Touch of Fate

Mike barely managed to bring his sword up in time to divert the spear thrust that threatened to impale him. He didn't fully succeed as another searing line was drawn across his abdomen. He stumbled back while diverting some of his diminishing mana reserves to healing the new injury enough to stop the bleeding. In just a few minutes of fighting he had already suffered several minor blows.

"Is this all you have, human? I've seen orc children with more skill than you."

Mike gritted his teeth at the chieftain's words. The orc had incredible skill with the spear. Mike couldn't compare in terms of skill, strength, or reach, so he was on the defensive from the start.

He had initially adopted the Flowing River stance of Almiran Swordsmanship. It was the most balanced and flexible of the various stances he learned from Albert and the one he had the most practice with. However, when it quickly became obvious that he was outmatched by his opponent he switched to Briar's Thorn, a stance that focused on defense with quick efficient counter attacks.

So far he had little luck of the few attacks he managed to launch. The orc chieftain fought with a level of grace and agility that was surprising coming from such a brutish looking people. If not for his luck and the fact that the orc was going easy on him, Mike would have died several times in the last few minutes.

"It should be clear to you that I am the superior fighter. Yield and I shall make sure that your five years of servitude are comfortable. Perform well, and I might even give you a place of honor by my side."

That declaration caused a bit of stir among the orcs, but Mike didn't have the time to consider it.

"Thanks for the offer, but I prefer my freedom. Although, you could still walk away if you want to."

The chieftain growled slightly. "Once it has begun, the Kal'thelk must be completed. Perhaps it is time to end this. I grow weary of trying to spare you injury. You will serve me just as well as a cripple I suppose."

The chieftain suddenly burst forward, aiming for Mike's torso with a vicious spear thrust.

Mike knew he only had one chance, so he decided to test his luck one more time and attempt the Thorn's Gambit. It was one of the most difficult techniques of the Briar's Thorn, and one he had only succeeded in performing on a few rare occasions during training. It relied on dodging the opponent's attack with as little motion as possible while countering with a mirrored thrust. The goal of the maneuver was not to strike with the thrust itself, but to unbalance the enemy for a follow-up attack.

Utilizing his newly ranked-up evasion skill, Mike was almost able to slide past the spear, taking another painful wound along his ribs. He nevertheless was able to remain steady, thrusting forth with his sword aimed at the orc's throat.

The chieftain responded by quickly stepping back and whipping the spear around in a horizontal sweep. Mike allowed his sword to be deflected, using the momentum of the chieftain's block to both duck under the spear shaft and spin into another rising attack. The orc, unbalanced, could only attempt to block.

With a loud crack, Mike's sword cut through the spear and continued on to smash into the chieftain's helmet, sending it flying. The orc stumbled back and fell to its knees while Mike stepped forward, intent on delivering the finishing blow. However, he couldn't help but stop when he caught a glimpse of the chieftain's face.

She had short, dark hair and light grayish skin. Although a little on the masculine side, if not for the pair of small tusks protruding from her lower lip, she could almost pass for a human woman. At the moment she was still kneeling, staring down at the two halves of her spear. She looked up at Mike with a pair of pale, blue eyes.

"It seems you have won." Disbelief was clear in her voice. "What are you called, human?"

"I am Michael Rasmussen." He lowered his sword and took a step back. "But you can call me Mike."

"Mike," she said as if tasting the unfamiliar word. She stood and started walking back towards her kin. Just before she reached them, she stopped, and with an imperious glare declared, "You and the rest of those humans are free to go. I, Talgratha, future High Chieftain of the Ashborn, grant you your lives."

She turned her gaze toward Mike, "Know this, Mike. Although the Kal'thelk was fairly fought, I cannot live with a defeat. The next time we meet, it will be as enemies, and I will make you submit to me."

With that, she turned and led her people to the north, soon vanishing into the tall, prairie grass.

As soon as it appeared they had gone for good, Mike relaxed. The accumulated fatigue nearly caused him to collapse, but he managed to push it aside and walk over to Morris.

The older man had suffered a number of wounds including a nasty gash from the top of his left shoulder down to his stomach. It looked like he had narrowly avoided being split in two.

"Hell of a fight, Mike." Morris said with a cough. "Albert would be proud."

Mike pressed his hand down on Morris's chest and started using his healing magic. "Hold still for a second, you dumb ass. Do you have any idea what Kaya would do to me if you died?"

Morris chuckled before wincing. "Urgh, don't make me laugh. I think I broke a rib."

After a minute or so of healing, the majority of Morris's injuries had been taken care off. Mike didn't have enough mana to fully heal him, and falling unconscious in the attempt would be counterproductive.

"Now then, let's go talk to our new friends over there. Hopefully, they'll be willing to compensate us for the effort of saving them."

Morris chuckled again while standing up, "I wouldn't count on it. Caravan merchants are notoriously tight-fisted. Then again, not many people want to piss off someone who can set them on fire."

Mike noticed the caravan members were watching him carefully. One of the guards, an older solid looking woman stepped forward to meet them.

"I am Ymra, sergeant of the Red Lion Mercenary Company. Sir Mage, you have our gratitude for your timely assistance." Mike noticed the red, lion shaped emblem painted on the mercenaries' shields.

"Alright Sergeant Ymra, you can call me Mike, and this is Morris." He said while pointing to his compatriot. "Is there anyone in critical condition? I'm running low on mana, but I can do a little healing magic."

Ymra blinked in surprise, "Most of our injuries are minor thankfully, but one of my men took a spear to the gut. If there is anything you can do to help, Sir Mage, you would have my eternal gratitude."

"Well, let me see what we have to work with." He said as he followed the mercenary sergeant to a pale, young man lying next to one of the wagons. He was thankfully unconscious, a wad of bloody bandages failing to stem the slow trickle of blood seeping into the dirt from a nasty abdominal wound. Not wasting any time he knelt next to the man and started healing.

Luckily, he had made some breakthroughs in terms both healing magic and mana consumption. As it was, the effort nearly made him pass out. After a few minutes of concentrated effort, Mike stood up dizzily.

"He'll still need to recover for a while, but he should make it."

Ymira slapped a fist against her chest, and dipped her head in a bow. "Surely the gods have looked kindly upon us. Thank you, Sir Mage."

Mike nodded his head in what he hoped was a sage manner. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to find a place to rest. This whole event has worn me out."

The mercenaries quickly brought over a pair of folding stools for Morris and him, and started offering him food and drink. Evidently being a spell caster capable of healing magic was a rare commodity around these parts. Although, the sudden devotion had him questioning a little about the nature of society in this world.

He spent some studying the merchants who had yet to come over. They seem locked in some sort of debate regarding him. Not particularly feeling like he wanted to accommodate them, Mike decided to wait and enjoy the mercenaries' hospitality for a bit.

With nothing better to do, Mike checked his [Status] to see what progress he had made in the intervening time.

--------------

[Status]

Michael Rasmussen

Race: Human

Age: 15

Class: Skill Master

Title: None

Multiverse Traveler

Blessed One

Hunter of Renown

Battlefield Healer

Kal'Thel (NEW)

--------------

[Skills]

--------------

Primary Skills:

Communication Magic (Rank 2)

Basic Healing Magic (Rank 4) (LEVEL UP)

Inspect (Rank 2)

Initiate Almiran Military Swordsmanship (Rank 4) (LEVEL UP)

Basic Water Magic (Rank 2)

Basic Fire Magic (Rank 3) (LEVEL UP)

--------------

Secondary Skills:

Lifestyle Magic (Rank 0)

Running (Rank 2)

Basic Evasion (Rank 4) (LEVEL UP)

Basic Dagger Fighting (Rank 2)

Basic Spear Fighting (Rank 2)

Basic Sword Fighting (Rank 4) (LEVEL UP)

Basic Elemental Magic (Rank 3) (LEVEL UP)

Basic Riding (Rank 3) (LEVEL UP)

--------------

Passive Skills:

Basic Fear Resistance (Rank 1)

Basic Pain Resistance (Rank 2) (NEW)

Minor Mana Enhancement (Rank 3) (LEVEL UP)

Minor Endurance Enhancement (Rank 3) (LEVEL UP)

Minor Agility Enhancement (Rank 2)

Minor Strength Enhancement (Rank 2)

--------------

Inherent Skills:

Traveler's Luck

Fate-Touched

--------------

- Kal'Thel -

The title given to those who have won a Kal'thelk against a worthy opponent. It is in the nature of orcs to respect those who fight with strength and honor. Minor increase to charisma when dealing with orcs. Only applies while active.

- Basic Pain Resistance (Tier 1, Rank 2) -

By experiencing pain, one learns to overcome it. Provides minor resistance to the negative effects of pain.