Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

I blow out a breath as we crouch behind a low outcropping of rock, positioned some distance from Dylan's camp. The air here is stale and musty, carrying the faint scent of smoke from their campfires.

"I can barely see! I do not understand why we have to be so far away," Riselle protests. Her voice is a whisper, but it is still delivered forcefully, her frustration evident. Melanie shakes her head and sucks in a breath through her nose, letting it out before responding.

"We do not want to risk being spotted, Riselle. We talked about this already." Her tone is patient but firm, brooking no argument.

Adaran nods in agreement. Riselle grumbles, but she falls silent. I turn my attention back to the camp ahead of us.

Players move about the encampment, which has large and small tents, with fires set up in two different places. A half-constructed wall made of rocks and random stones surrounds the perimeter, not overly large, clearly sourced from the dungeon. And then I see him—Dylan himself is present.

He is similar to me in build, I grudgingly observe with narrowed eyes. He leans casually against a tent post, a sword at his hip. His hair is chestnut brown, almost artfully curled, and though I have trouble making out all of his features from this distance, they appear strong and almost noble. He wears brown leathers with a darker brown coat over them, and his hands are gloved. Dylan moves with the confidence of one used to being in command. He is to be my opponent.

My heart beats a little faster and I shift nervously. I steel myself to stillness, taking a calming breath. I can do this, and I will do this. Now is the time to test myself, to truly see if I am a good swordsman or not.

I bring up my katana skills in my mind, checking my progress.

Your katana skill is Journeyman level 10.

I had not expected it to progress so quickly, but it seems the spiders had been high-level. Honestly, how does the Judge determine when a level is warranted? I shake my head, dismissing the question; it is unhelpful for now.

I look over at Melanie and say, "I am going to approach now and set this in motion. Are you ready?"

She nods and moves silently around the wall to the corridor that heads back the way we came. A second later she returns, but this time she is followed by many people holding bows, as many as eight of them. She nods at me, her eyes blazing with determination. I take a deep breath and stand up.

The crimson river in my Domain churns with anticipation, almost eager for the coming confrontation. I push away the discomfort this causes me—what does it say about me that part of my essence craves violence?

With one final glance at Melanie, I approach the camp, ready to confront Dylan.

The two guards at what could be called the entrance of the camp wear the same basic brown leathers I am beginning to see so much of; they hold out swords pointed directly at me to bar my way and shake their heads.

"Who are you?" One sneers. He is a bulky man with a very mouse-like face, dark hair cut short, and dull brown eyes. The sneer makes him look particularly ugly. The one next to him is smaller in build, with a gruff face, unsmiling and considering as his brown eyes scrutinize me.

I analyze the pair.

The one on the left is a level 11 warrior. The one on the right is a level 12 brute. Both are humans.

I nod, wondering if Melanie and the others are on a similar level. Why have I not analyzed them? It just has not occurred to me before, and that was a mistake. That kind of information could prove useful; I need to do it more often. I rest a hand on my katana.

"Where is your boss?" I ask. The brute spits at my feet, his ugly features twisting into something even more horrifying to look at.

"That is none of your concern, worthless newb. Get lost or else." The warrior says nothing, but his gaze flicks to my katana and back to me. I nod pleasantly.

"I do not think he would be very happy to hear that you turned away a challenger. Have not you analyzed me yet? Surely you can see I am a swordsman." I touch the hilt of my katana for emphasis. The brutish guard narrows his eyes for a flash of a second, but then he laughs, and there is no humor in it.

"I doubt you would be much of a challenge; you are a low-level scrub, barely level 4. Worthless." He sneers again as he glares at me, his eyes full of hate.

"How would Dylan feel about you making that decision? Come on now, run and tell your boss, and at the very least he can decide for himself, or do you think you know better?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

The brutish guard takes a menacing step forward, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. The silent one places a hand on his shoulder, firm and uncompromising. He shakes his head as the angry guard glances at him. He scowls but steps back. The silent guard turns and walks into the camp, his strides purposeful.

I smile at the remaining guard, whose eyes burn with undisguised menace.

"If the boss does decide to fight you, scum, you must know that you will lose. The boss will cut out your heart and send you to respawn in pieces."

I feel a pulse of fear tighten around my quickening heart. The crimson river in my Domain surges in response, not with fear but with excitement—a reaction that disturbs me even more than the guard's threat. I push the feeling aside and simply smile widely at the guard.

"Which is it? Will he cut me into pieces first, or will he cut out my heart first? It seems to me that if he cut out my heart, cutting my body into pieces afterwards would be kind of redundant."

The guard's fists whiten, and his breath comes harder. He is a hair's breadth from violence. Yet he does not get his chance to act on it. The silent guard has returned, and Dylan is with him.

Dylan scrutinizes me, taking in my stance and my eyes flicking to my katana. His sword hand grips his sword's hilt, but it is not in anger but rather in anticipation. His eyes glitter, like those of a predator ready to pounce.

"My guards tell me you are challenging me. Are you sure about that? You are only level 4, which seems like suicide to me."

I have come this far, and I certainly am not going to back down now. I grin at Dylan, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach.

"Trying to give me an out? I had not heard you were a coward."

That does it. Dylan's eyes go dead, and his face settles into a calm mask. His voice is colder than winter snow.

"Follow me," he replies.

I follow him deeper into their camp, and we pass several cages. In them are people with dead eyes, and as I look into those dead eyes, I catch flashes of something precious, a light being corrupted by darkness. Something hardens within me then, and my eyes narrow. I take a breath, calming the flash of anger that lances through me.

My mother's voice whispers in memory: "Stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves." The fragment fades as quickly as it came, but its impact remains. These captives need help, and I am the distraction that will hopefully set them free.

Soon we come to a clearing where there are no tents or bedrolls. Mannequins have been set up, and it becomes clear to me that this is a practice area. People begin gathering around Dylan and me in a loose circle. Dylan draws his blade in a smooth motion.

"Let us get this over with; I have things to be about," Dylan states with a bored tone.

I sigh, and I analyze Dylan.

This is Dylan Roache, a level 16 swordsman.

My lips twist into a frown; he is significantly higher level than I am. I am not sure I can win this, and I could very well lose another life here. I am not eager to die; losing just another life would put me on my last one; lose that, and I would not be coming back. I draw my katana and steel myself. I really hope Melanie and her people are getting into position. They are supposed to begin the attack as soon as the fight is underway.

Dylan holds up a hand to the others.

"No one is to interfere," he commands.

Then he attacks. The first thing I am forced to notice is that I am outclassed. I am simply not prepared for his speed; the man moves like lightning itself. Instinct guides me, and I barely fend off his slash with my katana. Still, though I fend it off, the blade has more reach than I account for, and it nicks my shoulder.

You have been lightly wounded and are bleeding.

I almost laugh at the Judge for pointing out the obvious. Except I have no time for laughter, and the pain is not pleasant. I push the pain away; Dylan is sizing me up. His predatory eyes are scanning me, taking in my balanced stance and the way I hold the blade. There is a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

That is when arrows begin to slam into the crowd. Shouts of pain fill the air, and blood spurts from open wounds, coating the dark gray stone. Dylan does not seem to care. He merely watches me and then strikes like a viper. He comes low, and I manage to deflect the slash and then the overhead slash that follows it. Back and forth, we move across that clearing, a dangerous dance of blades.

Your katana skill has increased to level 11.

I dodge an overhead slash, ducking under it as a massive roar echoes off the walls. Melanie's crew has attacked. Dylan cocks his head at me.

"You are relieved. You should not be," Dylan says as he hurls toward me like a lightning bolt.

I earn a slice on my ribs, opening up my clothing and my skin like a ripe apple. The cut feels deeper than the last, and the pain is so much worse that it lights up my entire being, and I want to howl and fling my blade. Instead, I grit my teeth and push the pain away. I will not allow it to take me.

The crimson river in my Domain surges toward the wound, and for a brief moment, I feel a strange connection between my blood and the blood spilling from my cut. I ignore it, focusing on the fight.

I have to acknowledge that I am losing. A thought floats across my mind, but its passing is a storm of warning.

Why is not Dylan concerned about the attack? I understand that he has a hatred for defeating other swordsmen, some kind of complex, but anyone in his position should be showing some concern. His people are being shot with arrows; a battle is erupting around him. Why does he not appear the least bit worried?

Dylan does not give me time to think it through; he is on me again, and my katana dances with his blade, fending off his attacks with desperation more than anything else. Then a deadly combination of blades leads to both of our blades locked against each other. Dylan smiles at me through the gap between the blades. He appears not to struggle at all with holding me back.

"Did you think I had no contingencies in place for this? Melanie is my enemy. I knew she wanted my head, so I knew she would try something like this. Maybe not this specifically; I have to admit, she certainly knows how to push me, but I knew she would try something."

My eyes widen, and then Dylan pushes me away with force and produces a dagger with his off hand. In one blur of motion, a burst of speed even faster than before, he stabs at me. All I can do is turn to the side, trying not to take it directly. It slashes my other side, just under my other wound. More pain erupts—a fire that threatens to consume me.

I intend to focus past it, but instead I simply drop to the ground, like a stone, katana clattering beside me, its sound a distant echo as my vision begins to blur and twist, barely making out the notification that lights up my mind.

You have been critically injured. You have been poisoned with a paralytic; however, it is only partially effective.

Dylan crouches beside me, his face swimming in and out of focus.

"I would have preferred to beat you in a straight-up fight. Frankly, though, you lack the skill to beat me. You wield the blade; you do it well, but you are not one with it. Your skill clearly came from your Domain, not added to it, but you do not embrace that part of yourself. Disappointing. Well, I suppose it is time to deal with this little incursion into my camp by your allies."

Dylan stands and waves a hand. Suddenly, vines erupt from the ground and lance through warriors and archers alike. The vines do not seem to have any kind of limit on distance; they move like living spears, seeking out Melanie's people and piercing or grabbing them.

I had not paid too much attention to the battle around us; I had been too focused on Dylan, but now I have plenty of time. Warriors engage with one another, slashing with blades; one takes the head of one of Dylan's followers with a brutal overhead slash. Mages weave spells and fling them at others, setting tents ablaze. Yet Dylan's vines snake through all of it, unconcerned and unworried.

As I lie there, partially paralyzed, the crimson river in my Domain writhes with frustration. I feel it reaching for the blood seeping from my wounds, as if trying to call it back. The sensation is disturbing but also somehow comforting—a reminder that I am not yet defeated, not completely.

My hand inches toward the bag of holding at my belt. If I can just reach one of the blood shard bombs...

That is when something truly monstrous enters the battle. A nightmare roar splits the air, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Whatever that roar is, it is undeniably not human, not elf, not any race I have seen or heard of up to this point. It is hellish and rageful.

It is coming for us.

Through blurred vision, I see a massive shape moving through the chaos, tearing through both Dylan's people and Melanie's forces with equal savagery. I strain to see clearly, but the paralytic poison clouds my vision.

The crimson river in my Domain surges with renewed vigor, as if detecting something kindred in the approaching monstrosity. The strange thirst that has lingered at the back of my throat since awakening returns with sudden intensity, and I wonder with growing dread what that means.

Dylan's attention has shifted from me to the new threat, his eyes widening in recognition or perhaps fear. The shift in his demeanor tells me this was not part of his plan. Whatever is coming, it threatens us all equally.

I feel the ground shake with each step of the approaching creature…and I could do nothing to stop it.