Translator, Editor and Proofread: theunfetteredsalmon
[1948 words]
Metatro and Aruka fought fiercely, leaving a trail of chaos behind them. The guards could not tell that Metatro was just a sixth level warrior that managed to stay alive despite his overwhelming opposition. Aruka was already injured from the arrow that Amon fired at him. The wound was still burning between his ribs. It certainly didn’t help that Metatro was also adept at magic.
Metatro assuredly did not fight like a mage. It wasn’t a question in doubt since he waved what looked like a heavy sword. However, the handle of the sword was practically a magic staff. He integrated all sorts of strange forces into the areas covered by the blade of the sword in his attacks. He fought like a supreme warrior as he certainly had the strength and power of one.
The place where the two men fought was seemingly swept by thunder and strong gusts of wind, accompanied by the bolt-like collision of weapons. Their strikes left vacuums in their wake, a surging force that ordinary warriors could not get close to. However, the king’s guard was made up of well-trained soldiers. At first sight of this scene, they formed a formation of either side. Their shields were linked together, spears raised towards the two men. They sealed any space that could act as an escape route for Metatro. They were prepared to attack from all directions like a porcupine.
Aruka quickly found that he could not resist Metatro’s attacks. Several times did he try to end the fight, but he found himself entangled in what seemed to be magic. Metatro’s long sword and short dagger strikes gave the guard captain little chance to fight back.
Metatro, who had gained the upper hand, was also concerned. The wounded warrior was still brave and stoic despite being unable to retaliate properly. This fight was longer than both of them expected. In the initial panic, the soldiers around them moved into battle formations, with more guards flooding out of the camp. It seemed like Metatro needed to make more noise. He put away his short dagger and took out two scrolls.
He still paid attention to the movement of the camp during the fight. If he was going to use the scrolls, he had to make sure the mage would be lured out!
As he pulled out the scrolls, he swung his sword wildly to repel Aruka, creating space for himself. His figure flashed to the left, causing the force in the wind pressure to push the soldiers on that side back. The power of spatial impact knocked the soldiers a few steps back from the front.
A petite, cloaked man walked out of the camp and waved his cane gently. He did not speak, but he quietly performed his magic to help the guards in their fight against Metatro. The man had seen that Aruka was not a worthy opponent of Metatro after his injury, not to mention the dozens of guards surrounding the two men, struggling to take down that one assassin.
Metatro knew that the supreme mage could not help himself but act. He wanted to capture this man and question him. Metatro had fulfilled his purpose. Without hesitation, he unfurled a scroll.
Amon had made a significant sacrifice, passing those two high-level scrolls to Metatro. One of them was the powerful Blades of the Wind, which Amon had used against the men Urhiya sent after him during the confrontation at the bank of the Nile River. Metatro was suddenly engulfed in a fierce, raging wind, the tiny air streams surrounding him condensing and compressing. It was like he was protected in a shield of blades.
The battlefield Metatro was on had little space for such powerful magic. He was still facing Aruka whilst being surrounded by dozens of guards, who had their shields held up on all flanks. He quickly found that he could not retreat fast and far enough to escape from the destructive effects of the Blades of the Wind. His actions were so similar to Amon in this regard that it was no wonder he was a descendant of Amon’s teachings – he hurt himself with the powerful scroll as well. None of his enemies expected that.
A blue phosphorescent glow appeared on his scorpion shell armour, which was the effect of Metatro’s magic power to use the armour’s defensive capabilities to its fullest. At the same time, he lifted his long sword whilst half-kneeling on the ground, putting his forehead against the pommel of the grip as if he was praying. The smoke and dust rose to form a hazy shield to surround him. There were flashes of light and fire in the smoke and dust. It was caused by the friction against the raging wind blades.
Aruka danced around madly and jumped backwards while his sword shone like a silver shield in front of him. The supreme mage in the distance reacted almost immediately, twisting his magic cane and distorting the light and shadow around all the soldiers’ shields. They formed what seemed like a translucent curtain, deflecting the flying wind blades.
Defensive magic was very taxing on the caster. The supreme mage gave no opportunity for Metatro to break away. The guards on his flanks did not move. It seemed like Metatro was the only one who had been injured by the scroll. If Metatro did not throw out another scroll or retaliate smartly, he would be caught by his enemy once the Blades of the Wind had subsided.
The other scroll Metatro threw forward was not particularly aggressive. It sent out wide-range disruptive message magic that befuddled magic users. The moments that followed seemed to make everything look dark, like a dense, thick fog that exploded and blinded people. The scroll’s effects darkened not only the sight of the naked eye but also detection magic, all in an instant. Just like that, the soldiers lost Metatro’s position.
At first sight of this, the supreme mage responded to Metatro’s attempt at escaping. Without delay, he yelled, “Everyone, hold your positions!” He waved his staff yet again and a ray of light fell upon the soldiers. The light circled the thick fog that clouded Aruka’s vision as if it was about to smash and disperse it. Suddenly, a sharp and harsh voice emitted from the camp like someone had been cut in half by a dull blade.
Simultaneously, shouts could be heard. “There are assassins!” The cries came to an abrupt end with a thunderous crash, followed by a heavy-looking object flying across the tents, smashing and destroying many things. Then, a cold voice followed, “If you want the king to stay intact, listen to me and stay where you are!”
The voice was not especially loud. It was obvious that the owner of the voice was young. It was obvious that message magic was used to transmit the warning to everyone. Everyone inside and outside the camp could hear the voice. The supreme mage and Aruka quickly lost focus on Metatro, turning to rush back into the camp.
The magnificent fur tent at the centre of the camp had been demolished. It looked like it had been split in half by a gigantic blade. In the courtyard surrounded by curtains in front of the large tent, the iron grills had also been knocked off. The curtains were torn and sprawled on the ground. Everything seemed deformed.
The grills were knocked over by a large man. It was the supreme warrior Affi, the king’s bodyguard. At that moment, rust and ashes coated his shoulders while he stood at the entrance of the ruined tent, sword drawn. He did not enter, even though there wasn’t a door.
The courtyard had been in such disorder that the most grandeur tent had been split in half. However, the objects at the front of the tent remained intact. The king’s throne was still upright, but the table in front of it was cut in half. There were also two beautiful naked women, concubines of the king, wrapped in the blanket, shuddering in fear like buzzing bees.
The king’s guard, servants, and the two sixth-level mages stood at the edge of the tent, but none of them dared to approach. King Lucier was sitting on the throne, his face flushed white with fright. His body shivered in terror. Because His Majesty was not properly dressed, the man beside him was kind enough to pass a garb to the king.
Lucier’s hands tightly grasped a piece of his sheets like he was holding a straw pillow around his abdomen. Standing next to him was a young man donning strange armour not dissimilar to that of the assassin they were fighting earlier. His right hand rested a sharp blade on Lucier’s shoulder.
Celia, the king’s accompanying supreme mage, rushed back into the camp. She had only just realised that the king had been captured and was being held. Her first thought was to use spatial magic to move the king away from the assassin’s blade, but she immediately dismissed the idea. The grey scroll in the assassin’s left hand was twirling around his fingers as if it would be unfolded and used any time.
Celia recognised the scroll as the legendary Tiamat’s Wrath! If the kidnapping of the king failed, the assassin would surely die, but it was not unlikely that he would bring everyone to the underworld with him.
The supreme mage was unsure of whether she could kill the assassin before he unleashed the scroll. Considering that this assassin snuck into the camp and fought Affi off, he must be much more powerful that the assassin who held his own against dozens of men outside. When the tension reached its zenith, Celia took a step forward with her staff and asked commandingly, “Strange warrior, how daring of you. Who are you?”
The assassin smirked heartily. His teeth bared white. He said, “You may have heard of me. My name is Amon. I am the Head of the An-Ra legion of the Ejyptian Empire. The man outside is my guard, Metatro. I assume you are also wondering what my demands are and what conditions would satisfy the requirements for the release of His Majesty the King? With the knowledge of my identity, I doubt there is much else you need to ask. I am here for nothing but peace between our two countries. All I want is a sit-down and have a civil discussion.”
This assassin was one with a deep magic conviction. Celia started going weak in the knees. It was the Head of the An-Ra legion and the survivor of the Flood in Duc!
Aruka rebutted, “General Amon, I admire your courage, but do you truly think that you can leave here alive?”
Amon chuckled. “I certainly want to return home alive. I’ve considered all the possibilities. However, His Majesty King Lucier would certainly protect me, right?”
The words were indirectly addressed to Lucier. The King of Hittite saw the situation he was in. Although the assassin had a blade pressed against his neck, he was also surrounded by countless guards and hostiles. In this hinterland, if the king was hurt, the assassin would never be able to escape. Lucier recovered his calmness and said in a dignified tone, “General Amon, I can forgive this atrocity and offence, but since you so nobly say that your intentions are but peace, I urge you to lay your arms down first and ask for my forgiveness.”
The man tried hard to maintain his dignity as king, but his voice was mute. A hint of tremble leaked through his words.
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