A Gunslinger’s System in a World of Magic

[Would You like to imprint 'Witch's Hold' onto your Arcane Tapestry?]

The representation of the spell was a hand with long Witch nails clutching at nothing with such intensity while the representation of a formless force seemed to spread from it like an aura.

With a raised brow, Henry replied 'Yes' and the imprinting process began. He selected the back of his Left hand as the spot to place the spell. It was about the size of 'Shocking Grip' and seemed like just the spell to complete a backhand set of tattoos he hadn't even intentionally started.

While the pain of the imprint continued and caused him to grit his teeth, Henry made sure to keep his attention on the Orcs.

As he wasn't the only one striking them down though, their numbers were already dwindling. The goal had obviously been ambush but that had failed thanks to the quick reaction of the group. Also, the Bow-armed Orcs were not big enough or even capable enough to pose all too great a threat to their group.

Eventually, Henry's fired shot with 'Violent Retort' which earned him his seventh kill of the day also announced the end of it all.

A few Knights had gotten stabbed by Arrows but none of their injuries were life-threatening.

Henry glanced to the side at Andor to see him frowning deeply. He had gotten no kills. He hadn't come along with a ranged weapon and tossing his Spear on the chance of getting one kill in would have been foolish. He was tempted to do it a few times though but resisted and simply raised his shield to make sure he didn't get stabbed by the multiple fired arrows.

Henry might have commented on this but he turned around toward the slaves and his eyes widened to realize they had suffered the worst of the attacks.

Commanded by their Slavers to defend the Clerics with their bodies, they were restricted, or more accurately, forbidden from moving from their spots. This made them sitting ducks for the enemies' arrows. The few of them who were also armed with bows had to choose their shots wisely because the supply was limited and, should they run out, their lives might also quickly be forfeit.

Now that the danger had passed, the slaves were allowed to break away from the tight circle they had formed around the Mercenaries who had hidden behind that circle to 'protect the Clerics' at the expense of the slaves.

"Crisis averted," one of the Mercenaries said with a grin looking past the injured slaves at the Knights now putting away their bows into dimensional storage options,

"You guys did great."

"Well done protecting the Clerics," Sir Boyle said and he didn't sound sarcastic. And why should he?

He hadn't paid attention to how the protection was being done and, as far as he could tell, none of the Clerics had been injured so it was a job well done.

"It's why we're here," Gareth said with a hearty proud laughter. Not once did he spare a serious glance at the slaves who were now wrapping up wounds with bandages that were so quickly soaking through with their blood.

"Thank you," one of the Clerics said to Gareth and the other Mercenaries. She was the only female cleric among the four that had come with Boyle's squad. And the way she spoke made it seem like she was the mouthpiece of her fellow Clerics.

"Brethren," she said and the other three followed her to start chanting what sounded like a spell but was spoken with such devotion, it might as well be a prayer.

The Slaves became illuminated by luminous light and their blood stopped flowing out of their bodies. Their wounds sealed up and bandages were no longer required.

"You don't have to do that," one Mercenary said with a hand stretched out while the process was ongoing and with his eyes intent on the female Cleric's pretty face,

"You should save your magic for those who'll actually need it."

"And they don't?" The female cleric asked with a gesture at the Slaves whose faces showed off expressions of relief as their pain lessened/stopped.

"They're slaves," The Mercenary said as though that was an answer to the Cleric's question.

"So?" The Cleric asked. So far, not once had she raised her voice or had there been a change at all in her tone but Henry could still detect impatience.

The Mercenary either didn't detect it as Henry did or just didn't care,

"So there's no need to heal them," he insisted, "To be injured instead of you or any of the rest of us is why they're here. They don't need healing. Certainly not for mere scratches."

The cleric frowned but the healing was complete now.

"The Goddess blesses you," she said to the slaves with a small bow.

"Akreum." Her fellow Clerics chanted before moving away.

The female Cleric didn't. She observed the slaves and as they ran their hands across their now-healed wounds, they said words of thanks but didn't look up at her. Or at the Mercenary who had been against their healing.

With a sigh, the Female Cleric glanced at the Mercenary,

"We act as ordered by the Goddess Selene through her teachings and her Apostles. On our watch, all will be healed as required. Buffed as required and soothed in the luminescent grace of her Majesty.

Please, let us do what we are here to do."

While she included a plea, it was clear the Cleric was not seeking permission. The Mercenary smiled and gave her a mock bow,

"Of course." Find your next read on empire

He turned away from her and allowed himself a hateful glare at the Slaves before then engaging his fellows in conversation.

Henry had paid attention to the entire exchange. Compassion for the slaves from others besides him, Andor, and Eloise was good and might help to do what they'd have to do.

And then the female Cleric turned her eyes on him.

At first, Henry thought the attention was not quite intentional. Maybe she had just been looking in his general direction and their eyes happened to cross but, No. She looked at him and stared and he knew it was about the slaves.

[You have received 'Blessing of the Moon']

That notification he had gotten before they left the Citadel came to mind and he wondered if the Cleric knew of the Blessing, or even better, maybe she knew what it was for.

Meanwhile, Gareth paid very little attention to the exchange between his comrade and the Cleric because, from the moment he had left the encirclement of the Slaves, his eyes were on Henry's hands. They were on the guns he was holding.

The sight of those weapons, that were so uncommon in Alvareen and its environs and had already been said by Kayla to have been wielded by one of the attackers of the Caravan, aroused suspicion.

But, besides talking about how he looked and what he wore, Kayla had not been very descriptive about the enemy's guns.

But did she have to be?

Gareth thought about the last conversation he had with Kayla and remembered how she told him to pay attention to Henry and his fellow. And even Eloise, the Knight of the Citadel.

"Why?" Gareth had asked.

"Just don't let them out of your sight," Kayla had answered, awfully dodgy.

It was Kayla's words that had inspired Gareth to join

Boyle's Squad and those guns had his suspicious senses going haywire.

Henry felt those eyes on him and his reaction got him staring back at Gareth who smiled at him. But not a friendly one. It seemed wolfish. Like an animal coiling to hunt.

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