Opening Moves (The Lion Knight Book 1)

by Aurelius L. Zero

  “N-no. I’m sorry. I’m only good at hiding and sneaking. I-I am a mage… but the only spell I know is the one I use to camouflage myself and it only works on me....”

  “Then just stay back and keep an eye out for anything we may have missed. Keep yourself hidden, if they don’t know you’re here, it is for the best to keep it that way.”

  “Y-yes!”

  With that, Arno closed his eyes and a brief burst of flux ran through him before he faded from view, completely indistinguishable from the background.

  Impressive, such a high level invisibility spell.

  If I didn’t know he was there in the first place, I wouldn't even suspect that there was someone in front of me.

  This is beyond anything my sagent can produce too.

  Shame it only works on him.

  Another round of shaking pulled Leon from his ruminations. Focusing on the task at hand, he began channelling flux to his glove, prepping his wide area lightning spell once more.

  In the meantime, he set Geahart to pulling rubble into a makeshift barricade and obstacle course.

  “Squire Leon.”

  “Yes milady?”

  “Is there any way we can leave without fighting? They’re just men who are following orders, I… I don’t wish to hurt them if possible.”

  A short sigh left his lips as Noire’s pacifism made itself known.

  “Afraid not milady, as much as I wish there was a way available, there isn’t.”

  Hopefully if I wound enough of them they’ll retreat, I don’t want to have to kill.

  Leon’s fingers twitched and a frown marred his face as he received feedback from Geahart.

  “Brace yourselves. They’re close.”

  A sharp nervous nod was all the reply he got from Noire who was now clutching her rapier in a death grip.

  A brand new blade bought from the Albri’s resident blacksmith, it had never seen the fires of battle in the past.

  Noire deeply wished that it would never have to, but she was painfully aware that the sword would most likely be christened in blood by the end of the day.

  Their makeshift defences in place and fortified to the best of their abilities, the group readied for the oncoming storm.

  Soon enough, shouts and war cries could be heard coming from the stairwell, along with the stamping of countless boots.

  The first of the mercenaries cleared the veil and immediately charged at them.

  Geahart being the designated close combat specialist leapt forth to meet their challenge blade drawn and a bloodthirsty grin for all to see.

  The first man, a hulking brute in leather armour wielding a giant club had the audacity to laugh at the sapphire knight.

  Boasting that Geahart’s tiny needle was no match for his, he made to crush his skull with one swing.

  Dark laughter left the knight as he deftly dodged to the right, sword arm bringing up his blade to deflect the club away before lashing out with a crushing backhand that knocked the man off his feet.

  Lighting flashed behind him, courtesy of Leon and Geahart was in motion once more.

  Seeing their comrade go down, three others rushed him at once. Lightly armoured and armed with spears, they sought to run him through with a flurry of thrusts.

  Laughing at their pitiful attempts to touch him, Geahart weaved through the spears and hacked off their points one by one, leaving the men holding broken sticks and at his mercy.

  Before they could register that the hunter had become the hunted, a silver flash distracted them and blinding pain erupted from their chests. In a single swing, Geahart had cut clean through their armour and into the flesh below.

  As the three went down in a spray of blood and screams, Geahart was forced to jump to the side to avoid a barrage of fireballs launched by a group of magicians standing by the gate.

  Some of the mercenaries trying to close with him were not so fortunate.

  Their clothes bursting into flames as they sustained the hits directly, they dropped to the floor and began rolling about on the floor trying to put the flames out.

  Disgust was written all over Geahart’s face as he stared at the magicians who fired on their own men. The odour of burning flesh permeated the room.

  “You. Have you no honour? You would attack your own men just for a chance to bring me down?”

  “Shut up you bastard. They were weak so they got their just desserts. As long as you die it doesn’t matter how many of those cannon fodder we hit. Now stand still so I can kill you!”

  The apparent leader of the magicians shouted back at him.

  Needless to say, the callousness of the reply shocked all in the room, the mercenaries faltered temporarily before redoubling their efforts.

  If just one of them could bring down their opponents they needn’t worry about being hit by friendly fire.

  Noire was trembling again at the cruelty being displayed, her earlier opinion that the men were being forced to fight strengthened only by their actions.

  Tears threatened to spring to her eyes. Leon on the other hand was pissed.

  Having been taught from a young age by Libra that all life is sacred. Even when it becomes necessary to kill, respect should be given to the dead and those about to be. This travesty was a violation of everything he believed to be true.

  I don’t kill but just this once… I think I’ll make an exception to the rule.

  Hands crackling with lightning, he raised them and prepared to discharge a lethal bolt that would end their miserable existences.

  Before he could however, a shout of grief interrupted him.

  “BROTHER!”

  One of the sell-swords who just came through the gate witnessed his brother burning on the floor courtesy of his own allies. An inarticulate roar left him as he drew his blade and ran the magician clean through.

  “Tr-traitor… urgh…”

  “You killed him! Traitor! Allant will have your head for this.”

  “I don’t care you son of a bitch. That was my brother you murdered!”

  Pulling his blade free with a squelch, the bereaved Iron Wolf tried to exact vengeance on the remaining magicians only to be blasted to cinders by one.

  “Such a senseless waste of life.” Geahart muttered to himself as he parried yet another sword wielding man trying to bring him down.

  The desperation wafting of off them could be felt. It was almost suffocating.

  Lightning flashed by him and Geahart noticed that two of the remaining five magicians had collapsed, smoke rising from their prone forms.

  Bending over backwards, a giant bardiche swung through the space his head occupied previously.

  Dropping into a spin kick, he swept the offending man off his feet before jumping up and landing on the downed man’s stomach.

  Ducking into a crouch and back flipping off him to avoid another mercenary trying to stab him in the back, he left the man coughing up blood and initiated a duel with would-be backstabber.

  Easily the most skilled opponent he’d faced that day, the man was competent with his weapon.

  Bobbing and weaving through each and every strike, he parried with his daggers where he could not dodge before launching a blistering counterattack.

  An error in judgement led to Geahart overextending his attack and being left open to a strike from the man’s third dagger. Having lost the second by using it to pull Geahart’s swing wider, a third blade had slipped from his sleeves ready to finish him off.

  Before the knight had a chance to react, the dagger glanced off thin air.

  Eyes widening in shock at the unexpected barrier, the assassin had no chance to recollect himself before a straight punch to the face shattered his teeth and sent him flying across the room.

  Absentmindedly noting the barrier, Leon continued exchanging volley after volley of spells with the remaining magicians.

  Power and skill wise, he was superior. Frustration was surging through his veins though at his inability to knock down his opponent
s.

  What they lacked in power, they made up for in cunning.

  Ditching their previous tactic of grouping together and firing en masse, they had split up across the room and were taking cover behind the very obstacles meant to impede them.

  His more powerful spells were also locked off, he didn’t have enough flux to start flinging around high level magic constantly. The enemy would crush him by sheer weight of numbers alone once he ran low.

  One to his right, one to his left and one to his centre, he was in a bind. Leon wasn’t able to split his attention three ways and the magicians knew it.

  It didn’t help matters that they were constantly placing regular troops between them and Leon as human shields.

  Being perfectly alright with shooting through them to get to Leon, they were unaffected while the puppeteer had to take care not to strike a fatal blow.

  Noire’s barriers on both him and his puppet were holding fine for the moment, soaking up damage and leaving them unharmed but there was no telling how much longer she could keep it up.

  Already she was breathing hard from the exertion.

  Having to maintain three individual barriers while focusing on duelling any mercenary who reached her with her rapier was taxing to say the least.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Leon noticed one of the enemy magicians preparing a giant fireball and aiming at Geahart.

  Biting back a curse, he racked his brain for a way to get his puppet to disengage, being stuck in a melee against six others, Geahart was for all intents and purposes locked down.

  “Eat this you bastar- urk?”

  Arms redirected by an unseen force, his fireball was released at one of the remaining magicians instead of the knight he was previously aiming at.

  A sharp scream rang out as the unfortunate man was reduced to ashes in a blinding burst of flames.

  Staring blankly at the results of the strongest fire spell at his disposal, the magician had dumped all his remaining flux into that one attack.

  Not only had he failed in removing the knight from the equation, he had taken out one of his comrades and a score of grunts who had been standing too close to him.

  A crack sounded and the man crumpled to the floor in a heap.

  The unseen force having clocked him in the back of his head. A grim smile slid across Leon’s face at the last minute save.

  Well it seems that the professor is not as useless as I thought he would be.

  Here’s hoping his nerves hold.

  Good their forces here are in disarray. Those coming up can’t see what’s happening here. Just a bit more and those still standing should retreat, that should be cause for some confusion.

  Witnessing the complete annihilation of the magician corps save him, the last magician was quaking in his boots. A wet stain was spreading across the front of his breeches.

  Upon seeing Geahart cutting a swathe through the men towards him, the last of his nerves broke and he made to flee.

  “Aw this is loco man! I’m outta here!”

  Throwing his arms over his head in panic, he tried to run back through the veil to safety.

  With the last of their magic support escaping, more than a few of the Iron Wolves came to the collective decision that discretion was the better part of valour and threw down their weapons before making a break for it.

  Before any could make it very far, the head of the last magician came soaring through the wall of darkness… minus his body.

  From the veil stepped forth a twisted mockery of a knight. Clad in black armour dented and pitted in many places, wielding a giant broadsword drenched in the blood of the hapless magician.

  Missing a helm, the man’s ugly visage was visible to all.

  A bloated nose broken one too many times sat crooked on his face.

  Multiple scars stretched across his face, trophies from countless knife fights both won and lost.

  Two soulless misshapen eyes stared into Leon’s own, barely contained evil lurked behind those orbs and Leon was thoroughly sickened.

  A lazy grin across his face showed several missing teeth, those that were still there were a diseased yellow.

  Swaggering into the room with the pompousness of a king, the man swept a lazy gaze across the occupants in the room.

  All the fighting having come to a standstill with his grisly entrance.

  Twisted smile only growing larger as he watched, his gaze eventually rested on the mercenary closest to him.

  One of those who tried to run away.

  Without a word, the man’s head was struck off in a clean sweep.

  His decapitated body flopped lifelessly to the floor as his head rolled to a stop near the black clad man’s foot.

  In a display of barbarity the man lifted his armoured foot before stomping down with all his strength, smashing the head to pulp.

  Blood and gore splattered everywhere and more than a few of the mercenaries had gone green at the sight.

  Already nearing the limit from the smell of burning flesh earlier, the severed head being destroyed like that pushed Noire over the edge completely.

  Falling to her knees, she began retching immediately, arms tightly wrapped around herself as she tried to come to terms with what she just saw.

  No longer able to focus, her barrier fell with the loss of concentration.

  “Wha-what the hell was that for! Why did you kill him!”

  “Oh… you’re still alive are you? Tch, insufferable weaklings can’t even do a job right.”

  Hefting his giant sword across his shoulders, the bloodthirst coming from the man was palpable.

  “See boy, these cowards who ran away… they be sheep. And we the Iron wolves see, we don’t coddle sheep… we eat them.”

  “They fought and bled for you… and you would turn on them just like that? What kind of a monster are you!”

  “Thanks for the complement and well of course they bled. I like it when my prey bleeds see, blood makes everything so much better… it’s wonderful is it not?”

  “Prey? SHEEP! They’re people damnit, not livestock. You can’t just-”

  “Oh but they are boy they are. See, as a wolf, anything that isn’t a wolf is a sheep. You understand me? Sheep exist for the sole purpose of being trampled by the wolves. It’s just the natural order of things.”

  Rage was building in Leon at the cold words of the monstrosity in human form before him.

  He was clearly not the only one affected, all around the room, the mercenaries had their hands bunched into fists at how their former comrade was put down.

  His eyes narrowed further as the man bisected another mercenary who had tried to flee earlier with an almost casual swing of his blade.

  “These cowards dared to run away. And for that they will die just like the sheep they are. And it’s not just me see, Commander Allant has given the order that anyone who retreats are to be executed. Ahahahaha! Now boy, surrender the girl and we may just let you live. You and that blue knight, you have potential, with so many dead there are more than a few openings available. Come join the Iron Wolves, and the world will be yours for the taking.”

  “Commander… Allant…?”

  The man’s name is Allant. Once he was a knight of Albion and a minor noble. He was talented and in time he would have risen far. But, he had a score of problems that eventually led to his downfall. One, he was a terrible commander the man expected the impossible from those under him, failure to comply with his wishes would result in disproportionate punishment.

  Many suffered under his command. He believed that the world was his for the taking, that it was his divine right to do as he pleased, regardless of who suffered. He would frequently take anything that caught his eye, anyone who resisted would be arrested and thrown in jail to rot. He bought over the judges and his sycophants would see that he got away with any crime. Even murder. Any and all dissent or complaints from the ranks would be ruthlessly suppressed.

  As such, the crown was unaware of his
misdemeanours and the bastard was promoted to knight commander of the region. He and his band of thieves plagued Albri for a long time, Bose was too hard a target to go after so he brought down misfortune on our heads instead. A small farming village out in the middle of nowhere with no one to turn to, perfect for his purposes.

  Allant is many things, a skilled warrior, a heartless bastard, a cruel man, but above all else, he is nothing if not a coward. He talks a big game, but when push comes to shove, he flees immediately.

  During the first hours of the invasion, he’d already heard about the approaching army. He didn’t even bother to help marshal the defences. He just packed up and left with his company without so much as giving us a warning other than to raid us of everything we had left.

  Elder Regis’s words sprang to mind as he recalled where he heard that name in the past. At the memory, Leon began chuckling, before bursting into outright laughter.

  “Oh have you decided to join the winning side then?”

  “The hahaha winning side hahaha. Oh please stop, I’m dying of laughter here. Commander Allant huh, I presume you mean the same Allant who used to be knight commander of the Brune region in the past?”

  “So you have heard of our captain’s greatness.”

  “Greatness? Ahahahaha. Oh yes I’ve heard of him. The coward who ran away at the first sign of the approaching Imperial army. The man, or sheep as you would say, who abandoned his responsibilities without a moment’s hesitation to save his own skin. If a sheep like that is your commander, well what does that make you chump?”

  Face contorting into a vicious snarl at Leon’s mocking the man lashed out randomly with his blade, narrowly missing one of his men, he bellowed at Leon in impotent rage.

  “You dare mock our captain? Boy for that you will die slowly and painfully! Heh, not like I was planning to let you into the Iron Wolves anyway.”

  “You know what, you can take your invitation and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Sir Geahart, Lady Noire, this one is mine. I AM LEON, AND THIS LION BOWS TO NO MONGREL!”