bookpub Chapter 661 Back Home - Part 1
Chapter 661 Back Home - Part 1
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Even if the regeneration was all-powerful – which he suspected it wasn't – that should have been enough to deal with it.
He changed his approach. Dodging another swing of the axe, he didn't move so eagerly to deal a wound on the enemy in return. Instead, he merely lightly touched his foe, retaining his advantage in initiative, and continuing to weave his web.
He tapped him on the chest, then the shoulder, the lightest little cuts, but they were enough. With his superior agility, it all but froze the Minotaur in place.
It howled its annoyance, and tried to rush him with its shoulder, finishing the move with an axe swing. It was powerful, certainly, but they were both heavy moments, giving away more initiatives. It seemed clear from the druid's fighting technique that he wasn't used to doing anything more than the lowest level of brawling.
The power of a Minotaur – lesser than Oliver though it still was – remained ineffectual in its hands. A man was meant to grow with his power. To be given it so suddenly, he'd never be able to make fullest use of it.
And now he'd gifted Oliver a further three steps of initiative to Oliver, unaware of just how badly he was giving his position away. This time Oliver was able to give the lightest little cuts in five different places over the Minotaur's body. It made him look like a whirlwind of speed, to be able to do that without a point of retaliation, but it was the Minotaur himself that had enabled it.
The creature's rage only continued to grow. It shrugged off the minor wounds, unconcerned. It stamped its foot like a bull prepared to charge, snorting and tossing its head. It eyed Oliver up carefully, just as Oliver eyed him. It seemed to be concentrating more with this strike, focusing on its timing. Oliver allowed it.
He tempted it. He slowed his step to bait it in.
The sort of foe that sent them scrambling back for cover, they'd expected that to be a foe that even the boy they'd learn to look at with awe and respect would struggle with.
And yet he'd made it look easier than anything he'd performed that day. It was almost anticlimactic how easily his sword claimed that monstrosities life. He'd confronted an unknown to them – and to Oliver himself – and he'd sent it hurtling towards the grave, ridding it of all its supernatural might.
"Victory, Commander," Oliver pronounced, looking over towards Northman.
It took Northman a moment before he was able to nod in response. A smile broke out across his face. "Aye," he said. "Victory."
It would be a lie to say that they'd spent the night celebrating after all that they'd achieved that day. It would be a lie to say that they'd even slept soundly. Few could find it in themselves to sleep. Their hearts still pounded after what they saw.
Oliver too, found that he struggled. His hands were tingly to the point of numbness, and his stomach bore with it a sensation for the entire evening that made him mistrust it. Sleep came difficult after that.
Even if they could not relax, nor even find it in themselves to celebrate heartily, it didn't stop the air of victory that hung over the place. Granted, none of them felt particularly comfortable, given the blue flame that they'd found under the keep, but that didn't do anything to diminish the fact that they'd done far more than Skullic could have expected from them, given the circumstances.
Petyr – the carriage driver – was more surprised than any to see the change that had undergone the soldiers in such a short time. More so, the change in their attitude towards Ser Patrick.
He'd been forced to watch it all from the sidelines, where things were safe. It was he and the horses for the most part. He didn't get to see for himself what had happened, only the aftermath.