Daniel crashes into the brigands with a thunderous charge, he and a wedge of armored guardsmen joining the fray, cutting deep into the chaos. Renewed hope surges through the militia ranks, their spirits lifted by the sight of their captain and the guardsman that have watched over their town for so long.

  Lumina’s golden light glimmers faintly across their blades, hope giving way to faith and the divine radiance that comes with it. The brigands falter, eyes drawn to the grisly sight of Bran’s severed head hoisted high upon a spear. Fear ripples through their ranks... yet the spiders know no fear, their inhuman minds immune to the concept. They fight with undiminished ferocity, limbs slicing and fangs snapping.

  Daniel and his guardsmen press through the melee, carving a path toward Edric and Edwin, whose duel continues in brutal, unrelenting rhythm. Blood splashes and steel sings as Edric’s personal guard finish off the last of the militia facing them, then turn in unison, eyes narrowing as they prepare to meet this new threat head-on.

  They clash with steel and fury, the tide turning as Ravencroft’s reinforcements hammer into Edric’s dwindling force. Daniel charges forward, locking blades with Edric beside his father.

  “Father!” he calls out, teeth clenched as his longsword slams against Edric’s.

  "Hmph. And the whelp comes to the rescue."

  With a mighty heave, Edric breaks the clash, his greatsword forcing Daniel to stumble backward, boots skidding through snow. He regains balance with skillful grace, armor clinking as he rises beside his father, sword already raised, eyes burning with renewed focus.

  "With me, son."

  Side by side, Edwin and Daniel strike in tandem. Daniel’s blade sweeps in from the right, a precise arc aimed at Edric’s neck, but it skitters off the brigand’s thick plate as he shifts. Edwin presses forward, bringing his greatsword down like a hammer, only for Edric to twist and deflect with his own, kicking his brother back. Daniel ducks a retaliatory swing, feeling the trembling metal as it grazes his helmet overhead.

  "Hrrrm!!!"

  Edwin’s greatsword arcs through the air with the full might of his fury behind it, a blow meant to break more than bone. It crashes into Edric’s guard with a thunderous clang, the impact too powerful to withstand. Edric reels, feet tearing through snow as he stumbles backward and loses his footing, rolling across the ground.

  Before he can rise, two of his brigands rush in, dragging him upright, shields raised and weapons eadyr. They form a tight barrier around their leader as Daniel, Edwin, and the Ravencroft's guardsmen advance steadily, tightening the noose around them.

  Edwin glances toward Daniel briefly, sweat and blood on his brow, and nods. Daniel nods back, breath shallow, sword raised.

  Then-

  Screams erupt behind them.

  Daniel’s head snaps around. Guardsmen cry out, armor clattering as they fall.

  What?

  Edwin and Daniel whirl at the sound, Halric, flanked by a score of brigands, approaches from behind. Edwin curses under his breath. "Where's Gandre? Don't tell me he-"

  His words die in his throat.

  Edric sees the reinforcements and lunges with renewed fury. Edwin turns just in time to meet his brother's strike, their greatswords crashing together once more.

  Daniel snaps his head around, catching a flash of steel, Halric's blade already mid-swing. Reflex overrides thought. He lunges between his guardsman and the incoming blow, parrying just in time. The impact shudders down his arm.

  "I'm your opponent, brigand scum," Daniel growls, eyes locked with Halric’s.

  Halric sizes Daniel up with a cool nod, then strikes. His longsword blurs through the air with terrifying speed, the edge a streak of silver too fast to follow. Daniel barely manages to raise his blade in time, parrying the first blow with a resounding clang, but the next crashes into his vambrace, jolting his arm with shuddering force.

  Halric doesn’t let up. Each strike flows into the next in a seamless rhythm, feints, lunges, overhand cuts, all faster than anything Daniel has ever faced. He’s forced to mix defense with endurance, using the flat of his sword to turn aside some strikes while relying on his armor to absorb others. Screeching sounds as steel scrapes steel, Daniel's full plate ringing like a bell.

  Where is Gandre? Was he fighting this fiend? Could he have...

  He grits his teeth and pushes the doubt down, forcing himself to focus. Halric’s brigandine and spangenhelm are solid, but they lack the coverage of Daniel’s plate. Daniel angles a jab for the opening in the helm, then follows with a low strike at Halric’s thigh where only mail protects.

  "Too simple."

  But Halric is a blur, he swats aside the attacks with expert ease, countering immediately. One clean, brutal riposte slams into Daniel’s helmet with enough force to stagger him. His ears ring violently, vision lurching with the impact, and he’s forced back a step, blinking to stay upright as Halric closes in once more.

  "Captain!!"

  One of Daniel's guardsmen lunges in, spear thrusting straight for Halric’s flank. But Halric turns like a serpent, blade whipping sideways to deflect the spear with a metallic shriek. In a single fluid motion, he ducks behind a fellow brigand and vanishes into the clash of bodies.

  Daniel and the guardsman pursue, but the battlefield swallows him whole, until the guardsman suddenly gasps, eyes wide. “S-Shit!!”

  Too late.

  Halric reappears in a blur, slipping around the man like a shadow, driving his longsword with brutal precision through the opening in the guardsman's helm. The blade punches through with a sickening crunch. The man jerks once, then drops.

  Daniel barely has time to react before Halric is on him again. A storm of steel rains down, relentless, surgical, monstrous. Daniel defends desperately, parrying what he can, but Halric is too fast, too practiced. A vicious twist of Halric’s blade knocks Daniel’s longsword from his grasp, sending it spinning across the snow.

  Daniel staggers, breath caught in his throat, suddenly weaponless against the demon of a man before him.

  Fuck!!

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Daniel’s heart pounds as he draws his knife, every breath sharp and ragged. He braces behind his armor, letting the steel take the brunt of the blows, but his vision reels as Halric’s sword smashes into his helm twice in rapid succession, jarring his skull and sending sparks of pain shooting through his head.

  Then, his legs vanish from under him. Halric sweeps them with a swift kick, and Daniel crashes into the snow with a grunt, his weapon skidding from his grip. As Halric lunges to finish it, blade flashing—

  “HrraaArghhh!!”

  A thunderous roar halts the strike. Daniel blinks up just in time to see Gandre charging, sword drawn, eyes burning.

  Halric swings to meet him, the two blades clashing in a brutal collision, but Gandre’s momentum is too strong. The impact sends Halric stumbling backward, boots skidding through the snow. Gandre follows with a thudding kick to Halric’s midsection, striking his brigandine and knocking the brigand clean off his feet.

  Gandre breathes hard, blood matting his hair and beard. His face is battered, helm lost, one eye sealed shut and weeping red. Still, he grits his teeth and offers a hand to Daniel.

  “Up.”

  Daniel grips it, hauled to his feet in one wrenching pull. He snatches up his sword, eyes locking on Gandre.

  The old man looks half-dead, wheezing, trying to catch his breath.

  Halric rises, snow tumbling from his shoulders as he straightens. He fixes his gaze solely upon Gandre. "Didn't I throw you from a wall?"

  Gandre grins, blood crusted in the folds of his beard. "Aye. Lucky for me, the snow's high. Can't say my hip will than you for it though, old bones aren't meant for all this."

  Halric’s lip curls into the barest smile, the first Daniel has seen.

  Gandre leans toward Daniel, voice low and fierce. "We strike together. I draw his eye, you stab him in the back."

  Daniel blanches, eyes flicking between the two men. But before he can speak, Gandre grabs his helm and pulls him close.

  "Do it boy, or we both die here!"

  Daniel's eyes widen, a tone of voice he's not heard from Gandre since he was a child. He nods, wordless.

  Gandre shoves him back and calls out, just loud enough for Halric to hear. "Leave boy. This one’s mine."

  Daniel falls back, giving Gandre space as the two warriors close the distance.

  One step, two... the tension crackling like lightning between them.

  "Haaargh!!"

  Then Gandre strikes first, his blade flashing in a high arc. Halric meets it with ease, sword angled to catch and redirect. The clash rings through the air like a bell toll.

  Gandre follows with a swift side-cut, then a thrust, each movement refined, economical, decades of mastery distilled into every blow. Daniel watches in awe, the same awe he’s felt since boyhood. Gandre's style sharper even than Edwin’s, a true master.

  Halric meets the strikes with clean, fluid parries, his counters swift, reserved, but precise. The two men circle, boots grinding snow and mud.

  Gandre slips in a low cut, Halric knocks it away and ripostes high, forcing Gandre to pivot. Another clash. Sparks fly. Gandre lunges again, and Halric takes a half-step back, feinting a thrust and rolling into a tight parry that sends Gandre back on his heels.

  A breath. Another step. A tightening pattern. Even Gandre can't match Halric's mastery, a swordsman of uncommon talent and just as many years of experience.

  Gandre ducks a swing, pivoting around his foe, changing the angle of attack. Halric’s blade blurs to meet him, Gandre deflects—but the force twists the sword from his hands, sending it spinning into the snow.

  Daniel sees it. The opening. Halric’s back... exposed.

  He charges, sword raised, driving all his strength into the strike.

  But Halric turns. Steel meets steel with a sharp clang. “An obvious ploy,” he mutters, voice flat.

  Gandre is already moving. With a snarl, he draws his mace and drives it full-force into the side of Halric’s helm. The impact dents the metal and throws Halric stumbling sideways, balance shattered, blood dripping from his jaw.

  “Never forget me sidearm,” Gandre growls, storming after him, eyes blazing with bloodlust.

  Daniel joins Gandre, sword raised, breath hissing through clenched teeth. Halric stands, bloodied and swaying, but still defiant. His blade rises, trembling, yet poised.

  Gandre strikes first again—Halric deflects, feet sliding. Daniel’s blade follows in the same breath, forcing Halric to twist and parry again. Their blades crash, recoil, spin. Gandre slashes low, Daniel high. Halric moves like a ghost, every deflection narrower than the last.

  "Grngh-" Gandre reels back as Halric's boot slams into his chest. Daniel sees the gap. He surges forward and drives his blade into Halric’s left shoulder. The brigand grunts, eyes flashing wide as steel crunches through mail into flesh.

  Daniel yanks the sword free, blood spraying. Halric lashes out, one last swing—wild, high—missing Daniel’s throat by inches. He lifts his blade again, but his left arm hangs useless. Daniel parries the blow with ease.

  Gandre pushes up to his feet, dragging his mace behind him. “It’s over,” he rasps, voice barely more than a whisper.

  Halric looks at him.

  Then smiles, closing his eyes.

  "I suppose you were right. I've gotten old too."

  Halric lowers his head in apparent surrender. But in the next heartbeat, his eyes snap open and he bolts, disappearing into the chaos like a shadow.

  Daniel is already moving, feet pounding forward at full speed.

  “Wait!” Gandre wheezes, voice ragged behind him, but Daniel is already long gone.

  He sprints after Halric, weaving through the maelstrom of blood and steel. A spider lurches at him, he ducks beneath its limbs. A brigand swings wide, Daniel shoulders past, barely slowing. Ahead, Halric darts between the broken bodies and fleeing men, fast... but Daniel is faster.

  He closes the distance with a final burst, sword just shy of Halric's back-

  "Heh-"

  But just as he gets within range, Halric turns eyes wild with defiance. The blade comes flashing.

  Steel shrieks. Daniel’s sword meets it mid-swing, deflecting the blow just barely, but the impact nearly knocks the weapon from his hand. He stumbles, surprised, teeth clenched as he regains his footing.

  Halric twists, bringing his sword around in a tight arc—slice, swing—his single hand guiding the blade with masterful control. The strike catches Daniel’s guard off-balance. With one fluid motion, Halric knocks the longsword from his grip. It spirals away, vanishing into the red-streaked snow.

  Daniel raises his arms to block, bracing behind his armor, but Halric anticipates it. He feints low, then whips his blade up with brutal speed, smashing the side of Daniel’s helm. The broken strap, torn loose in the fight with Bran, gives way. The helmet flies off, skidding into the snow, Daniel's face exposed for the coming slice-

  "Gnnngh-"

  A mace clatters against Halric’s side with a ringing thud, forcing him a step back. Gandre crashes into him a breath later, shoulder slamming into his ribs. They go down in a tangle, snow exploding around them.

  Gandre lands atop him, blade already drawn, driving it down toward Halric’s throat—but Halric catches his wrist with one hand, stopping the strike inches from his neck. Even now, his reflexes are sharp, terrifying.

  Then, with the other hand, swift as lightning, Halric draws his belt knife and drives it into Gandre’s exposed armpit, right through the vulnerable gap in his armor.

  Gandre grunts, air wheezing from his lungs. “You bastard...” he rasps.

  Halric stares back, cold and silent.

  "RrrAAarrghh!!!"

  But Gandre roars—one last time—and with a final surge of strength, drives both hands down. The knife sinks toward Halric’s throat. Halric releases the blade embedded in Gandre and throws his weight back, trying to twist away.

  Daniel is there a moment later, crashing to his knees beside them. He grabs Gandre’s hands and adds his own strength, forcing the knife downward.

  Halric writhes, muscles straining as he twists to the side... but too late. The blade sinks into his neck, missing his throat but cutting clean through the artery to the left of it.

  Blood bursts forth in a hot arc, violent and deep red. Halric kicks wildly, boots digging into the snow, shoving Gandre aside as he clutches at his neck, breath gurgling. His body thrashes, limbs twitching uncontrollably as the snow turns dark beneath him.

  Gandre doesn’t resist, rolling onto his back with a quiet grunt, head tilting to the side just enough to watch Halric’s final moments. Daniel kneels nearby, chest heaving, sweat and blood streaking his face as he watches the brigand thrash and go still.

  “We did it, Gandre,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “He’s dead.”

  A wheezing chuckle rattles in Gandre’s throat, but no words follow.

  Daniel turns to him... and sees it. The blood, dark and steady, leaking from beneath his arm. His breath is shallow, eyes lidded.

  “Gandre,” Daniel says, crawling over. He grips the old warrior’s pauldron. “Stay with me. The physician will take care of you, just... just hold steady.”

  Gandre’s one good eye focuses on him. “Dry yer tears, lad,” he rasps. “The men might be watchin’.”

  Daniel swallows hard, jaw tightening.

  “Yer not done,” Gandre says, breath staggering. “There’s still fightin’ to do. Yer place ain’t here.”

  Daniel hesitates, then picks up Gandre’s fallen mace from the snow. He places it gently into the old man’s hands.

  Gandre clutches it to his chest, bloodied fingers tightening around the worn leather grip. He manages a faint, crooked smile.

  “For Ravencroft,” he whispers.

  Daniel nods, silent. Then he rises and turns away, leaving the dying man lying in the snow.

  The battle still rages. He isn’t finished yet.