Blade steps over the corpse.
Eyes lock on the Black Knight.
He will not fail. Not this time.
The Knight advances.
Blade meets him.
Steel. Swing. Clash. Break apart.
Too slow.
Step in. Duck. Slash low. Leg hit—off balance.
Not yet.
Step back. The dark blade came—Blade knew it would.
His dagger is already there, catches the black sword.
He shoves it down, but the strength behind it was unyielding.
Blade spins—whirling death.
A torrent of steel.
Metal rings. Sparks fly. Snow bursts into the air.
Hack. Parry. Dodge.
The Knight's armor stays flawless under the blows.
But Blade sees it—
A crack.
The Knight steps left. Blade moves right.
Weapons collide. Muscles strain.
A fist slams into his ribs.
Bones crack.
As planned.
Dagger up. Hook the dark sword.
Break away. Kick the chest.
Knight staggers.
Not yet.
Dagger shatters. Dark blade soars past.
Duck. Roll.
Kick leg. Shin snaps.
Knight falls.
NOW—
Lunge. Ignore the sword.
Kill.
Left arm severed.
Kill.
Knee on chest.
KILL.
Swing for helm.
KILL. KILL. KILL.
Blade drives the sword into the bridge of the helm. Metal splits. The two embers burst in a plume of blue smoke.
It is finished.
No—
Not yet.
Blade rises. Turns to the church at the far end of the clearing.
The Totem must die.
Blade walks forward.
The doors are weak and rotting.
Blade kicks them down. Inside there is a man.
He wears an iron crown and a fine robe. He kneels at the altar at the far end.
He prays aloud.
"Dearest gods above, I seek redemption. Or punishment. I seek something only those above can give to me. I confess, thousands have died from my hands. Nay—millions. I have littered battlefields with more sons and husbands than any other warmonger before me."
Blade approaches. The man's skin is grey and sallow. His veins black.
He is no man.
"I have prayed so many times before. I have confessed, cried, begged—but no peace comes to me. I only wished to do what was right. I fought for a cause I believed to be just. I wanted to unite the people of this land. To bring peace. But once I had, nothing changed. So I ran and now prostrate myself before you. For in the end I cannot help but feel it was all pointl—"
Blade cleaves his sword through the mans head and into his chest. The crown snaps in two and falls to either side, clinking on the wood.
The man's body goes limp and falls onto the altar. There is no blood, just flesh and bone.
Blades sheathes his weapons and scoops up the crown fragments.
He steps outside and waits.
His job is done.
Wind blows. The headless body that stood in the snow falls to one side.
Later a man appears.
The one who cloaks himself in feathers.
He wears a smile and whistles as he approaches.
"All done then, Blade?" the man asks.
Blade throws the crown at his feet.
The man grabs it and places it in his cloak.
"Then I suppose we are finished here."
The man surveys the scene as he turns to leave.
Blade follows.
The man stops at the edge of the clearing, examining a pack.
He pulls out a leatherbound book, thumbs through it to the back and reads.
"The Frostwood Crusade, by Gildrick Domar.
'I have read many stories and listened to many tales.
In every one, there is a hero.
Someone who saves the day or learns his lesson.
Someone who marries the princess and is beloved by all the people of the land.
Someone who chooses good in the face of evil.
I came here in search of such men—to see if they were real.
They are.'"
