DCD - B3 - Chapter 48 - Courtyard Fight

Mr. Bones circled and charged again atop the horse. The man was forced to strike once more, meeting the greatsword with his own.

Another clash rang out.

The swordsman was knocked back several paces, but aside from that, he was unharmed.

Mr. Bones, on the other hand, felt a tremendous impact run along his blade. Bone cracked. Chips flaked free.

Enya raised her hand, forming a spell circuit, and repaired the damage immediately.

Beyond her vision, the other swordsman rushed straight for her. But Enya had already sensed him. She had been tracking his movement through the smoke the entire time.

As the man closed in, Enya summoned another minion.

A familiar one.

The man slashed a cross-wave through the air, mana imbued into the strike. It cut across the ground, grinding through grass and cleaving into the earth.

Digsby the skeletal rat—new and improved—appeared immediately in front of Enya. Already soul-forged and re:roled, he met the wave head-on. His tail struck the slash, dispersing it with a loud clash of power.

Digsby swung his tail a few times, assessing the damage. There was significant stress, but nothing chipped or cracked. He screeched and charged.

The man stopped and scowled, then sent another probing slash.

Digsby struck it again with his tail, dispersing the attack.

With his re:role attribute, he was built for offense. His special ability allowed his attacks to destabilize mana if he hit hard enough.

Pell watched as the rat and Kidirge each held off a guard. He kicked off the ground and rushed the third opponent approaching—the female spearwoman.

They clashed, Pell’s harvester striking the tip of her spear.

He felt the difference in strength immediately. Pell was knocked back several feet, his arm clattering and shaking as though he had struck a steel wall.

As expected of a Gold-tier equivalent guard. This would be his toughest direct battle yet.

He was a farmer, not a fighter. But in that moment, he didn’t care. He just needed to kill everything in his way.

Pell’s form blurred as soul-energy sharpened around him. His bones shifted and morphed, mass rearranging beneath where his skin should have been. He vanished, teleporting behind the spearwoman as he re:roled into his assassin form.

His harvester swung down in a descending killing arc.

Her eyes blinked as he disappeared—but she reacted in the next instant, slamming her spear into the ground. A well of light formed around her before Pell’s strike could connect.

The blast hurled him away.

Pell tumbled across the ground twice before rolling back onto his hands and feet. His harvester never left his grip.

Across the field, Amberdean watched the spectacle.

He laughed. “Oh, Pell. I know all of your habits.”

His gaze shifted to the little girl. A noble, he assumed—but something more. Something about her clearly mattered to the bastard farmer.

“Even if she’s a noble, injuries can be healed later,” Amberdean murmured. “I’ll just make sure he sees the consequences of crossing me.”

He raised a finger toward Enya. A black ring encircled his index finger, shimmering with faint purple light as he fixed his stare on her.

“Let’s see how she likes losing an arm.”

Enya, still directing Digsby and monitoring Mr. Bones, felt something stir. Something twist and shift.

Amberdean was preparing to act.

Her eyes locked onto him. His hand was raised, finger pointed straight at her. Power gathered within the ring.

Enya reacted as quickly as she could. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t going to be good.

She formed a construct spell circuit, sending bone spears surging up beneath Amberdean, ready to impale him from below. As the bones burst from the ground, the mysterious man beside him simply waved his hand.

Before the spears could fully extend, both men vanished.

They reappeared several meters away—completely unharmed.

Amberdean was still smiling.

Then pain tore through Enya’s right arm.

It wasn’t sharp at first—just overwhelming pressure. Like her arm had been pinned beneath a massive boulder. Tight. Crushing. Slowly, the pain worsened. It felt like something invisible was forcing her arm to bend the wrong way.

Enya clutched at it, but nothing was visibly happening.

Her concentration shattered all the same. The glow left her eyes, and the mental whiplash of her broken focus slammed into her all at once.

She reeled. A cry caught in her throat as her eyes welled up. A tear streaked down her cheek as she forced out a scream that died halfway.

“Enya!” Pell shouted. He was still locked in combat with the spearwoman, barely holding her back.

Amberdean smirked, watching her writhe. “Pain is an exquisite sensation,” he muttered. “Especially when it’s delivered directly to the brain.”

Enya didn’t understand what was happening. She stared at her arm, her vision doubling.

One image showed it bent backward at an impossible angle.

The other showed it completely intact.

Her mind screamed.

She screamed.

What was happening? She couldn’t understand it.

Instinct took over.

She wanted to curl into a ball. Somehow, she managed to form a spell circuit with her left hand. The shape and size didn’t matter. She simply built.

Just like when she panicked back in the soul prison, she collapsed to her knees and raised a wall of bone.

A miniature bone dome burst from the ground—a half barrier, a semisphere of interlocking bone arms and legs enclosing her. As a single tear slid down her cheek, stopping just before her chin, the pain vanished.

Above the battlefield, Cinnamon Bun roared and unleashed another necroblast toward Amberdean and the mysterious man.

The Godsworn calmly formed a spell circuit and cast directly into the attack. The spell was invisible, but something clearly shot toward the dragon.

The green fireball vanished midair.

A heartbeat later, it detonated in a completely different section of the courtyard.

Enya grit her teeth until the pressure finally released. A gasp tore free, followed by several quick, shallow breaths.

It had hurt.

It hurt so much.

What was going on?

Her eyes flicked up to the bone wall, then snapped back to her arm.

It was fine. Completely intact.

She was afraid to bend her elbow. Her arm trembled as she reached up and touched it. There was no pain at all. And yet it felt like the agony could return at any moment—like something was still wrapped tightly around it, just waiting.

“Enya!” Pell shouted.

He didn’t know what had happened, but her distress surged through their bond and crashed into him all at once.

He roared.

Pell swung his scythe with everything he had. The spearwoman barely blocked the strike, but the force sent her skidding backward across the courtyard. She recovered quickly, bracing for the follow-up—

—but Pell was already gone.

In the next instant, he was behind the wall of bone.

He dropped to Enya’s side, crouching beside her. “Kid—are you okay?”

His soul-flames tightened the moment he saw the tears on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

Her arm was still trembling in his grasp.

Pell clenched his jaw.

“Kid,” he said, his voice low and shaking, “you need to get out of here. Leave me and the minions. We’ll handle the fighting.”

Enya shook her head. “No—I can still help—”

“No!” Pell snapped.

The word came out harsher than he meant, but he didn’t take it back.

“You’re too weak,” he said. “Hell—I’m too weak.” His grip tightened for a brief moment. “But at least I can afford to die.”

He swallowed.

“I’d never forgive myself,” he continued, voice rough, “not even in hell—if you got seriously hurt because of me.” His soul-flames flickered. “I don’t even want to think about you dying.”

He pulled back and met her eyes.

“Run,” he said. “Get some distance. Summon minions from afar if you want to help—but stay out of reach. I’ve got it from here.”

Before she could respond, Pell stood.

He stepped out from behind the bone wall just as the spearwoman advanced again.

His form blurred.

Pell blinked forward to meet her, scythe flashing as steel rang against steel once more.

Enya clenched her fists—and did as she was told.

She sprinted out from behind the bone wall.

Her gaze flicked toward Amberdean.

Their eyes met.

He grinned and raised his hand.

He was too far away. And without absolute focus, she couldn’t clearly see what he was doing. Worse, her mind was still reeling from the whiplash of having that focus shattered so abruptly.

She didn’t take any chances.

Enya raised walls of bone as she ran, one after another, forcing cover into existence between herself and the estate. Her soul-energy drained rapidly—but she could feel it replenishing as well, drawn passively from the ambient soul-energy buried deep in the earth.

Amberdean clicked his tongue as Enya vanished from his line of sight. “Tch.”

He turned to the Godsworn. “Would you mind bringing the sack here?”

The Godsworn sighed, but lifted his hand anyway. The sack jerked across the courtyard, dragged through the air, and dropped at Amberdean’s feet.

Above them, the skeletal dragon roared and unleashed another blast—but the spearman who had remained with Amberdean, answered back, launching a concussive bolt straight into the dragon’s open jaws.

The explosion detonated inside its mouth.

Amberdean knelt and opened the sack, already expecting to see his son inside.

He didn’t.

Instead, a skeleton lunged upward, a jagged bone dagger raised.

Amberdean recoiled just in time. The blade grazed his cheek, carving a thin line of blood.

The skeleton scrambled to its feet and stabbed again—

—but the Godsworn flicked his hand, blasting the creature apart in an instant.

“I assume that wasn’t your son,” the Godsworn said flatly.

Amberdean stared at the scattered bones. “But… I heard his voice.”

Something caught his eye.

He reached into the sack and pulled out a small necklace.

It activated the instant his fingers closed around it.

“F-father!”

“AAGH!”

Pre-recorded screams.

Amberdean crushed the trinket in his hand. Purple light flickered as it shattered.

“They tricked me,” he hissed.

The spearwoman pressed the attack relentlessly. Each strike Pell failed to block cracked and chipped his bones, fragments splintering under the pressure. She was gaining ground.

“Just go back to your grave already, skeleton!” she spat.

Again and again she stabbed. Again and again bone fragments broke loose.

Pell brought his scythe down hard—but she deflected it cleanly, shifting the weight aside and stepping in.

She thrust.

The spear drove straight into Pell’s eye socket.

She smirked as his body went still.

Then Pell smiled. “Sorry. Looks like your spear is useless now.”

The woman’s eyes went wide. It didn’t break. She stabbed harder, but still couldn’t pierce his skull.

Pell reached out and grabbed the spear shaft with one hand. He twisted, spinning with the momentum, and slashed across her stomach with his free hand gripping the harvester.

Blood sprayed into the air, streaking across his blade.

The woman staggered back, clutching the wound, eyes wide with disbelief.

Consistently enduring the piercing stabs of her spear—Pell was now highly resistance to such repeated attacks. Enya’s new skill was coming in handy.

Pell hurled his harvester forward in a spinning arc.

She slammed her spear into the ground, summoning a wall of radiant light just in time.

The harvester struck the barrier and rebounded—

then vanished.

Through the haze of light, she couldn’t see the skeleton anymore.

Pell had disappeared in that exact instant, too.

Her eyes widened as panic set in. She tried to turn. It was always behind. Every rogue with a blink ability loved to teleport behind people.

But she was too slow.

As her head turned to peer behind her—no one was there. Instead, her gaze snapped downward.

Pell had blinked behind her, but outside her direct line of sight. He was crouched low, and his harvester was already in motion.

With another spray of clean blood, Pell cleaved upward, splitting her head and decapitating her.

The body stood for a second longer—

then collapsed.

Pell straightened and looked down at it. The corpse twitched once, then went still. He flicked his harvester through the air, shaking free the excess blood, and turned away.

His gaze lifted to meet Amberdean’s across the courtyard.

Amberdean simply stared back. Mild annoyance creased his expression. No frustration. Not even impatience.

Pell broke eye contact and moved to assist Digsby against the remaining swordsman. Kidirge—Mr. Bones—had lost his horse, but he was still holding his own against the last guard. He would most likely be fine.

Kidirge was much stronger than Pell, after all.

Above them, Cinnamon Bun swooped down, necrotic energy pooling within its jaws. It dove straight toward Amberdean.

The spearman reacted immediately.

He slammed his weapon down and unleashed a spell. Chains burst from the ground, wrapping tightly around the dragon’s body. They slowed it—but didn’t stop it.

The spearman charged and hurled his spear straight into the dragon’s open mouth just as it was about to fire.

The blast detonated.

Smoke and debris swallowed the courtyard.

Then, from within the haze, another necroblast erupted. It struck the spearman directly, sending him flying backward as green flame engulfed his body. It wasn’t searing heat—it burned like acid, eating away at flesh.

The Godsworn shook his head.

“Even an imitation dragon is still a dragon,” he murmured.

He raised his hand toward the chained beast. His eyes glowed yellow, winged pupils burning bright.

“I’ll take care of this monster.”

At the far end of the courtyard, Enya felt her connection to Cinnamon Bun snap.

Her body locked.

She turned, peering past the edge of the long, winding trail of bone walls she had raised.

“No…”

She watched as the Godsworn dismantled the skeletal goliath piece by piece. Bones cracked and tore free. Reinforced joints snapped violently, thicker sections breaking clean in half as if they were brittle kindling.

Then he reached for the skull.

Cinnamon Bun tried to fire one last necroblast—

—but the Godsworn ripped its jaw off mid-cast.

The energy had already pooled. With no jaw to guide it, the blast tore free wildly, veering off course.

“No!” Amberdean shouted.

The necroblast screamed past them and slammed into the estate behind him.

The mansion vanished in a concussive roar.

Stone exploded outward. The upper floors sheared apart, their supports giving way as green fire and black smoke billowed skyward. A heartbeat later, the remaining structure collapsed in on itself, crumpling into a burning ruin.

Silence followed.

“My home…” Amberdean muttered, teeth clenched hard enough to grind.

The Godsworn hurled the dragon’s skull across the courtyard. It bounced once, then shattered.

“That should take care of the largest threat,” he said calmly.

Amberdean nodded, jaw tight. “Much… obliged.”

He turned back toward the remaining fights, his expression settling into something colder. One guard was dead—but he had seen how Pell moved.

“It seems the old fool chose some type of assassin class after all.”

All that remained was finishing the surviving skeletons. Once Pell was captured, it would be over.

The child had already fled. A coward—just as Amberdean expected.

All children were cowards in the face of death and pain.

Near the end of the courtyard, Enya slowed to a stop. She turned and looked back at the massive bone wall she had left snaking across the ground. Her mind still felt like it was being pricked with needles.

Absolute Focus wasn’t possible yet.

But she still needed to help Pell.

She formed a spell circuit. She summoned a Ted.E—she didn’t bother coming up with a new name. For now, the boarbear was the perfect tank to soak damage. As it finished forming behind the wall, Enya immediately began inscribing the guardian re:role perk with her bonecarver’s quill.

She finished in under a minute.

“Ted.E! Go help Pell!” Enya commanded.

With a hollow huff, the giant boarbear charged back into the fight.

Enya peered past the bone wall, watching it go. “Hopefully that helps…” she murmured.

Wednesday wasn’t exactly dead yet, but its body was badly damaged. It couldn’t last much longer as Mr. Bones’ steed. She was too far away to begin repairing it—and the same went for Pell and Mr. Bones themselves.

If she could use Absolute Focus and activate true-sight, she could actively assist them from this distance. Repair them. Support them.

Unfortunately, she still had to wait.

Her eyes refused to glow.

She could barely see them now—but maybe Insight would work.

Pell had mentioned that he didn’t know what class Amberdean was. Still, he was confident it wasn’t a combat class. Nothing relevant to the immediate fight. Her gaze shifted instead to the Godsworn, cloaked in black. From here, he was little more than a small, blurry speck.

She tried Insight anyway.

Skill: Insight has been activated.
Target: Error
Revealed Information: Error

“What?” she said. “How come it failed? Am I too far away?”

Before she could complain further about the system being an unfair bully, a ping sounded.

Quest Complete: Have skill Insight fail on a target.

Oh. Right. I had a quest for this…

She had completely forgotten about this quest. But why did it complete now? Was it just because she was too far and the skill nearly failed? Or was it something else?

But that wasn’t helpful right now. Her visionary class usually just gave her non-fighting abilities. She needed something that could kill.

Please choose one skill from the (one) offered below:

Skill: Banshee’s Call [Active]
Description: A visionary can see more than just truths. They can also see—and herald—demise. A banshee’s wail is a harbinger of death. Once you realize death is coming, it is already too late to stop it.
Effect: Target a creature you can sense with a soul. Your voice is projected directly toward the target, eroding their will and soul strength. As their resolve collapses, the target becomes marked for death and suffers escalating hallucinations. When the call ends, the target’s soul is reaped and available for capture.
[Soul-Energy Cost: Variable]

Enya’s mouth fell open.

It was a lot to read. She read it once. Then again.

The description was confusing, but—

“Yes!!” she screamed, elated. “Instant death!”

Technically—it wasn’t instant. It was more like… focused death. Still, that small detail could be ignored.

She turned back toward the battlefield and fixed her gaze on the Godsworn. Her eyes flickered rapidly with yellow light.

“Come on… Come on…!”

Instead of another truth-seeking ability from her Visionary class, she had gained something far more attuned to her necrosmith class. Why? She didn’t know.

Regardless, she intended to use it.