Accidental Healer

The plan--per the usual–is simple. Nick, Daevon, Durkil, and Alex would engage while I provide support with barriers, buffs and heals if necessary.

Meanwhile, Mischief would stay hidden, ensuring no one escaped to alert the other camps. Surprisingly Mischief was very excited for his role, hoping that several would try and he could give them the ‘ol Mischief surprise.

“This first camp has about twenty-five fighters,” I remind them. “Most are spellcasters. That means slow, weak bodies, but powerful attacks—and most will have magical defenses similar to mine.”

Nick looks thoughtful before asking. “Do we know if you can stack barrier spells? Twenty layered spells would be pretty freaking annoying.”

Had I ever tested if barriers stacked? Nope. Not once. Elise and I had cast them at the same time before, but we never checked if they layered or just replaced each other. And now that Nick asked, I was realizing that was kind of a stupid oversight.

Of course Nick would think of that. Stupid Nick, asking stupidly smart questions. Now I have to think about it. I hate that he made me think about it.

“Well…I don’t think so. But I’m pretty sure we’ll figure it out soon enough.” I shrug.

“Good thing these two don’t speak our language. Otherwise, they’d be reconsidering their life choices right about now.”

I give Alex a flat stare. He smiles innocently back.

“Look, just stay close so I can keep the dome up, but don’t rely on my shields to carry you. Fight like you don’t have me.”

“Ahh don’t say that boss, we’ll always be together.” Nick bats his eyes at me.

Mischief flicks an ear in what I think is amusement.

I roll my eyes and push to my feet. “Let’s just go before Nick finds another question to ruin my day.”

At my words Mischief disappears.

The rest of us aren’t far behind exploding from cover, sprinting toward the camp.

Durkil reaches the enemy first—at full speed, he’s well beyond a peak human, his footfalls shaking the dirt. Alex isn’t far behind, his claymore gleaming in the sun.

Daevon and Nick lag slightly, keeping themselves at range.

The camp is completely unfortified. No walls, no watchtowers—just wooden cabins with pitched roofs covered in fir branches. A garden pavilion sits near the center, with several creatures tending to the plants.

They are tall, slender humanoids, covered in deep purple scales that transition to bright yellow at the head and neck. Most wear robes and carry staves or books. A few wield long spears with serrated metal tips.

They are not prepared for us at all.

Durkil crashes into the first spellcaster like a freight train. He’s replaced his tree-stump club with another and brings it down hard, collapsing the creature like an accordian before it even raises a defense.

Alex cuts down another, his claymore carving straight through its midsection.

Nick fires an arrow through the throat of a third. But that’s the last free kill we get before the camp erupts into motion.

For a moment, chaos. The camp erupts—spellcasters stumbling backward, some tripping over each other. The spearmen hesitate—then someone barks an order. The shift is immediate. Casters scatter, spearmen lurch forward, snapping into formation.

I raise the dome and flare defenders aura. Barrier spells already up.

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Durkil and Alex engage the spearmen head-on. They’re outnumbered five to two and the scaly creatures seem to be built for agility. Alex has made strides in that stat but he is under leveled and not an agility specialist.

Durkil is faster but still a poor match for the speed of his foes.

Outside the dome, twenty casters unleash hell.

Fire. Ice. Lightning. Shards of green crystal that explode as they impact against the dome. I flinch as they hit.

But, just as before my dome of protection holds strong.

Nick doesn’t stand idle, he unleashes arrow after arrow towards the spear fighter, but they are covered in magical barriers that absorb the hits.

Daevon’s lightning arcs through the air—adding to Nick's damage on the magically shielded lizard men.

As planned the melee happens inside the dome. Meaning the spellcasters can’t add support to their spear wielding friends. It doesn’t keep them from trying however as they continue to rain down attacks.

I keep a close eye on my mana as it ticks away. It's a manageable pace but unlike the rocks the zombies lobbed this fight was on a timer.

The spearmen attack in perfect rhythm—lunging, pulling back, lunging again.

Durkil blocks the first spear, countering with a heavy downward swing of his own. It creates a shockwave that sends a lizard staggering.

Alex tries to force an opening, but their reach is too much. Even his claymore can’t break their defense—every time he moves in the lizard men dance away and he is forced to move back, staying within the protection of the dome.

The stalemate won’t last.

We need to crack them before they wear us down.

I glance at Daevon. Waving my arms wildly in a gesture that I HOPE indicates bigger attacks.

He nods, and I hope it’s because he understands the message. We need a big attack to rupture the barrier in one go rather than repeated small attacks.

Gripping his gnarled wooden rod, lightning crackles. It looks as though he is using some kind of charging spell.

The air crackles. The static hum crawls across my skin, sharp and electric. Then—BOOM. A bolt slams into the spearman, snapping its head back. Its barrier ignites, flickering like shattered glass before shattering entirely. The smell of burned scales fills the air. The lizard staggers—wide-eyed, twitching.

The shock leaves him reeling. Durkil doesn’t hesitate.

His club swings sideways, catching the lizard in the ribs. The force sends it flying twenty feet, where it lands in a crumpled, twitching heap.

Nick fires a shot into the eye of the smoking lizard man leaving no doubt.

I look back to Daevon with a gleeful smile waving my arms. We have a strategy now. “More!” I shout, still waving my arms.

Daevon delivers.

A second lizard takes another of Daevons charged electric shocks just like before it's shield collapses, leaving a gaping, burning wound across its torso.

Nick finishes the job—an arrow straight through the skull.

The remaining three fighters hesitate. No doubt sensing the shift in the fight. They shift their strategy.

Instead of continuing the fight with Alex and Durkil, two break off and charge directly at Daevon, Nick, and me.

I remember Richard adjusted to the same tactic when we fought. Wasn’t it a common strategy to kill the healer first?

They must have realized that as long as I’m standing, they can’t win. I step forward.

Parrying the first attack easily. The second comes in fast, aiming for my throat—I sidestep, redirecting the spear so it sails just past my ear.

Then—I grab the shaft. And I yank. The lizard stumbles forward, off-balance—

I slam a boot into its chest, sending it sprawling onto the ground.

Daevon and Nick unleash everything.

The lizard twitches as lightning courses through its body—then Nick’s arrow finds its skull.

I turn to the second spearman. Even through the alien slits it has for eyes I can see the all too common emotion of battle.

Fear.

Before it can react, Alex rushes from the side, swinging his claymore in a brutal arc.

The fight is over. While the other two spearmen charged me Alex and Daevon overwhelmed the last remaining before Alex turned his blade to the last.

Once the spearmen are down, the magic casters collapse.

Without their frontline holding back Durkil and Alex, the fight turns into a slaughter.

We cut through them quickly. Even with their shields, they can’t sustain under continuous attacks.

The good news? It doesn’t appear they can stack barrier spells.

In minutes, it’s over.

I glance at my team, watching them breathe heavily, weapons dripping.

This fight felt much different than any other I had been in so far. We deployed a simple yet effective strategy. It paid off.

We’re learning.

The others begin looting. I turn as Mischief saunters into camp.

“Two of them tried to run.” he says showing his bright white teeth in the scariest smile I have ever seen.

“Oh yeah? How’d that go for them?”

Mischief’s teeth glint in the light. “Unsuccessfully.”

I chuckle.

Durkil approaches, carrying a massive double-sided axe. He says something in his language, and Mischief translates.

“He wants to know if he can keep it.”

I shrug. “Of course. Tell him from now on, whatever he loots is his. He doesn’t need to ask.”

Mischief translates, and Durkil nods solemnly.

I glance at the others. “Same goes for all of you. Keep what you kill.”

There are murmurs of approval as the group gets back to looting.

Mischief tilts his head. “You are becoming quite the warlord, Layton.”

I smirk. “What do you know about warlords anyway? I prefer efficient.’”