Tycondrius lifted the human up by the neck. The man clawed at Tycon"s grip with his good arm and he kicked at his feet, unable to reach the ground. The response was good... but it was... wrong.
An annoyed frown etched into Tycon"s face. He was looking for a specific response: Repentance.
Why was no one repenting? He had specifically requested it.
Perhaps the man hadn"t heard him? A large amount of adrenaline should be coursing through the gentleman"s veins-- after all, his useless arm was a sliver of bone away from falling off of his body.
Tycon hated repeating himself, but circ.u.mstance seemed to demand it. He was used to shouting in hectic combat situations, but he wished the notion hadn"t annoyed him so.
"REPENT!!!" Tycon screamed into the man"s face, "--or your LIVES ARE FORFEIT!!!"
He changed his halberd grip, moving it up to just below the blade, "⌈Legionbreaker.⌋"
With the sharpened mana sheathing his weapon"s edge, he released the man"s neck with his offhand. For the briefest of moments, relief washed over the ruffian"s expression... Then Tycon struck the top of the blade with his fist, fully severing the man"s arm from his body.
Blood spilled onto the ground in a gruesome fas.h.i.+on, spurting the fellow"s life force energetically along with his heartbeat.
Tycon grabbed the man"s neck once more, slamming him into the fencing surrounding the Vanzano estate.
All the fellow had to do was repent. From Tycon"s memories, it didn"t seem so difficult. Was Tycon doing something wrong? Was he not being taken seriously?
...Well, the fellow in his grasp was going to bleed to death. At least that one could be an example to the others for not doing as they were told.
Tycon stabbed his weapon into the pinned man"s abdomen then into his chest. Then, he tossed the useless corpse onto the floor.
He would have been nicer, had the fellow repented properly.
Glancing back to Zenon for a.s.surance, the tall Librarian was watching in silence, an unmoving, ever-judging observer.
He glanced back to the thugs surrounding him. They were no markings of allegiance, not to the city of Silva, nor to any particular adventurer"s guild. They were unnamed trash.
Yet they had not yet knelt and begged for forgiveness?
It was odd. Had these people not experienced the tyranny of the Church of the Eternal Flame? In Tycon"s memories, it wouldn"t be an exaggeration to say it was a common occurrence.
Perhaps they were in shock? Tycon decided to continue on. He had only killed one man. Before he changed his tactics, he"d kill a second, just to be certain this approach was ineffective.
The same rule applied to long-range marksmans.h.i.+p. Shoot twice before adjusting your aim for other factors, like the wind, and misaligned crossbow sights.
Tycon regripped his halberd and swung it in a wide arc around his head, chopping into another man"s right side-- severing his arm at the elbow. There was more screaming-- not from that fellow, that fellow was dead. The man"s companions were screaming, drawing their weapons, their eyes rightfully s.h.i.+ning with fear.
It took them so long to react, though... Were they not often embroiled in such combat situations? They looked like a ragged bunch of thieves. Were they stunned by Tycon"s handsomeness? Pah. This was why he often wore a hood or helmet.
"Wait!! Stop this madness!!" A woman yelled-- the sharp-eyed one.
Still, it wasn"t what Tycon was looking for.
He"d continue on.
-
Tycon swung his halberd, clanging against a thug"s sword and forcing their arm back. With the opening, he then shoved his halberd"s point into the man"s throat.
Tearing the weapon to the left, Tycon stuck the blade"s edge into the side of a woman"s neck-- deep into the jugular vein. She released the sword in her hand and collapsed to the floor, convulsing from the blood loss.
Switching grips once more, Tycon kept his offhand on his halberd and reached for the dagger on his lower back.
⟬ Dynamic Weapon. Second-Circle Magical Short Sword. Weapon"s form can be changed to a bladed weapon of the wielder"s choice. Soulbound to host. ⟭
It was a lovely, multi-faceted weapon.
Tycon had a favorite weapon, which he used often, adventuring in the Kingdom. It was a whip, one with sharpened razor blades at its ends. It was particularly dangerous and peculiar in that it needed many hours of practice to become proficient in its use. He found it aesthetically pleasing.
Against stronger opponents, it was more useful as a whip, binding limbs or providing a painful distraction. Against Bronze-Rankers and below... it was quite cruel.
Tycon gripped the dagger"s hilt, charging it with mana. Glowing a radiant white, the weapon segmented, the metal stretched, and its pieces clanged together, rebuilt magically as a short sword.
With a forward-flick of his wrist, the blade"s segments loosened once more. A pliable "rope" of mana kept each section of edged-metal shrapnel together. Functionally, the Dynamic Weapon was his familiar whip, except unnecessarily stylish.
The segmented sword had wrapped around a human"s neck. Tycon pulled. The blades wrought havoc on the gentleman"s flesh, ripping into it... tearing, exposing the man"s windpipe to open air and spilling more fresh blood onto the street.
The woman-- the smart one, finally rushed forward, kneeling down at Tycon"s feet, "Please!! I"ll tell you everything!!"
Everything? No, that wouldn"t be good enough.
Tycon snapped his wrist to the side, his weapon reforming into its original short sword form. He pressed the short sword"s tip against the side of the woman"s neck. He"d make it quick.
"Optio," Zenon"s metallic voice resounded in his helmet.
Tycon froze his movements. No... Haha... His face still moved. He wasn"t aware of just when-- but he found that he was grinning.
Tycon steadily increased the pressure on his weapon, drawing blood from the woman"s neck.
"Optio, that"s enough," Zenon repeated himself. A boom of power thrummed from where the Centurion stood, tossing up dust and forcing the remaining humans to stagger a step back.
The woman quietly sobbed, the stones beneath her, wet with her cowardice.
Tycon tilted her head up with the flat of his blade, "Do you repent?"