A Mysterious Powerful Force

"Many others never understood why our lord wanted his personal army to fight in as many wars as possible, thinking that he was either too loyal to his kingdom or a battle-crazed idiot who constantly risks his men for no reason.

"But they do not understand that the best way to keep your men the best they can be in battle is to send them through the crucible of battle again and again until they are hardened into steel and able to take on 3-4 opponents alone."

"After all, experience in battle and war is worth reading hundreds of books on the subject."

"Do people think that the Pelican Guard was so strong because of chance?"

"That we got lucky by having a mysterious training manual that was better than the rest and a fighting style created by a genuine grandmaster?"

"Well, while that would be true. But the real reason why they are so strong is that we fight again."

"And again…."

"And again."

"We fight on every battlefield we can, so we forever remain the elite of the elite as the weaklings died long ago."

"Whether that is guarding a caravan…."

"Fighting in a skirmish or war."

"The weak are ruthlessly killed by their enemies."

"Leaving only the strong in both mind and body."

Jordis Mantelon, successor to the Grandmaster of Loyalty and 4th wing of Athurus.

….

"Tell me, hero, can you live with that weighing on your conscience."

Sigert said viciously, seeing that Por seemed momentarily stunned by his words; the shameless raider went for a lightning-quick attack, aiming to cut across Por's unprotected chest and kill or severely injure him in one fell swoop and because he is only a recently ascended master fighter with such a wound no matter whether he survived or died he would be able to be easily destroyed.

[Masterful Quickstrike skill activated]

Sigert activated a skill, wanting to end this confrontation quickly.

[Lightspeed Reaction skill activated]

Clang!

Sigert was surprised when he found that Por's sword stopped the sharp blade of his axe. The ageing man's face looked almost bored and amused at Sigert's antics, whose eyes widened thinking that he had managed to get to this troublesome hero to hesitate only for him to seem unaffected by his words and calmly block his axe, which appeared at his side in an instant.

'How could a man who tried his best to move on and away from a life of killing not be affected by his words.'

Sigert thought, not realising that his shocked eyes and facial revealed everything that Por needed to know about his current mental condition thanks to the ex-mercanries' vast life experience navigating the bloody medieval world as a hired sword.

"Are you surprised?"

Por said calmly as the weapons of the two locked, and he brought his cracked lips to Sigert's ear.

"Of course you are. It's written all over your little puppy face. It's quite adorable actually, but you know how the world works…."

"Bad dogs get put down."

"And you, sir….

"Have been a very bad dog indeed."

Por finished his whisper, and the fight continued faster than most at the scene could keep up with as the sword and axe met again and again.

The only advantage that Sigert had was his shield and armour, which protected him far more than Por's course linen clothing ever could. However, compared to Por's light clothing, his armour was a much heavier hindrance, restricting his movements more. Many times, he found himself outmanoeuvred by the calm mercenary who could channel his rage into calm and rational thought, using it to fuel him while not succumbing to its dark influence that he knew all too well could lead to his death.

The other veteran raiders knew that intervening in this fight without a proper formation or specific tactic was just asking for death.

And when they looked at the bloodied carnage that Por had wrought, they intelligently decided to stick out of this one, not wanting to add their dismembered bodies to the skilled swordsman's body count that had already early halved their numbers.

"You know what you said would have stumped many a naïve hero as many do not understand that even a bad person has family, friends, and loved ones and do not think of the effect the death or imprisonment of one person can have such wide-reaching effects."

Por said as he fought expertly, parrying and dodging each attack Sigert threw at him despite only breaking through to the master rank from the stimulation of having his family threatened.

"Unfortunately, you're speaking to someone who has seen the cruel world for what it is and compared to your little antics of selling captured villagers into slavery…."

"What I have done, the atrocities I have committed are far worse than what you can possibly imagine."

"You're not even a bandit or a mercenary, are you? You're just a person from the frozen east looking for some way to make a living and maybe even a soldier of some lord there."

"So how could a self-righteous soldier like you or a man who raids for survival have any knowledge of the dark and depraved things mercenaries are hired for, as we are the ones people send in to do things they cannot do publicly." 

"Mass murder, framing, theft name a crime and it is done by mercenaries around the world as they are the perfect fall guys for those in higher society to use in their schemes without risking themselves." 

Por lectured as the fight continued, dodging a vicious shield bash that was aimed at his face by leaning back and bringing his sword up to cut at the raider captain's arm as the sword cut through the heavy mail protecting the raider and left a crimson cut behind drawing first blood but despite his attempt at psychological warfare the calm raider captain didn't react or rise to the bait only being momentarily surprised that he could not use Por's guilt of his past against him.

While Por was confident on the outside, he knew that it would not take long for him to begin to tire as he was not as fit or physically fit as he used to be and compared to the experienced master fighter he was facing, he had only just broke through a few minutes ago and even cutting through the many high-level adepts and expert fighters did not give him experience in a battle between masters as Por found himself on the back foot more and more as time passed.

The battle raged on for another minute as strikes were exchanged again and again, and while Por had an advantage in the early stages of the fight, his continuous fighting and killing of the raiders was beginning to take a toll on him. Sweat visibly dripped swiftly down his scarred face, his exhaustion plain for all to see as his breathing became heavier. He relied more on muscle memory and battle-hardened instinct to survive, and the longer the battle with Sigert continued, the worse his condition would get.

Unfortunately, unlike Sigert, who could likely cut him down in one strike due to Por having no armour on whatsoever, it would take at least two, if not three hits, to kill the well-armoured raider and break through his strong customised mail armour unless he could hit a vital point and end the battle in one go. This already put him at a disadvantage, as he had to be very careful not to be hit even once, as unlike Sigert, he could not tank a few blows thanks to his armour. 

The veteran raider's armour was exceptionally crafted as it only took one look for Por to figure out that this was either the leader or second in command of the villager's assailants as even compared to the other mercenaries, small stripes of gold were embedded in his helmet and chest plate showing him to be a leader in one capacity or another.

Por was not out of shape, so to say he was actually quite fit for his age, but if his energy was compared to his younger when he was active as a mercenary, it could only be said to be far inferior, just like how older players in sports cannot keep up with younger players physically and rely on their experience to win.

After another minute of being constantly pushed back, Por finally made a fatal mistake, giving Sigert the opening he needed and had been waiting for.

Sigert blocked Por's sword with his shield, and before the ex-mercenary could dodge the raider's sharp steel axe, it cut across his chest diagonally from shoulder to hip, a fatal wound that turned his body as crimson as his given title from the blood that flowed like a river out of his deadly wound.

Severely injured and exhausted from battling, Por went down to one knee, one hand trying to staunch the blood that flowed from the vicious wound that would kill him within minutes if he did not get immediate medical attention, not that he would have to worry about that anyway as the raider was already raising his axe again ready to bring it down on his unprotected head and finish him off.

Por breathed in deeply one last time, closing his eyes and listening to the birds, taking in the fresh air of the countryside, calmly accepting his imminent death as from the beginning of his desperate attack on the raiders in an attempt to ensure his family safety from what he knew to be a ghastly fate he had known that his chance of survival was low but he had no regret for his actions.

Not only did he save a few of the kidnapped villagers as he carved a bloody path through the raiders, but more crucially, he had delayed the raiders with his attack, which would give his family enough time to get to safety. Even if he died, his son and wife would be able to keep the family afloat without him.

They were already close to the town, and with the raiders capturing those at the back of the rushing horde of fleeing villagers, they would no longer be able to catch up to them and threaten his or anyone else's family. 

When Por unexpectedly broke through to the master rank, he thought he should be able to easily kill off the veteran raiders who were actually veteran soldiers. After all, a master fighter can take on a few hundred warriors of a lower level without being in danger, but he did not expect that within this small band of raiders was a master fighter, meaning that there was something special about this raid or someone taking part in it.

Por also knew one more truth about the harsh world he lived in.

Defeat meant death, whether that was on the battlefield or in the political arena.

Defeat meant death….

And Por was defeated.

The steel axe descended as fast as a guillotine blade, aiming to crack open Por's skull like an egg.

Whoosh!

Ack!

But the expected pain, blood and splattering of brain matter onto the ground never occurred, and Por opened his eyes in shock, his expression mirroring that of the raiders and of his mail-clad opponent who was chocking on his own blood, an arrow piercing his throat as he fell to his knees his eyes widened in shock and surprise like everyone else's was but there was one more thing as well in those grass green eyes.

Fear.

Fear dominated the eyes of the raider, who, like all sentient beings, did not want to die. His life snuffed out as easily as a torch, the light of life leaving his eyes as his body stopped twitching, embracing the man's death, his soul no longer of this world.

Por quickly looked behind him at the paved road from which the arrow had come. The other raiders were shocked, as no one had noticed the arrival of 50 horsemen, each clad in mail, and what looked to be a girl in her late teens who began thundering towards them, each armed.

In the hand of one of the horsemen was a freshly fired bow. A slight smile was on the master archer's face as he threw what looked to be a powerful ornate bow at a young man before trotting forward casually as if his work was done for the day. It had to be a master, as only someone who was at the master rank or higher would have been able to kill a master-level fighter so accurately and stealthily in one shot.

Master-level fighters were not like those of lower ranks, as they had their senses enhanced and were more than capable of using an axe or a sword to deflect or chop an assailing projectile in half, so for an experienced master fighter like Sigert to be killed in an instant meant only a master archer could do it and without him they were at the mercy of that mysterious expert who had no intention showing any.

"Time to play ye raidin' bastards!"

Norfaelor roared as he and Jordis led the Pelican Guards disguised as caravan guards to attack the raiders who had just seen their indomitable leader die instantly as fear began to root itself into their very being.

Many began running, not wanting to face these mysterious demonic cavalrymen. If one of them could kill their leader in one move, then what chance did they stand against them? Each cavalryman held a spear or sword in their hands, and the thumping horse hooves seemed to them to be more like the horn of hell to the raiders than anything else, calling them to the grave and eternal damnation for their crimes in their previous lives.

This unnatural fear and the will to survive and live took over all the raiders as even the vice-captain of the veteran raiders, a man who had managed to survive up until now, looked shocked as he was aware of all the secret deals that went on behind closed doors to ensure that their raid here would be successful.

'Who the hell are these men!'

The vice-captain thought his shock at the arrival of this unknown force was quickly replaced with fear and anger.

'Isn't Baron Rushe the only local lord with a master fighter, and we bought the bastard off!'

'Were we betrayed, maybe?'

'Or did Count Mevron send men?'

'No, it can't be that bloody righteous count who refused our generous 'offer!' His capital is a day away on foot and at least and a few hours by horse even if he rushed to rescue the village, so it couldn't be him as he wouldn't even know we were here yet, as it would take an hour or two just for a bird to send word to him, let alone the time it would take to rally his men and get here.

The vice captain's mind continued to spiral as he tried to figure out who this powerful, mysterious force was associated with so that they could have a master fighter amongst them. Their background could not be small or insignificant, as he was well aware of all the dirty deals that went on behind the scenes between people of power and influence.

Without the vice captain's leadership, the few raiders who did not run began to try to escape towards the village, their comrades, and their ships. Unfortunately, none of them was fated to escape from House Aurellion's pursuit, even if few would ever know of the noble houses' involvement.

Norfaelor swung his Morningstar, taking a raider's head clean off in one brutal swing. Thanks to the huge half-elf's overwhelming strength, his spiked Morningstar knocked the head away like it was a baseball. Jordis' halberd did a similar thing, but he just straight up beheaded the raider he was attacking as he didn't have a blunt or bat-like weapon like Norfaelor, leveraging the momentum of his horse to fell the man, cutting through the mail coif that protected his head, and within a few tens of seconds, the raider's were being slaughtered one by one like they were fish in a barrel by the Pelican Guards disguised as caravan guards.

With no morale, they were quickly cut down by the Pelican Guards; even if most were recruits against a fleeing foe, they might as well be peasants who had not held a sword in their lives, and it only took a minute for them all to die. 

The vice-captain of the raiders ran until an arrow pierced his neck behind him on a horse rode Railius with a freshly fired bow in his hands as his friends looked at him in shock, having to blink a few times to make sure that what they saw was not an illusion.

"Did he just hit something, or are my eyes deceiving me?"

Vegrif asked jokingly with surprise, his steel spear thrust through the head of a fleeing raider as he looked at the dying vice-captain. Having long been used to seeing men die over the last few months as bandits routinely attacked their caravan, and he had killed tens of them in his effort to protect his lord and his lord's investment.

"Carnt you have just a little bit of faith in me?"

Railius asked in a sarcastic tone, jumping to the bait. He was proud of what he had accomplished, even if the shot was a bit lucky to hit the raider vice-captain in one of his armour's weak points, even if the mail protecting the man's neck nearly negated his shot entirely because DO focused on realism an arrow through the neck is not a wound one can easily recover from especially without a magical healer around willing to save you and stop you from dying from blood loss.

"Why don't we ask Declan if he is willing to be even within one centimetre of your view while you are firing a bow? Didn't you almost nail his ass?"

Vegrif laughed, slapping Railius on the back in a friendly manner.

"But it was a good shot, my lord. Give it a decade or two, and I have no doubt that just mentioning your name will make people quake in their boots."

Vegrif said encouragingly as he greeted a grinning Norfaelor, who always perked up after a fight, casually resting his large, bloodied Morningstar on his back. It was just that Vegrif would only realise later just how right his words were. 

But the loyal friend would never have expected just how true this encouragement would become.