另类小说人亚洲小说

“Ah, crap.” I remember saying.

The statistics he’d quoted before the battle weren’t all fictional; there was some manner of enchantment on his armor.

He swung (yes, swung) his estoc. It was foolish and arrogant enough that it almost caught me off guard. An estoc has a sharp edge, yes, but it is not built to endure such impacts. It isn’t, properly speaking, only a dueling sword, but...

Yes, I agree. The details of blades are not important to this tale. Weapon of History or not, enchantment or not, he was willing to use his blade improperly. As though he weren’t trying to harm me, but only touch me with the blade.

It was a clue; if I’d been paying attention, I’d have seen the truth of the matter then.

Instead, I ducked below, striking an equally useless blow against the mail covering his legs.

“Dance all you want little monster.” he said. “Five touches, and I’ve won this battle.”

I sighed, placing my blade back into inventory.

.....

I dodged to my left, using the momentum to aid in a bare handed strike to his side. I activated.

He grunted and spat. “That isn’t even real damage. Here’s what THAT feels like.”

His sword slid forward along the top of my shield.

I activated , and stomped on his foot. “It seems you have exaggerated your Valor skills.”

He snorted. “Four points! Four points of non-lethal against ME? ARE YOU INSANE?”

A flurry of blows from him; an equally impressive amount of dodging and blocking from me. I dismissed the message telling me something about skill XP.

“By the nameless god!” he cursed. “What, did you buy that as an inherent? Is it the only power with charges in it?”

“I knew someday I’d be facing someone with more armor than my base damage.” I said. “So I ... Ngyaaah!”

[You have just taken twelve points of Arcane damage. 48/60 Serenity remain.]

It was the lightest touch of his blade, barely doing any physical damage.

Crap.

I wasn’t the only one fighting nasty. Not that I had any right to complain; if I were merely human I’d have been looking for all kinds of advantages also.

“How do you like that?” he asked.

“Cobra Spit!” I yelled out, and hacked up a spray of venom directly into his uncovered face.

Yeah, a full two doses of rating five spider venom. Acidic Biological(Toxic) damage. Exactly the sort of thing you don’t want in your eyes.

I fell back before his blind swinging, letting the venom do its work, using [Pain Touch] when I thought it was safe.

[You have taken twelve points of Arcane damage. After ability activation, eight points have been received. 40/60 Serenity remain.]

[You are out of charges for...]

And then, he opened his eyes. The sockets leaked blood, but the eyes themselves looked discouragingly intact. “You will find...” he huffed, “that you are not... the most venomous monster... I’ve ever... what?”

He collapsed forward onto his knees.

“Tail Lash! Pain Touch!” I shouted.

“Noo!” he hollered, crashing forward.

[You have taken eight points of damage. After armor, two points have been received.] This message popped up multiple times.

I fled into the wood, pursued by arrows of various plumage.

“You haven’t won!” he screamed. “Fifteen minutes! Fifteen minutes and I’ll have healed enough nonlethal to move! Come nightfall, you are still dead!”

There were two of his minions in the trees, with a net of woven silk. They... they served him well, but not well enough to stop me. I placed the net into inventory, leaving one dead and one dying behind me.

the young riding lizard sent after me.

I replied.

Well. Okay, that would be a problem.

As it turned out, it was an exaggeration as well. Eyeing roughly half a dozen Makura clustered around three columns of eggs, it seemed a surmountable one.

one of the mothers stated.

I coughed up streamers of blood that gently spread themselves out of existence.

I started picking arrows out of my front and back, the running having made a mess of those in my sides.

one of the men offered.

I asked.

he said,

I’ve read tales of shape changers, just flexing and all the arrows fall out of them. I envy those shifters, if they exist. If they ever existed.

When I left the shallows of that lake, I had no less than five arrows, little more health than those arrows had cost me, and five charges of a power called [Chi Bow] that made those arrows useful. Well, somewhat useful. Ever wonder what happens when fletchings get wet? If they aren’t properly waxed, a heavy rain will ruin them; submerging them? I got to keep two of the arrows.

I swam across the river and made my way back north. Slowly. Cautiously. Most of the time, the winds were not in my favor.

It didn’t matter.

[Truthspeaker compulsion requires you to travel east by east by northeast at full run speed in the next fifteen minutes.] my System warned.

Merciful gods, my oath. My oath to always be inside the vizier’s tent no later than sunset, so long as I was able.

No. No, no, and no. That was directly across the area they should be searching for me. If they knew of my oath, they’d be set up to intercept me. Damn it all!

[Purchase available. Cost as follows...]

I dismissed the purchase warning, and began running. Across the river (okay, that part was swimming), through the sparse trees, and into the open, the grass long, but not enough to hide me from vision.

To the south, a screamer arrow went up, trailing red smoke.

Laughing gods! I sometimes wonder, if I’d relied on stealth rather than speed, if that run would have been as interesting.

Not deadly, not without danger, but definitely interesting. I could keep pace with their riding lizards, and even beaten up as I was I had a larger fatigue gauge. Still... Qatil Awash and his people were determined, and had clearly done similar chases in the past.

Any lesser monster, and he would have run them until they collapsed on the ground, unable to move. His minions would have peppered me with arrows until I fell. He’d chase my blood trail until it ended in a large pool, around my fallen body.

I was no longer that lesser monster; I passed the perimeter of the camp guards with nearly but not quite an hour to go before dusk.

And, fool that I was, I breathed deeply and rapidly, resuming a leisurely walking pace.

“Stop that monster!” screamed out a woman.

“That monster,” the guard replied, “is the prisoner of our khan.”

“That murderer killed two of my brothers.” she insisted.

“Be glad, then,” another guard replied, “that you faced this monster, and the monster that is our vizier. Only two of your brothers are dead, and you yourself are likely to survive this day.”

“Miniya,” came the voice of Qatil, “please do not harrass these guards. They conduct a noble duty, leave them to do it. I am called Qatil Awash, slayer of monsters, and I claim my right this year to spend three days in the camp of my khan.”

“Shit.” I said.

The guards were more receptive, almost friendly. “Come in peace, welcome by the law of hospitality.” one said.

“Your services to the tribe are beyond counting.” said the other. “Stay for so long as you and yours desire. Eat of our food, sleep in our tents if you wish. We the border guard will not limit you to three days.”

The female rode up to the first guard. “You bear none of the marks of a married warrior.”

“I am not married.” he said.

“Qatil, I shall spend our time here in this man’s tent. He has been rude to me,” she said, fondling her riding crop, “and is in need of discipline.”

Yes, anyone who knows the tales of Qatil Awash knows there were four blessings upon his armor, and four upon his sword, and four upon his belt, and four upon his turban. For all I know, he has four upon his tongue, to tell such lies and be believed.

Yes, Qatil had people. Both men and women, whom I later learned were without families, usually through monstrous violence.