Chapter 337: Bone Breaker |
Bone Breaker
Healing Hall
Deep down, even Sir Harold questioned the sanity of fighting such a massive creature. Even with all his prowess, he was still only human, and he did not know what kind of corrupted magic had created this foul thing. Still, he had been born stubborn. Too stubborn to know when to give up. It was a trait his family had never liked. They had wanted him to abandon the sword and learn commerce instead. A knight should know numbers, they said, not merely how to bash other men’s skulls.
That same stubbornness had led him here, standing against an abominable creature that refused to die.
Still, he had no regrets.
As the massive creature stirred, fear rippled through the men. Several became so distracted that a small wave of undead pushed through their line and struck hard, driving men back with panicked shouts.
The situation was critical.
Sir Harold was about to step forward when a physician called from the rear, “Sir!”
The cry drew several heads.
Sir Harold gave him a brief look of acknowledgment. But to know it was one thing. To reach it was another. The creature had undead crawling over its back, and he doubted a mere slash would cut deep enough. More likely, he would need to hew through it, for its muscle and sinew were tough even against the sharpest blade.
“Clear the way,” he said to his men, who only glanced before moving to clear the area.
The Banneret shortened his grip on the chain and yelled his battle cry as he charged toward the creature. Several undead blocked his path, but he simply barreled through them as he went, sending them tumbling aside.
The hulking creature had barely begun to rise when the cauldron slammed into its side. It howled as part of its ribs caved in, but Sir Harold was far from finished. He hauled the cast iron back and swung it down again, smashing the creature’s chest a second time. A sickening crunch rang out. When using it as a flail proved too slow, Sir Harold seized the hot cauldron with his hands, lifted it high, and slammed it down with all his might, this time crushing it into the creature’s face.
A wet rupture followed. The eyes burst and collapsed against the steaming metal surface.
Heaving for breath, Sir Harold cast the cauldron aside and drew his dagger. His men readily intercepted the undead rushing toward them.
“Commander!” Walter called and threw him his falchion, the one he had dropped.
He was about to catch it when the creature suddenly struck him aside. Sir Harold crashed and rolled across the floor.
The creature rose in haste, dark blood and foul ooze spilling from its ruined jaws and other torn openings, and began flailing its arms in wild confusion.
“It’s blind?” Walter observed before parrying and impaling a suicidal undead that refused to die.
Nearby, the physicians and infirmarians dared to help Sir Harold to his feet again. He was dazed and disoriented. His eyelids felt heavy. The side of his head burned.
“Easy, easy...” the older physician said as he examined the head wound. The left side of Sir Harold’s head had struck the floor hard. His left ear was bruised, and one eye had swollen like that of a pugilist after a brutal fight.
“This is going to sting a little,” the physician said, hastily cleaning the wound with wine vinegar.
Sir Harold gritted his teeth, but the pain jolted him back to life.
In desperation, the female infirmarian with the angelic face who had assisted him earlier hurried to the toppled cauldron and seized the still-hot chain with her bare hand, intending to drag it back to Sir Harold. She could not move it even an inch. But the moment the chain clinked against the iron, the creature turned sharply toward the sound.
Everyone went tense at once.
Yet instead of charging toward it, the creature let out a strange whimper and, to everyone’s astonishment, turned away.
Realizing what had happened, Sir Harold jolted upright, strode to the infirmarian, took the chain from her hand, and gave it a sharp shake. Iron rattled loudly through the hall.
As if driven by that sound, the creature bolted away, crashing into the undead.
“It knows fear?” Walter exclaimed, though he could scarcely believe it himself.
Sir Harold had beaten the fearsome undead creature so brutally that it had learned fear and fled just from the sound of his weapon.
“Don’t just stand there. Seal the door!” Walter commanded in a hoarse voice.
The men rushed to the door while Sir Harold kept the chain clanking, driving the fell creature away as it crashed through the mass of undead, crushing and killing many in its path. At last, fortune in war had turned once more in their favor.
With the last of their strength, the surviving men frantically shoved the door shut and began heaving the barricade back into place. Against vile odds, they had survived the worst the Lich had thrown at them.
But horror struck.
A second large creature, this one clad in armor and wielding a crude, large sword, emerged from a different corridor.
The men could only stare in shocked silence.
As dread took hold, several men flinched, and one of the infirmarians even fainted from fear. Then the lights in the corridor were snuffed out one by one until all was pitch black. The second creature suddenly stopped moving. A moment later, a woman’s long breath of relief came from the darkness, followed by softly spoken words from somewhere beside it.
“Finally, I don’t have to wear this mask anymore.”
***
Undead Creature, Corridor
It was dark, so dark that even with corrupted blood in his eyes, the hulking armored creature could not see the corridor walls. Through the slit of his battle helm, he saw only the silhouette of a person, outlined by the faint aura of magic. Rather than showing any concern at meeting him, the figure merely flexed both arms.
“Ah, finally,” she said in a soft, relaxed voice, revealing the figure to be a woman. “I can remove this mask.”
Her confidence unsettled the creature. He had just seen the Saint's mindless brute flee from some unknown threat near the hall at the far end of the corridor.
Was she the one who did that?
He did not think so, for she had come from a different passage.
Despite the darkness, the woman fixed her gaze on him. Her eyes took on a slightly deeper golden hue, the mark of a mage. “Finally, a worthy opponent. Not a bear, but close enough. I was growing tired of facing walking corpses. It felt less like swordplay and more like carpentry against twigs and branches.”
The creature gazed toward the lantern near him, which should have revealed the full height and bulk of his body, yet that did not seem to deter the talkative woman.
As if to prove her claim, she began to take calm, casual steps toward him, holding a weapon obscured by the darkness.
His instinct told him to step back. Something in his corrupted heart suddenly went cold.
“You’re stronger, right?” she asked. “I don't want to kill you too fast for ruining my night.”
The creature gulped and worked his mouth, trying to wet it. It felt dry, burdened by the two long tongues stitched together and left dangling in the open, though he did not know why they had been put there. His memory was hazy at best, filled with fragments of a man he did not know. All he truly remembered was a Sister.
“A n g e l a?” he spoke in a raw, mangled voice, the stitched tongues twisting the word into something grotesque.
“You speak?” came the answer, edged with mockery as her footsteps echoed closer. “Do you have a name?”
“H... h... Horf...”
The woman fighter suddenly stopped. Her whole demeanor changed. Her voice, dangerous but playful only a moment ago, turned cold and heartless. “Did you just say Hohendorf?”
A sharp pain pierced his ears, enough to make him turn as if something had struck him. Finding nothing, the creature looked back at her and gave a nod before repeating his question.
“A n g e l a?”
What he got in return was restrained, dignified laughter edged with cold mockery. “I finally found you, O betrayer. So this is what the Saint made of you? A fitting fate. Now then, you may begin to regret it, for there is a blood debt between us, and I mean to collect. I’m going to carve your head and back and leave you alive long enough to watch the ducks devour the rest of your—”
“Easy, easy,” a solemn male voice came from behind her. A beam of bright white light approached through the darkness.
“My Lord, I found the betrayer. Hohendorf.”
The creature stirred. His heart seemed to skip a beat. “L o r d?”
He saw several figures approaching, one of them a man he vividly remembered. A black-haired man. At once, his breathing turned heavy and his fingers twitched. His eyes darted toward the path leading back to the lower floor.
“Careful, My Lord,” a younger man in armor said as he quickly moved to shield the black-haired man. “It’s a very large undead.”
The beam of light fell upon the hulking creature’s body. Before the Lord stood several men with shields and polearms.
“We meet again, Hohendorf,” the Lord said. “Still, I don't remember you being this large.”
“The Saint has truly made a horror of him,” the woman said.
“Why is he stopping? Have you fought?”
“Not yet. We only conversed.” Her reply was unsettlingly light.
“He can talk?” His voice was filled with surprise and doubt.
“Yes, unlike the walking corpses, this one can.” She then called the creature. “Go on. Say something to your Lord. Beg!”
“L o r d,” he said, and then there was nothing else in his mind but, “A n g e l a?”
The Lord sighed and said to the woman. “Angela is the Saint Candidate named as the one who led the rebellion with Sir Hohendorf, and stole the Great Gemstone.”
The warrior lady smirked. “So, what should we do now that you have confirmed this one as traitor?”
Sensing something he could not explain, the creature took a step back, crushing several corpses underfoot.
“By the authority vested in me as Lord of Midlandia and Shogun of the Grand Alliance,” the Lord began in a clear, firm voice, “I find Sir Hohendorf guilty of rebellion against his rightful lord, of breaking his sworn oath, and of conspiring with the enemy, the Monastery. For these crimes, I sentence you to be hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
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“Oathbreaker!” the men shouted.
“Traitor bastard!”
“May your soul be forever cursed!”
“Now, be patient,” the woman warned. “Don’t come any closer, and keep the light off us.” She then settled into a sword stance even from fifty paces away, her eyes fixed sharply on the creature. “You ready?”
The creature did not know what to do, but he knew he had to defend himself. His massive muscles tensed. They could hurt his Angela.
But before he knew it, the woman's eyes were already shining, bright and fierce. The sight was mesmerizing, and he could not tear his gaze away. In the next instant, the hulking creature groaned. Though he was scarcely capable of feeling pain, his eyes and head felt as if they had been struck by lightning, prompting him to raise both his gauntleted hands to his face.
As he roared, his right foot was struck. The crudely made greave failed to protect him. From that moment on, there was only punishment.
The creature wailed, thrashing and hammering at the walls with all his might. He even rammed his back against the stone, trying to crush the attacker, but despite the falling debris, he could not find her. Meanwhile, blood was pouring from his legs, his knees, and, worst still, his mangled foot.
Dark blood smeared across the stone floor, already strewn with crushed skulls and bones.
Blindly, the creature swept his massive, armored arm in wide arcs, left and right, yet still suffered cut after cut.
Groaning, he thrashed even more wildly, bashing everything around him. He even snatched up corpses from the floor and hurled them here and there in an attempt to stop her. But the punishing thrusts and cuts kept coming.
A wet crunch echoed through the corridor as her sword slipped past his pauldron and bit deep into his shoulder.
He howled and smashed toward that direction. He held nothing back and even punched the wall again and again, determined to kill her. But as he did, another sword thrust drove into his lower back, where the crudely made armor left too much exposed.
It was not pain he felt, but the sickening drag of steel through flesh and muscle that overwhelmed his senses. He limped away, trying to turn, and then saw two golden eyes staring at him from barely an arm’s length away. He gasped.
A blinding silver flash swept across his sight. The blow at his neck tore his helmet away and cut his throat open. His massive body lurched as both hands flew to his neck, dark blood pouring through his fingers in a sudden torrent.
“Can we count that as hanged?” the woman asked viciously, without even a trace of breathlessness.
A great dread filled the creature's mind. He had done so much, yet she was not even tired. The hulking creature could only force his legs to keep him upright. There was no other way. He turned toward the path that led downstairs.
But she was already there, holding the longest sword he had ever seen.
“Not so fast. Your execution is ongoing.”
Then he saw that the Lord had already sent hundreds more men toward the other side of the Monastery. Soon, his path of escape would be blocked.
In mounting panic, the creature ran toward the opposite end of the corridor, the one that led to the hall. He knew the Saint’s brute had fled from that very place, but he had no other choice and drove his massive legs toward it in haste.
“It’s running away,” the lady warned, prompting him to move even faster while dark blood streamed from his slashed throat.
...
Lansius
Watching the hulking creature hurl its massive body down the other branch of the passage, Sir Sterling and the men around him tensed. “Careful, My Lord. He may change direction.”
Lansius stroked his chin in the dim corridor. “Why not come at us from the start, though?”
One of his stalwart Arvenian veterans scoffed. “He's deathly afraid of you, My Lord.”
“Me? Why would a fell creature like that fear me? People used to say I had the build of a shepherd,” Lansius quipped.
“They meant a war duck shepherd, My Lord,” someone behind him said, and the men before him, along with the hundred at his back, broke into chortles and laughter.
Even Lansius joined.
Then, Audrey spoke from ahead, still in Dame Jane’s guise. There was unease in her voice. “Umm... I think I saw Sir Harold on the far side of this passage—”
"Give chase, My Lord?" Sir Sterling asked at once.
“After it, men! We need to stop this creature,” Lansius commanded in haste, knowing Sir Harold was defending a hall full of wounded.
At his order, dozens of his men at once darted past him, committed to the chase. Their lanterns threw unsteady light across the dark corridor.
Over the din of the chase, Lansius shouted to Audrey, “Kill him outright if it proves too difficult. There is no need to follow the rule to the letter. We still have the Saint.”
“Good point,” she replied as she disappeared from his sight.
How Lansius envied that night vision. But his gemstone was needed to keep a lieutenant alive, and he had no regret. He patted Sir Sterling on the shoulder, and together they joined the chase.
“Hey, come back here!” he heard Audrey shout.
Then a heavy crash rang out. The creature had likely hurled itself against a barricaded door.
“Pick up the pace, gentlemen,” Lansius commanded, despite the floor being strewn with corpses and skeletal remains. The air was beyond putrid. Had they not already fought the undead army, many would have vomited. Most, like Lansius, had already emptied their stomachs and had nothing left to bring up.
The hundred men with him pushed on faster, their armor clanging and their breaths heavy, their footsteps echoing through the corridor. At last, Lansius’ group took the turn, and at once they saw the creature before the door, Audrey’s claymore slashing into its back again and again, each blow drawing a mist of dark blood.
Even so, it kept hammering the door with its crude, oversized blade, and the wood had already begun to give way. Even now, it chose to flee rather than turn and face Audrey.
Lansius swallowed dryly
I knew it. She had still held back a in training. A Mage Knight is truly powerful. I need to take better care of her.
Even so, the situation was still against them. Despite Audrey’s might, the creature remained a grave threat. Not even her heavy slashes could stop undead Hohendorf. Lansius could hear her breathing and knew the strain beginning to show.
With a thunderous crash, the creature hewed through the door with its massive blade. The hinges tore free, the wooden bar snapped, and the whole thing burst inward. It barreled inside at once, smashing through broken furniture and flinging the splintered wreckage aside with its hulking body.
“Oh, shit,” many muttered as they quickened their pace, though the skulls and corpses strewn across the floor made running difficult. A few had already slipped and gone down.
Audrey gave desperate chase and carved a shallow cut into its leg, but not even her claymore could bite through such a massive armored limb.
But abruptly, the creature stopped as though he had slammed into a solid wall. A wet, choking groan tore from his throat. His massive hands shot up to his neck. His crude sword slipped from his grasp and struck the floor with a heavy clang.
It was hard to see, but Lansius caught sight of a tall, knightly man impaling the creature with a long spear. “Is that Sir Harold?”
“Must be him, My Lord,” Sir Sterling replied as they ran.
The men in front kicked skeletal remains aside, clearing the way for Lansius as the corridor floor grew ever more crowded with bones the closer they came to the door.
“Hiding in the wreckage to launch a surprise attack, you’ve done well, Sir Harold. The Lord will be very pleased,” Audrey’s voice echoed as she drove her claymore violently into the creature’s back, so deep that a gush of dark blood burst from its mouth beside the groan.
“My Lady...?” came the answer from the knightly man inside the hall.
“Hush,” she said softly, making sure her silver mask was now in place. “I’m just the Lord’s Dame, Jane.”
“Acknowledged,” the knightly man replied in a tone full of pride while the creature writhed, impaled through both mouth and back.
Driving her sword even deeper, she spoke again. “So, hanged. Now for the drawing, then the quartering...”
“Sentenced to death?” the tall knight asked.
“Yes. Sir Harold, this is Sir Hohendorf. I take it you’ve never met him before?”
Sir Harold seemed stunned for a moment before he spat to the side. “We’ve met once, but twice is plenty.”
“The Lord just condemned him to die.”
“The Lord?” several men inside called out, rousing at once. “Is he here?”
Audrey glanced their way and smiled while keeping the pressure on the hulking armored creature. “Of course. The Lord and Lady are watching us, are they not?”
The hall roared, surprising the men who had only just reached the collapsing doorway.
Audrey turned her gaze past the broken doorway and the dozens of men beyond it until she found Lansius. “My Lord, forgive me, but there is no need for you to see this.”
“What do you mean?” Lansius asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sir Sterling, escort the Lord to a safer place. The air is too foul. It may still be tainted with traces of corrupted magic.”
The men around him immediately looked his way, waiting for his reaction.
Lansius clicked his tongue in displeasure, but he knew it was likely sound advice and slowed his pace.
“My Lord?” Sterling asked.
“Fine, we have other pressing matters as well,” Lansius said, much to the relief of his men. “Let us rendezvous at the battlements. I must see what is happening outside and make sure this blight is confined within these walls.”
Then Lansius turned to the two powerfully built men at his back, both clad in dark brigandines studded with blackened rivets. “Hunters,” he called.
“At your service, My Lord,” one of the men replied at once. Both knelt.
“Kindly assist Dame Jane. Advise her regarding this fell creature as needed.”
“Gladly.” The two men exchanged a glance, and the younger one rose and began walking toward the hall. His back was bristling with four swords.
Then, to the remaining men, Lansius declared, “Dame Jane will take overall command. The rest, with me.”
Sir Sterling raised his voice. “Second with Dame Jane. First and Third Company, Bone Breaker Battalion, with us.”
The men grinned at hearing their new name spoken aloud.
“Bone Breaker!” one shouted, and the rest answered with a thunderous roar.
Lansius took one last look at Audrey, still holding the hulking creature fast. As she noticed him, he saw the sharpness in her eyes. He could almost feel her smile behind the silver mask.
As he turned and walked down the corridor, he asked the Hunter, “I’m surprised you did not jump in to fight the creature.”
“The Guild Master made our orders clear,” the man replied. He looked to be in his mid-forties. Then his hard expression softened. “Besides, we have seen what the Dame is capable of. Under other circumstances, the guild would be honored if she joined us.”
That amused Lansius. “May I ask a mentor from the guild for a time? She may be interested in learning more about fell creatures.”
“I have seen her eyes. I must say, to us, she seems like a long-lost sister-in-arms. She would make a fine candidate for a Mage-Hunter.”
“By the Ancients,” Lansius muttered. “Don’t tell me she could become even stronger.”
“With some training, she could,” the man answered with a faint smile.
Lansius could only chuckle. Deep in his heart, he knew this meant Audrey might at last resume the Hunter training that had been cut short by Isolte’s death.
Mage-Hunter...
Lansius wondered just how strong people like Isolte had been, and how strong the fell beast was that had taken her down.
Now that he had battled fell creatures and the extent of corrupted magic, the realities of this world settled upon him with sobering weight. Magic existed, and so did corrupted magic and fell beasts.
The ancient forest of Elandia.
He had to make certain they never went near it.
...
Lansius and the hundred men attached to him hurried toward a broader passage lit by chandeliers and connected to the gatehouse. There they came upon other contingents of the Bone Breaker under Sir Morton and Sir Stan, who had evidently driven the undead.
“My Lord,” the men greeted at once.
“Gentlemen, good work,” Lansius said without slowing as his hundred-man column marched through.
The men saluted with fists against their chest plates. “For the Blue and Bronze!”
Cheers followed them wherever they passed.
“Looks like everything is going well,” the stalwart veteran in front remarked, and Lansius was inclined to agree.
After covering more ground, they reached the massive gatehouse, which also contained the guest quarters. They passed through a wider corridor connected to a hall, one that still bore the scars of battle and the lingering sting of Burning Dust. There, they saw the stone spiral staircase leading to the upper floors of the gatehouse.
A messenger with two escorts found them there. “My Lord, a report from Sir Morton.”
His men at once blocked the way and lit him with beams of white light to make certain of his identity, wary of deception.
“Speak,” Sir Sterling said as they halted.
“Sir Morton has secured the hall connected to the underground lair. His words were these: the undead are no more on this floor.”
A wave of weary cheers burst from the men, rough and heartfelt.
“There's more,” the messenger said.
“Speak freely,” Lansius instructed.
“Francisca found and cornered a large fell creature trying to flee toward the lower floor. She and Sir Morton killed it.”
A fresh wave of cheers rose from the men. They had truly won the night.
“And the upper side?” Sir Sterling asked.
“The battlements are secured. Big Ben held off the undead there. Some he accidentally threw over the wall, but the duck patrol below seemed quite eager to go after them.”
“You hear that? The ducks eat the undead,” the men said with chuckles, proud of their ducks.
“Are they carrion eaters?” Lansius muttered to himself, though by now he was no longer all that surprised. The ducks continued to prove themselves near the top of the food chain. Then he turned to the Hunter. “Would that be a problem for the ducks?”
“They are only corpses, My Lord. Even the large one was nothing more than corpse flesh stitched and fused together through corrupted healing.”
Lansius and the men listened. Many of them nodded.
The Hunter continued, almost philosophically, “The joys of eating and breathing belong only to the living.”
“And fucking. Don’t forget that,” one of the men added crudely, prompting a wave of rough snorts and laughter.
Yet the Hunter answered with a flat expression, “You would be surprised how much a lich loves to fuck.”
The men kept laughing, but a fresh note of nervousness had entered it, for none of them quite knew whether the Hunter was joking or not.
Lansius could only shake his head while fighting the constant nausea that still threatened to make him vomit. Even in the wide corridors, the stench was sickening.
Far ahead of them, a tall figure with a wagging tail appeared by the spiral staircase, standing proudly beside a mound of corpses. “My Lord,” he greeted first, his voice loud and crisp.
“Big Ben!” many called out with great affection.
The half-kin grinned, showing his fangs, while standing perfectly straight as if awaiting inspection. His ringmail was flecked with bone fragments and black stains. From the staircase, a lieutenant appeared and quickly jogged to Lansius’ side.
“My Lord, a battle report, if you will.”
“Of course,” Lansius said.
“Squire Big Ben has distinguished himself by uncommon courage. He held the battlements against the undead almost single-handedly, preserving the lives of every man stationed there. Furthermore, when the horde began to thin, he went downstairs alone and continued the fight without hesitation.”
The men began clapping at once, their pride in the half-kin plain to see.
The lieutenant continued, “When he encountered stronger resistance, he made use of the staircase itself, rolling down upon the enemy and crushing many undead beneath him. He then lured them back upward before repeating the maneuver.”
Nearly every man there, including Lansius, burst into laughter.
"T-that’s a fine way to kill undead," one commented.
“Squire Big Ben single-handedly wiped out a great number of undead. Those of us who fought beside him hope the Lord will bestow reward and honor,” the lieutenant ended, thumping a fist against his chestplate.
The men from the battlements came pouring down the stairs and stood in support. "My Lord."
Lansius waved them down and motioned for Big Ben to come forward. The half-kin did so with a proud stride.
“Big Ben, you have rendered great and meritorious service. I shall double the meat provided to you, though I fear that may only make you grow fat. Is there anything else you desire?”
The men chuckled, though they did their best to stifle it.
“Well, My Lord, I was still hoping you could double it. You see, I plan to invite several beauties, and they can eat a lot.”
The men whistled and cheered in support.
Lansius forced himself not to grin and turned to his soldier-scribe. “Make a record.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the soldier-scribe replied, at once setting a silver-tipped pen to parchment backed by a board and secured with rope.
“For his valorous conduct in saving the lives of many men, I shall double Big Ben’s monthly meat rations and provide him a place fit for his use and for his new family.”
The men cheered, feeling it was only just. They rushed to Big Ben's side and slapped the half-kin across the back and shoulders while he stood proudly, tail wagging, likely already thinking of the beauties who would soon come from Umberland.
With the battlements secured, only Saint Nay remained below.
Lansius fixed his gaze ahead.
The lich. Nearly alone now, stripped of her undead army.
***