Bob The Dragon Layer

The Shield of Mercy

The village was quiet, the sun just beginning to set over the distant hills, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Bob, as he often did in the evenings, was helping the blacksmith with some menial tasks. Though the work was simple, it kept his mind off the weight of his exile. The people here had slowly grown used to his presence, a former prince now nothing more than an extra pair of hands, and Bob had accepted it. The baron and his family still used him as little more than a servant, but here in the village, he could at least find moments of peace.

That peace shattered with the echo of a distant scream.

Bob's head snapped up, his hand tightening around the handle of the hammer he had been holding. Another scream followed, closer this time, and the sound of panicked footsteps filled the air. The blacksmith rushed out from his shop, eyes wide with terror.

"Bandits! They've come for the village!" the man shouted before disappearing into the crowd of fleeing villagers.

Bob's heart raced as he dropped the hammer and bolted toward the center of the village. He weaved through the panicking crowd, pushing his way past villagers desperate to flee. In the distance, he could see them—the bandits, armed to the teeth, storming the village with wicked grins and weapons drawn. Their numbers were far too many for the village guard to handle, and already Bob could see fires being set, the bandits tearing through homes, laughing as they swung their swords.

"Not today," Bob muttered, the fire of determination igniting in his chest.

He skidded to a stop at the edge of the village square, his eyes darting to the terrified faces of the villagers, especially the children huddling close to their parents. His hands clenched into fists, and he summoned his soul weapon—The Shield of Mercy. The moment it manifested, its gleaming surface reflected the chaos around him, but it also brought with it a sense of calm, a reminder that he was here to protect.

Bob hefted the shield, feeling its familiar weight, and pushed forward toward the bandits. The first of them, a scraggly-looking man with a club, barely had time to react before Bob slammed the shield into him. The impact sent the man sprawling, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

"Run!" Bob shouted to the nearby villagers, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Get to safety!"

The villagers, wide-eyed with fear and confusion, scrambled to flee, some pulling their children along with them. Bob focused on the approaching bandits, his heart pounding. He wasn't a trained warrior like his brothers, but his shield was more than just a defense—it was an extension of him, and today, it was his only weapon.

Another bandit lunged at him, a blade raised high. Bob ducked under the swing, bashing his shield into the man's side with a brutal force that sent him crashing to the ground. The bandits began to swarm him, but Bob stood firm, his shield raised to block their strikes. He spun, deflecting a sword slash before ramming the shield into a third attacker, knocking him back with a sickening crunch.

"More are coming from the north!" someone shouted from behind Bob, and he glanced over his shoulder to see several villagers huddling in the square, terror in their eyes.

Bob cursed under his breath. The bandits were everywhere, and there were too many of them. They were closing in from all sides, their numbers overwhelming, and though he was holding them off, he knew he couldn't keep this up alone.

High above, from the shadows of the village's tallest building, Anyala watched with narrowed eyes. Her fingers twitched as she observed the chaos below, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the dying light of the sun. She could see Bob, his shield glinting as he fought, and her heart swelled with pride. He was brave—foolish perhaps, but brave.

Yet even she could see that the bandits were too many. They would surround him soon, and though Bob's strength had grown since their first meeting, this was not a fight he could win alone. But she had no intention of letting him fall.

As one of the bandits dragged a heavy cannon into the village square, aiming it toward Bob and the huddled villagers, Anyala's eyes darkened. She raised her hand, magic coursing through her veins, invisible to everyone but her. With a flick of her wrist, the cannon suddenly malfunctioned—its mechanisms seizing up, the barrel refusing to fire.

The bandits shouted in confusion, trying to force the cannon into action, but it remained stubbornly still. Anyala smiled faintly to herself and shifted her focus back to Bob. He was in the thick of the fight now, three more bandits closing in on him from behind. With another quick gesture, she summoned a barrier of invisible magic around him, subtly redirecting the bandits' strikes so they missed him by inches, their weapons clanging uselessly against the ground.

Bob, unaware of the silent help from above, continued to fight. He spun, using his shield not only to defend but to bash heads in. A large, brutish bandit came at him with a war hammer, but Bob deftly dodged the swing and smashed his shield into the man's face, sending him crumpling to the ground.

He spared a glance over his shoulder. The children he had been protecting were safe, huddled behind the remains of an old wagon. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived.

A shout from his right pulled his attention—a bandit with a soul weapon of his own, a jagged blade crackling with lightning, was raising his hand. Bob barely had time to brace himself as the bandit hurled a bolt of lightning directly at him.