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B3 Chapter 30: The Executioner’s Axe
🕑 Added 2025-12-07 01:58:17 +0000 UTC/// supper rare double post! Make sure you read 29 that was posted a few minutes ago first. With this to finally push us to 20 chapters ahead! It's only taken about 10 months to do so.... don't expect us to get to 25 ahead any time soon...
B3 Chapter 30: The Executioner’s Axe
Marcus darted between the tall buildings as his mind worked furiously. Attempting to sing a tune revealed that he was still silenced, meaning that his options were limited. His grimoire of spells would be all but useless until he got that taken care of, as would his persuasion skills. Although he honestly had no confidence that the latter would be able to come through for him in this case. They also weren’t likely to fall for a trick like the one he’d just pulled again.
He kept on singing a silent tune. Whatever that [Puppeteer] was doing had to take stamina, and it was possible that using his voice would make that drain greater. In the meantime, his best hope was to lose them—either among the city’s dizzying network of alleyways or in a crowd. He would have preferred the first, but given the group’s apparent familiarity with the terrain, it seemed unlikely.
Unfortunately, his pursuers weren’t so easily lost. Even as [Mythchaser] spurred him forward, he felt his steps become more labored as though he’d sank into an invisible bog. The group began to close the distance, capitalizing on whatever slowing skill they’d used to run him down.
Marcus forced his feet to move just a little faster, keeping ahead of them and rounding a nearby corner to break line of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief. A small crowd of shabbily-dressed people bustling about roughshod stands filled the street before him. He’d found the slums. It wasn’t the densest group of people. But it would have to be enough.
Flaring [Illusory Domain] once more, Marcus manifested a thick cloud of gray smoke in the road. Shouts of alarm rose from the assembled Novarans as they were blinded. He ducked within, changing his face, build, clothes, and everything else that he could think of.
His pursuers rounded the corner a moment later. Without hesitation, a three of them dove into the smoke to search for him while the others took up positions to block his escape. He felt their positions with [Critical Reception], working to stay away from the blind strikes they sent out as they moved. But rather than make the rookie mistake of moving the cloud along with him, he kept it stationary as he moved with painstaking slowness toward an escape.
When he emerged from the cloud, it was as an elderly man with a bowed back and ratty cloak. He hobbled forward, taking advantage of the slowing effect to sell the disguise. Yet he hadn’t made it a few steps before the [Poacher] emerged from the cloud.
The man scowled as he scanned the surroundings. His glare fell upon the disguised Marcus, but without recognition.
“You.” He leveled a longsword at the “old man” before him. “Did you see a bard run through here? Fancy lookin’ man with a shiny cloak?”
Marcus stammered in soundless fear. He pointed a trembling finger further down the street, in the direction that any sane person would have run. The [Poacher]’s mouth twisted in distaste. He lashed out suddenly with his foot, kicking Marcus into a nearby stall.
The wooden fruit stand that had already been barely holding together collapsed on his head. He felt the wind go out of him as he focused on keeping the illusion intact. His ruse seemed to work as the [Poacher] turned away and began heading down the street.
“There he is!”
Marcus glanced over to see the female [Bounty Hunter] pointing directly at him. The [Poacher]’s attention whipped back to him as his eyes narrowed, taking in his clothes.
As he looked down, the problem became evident. He should have been covered in splinters of wood and splattered fruit from the destroyed stall. Yet he hadn't incorporated the debris into the illusion. Instead, shreds of wood seemed to poke through his undamaged skin and clothes nonsensically. Colorful splatters of half-rotted fruit painted the street while leaving his ratty cloak miraculously untouched.
He dove to the side just as the [Poacher] cleaved downward with his sword. The blow demolished what little remained of the stand in a spray of splinters and produce. Several wet splats impacted the back of his head as he rolled away, springing to his feet to continue his flight.
It was quite clear that these were no simple adventurers. Not because of their unscrupulous classes, of course. The guild was known for being rather lenient about such things. And given their relatively high levels, Marcus felt relatively certain they had been adventurers at one point. But the obvious lack of regard for their surroundings and the lack of visible plates denoting their ranks suggested they had found themselves on the outs with the organization.
It was almost an accomplishment to be kicked from the Adventurers’ Guild. Not the kind of accomplishment any reasonable or moral person would ever boast about, but, well, such people would almost never have cause to. Such punishments were rarely meted out for mere accidents or mistakes. They were reserved for willful acts of malice—and unsuccessful ones, at that. Murders that either failed or left witnesses, committed by those not strong enough to prove indispensable. Crimes perpetrated by those not careful enough to hide the evidence or with too low of charisma to shake off an investigation. Those kinds of things.
That wasn’t to say that all adventurers were saints. Marcus was well aware of some of the more heinous deeds that they were capable of. But most at least had the good sense to make an effort at hiding them.
Regardless, these individuals quite clearly had no interest in subtlety. Or in reducing the damage they did to their surroundings. Likely, they were tolerated in the city only because the king often had use for such types—which was exactly what Marcus suspected was happening now. It also meant that they probably were not the best of the best when it came to fighting, though that didn’t exactly matter when it was five on one and he wasn’t a combat class.
He dropped the old man disguise and sprinted for another alleyway, dropping low into a slide as he heard the twang of bowstrings. A volley of arrows passed just above his head and sank a couple of inches into the stone building ahead. Hiding in a crowd wouldn't work. Worse, it was putting other people in danger. A few pained screams from bystanders made that abundantly clear.
A splatter of mud sullied his cloak, a detail that caused him to wince as he popped to his feet. His feet still felt as though they had blocks of lead tied to them as he darted around another corner… and face-first into a hulking wall of muscle standing in front of him.
He bounced off the [Executioner] and almost fell to the ground. The wall of meat reached down toward him with one hand, grabbing for a dagger at his side with the other. A dagger that suddenly found itself in Marcus’s grip.
The bard lunged forward, driving the sharp blade up and into the other man’s palm. The [Executioner] roared in anger as blood spurted from the wound.
The ironic timing of the situation was not lost on Marcus. [Dagger Proficiency] likely wouldn’t have helped much in his current predicament, to be fair. But still.
Despite his shout, the wound didn’t seem to particularly bother the hulking man. But it did distract him just long enough for Marcus to slip past. He blurred his form, making his actual position uncertain enough that a flying blade narrowly missed instead of taking him in the back of the leg.
Gritting his teeth, Marcus dropped [Illusory Domain] for the moment and focused on moving. He could already feel the drain of the skill on his stamina reserves. He would need to conserve his energy if he wanted to avoid simply collapsing mid-chase. Especially considering that the nearest group of Legionnaires was still quite a distance away.
Despite his best efforts, his pursuers stayed locked onto him like bloodhounds. The [Bounty Hunter] shouted directions to the others, even as Marcus circled around and dodged in directions they shouldn't have been able to predict. A tracking skill, then.
He led them away from groups of people going about their days, doing his best to minimize the damage while also saving his own hide. Meanwhile, the squad of would-be assassins left a trail of destruction in their wake. Storefronts, stalls, and carts were left in shambles as anything that remotely impeded their progress was summarily smashed aside.
A few times, he managed to keep the enemy from attacking an unfortunate bystander by activating [Magnetic Presence]. They were already after him, anyway. What was the harm in keeping their attention a bit more actively?
But as he dodged the projectiles and attacks sent his way, Marcus realized it was only a matter of time. His dexterity stat was helping him to evade, but eventually he'd slip up or tire. And when he did, his enemies would be right there to take advantage.
He desperately reached out toward the connections he felt to every nearby Legionnaire and pulled. It was a bit of a longshot—he wasn’t entirely sure if something like that even could work, much less whether they’d listen. But it was one of the only things he had
The response was immediate. The connections grew taut and began to shorten as Marcus felt them begin heading his way at an incredible rate. He would have celebrated if not for the axe whistling through the air above his head.
Marcus narrowly avoided the blade, only to feel pain blossom in his shoulder. He hissed silently, tumbling forward as he grabbed at the wound and pulled out a throwing knife. Another round of arrows passed through the space where he had just been.
The [Executioner] loomed overhead, his yellowed teeth bared in a grin. Marcus suppressed a grimace and looked around. The other members of the man’s group were closing in, and the damn [Puppeteer] still had his hand clasped over his mouth.
The sound of feet pounding against cobblestone filled the air. A patrol of Legionnaires rounded the corner, their shields and gladii already drawn and at the ready. Before they’d fully come into view, the [Poacher] had already loosed a rapid-fire stream of arrows at the soldiers. They passed through harmlessly.
“Nice try,” the man sneered as more Legionnaires filled the alleys. “Your little party tricks won’t save you now.”
Marcus smiled. The man was correct. The Legionnaires were an illusion. Well, most of them were.
Eight of the soldiers crashed into the [Poacher], piling on him and forcing him to the ground. The unexpected assault saw the man rendered unconscious in a matter of moments. The [Bounty Hunter] and [Cutpurse] reacted quickly, spinning to face the new threat as the [Executioner] grabbed for Marcus again. He tried to weasel out of the burly man’s grasp, but felt his muscles lock up as the [Puppetteer] made his own body go completely rigid.
“I was told to make this slow, but…” The hulking axe-wielder snorted, hefting his weapon. “Got no time, looks like. Lucky for you.”
The axe swung toward Marcus’s neck, its edge glowing with malicious red light. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the blow.
A metallic clang rang directly in his ear. Peeking over, Marcus saw the axe blade where it had been halted an inch from his throat. In its path was a single gladius, wielded by a familiar-looking centurion.
The executioner’s arm was flung wide as Quintus twisted, then lashed out at the [Executioner] with a fluid strike. The giant roared in rage as a line of red spouted from a fresh wound. Marcus dropped to the ground, still stiff but able to resist the paralysis enough to avoid falling flat on his face.
He looked up at the scowling brute. Across from him, a stoic Quintus stood with his blade at the ready.
Comments
Beeees!
Bout time fir Quintus' legend to grow. And thus seems the perfect way
Andrew Fox
Kick their asses Quintus!
