Knight & Mercenary.

"The hell was that?" I mumble as the scream of agony courses through the snow-drenched woods.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of whether to investigate the source of the commotion or to stay hidden and hope that whatever danger lurked beyond would pass me by. But as the cries for help grow louder, my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Fuck it," I mutter under my breath, figuring that if I could garner some good karma right now, why not? With a deep breath to steady my nerves, I ready myself mentally and began to make my way towards the sound of the screams.

The snow crunches beneath my bare feet as I navigate through the dense forest, my breath forming small puffs of mist in the chilly air. The path ahead is obscured by the thick blanket of snow, but I press on, following the sound of the commotion echoing through the trees.

It hurts, it stings. My feet, they feel like they're on fire as I trudge through the snow, the icy cold seeping into my bones with each step. But I push through the discomfort, it's not like staying behind is any better.

After a long, long minute of trudging through the snow, I finally come upon a well-used trail, its path covered in the dense snow. My position is slightly elevated compared to the path, granting me a clearer view of the scene below.

And what a gruesome scene it is.

An overturned carriage was laying on it's side. It was fancy, real fancy, an amount of money that I will never make no matter what I do, period. It wasn't too heavily damaged, just overturned with a small incision on one of it's hind wheels.

A man stands defensively, his sword poised towards a tall figure with long, black hair. A sleek cut runs down the side of his head, and a piece of his clean, white armor has been chipped, evidence of a recent struggle.

His breathing is heavy, labored, but his expression remains determined as small huffs of frozen air escape his mouth.

"You, you're that mercenary," the armored man accuses, his voice strained with exertion. "Pierce, isn't it? What do you want with the prince? Don't you know the consequences of going after royalty?"

The tall man with long black hair, Pierce, remains silent, his expression stoic as he readies himself for another attack. His fingers tighten around the hilts of his daggers, his stance shifting slightly as he prepares to strike.

But before he can make a move, the armored man lunges forward, his sword swinging through the air with a scary amount of ease. Pierce dodges to the side, avoiding the blow with a grace that belies his tall size.

I watch from my vantage point, hidden amongst the trees, as the two men engage in heated combat. It's a sight to behold, the clash of steel against steel, the dance of blades as they weave through the air.

What is this? A fantasy dream? I've never once wanted to be in a fantasy setting, after all, I hear it only gets worse for the poor and homeless.

Despite their skill, it's clear that the armored man is beginning to tire. His movements are slowing, his strikes less powerful as he struggles to maintain his defense against Pierce's flurry of attacks, his assault unrelenting.

Beside them, a fully armored knight stands guard over a short kid with spikey blonde hair, leading him away from the scene of the battle. It's clear that they're trying to escape, to flee from whatever danger threatens the kids life.

I should help them, I know I should. But something holds me back, a nagging doubt that whispers in the back of my mind. What if I make things worse? What if my interference only serves to escalate the situation further?

But then, as I watch Pierce press his advantage, a thought occurs to me. I may not have the strength or skill to take him down myself, but I do have something else— something small, something simple, but potentially effective.

I glance around at my feet, searching for something— anything— that I can use to aid the armored man in his fight against Pierce. And that's when I see it, partially buried beneath a thick layer of snow: a solitary rock, its surface worn smooth by years of exposure to the elements.

I reach down and pick up the rock, feeling its weight in my hand as I assess the situation below. Pierce and the armored man continue their deadly dance, no notable progress has been made by any side, good.

Without hesitation, I take aim at Pierce, my fingers curling around the rough surface of the rock as I prepare to throw. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I focus all my attention on my target.

I stop myself, did I really think one rock would be enough to topple a guy like that? What a joke. What's better than one rock?

A shit ton of them.

With renewed determination, I scan the ground around me, searching for more ammunition to aid in my assault. The forest floor yields an array of rocks, each one a potential weapon in my hands.

Ignoring the bitter cold that numbs my fingers, I gather as many rocks as I can carry, my mind occupied with plans of distracting the mercenary Pierce. It's a risky move, throwing rocks at a skilled opponent like Pierce, but I'm willing to take that chance if it means buying the armored man some much-needed breathing room.

As I gather my makeshift arsenal, I keep a careful eye on the ongoing battle below. Pierce and the armored man are locked in a deadly dance, now Pierce has been able to get off some grazes and cuts on the man's armor and hands.

But despite his progress, Pierce is starting to show signs of fatigue. His movements are becoming sluggish, his strikes less precise as he struggles to keep up the relentless assault. It's a small advantage, but one that the armored man desperately needs if he's going to stand any chance of emerging victorious.

With my arms full of rocks, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepare to join the fray.

With a silent prayer to whatever gods may be listening, I take aim at Pierce, my muscles tense as I prepare to unleash my barrage of rocks. With a nasty curve, I hurl the first stone towards my target, watching with bated breath as it sails through the air.

Pierce, caught off guard by the sudden projectile, barely manages to deflect the first rock with a well-timed parry. But before he can fully recover, another stone comes hurtling towards him, followed by another, and another, and another.

His eyes, I know these rocks won't be doing any real damage any time soon, so his eyes are my best bet. Obstructing his vision, impairing his ability to focus on the armored man and giving him the opportunity he needs to turn the tide of the battle in his favor.

Pierce, already engaged in a heated combat, now has to contend with an unseen assailant purposely throwing rocks and debris at his face. His frustration is evident as he swats at the projectiles, his focus divided between defending against the armored man's attacks and dodging the barrage coming from above.

Each rock I throw is aimed with precision, targeting any exposed skin or vulnerable areas that I can find. Some miss their mark, flying harmlessly past Pierce, but others find their mark, leaving behind small bruises and welts as they strike home.

Battered, annoyed and wasted, Pierce stops his assault on the armored man. He doesn't retreat, he knows his end is near. He glares up at me from beneath the cover of the pouring snow, it sends shivers down my spine.

I swear at this moment, my heart stops beating. As if it was being constrict by a serpent's coils. Pierce's gaze pierces through me, sending a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the biting cold of the winter day.

He returns his vision back to the armored man with annoyance. With a final, desperate lunge, Pierce attempts to break through the armored man's defenses one last time. But this time, the man is ready for him, his sword flashing through the air in a deadly arc that catches Pierce off guard.

Off with his head.

It tumbles and rolls to the ground, landing with a sickening thud in the snow. The armored man stands victorious, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he surveys the scene before him.

But the armored man isn't done, not until he confirms the safety of this so called, "Your Highness". He turns his head to send a fierce glare in my direction, causing me to flinch involuntarily. The intensity of his gaze is enough to make me lose my balance, stumbling backwards as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

The bitter cold of winter seems to seep into my bones, sapping what little strength I have left. My limbs feel heavy, my vision blurring at the edges as the world spins around me.

I force myself to remain conscious, to stay alert to the people and potential danger around me. At least I try, the gaze of those two men were vastly different, but still deadly. Taking on two of those, gut-wrenching glances? Yeah, my consciousness wavers, just a bit!

From the depths of the snowy forest, the small boy and his knight emerge, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of snow beneath their feet. They approach cautiously, their eyes wary as they take in the scene before them.

"Is he dead yet?" the boy asks, his voice small and trembling with fear. He clutches at the knight's hand, seeking comfort.

The knight nods solemnly, his expression grim as he surveys the fallen form of Pierce. "Yes, Your Highness," he replies. "He is no longer a threat."

The boy lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as the tension drains from his body. He looks up at the armored man with wide, grateful eyes, his expression one of pure innocence.

"Thank you Roran," he whispers. "Thank you for saving me."

"But, I didn't do it alone," the armored man, Roran, replies gruffly. He gestures towards the cliff above them, where I stood using a tall tree as support in the snow. "That girl, up there. She helped us."

The boy's eyes widen in surprise, and he turns to look up at me with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. "A girl?" he echoes, his voice filled with awe. "But how did she...?"

Roran shakes his head, his expression unreadable. "I don't know, Your Highness," he admits. "But she was there, and she helped us. We owe her our lives."

With that, Roran turns and begins to make his way up the cliff with his heavy footsteps. The boy follows close behind, his eyes never leaving my barely conscious form as they carefully scale the side of my vantage point.

I try to muster the strength to speak, to assure them I'm not a threat in any way.

But before I can utter a single word, the darkness consumes me, and I slip into unconsciousness once more.