Fitz finally came face-to-face with the demon that had been slaughtering his soldiers one after the other.

  The demon's minions had been guarding him the whole time as he ravaged the weaker elves ruthlessly. Once Fitz was in combat range, the demon ordered his men to get away, so he could duel with this new challenger.

  He wielded a great war-hammer. It appeared to be as heavy as Fitz himself, but he was wielding it singlehandedly with ease.

  “YOU ELF! STATE YOUR NAME SO I MAY ADD IT TO THE LIST OF MY FALLEN CHALLENGERS, I COMMEND YOU ON MAKING IT THIS FAR!” He shouted with pride.

  Of-course, Fitz did not understand the tongue of the demon, so he refraind from responding. It normally would have angered the likes of demons and beast-men who were hot-headed but—

  The hell-spawn did not charge. He was a demon as well as an outlaw, but he was also quite the skilled fighter which reaffirmed his position as the leader of this accursed group.

  Fitz was the first one to move. The elfian style did not rely on taking the offense first as it was a rather defensive style of combat, but Fitz could not wait any longer as this creature had already taken down alot of his comrades.

  Fitz used his agility, and small stature to try to cut his enemy’s hand off. The enemy appeared to be slow due to his sheer size, but the attack was blocked by the massive hammer in an instant.

  The hell-spawn was moving as fast as Fitz while carrying a monstrous weapon.

  Fitz leaped back a few steps as he needed to change his strategy.

  He had also been carrying a short sword as well, so he launched his daggers towards his opponent as a distraction whilst charging at the same.

  The demonic beast easily deflected the daggers, and even blocked the incoming slash.

  Their weapons were now clasped together. In matters of strength, Fitz was lacking against the brute force of the demon.

  He did not waste much time and narrowly leaped back again. Now he was losing options, his opponent was casually breaking all of his attack sequences that he had worked on for his whole life. This fight might prove a little too difficult for the elfian leader.

  The war-hammer when swung felt as if the air trembled. A single graze could have been fatal for Fitz so he did not rush in anymore.

  All the great elf warriors were quite capable in using their surroundings to their advantage especially the forest.

  Due to his great agility, which nearly matched the level of the sword-saint Graftel, he was able to use the trunk of a nearby tree as support to leap high above his enemy. He eventually reached the peak of one of the red-wood.

  His opponent could obviosuly not follow these movement so he simply took a defensive stance, but something astonishing happened.

  Fitz came down as fast as lightening with his sword pointed directly his enemy. His speed was far too overwhelming for anyone to block. It was of-course a clear win for the commander — alas, it all came falling down when his sword was blocked by the demon who sacrificed his left hand as a shield.

  Fitz's acrobatic movements had been made futile, and his attack had just failed. He himself almost received a blow straight to the gut from the massive hammer. He only narrowly escaped while leaving his sword stuck in the hand of the enemy.

  The demon broke in a fit of laughter, and then threw the sword back to his opponent:

  “SMALL CREATURES SUCH AS YOURSELF, LEAPING FROM ONE PLACE TO THE OTHER, ENTERTAIN ME QUITE A LOT. YOU MIGHT BE MORE WORTHY OF BEING MY PET THAN A CHALLENGER, SO WHAT SAY YOU?”

  Of-course, the mocking was wasted on someone who did not understand the language, but Fitz understood why the demon laughed which anegered him. His technique that he had honed for decades had just miserably failed him. He felt lost.

  He suddenly remembered the stakes of this battle — The villagers, his men and his leader who were all depending on him. Fitz could not give up just yet.

  Just as he was lost in these thoughts, he received a punch to the face by the demon who was bored to death while Fitz was thinking. It was a punch packing enough power to bash someone's skull in, but at the moment of impact, he had taken a step back while covering his face with his forearms. His arms felt broken after that, but were still functioning.

  Fitz retreated from the fight for a bit which severally angered the demon who was about to go on a rampage on the poor soldiers once again, but suddenly got surrounded by five captains. The minions of the demon had already been taken down. Only few bandits remained which were being taken down by the younglings.

  The demon tried to fight these captains, but instead got repelled swiftly. One captain was certainly something this hell-spawn could fight alone, but multiple — his chances were as slim as passing a camel through the eye of the needle.

  The captains did not take the offense, however, as they knew that it was the fight of their leader.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Fitz finally came back with a new weapon in-hand. It was a magnificent spear which appeared to have been enchanted. This weapon was rarely ever used by Fitz who considered it as a handy-cap for himself, but today, the moment demanded it.

  The demon grinned from ear to ear. He looked like the embodiment of evil. There were clear signs of injuries that he had sustained from the attack earlier as his hand was dysfunctional, but his movements were still as fast as before, and his strength had hardly diminished.

  They clashed again. This time Fitz was much faster and precise than before. He waited for the right opportunity, stalling his opponent, and only thursting his spear when he saw an opportunity.

  It was due to the flexibility, and range of the weapon that he was able to scrape his opponent few times as well, but as the demon’s skin was very tough and resilient. Minor cuts or slashed would not get the job done.

  The demon was furious. He could not hit his target. The same man who he had been playing with before was now dodging his blows, while countering as well. He knew that if this continued, the tide could shift.

  The demonic beast, frustrated, charged manically towards his challenger, but of-course the agility of Fitz was unmatched which made it ease for him to dodge any incoming attacks.

  This continued for a while. Fitz had even picked up one of his daggers while dancing around the battle-field. It gave him an unmatched advantage, however, his opponent was not giving in at all even though he was already bleeding from several slashes already, yet his movements remained unaffected.

  The rest of the battlefield had already decided its victors. There had been several dead from the elfin sides as well, but majority of the casualties were from the bandit’s side.

  Many were killed and few captured. The younglings were busy gathering the spoils while the captains were observing the match of their commander.

  Sarial after making sure that the situation was under control took half of his scouts to rush back to Graftel's aid. He still scouted the nearby area for any suspicious movements.

  Time passed, and neither party made any progress. When it led up to the final few moments of the battle, Fitz focused all his energy in one single strike. Sensing the incoming strike, the demon also readied himself. The spectators held their breaths as the conclusion drew closer.

  Fitz vaulted as fast as lightening towards his opponent who stood still. It looked like he would finally have managed to strike down the demon, but the next moment he was slammed to the ground by his opponent.

  The demon did not waste a single moment, and swung down his hammer as hard as he could to crush every bone Fitz had — the elf felt his life flashing before his eyes:

  'So this is it, huh, I hope the commander can protect the village,’ he thought in his final moments as the hammer came falling down on his ribcage—

  The victor had not been decided, however. Just at the final moment, Fitz gathered the last of bit of his strength, and thrusted his spear straight into his opponent's throat who overconfidently was looking around to find his next prey.

  The battle had concluded. Fitz's final words while looking towards his subordinates were:

  "For the vill......"

  All the younglings, and the captains alike were shocked at the result. Many of the younglings who had been trained, inspired by Fitz, were in tears. Things did not always go according to plan.

  There were two younglings, who had mastered intermediate healing magika, in the group as well. Alas, it was not good enough to bring back a dead man.

  It was a win for the elves, but none celebrated.

  *Graftel's Party*

  After departing from the village, the six led by Graftel made their way near to the bandit camp. They were to observe for any strange movements, but not to engage until Sarial or one of scouts gave the go-ahead.

  Upon arriving they hid themselves. As wood elves, they were one with the forest, and knew secrets about it that no other race knew, thus it was near impossible for their enemies to spot them.

  They waited, and waited but no word arrived. Graftel grew more and more worried about what had happened to the other party. He had never given such a huge responsibility to his subordinate, but he still trusted in Fitz's judgement, and ability.

  As time passed, the tension in the atmosphere heightened as there were yet to be any movements from the alleged camp. Graf had almost made his mind to go check on the other party, but some time before the first light of dawn, they saw a large number of men making their way out of the entance of cave.

  It was a single narrow entrance which blend with the cliff perfectly — enough to not make anyone suspicious. The enemy had made their move, and now it all depended on Fitz to achieve victory, but now was not the time to think about him, rather It was time for them to go to battle themselves.

  They discussed their strategy one last time to get everyone on the same page whilst awaiting the final message from the scouts of Sarial.

  At the first light the scout arrived. At that moment their plan commenced. They had already burned the cave entrance in their mind so finding it was no trouble at all.

  They entered in a defensive formation. Farelen, the one who had beaten the Giant Borman to a pulp, walked in the front carrying a mighty shield to defend against any incoming surprise attacks.

  The cave had several routes in it, but nothing very complex. The bandits were already confident that finding the cave, much less the entrance, will be near impossible so they made very little effort in hiding their presence.

  After a bit of walking around, the party heard some voices, and immediately hid themselves to get a look at their enemies.

  There were about ten to fifteen bandits. Few of them appeared to be just slave-guards, and did not even have the look of experienced soldiers.

  The remaining gave the impression of seasoned warriors who had only seen war since birth — every part of their body was covered in battle scars. These were pride for every warrior, and thus they made no effort in concealing them.

  Once the numbers were confirmed, the first wave of attack began. Two of the elite marksman elves shot down anyone in sight, while Farelen with his shield took a defensive stance in front of them.

  The poor guards did not survive for very long. The bandit warriors did not waste a second, and hid themselves immediately. A few even used the dead bodies as shields. They were battle-ready — common for someone in their profession.

  “COME OUT AND FIGHT LIKE MEN YOU COWARDS! YOU USE THESE BOWS ONLY BECAUSE YOU ARE SCARED TO FACE US!”

  One of the bandit mocked the elves. It was certainly rich coming from someone in his field of work.

  However, It was true, and did not sit right with Graftel who was an honourable warrior. He did not like to attack his opponents from a range — not that he did not respect archer's way of combat. It was something of a personal principle of his so he gave in at the enemy’s mocking, and ordered the marksmen to stop.

  “Come out! We will fight a duel one on one. Send anyone you deem worthy of sacrificing, that is if the leader himself is too scared to face me in single combat.” Graftel proclaimed.

  A bandit came forward. He was an elf himself — wielding a short-sword. The way he carried himself gave off the expression of a leader so Graftel took a stance as well. The fate of this group laid on the shoulders of the sword-saint.