Chapter 67 43: Blood On Arms (2)

The blizzard had not lessened by any means; it was becoming more violent by the minute. Worse, I was moving against it, towards the source of the disturbance. Dark art is far more violent in nature and causes upheaval in the surrounding areas. So, I didn’t have any trouble locating the directions.

Still, it was half a dozen miles away, meaning things were going quite intensely there as well, though it could be the residual effect. I only wish Shailyn and her knight were alright. Nothing happened to them so early in the books, but my appearance changed the plotline here. I just hope it was not too much.

Perhaps William and the other Warders were already there or on the way. Still, I have confidence in Shailyn's ability to put up with it till then. Furthermore, she was not alone. I have battled Noyar, and she is a fine knight to have.

Cold icy snow hit my bloody face, bringing throbbing pain to the already sickening wounds. I regretted that the old false-ward did not come with the helmet. The cold and the icy gale were another problem, but I did not need to worry about that in a couple of minutes.

The prototype false-ward was no less than a rice cooker.

The cold would be the least of my worries, I thought. I did not know the situation there, and worse, I was not in my prime state. I could ignore the pain in my face and back with the heightening rage and emotion, but the other arm was another case. It was broken and currently dysfunctional. Then there was the impaling weakness of using Fury.

I think I can only keep on going on adrenaline, and when it clears, I will collapse. No, not yet. I told myself and shot out of the thick trees.

Flying is usually far easier in empty spaces, though the blizzard will disagree. The cold is currently not my problem. I could barely feel it in my face other than the pain. I was moving downwards as the thick trees came into my view again, as well as the disturbance. This was still a couple miles away from the first bombardment. As I was rushing into the thick trees filled with snow, I saw a few figures coming.

The first was one person carrying another one, and behind them were four more figures, chasing in a mad dash.

A knit appeared on my brows as I shot down, arching my legs in the back. I forced more steam out of the release as soon as I could make out who the first figures belonged to.

It was Noyar, and on her back was my aunt. Shailyn was not unconscious, though, and even though she appeared haggard in the faint light, she seemed to be making an assault on the four of them, barely slowing them down.

My eyes narrowed at the four behind them and found the most optimal opponent for me to do a sneak attack on. I found out rather quickly that it was the second one on their back. Forcing the flames of purgatory, my eyes locked on my opponent. The punisher instantly turned crimson, as if it were a burning magic rod, but it was far more lethal.

I jerked my arm back in a throwing posture before firing the nail sword directly at my target, with no regard for anything. I don't know how strong these four were, but since aunt and Noyar were running away from them, they probably were not humble rogues; I think. That's why I needed to get every advantage I could have.

The nail sword shot through the gale of wind and snowfall, unaffected and unrestricted. The Punisher pierced right into the chest of the man, flinging him a couple of strides away as his body fell on the snowy land.

Now, I was the main interest, as all of them stopped and stared at me. I did not waste time, though, and neither did they. As that man I shot with the sword rolled on the snowy land, I shot for the man behind him and grappled him into a bear hug.

The hug was far harder and more intimate than any I gave to Yasmine.

I charged at him with the momentum, shoving my body violently against him, as both of us fell to the snowy ground. The momentum was too much for the inclined land, as we rolled fast on the snow. Sometimes I was on top, and sometimes it was the corrupt warder, struggling to claim the dominant hand. Too much love for my own good.

The man did not lack physical force and shoved with everything he had on my gut and chest. He even head-butted me once. It felt like hell in my already throbbing face. I feel like crying and I really might be crying.

"Oscar." A voice shouted. It was from Shailyn.

I ground my teeth as crimson flames of purgatory formed in my hand. You see, I was not just getting beaten up there. Though I would like to inflict some physical pain on him, for my satisfaction, I have to make it do with the flames.

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My mind was already numbed with the pain, and I could not think straight other than with the thought of getting free from this man. With instinct, I pulled my good arm against the face of the man. My palm touched his face as I shoved all the crimson flames there.

The man shrieked in agony, and I felt something soft on my index finger. Perhaps I stabbed one of his eyes—I guess that settled the physical pain I wanted to inflict—not that I did it intentionally.

I was freed from the wrestle as the shrieking man with the burned face let me go willingly. Perhaps he did not like me anymore.

"Oscar."

Gasps of breath and smoke escaped from my mouth as I used the stream releaser in my back to stand up. "Wait a minute. . . I'm. . . on my way," I could barely say with the throbbing in my facial muscles and heavy breathing.

The man with the burned face was currently rolling in the snow, still screaming. He was lucky that there was no lack of ice here, though little good that would do. I looked at the other one, the one to whom I had entrusted my sword. That man was on the ground as well, but he was not moving even a little.

'Did I kill him?' That thought finally hit me as I raised my palm to call back the sword. Surpizingly, I felt nothing. Perhaps it was because my mind was high on adrenaline. Moreover, I have no time to ponder this thought.

However, my sword did not even budge from the chest, through the calling of the sympathetic link. It shook only a little, and that was it. My affinity towards the Punisher seemed to be still weak. Not to mention, I still have not mastered the art, but that was another story.

The remaining rogues started to flee after two of their men were down, leaving the two women free. As we were not giving chase, they carried the burned-face with them.

“Don’t chase,” Shailyn commanded.

Shaking my head, I used the false-ward to get near the man—the one I shot the sword at. 'He died huh,' I thought, gripping the hilt of the punisher. The eyes of the dead man were still wide open in horror. Even rogues like him, who killed plenty, feared death.

Some physiological effect affected me then as I stared at the eyes of the dead man, the man I killed. I pulled the sword with my good arm and pushed down the undulation in my spirit, my emotions, for the time being.

Blood still warmed, bobbled out as I pulled back the sword, some of it smeared on my palms as well. Staring at the stain on my palms, I learned I’d failed to push the undulations down.

“First time?” Noyar said, cocking her head behind Shailyn's shoulder.

I said nothing, stood there blank like a stone statue. My lips quivered, and the rage in my pulses calmed down, as I felt a sudden sense of weakness. My legs gave way as I fell on my four limbs.

A palm rested on my shoulder, stroking it. "It wasn’t your fault," Shailyn said, as I looked back at her. I didn’t know how I looked, but Shailyn’s expression quivered looking at my face. "It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident."

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