Kell looked up at the Bound Knight with pure determination. A stare that was as sharp as his blade that day.
The Bound Knight hesitated for a moment, something flickered behind that hollow gaze. A memory. A remnant of the man he once was, before he was reforged into a creature of zeal and might.
Highlord Galrick, from his distant hill, stopped leaning on his sword and straightened. "Well, there goes a legend. You won't meet many like him. If another at all," he said quietly to his officers.
One of the officers pointed sharply. "Highlord!"
Galrick leaned forward, squinting, and then flinched back like he'd seen a ghost.
"Who... is that?" he murmured.
Kell braced himself, staring into death's eyes. But then-
A screech of steel. Metal on metal.
Torik lunged from above, flying like a spear hurled by fate. His dagger carved across the mask of the Bound Knight, scraping until it found the slit of an eye.
The creature bellowed, reeling, pain flashing behind the mask.
Immediately, the other Bound Knights turned. They recognized the threat. They felt it.
"That must be him," one of Galrick's officers said. "The boy thief. The one who stole the crown. The one Kell brought in."
Torik dropped low into a crouch, already on the move. A knight charged. Torik veilbound and made the knight see him leap left but actually lunged right. His dagger found the armpit seam, bit in deep, and he darted away before the knight could recover.
Another came swinging.
Torik veilbound and musclebound in the same breath. Reality warped at the edges as he blurred into motion. He was a streak of speed, of perception turned liquid. He danced and twisted, blades clashing, feet striking.
"He's a musclebinder," Galrick said slowly, as if disbelieving his own words. "That must be why Kell recruited him. But that doesn't explain-"
"-how he's dismantling twelve other musclebinders," the officer finished, voice tight.
Another officer blinked. "But sir... all reports say he's a veilbinder."
Galrick eyed him. "Then the reports are wrong."
The officer shook his head. "No... I have three reports of him veilbinding entire an entire room of soldiers back when he stole the crown."
Galrick fell silent, jaw tight, staring at the thief leaping across the battlefield like a storm given flesh.
"Pest!" one of the knights roared, slamming a massive blade into the ground where Torik had just been.
Torik launched behind him, using every ounce of musclebinding to accelerate. He wasn't built for brute strength but for mobility. Precision. Finesse. He landed atop the knight's back, drove his dagger into the neck seam, and twisted.
The knight dropped.
The others circled him, completely surrounding him to stop any options of moving.
"That's no fun," Torik whispered.
One lunged. Torik darted to the weakest point in the circle but another knight stepped in to cut him off.
Before he could react, a sword burst through the knight's chest. Dama stood behind it, yanking her blade free and kicking the corpse down.
She nodded at Torik, then signaled to Kell, still on the ground.
Torik sprinted, dodging the last few knights and reaching Kell just as soldiers finished bandaging his stump.
"You've grown so much in these last few weeks." He said proudly.
Torik looked down at his bandaged and missing arm, "Kell…"
Kell shook him to make him stop talking, "It's alright, we've all made sacrifices.
Those men sacrificed their lives I'm lucky to have just lost an arm." He smiled at Torik who returned it.
"Now I need to get back to leading, can I rely on you and Dama to handle that lot." Kell said as he nodded to the Bound Knights.
Torik turned without a word, leaping back into the fray.
One knight split a soldier down the middle and turned to strike again but Torik slammed his dagger into the side of its mask, staggering it.
Two more approached. Torik veilbound, slipping between their strikes like wind. He countered with lightning-quick cuts, every blow a blur.
"Fight, men! We can win with the thief on our side!" a soldier shouted.
Cheers rose, the army reinvigorated.
From the hill, Galrick shook his head. "Just when you think Kell's out of cards…"
A robed figure sprinted toward him, Highpriest Jorah, face red, eyes wide.
"My creations, my Knights! Losing to them?"
Galrick grunted. "Tell me something, Jorah. Can a person have two Bound Arts?"
Jorah blinked. "No. That's impossible. Why?"
"No reason," Galrick said lazily, "we need to end this battle now, surround them and crush them from the outside."
Officers scattered, shouting orders.
Torik leapt again, showing one knight a false image before driving his blade into the throat. He landed softly and turned to see Dama give him a nod. Half the knights were down.
But then the sounds of new panic.
The army had been encircled.
Kell stared in horror. "This… This is where numbers kill us."
Lord Farris pushed through the ranks.
"Kell, are you alright, I heard-" he said before seeing the missing arm.
He saw the missing arm.
Kell waved him off. "I'm fine. That's not what worries me."
Soldiers screamed as the enemy closed in.
Torik moved like fury given flesh. He became a force of pure motion, striking down man after man, his dagger a blur of silver.
Dama had told him to go. To take pressure off the front. And so he did.
"He cuts like a knife through butter," an officer muttered.
"Might as well be a knife through melted butter the way he's going. But no matter, even he will hit his limit and when he does there will be thousands of our men surrounding him ready to deal the final blow, each one savouring the chance to be the one who killed him."
Torik breathed hard. His limbs burned.
But he kept going.