Chapter 153: Leap vs. Misty Step
Compared to their last meeting, Eist appeared significantly more haggard.
His face bore a sickly pallor, and his eyes were sunken into deep, bruised hollows. Only a lingering sharpness in his gaze remained to suggest the man beneath; otherwise, he looked more like an animated waxwork than a living being.
Common gossip suggested that in order to retain her grip on power, Calanthe was draining the King's vitality daily through the rigors of the bedchamber and the excesses of the banquet hall. At the time, Arthur had cracked a few bitter jokes about the unfair distribution of such "hardships."
Now, seeing the King's gaunt state, Arthur felt only a creeping sense of dread. He hadn't realized that wine and lust could be quite so predatory.
Starting today, he vowed, no more booze.
Percival was equally stunned and scrambled forward to receive the monarch. "Your Majesty! Why have you come out with so few guards again?"
Just a few days ago, the gnome had been able to trade jests with the King. Yet, upon seeing him now, Percival's usual fearless nature vanished, replaced by a cautious, jittery deference. It couldn't be helped; as a member of the interim committee, if anything happened to the King on Blacksmith Street, the gnome would be the first to answer for it.
Eist waved a hand dismissively, his voice still booming with its usual resonance. "I've heard the tales! Those Verden bastards nearly caused a bloodbath yesterday, trying to snatch my steel right out of the forge!"
The King let out a harsh laugh. "I'm taking the blade now. Better to have it on my hip than left here to tempt every two-bit thief!"
Turning to the crowd of onlookers, Eist raised a thumb high over his head. "You lot did well! Facing fifteen armored professionals and holding your ground—hell, seizing the advantage! You're good lads, the lot of you!"
A roar of applause and whistles flooded the street. A mercenary yelled out, "Tuirseach! Let us have a look then! Show us if that blade is truly as grand as they say!"
Eist laughed heartily. He reached out and took the greatsword held out by Percival. Its exaggerated dimensions immediately sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowd.
"A sword that size? Can it even be swung?"
"I heard Arthur snapped several weapons with it yesterday. Is it true?"
Eist glanced at the gnome, who discreetly pointed toward a pair of heavy iron tongs in the corner. Percival whispered, "Rest assured, Sire. This is authentic Gwyhyr craftsmanship. Its sharpness and temper are undiluted. Cleaving iron like that will be no trouble at all."
Eist nodded slightly and raised the greatsword high for all to see. "Then I'll give you a show!"
Under the King's commanding gaze, a guard stepped forward with a pained expression, holding the iron tongs horizontally before him at arm's length. Eist extended his arm to measure the distance, then slowly raised the massive blade above his head.
Blacksmiths, mercenaries, and commoners alike held their breath, their eyes fixed on the shimmering steel in the King's hands.
It was thanks to this sudden, heavy silence that Arthur was able to catch a single discordant note in the environment. It was the faint, sharp crack of a clay roof tile. Weathered by years of sun and rain, the tile had grown brittle; even a tentative footfall had been enough to shatter it.
"On the roof!"
Arthur spun his head toward the sound. He saw no silhouette, only a faint, blue-glowing arc tracing a path through the air, plummeting toward the King's head.
"Aard!"
Arthur's hand snapped out, releasing the Witcher Sign. The invisible wave of telekinetic force intercepted the projectile with pinpoint precision, sending it tumbling harmlessly into the sky.
Only a moment later did Arthur realize, with a jolt of hindsight, that he had just intercepted a Superior Northern Wind bomb with a telekinetic shockwave.
"Assassins!"
The greatsword continued its descent, cleaving the iron tongs into three segments without the slightest hitch, before abruptly spiraling upward. Using the momentum of his pivot, Eist transitioned the blade from a downward cleave into a rising guard.
The King gripped the massive sword with a single hand, pointing it majestically toward the opposite rooftop. "What kind of vermin are you? Show yourselves!"
"Everyone, into the shops! Seek cover immediately!"
The guard dropped the broken tongs and drew his sidearm, positioning himself before the King while barking orders to disperse the crowd. Another guard stood his ground, eyes darting alertly across the surroundings; in his palm, a sphere of searing Chaos crackled, waiting for a target to emerge.
The Superior Northern Wind finally detonated twenty meters in the air. The pale blue mist had barely begun to bloom before the fierce Cintran sea breeze swept it into oblivion. There was no flash-freeze, no follow-up ambush. The only result of this assassination attempt was a localized shower of hailstones over the North Ward, bruising a few unlucky souls who hadn't scrambled away fast enough.
"On the roof!"
Arthur shouted, though it was redundant. The moment the bomb was tossed into the sky, a frantic patter of footsteps echoed from the tiles. Realizing the Northern Wind had failed to achieve its intended effect, the assassin had instantly chosen to abort and flee.
Such cold decisiveness—it was the hallmark of a true professional.
With his mithril sword in one hand and the Edge of Temeria in the other, Arthur's leg muscles coiled and released like iron springs. He vaulted directly onto the roof where the assassin had just been standing.
"Great Melitele's teats!" Percival shrieked. "The lad's practically flying!"
Arthur didn't have the luxury of basking in the gnome's praise. He didn't know what that assassin was made of, but despite his explosive leap, he hadn't caught so much as a shadow.
Following a gut instinct, Arthur looked toward the street opposite. There, he caught the sight of a burly back disappearing as the figure leaped off the far side of the roof.
"Hmph. Think you can run?"
Arthur had no idea how the man had crossed the distance to the opposite roof so quickly, but he knew how he was going to do it. He tested the tiles beneath his feet, ensuring he was standing on a solid rafter, and then lunged with a full-powered leap, soaring across the gap.
The moment his boots hit the shingles, Arthur looked toward the man's flight path and locked eyes with him just as the assassin glanced back.
"[Incoherent Obscenity]!!"
The man bellowed a curse, dropped a shredded scroll, and yanked an unfortunate passing rider from his saddle. He vaulted onto the horse and galloped toward the city gates.
"Don't even think about it!"
Arthur gave chase along the rooftops for a few paces, but human legs were no match for four hooves. No matter how fast he ran, the gap between him and the assassin widened.
Suddenly, a girl in hunting leathers came riding toward him from the opposite direction. Arthur's eyes lit up. He plummeted into the center of the street, seizing the reins mid-stride to commandeer the beast.
"Aah!"
The horse, startled by the sudden obstruction, reared up on its hind legs. The girl was caught off guard and thrown from the saddle. Arthur reacted with lightning speed, catching the terrified maiden before she hit the ground, then vaulted onto the horse's back without missing a beat.
As he hammered his heels into the horse's flanks to resume the chase, he called back over his shoulder:
"I'll bring him back to you, I swear!"