The Knight and the Peasant [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 22

Salvador knew Evrúopean fighting styles and that's what he used when he fought the soldiers. The Count of Seseblanc was dead, and already seven soldiers lay dead on the ground along with him.

One of the nobles who had been with the count, stepped up to Salvador in a challenge. Salvador grinned at whirled at the highborn. This noble held a hand-and-a-half sword unsteadily. Salvador took advantage of his nervousness and attacked relentlessly. Just as Salvador was about to deliver a crippling blow to his legs, one of the soldiers tried to save the noble and slash at Salvador. He ducked under the blow and promptly shoved his side-sword into the soldier's stomach. Deftly pulling out his side-sword, Salvador grabbed the soldier's sword and wielded it in his other hand. The highborn raised his blade in an overhead cut; Salvador blocked it with his side-sword and thrust his newly captured sword into the highborn's chest.

Salvador took the highborn's hand-and-a-half sword, or otherwise known as a bastard sword. "Nice," he said to himself.

Every soldier that faced Salvador quickly fell to the ground in dust and blood. A few of them regrouped and attacked Salvador as one. Running out of options, he singled out a soldier in the center and charged, batting away the sword and crashing into the man. Having broken up the formation, he reveled in the ensuing chaos and sliced the stomach of the nearest soldier, twisted and parried a spear thrust. He performed a pirouette, his sword slashing through two more soldiers. He saw some highborns trying to escape the slaughter.

Like hell they will.

Cutting his way through two more soldiers, Salvador charged at the highborns. One of them had the stones to take up the longsword of a fallen soldier and face him. Salvador gave him a crazed grin and attacked. His Evrúopean fighting style was foreign to the highborn who had no way of countering it.

His head rolled on the ground soon after.

Salvador drew his last knife and threw it at the final fleeing highborn.

It took him between the eyes.

Most of the soldiers had routed and fled from the massacre. A few of them had brought reinforcements; troops with shields and spears, ready to face the threat.

Time for me to go now, Salvador thought. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out and dropped it on the ground. He took the opportunity to flee from the barracks. Once he was in the city, he took off his blood-soaked and burned it. He grabbed his backpack in the alley where he had left it and returned to West Vya Mateas. He went to a different tavern this time and decided to order some red wine.

As he was sipping his wine, he celebrated his victory. All had gone quite well, after all. He felt no remorse, regret, or guilt at the murders of the Count of Seseblanc and those other highborns. But then he thought of all the soldiers he had killed. There, his breath caught in his chest and he felt sick. Necessary deaths to save the lives of many more, he thought, trying to comfort himself. Then he stopped:

I sound like a highborn.

He leaned back in his chair. He was no better than any of them. He had killed dozens of soldiers there and he claimed it was alright in the name of the greater good. The excuse every single highborn would use.

He was no better than the rest of them.

***

It had been five days since they had left la'Manse delle Simia and set off for Navitium. It had been a long and weary journey for Angelica; nothing had happened.

"You'd think there'd be at least a bit of action on the way to the capital," she mumbled to herself.

"What was that, Angelica?" her mother asked.