The Relic and the Hand

The bridge was a bit more than traumatizing. Even after another hour of walking the much preferred dark and damp tunnels, surrounded by silence and the occasional drip of water, it was very much clear that everyone could only really think about those things that slaughtered that group of knights within mere moments. As easily as stepping on an ant, it was too quick. Lyse knew right then that a fight including them would no doubt be unwinnable. That was most likely the intention. They had to avoid confrontation, and Lyse wished that this lesson was taught in a much less distressing method. He doubts any of them will have a good sleep for a long time. A very long time.

The silence among them was deafening and omnipresent. Lyse wanted anything, something to take their minds off of the previous trial, that bridge, and those invasive voices. So, almost an hour in, he turned to Elena.

"What is your sword, if I'm allowed to ask?" he tried to sound a little cheerful, but it was clear that it was not, in fact, genuine.

Still, Elena gratefully went along with his plea. "If you're referring to why it keeps switching blades, that is the enchantment placed upon it. My father made sure I trained in a lot of sword fighting techniques, even those of other countries, to master the blade. Let's just say it took quite a while to get a sword like this, though."

"Do you know anything about Dagmyre's sword?" Lyse asked her, and finally, some gears began to turn with newfound interest.

"Yeah, no doubt we'll be running into that asshole," Edlund said. "Seemed pretty keen on fighting too. But, I'm going, to be honest, I am kinda hoping so."

"If we're headed for the same relic, it may have to come down to a fight," Lyse agreed. "Can you tell us anything?"

She sighed. "Might as well. Funny what money can get you these days. His sword is a longsword enchanted with magic."

"Magic?" Lyse's eyes were a bit wide with care. "Like formal magic? From Torlak?"

Torlak, the kingdom of magic. Lyse has heard so many tales and myths about the place. Really, they all very well be true. It is an island nation covered in mists that hide it from navigators. It is a mystical place by nature and is home to many of the formal arts. It is true that what knights do can be referred to as being magic; no human without training can leap over walls or run faster than horses. But it's nothing compared to what he has heard that mages, true mages, are really capable of. And to have one enchant a sword is a huge deal. After the war nearly a decade and a half ago, Torlak had recalled all their mages to their nation, leaving most of this region of the world to their own devices. However, whenever there is a barrier, there will seem from which even the smallest drop of water may fall. And it fell within a ready bucket.

"The specific enchantment is pretty powerful," she told him. "Even more so than Gray's."

"More so?" Lyse repeated. "It must be something extraordinary."

She nodded, clutching her own blades as she spoke her next words. "His sword was enchanted to ignore defense. At will, he can make it slip through many forms of armor and other weapons. His blades can literally pass through any object unless he wants to cut it. And with a skilled hand like his, it's almost impossible to fight evenly, even if the very sea is with you always."

"I bet if I were standing in the middle of the ocean, he wouldn't stand a chance," Grey told them. "But in a one-on-one fair fight, he will win. My abilities are too taxing, especially in a close and strict environment like this dungeon."

"Not to mention he will have other decent knights with him," Elena pointed out. "No matter what, we will have to be careful."

"Careful is my middle name," Edlund said. "Actually, that's a lie. I don't think I have a middle name. But still, I am careful."

Nevertheless, this will most definitely present a new kind of issue. They decided to speed up their pace to try and at least make it to the relic before Dagmyre could arrive. This, Lyse suggested to them, will be the most beneficial of tactics in dealing with them at first. The only problem is getting away. If fate were truly in their favor, they would be able to disperse into the tunnels before Dagmyre, or any other knight could get a chance to take it. This is the second day, after all. While most would think it wise to take a safer route, it is undeniable that expedient retrieval of these relics will no doubt be the safest. The fewer relics there are, the more desperate everyone will become. Three trials of disastrous monsters, and now the final will most definitely be decided by a clash of swords and shields. They could almost hear the ringing already of combat and steeled themselves to as best of their abilities. At least for now, the thoughts of that bridge had long passed, and now they could simply focus on the implications ahead instead.

The tunnels continued on, as they always had. It was something rather eerie traveling. While each trial presented a unique challenge, life-threatening in their cases, the tunnels showed little variations in their structure. It was like they were traveling in one massive circle as they continued on, they were just recycling the same rooms, and Lyse nearly tried memorizing the grooves and individual cracks to disprove this paranoia. It is at these times that they wished deeply for the comfort of the Forest of Silence as is. But alas, they soon did find one variation, but not one that they were quite expecting. What caught them all was the smell. A grim and familiar one, one that permeated the very walls in its stench, and they've each witnessed before. A corpse that was left out. It was a knight, although it seemed much older than the other dead bodies that they've come across. They got closer to take a better look at it.

The thin brown skin that wrapped around its frail bones was hung under what appeared to be a wool shirt and chainmail. The helmet and skull alike had a massive hole on top, as if something pierced straight through. Through a quick glance, Lyse noticed that it must have been some sort of weapon, like a spiked hammer or perhaps a javelin. Any weapons that may have clung to the cadaver's hands were missing, as well as anything valuable. Even some pieces of armor were missing.

"Looks like someone got the short end of the pike," Edlund gave a sad sigh. "Poor guy was probably struck from behind. Luckier end than most, though. At least it was quick."

"Been here for a few years too," Grey looked ahead into the tunnel. "Pretty adequate warning for what's up ahead, I suppose."

"We're going to have to stay sharp," Elena drew her blade once more, bringing forth what appeared to be a single-handed, curved blade that seemed a little too wide to fit inside this magical scabbard. They each unsheathed their blades and then moved carefully to the rest of the tunnel.

It did not take them long till they found some other source of light; in the same moment, Lyse extinguished his own sword, setting it ready as they quietly moved forward. Their footfalls were muffled as they slowly moved to the edge. The light was dim, and two torches lit in a dull flame on the opposite end of this chamber. The back half was raised from their position, approached by a set of stairs that wrapped around the perimeter. Drapes covered the back wall between the torches and sitting above a pedestal holding a glass casing. The room was otherwise bare, with a stale odor around them in stark contrast to the tunnel. It felt like not another soul had made its way here in a long time. Lyse gave them the symbol to spread out around the chamber while he went straight to the middle. They all agreed, paying close attention to him as he began to advance. Now, as they moved a few feet in, they were spotted a few more entrances, all on this level of the chamber. And then, they heard the rustling of footsteps and muffled voices. Lyse glanced over his shoulder to see a few people, their own swords glowing, stumbling into the chamber as well.

And it was none other than Dagmyre and his troop of knights. Though one or two were noticeably missing. They seemed more nonchalant than Lye's group and were in mid-conversation as well. That was until they caught sight of the room, and Dagmyre's eyes were then immediately drawn to Lyse. There was a moment when suddenly, everyone was frozen in time. No movement, everyone stared at one another, at each other, and the relic sitting in the glass case just twenty paces from where Lyse was now. A small smile curled on Dagmyre's lips as he looked up to the relic and then back at Lyse and Elena. Finally, all the pent-up energy and emotion ruptured in this chamber, and everyone was in combat all at once with no words. Both Lyse and Dagmyre rushed for the relic. Elena attempted to rush as well. However, she was impeded by another knight with a spear, the point aimed at her throat. She batted it aside but was successfully held. Dagmyre's hand reached to grab ahold of the case. But before his gloved fingers could reach it, Lyse grabbed ahold of his hand. There was another brief moment of eye contact, waiting for who would make the first move, and Dagmyre decided he should have the honor.

He unsheathed his sword, a one-handed and double-edged blade a little longer than Lyse's. It had a circular guard that led into the riveted leather grip. The blade immediately went straight for his face, swiping. Lyse's first instinct was to deflect, something that would have been simple with their position and the fact that his sword was already drawn. However, in that split second of the decision, he realized what Elena had warned. And instead of deflecting, he dodged, ducking as the sword passed overhead. He still did not let go of his grip on Dagmyre, though. In fact, he took advantage of his position. Twisting his hold and then throwing him down the steps away from the silver rod. Lyse's arms glowed with a faint white light as he used zoi to increase his strength. Easily, Dagmyre was hurled, but he landed on both firm feet with little issues, like a pedal of a flower on a gentle breeze. The small smile was still there as he distanced himself against Lyse, his sword pointed forward aggressively.

"So the peasant knight really wants to duel me?" He asked coyly. "Should I be honored or laughing?"

"That will become very apparent soon, won't it?" Lyse stances himself as well but still looks back at the relic with one eye. He was closer now, but as soon as he turned his back, he counted on him to strike at that moment. Everyone around him was in the midst of combat. He is going to have to wait on someone, anyone, to intervene.

Edlund caught a glimpse of that action from the corner of his eye but was now caught up in a clash with one of the larger members of Dagmyre's gang. He was completely covered in scale mail, a spiked club in one hand and a rather small shield in the other. He swung with deadly arcs, trying to advance upon Edlund, who dodged and weaved between attacks, batting away and occasionally swinging to keep him off his mark.

"I know it must be hard being the strong dumb one," Edlund stepped aside as the man swung downward, attempting to smash his skull into pieces. However, Edlund grabbed ahold of the club itself. There was just a moment of hesitation just before it was suddenly wrenched free with brute strength. Immediately he took a strike at the man's chest, but he managed to quickly step out of reach, pulling out a small blade instead.

Edlund wielded the iron club, preparing it with his own sword. "Light on your feet, I see. Let's see how long you last, huh."

"Very well then," the man growled. Then, he placed his hand on his breastplate. A little strange to see, for just a moment. And then, a small orange glow began to radiate around him. It began to surround him, his armor glowing with the same radiant energy, including his helmet that nearly his smoldering eyes. The air seemed to grow cold, and for a moment, eyes were turned to him as he then charged at Edlund with newfound vigor in his movements. Edlund was immediately caught off guard as he moved like a viper. Far faster. He swung the shortsword down upon him that Edlund tried to meet with his own sword. But the power was nearly unreal, easily breaking through his guard and burying itself through his gambison and into his flesh, drawing blood.

"Give up now," the man tried to force it in even deeper, making Edlund grunt. White energy was enveloping his entire arm to try and strengthen himself, simply just keeping him at bay. "You will no longer be injured if you just surrender-"

His pitying words were swiftly cut short by the sounds of twisting metal and a loud bang. With his free hand, Edlund swung the Warhammer into the man's gut. Even though the thick plated armor covered him, there was a noticeable grunt as he backed away, clutching himself, twitching as he tried to keep from retching. Edlund gave him no time to recover as he immediately began to strike after him. The plated knight seemed to keep up rather easily, and he was already on the back feet now as Edlund eagerly pursued.

"Don't waste your words," Edlund barked. "My mistake of this first. But know that the only way you're walking out of this is if I'm unconscious."

Those words echoed in this chamber among everyone, especially for Lyse, who stared down his opponent and looked back confidently. He analyzed his stance, his sword, and his armor, trying to figure out the next move. The ability of his sword changes everything about combat at the moment. Attack first is an immediate disadvantage. One party, one false step, and that sword will end up in his gut. He knows that. And so to did Dagmyre, who seemed to relish in Lyse's hesitance.

"If you won't move, then I will," Dagmyre sprinted up the steps towards Lyse, going for what would be easy to see the attack on Lyse's torso. A simple party would be easy. In a regular battle, he could find six ways to take him down on a follow-up attack. He could only try to strife aside to dodge. However, he misjudged the distance, and the blade knicked him. Elena's unfailing words became true as the blade slipped through the thick gambison like it simply wasn't there. But the pain was genuine as a spurt of blood appeared beneath his clothing to stain them. He couldn't hesitate now as Dagmyre chased him down with his blade. The only thing Lyse could console in was that he was faster, but not by much. There was a cut there, A misplaced footing nearly costing him his arm. But he stayed just that step ahead, just outside of Dagmyre's reach. And Lyse could see as his expression went from amusement to determination to frustration.

"Spry little rat," Dagmyre slashed and made a small adjustment, aiming for Lyse's wrist. Lyse was fortunate to notice that, but in his position, another strife was simply not possible, his arm too outstretched. He dropped his blade as he tried to withdraw his arm, but his sword sliced clean into his wrist past the protection he wore. Through this pain, Dagmyre took the opportunity to just his pommel into Lyse's abdomen. All air was somehow sapped from his body all at once as he crumpled to his hands and knees. His vision blurred, and his limbs felt like lead to move. He felt the sting of iron in the back of his throat from this hefty blow. Dagmyre kicked him off the altar and down the stone steps. Even he was planning, apparently not prepared to use so many techniques.

"It seems that the answer has come," Dagmyre said, no longer turning to Lyse or making eye contact. He was staring now at the relic as he strider over to take it in hastened steps. "As if I would have lost to the likes of you. You are not worthy to even stand in the presence of a true knight. You've lost to me."

Elena looked as Dagmyre walked to collect the relic. She wanted to run over to stop him immediately, but he was locked in combat with two other knights who surrounded her. One carried a spear, while the other held a single-handed ax and shield, waiting for her to open her defenses. She now held a greatsword, attempting to keep them both at bay, which was difficult with the one holding the spear making deadly arcs and jabs if she even attempted to get closer. Gray had his hand full with a dual-bladed sword wielder, but he seemed to be holding his own quite well. But she knows that if Dagmyre gets his hand on the relic, the entire flow of the battle will change in an instant. She has to think of something, anything, to get Lyse the upper hand. His sword is useless. He needs help.

Is that it? The searing thoughts pierced his mind as he willed himself to stand, though his limbs felt like lead already. Am I done here? Should I just turn tail and accept defeat? I can't. Not in my life. I need to be a knight, and I can't let someone like him stand in my way.

He stumbled his way to solid footing, standing at the base of the steps as Dagmyre strolled towards the altar as if victory was already within his grasp. But he sensed Lyse's movements and stopped with a drawn-out sigh. He rested his sword on his shoulder as he looked behind to see Lyse there, that same determined look on his face. Elena felt the shift in climate as everyone was looking at this confrontation from the corner of their gaze. This newfound energy had come in place of the defeat. And Elena figured out what she needed to do. She rushed the spearmen, and his guard lowered a bit as he took a glance sideways. As he tried to thrust the spear at her, she dodged, ducking below the strikes and grabbing the shaft. She shoved the pommel into the knight's unprotected head, and he immediately collapsed like a sack of grain. Before his bewildered ally could react, she already slung the spear over towards Lyse, who, upon seeing this display, graciously took it.

"It seems like you still have some fire in your belly," Dagmyre got back into his stance, his face stern. "I must admit, I expected you to quit then. But you have an iron heart. I grant you this compliment alone, Lyse. You will not have this relic, and you can not beat me in combat."

Lyse gathered the blood that had pooled in his mouth from the strikes, spitting it on the ground towards Dagmyre, whose face twisted in disgust. Lyse adjusted his stance, not as a typical spear-holding position, but that of traditional staff. His feet were spread apart, and his knees bent. Aiming the staff up towards Dagmyre with one hand halfway up the shaft and the other hand further below, holding the other end near his hip. This was a stance that most were familiar with. A standard quarter-staff stance they were all taught in training. It was a skill not often used unless one aimed to become a proper master or be proficient in polearms. But for Lyse, who has studied and taken these skills to heart, he is as familiar with spears and polearms as he is with swords, even teaching his sister a few techniques. But he wondered about Dagmyre's confidence in the same field.

"You say that I lost?" Lyse asked him, carefully advancing up the steps. "Who decided that? That you are my superior in combat. That the battle is over. I am still standing, so I decide those things, don't I?"

Dagmyre gave him a small, half-smirk. Not the one he usually greets most people. This was no smirk of confidence. In fact, for the first time since entering these halls, Dagmyre felt threatened. He has relied on his skills and influence to get him this far. Along with the support of his family. Because if you do not have the proper support, if you lack proper influence, how can you ever get anywhere? That is what he, at least, taught himself. However, seeing someone like Lyse, a peasant from some obscure village, fighting alongside the likes of Elena, who he respected, to be brutally beaten in sword combat, kicked to his stomach, and still look at him with such determination, he could not help but smirk. This was not a smirk of confidence, and it was of respect. That someone else is just as willing to get to the top. He, in the ways of proper duels, prepared himself, set himself dead onto his opponent before him, but his blade not even halfway pointed to Lyse.

He's trying to provoke me, and Lyse thought as he sized up his stance.

The entire room seemed to freeze for a mere moment before they, too began combat. But this time, the flow of the battle was completely different. Instead of Lyse being defensive, focusing on evading and counterattacks, he has been gifted the opportunity for the offensive instead. The longer reach of the spear proved to be quite the countermeasure for Dagmyre, as they both rushed. Lyse swung with great force straight towards his head; at first, his instinct was to allow his blade to phase through and follow up with a slice to the gut. But immediately saw that the momentum would travel with the spear unimpeded. He saw the sharp edge closer as he attempted to parry instead. The shaft of the spear clunk against the sword violently, the force too powerful, as the edge of the spear brushed against his cheek. A small trickle fell down as he slowly pushed back. But now, the tables were in Lyse's favor. He twirled the spear again and thrust the butt-end at Dagmyre's face, chest, and leg, following up with another swipe at his arms. Dagmyre was off-balance at this point, Lyse maneuvering so that they were on equal footing on the steps. Lyse now knew the weakness of his ability. Because his sword is two-handed, and with the specific enchantment upon it, it is harder to fight with a shield. And one of the first lessons taught to them all is that when fighting someone with a quarterstaff or spear, always carry a shield. Even a trained knight can lose a battle to a half-trained farmer with a quarter-staff

Edlund was not too far behind in his own battle. In fact, he was now gaining the upper hand. He guessed that the armor increased his strength. Even he could not match it punch to jab. He had become far more defensive than he was used to, relying on the slight difference in speed to his benefit. Then he figured out something that was blatantly obvious.

If there is one thing I have ever learned from Lyse, it's that there are always trade-offs in Knight's skill. He thought in a moment as they separated and stance themselves against one another warily. If it's anything like me, he's strong but slow. I hope this works out. Otherwise, I'll be mashed into sausages.

The man took another hefty swing down upon Edlund, but instead of backing away, he used the wider shot to get into his guard. He managed to outmaneuver him before he could recover and was almost immediately behind him. Because of the decreased accuracy, the punch was straightforward to read, even for Edlund. And now he has his first real shot at a victory. He jumped onto his back, wrapped his arm around his neck, and grappled him inside a chokehold. The armor felt like touching a piece of metal in the sun, and the man thrashed like a bull, but in this position, with Edlund's immense strength on its own, his motions slowly began to lose power. He fell to his knees, still clutching at his shoulders and Edlund's arm, but ultimately he fell in a heap and didn't move.

"Well, that's one down at least," he looked around the room for any other opportunity. He saw Lyse's dance with Dagmyre and decided not to interfere. Instead, he picked one of the two Elena was dealing with and decided to put his efforts there.

Gray sat waiting. The person he was up against wasn't particularly stellar in his swordplay and seemed even hesitant to go into conflict with Gray, only exchanging a few blows every moment or so. Gray was simply waiting for the right time to pull out his sword's ability. As soon as Lyse grabs the relic or anyone, it will be the perfect escape into the tunnels. All he had to do was hold out long enough.

And Lyse was prepared to bring all of this to an end now. He had Dagmyre on his back foot, and his expression turned from determination to intense, to worry, and finally, fear. The more Lyse pressed, the more cuts appeared around Dagmyre's arms and legs. Every time he tried to counter, shift into his guard, and break Lyse's defenses, he immediately countered, and this was the time that Lyse's true skill began to show forth. He felt the pendant grow warm the more they fought. He began to feel Dagmyre's movements, more than anticipated them. Every strike, he felt them before they happened. He could feel his technique, his fighting style. Even the moment he would make his sword intangible. This skill that he had developed, which made him such a prolific swordsman, is what defines the battle.

"How are you doing that?" Dagmyre nearly yelled at him. He stepped into another chop, this time trying deliberately to slice at the dented wooden shaft. However, like he could see the future, Lyse pulled back. "What are you, some kind of inhuman?"

"This is the difference in our skill," Lyse told him stoically. He locked eyes with him, heaving greatly from the intense battle. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. Carefully, he began shuffling up towards the relic, first picking up his sword with his free hand. Dagmyre seemed glued to his footing, a mix of uncertainty and anger boiling in his eyes. All battles ceased as they all watched as if frozen in place as Lyse stepped closer and closer as if he had already won. Dagmyre clutched his sword so hard his knuckled nearly turned white, trying to will himself to strike again.

How can this be happening? What has he been training for this far? Every step he took felt like it wasn't his own. Like Lyse was puppeteering him with every twitch within his eye. What else could this be other than inhuman? And so, he yelled. Not guided by precision, not by skills he has accumulated at this time. It was deranged rage. He was guided by anger and frustration. He raced up the stairs, the sword aimed for Lyse's head. He wasn't even turned. His back was totally exposed.

And it all happened in a single moment, only a moment. The sword he held was batted aside by the spear, and he was suddenly off-balanced. And then, with the sword as sharp as the finest of razors, Lyse's blade slapped down the wrist holding the sword. His hand fell off in a spout of blood as he collapsed to his hands and knees before Lyse. There was a moment of confusion written upon Lyse's face as he looked down at the severed hand and the blood beginning to pull around them. Then adrenaline subsided, and the unbearable pain consumed Dagmyre as his entire body ceased, and Lyse looked shocked at him.

Grey finally took this as the sign, gripping his sword and looking back at his mediocre opponent. His sword began to glow a bright sea green as a jet of water immediately enveloped his opponent. He was lifted up as Grey directed this wave with the point of his blade towards the others. Like a serpent, the water wrapped and ensnared the rest of Dagmyre's team, each trapped in the body of this whirling waterfall that consumed them all. Even Dagmyre, his blood mixing into the seawater, was picked up, and all five were finally slammed into the farthest wall, leaving them soaked and gasping for breath.

Almost immediately, after the seemingly masterful and precise feat, Grey collapsed and fell to his knees, throwing up onto the stone before him. His skin had turned from olive to red, and red veiny marks appeared on his hands that still clutched the blade. Elena immediately recognizes this effect; when someone uses magic too powerful for them to control, that may destroy them. She kicked the blade away from his grasp and held his head up. He was barely conscious but smiling all the while. His dulled eyes pointed in Elena's general direction as Edlund joined at their side.

"Will he be alright?" Edlund asked.

"He should be fine with some rest," she said. He looked back once more to see Lyse at the top of the steps, upon the altar. They watched as he pulled forth this rod from its placement, the silver ornament immediately humming in his hands now. It faintly glowed, like itself entrapped a sliver of moonlight around it. And now, Lyse held it up in triumph towards the ceiling. There was a pleasant cheer from Edlund and Elena, gratitude and relief. There was no word from those Dagmyre had to follow him. They simply hobbled away, equally as bruised and crushed. A few steps, and they too were out of sight. It did not exactly occur to Lyse what this moment was, what this meant. Holding this relic, this silver rod decorated with symbols of serpents, that his fate was now his own. His dreams, his one wish since childhood, were within his own hands, hands that he has worn with the training he had to endure. The wish of his friends, old and the new now. Knighthood was his. His dream was his.

And the only thoughts that ran through his mind, even at this triumphant moment, was the image of his sister, the damsel she was at the moment. The fact that he now holds power to do something, to become something more for her. To avenge his mother and his fallen father. To live up to the responsibility bestowed upon him. To stop this organization and its mysterious wishes. He held these things in his hand, as well. And it all started here.

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