Forged Destiny [Book 6: Ch. 13]

With a furious howl, he dashed in, drawing and stabbing his sword towards my stomach. He was good, I'd admit. Despite my best efforts, he got past my guard and the sword stabbed into my side, drawing blood.

But when my hand settled on his wrist, preventing him from drawing it out, he realised his mistake. Crocea Mors sheared down, enacting a lesson I'd learned early on. My piss-poor Dexterity didn't matter much if I held my opponent in place.

"Arghhh!" he screamed, falling back, his hand taken off between elbow and wrist.

My fist slammed into his face a second later, lifting him from his feet. He landed hard, me kneeling on top of him. Crocea Mors was stabbed down into the dirt nearby. My hands settled on his shoulder plates, dragging his armoured upper body up to face me.

"What is Mistral planning?"

[...]

"He spoke of an army, Anders. One on its way to Vale."

"The Festival of Peace. We are betrayed."

"Not yet we're not. I need to go to Vale. I need to warn them."

—Forged Destiny [Book 6: Ch. 13]