"Wolf, look—!" Lukas gasped.
I turned, spotting a line of rebel spearmen waiting on the far bank. They'd formed up, likely confused why we were fleeing in their direction. But seeing us, they dropped into a ready stance. The sky was lightening just enough to paint the edge of the horizon in gray. Dawn approached, revealing the battered remains of the Iron Hounds in full, sorry detail.
My mind whirled: pinned between traitors behind and rebels ahead, drowning in a freezing river if we tarried too long. My breath caught.
We had only moments to decide. Fight the rebels, or attempt swimming downstream? Or risk doubling back, facing the baron's men all over again?
"Wolfhardt, I—I'm not ready for this…" Lukas whispered, shaking uncontrollably.
I forced a grim chuckle. "None of us ever are."
My vision flicked to the stats window: HP down, stamina draining, skills ticking up slowly. The System was part of me now, recording my every kill, but it couldn't guarantee survival. That was on me. The water churned around my legs, each second a risk of an arrow or spear.
I clenched my sword hilt, ignoring the throbbing wound in my thigh. Betrayal roared in my blood like a fever. We were cornered—two battered mercenaries, a handful of survivors, and no safe path. Yet somehow, I refused to die here.
Something inside me burned. A furious resolve.
"We've fought worse odds," I lied, raising my sword. Then I called out to the rebels: "We're not your enemies! We were betrayed, same as you!"
A murmur passed among them, uncertain. They glanced from me to the archers lining the far ridge behind me, the baron's forces who still loosed arrows at any moving shape in the water.
Tension coiled. In the next few seconds, everything would unravel.
Current Stats:
HP: 72/80Stamina: 50/70Level: 2 (EXP: 84/300)Pugilism - Novice (53%)Swordplay - Novice (47%)Battle Instinct - Basic
A part of me wanted to fight until blood choked the river. Another part whispered that living came first. Vengeance could wait a bit longer.
I glared at the rebels, battered and wounded but still standing, waiting for their decision. And I made a silent promise: When this is over—when I'm stronger—Kessler will bleed for his betrayal.
I clenched my fists around sword and shield, blood slick on my skin. My breath still rattled from the ambush behind us, but a rage was building in my chest that refused to bow. The rebels stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the far bank, uncertain if they should fight or negotiate.
I spat onto the rocky riverbed. "We're no friends of the baron. Step aside or be cut down."A few of their spearmen shifted nervously. Then one of them snarled, "Mercenary scum is still scum."
Captain Volk was nowhere in sight; for all I knew, the Iron Hounds had splintered. Lukas stood at my shoulder, trembling. We had no chance to form a proper line—just two battered mercenaries facing a rebel squad itching for a kill.
I charged.
Water churned around my thighs as I barreled into the first spearman, smashing his guard wide. My sword lashed across his collar, biting deep. A second thrust skimmed my ribs, but I pivoted and landed a sharp blow to his temple with my shield boss.
[Swordplay - Novice (47% → 51%)][Pugilism - Novice (53% → 55%)]
Two more rebels pressed in before I could finish the job. Lukas loosed an arrow, catching one in the thigh. The wounded rebel stumbled with a yell, freeing me to slam my sword into his companion's side. A spear raked my shield, jarring bone in my elbow.
They began to circle, aiming to trap me. I threw a desperate punch at the nearest man's jaw, the spike on my knuckle-guard opening him from chin to ear. Blood splattered the shallows. Another block, another slash—my stance faltered in the current.
It was no good. Their numbers were too high. Another wave of them rushed forward, crowding me with spears. Lukas was trying to cover my flank, but someone tackled him into the water. He yelled, face half-submerged.
"Fall back!" I shouted, heart pounding.
I hacked at a rebel's spear shaft, snapping it. With a shove, I cleared just enough space to drag Lukas upright. Then we plunged deeper into the river. The rebels lunged after us, but the swift current seized our legs.
"Swim, damn it!" I croaked, hoarse with exhaustion.
We let the flow carry us downstream, half-sinking beneath the surface. Arrows peppered the water. One clipped my shoulder. I hissed and ducked beneath a swirl of foam and mud.
[HP: 72 → 64][Stamina: 50 → 38]
The river battered us, threatening to smash us against hidden rocks. Water filled my mouth, choking me. I glimpsed the rebels' torches fading behind, and in a twist of luck, the baron's archers lost their clean shot.
At last, we tumbled against the far bank, lungs burning. Lukas clawed at the mud, pulling himself out. I followed, soaked and dripping blood. Night was draining away, morning light stretching across the wounded sky.
I panted, knuckles trembling from the cold and the fight. The Iron Hounds were broken; betrayal had carved us apart. Yet I was alive, and so was Lukas.
I forced myself to stand, sword in hand, half expecting more enemies to appear. Water dripped from my mail, each droplet tasting of iron on my tongue. My body ached and the System's flickering notifications offered no comfort.
We had nothing left but a single oath:
Kessler will pay in blood.
Stats Update:
HP: 64/80Stamina: 38/70Level: 2 (EXP: 103/300)Skills:Pugilism - Novice (55%)Swordplay - Novice (51%)Battle Instinct - Basic