With a gaze as firm as the grip on his sword, Erick looked at his enemies. The air roared around him, and the shine of his sword guided his conviction.
From the entrance, a bald mercenary with a scar crossing his entire face looked at Erick. His order was to subdue or kill the young man in front of him, but his instincts screamed at him to drop the job and run. He had only seen those firm eyes once in his life: the time he faced the Duke of the Empire in a duel. That look was the look of someone who would not lose; a hero had been born.
"Formation! Archers, intercept! Shields up!" the mercenary shouted furiously, as the shield-bearing men covered Rómulo and hurried him out of the place.
"Make your pay count, maggots!" Rómulo yelled, destroying the little faith Erick still had that the merchant was not evil.
"Activate Bloodlust, kid!" Arthur's metallic voice resonated in Erick's mind, and the sword shone with joy at seeing its voice, for the first time, being heard.
[Bloodlust activated]
With a small smile, Erick looked at the arrows that whizzed in the wind, heading toward him.
What the sword synergy is, truly not even the system knew the answer, but Erick did. Synergy was, as its name says, being connected with the sword, and the moment he saw the arrows fly toward him, he felt how Erick and the sword became one.
*Clank! Clank! Clank!*
The first arrow was deflected with a clean movement of his sword, followed by the second, then the third, and so on until the tens of arrows ceased to be a problem. To others, this was not just strength, it was a technique, as if a blade were dancing with the wind. They watched how the boy in front of them moved with speed and grace among the arrows, managing not only to dodge but to deflect them.
A technique that only a sword master with many years under his belt should be able to perform, but there was the small young man, managing to surprise the veteran mercenaries.
Erick, taking advantage of the men's astonishment, decided to flank the mercenaries, advancing quickly from the side. His sword shone with his conviction, challenging the oppressive atmosphere of the place. No one looked at him; everyone remained standing, trying to process what had happened and the fall of the arrow rain. Everyone but one single man.
The bald mercenary reacted out of pure instinct and experience.
*Pam!*
Leaping strongly from the side, the bald man impacted Erick's sword with the heavy edge of his reinforced shield. The force was brutal, something that only made Erick's arms tremble, while the sword maintained its absolute shine.
"Attention!" the old mercenary barked, his voice breaking the trance of his men.
At his command, the soldiers reacted, following their leader. The attack became coordinated.
Erick was forced to retreat. While he dodged a spear aiming at his torso, an arrow shot from the floor above whizzed toward his neck. He dodged the arrow, and a short sword aimed at his leg.
In this way, the mercenaries managed to push Erick back, who, contrary to his old way of fighting without control, this time dodged and retreated, being careful not to receive attacks. His movements were defensive and economical, waiting for the moment to counterattack.
It was at that moment that the spear mercenary approached closely enough, seeing the opportunity for a definitive strike. This time, without dodging, Erick attacked. Dancing around the spear shaft, he got close enough to the lancer who kept pushing him, and with a slash, he prepared to eliminate one.
*Blast!*
Upon touching the lancer's armor, a gleam surprised him. A powerful energy blast pushed him a great distance, breaking many cages in its path. The armor was enchanted, a detail that showed the wealth of that soldier.
"Ow, two months of salary gone!" the lancer shouted, pained but alive, as he got back up.
"And your life didn't end there!" the old war dog barked, looking at Erick, who was already leaping toward them to continue the combat, using his forced retreat as a momentum for the attack.
Getting close enough, the bald mercenary prepared to cut Erick with his sword, but he saw how Erick was also doing the same with his weapon, the Cursed Sword. His experience showed him the next step: they could not allow that steel to touch them.
Dropping his sword at a sufficient distance, he saw how Erick sliced his sword with a clean cut. But the mercenary had aimed high, deceiving Erick into focusing on the slice. Without waiting any longer, the mercenary delivered a powerful blow to Erick's torso with the reinforced edge of his shield, a blow that resonated throughout the hall, pushing the young hero back into a corner once more.
Erick got up, feeling the dull impact on his chest, but his abilities helped cushion the blow. The bald mercenary could only smile, a smile equal to that of a hunter seeing his prey cornered.
At that moment, from the cages thrown and broken by Erick's fight, rage was heard. The slaves who until now watched the combat with fear and despair, shouted in unison at the image of a champion, of a hero; their bodies demanded freedom.
—Together for freedom— shouted the slaves with the light of the sword reflected in their eyes.
They, unable to arm themselves with swords and with chains still clinging to their ankles, the slaves began to fight in their own way.
Small objects, from rat-gnawed bones, rotten pieces of wood, to the stones and mud from the puddle of dirty water, were thrown toward the mercenaries.
"Damn it! Control those animals!" the bald mercenary barked, distracted by the rain of dirty and desperate projectiles.
The scales leveled. Not because of power, but because of the hope Erick generated.
Erick, with a new smile of pure confidence, swung his sword in the air and, stomping forcefully, looked at his distracted enemy.
"Now it's my turn!" Erick roared loudly.
In a perfect line, Erick advanced. His speed was a flash of blue light. He casually cut the enchanted-armored lancer. The cut did not seek a weak point; the sword sliced through the defense effortlessly, opening a mortal wound. Immediately, Erick spun his sword to meet the group's leader, who, seeing his comrade fall, was trying to retreat.
The bald mercenary barely had time to raise his shattered shield. Erick was already upon him. With a final, clean slash, the young man sliced through the heavy edge of the shield and the leader's shoulder.
It was at that moment that a sigh escaped the leader's mouth. Not of anger, much less hatred, but of resignation and recognition. The mercenary, a man who had seen the most absolute evil, finally looked at the face of unstoppable justice.
"A hero," the leader managed to whisper, and along with a smile, he felt his body weakening. He fell to the ground, freed from his pay and his life.
From the sides, the remaining mercenaries lowered their weapons. Their leader, the most experienced man they knew, had died. And their killer seemed more unstoppable than ever, illuminated by a divine light and surrounded by the rage of the slaves. They knew that no matter how much the slave owner Rómulo paid them, nothing was worth enough to give their lives.
The sound of falling metal and spears dragging on the floor resonated in the ruined shop. The battle had ended without a single additional blow. The mercenaries surrendered.
Erick walked toward the surrendered soldiers and said in a calm voice that allowed no reply:
"Get out of here. Now."
His voice was firm, illuminated by the faint glow of his sword.
Without waiting for anything else, the mercenaries threw their weapons at Erick's feet and rushed out of the shop, something that alerted and filled with panic the people who were still walking on the street.
Erick, looking elsewhere, did not follow them. His enemy was in another place, and this time, he would not escape.