Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 208: The Battle Forest.

Chapter 208: The Battle Forest.

Afternoon.

Battle Forest.

Critic-Ishire.

***********

Theodore joined the battle picking another enemy to fight.

Sunlight barely pierced through the thick canopy of the dense part of the forest, casting eerie shadows on the ground.

The air is tense, charged with the anticipation of an imminent clash. Conan, faced his opponent, a burly man with a menacing grin, he held a wickedly curved blade.

The two men circle each other, their eyes locked in a deadly gaze. Conan’s years of battle experience are evident in his poised stance and the determined set of his jaw. His opponent, though less experienced, he radiated raw aggression and confidence with magic presence Conan was aware of.

Without warning, the burly man lunges forward, his blade aiming for Conan’s midsection. Conan parries the attack with a swift upward sweep of his longsword, the clash of steel ringing through the forest. The force of the blow sends vibrations up Conan’s arm, but he holds firm, countering with a quick, powerful thrust.

The burly man sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike, and so he retaliated with a brutal slash aimed at Conan’s leg. Conan attempted to dodge, but the enemy’s blade found its mark still, cutting deep into the flesh of his thigh. A sharp cry of pain escapes Conan’s clenched teeth, echoing through the trees. He stumbles, his leg buckling under the sudden agony, but he remains upright, his grip on his sword tightening.

"Argh!" Conan roars, a mix of pain and fury in his voice. Blood seeps through his trousers, staining the fabric a deep crimson. His opponent smirks, sensing victory, and presses his advantage, launching a series of rapid attacks.

Conan, despite feeling the searing pain in his leg, parries each blow with desperate precision. His breath came in ragged gasps, and beads of sweat form on his brow. The forest seems to close in around them, as the sounds of their struggle mingled with the rustling leaves and distant bird calls.

The burly magic practitioner swung his blade again, aiming for Conan’s torso. but Conan summoned the last reserves of his strength and so he deflected the strike as he delivered a swift revenge, his longsword slicing through the air with lethal accuracy. The blade cuts across his opponent’s chest, eliciting a guttural scream.

"Yield!" Conan growled, his voice a hoarse command, the knight in him spilling out as he forgot it was a deadly enemy and he was giving the oppurtunity to yield. His leg throbs, each pulse a reminder of the wound he bears, but his eyes burn with unyielding determination.

The burly man, clutching his bleeding chest, hesitated, his confidence wavering. The forest grows silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of the two combatants and the remaining battling group.

Conan took a step forward, his sword poised for another strike with narrowed eyes, and the man finally drops his weapon, collapsing to his knees in surrender, his chest bleeding profusely.

Conan stands over his defeated foe, his leg trembling with the effort to stay upright. The adrenaline begins to fade, and the pain intensifies, but he remains resolute, if the burly remians in pain, they could question him later.

He glanced at the wound on his thigh, he knew it will need immediate attention, but for now, he has won and they were many others running his way that he would have to fight off, he was still standing hoping for less blood loss when he caught sight of Ebony walk round and round and area, the poor steed was befuddled.

Conan wanted to go to him but he had his hand full and he had to fight but then he saw Houbd closer to the steed prompting him to yell. "Hound! Ebony please" he couldn’t lose the companion.

Hound veered around at that call and his face time how disappointed he was.

He hated to have a connection with animals because it was an investment he couldn’t pay for yet as a request from his friend he would try to look after the damn horse that wouldn’t leave the battlefield.

"Well damnit all to hell" Hound murmured as he sprinted towards the disorganized steed.

"Come on" he whispered as he reached and tapped the horse but suddenly nothing was the same again. Something changed.

Suddenly there was utter silence, no roars or clash of swords in the battle forest, the wind became still too and Hound’s eyes narrowed.

The forest was a big view of shadow and light, the canopy overhead blocking out most of the sun’s rays. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and the rustle of unseen creatures. Hound, who was a man of silent prowess and keen senses couldn’t help his eyes widening, he was no longer on the battlefield, he was not in the forest area where the fight was going on and he wondered why, he moved stealthily through the underbrush, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. His black-lined eyes, a distinctive mark of his enigmatic persona, seemed to pierce through the gloom, ever alert for any sign of danger.

One of the attacking magic practitioners must’ve teleported him here but where was the magic practitioner?

He was moved along with Ebony.

The sleek, midnight-black stallion trotted quietly beside him. The bond between Hound and the horse was not there like with Conan but the horse recognized Hound.

They moved as one, Hound’s hand resting lightly on the stallion’s neck, guiding him through the dense foliage.

He knew the tranquillity was temporary and whatever had pulled him here had plans but he was shocked still when suddenly, the tranquility was shattered by a sharp, whistling sound. An arrow, fired from the shadows, shot towards Hound with deadly precision.

There was no time to react.

The arrow struck him in the side, embedding itself deeply between his ribs. The force of the impact made him stagger, a gasp of pain escaping his lips as the burning agony radiated from the wound.

"Mmm!" Hound grunted, his voice a mix of pain and anger. He instinctively reached for the arrow, but the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. He knew better than to pull it out now; it could cause even more damage.

At the same moment, Ebony reared up, neighing loudly in distress as another arrow grazed his flank. The stallion’s eyes were wide with fear and pain, but his training held firm. Hound, despite his own injury, grabbed the reins tightly, trying to calm this loyal companion.

"Easy, Ebony, easy," he whispered through gritted teeth, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. He patted the horse’s neck, feeling the tremors of fear rippling through the powerful muscles. Ebony snorted, his ears flicking back and forth, but he responded to Hound’s soothing voice and settled back onto all fours.

Hound scanned the surroundings with narrowed eyes, trying to locate the source of the attack. His sharp eyes caught movement in the underbrush, a shadow flitting between the trees. His mind raced, evaluating his options. The pain in his side was excruciating, each breath a knife in his ribs, but he forced himself to stay focused.

"Stay low, stay quiet," he muttered to himself, his voice a steely whisper. He moved to take cover behind a large oak tree, his movements careful to avoid jostling the arrow. His bow, slung over his shoulder, was still within reach, and he pulled it free with a practiced motion.

From his concealed position, Hound nocked an arrow, his eyes narrowing as he aimed at the spot where he had seen the movement. The black lines around his eyes seemed to deepen, making his gaze even more intense. He waited, his breath shallow, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side.

Hound yelled a question, "Who are you?"

"I needed to get the Hound myself" the voice sounded weak yet determined, Hound quickly figured the man was matured.

"Bad idea right there, old man" he muttered as he readied himself.

Then, he saw it, a flicker of movement as the enemy archer prepared to fire again. Hound released his arrow with a swift, silent exhalation. The arrow flew true, striking the hidden assailant with a dull thud. A cry of pain confirmed the hit, and the threat was momentarily neutralized.

Hound leaned heavily against the tree, his vision blurring from the pain and loss of blood. He knew he couldn’t stay here for long. With a determined grunt, he pulled himself back up onto Ebony, the stallion standing patiently despite his own injury.

"Let’s get out of here, boy," Hound murmured, patting Ebony’s neck once more. He spurred the horse into a swift trot, heading back towards the rendezvous point. Each step sent jolts of pain through his side, but he held on, his willpower driving him forward.

As they rode, Hound’s thoughts were a chaotic mix of pain and determination. He had to survive this. He had to warn the others. Some had functioning magic.

The forest blurred around him, the trees a dark tunnel through which he and Ebony raced, the shared bond between them the only thing keeping them from falling apart.

The arrow protruding from his side was a constant, brutal reminder of the danger they faced, but Hound’s spirit remained unbroken. He and Ebony would make it back. They had to.

As they continued he knew they were closer because then he heard grunts and action again, he closed his and as he muttered something, they were suddenly back in the battle.