Chapter 222: No Pressure (1/2)
”Hurry! Get below deck!” Mike told the others while sending a mental message to Red, commanding him to remain below the waterline until he was needed. From the looks of it, they would have to fight their way out now.
As he reached the entrance descending into the ship, he nearly ran into a marine hustling up the stairs. For a moment, the pair of them just stared at one another, but then the Tenundian raised his cutlass with a war cry. A quick stab through the chest was enough to silence the man, and while he was in the process of collapsing, Mike pulled him back onto the deck to keep the stairs free.
”Come on.” He motioned for the others to follow, and started heading in. Hopefully, they could find the prince without too much difficulty.
In keeping with his luck, however, the first landing ended with three possible options. First, there appeared to be a cabin set in the very rear of the ship, likely once belonging to the captain. Additionally, there was a second deck stretching towards the fore, seemingly designed for crew living spaces and cannon emplacement. Finally, the stairs continued heading down, evidently leading into the cargo hold.
[What to do? The captives are probably being held in the lowest level, but I can't exactly leave these other places uncleared. That would be just asking for someone to come stab us in the back. Guess I have no choice.]
”Alright, we're splitting up. Lily, I want you to clear this deck. There are probably still some Tenundian marines, a few of which might be Tier 2, so be careful. Tal and Sera, I want you to go down and see about releasing the captives. If the prince is there, secure him and bring him back here.” He whispered quietly once they had grouped up on the stairs.
”What about you?” Sera hissed, looking meaningfully at the door in front of them.
”I'm taking this one.” He nodded towards the cabin. In all likelihood, the Tenundian elites were staying here, which meant it would be the most dangerous task.
”Now, we don't have much time-”
The door to the cabin opened, and Mike made eye contact with a grizzled looking marine standing in the doorway, who was just as confounded by their appearance as they were.
”Go!” Mike yelled before hurling himself into the room spear first, driving the marine forward in the process. His enemy succeeded in diverting the path of his attack, taking only a minor scratch along his side. However, he couldn't stop Mike's momentum, so the pair of them ended up sprawled just inside the cabin.
As he rolled to his feet, he took a look around the room, seeing another two marines who were in the process of getting up themselves. Judging from their appearance, and the higher quality gear, he surmised that these must be the Tier 2 soldiers stationed on this ship.
[Good. If I can take care of these three here, it will make the next step easier.]
The first to move was the marine he'd pushed into the room initially. He was large and heavily bearded, with a gut that suggested an over fondness for food and drink, but he moved with surprising speed and grace.
Whipping a pair of boarding axes through the confines of the small cabin, he drove Mike's spear down and away, attempting to deliver a decapitating strike. It was a valiant attempt that would have worked on other opponents, but not one with Mike's variety of skills and ridiculous attributes.
Rather than attempting to bring his spear up to protect himself, he simply reached out with one hand, placed his palm against the man's chest, and summoned a small, but intense, blast of flame, punching a hole straight through to his back.
As the man collapsed, a look of shock on his face, one of the other marines gave a cry of anguish.
”AHH! Gerard!” The woman screamed before running at Mike with her sword held in a two-handed grip. ”Damn you!”
”Kathy, no! Don't! We need to fight him together!” The last of the three added, desperately trying to free his own sword from its scabbard. Unfortunately for him, it seemed to be stuck.
Mike slid to his left, avoiding the woman's overhead chop and moving to block her follow up attack with the Fang of the Primal. As soon as the blow had landed, he kicked out with his right foot, catching her in the midsection and driving her to her knees, gasping and retching.
With a grimace, he finished the woman off by neatly stabbing through back, aiming for her heart. When she went limp, he turned to face the last of the marines, who had finally succeeded in free his sword.
He was of average height, but had a lanky, almost malnourished appearance, which strangely seemed to fit the look of growing despair on his face. ”Your him, aren't you? The Dragonknight whose been causing so much damage for the assault forces.”
Feeling a tinge of pity, Mike nodded while bringing his spear up to the ready.
The man laughed in a slightly maniacal way, ”She told me this mission would get me killed, I just didn't believe her. Oh well, at least I can go out like a soldier. Come on, give me your best shot!”
”Alright.” Mike answered quietly while falling into a stance designed to facilitate a quick thrust. Once he was ready, he launched himself forward in a blinding flash, punching forward with his spear.
The marine, perhaps guessing at the nature of the attack, dodged to his left with all the speed available to him, narrowly avoiding a lethal blow as a line was scored across one arm. Recovering quickly, the man whipped his sword in a horizontal slash, aiming for his opponent's head.
Although he was a little surprised by the efficiency of the evasion and counterattack, Mike wasn't too concerned. His pure physical abilities had long ago reached the level of superhuman, thanks to overlapping bonuses from his skills and titles. So, even though he wielded superior skill and strategy, the Tenundian had no chance of victory.
With a small motion, Mike leaned back, allowing the blade to pass harmlessly in front of his face. A maneuver that would have been unthinkable during his own life, but occurred almost naturally for him. The whole situation struck him as being slightly ludicrous when he thought about it. Even as he caught his opponent across the throat with a return stroke of his spear, he found himself marveling at the change a few months had made.
In his previous life, he'd had all the athletic talent of a particularly lumpy potato, and even when he was reincarnated, he initially struggled to hold his own against even the weakest of enemies. Yet, here he was now, easily dispatching three people who were considered elite warriors of a nation's military. People who had probably been training for years to reach that point.
[I know I don't really have any right to complain, all things considered, but the System is really unfair.]