Bounty
In the ethereal glow of the moon, the priest stood towering over the fallen Flame Wielder watching him drown in his blood.
His silhouette, sharply defined by the lunar light, bore the heavy breathing of a man who had just weathered the storm.
Within the confines of the alcove, the sudden downfall of the Flame Wielder caused his accomplice to freeze in his tracks.
The ensuing silence was shattered by the metallic ring of a blade being swung—"Shling!" The sound echoed in the cramped space, signalling heightened alertness to the emerging threat.
At that critical moment, Edwin's ally, her figure a blur of motion, lunged with her sword, cutting through the air. Her blade was a silver flash in the darkness, aimed with deadly precision at the intruder.
The accomplice, taken by surprise, leapt aside, his movements swift and desperate. His cloak billowed behind him, making a soft "Whoosh" as he narrowly dodged the sword, pressing himself against the alcove's wall to gain any possible advantage to try to evade the sword's deadly arc.
Outside, the priest turned his attention to the alcove, his footsteps determined as he moved towards the sound of the ongoing scuffle.
In his hand, the flintlock gun was replaced by a shimmering cutlass-like sword, its edge catching the moonlight.
Inside, the clash between Edwin's ally and the accomplice grew more intense as the accomplice, armed with a similar cutlass-like sword, engaged in combat.
Their blades met with a series of sharp "Clangs" and "Tings," the sound of metal on metal ringing in the confined space.
Each movement was a dance of death, their shadows flickering on the walls like wraiths in battle.
Edwin, meanwhile, emerged from his hiding spot, his approach stealthy as he moved with silence. His eyes were fixed on the doorway, ready to lend aid where needed.
As the priest arrived at the entrance, he saw Edwin's ally pressing the accomplice back, driving him towards the open doorway.
She executed a series of swift, precise strikes, her sword moving in a deadly manner forcing the intruder towards the doorway.
The priest and Edwin's ally exchanged a quick, wordless glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They closed in on the accomplice.
The accomplice, now realizing he was outmatched and cornered, gathered his remaining strength for a last, desperate offensive.
He assessed his limited options, though the priest's formidable strength posed a significant challenge. His choices were limited with the other direction leading to a dead end.
Desperation fueled his movements as he sought a way out, keenly aware that the priest stood between him and his only viable escape route. With a roar he charged at the priest, his weapon raised for a final, doomed effort.
Seizing the critical moment, Edwin's ally reacted with lethal precision. As the accomplice, his attention momentarily diverted, exposed his back to her, her sword descended in a swift, deadly arc.
Swoosh!
The air cut with a sharp sound as the blade honed in on its target, poised to conclude the confrontation decisively.
The accomplice, realizing the peril he was in, twisted his body in a last-ditch effort to evade the strike.
His movement was a desperate swirl of fabric and shadow, accompanied by the rustle of his cloak—"Swish!"
However, the ally's blade found its mark amid his cloak, grazing his side with a sharp "Thwack," drawing a pained grunt from him.
Now at the doorway, Edwin assessed the situation with a calculated gaze.
The priest and Edwin's ally, now working in tandem, closed in on the wounded accomplice.
The accomplice, cornered and injured, glanced around frantically, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps—"Huff, puff."
Seeing no way out, cornered and overpowered, ceased his frantic movements.
His chest heaved with laboured breaths, each inhale sharp and ragged.
The dim light from the moon cast eerie shadows across his face by the doorway, accentuating the mix of fear and resignation in his eyes.
Slowly, the accomplice lowered his weapon, the clang of metal softly echoing as it hit the ground.
His hands, trembling slightly, rose in a gesture of surrender.
The shift in his demeanour was palpable; where there was once the wild energy of despair, there now lingered a chilling calmness.
He opened his mouth to speak, his voice eerily steady, contrasting starkly with the tumultuous scene around him.
"Please," he began, his tone unnervingly composed, "you have bested me. There's no point in further bloodshed. I am just a bounty hunter"
Edwin's expression subtly shifted into a smile. His keen gaze was fixed on the captive, observing an intriguing contradiction.
This man is clearly frightened of death, yet he is able to maintain a semblance of calm.
Edwin mused on this unusual composure; it was as if he had accepted the inevitability of his demise yet still clung to a thread of rational thought, this façade, however, isn't perfect. Fleeting glimpses of underlying panic occasionally surfaced, betraying his true emotions.
Edwin wondered if this was perhaps an innate ability of his sequence or a trained skill.
The moonlight cast a pallid glow on half his face and the lantern's glimmer of the alcove on the other, illuminating the sweat and grime, yet his expression was one of eerie repose—an unsettling mask.
The priest, with a calculated "Hmmm," prepared to strike hesitated at Edwin's interjection. "Should we not question him?" Edwin asked.
Edwin's question resonated in the silence that followed.
The priest, known for his decisive actions, now weighed the merit of extracting information from their captive. His gaze, intense and probing, turned towards the cornered accomplice.
The accomplice, who moments before had been bracing for the end, found himself unexpectedly in a state of reprieve.
The sweat on his brow glistened in the mixed light, and his eyes darted between Edwin and the priest, assessing his slim chances in this new turn of events.
Edwin stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the accomplice. "Speak," he commanded.
The accomplice, a man whose face was streaked with the remnants of grime and fear, looked up.
He was slowly bleeding from the strike of Edwin's ally, a gaping wound, he swallowed hard, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing visibly.
"I am from Anglia Kingdom," he began, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, don't kill me. We received a commission three days ago to hunt the privateers of the Viper. We believed, through divination, that some of them were hiding in this area and the Viper is known for being dogs of the governor of Mythralis"
The priest, who had been a silent, tolerant presence until now, gestured towards Marcellus, still lost in the depths of his dreams. "You believed he was a pirate?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of scepticism.
"No, not him, we could not divine further, we investigated through normal means" the captive hurried to explain a puddle of blood slowly formed where he sat, gesturing towards Ingrid. "Our investigations led us to her. We... we coerced her into helping us."
The priest's eyes narrowed, a glimmer of understanding passing through them.
"So, you're a bounty hunter, not a pirate hunter?" he probed, seeking clarification but receiving none.
"And we are to simply take your word for it?" Edwin's voice cut through the silence, sharp and probing.
He glanced towards the slumbering figures of Marcellus and Ingrid. "Why are they still asleep, even with all this commotion? Is this your doing?"
The accomplice's response was a mix of eagerness and fear, his earlier composure crumbling under Edwin's scrutinizing gaze. "No!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with earnestness.
"They should be waking up soon. She," he nodded towards Ingrid, "was coerced into adding a sleeping agent to his drink." He gestured towards Marcellus, his eyes darting between Edwin and the priest.
"I did it for the money. I have no loyalty to the one who commissioned this. Please, all I want is to live."
The priest stepped forward, his figure imposing against the lantern's glow. "Your life hangs in your truthfulness," he intoned gravely. "Speak only the truth, and you may find mercy. But if you betray my trust, or if word of this night reaches anyone... know that there is no corner in Anglia or Draewyn, no sea deep enough, where you can hide from me."
The accomplice's eyes widened in understanding, a silent acknowledgement he would live to see another day.
Outside the alcove, the world remained oblivious to the drama that had unfolded within. Marcellus and Ingrid, ensconced in their dreams, were unaware of the dark currents swirling just steps away.
In the alcove, the accomplice, now realizing the immediate danger to his life had passed, shifted his focus to the more pressing issue at hand – his injury.
His movements were laboured, each motion reflecting a mix of relief and pain.
With unsteady hands, he took off his cloak and shirt, revealing a wound that was more serious than he had initially let on.
The fabric, stained with blood, parted to expose the extent of his injury. As he tended to his wound, a sense of urgency took over. He was losing blood at an alarming rate, the flow steady and unrelenting.
The pain, initially dulled by adrenaline and fear, now began to assert itself with a throbbing insistence.
The man's breathing became shallower, his head starting to spin from the blood loss. He pressed whatever cloth he could find against the wound in a desperate attempt to stem the flow.
His eyes, previously wide with fear of death at the hands of his captors, now flickered with a different fear – the fear of succumbing to his injuries.
Edwin and the priest, having decided the man's fate, now faced a new dilemma.