A Lack of Grace Chapter 4, an elden ring fanfic

Chapter 4 - Why Dragon Slaying is Not a Profitable Business

So it was with a heavy heart that Logale of Honsbury looked upon the namesake resident of the famous Agheel Lake and wished he had been born with a quim instead of a cock. There really was no better example of the random selectivity of fate than one's own potential for power being decided by whichever organ one was born with. Logale pondered this unfair phenomenon with a range of emotions—bitterness, exhaustion, hopelessness—as he watched the Great Dragon Agheel snatch a giant crab into its jaw, crush it in one vicious bite, and swallow in one mighty gulp. At the same time, Melina educated him in the background on the biology of giant fire-breathing lizard demons with disturbing enthusiasm.

"See that? Those giant crabs have hides strong enough to resist the very best steel. I'm afraid even your sword would have trouble piercing it. It is said the blades forged in the far east are more suited to pierce dragon scales, but journeying across the sea is clearly not an option."

Logale disagreed. If they got on a boat right now, they could sail as far east as possible and never see the cursed Lands Between ever again.

Melina pointed at Agheel as it feasted on yet another giant crab. He heard the wet crunch as it bit, saw the spidery crab legs flail in horror and desperation, then upon the beast biting down harder, go limp as a puppet with its strings cut. "As you can see, that outer shell is nothing to the strength of a dragon's bite. There are few things in this world that can contest such power. There, do you see?"

Logale sighed. "I see it."

His beloved went on with the lesson as she had the past two days. The two of them plus Torrent, camped there on grassy cliffs, looking down on the great shallow lake, observing the dragon's behavior day and night. Logale had learned plenty of things in this torturous time. He learned the lake was named after the dragon apparently, which made sense since when Logale had last been in the Limgrave there hadn't been a lake here at all. The dragon had one day simply decided to roost there. He learned that dragon-obsessed fanatics built a church of some kind on the lake as a means of worshipping the beast, but it hadn't lasted long, due to the object of their worship burning it down to the mess of ruin it was today. He'd learned that particular burning had taken place exactly three-hundred-forty-two years ago, which sounded like a long time, but in dragon years was the equivalent of being a fifteen-year-old human. Agheel was still young.

Logale tried not to give that particular fact much thought for a handful of reasons.

"Agheel is famous for his particularly aggressive personality, even compared to dragons his age. Many warriors have attempted to slay him, but all have suffered terrible ends. I have pitted many talented Tarnished against him and none have survived the challenge."

Logale stared at the dragon with a look of the purest disinterest and disdain, like that of a boy forced by his mother to play with her friend's weird son because he had no friends. "Did you? That's insane."

Luckily, Melina did not catch his full meaning and proceeded to say, "Indeed it is. Now look there…"

Why had he promised to help this madwoman? Logale had been asking himself that since they'd left the Roundtable. Before then, even, when he lay awake in the night anxious about his future, unable to enjoy the very hilarious fact that Melina talked in her sleep. He leaned against Torrent's big neck and rubbed the side of his face, relishing the steed's warmth as the cool temperatures of the evening were starting to set in. Then, of course, he'd think about how warm he would soon be when Agheel bathed him in flames so powerful they could break through the earth. He would never be cold ever again, he imagined. Still, unlike Melina, Torrent didn't seem to care whether Logale fought the dragon or not, even if Melina had told him multiple times now that it was the spectral steed's idea.

Eventually, Melina decided to stop talking, which might have been grounds for celebration had Logale been in the mood. "Well, that is everything I know. With it, I feel you are suitably prepared for the task. Do you have any questions?"

Logale turned to Melina with the most desperate look he could make. The look of a man who'd seen his own corpse buried. "Honey, do you love me?"

"I am not your honey. And no, I do not love you. I don't even like you."

"I understand. Let's get a divorce. It pains me, but even if we must be apart, I want you to be happy."

"If you care for my happiness so much, then you will be glad to know I will gain considerable joy no matter the outcome of your battle with the dragon." Melina gave him a stern frown. "But I will be a fraction less happy should you fail. If you love me, then defeat the dragon and claim its heart. Do so and I will be fractionally pleased."

Logale sighed again. He had argued with Melina on the matter already and it had gotten him nowhere. It was some kind of cruelty that she'd hounded him like a dog for days on end until he finally agreed to be her interim champion, meanwhile had hounded her for days to have mercy on him and she made no attempt to compromise. He really was a sucker for women. Or at least his own Maiden.

Agheel's roar drew his attention and he saw the young beast now flying northward, the beating of its giant wings sending ripples in the air that Logale felt even from where he was. He watched as its giant form slowly receded into the red evening skyline, and saw the final crest of the sun fading behind the horizon. Melina had told him that Agheel only came back to the lake in the daytime to sleep since at night it was off hunting for more sustainable prey. As such, daytime was the perfect chance to fight it. In his stupidity, he'd asked if doing so might be cheating since he'd catch the beast while it was tired, but shockingly she said it wouldn't make a difference. Day or night, tired or not, a dragon is still a dragon, at it would fight with the greatest savagery to protect itself. Logale had taken that information and simplified it to the certain belief that no matter what, this dragon would slaughter him.

So, either beat the dragon or break his promise, and that was a choice that more or less made itself.

"Tomorrow, then?" Logale asked.

Melina nodded. "In the interest of being generous, I will grant you three days to slay the beast. Use any method you wish. But the dragon must be slain by your hand, so that the heart will bind itself to you. Proof that you took the creature's life."

Logale sighed for the third time, but otherwise gave a lazy salute and said, "Yes, honey."

For supper, Logale put together a rabbit and vegetable stew, and the pleasing smell took his mind off things for a while. Melina didn't talk to him, but he didn't mind too much. She finished her bowl faster than he had, but then he'd been too distracted trying to make Torrent eat the rowa raisins he'd picked. Torrent could be a picky creature, he'd noticed. Not pompous, per se. Just a creature of standards. He had to respect it to some degree.

For a while, they simply sat in silence, being warmed by the crackling fire, as night and its accompanying features settled in around them. The hoots of owls hidden in tall trees, the hiss of the occasional cool breeze making the leaves rustle. The distant torches of patrolling soldiers, the pale light of the close moon, and of course, the towering presence of the Erdtree, a structure of pure gold that had stood in that same place since Logale's very first day. There had never been a day in his life that it wasn't there. Life was different every single day in many ways, but the Erdtree was the one constant amongst all the possibilities of life. Even now, he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Logale noticed now that Melina had begun staring at the Erdtree too. He only saw the side of her face, so he couldn't say for certain, but he thought he might have seen sadness in her eye. Longing. Like a lost child, dreaming of home.

She would probably ignore him, but he figured to ask anyway, at least to say he tried. "You from Leyndell?"

Melina took a moment to answer. "Yes."

"Born and raised?"

Another beat of silence. "Yes."

"I can only suppose that you miss it. I miss home myself sometimes. Have you been back at all?"

"No."

"Hm. Why?"

Melina did not answer. Logale saw her lip curl and decided right then to move past the question. He knew too well how the wrong question could trigger bad memories. He felt terrible now, having brought it up. "You'll see them again. Your family, I mean."

A breeze rolled in, gentle and low. It tousled Melina's hair, and made the strands dance across her face. Even so, she did not blink as she said, "I have no family."

Logale scratched the side of his face. It was an awkward topic to happen upon, but he tried to play it off. She did not care about him, nor he about her, so any attempt at sympathy would be met with cold derision. "Dead family, eh? I see where that chip on your shoulder comes from. Try not to feel too bad though, at least they got to die. Many of us aren't that lucky."

As expected, Melina showed no reaction. "I did not say they were dead."

Logale shrugged his hands. "Make up your mind. Either you have a family and they're alive or you don't have a family because they're dead. There's no in-between."

"Yes, there is."

She said with such absolute certainty that Logale was lost for what to say. Suddenly that hard look in her eye made him feel uneasy. That determined stare toward the Erdtree, the heart of the world, seemed too intense now. Personal. He found himself actually wanting to know more. "What do you mean?"

Melina pushed up to her feet and turned away from him, walking off barefoot into the plain, arms crossed, and stood there staring into the darkness, kept at bay only by the Erdtree's guiding light. A woman staring toward the beacon of hope. Her last hope, maybe.

Logale allowed himself the thousandth sigh for the day as he settled onto his bedroll and lay on his stomach, using his arms as a pillow. He felt Torrent nestle his head on his back and managed a weak smile as his thick fur proved a better blanket than anything else on hand. Still, he'd occasionally look toward Melina and catch her still standing there, same as always. Only sometimes, he'd think he saw her rub her face, like she was wiping something off her cheeks. Dirt, probably. Couldn't be anything else. Logale turned his head the other way and pressed down any feelings of pity or concern that bubbled up for the madwoman that was Melina. He would need it all for himself tomorrow.

Melina had said that Agheel had to be slain by his hand in order for him to claim the heart. Due to the magic in dragon blood, if they did not die from natural causes, dragon hearts spiritually attached themselves to those who destroyed their original bodies. And if the new host accepted the heart's power, then it took residence inside their body. And not even in some ethereal, spiritual way. The dragon heart quite literally shrunk in size and stuffed itself next to the host's heart, like some clingy roommate. Unquestionable physical proof that one had slain a dragon. So Loagle had no choice. He had to kill Agheel.

Thankfully, that did not mean he had to fight him.

So in the morning, he took Torrent and off to the first big village he could find, which had been far longer a journey than he'd expected. Most towns were small and plain, with little going on but normal immortal people leading their normal immortal lives. Strange, how little the absence of death really changed. One might suspect that the news of immortality would drive people to living lives of total hedonism and debauchery, no longer concerned the life's once cruel impermanence. Instead, people continued to do as they'd always done. Farmers continued farming, carpenters kept on building, whores kept on whoring, on endless loop for thousands of years, all while the curse of undeath ate away at the most unfortunate, just barely keeping the mortal population from expanding out of control.

Once he did find a town big enough, Logale dismounted and took Torrent by the reins, leading him into the streets. You couldn't call the place bustling or busy, per se, but it was far from the shabby ghost towns he'd encountered along the way. It was populated, meaning he was more likely to find what he was looking for. There were homes all around, none of which were built with any cultural similarities or structural planning. It was as if people had simply brought their houses over from wherever it is they once lived and chosen a good enough spot. There were markets and taverns, though definitely more of the latter than the former. There was a church and a whorehouse, the former of which had far more business going on, which seemed all too fitting. All around people went about their business. Mothers guiding their children, groups of men hard at work or having drinks, old people playing cards or yelling at rascals. All very normal. But not what Logale was looking for.

"Warriors!" Logale called out. Some people looked his way, but quickly found other things to care about. Nothing to do but press on. "Warriors for a job! High pay for good fighters!"

Logale called this out over and over as he searched the streets, sometimes singling out someone who looked fearsome, only to either get a no or a nasty growl or just be plain ignored. He talked to people in the streets, through windows, in alleys. Talked to shopkeepers and homeless people. He gave it an honest hour and came away from it with nothing.

Logale patted Torrent's neck and said, "Guess we'd better try the taverns, eh my friend?"

He happened upon one particular tavern that sounded rowdy enough for the daytime and figured that would be his first stop for the day. He'd have tied Torrent to a post, but he could disappear back to whatever realm he came from at a whim. If anything, Torrent was probably considering tying him down so he didn't run off before completing his promise. But the last thing he needed to do was try outrunning a spectral steed, so Logale dismounted, straightened out his armor, took and breath, and pushed through the tavern's double doors.

The first thing Logale saw was a man screaming like a girl as he flew through the air and splitting a table as he crashed down on top of it. The man did not stay there, though. He scrambled up, wiped the blood from his nose, and drew a very big knife from his belt, advancing on his attacker who had already drawn a cutlass.

He had found his people.

It was a scene of beauty. Two drunk men fought to the death while a drunken crowd watched and cheered for blood. A haggard-looking band played bad music, while a dwarf woman managed to sing even worse. Rowdy patrons shouted for more beer, while a tried-and-tested bartender professionally slid them drinks, charged them ridiculous prices, and booted out those who dared complain. The best part? Most of these people were wearing some manner of armor and weapons. Rowdy, rude, drunken, violent, and likely fighters? Yes, Logale had found the right people. So long as they were also suckers—a true dealmaker for what he was about to propose.

He sorted through the chaos, apologizing profusely to all those who took offense to his mere existence, passing smiles in the face of frowns, looking around for any who seemed somewhat coherent enough to hear an offer. He came across a big hairy man in a leather tunic that was chugging a beer. Logale noticed he owned a heavy battle-ax, which lay across his lap and had a collection of scars all over his muscled body and face. He let out a loud and proud laugh of the purest arrogance as he slapped the ass of one of the serving girls, ordering her to bring him more beer. He was surrounded by a group of other sellswords that were clearly there to inflate his already cosmic ego. The kind of men who'd bite into the same hook their leader did. The leader's very aura was that of a vainglorious, self-important, greedy man, always unsatisfied, always looking for more. More women, more money, more power.

And Logale moved in like a cat that cornered a house.

"Hey there, friend," Logale smirked even as the man passed him a suspicious frown. "What if I told you that I could make you a very wealthy man…" and he raised one finger, wagged it temptingly, and tried not to enjoy the way the brute's eyes followed. Fish on the hook. "A very, very wealthy man in just a single afternoon?"

The next day, Logale looked to see that Agheel was still resting in his favorite spot near the ruins of the lake, his spiky back rising and falling, deep growls audible from his relatively close position. He didn't look too much different from a house pet somehow, vulnerable and almost endearing, and Logale thought again of how this was simply a creature living life according to its nature. It did not know evil or good. It simply did what was necessary to survive. Agheel was too young to die, perhaps.

Logale was supposed to be done with this business. With fighting, with battles, with killing. He'd meant to leave it all in the past and never look back. He knew where that path led. Had seen it all throughout the Badlands. He was supposed to be different now.

Logale felt an itch inside his left-hand ring finger. He balled it into a fist and tried to ignore it. "Just this and Stormveil," he told himself. "Just those and we're done. No more." Logale nodded to himself resolutely. "No more."

He turned to approach his band of hired hands, all of whom were putting their equipment together in preparation for the plan. They called themselves Grubbers Gang, which seemed on brand with how easily he'd won their services. Logale had promised them a hefty sum of money, which of course, he did not actually have. Instead, he'd given a comparatively small initial payment he'd scrounged together from begging Melina and robbing a few bandits he'd met on the road, then promised the rest of the payment after the job was done. It hadn't been quite enough to immediately convince them into fighting an actual dragon, since unfortunately, few people were that foolish, so he'd sweetened the deal by promising them the dragon's heart. Valuable enough on its own for the powers it granted, but likely valuable to someone else too, someone who'd be willing to pay generously for it. During his time, dragon hearts had been coveted prizes that nobles would pay handsomely to have.

The plan, then, was simple. Have the Grubbers wear down Agheel as best as possible, then Logale would swoop in for a deciding blow in the eye, since that was the only part not covered in steel-resistant scales. Once the beast was slain, he'd hop onto Torrent and ride off as fast as possible. Torrent was faster than their horses, so it wouldn't take long to escape their sight, find a hiding place, and wait for his pursuers to give up. And there'd be no need to worry about them taking the heart since its magic properties would prevent anyone but the hands of the slayer from claiming it. It was a perfect plan. Foolproof.

So long as nothing went wrong like the giant ballista not functioning at the needed time.

"Damn thing!" One of the grubbers cursed, fumbling with a heavy-looking metal bolt. He and another man were working on a strange contraption Logale had never seen before. A big thing made of wood, looking like two massive crossbows stuck together on a thick wooden slab. One man helped his ally push the metal bolt in with visible strain, then struggle even harder to get another bolt in on the other side.

"Keep that thing oiled!" said Logale, not knowing at all if it would actually do anything. He knew it worked for crossbows, but similar designs did not often correlate to the same answers to the same problem. "We don't want it failing on us, now do we?"

"You idiots. Hand it over!" shouted Morek, the Grubber's chief, as he pushed both of his underlings. In one smooth motion, just a flex of his meaty arm, he pulled the thick bolt into the bowstring, secured it against the brace, and locked it in. "There it is. Now take it up on those cliffs you worthless bastards. I won't have you fucking up our first payday in weeks!" He then turned to Logale, losing all that rageful attitude in an instant. "Tell you what, if I weren't such a bleeding heart, I'd have left these fools to the wolves long ago."

Logale had heard stories from other members of the group that their leader had a habit of sacrificing his underlings in various situations so that he could escape alive. He did not doubt that every person in his gang was a faceless pawn, useful only to shield their king. Maybe Logale would have mustered some pity for the very clearly disgruntled sellswords, but that was akin to pitying a serial murderer simply because his parents had also been killed by a serial murderer. No, they didn't deserve pity. If they died during this venture, then it was not his fault or his problem. Logale tried to keep all this in mind as he made the men double-check their weapons, then check them again, then checked them himself twice. By the end, everything looked in perfect order. The sun had reached the apex of its height. The peak of the afternoon. It was time.

The two sellswords manning the giant ballista hoofed it up a hill that led to the edge of a steep cliff, while a third followed after, dragging along a heavy sack full of bolts. The bolts would at the very least be able to pierce the scales, amounting to some kind of damage, but Logale was not relying on it to do the bulk of the work. That would have to come from the two remaining groups. Morek's team and his, each compromised of four people, including themselves. Unfortunately, in order to ensure he got the killing blow, Logale knew he had to play the bait. So the job of his group was to keep Agheel's attention, while Morek and his men attempted to bring it to the ground by attacking its feet.

Logale looked at his longsword. New and plain, made of good strong steel. A fine weapon. But not fine enough to kill a dragon, even with a clear shot to the eye. The blade simply wasn't long enough to kill it in a single blow. This sword could not do the job, not without help. Logale knew what he had to do. He just wished there was another way. He'd sworn never to use this power again. Not under any circumstance.

But his choices were either to betray a promise to himself or a promise to another. And that was a choice that more or less made itself.

Once in position, the Ballista group set up and signaled that they were ready. With that, the ground forces moved out.

All of nature was surprisingly quiet as they crept toward their mark, using what little cover they had from the scattered ruins to duck behind. It was more nerve-wracking than Logale had expected, considering their every footstep made a splashing sound no matter how careful they were, but Agheel showed no reaction. Was probably used to such noise by now.

Morek and his goons used the large debris to scurry around, slowly making their way around the dragon until they settled behind a slab of stone, just far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to spring an attack.

That meant it was Logale's turn. He would approach the beast with confidence, either yelling to wake it up or allowing his loud and proud footsteps to do so. Agheel would awake and rise to his approach, snarling savagely, flames pouring out of its jaw, ready to incinerate him. Perhaps Logale would even tell the grubbers under his command to stay back and preserve their lives as he faced the dragon on his own. Hell, maybe he would call off the whole plan and take on this majestic devil in single combat. Warrior vs monster. Mano e draco. Logale imagined that this is what he would do if he was a man of principle, morality, and honor.

Advantageously, he was none of these things.

So it was with a heavy heart that he patted the merc next to him on his shoulder. A young man that looked about Logale's age. Probably had never died before, but there was a first time for everything. "Alright, you're up boy. Go up and wake our big friend over there."

The boy's jaw dropped. "What, me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why?"

"Well, one of us has to. And you're the bravest looking fellow close to hand."

It really wasn't a lie. The rest of them wore their anxiety rather plainly, despite looking a fair bit more experienced than the boy. Not that they couldn't do the job, but this younger one seemed a little less likely to run, and every factor counted.

Unfortunately, at the moment, the boy looked a lot closer to running than he had a moment before. "You fuckin' go!"

Logale rolled his eyes and was half tempted to be honest. Because the first person to wake that beast will undoubtedly have his flesh melted off his bones. That wouldn't instill much morale. So instead he said, "I am your employer. I know where the rest of your payout is located. I doubt I'll be telling where it is if I'm a pile of roasted flesh. You want to get paid, don't you?"

"A dead man's got no use for runes!" The boy muttered.

"Wisdom in a mercenary. That's rare, I congratulate you. I suppose you'd best not die then, or you'd be quite the hypocrite, eh?" Logale pointed at the dragon as he looked the young man right in the eyes, fixing him with a stern frown. "The gallows await."

He saw the young man swallow, maybe even saw some tears in his eyes. But he stood up anyway, crawled over the wall they were hiding behind, and began to creep toward the sleeping dragon. Logale fought off a bad memory as he watched him go. Back in his army days, when they had to set raids on enemy camps, a favorite strategy of his captains was to send in a lone man to draw the attention of the enemy, so they could be surprised by a routing from behind. They called them Braves, which in such a context could only be a form of mockery. The man they sent was usually the weakest of the group, the most expendable, and it was considered bad luck if a Brave came back from his job alive. Logale had to admit that if Agheel roasted this poor fool, that would give the ballista more chances to fire and give Morek's squad time to start battering the legs. If it all went right, they'd down the dragon quickly, then Logale could secure the kill.

Still, Logale watched the boy walk to his death with a deep pit in his stomach.

He got closer than Logale had expected before the dragon started to stir. Its deep growl made the shallow water around it ripple and hiss. The young man didn't make any attempt to step closer, but it was hardly necessary anymore. All he needed to do now was wake it up. He turned to Logale as if having read his mind, and Logale nodded in spite of his reservations.

The boy turned to Agheel and his voice was shrill with fear as he shouted, "Hey! Wake up you big lizard fuck!"

And wake he did. It almost seemed like Agheel had simply been pretending to sleep he was roused so quickly. And Logale entertained the terrifying thought that the beast was highly intelligent and knew what they were planning, which would be quite a morale crusher if it decided to lay there and entertain their foolish notions anyway. It raised its big spiked head and kept itself upright with the sword-length thumbs on the tip of its massive wings. It was suddenly much bigger than Logale had anticipated. A mighty shadow engulfed the lone young man like an elephant looming over a rat. A very frightened rat, which could see no way to escape, made no attempt to, and simply stood there in cold horror, looking up at the instrument of his death.

It was nothing to worry over. The boy had probably never died once in his life yet, and the chances were good that he'd be restored by the Erdtree. Well, as good a chance as any other form of undeath taking him. Even in a world cursed with immortality, death was still feared, maybe more now than ever. Agheel left it no wonder what his intentions were for the young man who had disturbed his slumber, because already flames were starting to leak out of his mouth, like the hands of demons clawing to escape the fiery prisons of hell. The boy did not move.

He didn't deserve death, most likely. No one did. But there was no other way. This had to be done. The fault couldn't be placed on Logale. If anything, this was all Melina's fault. It wasn't on Logale. The flames began to spill out of the dragon's mouth almost like lava at the crest of a volcano. It slowly began to open its great maw. Once it attacked, Logale would signal for the bolts to fire. This would all be done quickly. The boy had to die if Logale was to live. He even seemed to know it, since he chose simply to stand there. None of it could be Logale's fault.

Agheel let out an ear-shattering roar as he opened his mouth wide and unleashed a mighty torrent of dragonfire. Logale closed his eyes.

And felt the seat of his trousers catch fire.

He did not see where the blast landed. All he knew was that he'd crossed the distance, snatched the young warrior up, then thrown him and himself aside just seconds before flame could take them both. He caught himself in a roll, the water taking out any flames that caught his armor, then propped back up just in time to see Agheel rear his head again.

He sprang away as another jet of flame came at him, scrambled to his feet, and bolted as fast as he could as the flames followed him. All the while he wondered why he had saved that stupid fool. Agheel looked about to continue his attack, only to let out a roar of irritation as a ballista bolt stabbed into its wing. That was what got the ball rolling.

Morek's group let out mighty barbarian roars as they rushed up behind Agheel as turned to look for where the bolt had come from. Borek's muscles bulged as he flexed his grip on his great battle-axe and sent it biting into Agheel's ankle. It didn't go very deep, but it did rip off a chunk of scales, and that was more than enough to get the animal's attention. The grubbers scattered like roaches as the dragon lifted its giant foot, then slammed it back down, the force sending up a spray of earth and water, and making one of the mercs who'd been too close get knocked onto his back. To his credit, he was quick to get back to his feet.

But not quite fast enough to avoid Agheel's open maw. In an instant, all that was left was a red mist and a dismembered arm spinning in the air.

"Over here! Look here!" Logale shouted as loud as he could. He drew his sword and began waving it about, hoping the light reflecting off it would catch Agheel's eye. To his surprise, it did. Of course, then came the hard part.

He broke into a sprint before he even knew Agheel would charge, and only needed the sound of stomping tremoring stomps to know the beast was on his ass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow flash toward him from his right, and he sprang into a forward leap, felt wind lash against his back, and heard a loud crash behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see that the dragon had slashed at him with its wing and thankfully had missed. It let out another annoyed roar as a bolt stuck into its neck, ripping away a spurt of blood. Not deep enough to cause real harm, but more than enough to stoke the dragon's rage.

Morek and his men now swarmed Agheel, some helping to divert its attention, others hacking at its feet with clubs, hammers, and axes. Looked like a pack of wild dogs harassing an elephant. Agheel's tail struck the ground like a giant whip, then lashed the other way, forcing the men nearby to dodge, all except one, who got sent flying into the air.

That was how it went, as simple as it was to say. The bolts did little but annoy Agheel like flies in the summer, while Morek's men flirted with instant death as he stomped around, animal movements entirely unpredictable. They kept at its legs, but the hide was far stronger than Melina had expressed it to be. Logale could barely even keep Agheel's attention, constantly having to get much too close for comfort in order to play his role. It seemed entirely like he was getting nowhere, but he fought on, hoping something would give.

It didn't take long.

The next bolt caught Agheel in the back of the head, but the scales were so thick there that the bolt simply bounced off and spun away. Yet that might as well have been the only bolt to draw blood because it made the creature furious. Logale barked for the mercs to get back as Agheel's legs bent, but it was too late. It leaped off the ground so quickly, so powerfully that he left a small wave in his wake. One man, the boy Logale had risked himself to save, had been dragged with him due to trying to pull his sword out of Agheel's tail, and now he screamed for dear life as he held on. Logale could only grimly frown as Agheel turned over in the air, his passenger losing his grip and plummeting to the ground, thankfully nowhere close enough for him to see it.

Logale thought the dragon might have come right back down, but instead, it turned to the ballista and wasted no time hurling a blast of fire. Logale watched the flames tear through the side of the cliff, ripping chunks of earth off, reducing the once high perch to a smoldering black hill. Agheel probably knew right then that it had burned away all of Logale's hopes.

It sailed back toward them, far faster in the air than he'd been on the ground. Morek and his men scattered, but two were snatched into Agheel's talons and crushed. Agheel spun around, its massive tail spiking another unlucky fellow into the water in a splash of blood, while it chomped down on another merc who'd pathetically raised his shield in some feeble attempt to protect himself. Only his shield was left behind.

Suddenly they were down to four men, including himself and Borek. Logale was about ready to call for them all to run, but Morek seemed now to be driven by a personal vendetta with the dragon. That, or he was really anticipating his payday now that he didn't have to split it so widely. He ripped another chunk out of Agheel's leg, earning a spray of blood, then leaped away when Agheel kicked at him, only to rush back in like it was his sworn enemy. The man was completely mad.

But this was still doable. Logale had to get the finishing blow now.

He looked at his left hand. Felt his ring finger twitch. Looked normal now, just like his others. He hadn't used those arts in centuries. But the twitch was still there, a festering hunger, a deadly omen. He didn't want to indulge in it again, but he had no choice. Logale placed the palm of his left hand against the blade of his sword and…

Saw one of Morek's men explode into a shower of blood.

Answers came before he could even pose the question. A man had come sprinting across the water, so fast as to almost be a blur. He was leaning forward as he ran, arms out wide, two bloody daggers in hand, looking like a bat in flight. The last merc just barely saw him coming and raised his club to strike, but the mysterious warrior vanished the very moment he swung, then reappeared behind him.

The last one of Morek's men let out an agonized scream as blood sprayed out of his body all at once, then dropped like a stone. Logale had seen this kind of work before. There was no confusing it.

A Bloody Finger.

Morek very clearly did not know this fact or did not care, for he witnessed the death of his last underling and proceeded to charge down the killer. "Die, you fucker!" he roared, lashing at him with wide swings of his ax. The Finger smoothly floated just out of range of his every swing, not even his long elaborate cloak suffered a wound. He was hooded, Logale noticed, so his face could be barely made out, but it hardly mattered. It did not take a great mind to work out a Bloody Finger's intentions.

Logale leaped into action, knowing well that if he lost Borek, then this whole venture was over. He cut in just as the killer narrowly slashed Morek's chest, and brought his shield up to discourage further attack. Unfortunately, this did not discourage the Bloody Finger at all. Logale was forced to backpedal as the assassin came cutting with remarkable speed, spinning and dancing, a whirlwind of red steel hammering at Logale's defenses. He felt the blood in his left arm bubble with each contact his shield made with the dagger, and he knew what that would spell if he didn't get some distance. He threw a wide cut at the Bloody Finger and made him duck, then stepped onto his back, sprang off him, and landed several feet away. He had the distance now, felt the blood in his arms start to whittle back into his veins and settle, and he almost felt relieved. Until he saw the dragon's tail.

He just managed to get his shield up, and felt a force like that of a troll's punch crash full into him, sending him tumbling across the water like a smooth stone over a lake. The world turned over and over, armor clicking and clanking, digging into his skin, until finally he came to a heaving stop on his knees. What was wrong with him? He should have been paying attention to the dragon. He had to get back up before—

And Logale's heart sank as he heard Morek scream.

The grubber captain was on his knees, clutching at the dagger stabbed into his belly, looking like was unsure whether to pull it out or keep it in. A decision he did not wonder about for very long. The Bloody Finger snatched him by the neck, his middle finger coated in blood, and though Logale couldn't see it, he knew what was to come next. The sound was like a wet spurt, and Morek let out an agonized gurgle as his eyeballs popped, blood sprayed like a fountain from every orifice in his face. Nose, mouth, eyes, ears, all bubbling with dark fluid.

Perhaps Logale should have charged the Bloody Finger in revenge for the bastard that was Morek, but he saw no reason else to fight. The killer would undoubtedly come for him now, such was Bloody Finger's nature, so it was best to get away while he could and organize an attack on Agheel later. He made just about ready to call Torrent…

When the Bloody Finger swung his dagger and unleashed a long and thin blade of blood, which caught Agheel in the side of his face and made it stagger back in very real pain and crash onto the ground.

Logale's heart stopped for just a moment. He was attacking the dragon? But what for? There was no time even to think. Logale rushed to Agheel's rescue, managing just in time to bat away another blood blade attack, then forcing the Finger to skip away with a wide cut. He did not have much humor in him as he said, "Sorry, friend. Afraid this one's taken for."

The Bloody Finger dashed right for him and Logale met him halfway there. He chopped down on the killer's head but found it blocked in the grooves of the daggers' handguards. For a moment, Logale saw the lower half of the man's face set into a bored frown. The Bloody Finger scraped him away with surprising strength, twirled his daggers expertly, then rushed Logale with a flurry of cuts and jabs. Logale danced with him, blocking where he could, searching for openings, his battle instincts quickly coming back in full. He had been nowhere near the strongest in Godfrey's army, but that had still been the forces of the Elden Lord, and it did not suffer weaklings.

Logale caught a dagger slash on his shield and pushed the Bloody Finger back. Once he saw him back away, Logale went in. He displayed his own chain of wide slashes, building a fortress of steel in front of him, watching carefully his opponent's movements as he hopped and spun out of range. The Finger send a bloody slash flying at him, and Logale managed to duck under it, pressed forward to keep close and prevent him from using further ranged attacks.

His blood was hot. His skin was prickly with sweat and hyper-awareness. His senses were entirely focused on the opponent before him. The battle-joy, as Godfrey had called it. Logale remembered a time when he'd been in this state for so long he'd forgotten what it was like when the red lens came off. He'd promised himself never again to fall into it. No more fighting. No more enemies. No more blood.

But he found a rush of thrill as he caught the Bloody Finger's first major mistake. He predicted his stab and managed to weave away, parried the follow-up, then bashed him full in the face with the flat of his shield. It sent him flying away, then tumbling across the water just like he had been moments ago. When the man sprang back up, Logale saw his mouth had parted in surprise, and blood was leaking from his nose.

Before Logale pressed another attack, he looked to see that Agheel was getting up off the ground, meaning that the blood attack had rattled him. He could use that to his advantage. He certainly looked like he was tired. Still, a dragon getting in the middle of a fight with a Blood Finger did not sound favorable to him. He turned back to the Finger. "You can run along now. It's not worth fighting over this one dragon. You're better off finding your own."

The Bloody Finger offered no response. It was hardly needed though, since he came for Logale without hesitation.

They were at one another once more. Sword and shield on double daggers, cutting, scraping, clashing, and tearing at one another. A dagger cut across Logale's chest plate and the blood magic caused his ribs to tremble. He returned a kick to the Bloody Finger's gut, making him stagger back. Logale came down with an overhead strike, but his opponent rolled aside and came right back up with a cut of his own. Logale just managed to leap back but wasn't quite fast enough. The edge of the dagger cut through the fabric of his underarm, drawing a thin cut into his armpit.

But for those with blood magic, even a shallow wound was enough to kill.

Logale tried to press an attack before the ritual could begin, but the Bloody Finger must have already known he'd try it. The man was already upon him, arm extended, clawing hand growing bigger and bigger as it came toward Logale's face. Death was before him. The same death as that brute Morek. A pathetic, pointless, worthless death, without having accomplished anything of real significance. Without having fulfilled his promises. To himself, to Melina, to his family. A fitting end for the waste of life that was Logale of Honsbury. He certainly deserved it.

But death would have to wait a little longer.

Logale snatched the Bloody Fingers hand into his own, fingers now locked into a struggling embrace. He felt his opponent's nails dig into the back of his hand and he returned it the same, already feeling the blood magic take effect. His blood began to stir and boil, growing wild within his veins, fighting desperately to be freed from the safety of his flesh. He saw the Bloody Finger's mouth twist into a sick grin.

That's when Logale wrestled control. His blood calmed in an instant. The Bloody Finger's mouth dropped open.

And he was forced to jump away as… an extremely long sword cut between them?

Logale dropped flat onto his ass as someone pushed him away, then dashed at the Bloody Finger with incredible speed. He wore a strange type of helmet, nothing like the helmets Logale had seen in all his years of battle. It was wide, almost like a metal kasa hat. His long and ragged cape flapped in the air as he moved, dressed in a strange combination of strange armor and thick fabric. Looked like a distinguished warrior of high class had suddenly lost everything and now walked the dangerous lands, dirty and masterless. He certainly fought with a high level of grace and finesse, his long katana cutting wide circles around him. And so quickly that the Bloody Finger had no hope of breaking through. Yet there was an unmistakable animalistic ferocity to his cuts too, like a tiger who'd been on the hunt for days and finally managed to corner his meal, determined not to let it escape.

The strange warrior kneed the Bloody Finger in the stomach and brought him to his knees. He wasted no time chopping down onto his head, and Logale was sure right then that his head would fall clean half. To be fair, he predicted right.

Only for the Bloody Finger's body to melt into a puddle, flesh and bone all, until there was nothing left but a tiny pool of blood. A body replacement spell. Particularly favored amongst those with arcane powers.

The mysterious warrior stared at the pool for a moment, perhaps wondering if there was some way to follow, and likely knowing there wasn't one. Then he turned his eyes on Logale, though such eyes as he had were not visible behind his big helmet.

Logale didn't know what to say, so he just said what first came to mind. "Thanks for the help, friend." He looked toward Agheel, and it was now slowly starting to inch toward them, fire in its mouth. "Don't suppose you could help me slay that dragon? I could pay you quite—argh!"

Logale was hit in the face with something. A tiny jar had broken on the ground in front of him, pieces spraying his face. And that was not the only thing. Instantly, a strange purple gas rose up from where the pot had broken. He was too late to keep himself from breathing it in. In seconds, he was groggy, wobbling on his knees, the world fading in and out of coherence. He heard the dragon roar, but it seemed muted and far away now. The last thing Logale felt was someone pick him up and sling him over his shoulder.

And the last thing he saw was the sheath of an extremely long katana bobbing up and down as he was carried away from Agheel Lake.

I'm glad to see you're all enjoying this story. It's a nice change of pace once in a while from my usual RWBY content.

See you in the next one.

ISA