The Mansion of Trials and Trials

Battle

At the corridor, near the grand staircase, black blood splashed on the nearby portraits. A shadowman got stabbed by a dagger and vanished in dust. Without fear, another shadowman pulled his bow and aimed at one Wanderer in front of him.

"Halt!" Behind, Brian spun his dagger and jabbed the shadowman with a back stab. The shadowman breathed with blood with his teeth painted black. The taste of iron appeared on the tip of his tongue. Blood spat down like waterfalls, dyeing the black clothes by another color of death. There was black blood everywhere on the floor. The darkness spread like the illusion of death scythe slashing on our hands and legs. An endless hallway without rooms or windows. Similar to the Wanderers, the Shadowpeople would also be dead if being stabbed or killed. Despite the fact that they needed to risk their lives, they didn't much care. They were indeed insane. Their madness was built above the towers of boredom. They had been years wandering around the Mansion, doing nothing but watching the everlasting trials of Wanderers. Perhaps, death was their salvation. Still, when death was near, the eagerness to live was always blocking the way. On the puddles of blood, a tiny black hand of a child crawled on the ground. He reached out for the crossbow not far away. Bit by bit, the hand went closer. The injuries and pain were just too much for a young child like him. Yet, his eyes showed no fear. Was it because of the fear of death or was it because of the final hope towards victory? The child didn't know. Using his last strength, he pulled the crossbow and aimed at Brain.

"Hahhhh!!!!" he yelled. Suddenly, another arrow flew across the wind and shot the child's forehead. Drops of black blood flowed out from the arrow and slipped to the eyes and lips. The last hope was extinguished.

"That was close, wasn't it, Brian?" Vera said with a smile. She put back her crossbow.

"Thanks, Vera," Brian thanked her. He seldom thanked people. Since he had been to this Mansion, the number of times saying 'thank you' significantly increased, whether he wanted it or not.

"I presume that's everyone. We defeated all the Shadowpeople nearby," Brian wiped out the blood on his glasses and pushed it. Even facing death, he still couldn't get rid of his habit.

"Is it done?! Thanks for saving me, Miss Vera and Mr. Brian. I owe you one." Inga stopped hiding near the walls and thanked them. He was hiding all the time since the Shadowpeople came.

"Yes. The Shadowpeople are gone. But........." Brian pointed his dagger at Inga, "Now, it's your turn. You should have run when we are fighting against the Shadowpeople."

"Wait! What? What are you talking about? We are allies right? We are all Wanderers! Why should Wanderers kill Wanderers?!" Inga cried and covered his head.

"Hehe.....I am surprised of your foolishness. Sometimes I wonder if you are really dumb or just playing it." Vera smiled. She pointed her crossbow at Inga. There was no way to escape. If he turned, the arrow would shoot at him.

"No! Please! Oh my goodness. This can't be happening!" Inga turned around and ran. Vera aimed at Inga and released her arrow. To Inga's luck, he tripped over and dodged the attack. With fear, he stood up immediately and snatched the sword on the knight figure near him.

He couldn't run. If he revealed his back towards Vera, she would shoot at him at any second. There wasn't much of a choice. With courage, for the first time, he turned around, lifted his sword, and swung at Brian. It was either death or survival.

Brian spun his dagger and wiped the air with doom and horror. He clutched his weapon and swung it hard, crashing its blade with Inga's. Both metal blades met. A dagger verse a sword. It would seem that the sword had the advantage in strength. Yet, without a proper user, the ability and power of a weapon would be meaningless. Inga waved his sword widely to his left and right, slicing everything in chaos. He didn't have any background knowledge on how to fight, it was just slashes in random like a puppet with a string. A drinker with a bottle of wine. Each slash was not heavy as it seemed to be. By looking at the tip of the blade, the attacking route was predictable. Without effort or the fear of death, Brian's eyes sparked in black and glared at Inga coldly. He too did not have experience in using swords or daggers. But what determined the winner of the battle was their will and survival instinct. This was the last trial. The prey was just in front of him. He was the hunter hunting a small harmless rabbit, the king of the predators.