The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4) by C.J. Aaron (graded readers txt) 📕

the weapon in Andr’s right hand, the soldier made a fatal error. Andr struck out with the blade of the Lei Guard in his opposite hand, piercing the man’s chest. The tip found the sensitive heart that remained hidden beneath. Before he could turn to address the next opponent, the weight of a body crashing into his side threw him off balance. Ramm’s latest arc of destruction had sent several bodies into the air. The uncontrollable tangent of one toppled the soldiers at his rear, throwing them into him.

Andr winced in anticipation as he stumbled. The deadly glee, the malicious intent written across the face of his newest attacker turned his stomach.

He would have no time to defend himself.

Andr gritted his teeth as he twisted his body away in desperation, throwing himself down toward the ground now slick with gore.

He felt the blade slice diagonally across his chest, cutting a line from his left breast to lower right abdomen.

Chapter 3

The ground raced to meet him, ending his short free fall. The impact was jarring, though it was dwarfed by the pain that lanced across his chest. He struck the ground on his back. The impact robbed the air from his lungs. Andr gasped, sucking in a deep, involuntary breath.

The wound across this chest and stomach would be devastating. He mentally chided himself for the potentially fatal carelessness. Wincing in pain, he worked his blades up in his defense.

Standing over him, straddling his legs, his executioner grinned in wicked delight. He’d reversed his hold on his blade as he moved in for the killing strike. There was nothing Andr could do in time. His death would be imminent. The soldier growled as he began his attack.

The descent of the murderous blow abruptly stopped. The eyes of the soldier bulged in apparent shock. The point of a blade burst through the front of his chest, tearing through the clothing and thin armor.

Andr twisted his legs to the side as the sword slipped from his would-be killer’s hands, falling harmlessly to the dirt. With a wet, sliding sound, the blade, soaked with blood, retreated through the dying soldier’s chest. The body was twisted before being tossed aside. Le’Dral occupied the space where his executioner had stood.

The captain’s clothes were spattered with blood. His sleeve was torn on his upper left arm; the red stain spread down to his elbow. His chest rose and fell with dramatic breaths as he panted from the exertion and the sudden excitement. The giant cavalry officer, Moyan, nearly as large as Ramm, cleared the enemies from Andr’s opposite side with a disastrous swipe of his sword. Millis pushed past, a host of his soldiers in tow, forming a wall of steel beyond the captain.

The narrow entrance to the woods was now clogged with the dead and dying as the fighting dissipated. The tide of the small but fierce battle had shifted in an instant. Another swing of his mighty war hammer cleared another clump of enemies from the fray. Only a handful remained; all were engaged by Millis and his companions. The massive phrenic slammed the butt of his weapon into the ground, standing ominously as the final blows of the battle proceeded.

Le’Dral wiped his blade on the tunic of a fallen soldier at Andr’s feet before returning the weapon to its sheath. He knelt over the mercenary. His face registered a mixture of worry and the lingering thrill of battle.

“Lie still, my friend,” the captain ordered. “We’ll have the mender look after that wound.”

Andr had yet to look at the slash that had torn across his chest. Though the wound hurt, a dull throbbing that covered his front, he was surprised by the lack of excruciating pain. He’d felt the sting of deep gashes before, yet this was muted in comparison.

The captain leaned forward, delicately moving the strip of flayed fabric that was matted to the gash. He gasped as he took in a full view of the damage. The fear washed from his face, replaced by a look of confusion.

Andr raised his head from the ground, looking at the object of Le’Dral’s attention. The absence of blood soaking his clothing was his initial observation. Only a small stain coated the frayed edges of his torn shirt. He would have figured he’d be covered by a deluge of blood that leaked from the deep wound.

The gash itself was more shocking. He’d felt the intense pressure of the blade as it dragged across his skin. The soldier had not held back. His strike was meant to be lethal. Even with little pressure, the contact should have proven severe. Only a thin red line of a cut ran from across his chest to his belly. The gash leaked a trickle of crimson, though the incision was still too small to splay open further.

“How …?” gasped Le’Dral.

For a moment, confusion settled over Andr as well. His eyes strayed to the trees of the Erlyn that rose high above his head. A wave of relief and comfort washed over him. The answer was clear.

“The Erlyn,” he whispered more to himself than in response to the captain, eliciting a frown and squinted eyes from Le’Dral.

“The woods granted me a gift,” he continued. “A naturally hardened skin known as the woodskin. A similar gift was given to Ryl when he was a captive here. Though I knew it was not impervious, I never had cause to test the durability.”

Andr sat up. The skin was sore as he moved, yet what should have been a lethal wound had been reduced to nothing more than a deep scratch. Le’Dral offered his hand, assisting the mercenary from the cold ground. The sounds of battle from inside the mouth of the forest ceased in a short, agonized wail. The flickering light from Vox’s orbs faded as each falling ember fizzled out as it reached the ground.

Le’Dral shrugged his shoulders as he patted Andr on the shoulder.

“My belief in what is and isn’t possible