IAmNotTheHero
patreon
Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2021-04-16 07:25:56 +0000 UTCFlint took a moment to take in his surroundings as he reloaded the crossbow. Adam stood by the gate mechanism with a dead Iron Army soldier lay at his feet. Two armed Vikings remained facing him. Before opening the gates, Adam had hidden a giant war hammer and shield behind the gate mechanism. Flint was glad Adam had the time to retrieve them after triggering the trap. Even though he was taller than him and probably all of Lea’s Slumber, the Vikings towered over him.
Fortunately, Adam faced a pair with one-handed swords and shields. They didn’t have a range advantage due to their shorter weapons and appeared to prefer staying behind their shields over all-out attacks. Flint had worried they’d end up facing the axe bearers. Bjorn Johansen had told him about the Viking berserkers. They carried axes and would drive themselves into a frenzied bloodlust. Most opponents fled on seeing them or tried keeping them at range. Pain only fuelled their violence.
Even though Adam didn’t have much combat training, he knew the hammer’s ins and outs. One of the Vikings’ swords was now warped, while the other’s shield was missing a monstrous chunk. Unlike Flint, Adam’s strength enhancement ability from [Smithing] didn’t consider hammer weapons. It was likely [Hammer Play] gave him one too, despite its placement in the [Control Node]. As a result, he made up for his lack of experience with brute strength.
Instead of helping Adam, Flint focused on Maya. The cart drivers were mostly former Iron Army soldiers. After watching them train for twelve years, Flint knew that they functioned well as a unit but struggled individually. Their training involved overwhelming war beasts, trolls, and puck foot soldiers with numbers and tactics. Besides disliking combat, it was one of the reasons Flint never showed interest in joining the infantry. Soldiers needed to understand and trust each other to function, and his last name came with too much animosity.
When Flint initiated the attack, most of them were still guiding their vehicles into the few open spaces just beyond the gate. Flint didn’t intend the space to house carts and wagons. The buildings were in varying stages of disrepair when he arrived, and he had repurposed them into the wall. As a result, the open spaces were haphazard and all over the place but it had worked out in Flint’s favour. He had managed to seperate the soldiers and catch them unprepared without intending it.
After loading both crossbow barrels, Flint sprung into action. Colonel Orwell was still on the floor, appeared blinded and therefore went ignored. Five soldiers had surrounded Maya, and their extended swords kept her from closing in on them. Flint was glad she hadn’t tried leaping over any of them either. An upward stab or swing could gravely damage her underbelly despite [Aura of Entangling Fur]
As Flint closed in on the soldiers, he looked for an opening to disrupt their formation. Unlike Captain Ironheart, they wore hooded chainmail shirts that hung down to their knees. The belts and bands tightened the loose armour around the waist and arms, respectively, to keep them from moving around too much. Metal greaves protected their calves too. Flint was sure his bolts would hurt them but wouldn’t inflict a mortal injury.
Flint didn’t like using an untested ability in combat, but it was a good time as any. He aimed the crossbow at the soldier in the centre of the formation. The man acted as the formation’s linchpin, guiding the rest. Disabling him would hopefully turn the tide of battle. Flint fell into a crouch, looking past the swaying chainmail’s edge. He inhaled and focused on [Marking Shot]. A crimson glow enveloped his hands and flowed through the crossbow before swirling around the bolt’s tip. For good measure, Flint called on [Focused Shot] too.
Time slowed, and Flint found the perfect window. The bolt flew true, planting itself in the soft skin at the back of the knee. The soldier screamed, staggering forward. The red light pulsed from the bolt, enveloping his body. Maya leapt at the opening and barrelled into the man, closing her mouth around his armoured head. The sound of bending metal and cracking bones made Flint’s stomach turn. He didn’t waste any time and fired the second bolt at another soldier before running for cover. It didn’t matter whether the projectile hit or not. He and Maya had broken the formation and once again had a chance at victory.
Flint peeked out of cover while reloading his weapon. [Marking Shot]’s red light clung to her snout and paws, rising like red smoke. When she weaved around the disoriented shoulders and swiped at one of their arms, Flint heard the bone break.
Attacking a marked shot boosts strength.
Confident that Maya could take care of herself now, Flint scanned the ongoing battle. She alone had taken down three soldiers, and the remaining four appeared too shaken up to pose a threat. Captain Ironheart had dragged himself to a corner and was weakly trying to fasten his bolt around his thigh.
Meanwhile, Adam hadn’t made any progress against his opponents. He swung his weapon at them red in the face. One Viking caught the attack on her shield, while the other thrust his sword at Adam. They appeared unphased, and Flint was sure they’d get the advantage soon. After all, they had experience and training on their side. He’d seen tactics like theirs before. The pair wanted to tire him out before going for the kill.
Flint didn’t give them the opportunity. He waited until the man thrust his sword before channelling [Focus Shot] again. Not long ago, repeated uses of the abilities would’ve tired him out. Now, it barely phased him. Flint was sure it wasn’t just the adrenaline as he took the shot and struck an unprotected bicep. It wasn’t a fatal blow but made the Viking falter. He struggled to pull back from the feint in time, and Adam’s shield swing caught the sword arm.
Before Flint could release his second crossbow bolt, a sharp sting bit into his side. He staggered away from it on reflex, left hand jumping to the wound. Flint raised his crossbow one-handed, trying to get off a defensive shot, but a follow-up attack caught the iron stirrup and ripped the weapon from his hands. If not for the strap slung across his shoulders, the crossbow would’ve flowed out of his hands.
It was Colonel Smith. The skin of his had mostly peeled off, and patches of flesh underneath had turned black. One of his eyes was gone while the other had turned a violent red. He held his right hand close to his chest, and its state wasn’t much better than his face. Flint thanked his stars. The man was a decorated soldier. If not for his lack of depth perception, he’d be dead. Given his awkward swing, Flint guessed Colonel Smith used his right as his sword hand. Lady Luck was indeed on his side.
“You, Wyldblood bastard!” Colonel Smith roared, charging at Flint. Despite his injured state, the man managed to activate an ability and move at inhuman speeds. His sword glowed gold, much like his one good eye. Flint jumped to the side, avoiding the attack. An invisible force caught him mid-air and threw him backwards. He landed painfully on the crossbow and heard something break. With the air knocked out of his lungs, Flint couldn’t tell whether it was the weapon or his bones. “I’m going to gut you and hang your head for the village to see.”
Colonel Smith staggered towards him, breathing heavily. His left arm trembled, struggling to hold onto the sword. The abilities had drained the injured man considerably. Yet Flint knew he didn’t have a chance against him in a fair fight. As he scrambled to get the crossbow out from under him, Flint felt his pocket’s contents shift. A desperate idea blossomed in his head, and he got moving.
“Then I’m going to do the same to your mutts and your friend—”
“Did you forget your training, Colonel?” Flint asked. He sat up and kicked at the ground, trying to put some distance between them. “The first thing the drill sergeants taught us at basic training was to neutralise the threat before talking.”
“You’re no threat.” Colonel Smith spat bloody phlegm before running at him.
Flint waited until the man exited the gate’s shadows and stepped into the sunlight before whipping the second vial of freezing concoction out of his pocket. [Keen Eye] and [Steady Hand] helped Flint steady his aim. [Trigger Finger] tried to deter his throwing technique, but the glass container didn’t have far to go. It struck Colonel Smith and covered him with the liquid once again. He screamed in rage and pain, dropping his weapon and scratching at his face.
“You filthy bastard!” Colonel Smith’s cries drowned out all other sounds within the fort. Flint considered using the crossbow to put him out of his misery, but the lever necessary for drawing the string had snapped off at its base. So, for the first time in several years, Flint picked up a drawn sword. He walked up to the squirming older man and stabbed him through the chest.
Flint felt cold and hollow inside. He’d seen humans die before, but it was the first time he’d been responsible for their deaths. There was no telling how many had fallen to the gate trap. He had helped Maya kill one, and now the colonel’s blood was literally on his hands. He glanced at where Captain Ironheart sat. The man had failed to fasten the belt around his bleeding thigh. All colour had left Captain Ironheart’s face, and his dead eyes stared at Flint.
As adrenaline’s effects subsided, Flint could hear more than just the ongoing fights. The sound of crying women and children reached his ears. Looking at their terrified faces, Flint knew the deaths were just. The thought helped him stomach the horror that came with taking the lives of people he once knew.
Most of the soldiers had fallen, and only one Viking remained. Maya and Adam appeared perfectly capable of finishing the rest themselves. So, Flint started towards the wagons, but he tripped on his own feet and fell to his knees. A sharp pain flared along his side, reminding him of the injury. The world spun and blurred around him moments later. Flint was sure he was going to pass out when a warm tongue licked his face. Bjorn nudged his way under Flint’s right arm and helped him up onto his feet.
“Thanks, boy,” he said, blinking away the haziness. Ed rushed to his aid and stabilised Flint. “Go on, Bjorn. Help them finish up.”
The snowdog made his usual snow dog sounds before breaking into a run and launching himself at the Viking woman. It was over. They had won.
