Reborn, Its Time To Save My Family And.. My Enemy!
Chapter 227: You Are Not A Human

Chapter 227: You Are Not A Human

The witch clung to the saddle behind Rhistel. She had no words to offer Rhistel. her breaths shallow and her body twitching from the lingering pain of the cursed shawl. Rhistel’s eyes stayed sharp, he rose faster as he crossed the last part of woods.

"Are you not afraid of your death?" she asked again but he did not reply. His eyes roamed to the woods as if he could already see their faces.

"You should run now," he said calmly to the witch behind him. "Stay hidden, or die where you kneel."

She didn’t move, too stunned by the sudden change in his demeanor.

The witch hesitated, her pride flaring. "I should help. You saw it yourself—I have no choice now."

Rhistel turned his head slightly, his voice a razor. "And I told you to hide."

His eyes met hers, and something in his stare made her flinch. She felt her legs move on their own, dismounting before she could argue again.

"Cursed bastard," she muttered under her breath, ducking behind the slope, heart pounding. The cursed shawl still burned faintly against her skin, and she gritted her teeth. She hated him. He had made her this week. But something inside her waited for him to fight them.

She crouched in the shadows as Rhistel stepped forward into the clearing.

They emerged at once, three at first and then all of them attacked at once.

"I am not here for a dance," he said calmly. "You come for me? Try it." His voice was full of mockery as he watched them with a gaze laced with impatience.

His sword left the sheath with a hiss of steel. They all gritted his teeth and attacked. The first one aimed for his chest but it fell on the ground before he could touch Rhistel.

The second was stunned but he attacked with more cautiousness. He immediately turned into a low stance, blocking a strike from behind with the back of his sword and kicking his heel backward, connecting with a knee. The attacker yelped and stumbled. The third tried to rush in, but Rhistel sidestepped, grabbed the man’s cloak, and drove his shoulder into the man’s sternum. The thug crashed to the dirt, wheezing.

Rhistel turned on his heel and thrust his sword down, the second was gone too. He didn’t have time to breathe. Five more came next.

They didn’t attack together as if they did not want to share their achievements. One rushed, yelling. Rhistel stepped inside the swing, but he was still attacked on his shoulders. The attacker grinned with malice but the happiness was short lived. Rhistel used the momentum to drive his own blade under the man’s ribs.

He hissed in pain, rolling his shoulder as blood trickled down. He couldn’t afford another hit like that.

Another opponent tried to stab low. Rhistel twisted, barely evading the tip. He used his forearm to jam the attacker’s elbow up and jammed his hilt into the man’s throat. A brutal, wet gasp followed.

Another man grabbed him from behind. Rhistel dug his boot into the earth, threw his weight sideways, and slammed his head back. His skull slammed into the man’s nose. The man screamed, and Rhistel used the opening to slash him across the abdomen. Though the attack would not kill him, it stopped him at once.

Rhistel adjusted his grip, two hands on the sword now. He circled slowly. Feigned left but struck right. His feet moved faster than others could think and his attack was so precise. Worst, he didn’t get to get the hit. He placed his body as bait to attack many times.

His shoulders were bleeding and his thighs had a large wound. His arm was slashed but he did not care about that. He could not even feel the pain.

He stepped in close, too close for swords, and used the crossguard to jab into one man’s eye. The other tried to tackle him. They both went down hard. He caught the attacker’s wrist just before a knife reached his throat. The witch behind the ridge tensed. She didn’t even realize she had stood up.

Rhistel grunted, twisted the man’s wrist until it cracked, then punched him once—twice—until he stopped moving.

He rose slowly, blood dripping from his arm and temple. Breathing ragged.

"We will charge in unison then." Rhistel raised his sword but didn’t strike—he turned, slammed his shoulder into the tree and used it to brace for the collision. Two hit him. He used the close proximity to elbow one in the jaw, twisted behind him, and slashed low—hamstringing the second. One sword nicked his ribs. He winced and elbowed again. His breath came short now. His legs are heavy. He was bleeding in three places. Still he moved easily.

The last man hesitated. Rhistel stood hunched, bloodied, gasping. But his eyes hadn’t dulled.

Rhistel didn’t wait. He lunged with a yell—his first cry in the fight—and tackled the man to the ground, slamming the pommel into his face until blood sprayed across his glove.

Rhistel staggered up, chest rising and falling. Twenty lay dead or dying around him. He wiped his blade clean on a fallen man’s cloak, then turned.

The witch stared at him, not moving at all.

He walked back toward the witch, picking up his original blade without a word. She stared at him, stunned.

He said nothing. Simply held out his hand to her, blood still on his fingers.

She took it without a word. Her voice failed her. He pulled her up without even groaning on wincing despite bleeding from every part of his body.

"You... you’re not human," she couldn’t help but whisper.

"No," Rhistel replied, wiping the blood off his sword with a scrap of black cloth. "I’m not. I’m a man with something to protect."

He mounted the horse again. "Now show me the path to the lake."

"Even if you have fought all of them, you could not survive that far with all these wounds. I can heal you."

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