Asin sniffed, turning her head from side to side. That smell was there again, cinnamon, nightshade, and weapon oil. It was an unusual combination, and for some reason, it set her fur on end. It kept appearing and disappearing since the fortress and for the life of her, she could not figure out where it was coming from. No matter how she looked or sniffed, she could not find it.
Another shout, this time from Daniel, and she shook her head, dismissing thoughts of the vagrant smell. The Master Level Orcs on their Wargs were coming, and she no longer had time to worry about such things.
Of course, the next few seconds put that entire concern to rest. Even as she was shaking off the effects of Lady Nyssa’s Sonic Orb—and was that annoying, especially when she increased its strength like she had—the prince had jumped into battle, making himself a target.
He also put himself in further danger by attracting the attention of the medium infantry troop that had been going for the line of Adventurers, instead diverting to them. Daniel, of course, noted that problem and had snapped out orders, making Omrak and Johan, who were headed to guard the prince more directly, change course.
She was following along with them, keeping a decent distance back since she was not a lunk-headed idiot with too many muscles and not enough sense, when she caught that scent again. Instinct—Bestial Instinct—pulled at her, and she turned, searching. Her eyes drifted towards Daniel and the prince, both of them caught up in a swirling dust cloud that had risen from the initial prince’s impact and the Warg’s running around the pair.
Something was there . . . something that made her hackles rise. That made her grip her throwing knives harder than ever and that screamed at every instinct.
Dust moved and shifted around the pair. Swirling clouds of soil that flowed around them. Without a breeze. Daniel was turning to her when Asin realized what was happening. Two, no, three dust clouds—one near Daniel, two others near the embattled prince who had just finished embedding his sword in a Warg, pinning it to the ground.
She had a choice to make.
It was never a choice.
Her hands flashed forwards, Stamina and Mana pouring down her hand as she threw her knives. Penetration combined with Fan of Knives.
Too late.
She watched the assassins appear from thin air, their blades punching forwards. The first caught Daniel in the side, just under his ribs. It hit him once and then again before the Healer collapsed to the ground. Shifting position, the assassin aimed for his throat.
Only to find itself pin-cushioned by her attack. The weapons tore into his light armor, one impacting the raised arm and forcing the killer to drop his weapon. Other knives burrowed into his body, making him jerk and twist as the lightning enchantment in her aura delivered its shocks. It would slow him down only for a few seconds, Asin knew.
Not that the Catkin was waiting. She sprinted across the bare earth, unleashing a loud, angry yowl to alert the rest of the team. In her peripheral vision, she saw the other two assassins on Prince Roland, their daggers red in blood. Another flash, as a protective enchantment went off, only to be combatted by their own Skills and enchantments.
Then, she no longer had time to watch. Sprinting on all fours, she leapt one last time, throwing herself at the recovering assassin and bearing him to the ground. Together the pair tumbled, the light Catkin twisting and riding the fall to end up on top. Her daggers appeared in her hand as she began to stab it into her opponent, only to find him struggling and fighting.
Thrown off his body, the Catkin flipped through the air to land on her feet. A dart, thrown with great force, punched through her armor and deflective enchantments, tearing into a shoulder and removing her ability to use one arm.
No matter.
The Catkin moved forwards, ducking low and kicking out, only to see the other man dodge her attack with contemptuous ease. Eyes wide, Asin realized she might just be outmatched. Even with the numerous wounds she had inflicted, the other man was moving, and moving well.
Jade eyes narrowed, and Asin let out a little yowl, crouching low. This was not going to be a fast fight in either case. She could only hope that the prince could survive on his own.
***
Roland cursed, feeling blood pouring down one side. Legendary armor had been pierced like it had been nothing more than cloth. The daggers his assassins had wielded had disintegrated upon use, dissolving in his chest and dumping the poisons they held within into his body. He could feel it pumping through his veins even now, attempting to stop his heart, attempting to freeze his muscles.
Royal Constitution was keeping it at bay, a secret Skill Proficiency. Similar in some ways to Warrior’s Health or Soldier’s Hardiness, it was a restricted Skill Proficiency but was significantly more powerful, if more limited. It did less to improve his overall health unlike the other two named Skills—or a Beastkin’s Bestial Ancestry—but it did provide a much, much higher level of protection against more subtle threats. Like diseases. And poisons.
He needed time to take some of the antidotes he had been given, but the assassins weren’t letting up, forcing him to pay attention to their movements. They were fast too, much faster and more skilled than even the Orcs and Wargs. With a single Warg and Orc left each, they were making the entire battle a mess, with the pair launching attacks at the assassins and Roland indiscriminately.
Another blurring movement to his left. His shield yanked him sideways, the Flawless Parry enchantment triggering to pull him off balance to block the strike. Unfortunately, the other assassin knew what was about to occur and launched himself in a low lunge, new dagger seeking the gap between his cup and thigh armor.
Only for Roland to trigger another enchantment in his sword, Lightning Counterstrike. His sword flickered forwards and down, slicing off the extended hand and then flicking back upwards in a backhand strike to seek his neck. However, off balance and pulled aside by the enchantments, Roland neither had the speed nor stability to follow through that attack properly. He was just a touch too slow as the now-handless assassin fell back, clutching his arm but still silent.
However, for that brief moment, he was paying attention entirely to Roland. He never saw the Warg that took his neck from behind, pulling him down to the ground, jaws clamped on the back of his neck as it twisted and turned his neck. A sharp crack echoed through the clearing, signifying the man’s death. Dropping the corpse, the Warg threw its head back to howl its victory only to stagger at the movement, and then for its eyes to roll backwards entirely and fall down, dead.
“Poison,” Roland snarled, his attention once more focused on the other assassin. He had picked up his movements again, another enchantment in the helm giving him the Perception to keep the slinking Master Class in sight.
No answer. Not that Roland expected the assassin to make a mistake like that to engage him in speech. Only foolish beginners did that. Foolish like him. He should have kept to the line instead of trying to show off. Now, he was caught out in the middle, his party was split up and fighting multiple enemies and he was bleeding to death and poisoned.
Idiot. He never learnt. No matter how many times Daniel or Lady Nyssa or his father told him . . .
He blinked, staring down as pain erupted in his chest. Another dagger, planted in him. The assassin was up next to him now, his blade deep in Roland’s body, twisting it. He could the assassin’s bearded face now, the smirk. And he realized what happened—a mental skill. Something like Distracted Thoughts or Idle Musings. Merchants and politicians had skills like that, and so it seemed did assassins.
He fell backwards, pain taking him. Only grateful that the Legendary armor had managed to shift the attack point away from his heart to his lungs. Now he’d die slower. Though, even as he fell, a last enchantment triggered.
Lightning rushed down the arm, crisping the attacker, ending him.
Leaving but the Master Class Orc the holder of the field, confused and angry and stalking over to the prone prince.
***
Daniel curled up around his body, pain washing everything out of his mind but the injury, the poison, and his Gift. It worked automatically, stealing away memories, stealing away his experience to fix the poison. Yet it was not enough. The amount being pulled from him was more than he had ever experienced at one go, as though the poison itself was hungry for his experience, his healing. He kept pouring it in, and it was working, but it was taking its toll.
The sounds of battle slowly filtered through his senses as the poison and wounds closed. He could hear the clash of swords, the grunt of pains, and the screams of the dying along with the occasional filtered curse. Omrak was loud as always, and the discordant shriek of Lady Nyssa’s sound magic was comforting, in a painful way. He could not hear Asin, but that was normal.
As for Roland . . .
Breathing stopped for a second, when memory flooded in. Panic threatened to rise and carry him away, but Daniel fought it down. He had to get up, he had to heal himself. Now. The prince was injured, and if he died . . .
If he died, it would all be Daniel’s fault. He should never have insisted they come here. They should never have left the walls of the fortress. They should never have let him go out by himself.
Fool.
Another surge of energy, something precious and soft ripped itself from Daniel’s memory. He caught a glimpse of it as it went: laughing Beastkin faces, dyed in red and white, the smell of spices and taste of hot food as the bells for QuanEr rang through the neighborhood. Kinship and wonder, all in one as he found himself with those who saw him for more than just a miner or Healer, who just wanted his company and . . . then it was gone.
Leaving nothing but an ache and his wounds closed, the poison robbed of its vitality. Daniel pushed himself to his feet, his gaze panning over the surroundings. Asin, thrown from a side kick, hit the ground and rolled not far from him, the figure that hit her fading out of sight even as he retracted his foot. He was focused entirely on the Catkin, bleeding a little but still alive. Still fighting.
Roland, not so far away, standing still and moving slowly. Sword waving around in midair, as though he was looking for the fighter that was right in front of him. The others just about finishing off the infantry group, Charles turning already to seek additional threats, an arrow nocked.
A brief consideration, but Asin was not moving and they needed the threats down. He could heal Roland’s injuries, if he was still standing. If he ran over now, the threat at his back could take him down while he ran. Better to deal with this assassin now.
He pushed himself to his feet, pushing his shield back to line up properly with the edge of his hand as he got his feet under him. A brief moment of vertigo, squashed by Gift and stubbornness. Too late though, for the signs of the killer going after the Beastkin was gone.
But . . .
Asin might not be getting to her feet just yet, but she was watching the ground, focused. Daniel tracked the way her eyes moved, where she looked and took off running. He could only hope that he guessed right, even as he strained his own Perception to the maximum. If he could see him . . .
He couldn’t. But the shield he held in front of him was smacked aside long before he crashed into the other. Then, a stinging sensation as the hammer he gripped in his hand was knocked out of his grip. Still, his momentum was barely diverted, and Daniel used the attacks to change his footing just a little to the now-revealed opponent. He dove into the other, wrapping splayed arms around the man and taking him to the ground.
The assassin squirmed and twisted, already levering Daniel upwards, heavy plate armor or not. He was very skilled, and Daniel felt another blade slide into a gap just above his hip. He groaned as it bit in, more poison delivered. But it didn’t matter.
He got a hand around the man’s arm, and that was all he needed. Daniel dove into his Gift, ignoring the pain, the way he was twisted and thrown to the side, the blade ripping free as he was cast aside. The other man tried to pull away, but Daniel’s grip was locked tight, and he had enough time.
First, spasm the muscles, making them clench tight. An automatic response, one that forced the other man to curl into a bowl. Then, deeper, dumping certain substances, chemicals that he had noticed deep within a body, that froze people tight, that caused them to shut down. He’d sensed it in the truly injured, the scared or the ones in pain. He used to take it away, stop the production.
This time, he increased it till his opponent stopped moving. Rather than let it taper off, Daniel made sure to keep it running. He would not kill, but shutting down a killer’s ability to move, to think, to fight? That he would do.
Taking his hand off the other, he used his Medium Wounds spell on himself, letting the magic patch him together mostly. Injuries he picked up, including a cut across his neck that he had not even noticed happening and another across the arm threaded close and clotted.
Good enough for now.
A flicker of information, a notification swirled up in his eyes. He shuddered, seeing the numbers, but pushed them away a second later.
Level Loss * 3
Then Daniel was on his feet, Asin joining him a moment later, still limping. They both turned, only to see the prince lying on the ground, dagger still in his chest, his attacker dead. Smoke rose from the pair, a byproduct of the exchange of energy and the enchantment.
Finally, they spotted the last Master Class Orc stalking over to the prone prince, rage on his face.