Agurno

Adventurer Level: 152

Orc – Kirkenian

"Huh," I grunted as I approached the town. "I remember it being a bit livelier than this."

'I agree. It's far too quiet for this time of year,' Gramr replied.

After suffering the drama during my meeting with the court in Climeta, I had decided to pay my brother a visit. There were several things weighing on me that I was not equipped to address. My brother, loathe as I am to admit it, has always been much better versed in matters of guilt and redemption.

Unfortunately, Climeta had no drivers available to take me to Kirkena. This was an obvious lie, and I knew it, but I opted to let it be. It hadn't been the first time the court had pressured the carters into refusing service to me, and pushing the issue would only make things harder for whomever had the misfortune of driving me.

So, after consulting a map, I decided to make my own shortcut straight to Talokam. It was quite the trek, but I made fairly good time and even got some hunting in. It had been fun in its own way, but I was looking forward to finding a cart in the relatively small border town.

Something was wrong, though.

There should have been farmers working their fields along the road I was on, but there weren't. Nor was there any foot traffic, an extreme oddity for a border town nestled between two allied nations. Finally, the town's meager gate was closed, and there wasn't a single guard in sight.

Where was everyone?

"Am I supposed to knock?" I said with a sardonic laugh.

As we approached the gate, I heard metal striking metal and distant shouts. It was an alarming, yet all too familiar sound.

'There is fighting,' my sword stated plainly.

"Shit," I grumbled.

I did not reach the point of living legend by rushing headfirst into every fight I came across. Preparation will always be the key to victory, but I'd had no chance to prepare myself. I debated finding a way around the fight and trying to find the next nearest town, but the urge to fulfill my role as a hero won out.

I walked up to the gate and pressed on it, confirming that it was barred from the inside. It wasn't exactly impressive, though, so I repositioned myself and drove my heel into it. The sound of wood shattering was completely expected, but the entire gate leaving its frame and slamming into the ground wasn't.

"What the shit?" I asked.

A glance at the hinges answered no questions, but then I noticed several long nails that had been ripped from their former positions.

"They nailed the gate shut?"

'A drastic measure. Must be a mighty foe. Will you help them?'

"I doubt they could afford it, but fighting a mighty foe is fairly rewarding," I chuckled as I stepped over the gate. "Think it might be the vampires we heard about?"

'Perhaps. Though, the air feels... Strange.'

"Maybe not vampires, then. Wylder? Another stray arch-fae?"

'No. This is something different. Darker.'

Gramr's curt answers were starting to set me on edge, more-so than the sounds of combat already were, so I let the conversation die out. The sword seemed more than happy to partake in silence. As the melody of battle grew louder I hid behind a building, deciding it would be best to scout the parties involved before leaping into the fray.

One side of the fight turned out to be pretty much what I expected. Mostly townsfolk who were rapidly pressed into service as soldiers. They wore armor that looked ill-fitting, used weapons that were new but hurriedly made, and handled themselves in a manner befitting someone who had never worn armor nor wielded a weapon before. There were few exceptions here and there, but those were obviously adventurers and guards.

The other side of the fight turned out to be a surprise, though. Bodies made of mostly mangled meat wielded weapons that reeked of cruelty whilst wearing little to no armor, as if their lives were of no concern. It practically screamed daemonic or necromantic horde, but the presence of kobolds and bakobolds in the midst of battle threw me off.

"What the fuck?" I asked under my breath.

'Those are daemons, are they not?'

"Maybe, but what are the lizards doing?"

'They appear to be fighting alongside the villagers, do they not?'

"Huh... You're right. But why?"

'Does it matter?'

"I guess not."

I walked out from behind the building and entered the fight. Dwarves, elves, orcs, gnomes, and even kobolds were wary of my sudden appearance on the battlefield. Some even shied away from me.

The daemons didn't seem to care, though, and threw themselves at me with reckless abandon.

I carved through the first dozen or so with one slash each. A couple of them took two, which was a bit of a surprise considering they were unarmored. I noticed a group of adventurers guarding a dwarf in somewhat fancy armor, so I began carving my way toward them.

"Woah, you're a big one," one of them said as I approached. "Please tell me you're with us."

"Nah, just having a stroll and carving up some daemons," I replied with a smirk.

"Agurno!"

I turned toward the voice and almost had trouble recognizing its source. It was an orc by the name of Snithin Olmaxi, the regional director of the Venator's Bureau who normally spent his days serving booze. He'd been the one who gave me the reference that I had needed to enter Climeta and work for the court.

"Thought I'd run into you here," I laughed. "Though I was hoping it would be under different circumstances. Is that your armor?"

He nodded, raising his arms to show it off properly. It was rare to see an orc in full plate armor. Some would attribute it to bravado, and others would claim that the armor is cumbersome. The real reason was that the cost of outfitting an orc in that much metal could buy a relatively nice home in most countrysides.

The blood covering the armor made it obvious that it was functional rather than fashionable. Snithin was wearing the armor not to demonstrate his wealth, but to enable himself to inflict more damage upon the enemy. I nodded in respect.

"What brings you by?" he asked.

"I feel that's a conversation that could be had later," the fancy, well-armored dwarf said. "Greetings, Agurno. I am Mayor Jamuk Morathi. Your fame precedes you, and I would request your aid in defending our humble township. What's your price?"

"Five gold, room and board for as long as I need to recover from the battle, and your best cart to Kirkena," I replied. "A magicart, if you have one."

"Acceptable."

"Excellent. So... Do I just kill all of these daemons, or is there one in particular that needs killing?"

My question was punctuated by the sound of something heavy smashing into the ground. It was hard to tell if the dwarves were startled by the sound, or if the impact actually lifted them into the air. Probably the former, considering the weight of their armor.

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I watched as the daemons pulled back and began to form up near the wall. As they parted, a particularly well-armored daemon walked through the freshly breached gate. It started to approach some battle-weary kobolds and began to monologue.

"That one, I suppose," I said.

"Agurno, the kobold it's walking towards is an important figure to this town," the mayor said softly. "It would be bad if he's killed."

"Got it."

Things happened pretty fast from that point. I began to jog in their direction as one of the bakobolds threw a spear. I broke into a full run when the daemon turned away for a moment, then turned back and sent the bakobold flying. Finally, I used dash to interrupt the daemon's attempt to kill one of the kobolds.

The daemon and I locked eyes for a moment. A spark of amusement flashed within a coldness that had likely taken centuries to form. The daemon leapt back and began to study me.

"Woah, you's really big!" the kobold I just saved said.

I ignored it, keeping my attention carefully trained on the daemon. I had successfully blocked it, but its strike had been powerful enough to make my hand and forearm numb. Had it been trying to make an example of the kobold, or was that just its normal swing?

"It would appear that I have found a worthy challenge," the daemon said with a smirk. "I am known as Hirgarus the Decimator. And you?"

The daemon's name was familiar to me, but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it. Nor did I have time to dwell on the matter.

"I am Agurno, an orc of many titles," I replied. "You trespass upon lands that are under my protection."

"Agurno. I recognize that name. Brother to High Chief Ulurmak of the Unified Chiefdoms. Interesting that a town within the Empire of Calkuti would be under your protection. I wonder at the political ramifications."

A statement that was partly correct, but begged for a correction. If the daemon knew of my brother and I, then he should also know that I have never been politically affiliated. Or, failing that, he would know that the Unified Chiefdoms were allied with the Empire of Calkuti.

I almost smiled at the familiarity of the tactic. Keep your opponent talking while you size them up. And, sure enough, his eyes were tracking my every movement.

"I am not politically affiliated," I explained with a sigh. "As an adventurer, I am free to come and go as I please in any nation that has not expressly forbidden such rights. Furthermor, the Unified Chiefdoms are allied with the Emp-"

My casual demeanor suddenly dissipated as I sprang forward with a surprise attack. The daemon recovered from the shock quickly, but not quite fast enough to avoid my strike. His free hand fell to the ground with a soft thud.

His blade blocked my next strike and attempted to parry, but I spun and slashed him across the chest. He leapt back in an attempt to gain enough distance to reevaluate the situation, but I pressed my attack. He twisted out of the way of one slash, but the back-slash caught him and opened the armor on his shoulder, bleeding the flesh beneath.

He hissed at me and went on the offensive, but I was prepared. The blow was strong, but I caught it with Gramr's cross-guard and safely angled it away from me. Then I landed a bone-shattering kick to the daemon's knee, forcing him to the ground.

I grabbed his sword hand and forced his blade toward the ground, then raised my sword for the finishing blow. A mad, bloodthirsty grin spread over my face at my impending victory. But my grin vanished when the daemon caught my sword hand with his free hand.

The free hand which I had severed. I glanced at where it had fallen, and it was still laying on the cobble. A new hand? How?

The daemon and I locked eyes, and the same type of grin that had been upon my face a moment earlier spread over his features. We were locked in a stalemate, though. His sword was captured, his knee shattered. There was nothing he could-

Hirgarus suddenly pushed up with unexpected force and sent me reeling. I barely managed to parry the strike intended for my abdomen as I flew back. He tried to advance, but I leapt backward the moment my feet touched the ground and began to analyze the situation.

The daemon's armor was bloodied, but blood was no longer flowing from the slashes I had given him. His knee was no longer bent at an improper angle. His hand had regrown.

"Healing magic?" I asked.

"No," Hirgarus replied, still grinning madly. "I fear that it's much worse for you than mere magic. I regenerate. Constantly, and without limit."

Hnarse-shit. It must have some sort of limitation. The energy requirement would be immense. Even if it were entirely magical, the demands would be monstrous.

"Allow me a guess as to your thoughts," the daemon smirked. "You're likely thinking that my regeneration is rooted in magic. I'll confirm that. You must also be thinking that it has limits. That the magical requirements must be far too much to maintain such an ability for an extended period of time. But that's where you're wrong."

A pit began to form in my stomach as I realized that I had heard of such an ability before. And then the odd sense of familiarity that I had felt when I'd heard the daemon's name suddenly came to mind. Hirgarus the Decimator, a daemon general during the previous hellish invasion. Also been known as Hirgarus the Immortal.

"Ah, you were part of the last daemonic invasion. Were you not swallowed up by King Yssinirath?" I asked. "How does one escape the stomach of a High Dragon?"

"I don't have any recollection of that," the daemon shrugged nonchalantly. "Not that it matters. I'm here now, much to your misfortune."

I stared at the blood still dripping from his armor, and a cold anger lit within me. There were two rules that Hirgarus was claiming to be exempt from. Two rules so absolute that none had ever found even a single exception.

The first was that power always has a cost. The second was that if it bleeds, it can die. I felt a duty to bring these rules to bear on the smug daemon general.

"Daemons is made of magics," the kobold I rescued said.

The kobold was correct in its assessment. Daemons were known to be creatures of magical essence, made flesh by the very magics with which they are comprised. A powerful enough daemon could, in theory, create a body that could regenerate almost indefinitely.

Almost.

The mad grin began to form upon my mouth once more. Things weren't quite as hopeless as they had initially seemed. There were two things that the daemon didn't yet realize.

"Have you rested enough to continue our contest?" the daemon asked with a smirk.

"Certainly," I replied.

We lunged for each other, our blades slamming into one another with enough force to shatter any normal sword. The numbness returned to my arm, but the daemon staggered back a step. It was the briefest of opportunities, but it was all I needed.

Gramr moved at a speed which would make a race-hnarse jealous, parting first the air, and then the daemon's neck. Before the head finished toppling from his shoulders, I raised my off-hand.

"Onrefni tsac!" I shouted.

The flames enveloped Hirgarus, who fell to his knees. His flesh sizzled and carbonized, falling from the daemon's bones and leaving behind a sizzling skeleton wearing freshly scorched armor. It took a moment for the regeneration to regrow his head and body, confirming my ability to gain enough time for a breather.

I looked at the other daemons, who were watching the fight with fear upon their mangled features. Hirgarus was had, but thankfully he didn't know it yet. Still, it was possible that he would demand help from his army.

Like the daemons, the townsfolk were nervously watching the fight. They knew that their victory was tied to my own. If I couldn't beat Hirgarus, they had no chance of doing so.

And if I were able to defeat the immortal Hirgarus, what chance would normal daemons have against me? They were well aware that even if they were able to subdue the rest of the populace, I would carve through them until there was nothing left. The entire battle rested on the shoulders of two champion fighters.

"This is going to take some time," I called over my shoulder. "I need you to keep the rabble off of me."

"Got it," Snithin shouted back.

"We'll helps too," the kobold I rescued said, helping a bakobold off of the ground. "Or we'll tries to."

"Time?" Hirgarus asked as his head finished regenerating. "You think time is going to benefit you?"

"Yes," I said, slashing at his eyes.

He rolled backward and laughed.

"Fool. Time is my boon, not yours. I am indefatigable. I am invincible. Be it minutes, hours, or days, I'll eventually outpace you in this fight and you will fall."

"Your essence must truly be powerful for you not to have noticed yet," I chuckled.

"Noticed what?" Hirgarus growled.

"Oh, you'll see."

I leapt forward and slashed at him as he tried to stand. He rolled to my right, narrowly avoiding my follow-up, as well. We clashed blades and kneed at each other, but were evenly matched.

We leapt back in unison, but the daemon followed through with a lunge. I parried and replied with a riposte that drew Gramr across his belly. The armor held up just enough to keep Hirgarus from being split in two.

The daemon howled in pain and swung wildly, grazing the back of my off-hand. It wasn't a deep slash, but it stung. I leapt back and let him regenerate, watching as my wound slowly closed.

My own regeneration was one of the two things that Hirgarus hadn't realized. Those with royal blood like my brother and I are able to heal ridiculously fast. This healing ability was further compounded by the various enchanted trinkets I was wearing, which made me able to regenerate small wounds nearly as fast as Hirgarus could.

It wasn't true regeneration, though. I couldn't regrow my extremities, and lethal damage would still kill me. So I'd been told, at least. I'd never had the opportunity or desire to test the claim.

But the real benefit of this regeneration was that it made it much harder for me to become tired. This combined with the amulet that allowed me to use magic to nourish myself allowed me to fight for weeks without rest. That couldn't win me the fight on its own, though.

The second thing that Hirgarus didn't realize was that Gramr had a mage-bane blade. The sword itself didn't even seem to realize it, but I had noticed it pretty early on in our time together. Whenever I slashed or stabbed a user of magic, they had a tough time using their spells.

I had shrugged it off at first, believing it to be an effect of nerves, but then I had cut myself whilst polishing the blade. A quarter of my magic core disappeared before Gramr could even begin to tease me for my incompetence. Since then, I had been testing the sword on everything that I could. The only creatures even somewhat resistant to its effects were the wylder, but even their spells became less effective once Gramr bit into them.

Hirgarus was using his own essence to rebuild his body, and seemed to be doing so unwittingly. Each slash of Gramr took some of his magic from him and forced him to use more of that magic to regenerate. I was also the better swordsman, so the fight was all but won.

The only question was how long it would take for the daemon's hubris to catch up with him.

"DIE!" Hirgarus screamed as he leapt at me.

I parried and slashed, then ducked the daemon's backswing. The slash had fully opened his chest, but it quickly began to close. I took a deep breath and activated several of my skills, launching a flurry of stabs, spins, and slashes that would completely annihilate just about anything else.

The daemon's sword managed to deflect some of the blows, but by the time I was done his armor was in shambles and blood was practically leaping from his body. I took a step back to catch my breath, and the daemon once again regenerated.

"This is gonna take a while," I sighed.

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