A torch was hurled on the spur of the moment, flying straight toward the doorway like a javelin.
Swift, powerful footsteps followed close behind the flare. Metal spun in his hand; he gripped the blade and brought the guard and pommel down like a hammer.
It was a technique used on the battlefield. When two fully armored knights met, if neither had a blunt weapon like a page hammer to deal effective damage, they could only make do with the longswords in their hands.
With enough skill, the wielder could swing the cast-iron guard fast enough to dent a helmet without cutting his palm.
That seemingly harmless blunt end could often prove more effective than the dangerous blade. The result was a sharp clang as it struck a helmet, leaving the metal ringing and causing severe injuries: fractures to the frontal and temporal bones, intracranial bleeding, external bleeding, and cerebral contusions and lacerations. With the medical technology of the time, treatment was out of the question—not even an examination was possible.
Simply put, it was a way to deal with hard-headed opponents. When William's saber was knocked aside, the newcomer had swiftly adjusted his move and struck with a weapon suited to the job.
But the face beneath that layer of skin was no less unnatural. Even though he had expected it, the impact felt as though he'd struck some lifeless, inorganic object—something that could hold its own against stone. The force rebounded through his arm, nearly wrenching the sword from his fingers. The blade almost sliced through his thick glove, and its cold, keen edge grazed his palm.
The material was extraordinarily hard, seemingly some kind of shell, but less resilient than metal. The point of impact dented slightly under the force, then rapidly cracked and collapsed outward from