18 A Dangerous Journey (Part 3)

Content warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence that some readers might find disturbing.

The bandit smiled, revealing a set of rotten teeth, and swung his flail toward Neve's head. Moving on instinct alone, she ducked and swept the bandit's feet from underneath him. The man fell on his back, rolling to his side as Neve jabbed at him from above. Her sword struck the ground where his groin had been.

"That was close, ya dirty whore," the bandit grunted as he pulled himself up. "I wanted to spare ya, I really did."

The bandit swung his flail again, aiming for Neve's midsection.

She jumped out of the way, feeling another body brush past her. Another bandit, carrying a pike, had attacked simultaneously.

Miraculously, Neve evaded both attacks. The bandit's pike caught one of the chain links of the other man's flail, and both men were momentarily subdued.

This was nothing like her practice matches with Oliver, which were centred around refined sword movements and careful technique. No, this was entirely about urgency and brutality. These men were not meticulously trained like knights. But they wanted blood.

'I might die before I reach Hell's Gate,' Neve realized. If she wasn't fighting for her life, she would've laughed.

"Ya fuckin' idiot!" the bandit with the flail yelled, kicking the other man away. The other bandit stumbled back, struggling to regain his balance.

While the bandits where distracted, Neve took the opportunity to attack. She jabbed her sword at the bandit with the flail, piercing through his midsection. He howled in pain, the flail slipping from his fingers. Neve twisted the blade with all of her strength as she retracted the sword, creating an even larger wound.

She looked away as she saw the man's entrails slipping from the open wound she created. Instead, she focused her gaze on the man's face, watching as the life faded from his eyes.

'Two down, three more to go.'

Neve held her sword in front of her defensively as she shifted back to Oliver's said, eyeing the remaining bandits.

The two men she had killed happened to be the smallest. The remaining men looked much more dangerous.

"Ya put up quite the fight, little lady," the bandit with the club spoke. He must have been their leader, seeing as he seemed to command the other men. He turned his head, pulling down his face covering to spit. A glob of saliva darkened by tobacco splattered against the ground. "Ya better hope yer worth more than the two men ya just killed."

"I'll kill all of you where you stand," Neve said, though it sounded more like a plea. "Leave now, and I'll spare your lives."

The bandits howled with laughter. The leader's shoulders visibly shook.

"Yer an interesting one," the leader chuckled. "Maybe I'll keep ya for myself."

He took a menacing step forward, hoisting his large club over his shoulder. Rusted nails stuck out from the top of it.

"Now, behave!"

He swung his club with unexpected speed and unrivalled force. Neve darted back, but she wasn't quick enough.

The top of the club caught her shoulder. Neve cried out in pain as the club's rusted nails sliced through her skin. The force of the blow sent her reeling back, her sword slipping from her grasp as she fell to the ground.

Neve quickly flipped onto her stomach, flinching as pain seared through her arm. With no finesse, she dove toward her fallen sword, reaching with her uninjured arm.

But the bandits' leader caught her first. His foot slammed against her stomach, sending her flying backwards.

Neve landed on her side, the force of the kick collapsing her stomach. She struggled to turn her body, trying to lift her upper body up with her arms. Neve could barely hold herself upright as her body spasmed. Her stomach clenched violently, making her wretch.

She vomited bile as the bandits laughed sadistically.

The leader kicked Neve's sword toward her, sending it spinning. It landed in front of her, sending a trail of dust into the air in its wake.

"Get up," the leader barked. "Or are ya done already?"

Neve grabbed her sword with one hand, as her right arm was virtually useless. She used the founder's sword to bear some of her weight as she struggled to her feet. Glaring up at the leader, she spat out the remnants of vomit in her mouth, unwittingly mimicking the man's earlier actions.

"Well, come on," the bandit taunted gleefully, delighting in the fact Neve could now barely stand.

Neve had one final option, even though she dreaded it. It was the only way she could save herself and Oliver.

"Estarius."

Her magic erupted from deep within her, forcefully tearing itself from her injured body. Neve's eyes watered from the pain. It felt as if hellfire was burning her from the inside out. Still, she forced herself to remain standing.

A flurry of snow whipped around the bandits, obscuring their vision and coating the ground in snow. Their laughter ceased, as they watched the spectacle in bewilderment.

The magic was completely out of her control. It sought complete destruction and nothing else.

"She's a witch!" the bandit with the pike screamed, reeling backward.

Shards of ice as sharp as swords formed out of seemingly nothing, hovering midair and forming a protective shield around Neve.

'No, I'm a Rosentine,' Neve thought darkly.

Neve's shield of ice exploded, the shards of eyes rocketing towards the bandits. They impaled the men, staining the pristine snow-covered ground with blood.

Then, crystalline ice structures formed from the ground, mixing with the growing pool of blood at the bandits' feet. The ice quickly grew over the men's legs, locking them in place.

The leader struck the ice with his club, attempting to dislodge himself as Neve slowly approached. But it was futile–her magic was unstoppable.

"Yer gonna burn in hell, ya witch," the leader spat as he flailed, pointing his club at Neve to keep her away.

Neve simply sidestepped him, walking around his frozen frame until she stood, facing his back. She pressed the side of her blade against his neck. "Then I'll see you there," Neve replied coldly.

She swung her sword, plunging through the exposed flesh of the bandit's neck. Blood erupted wildly from the wound as she pulled the sword back, some of it landing on Neve. The man let out a single, garbled cry.

But it wasn't enough.

Neve swung again. And again. And again. Her body was weak from the injuries she had sustained. Her shoulder screamed in protest every time she swung.

It took eight blows before the bandit's head rolled to the ground.

She was tired–she just wanted everything to be over. Slowly, Neve approached the fifth bandit. His body was almost entirely encased in ice. With a start, she realized the man was already dead.

Something dark moved in the distance, barely catching Neve's attention. She straightened, scanning the area for another enemy. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move by her packhorses.

She hauled herself over to the unknown figure, a flurry of wind and snow whipping around her. The horses began to whine.

"Identify yourself," she shouted as she neared. "Or I will kill you where I stand."

Suddenly, a slight figure jumped out from behind the horses, their hands raised. They were dressed like the other bandits, face partially obscured by a cloth tied haphazardly around their head.

"Please, spare me!" they cried, prostrating themself. They reached toward their face and yanked down the cloth, revealing the face of a frightened boy. He was probably just a few years younger than Neve.

"Why?" Neve asked simply, pointing the sword in between the boy's eyes.

"I have information!" the boy pleaded. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of ripped fabric. He unfolded it, revealing the crest of the Bluhera imperial army. "Bluhera is going to ambush Asteria, and I know about their plans."