Novel Full Chapter 489: Provocation
Chapter 489: Provocation
Right ahead of them, a group of people were rushing up the open white plains, riding hard over the crusted snow on the backs of saddled wolves the size of warhorses. The animals’ paws tore shallow trenches and sent powder hissing outward in pale fans. From the looks of it, about a couple dozen at least, lean shapes, cloaks snapping in the wind, steel glinting at hips and shoulders. At the front was a young man in a set of golden armor, cape flaring behind him, a tiara catching the thin sunlight, and a shining sword bared across his saddle horn. The ultimate depiction of a “Hero” in all the stories Ludwig had read before, someone’s painted icon stepped down from a chapel wall. As if those fantasies had come to life. The group rushed fast toward them, the wolves’ breath steaming, and they didn’t seem to be in any way friendly.
“HALT RIGHT THERE!” the front of the group, the hero-looking guy, was the first to howl. His voice cut through the white emptiness and echoed all the way to where Ludwig stood, bouncing between ridges like a brass trumpet.
“That’s the holy church’s forces!” the cleric said as he looked ahead, squinting into the glare off the snow. “Why are they rushing up this fast?”
It didn’t take long before the riders fanned outward and surrounded Ludwig’s small group, curving into a half-ring with practiced ease. The wolves lowered their heads and growled, lips peeling back to bare thick fangs; hackles lifted in a bristling tide, the air filling with the animal stink of hot breath and damp fur. The man leading them vaulted from his saddle, the snow crunching under gilded greaves, cape settling in a slow ripple behind him.
“What do we have here…” he said.
Ludwig’s eyes lit up for a second, a faint flash like a lens catching light, and, startlingly, so did the man’s eyes. A silent pressure met pressure; then a cold line slid across Ludwig’s awareness.
[You cannot Inspect this person!]
[You resisted Inspection]
“Oh, who the hell are you not even Inspect works on you?” the young man said as he pointed his sword at Ludwig, the blade steady as a leveled accusation.
“Isn’t it rude to point your weapon at someone you don’t know?” Ludwig replied. His tone was almost bored, but his fingers flexed once at his side.
“No, I’m the hero, I get to do whatever I want,” he said as he looked up and down at Ludwig and his companions. The pause stretched a hair too long when his eyes landed on Kassandra; he greedily licked his lips.
The mere sight of that gesture almost made Ludwig’s stomach lurch. Heat rose in his throat. Kassandra went still, chin tilting a fraction as the purple orb hovered a shade nearer to her palm.
“You all come here, without being invited and start pointing your sword, do you think that you’re a god among men to act so arrogantly?” Ludwig said, his energy slowly rising, a quiet tide pushing at the edges of his restraint.
“Stop stop! He isn’t an enemy!” the cleric said, lifting a placating hand toward the riders.
“Shut up,” the hero snapped, and immediately kicked the cleric in the stomach. The air burst out of the man in a harsh groan as he folded to one knee. “You’re collaborating with enemies of the Order! The Pope has died, and the borders of Solania have been breached, you’re the only people here, so it must be your doing.”
Ludwig’s brows curled downward. The wolves’ growls rumbled under the words like distant thunder.
“Hah, what you don’t like it? What are you going to do about it?” the hero tilted his head, smile thin and eager, sword point inching closer.
Ludwig took a deep breath. He flexed his hand once, and Oathcarver manifested itself right there, handle first, then the ruined remnant of its edge. Broken and barely functional.
“Hah, what are you going to do with a broken weapon? This is what a real sword should be!” the hero said, swinging his broadsword in a bright sweep. It came up lit and alight with what looked like holy power, pale flames licking the fuller, the metal singing softly as if satisfied to be seen.
Without speaking, Ludwig funneled his own Aura into Oathcarver. The hilt drank like a man in a desert; the ruined blade smoked, then refocused. In a heartbeat the weapon took on its cruel crystalline blade look, facets budding from nothing, edges extruding with hard, glassy finality. The light knifed across the facets, and the hero hesitated despite himself.
“Interesting, so you want to fight the hero!”
“No, I want to beat up a dumb fucker who thinks he can rule the world just because he got a shiny sword… how about it, want to duke it out?”
“This guy is funny!” a young man said from the church ranks.
Ludwig glanced that way. The speaker wore a set of red robes, the fabric edged with sigils; his grin was too wide, teeth too even, and there was a feverish brightness in his eyes. Ludwig had seen that kind of expression on beasts cornered and delighted all at once.
“But we’re not here to fight, we’re here on business, Hiro,” the young man said, voice slipping into coaxing tones. “Let’s get this over with…”
“Right, I can’t be wasting time here,” Hiro said, jerking his chin. “Anyways, surrender, or actually don’t. Resisting is even better.”
“You want me to handle this? It’ll get quite ugly with the church though.” Joana’s hand had not left her hilt; her eyes never left Hiro’s stance.
“No, if you do, the church will blame the black tower.” Ludwig placed his sword over his shoulder, the crystal edge humming faintly. “Still, this is a good chance to see how this coward improved in the past five years…”
“Who the hell are you calling a coward! I’m the Hero of Lufondal!” Hiro pointed his sword at Ludwig, cape twitching with the movement.
“No hero in their right mind would go on claiming that he is one. A hero is a title that the people give to a person, not one can self-claim. Especially not after you ran away with your tail between your legs in Tulmud.” Ludwig smiled, small and cutting.