The Infinite Bk. 02 Ch. 09

Archers manning the walls around the dungeon tried to rain death upon the prisoners. Outside the building was open ground with no cover, a killing field designed to keep any escapees from reaching the wall or the single exit. However, this was no mere breakout of common criminals. These were heavy hitters, and the archers were fired upon with spells and arrows and knocked from their perches. The heavy iron gate, the single entrance and exit to the facility, was ripped off its hinges by a sword swing with the power of a speeding truck, courtesy of warrior magic.

The evening had just begun, and everyone, both military and civilian, could hear the commotion and see the flashes of spells. The knights and soldiers rushed towards the scene of the violence, now spreading as the freed warriors put more and more distance between them and the dungeon. They'd start fires and kill civilians as a distraction, and the revelers in the streets couldn't help but join in the chaos.

It was turning into a riot, with mounted troops rushing down every road and shouting at civilians, "clear the streets! Everyone, get inside and lock the doors!"

The doors were sealed at the Knight's Sheath, with men and women alike pressing their noses to the windows and watching the havoc in the shrinking distance. Daniel, still bedridden in the backroom, could only listen to the fearful voices in the parlor.

In the Town Square, Sir Berholm was barehandedly dispatching troublemakers with masterful skill and frightening power. Things had become too chaotic for the privilege of being taken prisoner, so anyone he deemed an enemy received a crippling or even fatal blow.

Despite his size and age, he was fast as lightning with fists like sledgehammers. He could crush bones and splatter organs with a single strike, and anyone who dared attack him would see their weapon smashed to pieces. Swords snapped like twigs, shields crumpled, and arrows were snatched out of midair.

He looked down the street, seeing a mob of malcontents charging towards him with their weapons drawn. They would have turned the other way if they knew who he was, but it was too late for them. Before they could reach him, Berholm looked up, spotting someone running on a nearby rooftop. Valia Zodiac, her long silver hair fluttering, leaped off the building towards the center of the mob. In her hand, she wielded a rune-inscribed khopesh sword.

"Zodiac: Baom!"

Mana shrouded her, and a large magic circle of silver light appeared behind her like the face of a clock. She landed in the crowd's center and brought her sword down upon the ground. Her foes were blown away with a devastating shockwave as a crater opened up in the street. The strongest among them survived the force without losing consciousness. They scrambled back to their feet and all ganged up to attack her.

One fighter tried to attack her from her blind spot, his sword aimed at the back of her neck. She beat him to the punch, severing his head without even needing to turn hers. A second lunged with a stab of his saber, and she dodged by just a few centimeters. Her arm wrapped around his blade like a serpent, never even touching it, while her sword zoomed past his guard and severed his Jugular with the lightest flick. She grabbed him by the collar and threw him at a third warrior, knocking him to the ground. She brought down her sword upon them both and nearly sliced them in half.

A fourth came at her from the side with an axe, but she was ready. "Zodiac: Badtha!" Her magic circle reappeared, displaying ten runes, with two of them now glowing.

Her blade sliced through the steel axe head and diced up the handle like it was cardboard, a deadly flurry made in only a second. Her first spell boosted her physical strength, while her second allowed her to destroy enemy weapons with ease. The man came to a stop, the remains of the axe falling out of his hand. Then, fountains of blood sprayed from across his body.

The rest attacked all at once, and she dispatched them all with single swings of her blade. A few of them had some skill, and others relied on strength and magic, but her movements were so fast, so masterful, that her victims never saw their wounds open. In the end, steel and flesh tore with similar ease. Only when they all lay dead did she speak to Berholm.

"I hope I didn't steal your thunder."

"Not at all. I'm glad to have you with us."

"This city is my home, and I won't have anyone say I didn't defend it. But this... this is a catastrophe." They both heard it, the whooshing shockwave, like a hurricane gale, and their eyes swerved back to the dungeon, being ripped apart by a pillar of crimson flames from deep underground, lighting up the night sky. "And it just got even worse. That psycho will incinerate all of Colbrand!"

"Look!" Berholm pointed up, where a streak of gold light shot over the city towards the flames. "We have to trust Sir Tarnas to handle it. All we can do is take care of these rats."

"Then let's not waste any more time." Valia raised her sword. "Zodiac: Baol! Rakshon! Udan!"

The magic circle once more appeared behind her, displaying ten runes, three of which were glowing brighter than the others. She took off like a rocket, her whole body moving faster than the human eye could catch. She sprinted and leaped through the city, with any obstacles either being jumped over or smashed through.

To those who saw her, she was all but a silver blur, and any rabble-rouser she encountered was mowed down like blades of grass, though she was gone before they even hit the ground. Her armor and clothes naturally frayed, but she never received so much as a scratch. Even when charging through burning buildings, she was all but indestructible.

While she and the other knights were busy fighting the escaped prisoners, Tarnas arrived at the dungeon, flying on wings of light growing from his back. He stared into the flames consuming the dungeon, flames melting iron and rock like they were candle wax.

In the center was Gradius, having burst free of his isolation. His armor, enchanted to resist and contain his power, was failing catastrophically. A firestorm was shooting out of every gap, roaring like a ferocious dragon. But more intense than the flames was his madness.

"PRISONERS ESCAPING! HUNT THEM DOWN! DON'T LET ANY OF THEM LEAVE HERE ALIVE! I'LL RIP THEM APART AND BURN THEM TO ASH! KILL THEM! I'LL KILL THEM ALL! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

"Sven, that's enough! You have to calm down! You'll destroy the whole city!" Tarnas yelled.

Gradius held his axe, similarly enchanted, and swung it wildly as though already surrounded by his victims. The ground shook every time he brought it down, resulting from his devastating strength coming unbound like his flames. He pointed it at Tarnas, having long since lost the ability to tell friend from foe. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I'LL MAKE YOU DEAD! I'LL BUTCHER YOUR FUCKING SOUL!" From there, it just degenerated into a monstrous howl.

Tarnas sighed and drew his sword, and his body became wrapped in an aura of holy energy. "You truly have lost your mind. No, perhaps you never had it at all. I had hoped you could at least learn to channel your rage, but you are too far gone. It's only fitting that I am the one to put you down."

The two knights readied themselves and then launched toward each other. It was not a run, so much as a leap, each propelled into the air by nameless monk enhancements. Sword met axe, and light met flame, producing a thunderous shockwave that threatened to bring down the walls around the dungeon. They were the only thing keeping the battle contained, and as much as Tarnas wanted to change the location, just moving Gradius would be as hard as killing him. All he could do was try to finish him off without leveling the city.

Their weapons collided over and over, sending streams of power shooting off into the sky each time. The entire dungeon grounds were a sea of surging flames and holy energy, a hellscape that would annihilate even most gold-ranked knights. Every strike seemed to create a mushroom cloud, casting its light across the city. The physical power they wielded with every swing was titanic, each gripping their enchanted weapons with the strength to bend steel.

Gradius scored a lucky hit, knocking Tarnas's sword out of the way with a one-handed swing, then closing in and striking him in the face with a punch like a meteor. Tarnas was tossed through the air, but stuck the landing and aimed his sword at Gradius.

"Lumendori's Court!"

Several magic circles appeared over the battlefield, each firing a powerful holy laser down upon Gradius. They washed over him, disturbing his mana flow and dissolving his physical enhancements, but it was not enough to stop him. He didn't even name a spell; Gradius simply screamed in fury and swung his axe, launching a wave of fire into the sky like an erupting volcano that destroyed the magic circles.

He raised his axe above his head and wrapped it in a pillar of flames, almost reaching the clouds. The crimson mana was dense, like compressed plasma, and formed a solid shape. He roared again and dropped his axe, bringing down the blade of fire toward Tarnas.

He couldn't dodge, as the apparition would reach far beyond the walls and slam down onto the city like a giant guillotine. He gripped his sword with both hands, and gold mana surged from the blade.

"Severing Dawn!"

He swung his sword, launching a mana wave like Gradius had done earlier. The two apparitions collided and exploded, creating yet another mushroom cloud that sent searing mana raining down upon the dungeon grounds and fierce gales rushing through the city.

He leaped towards Gradius, his sword over his head. "Lumendori's Gavel!"

Gradius blocked the swing with his axe, with the collision ripping apart the ground and tossing molten rock into the air. The walls threatened to collapse from the all-powerful force, sending tremors to the other side of the Paleon Channel. Though forced down into the bottom of a crater, Gradius did not fall.

He looked at Tarnas without seeing him and screamed at the top of his lungs. A focused jet of flame erupted from the slits in his helmet, slamming into Tarnas and knocking him back with his head smoking and armor melted. He had managed to shield his face at the last moment, but he wasn't without burns.

"Lumendori's Blessing," he said, causing the mana shrouding him to heal his injuries. Self-healing was one of the rarest abilities among male paladins. He glared at Gradius, still howling in utter insanity, not even knowing where he was or what was happening around him. "If this is how it is supposed to end between us, then let it end."

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Noah stared down the Harajin, gripping the knight sword with hands sticky with blood and slick with sweat, and they returned the stare. Though shakily, he and his opponents were on their feet, having accumulated many healed and open wounds. Their shredded clothes attested to each side's skill, with Grond forced to abandon his wet cloak and Tora's sickles broken. Their supply of potions and knives appeared exhausted.

Noah had taken only a few gulps of potions throughout the fight, including a high-class antidote found in his ring, and was far from 100%. Still, this had become a war of attrition, and he had the stamina to keep up. On the plus side, his mask of bandages remained in place, keeping his identity hidden and lessening the sweat in his eyes. In the background, he could hear the sounds of battle and see the lights of burning buildings. The whole city seemed like it was falling apart.

"The deal is still on the table. I suggest you take it."

"Not gonna happen," said Klein. "In fact, now that everything has gotten so noisy, we no longer need to keep this fight hidden."

He held out his sickles, and arches of electricity sparked between the tips of the blades and the handles. Beside him, Tora's hands were wreathed in scarlet flames while Grond's clothes billowed from a surge of mana-infused wind. Lightning, wind, and fire: three things Noah had terrible luck with recently. What's more, their bodies came alight with various monk enchantments.

Simply beating them into submission wasn't working. It was time to make an example out of one of them. Klein would act as the sacrificial lamb. The problem was that Noah only had a little bit of mana to use and had to do it without exposing the nature of his magic.

"Desert Gale," Grond cast while clapping his hands together.

A surge of wind, infused with visible mana like smoke, surged past the three Harajin and washed over Noah. It wasn't strong enough to knock him over, but the wind seemed to pick up every grain of loose soil in the street and send it aiming for his face. He covered his eyes, both for cover and to activate his magic, and sprinted to the side, barely able to see the incoming fireballs from Tora.

When he first arrived in this world, he encountered an old man who used a similar technique, but he could not compare to this Harajin. Noah dodged as best as he could, with the miniature stars splashing upon impact and spraying flames in all directions like incendiary grenades.

Klein charged, moving twice as fast thanks to the power of magic. Noah could already imagine what would happen if he touched the electrified sickles, and there was no way for him to match Klein's speed and avoid his attacks. No other choice, he and his clone each raised their swords, and the real Noah moved forward. They simultaneously swung before Klein had even reached the clone. He saw the illusory sword rise and fall without touching him, yet he felt the searing pain in his shoulder. His flesh was torn from a slash that wasn't supposed to happen.

'It doesn't make sense; I was out of the reach of his sword.'

Despite the wound, his reflexes remained sharp, and he pulled away as soon as the blade touched him. Noah closed the distance while his clone hung back and made the same arm movements. A sideways slash aimed low, Klein and the others saw the wound despite Noah being out of range, and Klein felt the invisible blade slice his legs. He once more twisted upon contact, going with the force of Noah's swing instead of against it. Despite leaving twin blood trails, he managed to retreat. Noah wanted to pursue Klein, but he had to return to his clone to conserve mana.

To the Harajin, it appeared to be a warrior spell. His sword could harm them from a distance of at least three meters, meaning midrange combat was no longer an option. Both Grond and Tora repeated their spells to keep Noah at bay while he chased down Klein. Despite his wounds, he retained much of his agility and stayed out of Noah's range, or, at least, that's what he thought.

Noah had his clone run slower, prompting Klein to also slow down for the sake of his bleeding knees. Four meters of space were between them, and Noah closed in and had his clone mimic him as he slashed Klein from shoulder to hip. The wound was too deep to endure, and he collapsed, the life pouring out of him in a crimson stream. He confirmed the kill with a hack to the neck, then fled the raining fireballs from Tora.

His mana was at its limit, and his spells broke on their own, a painful and disorienting experience. Noah momentarily lost consciousness, long enough to collapse as Klein had. A fireball hit the ground near him, lighting his clothes on fire and nearly burning his face. He rolled away with what little strength he could conjure and managed to get back on his feet, just barely holding his sword. Another wind blast from Grond hit him, leaving him fighting just to stay on his feet.

Now that he was pinned, Tora attacked and knocked the sword out of his hand. They didn't know his true range, so the best choice was to disarm him. She grabbed his arm and climbed fup onto his shoulders in a flying head-scissor. Her legs wrapped around his head, and she swung her body to knock Noah off balance.

Before she could reach full rotation, he grabbed Tora's collar, dropped down on one knee, and smashed her head against the cobblestone ground. Though the mask resisted breaking, blood began to flow, and her body went limp. She wasn't dead, but she was out of the fight. Noah got to his feet and drew his longsword, and Grond moved forward to attack.

"Oh, just stop," Noah groaned as he put the blade to Tora's throat.

In the Harajin, hostages were considered dead and not worth saving. Grond himself was raised knowing that if he were ever taken captive or used as a human shield, his comrades would simply stab through him to kill their enemy. Despite that, instinct made him pause.

"That's right. Your other friend is dead, and if I kill this one, you will gain nothing by killing me. You will never be able to return to the Harajin."

"What are you talking about?"

Noah held up the mystery potion. "She's your only witness, the only person who can corroborate your story, who can say that this bottle was stolen from you, and you all worked together to get it back. Right now, she's more valuable to you than the bottle itself. Even if you kill me, returning to the Harajin alone will ruin you, and your superiors will look for any excuse to blame you for all these deaths.

All five members of the team die, but you somehow walk away? That sounds awfully suspicious to me. True, they probably would never be able to confirm your guilt, but you can never prove your innocence, and they will always distrust you. I bet Harajin who can't be trusted die faster than usual."

"Spare me your lies."

"That's exactly what they'll say. It won't matter if you bring back the potion; you'll just have restored the status quo, with the exception of five suspicious deaths that can all be linked to you. And forget about the sword and any peace talks. If you even mention an alliance with Uther, you'll be killed for suspected treason before you even finish your sentence. Tell me I'm wrong."

Grond didn't say anything, not that he needed to. Noah could see his control shaking, the change in his breathing. He wanted to come up with a counterargument, but everything Noah said was the truth. Forgiveness wasn't something found in the Harajin, as failure was looked upon in the same light as betrayal.

"That's the thing about an organization like the Harajin. Dying for the cause isn't asked or expected; it's required. If your enemies don't kill you, your superiors will. The decision will inevitably be made that you are no longer worth the effort to support. Depending on how much blood or money is involved, you will be disregarded, abandoned, framed, or even killed. It's all a matter of when it'll happen and how much stuff you'll get blamed for. Your friends just happened to die before their time could come, and if you return without them, your time will be very soon.

Now, that's assuming you're able to kill me. The score is 4 -- 0, and it's about to be 5. You die, and the Harajin lose everything. You live, and she dies, and the Harajin still loses five members. You both live, you give me the information I want, and I give you everything I offered in the original deal. Those are your three options, and this is the last chance I'm giving you. Throw away your weapon and explain the spell."

Grond struggled to think up a plan. There had to be some way around this, some way to kill his opponent and succeed in this mission. Should he prioritize saving Tora? Or sacrifice her to go for the kill? Grond could see Noah's exhaustion and blood-soaked clothes. He was at his weakest, yet all of Grond's instincts were telling him that this was a fight he could not win, and even if he did manage to kill Noah, it would be a hollow victory. He would die for the Harajin, but the blood of his comrades stained his hands. It stained the hands of everyone in the sect. If he returned to Ezeria, his life would be forfeited.