Forged Destiny [Book 7: Ch. 15]

She scurried back against the wall, leaving me between her and the fifteen or so people.

[...]

Before they could cry out in warning, I was among them.

I was no faster as a Swordmaster, no stronger, no better than I was as a Blacksmith. And yet, in my strange Skills, as unusual as they were, there were options. Piercing Thrust was termed as a `mighty thrust that pierced the enemy's defences`. It was a thrusting attack that carried me a distance – and it cared nothing for my Dexterity. The moment I used it, I was moving, and at whatever speed the Skill dictated.

It was how I'd caught Cinder off-guard, and it worked just as well here, even if I turned my sword aside at the last second and drove my cross guard into the man's stomach instead. His iron-plated armour should have protected him, but my Skills didn't care for it. My blow pierced his defences, literally. The cross-guard cracked his armour and slammed into his gut, toppling him with a groan.

Spinning, I caught the approaching weapons of his allies with a Dividing Slash, `parting my foe`, though in this case – as Hazel had realised - `foe` did not mean bodies, but armour, weapons and equipment. Blades that ought to have stood up to mine shattered like glass. Twisting into the stunned and confused guards, I lashed out at undefended bodies, drawing blood and knocking them down one by one. The blows weren't aimed to kill, not against guards, but they were savage nonetheless and would require stitches.

"S-Stop him!" someone screamed. "Kill him!"

"Where is the Mage? Bring the Mage!"

"We can't! He was attacked!"

[...]

The next person unfortunate enough to get in front of me tasted four blows that struck faster than I could normally achieve. It didn't feel like flowering petals, certainly not to the woman who slumped with a groan, bleeding badly and with one hand severed. Stepping back to allow someone to drag her away, I faced the seven or so who remained.

—Forged Destiny [Book 7: Ch. 15]