End of B3 – Chapter 418: Reunited

Alchemical power surged through her veins as the wind howled in Ro’s ears. Her feet blurred, slamming into the dirt as she sprinted across the frontier.

Every step launched her dozens of strides. She felt almost weightless — rarely did she get the opportunity to push herself to such a great extent.

Normally, she loved the feeling; now she could only feel the anxious knot in her stomach winding tighter by the minute.

With every footfall, the dirt cratered, leaving only shattered mulch in her trail as grass and brush were obliterated in her passage.

She longed to go faster, to push herself harder until her joints screamed and the soles of her feet bled. It would have been a fool’s move, so she forced herself to hold back. As much of a bastard as it was to admit it, Rieker was right. There was no point arriving half-dead and alone.

The two other Golds with her kept pace — though they had to push far harder than she did to keep up. Rieker moved in huge bounding leaps. His heavy plate clanked with every surge of motion, a spiked hammer clutched tightly in one of his hands.

Beside him, Arc thundered: a blitzing comet of molded bone that shattered the very ground with his advance.

Bronwyn and his team were far behind them. Even with the assistance of tonics, it was too much to ask for mid-Silvers to keep up with Golds — especially when they had imbibed the same alchemical infusion.

Every second they could save was one that might save a life. If Bronwyn and his team arrived relatively fresh as a second wave of reinforcements, all the better.

Besides, if Kaius and his team were still fighting when they arrived? Against that many Silvers? They would be strong. Strong enough that the addition of three Golds would be enough to turn the tide.

She just hoped they were still fighting. Gods, let them still be fighting. Ro clenched her jaw tighter, her teeth feeling like they might shatter.

It had barely been an hour, but it felt like a year. Every second stretched long as her heart hammered in her chest, in time with the pounding of her feet. The forest where she had detected the clash and surging mana lay ahead. She could practically smell the smoke, see the air of violence that had settled over the smeared greenery on the horizon.

Without the tonics, it would have taken them half a day or more to arrive, and they would have been exhausted when they did. With the tonics? They’d get there far faster — but it wouldn’t be without cost. Ro wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow, she could already feel the headache building.

There was no doubt in her mind that it would be worth it. She could ride out the hangover knowing those boys still lived.

So she kept running.

They hit the tree line, tearing through it like madmen. With so many obstacles, anyone else would have had to slow their pace. She didn’t. Leaning on a lifetime of experience, her general skills, and Unseen Step, she danced through the trunks like a wraith. Rieker and Ark were less agile, but they still didn’t slow.

Rieker’s hammer surged with the power of his stamina, glowing as he channeled a skill Ro knew well — Heart Breaker, Widow Maker. Whenever a thin pine or a young oak stood in his path, he swung, and the tree would simply explode. Backed by Skills, simple vegetation was not enough to bar the war dog’s path.

Arc needed even less effort. He was a peak Gold, with every single one of his skills in the second tier. A rare thing on the frontier — one of only two she knew of. His bony plating thickened as visible energy crackled over its surface, sealing him in more completely than even the most finely wrought heavy plate. What was once the color of polished ivory was now inscribed with swirling patterns of natural sacred geometry that all but screamed of focus and fury to her well-trained senses.

Arc didn’t punch the trees, or bash them out of his path as Rieker did, and he certainly didn’t maneuver around them. No — Arc kept running, and anything that happened to be in his path simply…broke.

Ro readied herself, drawing her bastard sword in a one-handed grip, ready to dive straight for the enemy backline. The mages would be first, they were always her priority. She was a hybrid, a rare thing — rogue and skirmisher both; able to quickly slip through enemy formations and strike at the weak heart.

And they did have mages. Even from leagues away, she could smell it, taste it on her tongue: the violent discharge of mana. It wasn’t Kaius — at least not the spells she knew he had. No, this reeked of celestial war magic.

The very taste of it made her tighten her grip on her blades. It was an ephemeral affinity, but she had seen the devastation celestial magic could bring. Whoever that mage was, they were the greatest threat.

Leagues vanished in what felt like seconds. Through a thin gap in the trees, Ro saw it: the battlefield, just barely close enough for her to see.

With the sight came dread.

It was manifest devastation.

Fueled by her fear, she dug deep, tearing forwards as she pulled on everything she had. Rieker and Ark fell behind her in an instant.

“Gods damnit, Ro! You’ll get yourself killed!” Rieker called after her.

Ignoring her partner, she closed the distance. Every sense screamed at her, tuned to the remnants of a clash that could only have ended in death.

Trees had been reduced to smouldering stumps; the air reeked of blood and cooling offal. Mana crackled in the atmosphere, still charged from war magic; the very ground looked like it had been bombarded by dwarven cannoneers for hours. Yet, among the fallen trunks and their splayed-out boughs, her ears caught nothing except quiet breathing — steady and even.

Four people. Ready for battle. One was deep and heavy — likely a vanguard, perhaps somebody with giant’s blood. Regardless, it was one too many.

Her throat tightened as Ro clenched her teeth and swallowed grief. She tore to the nearest trunk, planting her boot against its bark. Wood splintered as she kicked off, sailing up over the twisted and broken remnants of an elm.

Straight towards the breaths of the killers she had heard. Unseen Death cloaked her form, an illusion reflecting what lay behind her. Her blade came up high as she crested the leaves.

Her heart lurched. There was no enemy — no battle worn remnants of ambushers. All she saw was Kaius, Ianmus, and a far-too-large Porkchop standing next to an aen with her bow drawn. Behind them lay a pile of bodies, ten men strong, their gear half stripped and tossed to the side.

For a moment Ro froze in shock, even as she continued to sail towards them, her blade relaxing in her grip.

As soon as she was within a couple dozen long strides of the team, the archer snapped to her and loosed.

“Enemy!” the aen screamed as howling wind surrounded her arrow.

Ro reacted on instinct. Two skills layered her blade. She snapped it up, cutting the arrow from the air even as forceful winds buffeted her back.

It was an impossible shot — strong, possibly strong enough to be Gold. Splinters showered her, punching deep through her leathers to rip through her body. Ro ignored the pain — trusting in her Skills to keep her hale.

More than that, Kaius and his team had aura — they were Silver! Yet it felt wrong — it pressed upon her like a living thing, needling her own with an aggression she’d never experienced. It screamed their intent: death and mayhem.

She let the blow carry her back as her thoughts raced. Dropping her cloak of Unseen Death, she shimmered back into reality even as she cut another arrow out of the air.

Her sword rang like a bell — quaking in her hand as she deflected the shot.

“It’s me!” Ro screamed.

Kaius and Porkchop were already charging towards her, only to stumble as recognition dawned on her face.

“Hold!” Kaius screamed, throwing out an arm towards the ranger. To Ro’s surprise she listened immediately — clearly it was no alliance of necessity.

Ro studied her face. It was jagged and sharp, as all aen’s features were — but there was something familiar about it. Tilting her head, realisation struck her a moment later. She recognized that nose, that brow.

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The Aen stared back intently, suspicion written on her face.

The clues had already been there. Nothing from a fresh silver should have spotted her, not even one that was clearly just as unnaturally capable as Kaius and the rest of them.

At least, not so suddenly: not only as she drew close. There was only one skill she knew of that fit that bill — one attached to a rather prominent clan founded by aen. Farseer. The archer was a spitting image of the last bearer of the Skill that she’d met.

Ro snapped back to Kaius, who was still staring at her in shock. His blade was held high. It looked different, but it was clearly the same. Bastard had managed to evolve his sword while he was gone — blessed by the gods’ damned fates that he was.

“Why the fuck is Luiriel’s brat with you?” she demanded.

Why did she say that? All that mattered was that they were breathing.

Kaius only blinked. “Ro? What? How?”

“You know my mother?” the aen questioned, slowly lowering her bow as a puzzled look spread across her face..

“Please, you think the clans have that many Golds? We’ve hunted together,” Ro said, before she sheathed her sword and raced forward to wrap her hands around Kaius’s shoulders and Porkchop’s leg. “I’m so fucking glad you’re alive. All of you.”

…

Kaius stood stunned, his mind struggling to catch up as Ro’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and tugged him down into a tight hug. How was she here? That made no sense.

Old Yon, he could understand — he’d harbored the suspicion the man had been tracking them since he’d seen that flash of light as they’d broken into his vault. But the guild? Ro had come here ready for a fight. Had she been tracking them? Even that didn’t explain it — Deadacre was days away.