I Gave You Chances

The Wight scrambled to its feet in a sorry state, let out a low growl, raised its Necrotic Sword, and charged forward with long strides.

There was no fear in its eyes, only cold, murderous intent.

Noronos let out a shrill whinny and changed direction at a sharp angle mid-gallop. As they crossed paths, a scorching blast of Dragon Breath swept across the field.

The Wight had been prepared, but the Dragon Breath was too fast and too wide to evade. Its leather armor curled from the heat, and its flesh hissed and smoked, filling the air with a foul stench.

These superficial wounds were far from fatal, but they left the Wight increasingly frustrated; it could neither catch its opponent nor escape.

The creature grew more irritable, howling in impotent rage.

Taking advantage of the lingering Dragon Breath, Anse patted Noronos, and they launched another charge.

This time, the Wight learned its lesson and rolled to dodge in advance.

Anse had anticipated this; he intentionally delayed the spellcasting, waiting until the creature had committed to its dodge before turning his head to breathe fire, granting it another round of cremation.

I predicted your prediction!

The Wight rolled to extinguish the flames on its body. Its skin was charred black and its limbs twitched, significantly hindering its ability to exert force.

It glanced at Anse, took a few quick steps, and dove into the lake, vanishing from sight.

After a long while, it surfaced in the distance and began swimming toward the center of the lake with a bizarre dog-paddle stroke.

"Ugh... you can dive? You're a quick learner."

Anse watched the three figures swimming for their lives—one far, two near—feeling rather helpless.

Water was a natural barrier; if an enemy retreated into it, low-damage spells would have little effect.

However, there were drawbacks: swimming was physically exhausting and made it difficult to exert force or cast spells. Without specialized training, one would lose most of their combat effectiveness upon entering the water.

The Wight had infinite stamina, but would its decaying body not rot away from being soaked in the lake?

"Block them," he whispered, patting the horse's back.

Noronos broke into a gallop, moving far faster than any swimmer. Before the Amnians, who were trying to escape in the chaos, could reach the shore, Anse was already there.

The two men were in poor condition; their torsos were bare and covered in numerous wounds that had turned white and bloated from the water. They wouldn't last much longer.

Anse didn't approach them, simply watching from the lakeshore in silence. His indifferent gaze was enough to keep the two from daring to come ashore.

They could hide in the water, but the shore was a flat, open wasteland—they couldn't outrun a horse even with extra legs.

Moreover, they had seen the entire battle from the water. This Sorcerer was powerful, his mount was extraordinary, and his combat and spellcasting skills were masterful. In their current state, they had no chance of winning.

After a moment of standoff, the middle-aged man shouted, "Sir, as long as you spare us, I am willing to give you all my possessions. This is a deposit."

As he spoke, he reached out of the water and threw a small object onto the bank with force.

Noronos trotted over. In the glow of the staff, a silver goblet lay quietly on the grass, shaped like an hourglass and shimmering with a faint white light.

"This is the Guardian Holy Grail, a rare divine artifact. Need I say more about its value?" The man watched the Holy Symbol glowing on Anse's chest, his heart filled with trepidation.

"I have one too." The Dragonborn pointed toward the Cloakwood Forest. "Our camp is on the edge of the forest. I can take you there."

Anse didn't pick it up. He feigned indifference, pointed at the Wight in the center of the lake, and shouted:

"Go. Kill it. This is your only chance. I don't compromise easily—seize the opportunity."

After speaking, he deliberately touched the scorching Holy Symbol on his chest.

"You are clearly sending us to our deaths," the Dragonborn said through gritted teeth.

"You have the right to choose." Anse was in no hurry; he could wait until dawn.

The Gray Hawk hadn't signaled any alarm, meaning the undead horde showed no signs of returning. Everything was under control.

"Do it! I hope you keep your word." The Amnian Captain didn't trust Anse, but he trusted that Holy Symbol.

The moral standards of the followers of the God of Justice were always high, and to them, eradicating the undead was indeed more important than killing two slave traders.

"Captain?" The Dragonborn looked stunned.

"Listen to me. Go." The middle-aged Captain turned and swam toward the Wight.

The Dragonborn hesitated for a moment before following.

In the center of the lake, a cruel expression twisted the Wight's charred face. It understood Common, but it felt no fear.

The undead did not need to breathe and did not tire; it held an innate advantage in underwater combat.

It also needed two new zombies to help it out of its predicament, and two professionals were undoubtedly the best materials.

The two sides closed in rapidly. The Amnian Captain initiated the attack, thrusting with his sword, but his movements were sluggish and easily parried by the Wight.

The melee began. The violently churning water indicated the intensity of the fight, and the splashes frequently turned a shade of crimson.

Anse sat on his horse, watching it all with a calm expression.

Am I being too cruel?

He clearly remembered that he hadn't been like this before.

But he truly didn't want to wait until dawn; there were too many variables. This was the optimal solution he could conceive.

"People have to learn to adapt, after all. It's not like I'm intentionally trying to slaughter them."

He shook his head, casting aside these messy thoughts; the battle in the water was about to be decided.

The wight was indeed strong and in good condition, but it wasn't smart enough.

Once the Dragonborn closed the distance, he took a sword strike head-on as the price to lock the wight's arms and its Necrotic Sword with his own hands, wrapping his legs around its waist. No matter how the wight struggled, it couldn't break free.

The wight's strength wasn't bad, but its attributes were very average; power was not its strong suit.

The middle-aged Captain seized the opportunity to attack, forcefully thrusting his Longsword into the wight's mouth, driving it straight into the cranium, and then giving it a violent twist. The wight stopped moving entirely.

[Target killed, gained 101 Combat Experience]

"Not bad." Anse raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile appearing.

The two Amnians dragged the wight to the edge of the lake, climbed onto the shore with great difficulty, threw their weapons aside, and lay on the ground, gasping for air.

This defenseless appearance wasn't out of trust, but out of necessity; since they couldn't run, they might as well appear magnanimous.

"The personal belongings and the breastplate were thrown into the lake by me. If you follow the north bank into the water, you should be able to find them," the middle-aged Captain panted.

Anse didn't approach them. "Where are you from? What are you doing here?"

"Aralon Island. We came here to do a little business..." the Dragonborn replied with his eyes closed.

A sharp, metallic burst of Draconic language suddenly cut his words short. Three Glimmering Missiles flashed through the air, landing one after another on the Dragonborn's chest.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The Dragonborn's mouth hung half-open as blood gushed out. His head lolled to the side, his hollow eyes fixed on the Captain beside him.

[...Target killed, gained 23 Combat Experience]

"You didn't keep your word! You promised—" The middle-aged Captain was horrified. He rolled over onto his stomach, his expression panicked, his tone bordering on hysterical.

"Amnian, what did I promise you? I never made any promises from start to finish; that was all in your own head." Anse touched the Holy Symbol on his chest; it was burning hot.

He would have to be brain-dead to let them go; they might have just transferred their hatred for the undead onto him.

The middle-aged Captain froze for a moment. "You knew all along? You were lying to us the whole time. The Nahivarr family won't let you get away with this..."

The response he received was a red energy orb trailing a small tail.

With a loud boom, the man was sent flying, his skin charred and twisted, completely unrecognizable from his original form.

[...Target killed, gained 61 Combat Experience]

"I gave you a chance, but I knew you wouldn't be able to take it," Anse said calmly.

He looked toward the direction of Cloakwood Forest. It was a dark, dense expanse; it seemed the others still had accomplices. "Nahivarr" sounded somewhat familiar.