111 The Flying Sickles

Stick held Clay's sword in place with his sickle wrapped around its blade. The two played a game of tug of war with neither side giving in to the other. Clay acknowledged Stick's strength, but he is still just a red goblin, and he could easily overpower with his strength alone, so why is it that he is unable to win the game. Then he noticed Stick wearing a mask over his nose. And the wind blowing the yellow gas clouds across the field.

Clay was beginning to feel the effects of the sleeping poison, which explains his inability to overpower the small red goblin in front of him. He was getting drowsy by the minute and needed to find a way to keep himself awake. Clay bit his tongue as hard as he could. The shock from the pain jolted his brain and mind refocused. Then he spun around, tilting his blade to cut the rope wrapped around his sword, severing his ties with Stick.

The sickle dropped to the earth, and during its fall, Clay closed the distance between him and Stick, which was more than twenty meters. When the sickle hit the ground, Clay was a sword length away from reaching Stick, but he could not go any further.

Stick had one more sickle and he spun it above him, creating an updraft under his feet. But the wind vortex surrounding him was not the reason Clay hesitated to get closer. It was the sickle creating the whirlwind that proved too dangerous. The sickle traveled so fast that Clay could barely see it travel, and Stick used this to his advantage, expanding the sickle rotation pushing Clay further away.

But playing defense was not enough. "This is getting really annoying!" Clay spat out the blood from his bleeding tongue, "You think you're safe in there!" Clay swung his blade, letting the sickle hit the sword and wrap around its blade.

Stick cracked a smile, "I believe Artio would say 'gotcha' right now!"

Clay tried to cut the rope as he did before, but he couldn't even cut through the skin. "What the?" Clay examined the rope, "This is made our of Tungstree!"

"That's right!" Stick pulled the rope and made Clay stumble to the ground. "Looks like it's your loss." Stick confidence grew with Clay's defeat becoming certain, but this hubris will cause him greatly.

"Not yet!" Clay got on one knee and lunged towards Stick.

"Crap!" Stick had no weapons to deflect his attack. His first sickle was several meters away from them, and the other was tied around Clay's sword. Stick's only hope was to pull the rope and sword off Clay's hands, but that did not work.

"Gotcha!" Clay stabbed him on the shoulder and the two fell to the floor. "You're dead. Cakakaka!" Clay laughed while he shuffles his blade inside the wound. Stick gritted his teeth while Clay had his way, thinking of a way to escape his predicament.

But a war of attrition was not favorable for Stick, and he knew that fact very well. So Stick let go of his sickle, letting Clay crush his throat without resistance. In exchange, Stick grabbed the rope around Clay's neck and pulled as hard as he could. Clay's face smashed against Stick's forehead, breaking his nose and cutting his upper lip.

The headbutt took Clay by surprise, and he immediately withdraws from Stick's body. Then Stick grabbed the rope and ran around Clay and tying his arms tightly around his body. And with his sickles on his hands, Stick once again had the upper hand, and he did not hesitate to attack.

But when he reached Clay, instead of stabbing him in the face, a random soldier parried his attack. "You lazy lot are finally awake!" Clay yelled.

"Sorry, Officer Clay, but we're not sober yet."

"Who cares! Its just one red goblin. Kill him!"

Stick looked around him and saw the soldiers and slaves waking up from their short sleep state. "I guess we didn't use enough?" Stick hit his sickles against one another, "One, two, a hundred of you, it doesn't matter. I'll fight every single one of you!" Stick had been in the situation before. When he was fighting against Cala and his men, Stick managed to hold his ground despite the overwhelming odds.

But this situation was also very different. He was surrounded by experienced soldiers, drugged they may be, are still capable of killing him. Stick knows he's in over his head, but as long as he could keep them busy here, his brother can have a greater chance of rescuing Artio.

"You're dead meat goblin!" One of the soldiers said while staggering towards him.

Stick knew it would be his end, he doesn't need some random enemy to tell him that since he heard that before. Everyone told him he was too weak to save himself, and he would die alone in the woods. The weak are left behind, and the strong move forward. That was the mantra his tribe believed in, and yet here he was, challenging the Black Crows as if he had a chance of winning. And it all happened because his brothers came back and rescued him from the jaws of death.

Stick is here to do the same, to rescue someone, and he was ready to die if he had to, "Come at me!"

The soldiers ran to Stick when suddenly, "Charge!" Goblins from the Orgut and Maston tribe emerged from the clearing with Cossack leading the troops. They had stone clubs and spears, and they swarmed the Black Crows like ants pilling on their prey, and the battlefield quickly turned into a mess.

Cossack woke up from his slumber, surrounded by the elders from the Orgut tribe and the women from the Maston. They told him where the rest of his companions went, and he could not bear to think they left without him. He got up and wore his gambeson, ready to join them in the battle.

Everyone tried to stop him from going but Cossack did not yield. He told them he could not just seatback while other people risk their lives for the woman he loved. He wanted to fight, to contribute to the struggle. Korge cried when he heard Cossack plea and joined him. His father, Arga, scolded him but Korge felt the same as Cossack. Unable to help his dying brother, hoping for others to his vengeance, was unforgivable. He would rather die than live without trying.

Seeing the two young goblins wager their life to join the fight, Isla gathered her warriors and had them join the fight. They were cautious for the majority of their time when dealing with the Black Crows born from indecisiveness. But it was now time for action.

The Orgut tribe, seeing the Maston, a tribe that prides itself in their isolation, joins the very thing they hate to fight the Black Crows, could not help but pressured to join. But do they regret it? No, not the slightest regret was on their hearts. When they've arrived, only one thing was on their mind, and that was their victory, and with Cossack's single command, they charged like there was no tomorrow.

"Cossack, you crazy bastard!" Stick yelled at him. "What if your wounds open?"

"Those were just scratches." Cossack laughed.

The dark elves quickly ran away from the chaotic battle, seeking refuge behind the Maston women and their spears. "Hold your ground!" Clay yelled, but with his arms bound, he could only do so much.

Among the dust clouds and men wrestling the goblins off them, Clay could see the red goblin standing with confidence in his air. His arms and hands could not move, but his legs were free, and he had one more way to fight, the technique his brother mastered and taught him. Clay's mana burst out under his feet and wrapped around his legs, coiling around them. "Heel Spring!" Clay yelled before bouncing off the ground and onto a goblin. He bounced off that goblin and landed on another and continued to bounce around the crowd gaining greater speed along the way.

Stick saw Clay fly across the field, just like how Green circled around above Sun. Stick tried to keep up with Clay's speed, but eventually, his body turned into a mirage until his foot slapped Stick across the face. He fell to the floor while Clay continued to bounce off other goblins and soldiers. Stick would have knocked from the kick if not for the numbing sensation of his jaw dislocating, keeping him awake. Even with Cossack and the other goblins here, he's still playing a desperate game of tug of war with Clay.

"Give up already, and maybe I'll give you a quick death!" Clay yelled. Stick placed his thumbs against the lower back of his jaw and gently but firmly grabbed his front row of teeth pushed his mandibles back in place. Then he used his healing spell. He got up, grabbed his sickle, and took a defensive stance. He's not giving up just yet.