Chapter 21. Fulfilled My Heroic Quota for the Week (Then Stayed Anyway)

Chapter 21: 21. Fulfilled My Heroic Quota for the Week (Then Stayed Anyway)

Millie hooked the woman’s arm over her shoulder and tried to stand. Her legs trembled under the weight.

The cat woman was a head taller than her and probably twice as heavy, and Millie’s whole body shook with the effort, but she kept pushing upward... inch by inch without having to fear that the guards are getting closer.

Behind them, a guard came crashing down the slope with a spear in his hand, running straight toward them. He didn’t call out a warning... and seems like he didn’t have to.

Millie only realized he was there when his shadow fell across her back, but then I shouted at her. "Millie! Focus on me!"

She tried to drag the woman out of the way, but they were too slow, and the guard drew back his arm.

"Shit...!" I saw the spear leave his hand, and I ran as fast as I can... hussing.

I don’t remember covering the distance. I know that one second ago I was standing near the top of the trail, and the next second... I was between Millie and that steel point with my arm shoved against her shoulder, throwing both women sideways into the dirt.

The spear hit me in the side.

SLASH!

"NRGGHHH...!" I gritted my teeth.

It didn’t go through my heart, thank god, because I twisted at the last second, but it went in deep enough that I felt the world go white.

It was like being hit by a train with a sharp edge... how did I know that? I don’t know... maybe this is when people die, they’re saying something illogical.

But... I heard myself make a noise I’m not proud of, and my knees buckled instantly, and I went down on one leg.

"Gagghhh..." I tried to force my whole body to move, but the pain was holding me back.

"LEONNN!!!"

Hearing her scream... I can see Millie’s face in view above me... she looked pale and terrified.

Then I also noticed that the front of my shirt was already soaked... it felt hot and sticky, and the cold wind felt like ice against the wet cloth, which made it even worse.

I tried to stand up again... and my body still flatly refused.

"Millie," I wheezed. "There’s no time...! Take her and run with the others!"

"No! I’m not leaving you!"

"Enough! This is really not the time to argue about it!"

The guards were already spreading out around us, and I counted six of them in the torchlight. The one who’d thrown the spear was grinning as he drew a short sword.

The others looked amused, the way people look at a stray dog they’re about to kick.

I got my feet under me somehow, and I raised my rusty sword with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking. The blade wavered in the air like a flag in a storm.

I could have run. I want to be honest about that.

But... Somewhere in the back of my head, a very rational voice was pointing out that I’d saved one woman, killed one slaver, and fulfilled my heroic quota for the entire week.

If I left right now, I could make it to the trees. And nobody would ever know.

But I remembered Millie curled up in the corner of that cage, apologizing for spilling a cup of water. I remembered how long it had taken her to put her hand in mine.

And I knew I’d rather get stabbed twelve more times than watch her learn once again that people who try to help you always get hurt.

"Come on, then," I said, wiping blood off my chin. "If you want to get past me, you’ve got to go through me first."

The guards laughed.

They saw a bleeding man who could barely stand, and they weren’t wrong.

I tried to fight, and it went about as well as you’d expect.

The first one came at me with a sword, and I parried clumsily and slammed my elbow into his face. The second hit me in the jaw with a gauntlet so hard that my teeth rattled.

I went down on one knee and blocked a downward slash with my sword, and the impact traveled up my arm and made my vision swim.

I kicked someone’s shin and heard a satisfying crack. Then someone kicked me in the ribs, directly on the wound, and I screamed.

"Nggghhh!"

Somewhere in the distance, I heard Elsbeth shouting my name.

She’d seen it.

She was fighting her way back toward us, but three guards had rushed to cut her off, and even she couldn’t get through that fast. I watched her drop two of them in a blur of steel and then get pushed back by a fourth who knew what he was doing.

Millie wouldn’t leave. She was scrambling over the dirt toward me with the cat woman’s arm still tangled over her shoulder.

A guard shoved her down, and she picked herself up and crawled forward again.

"Leon, please get up," she was saying. "Please...! Please get up!!!"

I tried to smile. I think it came out as more of a grimace.

"I think, uh... I might have miscounted how many of them there were."

"This isn’t funny!"

"I’m kind of starting to think that myself."

Behind us, the prisoners who had already reached the tree line had stopped. I could see them standing in a ragged cluster at the edge of the woods, torn between running and coming back.

None of them were strong enough to help.

A few were already crying.

The guard with the short sword stepped forward and raised his weapon over my head. Another one reached out and grabbed Millie by the hair.

I closed my eyes. I thought, with perfect clarity, ’well, shit.’

Then the ground trembled.

At first I thought it was a spell, or a landslide, or an earthquake, which in my experience tend to arrive at the worst possible time.

But the vibration came in a slow, heavy rhythm, a regular thump like the footsteps of something very large walking toward us on purpose.

Every guard in the clearing stopped moving.

I opened my eyes and turned my head, which took more effort than I want to admit.

Something enormous was standing at the edge of the trees.

At first it was only a silhouette against the moonlight, tall enough that I had to look up, much too broad to be human. Then it stepped forward into the torchlight, and I saw her.

She was a woman, at least in the sense that she had a woman’s face and shape, but she was close to eight feet tall, and every inch of her was built like a fortress.

Her short hair was the deep red of fresh blood, and two thick, curved horns swept up and back from her forehead. Her arms and shoulders were corded with muscle, plain to see even through the simple leather armor she wore.

A huge double-headed axe rested against her shoulder as casually as a broom.

Her eyes were a deep, burning amber, and she looked at the guards the way a farmer looks at a field of weeds.

The man standing over me made a small, strangled noise.

When she spoke, her voice was low, calm, and absolutely terrifying.

"Who gave you permission," she said, "to hunt my people?"

For about two seconds nobody moved.

Then one of the guards swore, a very short, very sincere curse, and I saw his sword start to shake.

"No," he said. "No, that’s not possible...!"

"That can’t be... it’s her!"

"Look at her armband," someone whispered.

I looked. On the leather guard strapped around her forearm was a symbol I didn’t recognize, two red horns curving around a white moon.

The guards obviously did. Half of them took a step back at the same time, like a flock of birds startled off a fence.

"That’s...! THAT’S MAGNARAAAAA," the commander said, and his voice cracked in the middle of it. "The Gate-Breaker of the Red Gate!!!"

The red-haired woman tilted her head. "Good... At least some of you still read your history books."

I stared at her from the ground, with blood running down my side and a very, very strong urge to ask if the nickname was really necessary.

’Gate-Breaker of the Red Gate?’

Who comes up with these? Was there a committee?

But my mouth wasn’t quite working, so I kept the question to myself.

Magnara lifted the axe off her shoulder and let the head rest on the ground. The earth gave a quiet, sullen thud.

"I’ll ask again," she said. "Who gave you permission to hunt my people, hah!?"

Nobody answered.

Then the commander, who was either extremely brave or extremely stupid, raised his sword and pointed it at her.

"She’s just one beastwoman!" he shouted. "Surround her! Take her down!"

Magnara let out a long breath through her nose.

"Heh... shitholes like humans never learn," she said, almost sadly.

I’ve seen some impressive fights in my life through watching fantasy movies, but I’m going to be honest... I’ve never seen anything like that.

She didn’t fight like Elsbeth. Elsbeth was a blade, fast and exact, a sharp line drawn through the air.

But Magnara... she was a landslide. Every movement she made carried enough force to remind you of how breakable you were.

When three guards rushed her from different angles, she spun in place and swung the axe in a flat, sweeping arc that forced all three of them to throw themselves backward to avoid losing their heads.

One of them tripped and landed on his ass in the mud.

She smashed the flat of the axe into the ground, and a spray of frozen stones erupted outward in a ring, scattering the guards’ formation like a kicked anthill.

Their shields cracked instantly.

A man screamed as a flying rock took his helmet off. When a crossbowman tried to set up on the fence, she picked up a fallen spear without even looking at it and threw it into the post beside his feet.

The post shattered, and he fell into a pile of hay with a very undignified yell.

I lay there with my mouth open.

At some point, someone’s sword had landed in the dirt next to my hand, and I never even noticed.

"Oh my fucking god," I whispered. "She’s... incredible."

"And she’s a beastwoman too...! This is the best! Fucking best!"

"Do not move," a voice said above me.