Tarragon (v1)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Hearing

-Mantis

I kept running. I hadn't stopped running since I had heard... whatever that was. My feet kept moving with barely a command.

I tumbled to the ground, and couldn't bring myself to sit up. I just laid there, my head planted in a pile of snow.

Come on. Get up. I have to get to safety.

A few moments passed before I sat up.

Why am I running? I'm one of the most powerful mages in the world. Whoever this is can't be that much of a threat-

I looked around, and heard footsteps, but didn't see anyone. I materialized a halberd of solidified lightning. Footsteps again. I heard wind whipping, and the snapping of fibers as a tree came crashing down towards me. I ran towards the source of the attack, but couldn't see anything- no footsteps, no stalker.

"Come out, already!" I shout, scanning every place I can see for my stalker.

I whipped around as I felt a burning slash on my back. I backed away, and tried to teleport away, but I guessed I was too shocked to do it at the moment.

A hooded figure, wearing a New Order mask stood in front of me, wielding a black blade, similar to the King's in color and texture. It had a light curve, reminding me of a katana. The handle was very basic, with a gold cross guard, and brown handle. It was very thin, and seemed to be fairly lightweight.

From what I had felt, the blade carried more weight than it appeared to. I assumed it was a similar mechanism to what the King did to make his blade so heavy.

I quickly cast a simple healing spell on my back. Again, it didn't feel changed. Had my magic been disabled? No, my halberd was still here-

The stalker leapt for me, immediately unleashing a barrage of attacks. I could barely keep up. Every single second, another attack hit me. Cuts appeared on my hands, and arms. I guessed I only had the pain tolerance for this, because I had died once before.

I had to focus. I was going to die if I didn't try here.

I whipped the halberd towards the assassin, who promptly ducked to avoid it. They accidentally made their sword level with the ground, so I quickly had the idea of jumping onto it, and striking the assassin while they were stuck.

I got onto the sword just fine, but they sent me flying over 50 feet when they yanked it up from the ground. I had forgotten about the insane weight of the sword, and how that would probably mean an 165 pound human wouldn't be all that much of a difference. (A little less than 75 kg for the non-Americans.)

I felt a difference in my body, and I got the feeling I could cast magic again. I glided (glode?) down to a nearby cave. I sat down on the ground inside, and sat up against a wall, tending to my countless wounds, starting with the largest one on my back.

I knew a little bit of healing magic. I wasn't an expert, but I could mend a broken bone, or clean and stitch a flesh wound.

A "little bit" undersells it. I had learned all the practical stuff in a month after leaving the Skytreaders.

I wiped off a cut on my thumb, and stitched it up. I went one by one, going from my left arm to my right, and slowly cleaning up.

Every part of me wanted to just lie there and be retaken by nature. I didn't want to deal with things like this. I didn't want to be subject to assassins and ambushes, I didn't want to have my ambitions and aspirations hijacked by this fight.

I just wanted to be a normal kid. Why did I have to take the burden of the world?

-The King of the New Order of the World