Knight Froliet — or rather, former Knight Froliet of House Elathion — cursed as he led his horse to the scene of the carnage. Along with him were six other lesser squires, now all traitors to the House to which they had once pledged allegiance.

  Froliet scanned the scene, ignoring the wounded brigands in the snow, begging for help.

  Though they had an uneasy alliance, the man couldn’t care less about those worthless low-lifes. Froliet suspected that not even their leader did.

  And speaking of which… From the snow, near the wreckage, a massive figure rose.

  Wearing a coat of mail and easily larger than most men, the Chosen's limbs were twisted out of shape. Bones were visibly poking out of his flesh. A rapier was embedded in his chest — pierced clean into his heart.

  His head was hanging loosely backwards, spine and neck clearly broken.

  There was no way anyone — Chosen or otherwise — could survive wounds like those.

  Yet, in defiance of all things sane or sacred, Froliet watched as the man forced his broken arms into motion, bent wrists seeking his dislocated head. Fingers fumbled over nose and ears, before they grabbed on tight and suddenly snapped the head back in place.

  The Chosen blinked — once, twice — before grinning ear-to-ear.

  “Much better,” he sighed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been hurt that badly. Ahhh…”

  Froliet’s expression twisted in disgust as the Chosen moaned, his body convulsing wetly as the broken bones of his arms and legs somehow realigned themselves beneath his flesh and mended him back to wholeness.

  One of the squires behind him retched.

  The noise drew the Chosen’s attention. “Oh, Froliet! See, I told you I could do it. Stopped your lady’s carriage dead in its track.”

  The Chosen paused. He chuckled darkly. “Though I suppose she’s not really your lady anymore, is she? You lovable back-stabbing bastard.”

  “Gunther,” Froliet growled. “The order was to apprehend her alive. We need her in one piece!”

  “Alive, yes. In one piece… Eh, not really that important, right?” Gunther shrugged, stretching until his bones popped. “After all, it’s not like our clients would care if she’s damaged goods when we deliver her. That is what you said, is it not?”

  “The deal was for you to aid us in capturing her,” Froliet sneered. “It was not for you to deliver us a broken corpse! Get your men under control!”

  “Sheesh, fine, fine! She wouldn’t have gotten away in the first place if your boys hadn’t set off her suspicion,” Gunther yawned. “You needn’t worry. Girl is tougher than she looks.”

  Right at that moment, there was movement at the corner of the upturned wagon. The wall of the carriage gave way, revealing a bloodied young woman as she stumbled out into the snow, coughing weakly. Her once-handsome riding attire was torn and soaked in blood.

  Gunther smiled, his grin full of bloody teeth. “See? Told you.”

  Dulcina stood shakily, struggling to maintain her composure even as she cradled her broken leg and watched men surround her. Gunther’s brigands arrived, more than doubling their numbers.

  There were so many of them. Their leering sneers and excited hooting nearly caused her to back away in fear.

  “Feisty little thing, isn’t she? Especially for a Copper Core at her age,” Gunther casually noted. “How old is she again? Sixteen, seventeen?”

  Froliet said nothing, though his grip on his blade tightened.

  Gunther chuckled. “Killed a fair number of my men, too. What a contemptible wretch you are. Betraying a lady like that just so you could, what, earn a few extra coins? Or maybe you were hoping to take her away and keep her all for yourself—”

  Before Gunther finished, Froliet had drawn his sword, its edge placed against the brigand captain’s throat.

  All around, the other raiders drew their steel, as did Froliet’s squires.

  Tensed magical energies roiled through the clearing, but none were more pronounced than Froliet’s.

  His Silver Core pulsed with unconcealed hate, overpowering the myriad of lesser Copper and Bronze Cores around him.

  Gunther, meanwhile, simply smiled. He spread his arms wide. “Go ahead. Cut me. Stab me. Makes no difference. I’ll even let you do it for free. Gets our blood pumping before the main course, yeah? C’mon, Froliet. Be a man for once.”

  In contrast to Froliet’s raging mana, Gunther’s Core was still and silent — almost bored. However, there was no question about who was the superior Chosen.

  Within the hulking brigand, a radiant Gold Core pulsed in lazy beats.

  A second passed. Then two.

  Froliet withdrew his sword. He walked past Gunther as if nothing had happened. “Have your men grab her. We need to move; this field is too close to Kaldreach.”

  Gunther shrugged. He turned to his men. “You heard him, lads! Let’s take our fun with the lady somewhere more private!”

  The surrounding raiders cheered. Forliet’s squires wore uncomfortable expressions on their faces, but ultimately did nothing.

  Dulcina’s commanding voice suddenly cut through the snowy clearing.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Froliet, why?” she demanded, her presence furious and regal despite her wounds. “Why did you betray your House? Father gave you everything! He trusted you. I trusted you! How could you do this?”

  The knight paused. He turned to look at the girl.

  Even with blood streaking her silver hair, the young noblewoman was still a sight lovely to behold. The blood of House Elathion was one of Saints, and it showed in her appearance. Draped in navy-blue regalia over a form-fitting coat and dark boots, hers was an aristocratic elegance poised for predatory grace, far from the likes of dainty young ladies in silk dresses or perfumes.

  She was his charge. The knight had once sworn an oath to give his life for her should the need arise.

  And now he was betraying her to a fate worse than death.

  When Froliet answered, the expression on his face was a void. “It’s nothing personal. I follow orders from a higher power, nothing more.”

  “Whose orders?” Dulcina pressed. “Tell me, you bastard! You owe me this much!”

  Froliet seemed to hesitate. Gunther stepped in. “Ah, ah. None of that now. We are getting paid too much to run our mouths.”

  The former knight gritted his teeth and turned away. Dulcina snarled, but was interrupted before she could speak.

  “As for you, young lady, no more stalling for time.” The brigand captain wiggled his finger. “Accept your fate with some noble dignity. It’s the last time you will have it.”

  “I would rather die than go with you,” Dulcina snarled.

  “That’s not for you to decide,” Froliet darkly said. “Enough of this. The time for talk is over. We need to go before—”

  A shift in his peripheral; A tremor under his feet.

  The movement did not come for his men or Gunther’s.

  Instinct compelled Froliet to draw his sword.

  He was far too late.

  [Dagger Arts, Hollowfang’s First Form: Tigerclaw Assassination]

  [Sneak Attack Bonus applied! Critical Hit!]

  A touch — sharp and heavy — brushed past the back of his neck, and Froliet fell.

  ~~~

  Gunther swore as something suddenly burst out of the snow and tore out the back of Froliet’s neck.

  The nearby brigands were slow to react. Before the first one even drew their axe, two were already bleeding from their necks, heavy gashes spilling crimson all over the pure white snow.

  “AMBUSH!” Gunther roared, drawing upon his mana.

  Whatever was attacking them, it was fast. In the time he shouted the warning, another one of his brigands was down, guts spilling from his open stomach.

  Worse was the snow, which had suddenly exploded all around them, creating a wintry mist that impaired visibility. Gunther saw a cluster of marble-sized balls thrown by their assailant onto the ground before they detonated violently against the packed snowfall.

  This is— Bastard is using grenades to create a snowscreen!

  The panicked shouting of his men only added to the chaos.

  “I can’t see—!”

  “What the hell is it—!”

  “Watch out! It’s behind—!”

  Gunther snarled as he heard his men’s voices cut short in the mist, one by one.

  The captain channelled his mana and roared.

  [Sky Giant Artes, First Form: Storm Breath]

  His Core expelled a pure gust of magic. The Arte blew away the drifting snow.

  Gunther finally saw his opponent and was taken aback.

  It was a kid — not even one young like the lady, but an actual kid. White-haired and cloaked in furs, the midget barely came up to Gunther’s waist in height.

  But the Chosen wasn’t stupid, nor was he inexperienced.

  Kid or not, the murder in those hellish purple eyes was unmistakable.

  Gunther grinned. He moved.

  In a single blur of motion, the brigand captain slammed his foot right into the child's torso.

  The kick sent them flying, though Gunther knew the damage was not severe. He barely felt the hit; the kid had gone limp at the time of impact to mitigate the damage.

  Twisting in midair, the child threw their dagger — a mastercrafted horned blade, undoubtedly lethal even against reinforced flesh — right for Gunther’s head, spinning it blade-over-hilt.

  The captain raised a bare hand to block the projectile, letting the curved ivory impale his palm without care as he rushed after the child.

  The moment they landed on their feet, Gunther was upon them.

  The captain’s fists were deadlier than any hammer. Gunther had personally crushed the skulls of both demons and Chosens with those fists. He knew one good hit was all it took to kill. Men froze when they saw his knuckles screaming for their heads.

  So the captain was pleasantly surprised when his diminutive opponent moved into the attack, rather than running or freezing up. The child narrowly ducked under the fist, raising the horned dagger and letting the momentum of Gunther’s punch slice his own arm against the edge.

  The powerful blade tore flesh and chipped the bone, but Gunther merely grinned wider. He hammered his other arm down for a close-range strike, but the child already anticipated that and leaned away, dodging by a hairbreadth.

  The moment his fist missed, the child kicked off the man’s forearm and leapt.

  There was no hesitation. Not even an ounce of wasted energy or motion.

  Their ivory dagger plunged clean through Gunther’s eye and sank deep into his brain.

  It was an assuredly lethal blow. The child relaxed by a fraction.

  Then, Gunther laughed and suddenly wrapped his arms tight around them. “Gotcha.”

  The captain squeezed hard, arm muscles bulging. The kid broke free from their shock and instantly started struggling, but it was no use. They let out a pained cry when their ribs broke.

  Gunther’s smile widened at the cracking sensation, which he felt intimately under his crushing embrace. “Your bone’s soft like a woman,” Gunther giggled. The dagger was still fully embedded in his eye, blood pouring from his impaled face. “Are you a boy or a girl? Doesn’t matter to me either way. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

  The child snarled, turning to face him.

  Then, they lunged, teeth grabbing for the handle of their dagger embedded in Gunther’s eye, before they pulled and dragged the blade across his face.

  Silver-grade steel mulched brain, skull, and flesh alike. Gunther howled in mind-rending agony, finally releasing the child.

  They dropped to their feet, rolling between the Chosen’s legs before he could stomp on them, and sprinted away.

  Gunther roared in rage, blinded by the terrible wound that was tearing his face in half. He pulled the first dagger out of his palm. Then, with both bloodied hands, he gripped the second dagger buried in his face.

  His scream was one of horror and ecstasy as the horned blade was dragged wetly out of his brain, inch by agonising inch, before pinkish gore erupted from his face as the steel was pulled free.

  Gunther shrieked, laughed, and wailed. The sound he made was keen and wild like a frenzied beast. The pain he felt was one of indescribable torment.

  Gunther could not remember the last time someone had dealt him such a grievous wound.

  His Core felt alive once more.

  “Now we’re talking! Come on, you bastard! Don’t you dare run from me, I NEED THIS! One monster to another, let’s FIGHT!”