Daiden heard his breaths in an echo. It flowed with the rhythms of his heart, in a fog from the corners of his mouth. Hunched at first, he rested his shoulders and straightened his back. His swords lowered on each side, almost touching the floor at its tips. He watched the Fleshbound crouch, weapons on hand, moving towards him, one step at a time.

  “An exchange…” thought Daiden, out loud. He softened his voice to a whisper, and said, “Can you still hear me, Priest Leda?”

  “Yes,” answered Leda, also in a whisper. “Tell me. How do you propose to complete this exchange?”

  “I’ll show you,” said Daiden, simply. “After I’m done taking care of the Fleshbound, I’ll reveal it outright. But if you’re able to guess…well then, that just might encourage my participation in this game!”

  Leda responded with a toothy grin, eyes in half-moons, and with a sly expression. “There’s more to him than just physical talent…exciting!”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” said Daiden, glancing at the priest. “Good, very good. This will make for a great story in the future!”

  With a soft hop, Daiden stepped ahead and walked towards the two Fleshbound. His feet slowly hastened to a jog, then a sprint. He watched the undeads separate, with the rogue slipping into the shadows once more. His eyes shifted toward the mauler next, again in a pattern of rotations with its weapon. In a coin-toss of a moment, Daiden chose to rush the visible Fleshbound. He strained into focus, and relied on the footwork of his swordsmanship to read the pattern of the maul.

  Once within range, Daiden avoided the weapon’s head and pushed into the mauler’s space. He danced around the shifting rotations with a tense expression, slipping through the attacks by a hair’s breadth. But his body adjusted, with each moment, with each step. He resisted the urge for an immediate offensive, and bided his time instead. From the left at first, Daiden sidestepped into evasion, then against an attack from the right as well, in diagonals. He waited, until another followed, sweeping a horizontal path.

  Daiden rocked away to avoid the attack and kicked the maul along its swing, to add to its motion and throw the undead off balance. He slashed at the back of the mauler’s neck and pressed into an assault with his ethereal sword as well. He started to count to thirty, but stopped at the sound of a crackle, shifting from his path on instinct and avoiding the re-emergence of the Fleshbound Rogue.

  “I knew you’d come,” said Daiden, addressing the rogue. He parried a flurry of strikes from the daggers and leapt away to a safe distance. Even as the Fleshbound followed, Daiden swiped an aeter wave into existence, striking the undead across its chest. “That felt much, much better than our last exchange…”

  Daiden quickly aligned to a stance and sprung into a sprint. He moved his swords as an extension to his arms, in fluid motion, to pressure the Fleshbound Rogue. His body adjusted to the addition of the mauler as well, but persisted to hold the advantage. He varied the pattern of his attacks, some in descent, and some at sharp angles. At the count of thirty, Daiden kicked at the Fleshbound Rogue’s face, slamming the latter in a full arc onto the ground. He slashed at the mauler’s stomach with the Sword of Broken Probability, triggering the fate of increased damage, and followed with an attack from his second sword, across the throat.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  In retreat, the Godvildian trainee watched the wound on the mauler’s neck brighten with a strange redness and explode right after.[1] He nodded at the result. “That takes care of one…”

  Daiden swerved towards the Fleshbound Rogue next, catching the latter mere seconds away from fading into the darkness. He stepped on the Fleshbound’s toes to halt an escape and rammed the back of his sword onto its face. He watched the expressionless undead fall with a thud, bouncing off the floor a little even.

  “Not yet!” thought Daiden, clenching his teeth. He stomped the rogue’s face, pushing into the cold, tight flesh. He grimaced when the undead squirmed, grabbing his armoured calf in retaliation. But with a deep breath, Daiden simply retracted and stomped his foot once more, then again. “At least they’re as persistent as in the movies. Fuck!”

  The Fleshbound Rogue continued to struggle, disfigured and bloodied. It twisted and turned, breaking its nails through the effort. But in a moment of freedom, as Daiden retracted his boot for another attack, the undead screamed into the tunnels.

  Panicked, Daiden drove his sword into the rogue’s mouth. He watched the creature flop for a bit and then rest into stillness.

  “What was that about?” wondered Daiden, out loud. He almost turned to return to the dome when something answered. He dragged his feet to notice a piece of broken stone roll towards him, in a rattle. His eyes stared into the darkness to find several more return the favour, calm at first, and in a rush right after.

  Daiden clenched his teeth at the sight. They appeared in a wave of ten, Fleshbound Soldiers, then another – armoured skeletons, in a clatter, but with smooth, ashen bones.

  “Good answer…” whispered Daiden, under his breath. He slashed at the air to release an aeter wave, impeding the rush a little. “Well, let’s keep going!”

  Daiden carved crescent moons into the air, in a dance, shooting wave after wave to break the assault entirely. With the undeads disorganized, he rushed at the horde in an arc and slashed his way towards the centre. He roared and attacked, relying on his aeter persistence to help him through the situation. Daiden primed his focus onto the Fleshbound first, creating sporadic explosions from his dominant sword to shave away at the numbers. He defended using his ethereal sword, counting to the moments for an attack with increased damage. But drenched in the blood of the undeads, and with the odds against him, Daiden fell into a trance. He used his footwork to ghost through the horde, attack after attack, bursting his aeter to form an aura around his body.

  “In worship we strengthen, in worship…we walk the path of blood!”

  From a distance, Leda observed the battle unfold with a smile at first, and then jaws agape. “It…can’t be! But that swordsmanship…a descendant? No. No!” He covered his mouth, holding the words from coming out. “He’s the Descendant of Takshaka!”

  ***

  [1] Erlendur’s Imitation (Rare)

  A balanced, heavy sword forged from white iron and sand cores. An original, the sword is strengthened further by its partial affinity with the sand and fire elemental. It is imprinted with Kir’s determination to produce a masterpiece. The Sand King’s greatsword was used as a foundation for its design. Has a mild chance to sunder the target with an explosion.

  --

  Sword of Broken Probability

  An unbalanced, ethereal sword that takes twenty-nine strikes to attain solid shape. It inflicts no damage in its ethereal form. On its thirtieth strike, it inflicts slightly more damage than a normal iron sword. Despite the use of high-grade materials, the sword is imbalanced and suffers from performance irregularities. Enough use might help improve swordsmanship. It is imprinted with Kir’s anxiety.