Of all who could have followed them, it had to be a little boy like Philip.
"I-I just want to help, Sir Berg!" The boy protests.
"By Brand's Beard, Philip, you're too young to fight!" Berg bellows, "You disobeyed your mother and came up these mountains after us alone! You are lucky there weren't many creatures active at this time or you may have gotten hurt before we discovered you!"
The young boy's bottom lip quivers. Well, it takes your role model to break it to you. Therion has no mercy for him. He was not in the mood after having some little brat sidetrack what was already a huge detour. Go ahead, cry.
Berg sighs heavily, pinching his nasal bridge, "Come… we must bring you back to the village immediately. If your mother has realized already, the poor woman must be utterly distraught."
Philip opens his mouth to begin protesting. But he seems to think better of it, and clams up, only to pitifully nod his head.
"… I'm sorry sir…" He mutters miserably. But his eyes remain dry. Therion rolls his eyes when he sees the big man's face soften seeing the boy's expression. Primrose looks with a mixed expression at the child and then towards the road they will now have to backtrack. Alfyn seems a bit embarrassed for the kid, and he gently pats the boy's head.
"Hey, we all wanna do our part, yeah?" He tries to lift the boy's dampened spirits.
"…" Philip wipes his face a bit.
Berg sighs again, clearly weary of the situation, and begins to walk back the way they came, "We are on a tight schedule… Those brigands are expecting us."
Therion scoffs silently. But he knew just how volatile these sorts of situations were. Bandits, especially those who develop a taste for blood, are incredibly dangerous. Valuables don't sate them wholly anymore. They have a sadistic want to see people bleed and scream as they torture them at knife point. The thought of that made Therion shiver somewhat. Why would anyone go that far and do something so animal-like? What was the point?
He believed he hated that kind of self-gratification. It was unprofessional and downright beastly. But a small part of him knew that it was that slippery slope that unnerved him. That thin divide between a proud thief and a dirty brigand…
Marta liked to tell that story a lot over several rounds of ale. She easily outdrank most of her inner circle. Her boisterous voice projected out so the entire tavern could hear, but it's not like she cared to keep this a secret. It was the story of that telltale scar on her left arm. Therion had seen it many times. She wasn't ashamed of it, flaunted it practically. It's a long, discolored gash that goes along the base of her palm, down her wrist and the whole length of her forearm. On the other side, you can see where the blade had poked clean through the limb. It was purely by Aeber's luck she didn't lose her entire arm. But it still was weaker than her other one.
She'd gesture a bit with her schooner of ale as she spoke.
"There was a bloke y' know… The name Oskar was his. Fucking pissant… We were a bit of rivals. He was a master thief too. Knew his way around a knife like the tip of his nose. By the gods, we ran the largest heists! From Noblecourt, to Atlasdam, all the way to Grandport and then some! They called us the Bow and String y' know? Because no matter how hard y' draw a bow, the string ends up twangin' back. No matter how far we strayed apart, some news o' treasure would always draw the two of us like bloodhounds t' a hunt."
She'd take a deep swig and look around her table. Most of the people around her are passed out by now. Those awake are unashamed that they have barely finished two tankards of their alcohol. She would laugh and call them lightweights in friendly jest before continuing.
"Oskar… he was real good. A piece o' work, but one of the best I knew. He didn't follow none o' the codes, y' know? I'd always hope the gods would get 'im for those. Anyways, the big steal was coming to Saintsbridge. The crest of the Gerster family. You older ones might 'member them better, eh? Real big shots, the lot of 'em, in the Riverlands. They were having some big unveiling there, and the thing was crusted with eight precious gems. That was where the true value lay, an' we were both eager t' get our hands on it."
Her voice fell a bit around her, and she'd get this look as she takes a slow sip, her gaze falling onto the liquid in her mug.
"… He was always violent y' know. Some broken bones, bloody noses, broken glass… It's why I thought I was better. But a load o' hogwash is what it is. Never think the violent ones're stupid. Sometimes, they're awful smart and wicked… When I ran in to the house, there was bloody murder everywhere. He'd killed every damn guard and walked right in like some big shot 'imself! I caught up t' him in the vault, an' he's near all red! All that blood! He gives me this laugh, an' I felt a chill, 'cos he'd done all that downright on purpose. The gems weren't enough. He needed to grandly murder all those poor saps…"
Here she paused a little. Her scarred hand clenched on the table.
"… I called 'im mad. He jus' laughed and came at me like a demon. The fight wasn't no more than a few seconds, and we both were like winds, I feel. Never had I been so close t' death, even durin' my most dangerous heists… He got me arm, an' I paid 'im back for that with one to the chest. Once y' get that feeling of killin' a man, y' either end up lovin' it, or y' hate it and wanna vomit. I hightailed outta there without the gems. By Aeber's luck, they couldn't trace me despite all that blood. But I heard Oskar an' the gems were gone the next day… an' y'all know that was one o' the supposed causes behind the call for war from Gerster, cos' they never found them gems. An' that war ended the lot of 'em."
She jilted her chair back to lean and look up slightly into the haze by the lights of the tavern from some smoke. It's hard to get inside Marta's head. Sure, she laughed or yelled like a madwoman often, but her voice and face don't betray any distinct emotion unless she allows it to. Usually, someone would be near tears or about to flip the table. But not her, leader of the greatest gang of thieves in all of Orsterra probably.
"I guess I'm hopin' I really did kill 'im in the end. World don't need more monsters… But we won't know now. He's as gone as the wind."
And then she'd get a bit raucous again, talking about how great it is to be young and stuff.
That Gaston guy… He was dangerous in a similar way. Maybe not the psycho murderer way. But he's not afraid to get his hands dirty, for sure. The ones that follow him are probably bigger risks. As much as Therion disliked that barmaid with diarrhea of the mouth, he didn't exactly want to stomach the sight of her dead at the hands of those bestial brigands. It would be … a bit of an inconvenience on his conscience at worse. But he wasn't the gallant type to say he could just murder someone like Marta did for the good of the world.
…
Down the mountainside, they could not have been more vulnerable. Berg was occupied and irate, torn, likely, with his duties to deliver Philip safely, and the thought of the hostages lingers still. It was visible on his tense face and brisk walking pace. Everyone in Cobbleston would probably understand, but it would only make them worry more about those taken. Time was a luxury that they were wasting.
Philip remained deathly quiet, no doubt afraid, as he was to be dragged back to town. At the back of Berg's mind, he did sympathize with the boy. There was no end to the shenanigans squires had pulled back in Hornburg to prove themselves to their knights. The youth likely is the same, too eager to rush into battle. He showed up many a time to the training sessions, and even rushed at Berg a few times with his wooden sword.
But he is still too young!
Berg lets out an irritable breath. Then he realized he'd failed to notice something in his angered state. With dread building, he turns to the others, a cry rising to his lips.
"WATCH OU-"
A handaxe comes flying out at them, cutting his words short. The weapon sails and embeds an edge deeply in his right shoulder. He stumbles back a bit, clutching the wound.
The others regather their senses at the sudden attack. Another ambush?
"Fucking hells…" Therion growls as he pulls out his sword and dagger.
From around them, three sneering brigands rush out. They brandish their hefty looking axes and pick their targets. Therion leaps to fend off one running for Alfyn. Sadiq narrowly misses another one heading for Primrose. The last one charges for Berg. Berg hastily dislodges the blade in his shoulder and rushes to meet the charge. The mercenary locks blades with the axe. His new wound would not have bothered him terribly if not for the fatigue these last few days. He had barely slept between bandit attacks and reconstruction efforts. The bandit makes a low shot between his legs, eliciting a grunt from the man as he falters.
"Sir, look out!"
"Philip, NO!"
He curses inward as the boy comes barreling his way, pulling out his wooden sword. There is a solid smack as he raps the toy on the brigand's back. But you don't strike wild beasts … because they just get angrier.
"Why you lil-!" The bandit snarls and swats the boy aside with a meaty palm.
"PHILIP!" Alfyn darts away from Therion's protection out of worry for the boy.
"Idiot, NO-" Therion briefly is distracted and the bandit he is engaged with gives him a rough shove, sending him into a collision with Alfyn, and they both end up on the floor.
"Al- Tsk!" Primrose has no time to worry about them as the bandit now runs at her. She braces under the strike of his axe with the hilt of her dagger with razor precision.
Philip lands a little away on the rocky ground. But luckily, it didn't seem to knock him out as he crashes. But Berg probably wishes it did. Because it would have stopped him from standing back up and doing anything else reckless.
"Philip, RUN!" Berg growls as he charges at the brigand. Sparks fly when their blades meet.
"Gaston's got 'is eye all trained on ya! But ye ain't much but rumored talk, eh?" The brigand sneers and recklessly bashes his head on Berg's, breaking their contact abruptly.
The swordsman stumbles backwards a bit from the unexpected blow. He hated street brawling styles. They held no rigidity, unlike what he learned back in the army. Scrappy fighters proved unpredictable and their fighting reflected it. There is no such thing as solid technique or battle etiquette to them. It is pure instinct to survive lashing out in every way it can, an utterly unpredictable style.
"Scoundrel!" He raises his blade with sudden rage. Pain shoots up his arm from where the axe had embedded itself, which he ignores. He cannot falter to these animals! Sheer will empowers his arms so they do not shake, and the blade is unwavering in its path as it strikes.
The brigand's sneer vanishes almost instantly when he sees the blade coming down. He doesn't even have time to recant his words.
"Holy-"
The cleave seems to cut even the pathetic thug's last words in twain as they hung in an unfinished exclamation in the air. Berg's blade, with its heft and edge, smash a bloody ridge into the other man's body, splitting him from top to about his waist. Even the bone was little to stand in the way of the blade, as the skull seemed to have simply cracked, and all the ribs and collar on the left side of the body were snapped. The body falls rather slowly, almost with deliberate drama, as its innards slop out along with gouts of spurting blood.
The blood had spurted and flecked onto Berg in addition to staining his sword. With a look of near bursting bloodlust, he glares at the remaining bandits, his grip ever as tight on his blade.
"Come at me, you gutless brigands!"
"Eep…" The inciting cry draws the brigand's attentions. They look down at the blood pooling around one of their own. There is fear, but they don't seem wholly repentant either. That scrappy act is still buried under there. The unpredictable instinct.
At once, the one grappling with Primrose makes a vicious kick at her. She twists her body to dodge it, just barely, jumping back slightly. With her disengaged, he takes out something from his side bag and quickly tosses it down with a swift motion.
There is a soft POP sound and then billows of smoke blanket the area. A smoke bomb.
It doesn't smell like anything somniferous, but it certainly irritates the throat. Therion covers his nose with his scarf and presses his body on Alfyn's on the ground. Can't see a damn thing. Best to wait it out. The apothecary underneath him squirms.
"T-Therion, we gotta h-help...!" He gags a bit, struggling against the thief.
"Stay down, idiot!" Therion barks.
Through the thick smoke, he could hear the sounds of footsteps, fleeting and nimble. The brigands, probably. There are some slight exclamations. He could hear a distressed "Sir!" from the dumb kid, and a responding "Philip!" from the lug Berg, whose heavy steps were just clopping around.
In a different direction, he hears what might have been the jangling of one of the dancer's bracelets, and a very light "Tsk." There is then suddenly a "What the?!" from one of the brigands, and then a low thud, too light to be a body hitting the floor. And then all to be heard was heavy breathing and footsteps. One pair is getting farther and farther away.
The smoke eventually dissipates, and the scene revealed is surprising to say the least.
Sadiq has not moved, instead still vigilantly looking about for now bygone threats. Berg is likewise on guard. The dead brigand lays where he was cut down. The boy Philip is nowhere to be seen.
All eyes lay on Primrose now, and she is not alone. Before her, there is a bandit, standing stiff as a statue. From the looks of it, he'd tried to ambush her under the smokescreen. But now, tendrils of darkness creep out from his own shadow to bind his body. Primrose's shadow overlaps with his. The bandit's own axe is at his own throat. Likely not of his own volition.
"Gh...nh...hrn..." The brigand makes pitiful sniveling sounds as he cannot control his own body anymore, and a trickle of blood forms where the axe edge is digging into his vulnerable neck, "No, no, no... I-I didn't … didn't mean it..."
Therion, Alfyn and Berg can only watch as the merciless temptress enacts her fatal influence. The bandit's pleading eyes are bulging with fear. Against his own pleas, the brigand hacks into his own neck. His tongue hangs out as blood spills forth from his lips and his mouth gapes in vain to draw air into his crushed throat. Then he collapses heavily onto his knees, bowed before the dancer. She is turned away from the thief and apothecary, but the warrior sees her face.
The breath catches in his throat.
There are tales of monsters among men... sirens and shadows... who prey on the souls of others … and play them like puppets.
She is beautiful, even with the dark eyes that gleam with a hellfire light. Her lips are parted slightly, as though in surprise, but her face is ultimately one of indifference. But she'd just forced a man to kill himself. Wretched as the bandits may be, they deserved a more just death...! The darkness chills him to the bone. But his will does not bend. Before the thief or apothecary can do anything, the mercenary rushes at the dancer with his blade.
"Wh- BERG, NO!" Alfyn cries out.
The point of a spear thrusts down before the mercenary, halting his advance. Holding the spear is the old Sunlander. Berg now sees his eyes are a bit glassy and unfocused. Despite his drive for battle, it may not actually be conscious movement. His gaze strays slightly to the dancer and he understood at once.
"... He's a pawn of yours as well..." Berg narrows his eyes at her.
She does not answer, instead looking quickly down to her hands and then to the body crumpled before her feet. The red eyes and dark tendrils fade, but to Berg, he still saw a demon.
Alfyn runs forward from under Therion to Sadiq's side, "Berg, what's the big idea?!"
"You too, Alfyn?!" The mercenary half-growls.
"What are ya talkin' about?"
"She's a temptress! You saw her force that man into killing himself!"
"Uh- wh..." Alfyn seems at a loss for words as he glances a bit nervously at the blood pooled nearby. He probably had no idea what she did really, even after having seen it before with the two guards.
"Stand aside! She's dangerous!" Berg's stance is unwavering, "We do not need more monsters among men…!"
Alfyn looks between him and Primrose, who does not answer to any of the claims. She lets them embed themselves in her like blades tossed from a drunken monkey. Her eyes do not meet his, nor anyone's.
"Hey."
The voice surprisingly came from the thief. He stands off a little to the side and points up the mountain, and then where Philip was not long ago.
"… They took the kid."
The words sink in and pull with them the veil that was momentarily over Berg's eyes. He had let himself be so easily distracted? Probably because of that disturbing memory of the time… in the crests near Everhold-
No! Not again!
"PHILIP!" He roars the boy's name in vain, as if it could summon him back, "Gods damn it all!"
The warrior rushes on ahead. Alfyn shouts after him, and makes a move to go after the man, but Therion stops him, grabbing him by the arm.
"Therion, he-"
"He's got his own fight up ahead. We don't have to get involved at this point…" He eyes the dancer a little, "Not sure he even wants us up there with him."
"But Philip's…! Berg's walkin' into a trap up there!" Alfyn protests.
Therion rolls his eyes, "The guy can handle it probably…"
Alfyn points at a small trickle of blood on the floor that leads the way the warrior ran, "He's hurt. An' I'll be damned if I let 'im get killed by those bandits… Him, or Philip, or any of 'em!"
The thief pauses. Something told him he wasn't going to get anywhere, and he relents, letting go of the apothecary's wrist with a sigh.
"… I… I dunno what in the name of Alephan just happened but… I gotta go on ahead. You guys might wanna hang back a bit?" Alfyn asks a bit hopefully.
At least he picked on something. But he's still pretty clueless.
"…" Therion's eyes told Alfyn all he didn't say.
"… Philip's all his mom's got after her husband died… an' Berg's probably got a lot on 'is own plate…" Alfyn starts to go after the mercenary, "I can't leave people if they're in a bind!"
With that, the apothecary runs off in pursuit of the warrior. The thief stares after the apothecary a bit. This is what happens when you pry too much. You get attached. Therion scoffs, tossing a slight glance over at the dancer, who has not moved nor spoken the entire time.
"… We're even now."
He said it quick, ripping off the bandage, before going after Alfyn. Primrose stands for a moment, she and Sadiq the sole figures along the mountainside. Then, slowly, reluctantly, like a puppet dragged by a languid puppeteer, she goes after the thief, and the old man follows with the slightest limp.
…
His head seemed to be full of useless, stupid thoughts these days. They dulled his senses so, but he could not stop himself from generating them.
Come to think of it, it had been long before he ever set foot in Cobbleston. Was it back when he saw his liege murdered before him, unable to do a single thing?
… Nay.
Something had certainly crumbled in him that day. Some sort of foundation. But it wasn't very firm to begin with. There were cracks in it that far predated that horrible moment. Were they maybe from his days as a knight? As he clashed with that man over and over again, seemingly neither of them giving an inch, evenly matched?
… Nay. That was how he'd grown that crumbling foundation, to protect something he believed in… or was it actually a barrier to keep out a fear? He undoubtedly lost that day… Either way, when it fell, so did his confidence, and now his mind could only ponder on these silly things.
It was probably from when he was but a young boy. Sometimes, people laughed when he told them he wanted to become a knight. They all thought he was better suited to be a bookworm scholar. With the amount of thoughts filling his head, they might have been right. He was born with a natural hypersensitivity for the magic of Gates, which proved a bit fruitless when he fought with others on the grounds of pure martial power. Truth be told, he might have made a better strategist. But he was set on becoming a frontline warrior.
What he wanted was freedom from this bondage to these thoughts of regret and weakness and hesitance… Becoming a knight should have accomplished that for him. He wanted to become a pure, silent, unfeeling weapon of war. There was no need to dwell or think, just follow your orders and cut down your enemy…
Where had he gone wrong?
Yet again, these thoughts were crowding his mind, edging up and competing with the turmoil already occupying most of his attention. He still had to ensure the safety of the villagers from the immediate brigand threat. And then maybe he'd have to take care of that other threat with that seductress…
What he felt from her, that unease, was that familiar dark magic. He had felt it before, in one of his many brushes with death. It was one of his more engrained memories from the battlefield, which he could not shake easily. It has resurfaced in full force when he saw that woman's red eyes and that eerie dark energy twisting around that man's body…
The visions of men, impaled on their own swords, prostrated before that malicious sorcerer. He had those same red eyes and a wicked grin. The same darkness danced around him, and from his fingertips were the strings which manipulated men's souls like puppets.
The Unbending Blade was just short of buckling at the sight of the carnage wrought in the dead's own hands. The air is thick with something other than blood, and he felt like he couldn't breathe.
And then the realization dawned that his own hands were wrapped around his neck, constricting his airway. As he gasped and wheezed, his own limbs would not obey his commands and he fell to his knees. He was already under the spell of darkness…
If it weren't for Erhardt that time, he probably would be dead.
If it weren't for Erhardt, he wouldn't be dwelling on these idiotic sentiments. There would be no need to! Hornburg... and King Alfred...!
Amid his thoughts , he almost didn't hear the apothecary calling his name for the umpteenth time.
"… BERG? BERG!"
The boy followed him? He turns to see that, indeed, that dirty blonde apothecary had pursued him. He remains suspicious, of course. The boy had come with the dancer. Yet, he did not seem to be a pawn to her.
"… Alfyn," He pauses to let the apothecary catch up, "… You're still coming?"
"Well, I said I'd help out! So I will!" Alfyn nods affirmatively, with determination alight in his eyes. It was so alike to that of Philip's eyes whenever he pled to join a training session.
"… Be vigilant. They may have set another trap lest we follow…"
The apothecary nods. Then Berg sees the white haired one coming up the path. And behind him is… the temptress trailing not far behind. Alfyn follows his gaze and sees them come too. He waves as they approach. But an icy silence comes over when the woman catches up with them.
"… I don't have need of methods like yours," Berg says without disguising his disgust.
"You're asking to get yourself killed going in there," She says levelly in response.
"You seduce the unwary citizens of Orsterra... and force them to fight for you in battle, risking their own lifeblood! Your own body is but a poisonous draught to lure unsuspecting innocents! You are no better than a slaver lording over those in their thrall!" Berg says with the thunderous voice of a judge passing sentence, "I cannot fight knowingly alongside someone with no honor as such!"
His words cut. They cut deeper than the jeers and beatings she'd endured back in the town of a thousand pleasures. That she was … no different than those others… no different than Helgenish…
And then she remembered. Yusufa. Wilk. The town she abandoned. All for her own desire.
So, she accepted it.
"...You're right. I'm just a simple whore."
She said that so tersely, emotionlessly, that it visibly stunned Berg. A look of near fury passed his face when she turned away dismissively. He makes a slight move to advance, but Sadiq blocks his way defiantly.
"But I also know time is of the essence," Primrose says, still faced away, "You'd do better just letting us help rather than dally here discussing such morals."
Berg took this silently. Philip was in danger, and here they were, squabbling. But this woman... who was toying with human will! Like a god! Such an act drove him to nearly vomit with the revulsion rising in his chest when he thought of the brigand forced to kill himself.
"... …Yes." He concedes at last, "But… I will not have you staying in Cobbleston a day longer after this… You do not hold any of their welfare in regard… or any human life, for that matter."
She doesn't turn around, and just takes that next stab into her heart. She must remember it... her shield of faith... It will dull the pain, but not block it entirely.
"That is alright with me."
Therion frowns slightly on the side. But his displeasure does not go unnoticed, for Berg's eyes shift to him for a moment. And he took it as a challenge.
"What, you also condone her unscrupulous practice? These are people for gods' sakes!" The bigger man barks at the thief.
"I didn't say anything," Therion glowers slightly at the knight.
"Are you also under her spell? It seems you have your tongue though."
"… Listen, not everyone can always take the high ground you know," Therion grinds his teeth slightly. This guy was getting on his nerves.
"There is no greater crime than to rob someone of their will. That is no high ground. That is the ground. Even prisoners of war-"
"You've never had to scramble in the mud to survive, had you?" Therion sneers, "O'great and righteous knight … if only there were more of you who cared to defend the disadvantaged! Oh wait… you can't even do that, can you? Or this wouldn't even have been an issue! And we'd all be living happy on some tropical island without a care in the world!"
"Why you-" Berg moves with a growl towards the impudent thief to silence him. The apothecary jumps hastily in between to diffuse the situation.
"Shucks guys! Can't ya two please just not, right now? We gotta save the hostages, an' that's that!"
The two resume a stormy silence with a slight gruff huff. Alfyn sighs uneasily.
"Are you boys coming or what?" Primrose calls from a few paces ahead, having bypassed them amid the argument, "I don't need anyone jumping to my defense."
Therion scowls, having stepped a toe out of line for nothing. He follows with the others behind her. She never looks back even once. Only Therion saw that quick movement as the dancer's hand moved to wipe at the corner of her eye.
…
The brigand's den was one of obvious moral rot and depravity. Crates, barrels, and sacks of looted goods line the walls as well as chests and torches that illuminate the cavern ways. The brigands seem to be making merry, drinking their fill by a makeshift bar with tables. But it was also tightly controlled at this moment, as Gaston paced the grounds. At his feet is one of his lackeys. He'd only come running back a few moments ago, shouting that the Cobbleston mercenary was on his way. And he'd bought back some kid.
"I tell ye lot not to aim fer what y' can't reach!" Gaston viciously kicks the man in the ribs, "Ya gone an' cost us more men!"
The lackey yelps and blubbers his useless apologies through his bloodied mouth and bruised face. The others in the den chuckle, some with a nervous edge.
"Did it feel good?! Did 'ya like runnin' in an out wit' yer tail 'tween yer legs?" Gaston hoists the other man up by the hair, screaming in his face, "DID YA?!"
"N-n-n-no! No, Gaston, I swear!" The stupid sap chokes out. His pants are already wet from fear piss.
"Let this be a lesson t' all o' you!" Gaston slams the lackey down on the ground with brutal force. There, he leaves the twitching body.
The other brigands are no longer laughing. They knew Gaston was strong. Not only in battle, but in charisma. He rallied all these ne'er-do-wells together after all. Some knew him from another time, back in the Black Brotherhood.
"We rule this mountain! But we toe outta line an' we'll have bigger problems comin' than the monsters!" Gaston barks to his following, "Y'hear?! We're a band to survive!"
There is a rowdy cheer in response.
Over in the miserable prisoner's corner, Philip was bought in to join Noelle and the others. Like them, he was gagged and his arms and legs were secured as they were forced to sit in silence. Two axe men brigands stood guard over them and took turns scaring them with their leery attitude and weapons.
"Ehehe, too bad for you eh, boy?" One of the guards mockingly plays with the boy's chin, "We didn't plan t' take lil' ones, but I guess life ain't always how ya planned eh?"
He loosens the gag a little on the boy's lips. The defiant child spits at his face.
"AARGH! Ye dirty lil' brat!" The brigand recoils and lashes out, striking the boy across the face. Philip topples over on his side by the other hostages, who give a slight muffled whimper. He bites his lip so he doesn't cry out.
"That'll teach ya!" The brigand growls.
"... Berg will..." There is a mutter from Philip as he struggles to sit up.
"Hah? Wazzat?"
"S-Sir Berg will definitely come and beat you all!" The boy shouts with sudden vigor. It reverberates with the cavern acoustics. The other brigands now take notice.
"Oh yeah?! We-"
"What's going on here?" The horned figure of Gaston emerges behind him, casting its daunting shadow over the boy on the floor, "... Who said you could hit the brat?"
"Uh-"
There is a crack as Gaston's fist impacts the side of the brigand's head and sends the rest of him flying. He lands among some crates and does not get back up.
"Berg, you say?" Gaston gives a rather nasty grin down at the boy. With one hand, he easily sits the boy up, and squats before him like a scientist before a specimen, "You know 'im well, do ye? Tell me... how's he fight, hm?"
"B-better than all of you scoundrels...! He's stronger than all of you put together!" The boy tries to sound brave and confident in his words, "You won't stand a chance once he comes!"
"Stronger'n all of us?"
"The boy's daft!"
"Now that's a laugh!"
The rabble around laugh heartily at the child's bluff. But Gaston seems a bit more pensive. His eyes narrow a little on the boy, and Philip squirms under his scrutiny.
"I-it's true! An' you lot'll all be sorry for laughing once he's done with you!"
Noelle tries in vain to gesture for the boy to curb his enthusiasm. The brigands continue laughing around them.
"What, is 'e some legendary knight from them fairy tales? A lone hedge knight?"
"'E'd be more madman 'n knight t' come fight us, y'know, an' with half a brain t' win!"
"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!"
Gaston's enraged voice cuts through the laughter and mirth like an axe. The brigands all jump a bit at the shout, and some spill their drink.
"If you all have the guts t' laugh, how about ye sharpen up yer damn stabbers?!" Gaston growls. His fur cape made him look like a massive horned bear of a beast, bristling and ready to strike, "I don't want t' hear any more about ye losin' t' some thief or ol' spearman! Got it?!"
They all hastily nod their heads. Gaston then turns his attentions back to the boy before him, who had recoiled a little at the sudden shout.
"Ye got spunk, lad. For sure. More n' brains... but we ain't got much o' that here either," He chuckles, gesturing at his lackeys, "Ye'd make a fine bandit."
"W-what...?!"
"How about it, eh?" Gaston gives a rather unsettling grin, like that of a predator before prey, "Ye wanna be part of our family, boy?"
"N-NO! Never!" Philip does his best to squirm away from the man and that grin.
"Oh? And why not, eh?" Gaston easily presses the toe of his boot on the bit of rope from the boy's bonds, stopping the prey from getting further, "C'mon now-"
"NO! I'M GOING TO BE A BRAVE WARRIOR LIKE SIR BERG! NOT LIKE YOU BOTTOM FEEDERS!" Phillip shouts shrilly.
The other bandits repress either a snigger or growl at the name-calling. Gaston's grin lessens, but does not vanish. The eyes from the afterworld themselves may as well have been boring into the boy from that man's skull.
"Bottom feeders eh... Now where'd ye learn that kind of tongue?"
"B-because that's what you all are! M-me mum says-!"
Gaston lets out a laugh that reverberates through the caves. Nervously, some of his men join in. He silences them with a hand in the air.
"Boy. Do you think anyone wants t' be a bottom feeder?" Gaston stands and towers over Philip, "Nay."
Philip swallows nervously.
"Let me tell you something-"
"STEP AWAY FROM THE BOY!"
The head brigand's words cut short and all eyes now look towards the entrance of their little den. Emerging from the darkness of the caverns is Berg with the strangers out of town behind him. Gaston sees the thief in purple and the warrior and his former grin returns. The other bandits are less than thrilled.
…
"Welcome to our humble abode," Gaston spreads his arms a little as he faces the party expectantly, "I apologize for any trouble my men gave you upon coming here."
Therion almost would have preferred if it was just the brigands bothering them. While Alfyn luckily had a lantern so they could even see in the cave darkness, the party as a whole was still in icy silence despite the apothecary's best efforts to thaw it. The princess wasn't speaking to any of them. The damn self-righteous warrior was too busy focused on his own mission. Therion sorely wished they really had skipped Cobbleston.
"'E really mus' be mad, as 'e actually came," Gaston chuckles, "Courage over sense, ey? Though you've got some mighty shady ones following you."
"Release the hostages, you cur!" Berg growls, drawing his large sword, "Or I will cut you down as I did your other lackeys!"
"Bwahahahaha!"
At the threat, Gaston blurred from where he stood. He may be big, but he was alarmingly fast too. He was upon Berg with sword drawn in an instant.
There is a loud clashing sound as their metal weapons met with a moment of sparks. Gaston had been fast to attack, but Berg countered flawlessly. In the firelight, it was a brilliant, momentary flash.
For Berg, it reawakened an old nightmare.
This man, his movements, and most importantly, the sword...
He saw the red dripping down that blade, made specially for the hands who wielded it with a sudden coldness. The Flaming Blade. Its edge was still keen. The blonde man stood impassively as a passing breeze through the mountains ruffled his fair locks. His green eyes stared daggers down at Olberic as he approached.
He could never forget that rage, and that humiliation...
"What have you done, Erhardt?!"
The scar at his temple... How it itched at the sight of its maker...
The other man just looked at him with little words. Blood had spattered on his face from the kill. But he still looked utterly serene.
"Nothing more than justice."
When the parry ended, he'd pushed the other back. The thugs in the room were utterly flabbergasted.
"W-what the-?!"
"'E jus' pushed the boss back?"
"Hang me, ain't ever seen that afore...!"
Therion, taking advantage of the situation a little, slips off on the side, having spotted another opening to the cavern, closer to the hostages. Let the brutes beat this one out. He wasn't hungry for another knuckle sandwich.
"… You're strong. And fast," Gaston chuckles, "And your sword is rather unique."
At the brigand captain's words, Alfyn and Primrose take notice of Berg's sword for its true form for the first time. It is as long as a claymore, with a double hand hilt and simple guard. But the blade was thicker, wider, and ended with an axe-like edge rather than a beveled point. Its polished metal had interesting runes scrawled onto its base, but they did not know what language it was from. It was indeed not quite a sword one would expect from a run of the mill mercenary.
"… As is yours," Berg says grimly, blade still positioned to strike again.
Gaston's blade was something of equally intriguing craftsmanship. The hilt and guard were golden, and the guard was a simple, thin rectangular base, but intricately decorated with minute fiery motifs drawn in metallic red ink. Its blade was slightly wider towards its beveled point. What was scrawled on the blade are runes alike to the ones on Berg's sword. Both showed the same peerless craftsmanship.
"… Where did you get that," Berg asks in a voice barely level, eyes narrowing.
"Oh, interested, are we? That's a nice fire in yer eyes…" Gaston's grin is unceasing, "I got it from an old friend as a parting gift."
"…" Berg lets the accursed name fall from his lips.
"Erhardt?"
Gaston's face twitches in amusement almost. Most of everyone else listening had no idea what that name meant. But it was getting palpably tense. Prim sees the other brigands begin to draw their arms. She nudges Alfyn lightly with her elbow, her daggers gripped furtively behind.
"So, ye know 'im… an' with some history too, I'll reckon," Gaston says, voice dripping with anticipation and relish.
"… As if I needed more reason to cut you down…" For a moment, Berg's stance lowered. But he merely took one more offensive, "But I will have you tell me before I split you in twain… where is the man?"
"If you want to ask the question… I'll have you earn the right!" Gaston dashes in, "This is what we were waitin' for, boys!"
At his cry, several of the brigands leap forward, some cackling with savage abandon as they draw their axes, no longer unsure. Alfyn swallows and draws his axe. Prim and Sadiq stand before the brigands who skirt around Berg. It seems Gaston wants the warrior for himself.
"Come, Berg! I want to know the depths of yer strength!"
"You will regret this, brigand!" Berg roars in response as he meets him with a ferocious charge.
"A-ahh…!" The apothecary sweats a bit as he sees the oncoming bandits.
"Alfyn, keep calm!" Primrose says brusquely.
"Hi-ho!" Sadiq swings his spear downwards and slams a brigand on the crown of his head with the shaft. There is a crack as the man falls backwards, eyes rolled into his head.
But these men are not easily deterred by the fall of their own. And their numbers offered them great advantage. The spear and axe were not so effective against their tactics. Their own axes could parry polearms and wider, flat blades. Primrose downs one after stabbing his chest, but her efforts alone were far too little to deal with them. They all get a little separated amid the fray.
"Ugh-!" Alfyn is knocked down by a vicious kick. The offending brigand proceeds to step on him.
"Alfyn!" Prim growls and her eyes glow red, "Night Ode!"
An arc of darkness flares from her hand and blasts three bandits, including the one antagonizing Alfyn. They cry out from the accursed magic as it seems to sap the life out of their bodies. It is not entirely able to knock them out, but it does bring them down to their knees, making them easier targets for Sadiq to pick off.
"Wahoo!" He eagerly plunges his spear into one. But another tears a gash on his arm. The old man normally was inured but this time he winced.
Therion quickly popped up around the back entrance of the cavern. It seems all brigand hands were on deck fighting. The hostages were left unguarded. What idiots. It was a good idea after all to split for a different venue.
He furtively sneaks over to the nearest hostage, who gives a muffled grunt of surprise. Therion motions for him to keep quiet as he goes to sever the bonds with his old dagger. All the while, he kept a watchful eye on the fight's progress.
Gaston and Berg were like two beasts, completely embroiled within their own clashing territory. The lackeys skirted around them, because if Berg didn't cut them down, Gaston sure as hells would. Their swords created sparks as bright as the flames illuminated on their blades. Gaston had speed, undoubtedly. Berg matched it, and with muscle too. The two seemed evenly matched, neither gaining much of any ground on the other in pure sword play.
"Yer good alright... How about this!"
Gaston throws a wide level slash at the mercenary. Berg blocks it, but the impact on his blade was still a little numbing, given its force. He is forced back a few inches. That was enough for Gaston to get up in his face.
Berg saw the flash of the sword and parries it again, but he felt it was light. A one-handed strike. Gaston's other arm flies from his side and bludgeons the scarred side of his head, seemingly from nowhere. It was an even greater force than when he hit Therion. The mercenary could swear he heard ringing and felt his brain jostle in his own skull. Then it suddenly all went dark. Amid a spurt of blood from his nostrils, Berg's eyes rolled up and he collapsed forward on his knees. With a solid smack to the back, Gaston sent the big man sprawling on the ground, where he lay unmoving.
"S-SIR BERG!" Philip cries shrilly. He struggles to go to the man as Therion holds him back to cut the ropes.
The boy's cry draws Gaston's attention, much to the thief's immense annoyance. Some other brigands look too.
"'Ey, e's tryin' t' steal the hostages!"
"Take the others," Gaston says nonchalantly as he strides towards the thief, "'Ello there, friend."
Therion's neck hairs prick up at the tone of his voice. Philip darts away from him, not scared at all, running for the unconscious mercenary.
"Yer suggestion was golden. Now we've got 'im," Gaston says with a grin too wide. He was now directly before the thief. He let Philip pass him without resistance.
"... Yeah," Therion mutters and fingers his bangle, "So you got something to get this off or what?"
"'Fraid not."
He figured he'd say that. Never trust a bandit.
In the next split millisecond, Gaston saw the thief's fingers move. The thief wasn't as strong as Berg, for sure. But he was faster. Much faster.
There is a sudden howl throughout the cavern of a wounded beast. It momentarily halts all battle.
"What th- Boss?!"
The brigands had never heard such a cry from their leader.
Alfyn, who had run over to Berg's side along with Philip, turns and gasps.
Gaston was bristling, panting heavily. Stuck in his abdomen was the protruding hilt of a dagger. One hand clutched at the bloody wound. The other had punched Therion into the wall. Blood dripped from both his hands. Therion's limply hangs from where the fist nailed his head, with an occasional twitch from his fingers.
"THERION!"
"Gah..." Gaston relinquishes his hold on the thief, letting the bloodied man slide to the floor in a heap. He looks at his wound with disgust, "Poison..."
"Tsk..." Primrose scowls as she slashes another brigand. Two downed on their side. The odds were bad enough as it was.
"Berg, sir Berg! Please..." Philip shakes the downed man with desperation, "Please wake up...!"
"You lowly thief!" Gaston growls and kicks the motionless thief.
"Ugh..." Alfyn scrambles to his feet and runs at Gaston, "STOP IT!"
Out of desperation, he throws his axe. It lands lower, striking Gaston's leg. The madman howls again. The poison was already making him sluggish. Now he stumbles a bit to face the apothecary, who wrangles with him, trying to pull him away from the hostages and Therion. With another punch, he sends Alfyn sprawling, and spills some contents from his bag.
"Guh!" Alfyn gasps and struggles to get up. The punch might have re-fractured his just-healed broken rib.
"Alfyn!" Primrose gives a slight gasp when a brigand cuts her across her arm, "Ngh!"
Sadiq gives a low grunt as he's knocked down by three brigands. The dancer cannot see him past the movement of bodies leering at her. As the tides of battle seemed ready to crush them, she felt that desperate emotion again. The one she felt when something in her snapped … when Yusufa died … when she watched a girl become orphaned by the death of her father… That bubbling, all-consuming power was threatening to burst.
"GRR...!"
A furious series of movements spawn from her body in a blur of darkness. Several brigands are encircled by the snare and flung like marionettes on a string away to the cave walls. Berg blinks a bit blearily, having regained his senses. He watches the nightmarish ode with awe. The red-eyed dancer now runs to blast Gaston away before he can harm Alfyn or Therion further.
"Sir! I'm glad you're alright...!" Philip says with relief. In his hand is the stem of the revival herb he used from Alfyn's spilled satchel.
"...Philip!" Berg looks to the boy with renewed urgency, "You need to round up the others and get away! Leave this fight to us. Go now, soldier."
The boy was about to protest. But at the address of "soldier," he can only salute and hurry to accomplish what his role model ordered him do. Berg stands, not a waver in his step to rejoin the battle. His head was still ringing, and his eyes hurt a bit when he looked too quickly. But there wasn't a lot left to do. The dancer had disposed of most of the brigands with her dark magic. As she battled with Gaston, the toll of the magic was beginning to show and her movements slow.
"Yer an interestin' woman..." Gaston leers as he deflects her dark strikes, "I reckon ye've killed a lot eh?"
"Shut UP!" She sends a black flare at his face. Any lesser would have been taken by surprise.
But he merely deflects it with a whirl of his blade. On his face is a mischievous grin. Exhausted, Primrose pauses in movement for a second. That was all the brigand needed. Berg realized he was watching it happen all over again.
With that single stroke, Erhardt severed King Alfred-
"NO!"
Gaston brings down his mighty blow. Berg had moved at that moment to intercept it. But Sadiq was faster.
The old man's strength had waned a lot through their constant battles now. The force from the blow did not break his spear. But it shattered his arm, allowing the blade to bypass the shaft and push down, deep into his chest. Primrose, behind the old man, can only stare once more in abject terror. She had been protected yet again.
Blood spurts from the grievous wound and the spear clatters onto the floor. Sadiq sags to the ground slowly, limply slumping onto his knees. There is a rasp of breath from him.
"The old man was still moving?" Gaston gives a slight pant, having used much stamina in that blow, "Tsk…"
The dancer suddenly rushes towards him in a blur of red. No more magic tricks. Just pure, silent fury pouring from her eyes. Her pure speed allows her to thrust a dagger into him. But he moved at the last moment, so the blade missed anything vital, lodging into his shoulder. He grunts and sends her flying with a solid backhanded slap. She lands with a crash, toppling the nearby table.
"Prim!" Alfyn watches in horror at the bodies about the place. Regardless, his shaky hands move to treat Therion, "Shit… Dammit…!"
"Argh… bitch!" Gaston winces as the venom and other wounds take their toll. Half his face is turning a sickly grey color from the viper dagger. Nonetheless, he faces Berg with grim resolution, gripping his sword for another might blow.
"… I commend you on your strength," Berg says grudgingly as he readies his own sword, "But you are clearly on your last legs."
"… Me mum always said I'd die a dog's death…" The brigand chuckles lowly, "Can't do a single lick o' honest work… just swingin' a sword… … So, COME!"
Despite his injuries, Gaston charges with the same vigor from the beginning, whirling his blade. Berg meets the charge with a level slash. While he was close to having had his brains bashed out, Berg's sword swings at a steady arc, catching the other's blow and shifting its momentum.
"Sometimes, hitting harder just doesn't get the job done, Olberic."
His sword grinds along the flat of the other and delivers a solid blow across the other man's chest. But he wasn't done.
I learned that from you, Erhardt… And I made these techniques from those lessons. All for the purpose … so that if I see you again…
Berg's arm swings in an arc, coming down from the other side. He cuts across Gaston once more, from a mirrored angle to the first stroke. The cuts intersect like a cross on Gaston's body.
I'll kill you.
Gaston makes no sound as he falls back, blood streaming from his wounds. He lands with a heavy thud on his back. There is suddenly silence, save for the heavy breathing. Berg staggers a little, still feeling the concussion. But when he's about to fall, he feels two pairs of arms help hold him up.
"Geez you're heavy…" The bloody-faced thief grunts.
"Berg! You alright?" Alfyn looks to the mercenary worriedly.
"Ugh… Y-yes… Thank you, Alfyn…"
The two help him sit down.
"…Where… are the hostages?" Berg doesn't even notice his nose bleeding still.
"The kid led them all out…" Therion winces a bit, holding one side of his head, "Gods, that fucking hurt…"
"Philip should bring some reinforcements, right…" Alfyn wipes the mercenary's nose, "Oh shoot, Sadi!"
"Yes…" Berg holds the apothecary's handkerchief to his face as Alfyn goes to where the old man kneels, "All these brigands… will serve their terms in the gaol…"
"Sadi? Sadi! Don't worry… I-I'll close these wounds…" The apothecary's trained hand was fumbling on the bloody body as his other hand rummages his bag for bandages, "Ugh... s-so much blood... oh b-buh... don't worry..."
"… Alfyn," Therion goes to the hysterical apothecary, shoving down the sickening feeling in his stomach. It was similar... or exactly the same, to seeing the girl in the desert.
Sadiq's body had a gaping wound from his shoulder down to the base of his ribs, and it looked ready to split his torso. The other wounds littering his body were bloody and bruised. He hadn't even healed from the brigand's earlier assaults. But his face … for some reason, looked serene. His lips move a little and Therion hears the low gasps of the dying.
"S-Sadi…?" Alfyn bends down, somewhat hesitant and afraid.
What the old man whispered, Therion could barely pick up even with his keen hearing. But he sees Alfyn twitch. Then those broad shoulders quake a little.
"… Ok... Good night… Sadi…" Alfyn chokes up.
Therion saw some of the men around groan. Prim's crazy magic had left some of them alive. For the first time, he was feeling something burning from within, egging, goading him to end them. He looks back to Sadiq's body and his scowl lessens.
"… Thanks for everything, old man."
…
Gaston thought he'd feel the all-devouring heat of the afterworld come up upon him like a flame to a kettle. Indeed, he felt pain, but it was of the cold kind. There were muddled voices all around in the darkness as he floated. He heard his mother again.
"I gave you life… and you humiliate me in front of this whole forsaken town!"
"I knew your father gave you bad blood… you'll die a dog's death as he!"
She was long gone though. But there were others in the dark. Voices from the villagers he'd terrorized. They rose up like an angry wind, merging into a single, ghastly howl that threatened to drown him in choking rage. He felt like he'd pass out.
"NO! YOU DON'T GET IT THAT EASY! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"
"GET… UP…"
"…Alright, up with you."
He blinks blearily at the man shouting at him. An armed villager. He felt pain all over his body. But he couldn't move. His wrists were bound. Above, he could see the ceiling of the cave lit by the flames.
He was alive.
"Ugh…" The brigand leader winces, feeling his wounds still. But they had been treated sufficiently.
"Come on. You're going to the gaols."
As he's roughly shoved to his feet, he sees a good portion of his men are also tied up and being led out by the village cavalry. The dead were covered in sackcloth to be disposed of.
Berg was standing, watching the herding of the criminals to the cells. His nose bleed had stopped and Alfyn treated his concussion further. The thief and green one are helping with some bodies and the green one was even treating them. Likely he cured whatever poison was in the thief's dagger. The bitch in red was sitting before a covered body, holding onto a spear.
"… So, I live…" Gaston mutters as he passes the hedge knight, "By your grace, I assume."
"…You and your men will answer for your crimes," Berg says stoically.
Gaston smirks with mockery, "Well, a man's got to own up some time, hm."
"And that you will. Move it."
The villager shoves him roughly along.