B2 Chapter 273: Expected Barriers, Finale

The black armoured vanguard approached them slowly, his menacing grin widening with every slow, clanking step.

He thought that they were scared.

Kaius stared at the tier-two warrior, inwardly wondering what was wrong with the man. He had to know that they had killed men of his calibre during their capture.

Right? Surely, he had to be aware. By the blasted Depths, they’d been drugged and half dead from a battle! Against their full team, fully rested, with an additional member, the vanguard has about as good a chance as a stone did of flying.

Regardless if they were simply misinformed, or idiotically overconfident, Kaius would not waste this gifted opportunity.

“Now,” he said softly, suddenly stepping to the side to reveal Ianmus standing with his staff levelled, a brightly glowing sigil wavering in the dense storm of mana that had coalesced at the tip of his focus.

The vanguard’s eyes widened. To his credit, he reacted fast. The tier-two snapped his heavy axe up, black armour shimmering with Skill-backed potency as he hunkered behind his guard.

The room flashed white—a lance of the purest sun’s heat burning within arms reach as Ianmus’s spell tore across the hall instantaneously. Kaius grunted as his skin blistered from his close proximity to the attack, but he didn’t flinch.

The lance of solar mana washed over the vanguard—his weapon doing little to block the incorporeal nature of the attack.

Yet, unlike most of the opponents that had felt the bite of Ianmus’s solar beams, this one stood strong. Unable to bore directly through the vanguard’s armour, it coated his chest in a blinding luminance—black steel glowing to a fiery orange as if it had been thrust into a forge.

He watched the vanguard’s mouth open, a soundless screech of agony clawing its way out of their throat as their skin blackened and burned.

The flesh beneath boiled and blistered, and still Ianmus’s beam kept burning.

Eyelids burnt away—orbs bursting as their jelly rapidly boiled.

The vanguard stumbled, unable to help listing to the side as every facet of their being was scoured. Their axe followed—the cherry red head letting out a shower of sparks as it clattered on the stone below.

A moment later, the solar lance gutted and winked out—followed quickly by the vanguard collapsing to the ground, a rasping wheeze leaving their throat. They coughed, just barely putting out an arm to catch themselves.

Porkchop growled, legs tensing as he made to charge forward and end the threat.

“No,” Kaius said, reaching forward to tug Porkchop back. “Not yet. Just be ready.”

“Why not?” Porkchop questioned with a growl. “He’s still breathing!”

“Honours,” he replied simply, before he turned to Kenva behind him—who was staring in outright shock at Ianmus.

“Kenva!” he yelled. Her eyes snapped to his own.

“You’re still below one-hundred, right?” he asked.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, before nodding swiftly as her gaze fell on the shuddering vanguard ahead.

“Good,” Kaius replied, “Finish him—Porkchop and I can’t be involved for you to get what we need.”

It was a split second decision to have her make the kill, but one he thought would give them the best chances of success. He knew that it would lose Ianmus’s solo bonus, but in doing so Kenva would gain both Ruthless Underdog II & III in a single draw of her bow.

That would increase the overall strength of their team significantly more than the slight addition of a bonus to a single man.

Besides—Underdog III required being under level two-hundred, and they still had yet to discover if completing the same feat alone a second time could improve the Honour at a later date.

That, and despite what the mage had said about being able to handle the spell without burning his mana channels, Ianmus was holding onto his staff with a deathgrip—his face pale and sweaty.

Processing his words in an instant, Kenva snapped back to Ianmus—an unspoken question on her face.

“Do it. It’s better for our escape, and I need a minute to recover anyway.” Ianmus gasped, a swirling blue tonic appearing in his hand.

Kenva looked back at him. “If I do this, I will not be able to make a similar shot for at least a few days. It will take much from my skill.”

“Will you still be able to fight?”

She nodded.

“Then do it.”

Kenva paused, giving him a complicated look. “Again, you have given me a gift without asking anything in return, this time of strength.”

Reaching over her shoulder, she drew an arrow and stepped forwards. “I know this likely means far less to you, not being from the steppe.”

Kenva stepped forwards, passing him as she smoothly drew her arrow back to her cheek—her back flexing to bear the weight of her longbow at full draw. Her eyes trained on the vanguard, still writhing in agony as his flesh smoked beneath his super-heated armour.

“The steppe can be a harsh place. Little grows, and game does not linger. My ancestors struggled, forced to move like vagrants as they lived meagre lives of hunger—becoming isolated and cruel in their desperation. As Hiwiann, we thrive where they did not on the backs of our bonds and cooperation.”

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The engravings on her bow started to glow—a forceful energy soaking into the weapon as Kenva’s body tensed. Mana flooded from her centre, the bright green of Nature coalescing around her arrow.

“And still, life is hard. The Three Gifts are an old tradition, from a more desperate time. Given in sincerity, with no expectation of bondage, they must make the lives of their recipients a little easier—help them weather the inevitable storm that ever looms on the horizon. It is an offering, to weather what may come with linked arms and straight backs.”

Kaius stood in silence as the light of her bow brightened, and the mana around her arrow lengthened into a bar—quickly reforming into a javelin.

Down the hall, the vanguard coughed—clawing at the stone. He was almost certain he could see a faint trace of unblemished skin peaking out around the collar of his gorget.

“Thrice, you have given me a gift. Freedom. Heritage. Strength.”

The vanguard suddenly gasped, taking in a great lungful of air. They scrambled at the ground, slowly pushing themselves to their feet on shaky limbs.