Blades in the Mist
Unfortunately, what he pulled from his pocket wasn't gold coins, but a sharply honed dagger.
"Urk."
The blade halted right before his Adam's apple.
The old man's face twisted in a scowl at the sight, but that wasn't the important part.
Slither.
"Move just a little more, and you're dead."
Men in black masks emerged from every corner of the shop without a sound—places Palan hadn't sensed a thing. They nocked arrows and aimed at Eden.
'Crazy, how many are there?'
He frantically scanned with his eyes, counting at least six.
Outnumbered two-to-one, with the enemy already primed to attack—this was an overwhelmingly disadvantageous setup.
"So the rats finally crawl out. I was wondering how long you'd hide."
Did Eden sense them coming?
There wasn't a hint of panic on his face.
'No, if he knew, shouldn't he have bolted?'
In this hopeless situation, cold sweat dripped from Palan's palms.
"I don't know who you are, but surrender here. Do you even know what this place is? Tsk tsk."
The old man showed no surprise or fear, even with the sword inches from his throat.
Had he ditched the mask in the meantime? The aura he exuded was completely different from before.
"That's exactly what I wanted to say, but you stole my line. Do you think you'll walk out of here alive?"
'Yeah, totally.'
With twice as many on their side, if they couldn't escape alive, something would be seriously wrong.
"You're insane. Utterly mad."
The old man shook his head.
One thing to note carefully here:
'They're still holding their bowstrings taut, so the old man's important after all.'
The standoff dragged on in extreme tension when Captain Alpen took a step toward Palan.
"Get ready."
He didn't specify for what, but Palan knew instinctively.
A fight was about to break out.
'Four on the left, two on the right.'
If they charged, sticking to the right and creating distance from the left would be best.
'Dodging arrows is priority one.'
He'd do his utmost, but even if luck failed and he took a hit, he could probably endure up to one.
'Gotta try. Shit, what choice do I have.'
He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but it was a situation he'd started by making the request.
Eden and Alpen, who had no obligation, were risking their lives—backing down now would be pathetic.
"A smuggler from the capital dares challenge me? Pathetic."
"Who's the pathetic one...!"
Clang!
In a split-second blur.
The old man twisted back, drawing a hidden dagger from his sleeve to parry Eden's sword.
Whish!
As distance opened, arrows rained down.
'The bastard baited them!'
Palan thought they were done for, but it was as if Eden had lured the attack on purpose.
Not a single arrow pierced his body or drew blood.
'What... the hell?'
No armor thick enough to block arrows could explain his usual light movements and build.
It defied logic, but Palan had no time to ponder it now.
Crash!
Captain Alpen, standing behind, seized the moment Eden drew their eyes and hurled a magic device resembling a magic bullet to the floor.
Hiss!
As it activated, white smoke erupted explosively in all directions.
In seconds, visibility inside the apothecary dropped to zero—you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
"What the—"
The sudden change threw him off, but Palan drew his sword and scanned his surroundings warily.
'Limiting sight for one-on-ones, huh.'
The intent was brilliant.
The problem? No one had clued him in.
Psssh!
"Aaaargh!!!"
In the height of tension, a agonized scream—presumably from an enemy—echoed from behind.
'Already got one.'
Alpen's decisiveness was impressive, at least.
'Link up toward the sound.'
Staying put was too risky with unknowns everywhere. Time to move...
Clang!
"Urk."
The instant he stepped, a sword slashed in from the front.
He reacted just in time, blocking successfully—but barely.
'If it'd been from the side or rear, I was done.'
Zero visibility made this the worst terrain for combat.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
As if anticipating the block, a chain attack followed without mercy.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Dozens of clashes rang out, sword on sword.
The force dispersed the smoke around them, partially clearing his view.
"Palan Oclo."
His robe had long since torn off in the fray.
The man who'd confirmed his face called his name unexpectedly.
'What? Why does he know me?'
Palan had made a name in the war, but not among street thugs.
"You know my name and still come at me? Ha! Think you can handle the consequences?"
Just trafficking poison grass from the capital was a death sentence.
Resisting this hard during capture? No clean death for them.
'If it were me, I'd have ditched the old man back there and run.'
Employer or not, survival first, right?
"Spare me the bullshit. You think stalling changes your future?"
Palan bit his lip at the man's words.
'Damn, he sniffed out the stall tactic.'
Palan had tried some mind games, but this guy was no amateur.
'No choice then.'
He'd prefer waiting for Eden, but the situation sucked.
'Time to carve my own way out.'
And that always started with pulling his weight.
"Hah!"
First strike in unfamiliar terrain.
Risky, sure—but bold decisions were mandatory when outmatched.
Claaaaang!
Their swords met head-on with a piercing screech, tousling Palan's bangs.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Exchanges flowed seamlessly, as if anticipated.
'Why's he so steady?'
Palan hunted for openings, but none appeared.
"That all you got? Pathetic."
The man shook his head and stepped forward first this time.
Clang!
Distance closed in a flash.
Before Palan could read the motion, the blade slipped toward his side.
Claaaaang!
Another razor-thin block.
A miracle, really.
And miracles didn't end fights.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Relentless chains assaulted him.
Far more aggressive and daring than before.
Yet Palan blocked them all—dramatically.
'How... is this working?'
Once might be luck; twice was skill.
Zoom out, and it was two volleys—break it down, nearly thirty strikes.
No such thing as coincidence that many times.
'Why the hell am I blocking everything?'
He racked his brain as distance opened.
'Damn it, no clue.'
Figuring it out wasn't easy, and the man closed in again.
Claaaang!
Another successful block.
And that clash clicked like a key.
A possibility sparked in his mind.
"Hamus swordsmanship…?"
It wasn't just mastery—it was devouring the style whole.
That explained the blocks: the enemy wielded Hamus's technique.
"Knowing that changes nothing, does it?"
The man scoffed, but it did.
It changed everything.
'Wondered why I kept defending.'
Not luck—fruit of endless beatings from Hamus himself.
And Palan hadn't learned only defense.
"Nothing changes? Yeah, keep thinking that."
Victory loomed.
Confirming it ignited his body and mind.
"Bluffing!"
The man scowled, closing faster and swinging.
'Low stance... move three.'
He'd swung it hundreds—no, thousands—of times.
Variations or not, the base was Hamus.
Blockable.
Clang!
Predicted trajectory, clean block.
No coincidence now.
"Urk!"
His attack sealed, the man grimaced.
But he'd overlooked one thing:
Successful defense meant his turn to strike.
Whish!
Palan raked his blade upward, shrinking the narrow gap to inches.
"Wh-what the—"
An aggressive shift from before.
The man panicked—understandably.
'Don't know? Learn by getting hit.'
Swish!
Twisting the raking blade toward the shoulder, Palan slashed.
Splurt!
Blood erupted as it carved across the shoulder.
"Aaaargh!!!"
The man screamed in agony, swinging late.
Clang!
'He tanks this?'
Palan expected a posture collapse for the finisher.
But the counter was sharper than thought—forcing a step back.
"Impressive grit. Could pass for an orc."
"You bastard. Urk!"
Tanking didn't heal the gash.
'Finish fast.'
His scream surely reached the others.
Outnumbered—support could arrive any second.
'End it this strike.'
One shot.
Recalling Hamus's drills, Palan regripped.
'Injury's right shoulder.'
Balance wrecked.
No hesitation needed.
Whish!
Palan surged forward in an attack-heavy stance, full sprint like a track star.
The man strained to raise his sword in defense.
"Arrogant shit!!!"
Distance so close a thrust would connect.
Normally, swing here—but Palan held.
"Die!"
Mistaking hesitation for error?
The man swung his two-handed grip with all his might.
Clang!
No intention of taking it—Palan parried.
Swords clashed mid-air again.
The difference:
"Ugh!"
Palan shifted his weight forward, pressing.
The man's blade began inching back.
'How you gonna hold with that shoulder?'
Mind endures, but muscles don't.
"Uuuugh!"
Blade yielding steadily.
Normally, deflect and retreat—but he had no strength left.
"Won't go easy?"
"You damned fucker!"
Grind!
Veins bulging on his forehead, teeth grinding.
As a sword enthusiast, Palan respected it.
No pity, though.
"Ugh…"
Finally, a split-second lapse.
Right hand on the hilt slackened—balance crumbled.
Palan flicked the blade aside, creating space.
The gap between swords.
"Uuuugh!"
The man realized and lunged to cover it—but Palan was faster.
Whish!
No hesitation—the blade slipped through.
Tip aimed at the throat.
Splurt!
Hot blood sprayed his face.
Silent hush.
No scream.
Dead.