "Correct. In fact, it is not just your sin. It must've caught your attention already… Why is there no one coming here offering you rescue when you have so many strong soldiers in your employ?"
"…"
The count remains silent on my provocation, so I entertain him. "It is because it is not just me who you slighted. Thirty elves excluding me are outside this mansion causing havoc to your territory. Do you understand now?"
"…"
I continue with passion as I deride the count's folly of inciting my elf kin's wrath. "I am sure this is as equally mind-boggling to you as your Life Potion to me… How in the world are so few elves able to do this?"
"…"
The count's silence is not telling much, but I deign, it as just another part of the conversation. Eager to gain a reaction from him, I unleash my pièce de ré·sis·tance. "Also, I killed your son." I playfully tell him as if it is a normal thing to say. "I nailed him to your manor's wall. I think it is very noticeable as I am wielding his sword."
I pitifully gaze at the hilt that is still on my hand as my eyes drift to the shattered steel mixing in the blood-drenched floors. I then look at the count with complete stillness as finally, I recover some control of my body once more. I enjoy the count's distorting face of fake calmness transforming to obvious rage.
The tooth-and-nail fight proceeds to devolve into a more grisly spectacle as the two combatants discard their hilts and throw themselves to each other in mindless abandon.