Counterkill

Heka stared into the eyes of the person before him. They were brown, with traces of the years etched into their corners.

He had heard from bards that dwarves could live extraordinarily long lives—up to three hundred years, roughly six times the lifespan of a Halfling.

Unlike humans, they aged rapidly only in their final few years. Most of their lives were spent in their prime.

Because they enjoyed relatively long lifespans, dwarves generally possessed exquisite craftsmanship. Most dwarves were at least veteran First-Level Adventurers, whereas humans often needed to undergo considerable training before reaching that level.

The dwarf's war hammer tore through his arm the instant it touched his flesh. Heka could clearly feel the bones and short sword that had already been broken. They were immediately pressed against the shield, slightly warping the dwarf's movements.

The dwarf was also staring into the boy's eyes.

They were a pair of cold eyes, with scarcely any ripples within them. For some reason, they reminded him of the battle-hardened old warriors of his clan.

Those warriors often had beards like tree roots, with the spoils of their past woven into them.

When they fed him moves, they were like this too. There was little passion—only those tranquil eyes.

Heka used the opening to leap slightly. His knee slammed into the shield, only to be scraped by the iron studs on its surface. Blood fell, followed closely by a flash of cold light.

"When?"

The dwarf was certain that the other party could not possibly draw a crossbow from that position. Having learned from his friend's lesson, he had planned to use his physical advantage to strangle this despicable wretch who had killed his companion with a sneak attack at close range.

For that reason, he had deliberately replaced his shield with a round one large enough to cover his calves, and spent a fortune replacing his leg armor with a pair of iron greaves.

Yet the situation before him was strange. The enemy, whose weapon arm had already been smashed, had vaulted over his shield in an uncanny posture, a thin but razor-sharp dagger gripped in his hand.

This was bad...

The dwarf immediately tried to steady his center of gravity.

But the blow he had just delivered in anger had pitched his weight far too heavily forward, while the shield he had specially prepared to defend against arrows now seemed excessively cumbersome.

Realizing that the opponent was probably kneeling on the shield's surface, the dwarf struggled to rotate the shield in his hand, trying to disrupt the other man's balance with it.

But it was too late. The dagger was shoved forward by its owner with an uncanny technique. It looked like a sweep, yet somehow incorporated the force of a Slashing strike.

Ssshk~

The dwarf released the shield and swung his war hammer hard with one hand, forcing the enemy back. With the other, he clutched his throat tightly.

He was different from the captain. The captain could afford a full suit of armor. Beneath his helmet, where it joined the half-plate, there was an overlapping section that protected his vulnerable neck.

The dwarf was different. He was the son of a criminal cast out by his clan and did not possess enough money—at least, not yet—to outfit himself with such armor.

His helmet and plate armor had been cobbled together piece by piece. The only thing protecting his neck was a specially thickened gambeson.

By rights, the gambeson should have been enough to stop an attack like this one from a dagger.

After all, his opponent was not an adventurer, and the weapon was not the sort suited to piercing armor.

Combined with the awkward force generated by his posture, the dwarf had never believed his throat would be cut.

But reality was every bit as bizarre as it was cruel. The dagger easily sliced through the gambeson, then drove its edge into the dwarf's rough skin.

After landing, Heka tore open his clothing and tied a strip of cloth around his arm to stem the unceasing blood. He then stuffed the entire arm into his waistband to keep it from swinging and flopping during the battle that followed.

"Run."

Before Heka could think of how to deal with the remaining half-orc, a furious shout rang out behind him.

The voice belonged to Mr. Carpenter, the carpenter who was not called Carpenter. From the corner of his eye, Heka could see the man's figure darting past the street corner.

His body moved before his mind did. Heka paid no attention to the dwarf, who had carelessly allowed his throat to be slit and was now clutching it as he slowly slid down the wall.

Nor did he pay attention to the half-orc charging toward him with a club larger than his head, intent on smashing him into mincemeat. He charged straight toward the street corner ahead.

Inertia forced Heka to grab the edge of the wall with his palm, barely preventing himself from being flung away.

The half-orc behind him had already raised his club high. Heka could even clearly feel the wind stirred up as it rose. The weapon had been infused with a sufficient amount of energy.

In the next moment, even without applying any additional force, simply allowing it to fall freely from that height would be enough to break Heka's spine.

After confirming that he had once again reached the ranger's blind spot, Heka immediately fell forward, twisting his body as he went down.

Their reinforcements were still a distant speck on the horizon. The only person over there who could move was Mr. Carpenter, the carpenter who was not called Carpenter.

The man had rushed over shouting for him to run. It could only be because he feared Heka would be finely chopped into mincemeat by the dwarf and the half-orc here.

Since the man had arrived, there was no reason the ranger would not come as well. The source of the danger was obvious now: the enemy's big shot, drawn over by an ally.

Sure enough, the instant Heka deliberately fell to the ground and used the opportunity to twist around.

Within his field of vision, besides the ally fleeing in disarray, there was also an arrow flying toward him.

The arrow struck the wall beside him. If he had been even a moment slower, it would have landed straight in his skull.

Being impaled by something that thick... he probably would not have survived, right?

Al was furious now because another friend had died. He had seen it clearly just now: the little bug had used a dagger. Against annoying little bugs like this, Al had his own way of dealing with them.

For example, he could use his attack range to strike directly at the opponent's head, preventing him from getting close.

But when he had just charged over, his companion, who was clutching his throat, seemed to have been saying something.

The half-orc thought with his few brain cells for a moment. Oh, it seemed to have been "Be careful." Careful of what? The dagger? Wasn't that obvious?

Heka watched as Mr. Carpenter, the carpenter who was not called Carpenter, entered his field of vision and flung the throwing knife in his hand. The man was not in good shape.

An arrow had pierced his thigh, making him limp whenever he moved.

Still, his attacks were apparently dangerous enough that the ranger was temporarily unable to kill him.

Heka released the battered scrap of iron, its edge badly rolled. A loaded crossbow suddenly appeared from within Heka's cloak and dropped into his hand.

A flash of astonishment instantly crossed the face of Mr. Carpenter, the carpenter who was not called Carpenter, as he brushed past Heka.

There was absolutely no way anyone on their side had been equipped with such a heavy crossbow. Getting caught with one inside the city would cause serious trouble. The Black Mountain Merchants already had more than enough trouble on their hands.

He was certain this boy had never possessed such a thing. In theory, the boy had not even brought along that wooden sword, which had no killing power whatsoever.