Forged Destiny [Book 5: Ch. 12]

And it was that which moved my sword to swing at the man.

He saw it coming, as I'd intended him to. Panic registered on his face and he checked his execution, drawing his sword back with both hands to defend himself, even as his companions realised what was happening. Crocea Mors arched across from his left, angled in such a way as to catch his sword and propel him back. I wasn't fast enough to get past his guard, but that wasn't the point. I wanted him to block it. Behind me, I heard Blake scream a warning, but that went ignored.

Blake had once told me there was a difference between Heroes and Soldiers; one that I couldn't comprehend with imagination alone.

She was right.

Crocea Mors caught his sword above the hilt, on the strongest part of his blade. A blade made of steel, simple and unrefined, while mine was magical metal forged by a high-levelled Runesmith and driven by a Strength score that was unbelievably high, pushed so by all the struggles I'd faced. It was beyond what a Blacksmith my age should have had. It was beyond what a Soldier fighting his first war could hope to have.

The man's sword shattered.

His armour shattered.

His ribcage shattered.

Crocea Mors travelled into and through him in one jagged motion, tearing out his chest and spilling crimson across the floor. My eyes grew wide as the sword travelled on, eventually coming to a stop with its blood-stained tip on the grass.

—Forged Destiny [Book 5: Ch. 12]