Chapter 13 – The Trap Closes
The whistle of arrows split the mist, slamming into the wagons—yet instead of screams, the shafts shattered harmlessly against faintly glowing shields. Cloaks fell away, revealing armor infused with Blade Ward sigils, gleaming faintly with runic light.
The "panicked" guards straightened as one, their fear vanishing, faces hard as steel.
"Now!" Glic's voice rang out.
The wagons' tarps ripped back, revealing racks of enchanted crossbows. Firebolt-tipped bolts ignited in a cascade of sparks, while acid-green runes pulsed along another set.
Twung! Twung! Twung!
A rain of flaming death roared into the treeline. Bandits who had been grinning moments before shrieked as fire tore through them, acid sizzling on their armor and flesh.
From Glic's hand, the Divine Ring blazed.
"Come forth."
The air shimmered, and a tide of giant frogs burst into the clearing. But these were no ordinary beasts. Their throats glowed with frost, lightning, and eerie necrotic mist. Some crackled with sparks of Shocking Grasp, others croaked and released blasts of Frostbite, while one grotesque frog's tongue lashed out, leaving a streak of blackened Chill Touch on its prey.
The bandits froze for a heartbeat, disbelief plastered across their faces.
"What—what are those?!"
"Monsters—he has monsters!"
Their panic came too late. The frogs leapt, tongues snapping, spells bursting in grotesque beauty. A warrior's chest caved as a Lightning Lure dragged him screaming into the jaws of another. Another staggered back, his flesh frosting over, before a frog swallowed him whole, his muffled screams bubbling into silence.
The battlefield descended into chaos.
From the treeline, Dika's yellow eyes widened—not in fear, but in savage delight.
"Well, well…" His voice rumbled like thunder as he stepped forward, towering above his men. "The little viscount had fangs after all."
He unsheathed his weapon, a massive crimson-painted blade longer than a man was tall. The air seemed to ripple around him as he swung it in a testing arc, cutting through the mist itself.
"Out of the way!" he roared, shoving aside two of his stumbling subordinates. "This one is mine!"
Bandits cheered, rallying at the sight of their leader. Their panic tempered into desperation, and they pressed forward once more.
Dika charged.
The ground shook with every step of his boots. His muscles rippled with barbaric strength, each swing of his crimson blade leaving afterimages in the air. He cleaved through a frog mid-leap, its body splitting in two as black ichor sprayed. Another snapped its tongue at him—only for Dika to catch it with his free hand and yank, splitting the beast apart with brute force.
"Frogs?" He spat on the corpse. "Pathetic."
From his position, Glic's expression hardened. He could feel the pressure radiating from Dika—this was no ordinary bandit. His barbarian blood and blade mastery placed him on the edge of transcendent combat ability.
The System pulsed.
> [Target Analyzed: Dika, Half-Orc Barbarian Blade Master]
Threat Level: Lethal
Weakness: Overreliance on brute force. Limited defense against magic-type continuous damage.
"Noted," Glic muttered.
He raised his hand, mana flowing through his body as he spoke the trigger.
"Frogs—converge."
As one, the swarm shifted tactics. Instead of scattering their abilities, they turned toward Dika. Frostbite mist swirled, lightning crackled, and necrotic tongues lashed.
Dika laughed and swung his crimson blade, cleaving through spell after spell, but even he couldn't shrug them all off. Sparks danced across his skin, patches of ice clung to his arms, and one tongue left a streak of necrosis along his shoulder.
His grin widened, bloodlust blazing in his eyes. "Finally—finally, a real fight!"
The battlefield rang with the clash of steel, fire, and croaking thunder. Goldbear guards held their ground with their enchanted gear, their crossbows spewing fire and acid bolts in disciplined volleys. Bandits fell screaming, some burning, some writhing as their weapons dissolved into slag.
Yet the Crimson Blades fought like cornered wolves. They hurled themselves into the fray with savage abandon, blades biting deep. Blood stained the road, the scent of smoke and iron thick in the air.
At the center of it all, Dika carved a path of destruction, his crimson blade whistling arcs of death. Every time a frog leapt, it was bisected. Every guard who misstepped was crushed.
He was a storm, and the storm was coming straight for Glic.
The barbarian's shadow loomed. "So, you're the little viscount with tricks. I'll enjoy mounting your head on my wall."
Glic met his gaze calmly, though sweat beaded at his brow. "You mistake cleverness for weakness, barbarian."
His hand flicked. A frog leapt from his side, its throat glowing as it spat a streak of black mist—Chill Touch. The necrotic hand clawed at Dika's chest, slowing his advance.
But the half-orc only grinned wider.
"Good. Make me bleed."
He raised his crimson blade and lunged.
The duel had begun.