Chapter 99; The Price of Balance
The first arrows thudded into the sides of the wagons with a dry clatter. The riders approached rapidly. Their horses moved in a tight wedge, hooves tearing up the dry earth.
"Hold the line!" Mortis rasped, his beak-mask twitching with every word. "Don't let them break the circle!"
Two apprentices ripped the tarpaulin off a heavy crate and began hurling flasks of "Yellow Mist" at the attackers. Glass shattered against rocks and hooves, releasing clouds of acrid, mustard-colored gas. The horses began to wheeze and rear, breaking formation, but the momentum of the charge was still immense.
I stood on the roof of a wagon. The wind lashed against my face, bringing the stench of horse sweat and iron.
Ruth, the second guard—a tall, wiry man with a face disfigured by scars—had already leapt down. He met the first rider with a wide sweep of his longsword, hamstringing the horse.
I wasn't looking at the rank-and-file raiders. My target was in the center.
One man stood out among the rest. He wore filthy rags, and his face was concealed behind a bird-skull mask. The air around him shimmered and distorted.
I saw him raise his hands. A gray vortex began to swirl around his palms, drawing in dust and dry grass, compressing them into a dense projectile.
Attack vector: frontal. Airflow density: abnormal. Projectile formation speed: 0.8 seconds.
I jumped down from the wagon. The exact second my boots hit the ground, I activated the Skill. But this time, something was wrong...
I surged forward. With every step, I locally altered the air density in front of me, erasing environmental resistance.
The mage noticed me. He threw his hands up, and a torrent of compressed air slammed toward me.
I thrust the Centurion forward, forming a wedge-shaped zone of ultra-high pressure ahead of me. The mage's projectile slammed into this invisible shield. Submitting to the laws of physics I had just rewritten, it deflected violently sideways, knocking two riders from their saddles.
I closed the distance to the mage in a single leap.
The sword passed through his chest, and he was literally ripped from his saddle and thrown backward. Two swordsmen who tried to cover their leader fell next. I sheared through the first one's collarbone. For the second, I altered the vector of his own swing, forcing him to drive his saber deep into his own horse's neck.
Mortis unleashed a stream of "liquid flame," turning three raiders into living torches.
I turned around and saw Ruth. The guard was on his knees, clutching a wound in his abdomen. His sword was snapped in half. Five dead men lay before him. The last of those riders, a massive brute with a heavy claymore, delivered the finishing blow. Ruth collapsed onto his back, his eyes glazing over.
"Retreat! To the wagons!" Mortis roared, backing away toward the wagon where Klop was hiding.
Only three remained. They wheeled their horses around for a final attack. Bloody spots swam before my eyes. Every movement required immense effort, as if I were wading through molten lead.
Inertia cancellation. Maximum radius.
I slammed the flat of the Centurion against the ground.
Stripped of their inertia in a fraction of a second, the horses drove their legs into the dirt and flipped over their heads. They snapped their own spines, along with those of their riders.
And at that exact moment, the dam inside me broke.
I felt blood pour from my eyes and ears. My consciousness flickered and went out. I collapsed face-first into the golden grass.
I didn't see one of the riders—the very same brute with the heavy claymore—miraculously survive the fall. His face covered in blood, swaying and wheezing, he staggered to his feet. His eyes burned with an insane thirst for vengeance.
"I'll kill you..." he rasped, lifting his massive blade.
He headed toward me. Mortis and the rest of the alchemists were too far away. The brute raised the steel over my head. I lay motionless.
And then, something darted out from under the wagon.
Klop simply leaped. He slammed into me with all his weight, throwing my body aside, right out of the strike's trajectory.
The sword came down.
A heavy, wet sound cut through the air. The steel drove into Klop's shoulder and chest, pinning him to the ground instead of me. Klop let out only a short, choking gasp.
The brute tried to wrench the sword free for a second strike, but that brief delay gave the alchemists the exact seconds they needed.
"Monster!" Mortis roared.
Three crossbow bolts buried themselves into the raider's chest. A flask of "liquid flame" followed immediately after.
Silence fell.
The wind continued to sway the golden grass. The sunset painted the plain in a soft pink hue. Mortis was the first to run over to us. He roughly rolled me onto my back, checking my pulse.
"Alive... he's still alive."
He shifted his gaze to Klop. The boy lay two paces away, his black tunic rapidly soaking through with blood. The sword still protruded from his body. Mortis dropped to his knees and gently lifted the boy's head. Klop opened his eyes.
"I... Iron..." he whispered. "Is he... alright?"
"He's alright, kid. You saved him," Mortis's voice cracked.
Klop tried to smile, but bloody foam bubbled on his lips. His gaze began to wander, catching on the fading sun.
"Beautiful..." he breathed. "Here... in the steppe... it's really beautiful."
His head slumped back limply.
Mortis stood up, wiping his blood-stained hands on the hem of his cloak.
"Load him onto the wagon," he ordered, pointing at me. "And the bodies... gather the bodies. We won't leave them here for the monsters to eat."
They dragged Iron onto the boards lined with hay. Beneath the bleeding sky of the Golden Plains, the caravan moved on.