Midnight Firefight (5)
A small, round shield soared through the air.
Spinning gracefully, it sliced through the wind like a gliding disc.
To anyone living on Earth in the 21st century, it would have looked like a scene from a park where people toss and catch Frisbees.
Except for one crucial difference.
Whoosh—!
This one was made of wood reinforced with iron, and it flew with the speed of an arrow shot from a bow.
Grrr—ack!
Crunch!
A monster lunging at a guard was split in two by the lethal Frisbee.
Seeing the creature’s body fall apart at the midsection and tumble onto the dirt of the alley, Dalen turned his gaze away.
Roar!
Clang! Clang!
“Aaah!”
Screams and cries, the clash of weapons, and the chilling sound of flesh being torn.
Hundreds of flickering torches filled the narrow alleys, the ground littered with blood and entrails.
And amidst it all, guards and cultists trampled over the chaos, locked in a bloody battle.
The southern district of the Bronze Zone in the labyrinthine city was notorious for its lawlessness, where one could be stabbed at any moment.
But even so, it wasn’t usually a battlefield filled with such screams and terror.
‘At least the guards arrived on time.’
Dalen stroked his chin. The operation had been hastily put together, and he had worried the guards might change their minds halfway through.
For the Bronze Guard, this operation, relying solely on Dalen, was a gamble in many ways.
‘Especially in a game where NPCs often betray you.’
But the Bronze Guard kept their promise.
Not long after Dalen set the building ablaze with a spell, he saw hundreds of torches approaching from afar.
The guards, slaughtering the cultists set as sentries by the Apostles of Reversal, advanced in force.
Well-armed and thoroughly trained, the soldiers effectively pushed back the cultists, who outnumbered them two to one.
Of course, Dalen played a significant role in this.
He had single-handedly dealt with the key force, the guild master and his monster horde.
When the cultists came to report the attack, they were met not by a commander but by a man capable of killing hundreds with his bare hands.
Even when the cultists realized the internal threat and sent additional troops, they faced a warrior who had already slain the guild master in a single blow.
None of the cultists who went up returned, and they had to fight with their command structure in disarray.
Dalen, having acquired a surplus of weapons from the fallen, could support the battlefield from the high ground by throwing them with precision.
‘And I leveled up thanks to that.’
The experience he gained from defeating the guild master and the monster horde had almost leveled him up, and acting as a turret on the battlefield finished the job.
He invested the additional stat points into his health.
Swoosh.
Dalen picked up an axe of suitable size, the last of the weapons left by the cultists.
Unlike his usual weapon, this one had a slightly thicker and longer handle, with a broader and larger axe head.
It was designed for both melee and throwing.
“Hmm.”
Dalen scratched his chin as he surveyed the battlefield.
It seemed his help was no longer needed.
The guards had suffered significant losses, but the cultist army was on the verge of collapse.
In most areas, the tide of battle had turned in their favor.
Dalen decided to lend a hand to wrap up the fight quickly.
‘The regenerative factor of the dragon’s blood is making me tired. I need to finish this and rest.’
Crack.
Loosening his stiff shoulders and neck, Dalen picked a spot on the battlefield and lightly stomped his foot.
Boom—!
He leaped to twice the height of a five-story building, descending with considerable speed and weight.
Whoosh—
His target was the largest remaining group of cultists.
Crash!
His landing crushed three of them, and he rose with steam hissing from his legs.
The cultists, eyes wide with disbelief, stared at the incredible sight.
Finally, one of the gold-masked apostles shouted in a panicked voice.
“Wh-what? Who…?”
Slice!
Dalen didn’t bother to answer.
The gold-masked apostle’s head spun through the air.
Thud! Slice!
Before the head even hit the ground.
“Aaah!”
“Ugh…!”
“Spare me! Monster!”
His axe began to dance, gleaming as it moved.
The battle ended soon after.
The final act was Dalen’s intervention.
Seeing Dalen decimate a cultist unit, including three gold-masked apostles, with a single axe, the few surviving cultists threw down their weapons and surrendered.
The battle ended in an instant.
Dalen leaned against the axe handle, now headless, watching the guards clean up the scene.
“Bring bandages! Tear some cloth if you have to!”
“Just give the wounded first aid for now; they’ll get proper treatment when we return!”
“My hand! My hand…!”
“Where’s the healing potion? We have a critical abdominal wound here!”
Despite their overwhelming victory against nearly double their numbers, the guards had not emerged unscathed.
A soldier missing a limb, a medic desperately trying to stuff a comrade’s spilling entrails back in while pouring diluted potion, a young recruit trembling in shock.
The pervasive shadow of death left the guards with no time to celebrate their victory.
‘I should have taken the potions from the elder mage.’
The elder mage of the Elgaia Tower, Felber Valentino, had initially offered a bag containing over a dozen tower-made healing potions as an additional reward.
In this battlefield, where even diluted potion was used sparingly, that bag would have been invaluable.
Perhaps some of the soldiers who died before his eyes might have lived if he had chosen differently.
‘…No.’
Dalen shook his head.
‘Saving every life is impossible.’
He was human.
No different from the soldiers crying out in pain, calling for their mothers.
A man from Earth, nostalgic for a comfortable life, weary of this savage land.
He was no saint.
Certainly not a god.
As a mere human, all he could offer to those dying before him was a little help and a silent prayer.
Even that was only possible because of his superhuman body; otherwise, he could easily have been one of the cold corpses lying there.
A man standing on this land, not originally from this world.
Dalen knew well who he was.
‘And the promise I secured instead of the potions will save more lives in the future.’
In any case, he would save as many as he could within his limits.
That aligned with his path to avert destruction.
Of course, that was within the bounds of what he could do.
If he, the only variable capable of stopping the apocalypse, were to die, this world would inevitably turn into hell.
Clink. Clink.
Lost in such thoughts, he sensed someone approaching.
Dalen turned his head. A man was walking toward him, accompanied by several soldiers.
These soldiers were dressed differently from the other guards.
Despite being covered in blood and flesh, their full plate armor looked expensive.
In contrast, their tattered robes had been mended multiple times.
Dalen recognized them immediately.
‘The Silent Company of the Bronze Guard.’
Elite warriors selected for special missions or support, known for their strict selection process.
Their ragged robes were their hallmark. No matter how torn and worn from countless battles, they would mend and wear them again.
‘In other words, the more worn the robe, the more veteran the warrior.’
Dalen glanced at the frayed edges of their robes, thinking.
Indeed, the Silent Company’s combat prowess was unmatched compared to other units of the guard.
In the recent battle, they had paired up to break through the front lines and disrupt the cultist ranks.
They were second only to Dalen in their contributions.
Clink.
The man leading the group stopped in front of Dalen with a precise stance. He spoke.
“Are you the mercenary Dalen?”
Dalen nodded, his eyes weary. He was genuinely tired.
The aftermath of regenerating his battered insides with dragon blood was starting to hit him hard.
The man, unfazed by Dalen’s reaction, continued with an unchanged expression.
“I am Gawain, commander of the Silent Company of the Bronze Guard. Thanks to your strategy and timely support, we were able to prevent the cultist attack with minimal losses.”
The man slightly bowed his head, his face still stern.
“On behalf of the Bronze Guard, I extend our deepest gratitude.”
“Gratitude alone?”
“…”
The commander’s expression darkened momentarily. Dalen chuckled softly.
“It was just a joke. I know the guard unit isn’t exactly swimming in gold.”
“Not what I’d expect from a warrior from the North.”
“I get that a lot.”
Gawain was momentarily at a loss for words. Dalen grinned at him.
“I heard it was you who passed my story to the elder wizard.”
“That’s right. Every task you took on through the Raven’s Nest information network exceeded expectations.”
He glanced around at the warehouse, slowly being consumed by flames.
“And with this latest job, I’ve realized your skills are beyond what I imagined. If you ever take on another task, I’d be grateful for your help.”
“Of course.”
Dalen nodded, tossing his axe handle to the ground and moving on.
His work here was done.
He’d ensured the scene was under control and had spoken with the silent captain he’d been meaning to meet.
The guards would gather evidence from the guild and hunt down the cultists hiding throughout the city.
Minor cult gatherings could be handled by them.
As for the high priest and the rest of the masked ones, Dalen planned to deal with them personally.
“I need some rest.”
With his vision still spinning from the dragon’s blood, Dalen walked away.
Behind him, the silent captain called out.
“If possible, wear some armor. No matter how strong you are, you never know what might happen.”
Dalen didn’t look back. He simply waved a hand over his shoulder.
By the time Dalen returned to the inn, it was nearly dawn. He spent the entire day in bed.
It wasn’t until the second morning light streamed through the window that he finally opened his eyes. His body, once heavy with fatigue, felt refreshed.
“This should do.”
He’d worried about permanent damage from the internal injuries, but his superhuman physique, honed by skills and stats, seemed unfazed.
After a late breakfast, Dalen left the inn, heading to the Galleos Trading Branch.
Before storming the Telia Guild, he’d made a firm request to the head of the trading company.
He wanted a new forge set up for the blacksmith, Reberon Hakim, in a prime location near the trading branch.
“It’s time he moved out of that shabby alleyway forge.”
The head, Volkma, hesitated briefly but agreed, considering the life Dalen had saved.
Conveniently, a forge near the branch was up for sale, and Volkma purchased it immediately.
Thanks to Sienna’s mediation, the contract was highly favorable for Reberon.
It wasn’t a loss for Volkma either.
Reberon was destined to become a legendary craftsman, and having him as a neighbor would bring immense benefits to the trading branch and leather workshop.
“It’s about time I picked up my armor.”
He’d pushed his body too hard without proper armor and weapons for too long.
To mitigate the side effects of his unbalanced stats, proper equipment was essential.
Clang—! Clang—!
The sound of hammering and the heat hit him even before he reached the shop. The display had only a few items, but each was of high quality, likely made for promotional purposes.
Dalen quietly entered the shop, glancing at the blacksmith hard at work.
Clang! Clang! Sizzle—
Sweat dripped with each hammer strike. The determination in the blacksmith’s eyes was unmistakable.
The face of a defeated man was nowhere to be seen. Dalen’s lips curled into a slight smile.
“Oh, Dalen?”
Penny, carrying a heavy pouch in both hands, spotted him as she entered the shop.
Dalen raised a finger to his lips, speaking softly to avoid disturbing the blacksmith’s focus.
“I’m just here to pick up my armor and weapons.”
“Oh, okay. But my uncle wanted me to let him know when you arrived…”
“Tell Reberon I’ll come back another time.”
“Ah… alright.”
Penny disappeared into the back of the shop, returning with a box she found among the scattered ingots and leather.
“My uncle stayed up all night working on this. It might not match your reputation yet, but he asked for a little patience. He promised to become a craftsman worthy of making your armor and weapons.”
Penny clasped her hands tightly, as if she were Reberon himself, filled with determination.
Dalen chuckled softly at the sight and opened the box.
Inside was armor perfectly tailored to his build, a combination of leather and chainmail.
Metal plates reinforced the chest, back, and shoulders, while a chain skirt protected his lower body.
The box also contained gauntlets with metal-plated backs and wrists, sturdy greaves, and boots.
“He wasn’t sure what kind of weapon you’d prefer, so he made a variety.”
Penny gestured to the display at the front of the shop. Dalen scratched his chin.
So those weren’t for display but for me?
He picked up a sword to test it. It was a remarkable blade, with a sharp edge and well-balanced weight.
Heavier than usual, it seemed designed for someone with his strength.
Dalen selected a one-handed sword, a shield, and a hand axe from the display. He spoke.
“No need to wait.”
“What?”
Penny’s eyes widened. Dalen added with a low laugh.
“These are more than good enough. Please thank him for me.”
“Oh, um…”
“I’ll pay full price next time.”
Penny, on the verge of tears, couldn’t find her words. Dalen, chuckling at her reaction, suddenly stiffened and turned his head.
”…?”
Penny instinctively followed his gaze.
The street was filled with ordinary citizens, nothing unusual.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
Then, in the distance, a group of guards on horseback approached.
“Faster than expected. Again.”
Dalen murmured. Penny didn’t understand.
The mounted guards dismounted and approached Dalen.
Clank. Clank.
Their full plate armor clattered, covered by ragged robes.
The man at the front removed his helmet, addressing Dalen with a serious expression.
“Dalen. We need your help sooner than anticipated.”
“Cultists?”
The man nodded.
“They’ve regrouped their remaining forces. The 8th district of the eastern sector has already fallen into their hands.”