Amukelo's breath grew heavy as the conflict dragged on, his muscles aching from the relentless exertion. Each clash of blades and dodge of arrows sapped more of his strength, the fury that had fueled his ferocity slowly ebbing away in the face of tactical disadvantage. The newcomers, fresh and coordinated, exploited every opening with clinical precision, their combined efforts far surpassing the challenge Neclord alone had posed.
Every moment was a struggle for Amukelo to maintain ground. He knew the importance of securing his dagger—the key to tracking Neclord and ensuring the man paid for his atrocities. Positioned several yards away across the skirmish line, the dagger gleamed under the faint light seeping through the crowded alley.
As he parried another sword thrust, Amukelo took a calculated step toward the dagger. The hammer-wielding brute swung with a grunt, forcing Amukelo to leap back, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow. The arrow that followed hissed through the air, slicing a mere inch from his shoulder. Amukelo's evasion was graceful, yet each maneuver took him slightly off the path to his weapon.
Realizing that direct confrontation was bleeding his energy and time, Amukelo shifted tactics. He feigned a stumble, baiting a swordsman into advancing. As expected, the swordsman lunged, overextending in his eagerness. Amukelo used this to his advantage, sidestepping with a swift pirouette and disarming the assailant with a quick flick of his blade. He didn't kill the man; instead, he pushed forward, using the momentary confusion among the enemies to make a break towards the dagger.
His progress was slow, hindered by the need to fend off continuous assaults. Each step towards the dagger was hard-earned, a testament to his dwindling stamina and the enemies' relentless pressure. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth from biting down too hard in concentration and exertion.
Amukelo's mind raced, calculating every move. His body screamed for respite, but the urgency of the situation fueled his resolve. With one final, desperate burst of energy, he aimed to bridge the distance to his dagger, ready to cut down anyone who stood in his way, knowing full well that failing to retrieve it could mean losing his only chance to avenge his fallen friends.
Amukelo's retreat brought him tantalizingly close to the dagger. Each engagement with the enemy was a step backward, disguised as tactical withdrawals under the pressure of their relentless assault. His adversaries, too focused on their offensive to notice the subtlety of his movements, didn't realize his true intent.
The moment he felt the dagger underfoot, Amukelo executed a roll that appeared to be a desperate attempt to avoid a slashing blade. In reality, it was a calculated move to retrieve his precious artifact. His fingers closed around the dagger's handle, subtly securing it without drawing attention. However, this maneuver placed him directly in the path of an incoming arrow. The arrow struck his thigh, but it didn't deter him. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Amukelo pushed to his feet, the dagger safely in his grasp.
Now, with the artifact secured, Amukelo's strategy shifted dramatically. No longer needing to conserve his strength for an extended fight, he fueled his next counterattack with much more strength than usual. His first opponent, caught off guard by the sudden surge in aggression, stumbled back as Amukelo's blade sliced through his shoulder, rendering his arm useless.
Seeing an opening, Amukelo didn't hesitate. He delivered a forceful kick to an incoming hammer-wielder, using the attacker's momentum to push him into others, causing a brief but chaotic disruption in their ranks. This momentary confusion was all Amukelo needed. He sprinted towards an alley, his steps echoing through the near-empty streets.
Behind him, the archer, took to the rooftops, chasing Amukelo from a safe distance. Amukelo threaded through Llyn's labyrinthine back alleys, and the lone archer above, both participants in a deadly game of cat and mouse.
Amukelo's escape through the narrow alleys of Llyn was fraught with peril as the archer's relentless arrows pursued him. His injured thigh throbbing painfully with every movement. Amukelo was acutely aware that a direct confrontation with the archer could lead to his capture or death, especially given his slowed pace and the archer's advantageous position.
Determined to shake his pursuer, Amukelo eyed the architecture of the alleys, looking for an opportunity to use the environment to his advantage. He chose a path leading to an alley with slightly lower roofs and a bit more width, offering a chance for a tactical maneuver. With the archer closely tailing him, Amukelo abruptly spun around and launched the last dagger he could use. The move was sudden and unexpected, catching the archer off-guard. The archer, in a desperate attempt to dodge, only partially succeeded; the dagger grazed the side of his head, ripping away his cloak and revealing a young face, perhaps even younger than Amukelo himself.
This momentary distraction was all Amukelo needed. He quickly darted behind a stack of barrels, his heart pounding as he pressed his back against the cold, damp wood. Peering cautiously, he saw the archer regain his composure, the cloak now hanging loosely in his hands as he scanned the surrounding alleys for any sign of Amukelo.
Choosing the wrong direction, the archer disappeared down the narrowest alley, his steps echoing faintly in the distance. Amukelo waited a few tense moments before emerging from his hiding spot, his breaths shallow and rapid. Knowing he had little time before the archer might double back or before the reinforcements came, he made his way swiftly towards the city's outskirts.
Upon reaching the less monitored city gate, the familiar faces of the guards offered a semblance of relief. Despite his disheveled appearance and the obvious signs of a recent skirmish, the guards exchanged knowing looks but chose not to question him, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Amukelo offered them a terse nod, his reputation as a formidable adventurer buying him the silence he needed.
Once outside the city, Amukelo allowed himself to slow his pace, but he still put as much distance as possible between himself and Llyn. As twilight began to settle, Amukelo found a secluded area surrounded by dense foliage, perfect for a makeshift camp. He quickly drank a healing potion and set about inspecting his belongings. One arrow stuck into his backpack, but nothing major was damaged, relieved to find his elegantly blue clothes were unharmed by the archer's arrow, Amukelo prepared his makeshift camp as the night approached.