Chapter 40 – Clash!
Lance dug his heels into the horse's flanks and charged out of the hut without hesitation.
As a knight, trampling foot soldiers should have been child's play. Even back then— with no armor and nothing but a half-broken horse — he had still managed to cut through a dozen men with sheer momentum.
Sure, some of that was thanks to the "Selmy template" backing him, but the fact remained: foot soldiers against a mounted knight were at a natural disadvantage.
Yet as he closed the distance, Lance felt unease creep up his spine.
The massive man ahead of him — Ben — stood perfectly calm, showing not the slightest trace of fear.
And the woman was gone.
He reacted instantly, flattening himself against the horse's neck.
Sure enough — thwick!
An arrow hissed past, close enough to shear a few strands of his hair. Cold sweat prickled down his back.
"Shame…"
From the shadows, Wenda sighed softly and nocked another arrow.
This time, she didn't aim for his head. Her sights dipped — and fixed on the horse's eye.
He was crouched low, well aware now — no chance for a clean headshot. And that armor… unless she hit him in the face, an arrow would barely slow him down.
But a horse had no such protection.
Thrum!
The string snapped. The arrow flew — and struck true.
It buried itself in the horse's eye socket, and the beast went down hard.
Had Lance been a heartbeat slower, the sheer weight of the animal would have crushed his leg — if not killed him outright.
But he was quick.
In the instant before impact, he planted a foot against the horse's flank, kicked off, twisted in the air, and rolled twice across the dirt — bleeding off the momentum.
Even so, the force of the fall left his chest tight and aching.
Then came the footsteps. Heavy. Fast.
No time to breathe. Lance rolled again —
BOOM!
The warhammer hit like a falling boulder, leaving a deep crater where he'd been a moment before. The ground itself trembled from the impact.
Lance's head snapped up, eyes wide.
If he'd been just half a second slower, that would've been enough to send him to the Seven to plead his case in person.
Gods… how is he this strong?!
Ben's hammer had to weigh fifty pounds at least — more, maybe — yet he swung it as if it were a child's toy.
That kind of raw, terrifying strength… Only a young Robert Baratheon could have rivaled it.
But there was no time to dwell.
Lance surged to his feet, gripped his longsword in both hands, and took advantage of Ben's momentary recovery.
With a roar, he raised the blade overhead and brought it down in a furious arc.
"RAAAAH!"
Steel flashed, hissing through the air like a falling star.
Ben, hammer still low, had no time to bring it back up — yet instead of fear, he only grinned.
Mocking.
Thwick!
The sound came again — that dreaded whistle of an arrow.
Lance twisted at the last possible second, altering his strike.
The arrow skimmed his cheek, leaving a burning line of pain in its wake.
Damn it!
He'd dodged — barely — but the sudden motion tore at his muscles. His sword arm screamed, his thigh spasmed. Something had pulled.
And worst of all — the interruption had given Big Belly Ben time to recover.
The hammer came swinging for him again, faster than he would have thought possible for a man that size.
"Bloody hell!"
One tank, one ranged DPS — they were treating him like a raid boss!
Why not throw in a mage, a rogue, and a healer while you're at it?
His blood boiled with frustration.
Snarling, he slid one hand to brace the flat of his sword and caught the hammer strike head-on.
CLANG!
The impact rang like a church bell. Even the fine blade Ser Barristan had gifted him bent under the sheer force.
The blow lifted him clean off his feet, sent him skidding backward through the dirt.
He slammed to one knee, drove the blade into the mud like a stake — and somehow, somehow managed to halt his tumble.
Lance's chest throbbed painfully, ears ringing from the last impact.
Gods, the man's strength was monstrous — as if he'd just been hit full-force by a charging brown bear.
And worse still — he had no idea when the hidden archer might loose another arrow.
"Seven hells…"
His breath came fast and ragged. Ever since waking up in this world, he had never been driven into such a corner. Back at Duskendale, he had been the one launching ambushes — not the one getting ambushed!
Being treated like a raid boss by these bastards was beginning to make his blood boil.
Seeing Ben heft that massive hammer again, Lance grit his teeth.
"Damn it!"
And then — to Ben's astonishment — Lance surged forward.
He raised his battered, bent sword and swung it in a vicious horizontal slash — straight for the man's wide, unarmored belly.
"This madman— he's going for a double kill?!"
Ben felt a jolt of fear for the first time.
Sure, if he landed this hammer strike, the knight's armor wouldn't save him — it would crush him to a pulp. But if that sword landed first, it would gut him like a hog.
They were so close now that Wenda, watching from the shadows, froze. She held her breath, bowstring taut — but didn't dare loose.
One wrong shot could hit Ben instead.
"You'd trade your life for mine?"
Ben snarled, but didn't hesitate.
He clenched every muscle, wrenched the hammer's trajectory mid-swing, and slammed it against the oncoming blade instead of the knight's head.
BOOM!
Steel met iron with a sound that made the ears ring.
Lance's sword bent even further under the force — warped nearly beyond recognition.
If not for the White Bull's impeccable craftsmanship, the blade would have shattered on the spot.
"Your sword's finished, boy!"
Ben sneered triumphantly.
"Is it, now?"
Lance's head lifted slowly, his bright blue eyes glinting with something far more feral than fear.
And for the first time, Ben felt a cold ripple run down his spine.
It was the same sensation he felt only when standing before his commander — the Smiling Knight.
The sense that he wasn't fighting a man — but some untamed beast.
He thought of retreating, just for a heartbeat.
Too late.
Lance let the ruined sword fall from his hands — and lunged.
Before Ben could react, the knight was on him, arms locking around his torso in a crushing embrace.
"A knight's weapons—"
Lance's voice was a growl, inches from his ear.
"—are not limited to swords."
And then he bit down.
Hard.
"AGHHHHHHH!"
Ben's scream tore through the clearing as Lance's teeth sank deep into the side of his neck, puncturing flesh and severing vessels.
Blood gushed hot and fast, spraying across the knight's face.
Ben thrashed like a maddened bear, hammer flailing — but the length of its haft made it impossible to land a strike at this range.
Rip!
Flesh tore free in Lance's jaws.
Ben dropped the hammer in blind panic, raised both fists, and hammered them down on the knight's armored back like a great ape beating its chest.
The blows reverberated through the plates, bruising him, but they didn't stop him.
A guttural snarl rattled from Lance's throat.
He bit again.
CRUNCH!
Hot arterial blood flooded his mouth, spraying over his chin as his lips curled into a savage grin.
He'd found it — the artery.