But whereas it had overcommitted, Beam had merely faked the motion. The hobgoblin was stood over where he thought Beam to be, its fangs widened in eager anticipation, as it raised its fist high into the air, about to deliver the final blow.
Yet, Beam wasn't there. He was already by its side, his own sword swinging towards its unprotected midsection. The hobgoblin's eyes managed to flicker and acknowledge him, but its body had yet to respond.
Beam's blade dug in, tearing out a chunk of flesh. The hobgoblin immediately buckled to compensate for the overwhelming wound. But that buckle cost it its life, as Beam plunged the point of his sword through its neck and allowed it to fall to the ground.
He could hardly describe the satisfaction he felt in dealing with a hobgoblin so comfortably. But even as his lips fought to curve into a smile, as they sought to enjoy the victory – the true enemies were up ahead, still standing there, watching in eerie quiet.
He turned towards them, flicking blood from his blade. Since they made no move to speak, neither did he. In his mind, he decided to kill one, so that he could easily restrain the other. He did not know what fighting capabilities they had, and so he went forward cautiously. Beam knew nothing of mana, after all – he did not know from where the attacks might come.
Even as he walked towards them, the shadows hardly made any moves. One merely drew into its sleeve, pulling out a darkened dagger. Or at least, that was what Beam thought it was at first. Now that he could see it up close, he could tell that it was just ordinary steel. And that hand that gripped it, that was just an ordinary hand.
Beam narrowed his eyes, before allowing his body to pick up speed, he moved in testingly, inviting the enemy to show off its cards.
But what came at him was merely the swing of a normal human. A weak arm that moved slowly. Beam had been planning to dodge it, merely to figure out its attacks, but upon instinct, the sword had plunged its way through the chest of the shadow, and dark red blood well at the wound.
The hood of the figure fell back, as the body landed on the ground. A man, with grey hair and a wrinkled face. He was grasping at the wound on his chest, as his mouth moved but no words came out.
And then his body began to fade. Not his life, not the light in his eyes – but his body itself. Beginning with the wound at his chest, a blackened decay spread through him. When he reached his face, his body began to collapse into piles of ash.
After a few seconds, nothing remained, not even a dark cloak. Even the pile of ash was gone after just a moment, as though the man never existed.
The only evidence of his life was the blood on Beam's sword.
With a grim look on his face, Beam processed the scene in front of him. He'd just killed his first man – though it was hard to call him that, given just how he died. He wasn't sure how he felt about such an act, but nor did he have time to process those feelings. The other shadow in front of him was stood frozen, not attempting to run, merely standing there with a patientness.
The way he stood, despite seeing how easily his partner had fallen – that was the most eerie thing about them. They were human, evidently, yet there was something inhuman wound into them, something that forced them past the normal natural laws, and into something darker.
Beam approached the man, pointing with his sword. Despite it seemingly being unnecessary, he approached him with the same caution that he had approached the other man. He kept his distance, wary of counterattacks, and then when the distance was right, Beam lashed out with a kick, easily tossing the man's legs from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor.
He was weak, so unimaginably weak. Perhaps by a normal human's standards, he'd be normal – he was just like everyone else in the village. Maybe he was even stronger. But to a boy whose entire experience of fighting was monsters and the most powerful knight in the kingdom, this man was far too weak.
As he held the shadow in place with the point of his sword, Beam moved to pull back the hood. With a swift jerk, he unveiled them.
A woman this time, with short black hair, and a weathered face that made her seem like she was in her middle ages. Her mouth was moving, as though she was swearing at Beam, cursing him, yet no words came out, nor was there any other sign of her resistance.
"Can you not talk?" Beam said with a frown. "Tell me – these monsters, for what purpose are you bringing them to life? What are these crystals that you're using?"
The woman looked as though she was laughing at his questions, though Beam could not hear the sound, he could only see her face contorted in evident delight.
And then something black began to spill out of her mouth, like the ink of a squid, it spilt down her chest, and she began to choke. But the delight did not leave her face for even a moment.
Beam took a step back in alarm, putting distance between himself and the woman. He knew nothing of magic, nor its capabilities – and this blackness, that was magic to him. As was all that he had seen that day.
Yet the blackness made no moves to attack him, it seemed, even as it continued to spill out from the woman's mouth, a seemingly endless well of it. It kept spilling out until her entire body was drenched in it.
After a certain point, it ceased to be a liquid, and more seemed to have a life of its own. There was a thickness to it now, as it grasped for every part of her body, reaching all the way down to her feet, and then for her hands, and then for her neck. And still, the woman laughed.