Touch Of Fate 203 The Prince Arrives

Fighting had been going on around the gate for close to ten minutes, and he'd already lost count of the number of times the desperate Almiran defenders had barely managed to throw back the Tenundian attackers, buying a little bit of breathing room before the next a.s.sault. Thankfully, a few members of the Royal Guard, which had appeared almost simultaneously with the invaders, had kept the strongest members of the strike force busy. If not for them, Hubert's force would have been crushed a long time ago.
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As it was, they've barely hung onto the gate itself thanks to a makes.h.i.+ft barricade composed of a few overturned wagons, bits of rubble, and some tables scavenged from the guardhouse nearby. The men and women under his command had fought valiantly, but the defense had taken its toll. Of the roughly 200 hundred strong company he'd started with, scarcely 50 remained standing, and not a single one of them was uninjured.

Victor kneeled down beside Hubert, and started wrapping his leg with a bandage. His dark hair was matted with blood on one side where he'd received a glancing blow from an Tenundian sword. "I'm afraid we've run out of recovery items, my lord. I-I'll check around again, but I think it's a long shot." He spoke in a quivering voice, clearly on the verge of despair.

The young lord simply nodded, knowing that nothing he could say would serve to improve his follower's mood. It was unfortunate that they had been separated from Leroy in the confusion following the fall of the 2nd Division headquarters, since the brash young warrior would have been in his element during the conflict. Hubert had to make do with what he had available.

[I sincerely regret whatever temporary insanity led me to accept a commission with the University Army. If I had known it would lead to this, I would have joined the rest of the high n.o.bles as they fled the city.]

"They're coming again!" One of the other Martial Arts Students yelled as he took up a position at the barricade. Judging from the sounds of booted feet running on pavement, the Tenundians were pus.h.i.+ng forward in earnest this time.

Hubert summoned his last remaining dregs of strength and leveraged himself up, hand fumbling with the hilt of his ornate sword. After waiting for a wave of vertigo to pa.s.s, he started stumbling towards his place at the center, grateful for the shoulder Victor offered when it seemed like he wouldn't be able to make it on his own.

He looked over at his longtime follower, "Well, it looks like this is it."

There was a moment of silence before Victor finally replied in a quiet voice, "That is does, my lord."

"I suppose the least we can do is face it with courage."

The other man didn't reply, instead focusing on the incoming horde of Tenundians, which must have numbered a few hundred at the least. It seemed that someone leading the strike force had decided to take the gate once and for all.

A few remaining archers launched a meager volley, doing little to halt the enemy's charge. As the thundering grew closer, Hubert took a deep breath and prepared himself for death. However, he was caught by surprise by what happened next.

A beastman dropped from the roof of a nearby building, landing in front of the barricade with an audible thud. Straightening, he rested a large, two-handed sword made of a dull, grey metal across his shoulders. He was dressed in simple peasant clothes, and if it were not for weapon he was carrying, he could easily have been mistaken for a simple craftsman or merchant.

Yet, despite all that, the man's aura was intimidating. Hubert wasn't sure what it must be like for the Tenundians, but simply staring at his back was already giving the n.o.ble heir chills.

"Oi!" The beastman called without glancing back. "I'm going to take care of this, so you just stay back there and out of my way. Got it?"

Before anyone had a chance to give a reply, he started walking forward calmly. After a few steps, he broke into a run, charging the Tenundian line all by himself. It looked suicidal, at least until the man started to attack.

Moving almost too fast to see, the beastman swung his sword in a horizontal arc, bisecting the first three enemy soldiers he came across. In less than a heartbeat, he was inside the enemy formation, laying about with his ma.s.sive sword to the accompaniment of screams and sprays of blood.

"High Tier Warrior!" Someone yelled from the milling soldiers, whose charge had faltered in the face of the sudden a.s.sault. They seemed to be well trained, since they responded to the call almost immediately.

"Fall back and regroup!" A Tenundian officer managed to shout before falling victim to the terrifying warrior.

Almost as if that had been a signal he was waiting for, the beastman raised a hand to the sky, "Now!"

Suddenly, the rooftops on both sides of the street were lined with figures dressed in dark leathers, and used variety of ranged weapons to begin raining death onto the retreating soldiers. At the same time, another group of them blocked off the other end of the road.

What followed was a mix of pitched battle and absolute slaughter, as the Tenundian detachment proved unable to break through their encirclement. Attempts to move into the nearby buildings, or escape down the side streets resulted in horrifying deaths, as more of the shadowy fighters unleashed shots from blunderbusses at close range, forcing the Tenundians into a constricted group.

With nowhere to go, and little hope of escape, they had no choice but to wait for their demise.

To their credit, the majority of the Tenundian soldiers met their deaths honorably, and only a few pleaded for mercy, not that any was forthcoming from their opponents. Hubert now recognized his saviors as a collection of underworld figures, thieves and murders the lot of them. That they had saved the remains of his company from certain death was galling to say the least.

[Hopefully, they won't demand too much in compensation for their efforts.]

Once the fighting had more or less finished, and only the groans of the wounded rang out across the battlefield, the beastman turned and walked back to the barricade. By this point he was covered in blood and looked like something out of a nightmare.

He gave the defenders a feral grin, before opening his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted immediately.

"Be grateful! For the Prince of Thieves himself has deigned to spare your miserable lives. Tremble in awe at martial prowess, and pray to whatever G.o.ds you wors.h.i.+p that he does not change his mind!" Announced the young rabbit beastman, after appearing without warning in front of the blood soaked warrior. She was standing with one hand placed firmly on her hip while the other was pointing, almost accusingly, at the barricade.

Her words caused a stir among the surviving defenders, and even though she'd essentially threatened them, Hubert could tell that his comrades were mostly relieved, and actually a bit excited.

The man in question looked annoyed, and fixed the speaker with a glare, "Oi. What did I say about talking for me?"

"Hahaha!" The rabbit beastman laughed, a little nervously. "I'm just making sure they understand your greatness. It's essential part of my job."

"That's my point! It's not your job! You don't have a job! So stop doing it!" The warrior yelled, obviously furious. While he was still intimidating, the aura around him seemed less intense and more approachable, now.

Hubert stepped forward past the barricade and gave humble bow. "You have my grat.i.tude, Prince of Thieves. If not for your timely intervention, our little band of survivors would have been overrun. I Hubert Lothrain, heir to the House of Lothrain swear that I will return this favor someday."

The beastman scratched his nose, looking a little embarra.s.sed. "Ah, well. I was just helping out with the war effort and all that."

[Why does he look so familiar?] Hubert thought before a rush of memory came back to him, and an image formed in his mind. The beastman was standing next to a group of others, comrades of his. A group which contained the dangerous agent of Count Graveston, and a certain commoner girl who had been targeted by his overzealous subordinates.

People who he'd almost made into his enemies.

[Ah…..well, this is awkward.]

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Jiri sagged to the ground with a grimace, before digging through her belt pouch for a potion. It wouldn't do much for her arm, only the higher grade ones could fix broken bones, but it would reduce the pain enough so that she wouldn't pa.s.s out anytime soon. She downed the pale red liquid and let out a groan as a wave of warmth spread through her body before concentrating on her arm.

It faded quickly, but took the edge off of her pain, which had become a dull, aching throb that morphed into stabbing pains whenever she attempted to move the limb. The army healers would be able to treat it, but in the meantime she would just have to make do.

As she redirected her gaze to the current fight, she once again found herself mesmerized by Nurenal's elegance. He slipped nimbly from offense to defense, redirecting or dodging the Dragonkinght's attacks with the most minimal effort. The elf had always been a genius with the spell and sword, and it was only a matter of time before he ascended to Tier 4. So, it was with some degree of shock, that Jiri realized Nurenal was losing.

His opponent was clearly inexperienced, but he made up for it with an amazingly versatile set of skills, an unusual and hard to predict fighting style, and a degree of raw power that was difficult to ignore. Nurenal had so far been able to avoid suffering any serious injuries, but he'd also been forced to fight defensively, biding his time for the mistake necessary to turn the situation around.

It was a little strange to see. Usually, the elf would simply overwhelm an opponent with superior technique, smas.h.i.+ng them with an increasingly difficult to defend against series of magical and martial attacks until enough of them got through to end the fight. Now, however, he was acting cautiously.

"He's low on mana…" Jiri reasoned. The teleportation of the strike force, even though it had been largely accomplished through the use of magic items, had still needed Nurenal's input to direct it safely. Clearly, she had underestimated the amount of energy necessary to facilitate that action, and now they were suffering because of it.

[If this goes on…] She thought for a moment before coming to a decision. The Tenundian war effort couldn't afford to lose Nurenal, the Marshal, or herself, as much as it pained her to admit. As such, she needed an option that provide them the best chance of survival, even if it meant a temporary defeat.

Summoning her will, she rose to her feet and started walking towards the entangled combatants. She needed to get close enough for her voice to be heard.