Tier 3+ - Accidental Champion (Book 8) - Chapter 6 - You Should Kill Me Where I Stand

The mental construct was silent for a time. I’ve also told you that I will only provide you with information that I think will actually help you.

Xavier sighed. The mental construct had been cagey about providing him with this ability in the past. Not providing him with the ability seemed, more than anything, like a way for him to exert control over Xavier.

An image of Roln appeared on the arena floor a few steps away. The man looked entirely solid, though Xavier knew that wasn’t the case. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You know for a fact I’m not trying to control you, Xavier Collins. Your trust in me runs deeper than that.”

Xavier raised his chin. He glanced over at the immobile elf. “You think I should kill him?”

“Yes. Without reservation. This elf means nothing to you. He laughed when talking about your death, shrugging and saying it wasn’t personal. What do you think is going to happen when you hand him full control of his choices? That you’ll share that pint? Take control over his mind, scour his memories if you must. No doubt he has much information you’ll benefit from. But do not try and make an ally of every enemy you meet. That way lies madness.”

Xavier scrunched his nose. “Do you think you were placed in my head to tell me what to do? I’ve done a thousand things in my time that you never would have dreamed of attempting in your own. I’ve trusted people that all logic told me I shouldn’t trust—you’re one of those people, remember?” Xavier crossed his arms in imitation of Roln. “Show me what I need to know and trust in me that I’m making the right choice.”

Roln shut his eyes, then gave a long sigh. “Well, I suppose I can do the first of those things.”

The dead Wanderer raised his hand. Above it, a glowing ball appeared. A memory—just like the first time they’d interacted. Xavier stepped forward and, without hesitation, put a hand inside the ball of light.

Time passed. Xavier retreated from the memory and blinked several times before giving the mental construct a sharp nod. “Well, that all seems easy enough…”

~

Nalthair shuddered as the world shifted around him.

Less than a split second before he had been entirely in control of the fight. Now suddenly all his own arrows were pointing at him and he couldn’t move them at all. His bow was still in his hand, but there was a pressure so heavy pushing down on him that he was afraid to move.

That powerful presence that he’d sensed piercing his veil a moment ago—that same presence was exerting its power upon him now. Everything seemed to come into focus at once as Nalthair, Son of Galandir, valued member of the Order of Death, realised the power wasn’t coming from some unknown being that had somehow managed to break into a one-on-one System-controlled fight, but rather from the man who was his opponent. With that realisation came a deep clarity of mind. This man, this dragonkin, was far more than Nalthair had expected. Far more than his master, Jhanku, suspected he might one day become.

He was, Nalthair was sure, soon to be the cause of his death.

“How…” Nalthair swallowed. One of the arrows rested directly on his neck. The act of swallowing made his Adam’s apple bob just far enough that the blade pierced his skin. A drop of blood smoothly made its way down his neck until it was stopped by the collar of his armour. “How are you so powerful?”

Even as Nalthair stared his death in the face he wasn’t about to give up. As a member of the Order of Death he wasn’t afraid of his own demise. His death was something he’d been preparing for his entire life. Since the moment he was born his path had been chosen for him—to be one who deals death.

Death was the fate that everyone met at the end. He’d seen that enough times, been the cause of it enough times, to know it for the truth.

No, he wasn’t afraid of dying. What he was afraid of, however, was the power the man across from him possessed. It was illogical, but he feared this man would ultimately be the cause of not only his demise, but his master’s. That by simply being here, Nalthair had placed Jhanku in this young monster’s sights—that he’d opened a box that never should have been opened.

That’s absurd. He’s a child. The power he holds might be terrifying for me, but it’s nothing compared to the power my master holds. And if not for whatever tricks the man played with time, I would have been able to defeat him.

And yet, the fear persisted, for if this was how powerful he was now, how powerful would he be in but a thousand years? Jhanku thought in terms of the long game. Nalthair’s master theorised this Xavier Collins could become an asset in the next ten thousand years…

Even if Nalthair died here today it was unlikely to change Jhanku’s plans.

A few seconds passed. The arrow didn’t dig deeper into his neck, nor did his opponent respond to Nalthair’s question. All the while, Nalthair was trying to reassert his will over his arrows or find another way out of this mess. He had no idea how this other man had even been able to see the arrows, let alone been able to take control over them himself.

He shouldn’t be able to do any of this. Who’s helped him become so damned powerful? Who’s hand is at work here?

Despite his efforts, his abilities, his prowess, Nalthair was trapped. He didn’t see a way out—not one that would allow him to hold onto his life.

Maybe I can take him out with me.

“Don’t move,” Xavier Collins, the young dragonkin, said. “It’ll make what I have to do next significantly easier.”

Nalthair blinked. He didn’t much like the sound of that. “Are you to torture me for information? I have endured more pain in my training than you could ever imagine in that short life of yours.”

The young dragonkin hovered before him, his large black wings flapping lazily, keeping his body perfectly. He didn’t look worried.

“Such confidence.” The man tilted his head to the side, peering into Nalthair’s eyes. “Yet you have no idea what I’ve endured.” He reached out with his right hand, fingers splayed, palm facing Nalthair’s forehead. “Don’t worry. This should be painless.” He paused, as though listening to someone. “Relatively painless.”

Does he mean to control my mind, rifle through my memories as though they were his to see?

It was one thing to die at this man’s hand; it was another thing entirely to allow him to violate his mind.

Nalthair cast a spell that allowed him to move with a speed that defied the eye. He couldn’t retake control over the arrows around them. He didn’t have the strength to counteract whatever this man had done. But he was an assassin—and an assassin learns that they must do anything in their power to take down their target.

Even if it means their own death.

This man hadn’t been Nalthair’s original target, but the fear Xaiver Collins had put inside him—fear for his master, his people—had made him into one. A monster like this could let be allowed to grow in power.

They had to be put down.

Even as Nalthair moved forward the arrow that had been at his neck cut through his skin. It punctured his trachea. Blood poured from the wound like water from a broken faucet. Nalthair didn’t ignore the pain.

He used the pain to feed him.

Pain, like most everything in the Greater Universe, was simply energy. Energy, with the right skills and spells, that could be transformed into something else. Nalthair had a punishing, terrifying ability that he hated using—but it was so valuable he could never choose a path that would rid him of it, as it allowed him to harness any pain he was in and turn it into strength.

That was the spell he’d cast. The one that had allowed him to move with a speed that should defy his enemy’s eye. The instant the arrow had cut into him, and he’d felt the pain from it, that pain had been quadrupled.

And empowered him.

The arrow went deeper and deeper until it pushed through to the other side of his neck. Other arrows were slamming into his body. They would cause his death soon enough.

But the pain. Oh, the pain. It was devastating. The agony he was experiencing… It was exquisite.

It empowered his body and mind to be swifter and faster than it ever had been. In that burst of speed, he’d been able to take his enemy by surprise. Nalthair had abandoned his bow and arrows, allowing them to fall from his hand. Now, the fingers of his right hand were wrapped around his target’s neck.

In his left hand a blade appeared. A dagger.

“Pain! Is! Strength!” Nalthair yelled as he plunged the dagger into his own heart. The pain was amplified further. As he’d plunged that dagger into his heart he activated a second spell.

Mutual Death Day.

This was the first time Nalthair had ever used this spell, and it would be the last time, for it could only ever be used once.

A spell that would cause his own death but make him so powerful he could defy even his own grade. So powerful that he could muster up enough strength to kill ten enemies of the same level of strength as his own—or one enemy ten times stronger than him.

Xavier Collins was powerful enough to kill Nalthair, but he wasn’t ten times more powerful. This spell would be more than enough to deal his death.

All assassins in the Order of Death possessed a spell such as this one. Their most powerful trump card, to be used only in the direst of circumstances.

Nalthair smiled, blood dribbling through his teeth, as he saw the pain his enemy was in. Power flowed through his entire body even as his life ebbed away. While it was pain that fed his first spell, it was death itself that fed Mutual Death Day. Even as his lifeforce continued to flow out of him it only served to further empower his strength.

The young dragonkin’s neck was crushed between his fingers, giving in far more easily than he’d expected. Yet even as Nalthair watched the other man die, his own death rushing toward him, he still felt the weight of all that power on him. The power from the other man’s lowering of his veil.

But how…?

Light drained from the world and with it the pain was gone.

Did I fail? Nalthair wondered as he went off to greet his death.

Then he suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a strange looking room. A room that looked entirely familiar yet completely unusual. Nalthair knew a little something of the afterlife. Though he was no Otherworld summoner, he was familiar with the planes that one ventured into after death.

Nalthair had long ago performed the appropriate rites that would prime his spirit—his Immortal Soul—to travel to the Otherworld rather than linger in the mortal realm.

Better I caused my own death than allowed that reaper to destroy my soul…

Though he knew little of the Otherworld, the room he was standing in was not what he expected.

There was a man across from him. The same man he’d just sacrificed his life trying to kill. Nalthair smiled. If this was death, and Xavier Collins was here, then it must mean he had succeeded.

“I want you to know,” Nalthair said, “that I meant what I said before—this wasn’t personal.” He dipped his chin, bobbing his head. “Maybe we can get that pint.” He glanced around. “They have taverns in the afterlife, don’t they?”

The young dragonkin’s forehead creased. “Afterlife?” Xavier took a step toward Nalthair. Something about that movement felt menacing. “Where do you think you are, Nalthair?”

“Well, we both died…” Nalthair blinked, trailing off. He stared at the other man. “I never told you my name.” For the first time since he’d appeared there, Nalthair took a proper look at the room around him. He knew for a fact that he’d never stood inside this room before, but yet that first feeling he’d had—that it was familiar—remained. As he looked at the walls, at the odd assortment of furniture, he realised why.

In one corner of the room sat a lone wooden stool. One of the stool’s legs was broken, making it stand crookedly. I know that stool… He’d been tied to it at the age of five, locked inside a room, and left alone.

Escaping that stool and the room he’d been locked in, had been one of many rites of passages he’d passed in order to solidify his place in the Order of Death. Long before he’d been System age and had a spell to do it, he’d learnt how to use his pain as strength…

That was the first time.

Other things in the room were familiar, too. There were paintings on the wall. Paintings of places he’d been. People he knew. People he’d killed. Some of the paintings moved.

They’re memories. All of them…

“We’re inside my mind. But, that can’t be possible…”

“You thought you killed us both?” Xavier asked. He folded his hands behind his back as he went to look at one of the portraits. The portrait was of a woman Nalthair had only ever seen once. His mother. “I wanted to see what you would do. How this fight would play out if I allowed it to. I didn’t expect you to sacrifice your life to kill me.” He shook his head, looked at Nalthair. “Why did you do that?”

Nalthair took a step back from the man. Everything that had happened, the pain and power he’d felt, the absolute agony that had been his death, the satisfaction at killing his opponent…

It was all a lie… A lie he showed me.

“You’re more powerful than I thought.” Nalthair wanted to run. But where could he go? He was trapped inside his own mind. Now that he knew he wasn’t dead, he checked his mental barriers—they were all broken. Shattered completely.

But how could he trust a single thing he saw or thought after what he’d just been through, after what this man had just done to him?

Xavier dipped his head in a nod. “You know, I hear that a lot. Being underestimated… It’s something I’ve long become used to. Something I’ve used as a tool.”

“Why are you inside my mind? Why didn’t you just kill me? What are you after?”

“I’m in your mind because I wanted to see if you could be saved. When I asked you to forfeit, it wasn’t out of fear, or some lack of bravery as you assumed.”

Nalthair swallowed. “No,” he replied. “That much is clear.”

None of this made any sense to Nalthair. By all rights, he should be dead. What would Xavier have to gain from him being alive? “If you think sending me back to Jhanku alive will be enough to push his interest away from you, then you’re a fool.”

Xavier chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure that would only inflame his interest in me after you told him how I managed it.”

“Then, why…?” Nalthair shook his head. “None of this makes sense. You should kill me where I stand.”

Xavier tilted his head to the side. “Is that what you want? You seemed willing to throw your life away quick enough. I’ve no idea why you’d want such a thing, but it would be much easier for me to grant such a wish than go through with what I have in mind.”

What I have in mind…

Nalthair shuddered, wondering exactly what this young monster before him had in mind. Nalthair was to kill him. Could that have sparked some sense of revenge in this man? Did he want Nalthair to survive so he could make him suffer?

Still, Nalthair considered the man’s question.

Do I wish to die…

“I’ve long accepted the inevitability of my death,” Nalthair said. “But acceptance doesn’t mean I welcome it. No. I don’t wish to die. But if you intend to use me as a tool against my master, then you may as well kill me where I stand, because that is not something I will allow to happen.”

“Loyalty, even with the prospect of death.” Xavier inclined his head. “I have to say, I respect that.”

“What do you want from me?”

Xavier walked straight up to Nalthair. Nalthair didn’t take a step back. He held his ground. He’d endured more pain than the young dragonkin could imagine. He could endure whatever this monster had in mind, and he would do it with as much of his dignity as he could hold onto.

The dragonkin stopped directly in front of Nalthair, almost nose to nose. “I want your help with your master.”

“I said I wouldn’t betray him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call this a betrayal.” The dragonkin leant forward and to the side, whispering into Nalthair’s ear. “I want to bring him into the fold.”

Xavier Collins grabbed Nalthair’s head before he could react. He held it fast within both hands. Nalthair couldn’t wriggle out of the man’s grasp. He was in his own mind, some sort of mental apparition. Nalthair should have been able to disappear or take control over what was happening—but he couldn’t.

He was locked into this moment. No escape.

Something ripped through him. Through his mind. His body.

His soul.

Nalthair cried out in agony.