Chapter 10

Dane bent down to pick up the sword of the dead man. It was a bit longer, sharper, and sturdier than his. Dane was bummed that he couldn't kill that ghoul because he might have been able to receive a Memory. Getting one would go a long way in a Nightmare. Instead, he was forced to scavenge off of corpses.

Some of the soldiers gave him a dirty look. One stepped forward.

"Drop it," he threatened.

Dane looked at him as he straightened himself. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"I don't know how you outsiders do things. But over here, we honor our dead. When a man falls, his sword falls with him," he said.

Dane lifted his sword, the one he bought, and raised it, earning a wary step back from the man. "See this? It's not the best sword for battling the undead and Tyrants. It's meant for sparring. Now, I'm all for honoring the dead, the gods know I try, but I won't be able to honor anyone if I'm dead, and I'll be damned if I croak because of a bad sword."

The soldier frowned. "Fine, but when we're done here, you will come and apologize to Darrel's wife."

"Sure," he promised as he sheathed his original sword, lying.

The man shook his head and walked back. The march upward continued in a slow jog.

They came across mutilated ghouls, their limbs torn apart so they could not move. It seemed that the ghouls had attempted to stop the Tyrant.

Time and time again, ghouls would pounce on them. Soon enough, they came in groups. Even Dane suffered a wound. There was only so much he could do against multiple unkillable foes as a mundane man.

Dane started aiming to behead them. It was easier to keep one's distance and push a ghoul around when it did not see.

Dane sliced through one's neck from behind and kicked its fallen head away as two men thrust their spears into its legs. Atticus dispatched it soon and leaned against a wall tiredly. He had been moving around the flanks, killing all the ghouls in sight and rushing to assist the soldiers. He huffed for breath as he gulped water from a canteen. He glanced at Dane.

"Sir told me you are a wanderer. I think you lie. You fight like a warrior," the priest said between breaths.

Dane smiled. "Sir tells me you're a priest. I think you lie. You kill like an assassin."

"Point taken," Atticus chuckled. "You're doing this for money, am I right? All this trouble for some gold," he pointed at the cut on Dane's ankle, which he received from a particularly shameless ghoul.

"How I wish," Dane replied. "At the beginning, I thought I'd be killing a few Dormant serpents…now it's an Awakened Tyrant. From how you're acting - I'd die pretty soon after it gets its hands on the relic. I doubt you people would give an outsider precious water now, so I can't leave. Either I wait for death or try my chances at victory, no?"

'Not that I could leave anyway,' he thought to himself. When one was chosen for their First Nightmare, the only way one left was through death or survival. There was no escape.

A rotting arm shot out from behind the wall Atticus leaned on. Dane reacted quickly. His sword flashed, and the arm fell to the floor. Atticus grimaced as blood spurted onto his face. He manifested his sword and turned, delivering a fatal sweep.

"Accursed things," he spat. "Well, I can't say you're wrong."

Dane rubbed his chin in thought. "Atticus. From what I know, don't you generally sacrifice blood and animals to gods? How come you don't do that here?"

A burst of fire lit up the cave road for a moment before darkening again. They kept moving.

"Most of them take blood," the priest said, "but not Heart, never him. He demands something much more valuable and elusive. Your heart."

Dane flicked his sword to meet a club. A ghoul, taller than the rest, held it with both arms. Dane's bones shuddered, but he deflected it. He snapped at its neck before it could react, severing it. Atticus thrust his sword at its heart and retrieved it as it crumbled into dust.

Dane thought that was absurd. Wasn't one's lifeblood more 'valuable' than one's heart?

Demonic howls filled the road as fire lit up the world again, burning the ghouls. Atticus saw the confusion on Dane's face.

"I know what you're thinking. Think of it this way. It is easier to die than to live while taming your heart, impervious to what you feel, focusing only on your duty," he explained patiently.

Dane remained silent, finding some sense in his words. He helped Atticus slay a few more ghouls before finding something to say.

"What if your duty drives you to death?" he asked.

Atticus smiled. "The heart despises duty. It will drive you from death by poisoning you with excuses and cowardice. It will keep you away from difficulty, for difficulty is what helps you grow. Never forget that Heart is also the god of growth."

He continued. "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. That is why he demands not blood, animals, and death but hearts."

"Very philosophical," Dane commented, surprised but unsure what to say.

They went on in haste, slaying undead creatures and moving until they reached a path leading to a stairwell. By the time they arrived, Dane was winded. It turned out that fighting for his life while running was not the simplest of jobs.

A light shone from the course of the stairwell. It wasn't very bright and was eerily similar to the light that shone when Atticus wounded ghouls with his sword. The dim light brightened a decent amount of space between the stairwell and the road, maybe 50 meters.

Hundreds of ghouls lay near the path. They stayed clear of it, staring hungrily at the stairwell instead.

Thankfully, most did not react when the host approached the last stretch. The few that did were numerous enough by themselves, fifty of them. The knight hurled a cascade of fireballs at them while they advanced in a triangular formation.

The burning ghouls pounced maniacally at them, clawing and scratching. Dane skewered one on his sword, unsheathed his other, and beheaded it. He kicked it away like he did with the first ghoul. His hair was on fire, and he patted it out quickly. A ghoul sneaked up on him while he could not see, but a ball of flames hit it and knocked it away.

"Thanks!" he shouted.

A man fell at his side. A ghoul had its hand embedded in the man's chest. A transparent blade pierced through its skull just then. Atticus glanced at the dying man sadly and turned away to finish off the beheaded ghoul.

A man impaled a ghoul on his spear, but it moved toward him anyway. He let go of his spear in fear, his legs trembling. Dane thrust his sword into its skull from behind with a quiet squelch. He twisted and pulled, and the monster's rotting head burst open like fruit. Its headless body wobbled randomly and ran into another ghoul. It took the spear with it.

Dane looked at the soldier and threw his sparring sword on the floor.

"Get up," he said coldly.

A group of three ghouls attacked Dane. Atticus was busy helping other soldiers, and the knight was occupied with clearing the path ahead of them. So Dane kept silent. He didn't need the help anyway.

He moved fast, his movements resembling the chaotic yet restrained nature of the wind. His sword was in front of him at all moments. It moved first, and he followed immediately. There was never a moment where the ghouls got past his sword. A ghoul moved to the side and kicked at him while another charged toward Dane.

The other lingered behind.

Dane switched his grip on the hilt and flicked his sword abruptly, his hand resembling a cracking whip. He severed the charging ghoul's arm and flanked it before it could lament the loss of its arm. He beheaded it and threw its body behind him toward the lingering ghoul.

The other one faced him alone. He struck first, swinging. It dodged haphazardly, losing balance. Dane's sword and feet flowed without stopping. He brandished with momentum, and his sword got halfway through its torso. He tensed his arms and ground his feet, straining his core. He clenched his jaw and exerted all the force he could. The sword severed the ghoul in half with a bit of resistance.

The ghoul flailed its limbs wildly but couldn't do much more than roll around harmlessly. He severed its head as it roared and cried. It was cold butchery.

He flourished his sword, flicking the rotting blood off of his sword, and walked toward the last ghoul.