Chapter 42: Underestimating
At this point, Tulland was completely unarmored, having sacrificed all of his strong briars to the attack. There were dozens of strong briars in there, presumably doing their best to drag down the roguish killer. He needed to get there as quick as he could before the man was able to clear the vines, or it would be that much harder to do what he planned. On the other hand, if the flowers and vines combined weren’t enough, Tulland was pretty sure he would just die, stabbed from some shadow by a weapon he had no hope of blocking.
The reality was a bit different.
“Oooowwww.” The rogue man was rolling around in the briar, bleeding from dozens of thorns dug into him. “Ha. No! Haaa. No! Gods!”
Good enough? I have a chance now?
I would say so. But are you sure you want to…
Tulland tuned the System out but didn’t cut the communications. He could do what needed to be done. He didn’t need the System second guessing him. And with the rogue mostly out of commission, Tulland knew he could accomplish it so long as he had the guts to try. Even if the psychedelic wore off, the in position briars would probably hold the man now.
But it just wouldn’t be a clean thing. Tulland didn’t have combat skills. And he was not strong, in most senses of the word. He lifted his spear up, tears burning his eyes, and thrust, stopping just an inch before the man’s face. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, even if he was wavering in his heart of hearts. It was because the rogue, despite cycling through the emotions of joy and sorrow as dictated from the Acheflowers, found a hand to take out the Wolfwood purse from his pocket.
“You killed her,” Tulland stated.
“I did! I kill… oh, lots. Or did I? There’s no way to know” The man grinned, then went serious. His madness was clear, even through the drugging. “It’s my right. The weak are sacrifices to my strength. For my world. Unless they weren’t. I’m not telling.”