It took a singular heart pounding moment for those on the frontline of either party to turn against the rear guard of their respective groups. That moment was enough for the recent events to replay in my mind allowing understanding to don upon me. Traitors were at the rear of both groups, attacking the frontlines of all parties, while the frontlines of each side focused on the frontlines of each other due to proximity. If it weren't for the interim, we may have whipped ourselves out in panic.

By the time the realization had fully struck home, Avery was already aiding in the subduction of one group, while Hellen was spraying some sort of miasma at either party at large. I was about to assist in removing the rear of the clergy as potential threats, when a blade was thrust into Hellen's rear. Even as the mental wince occurred, I redirected my focus upon the traitors in our own group.

Unfortunately, knowing a traitor existed didn’t make it much clearer of who was involved. Sure the first head separated from their shoulders based on the blade in my friend's posterior, but that didn’t make further identification any easier. All I could truly do was face the rear, trust in my allies to cover my own ass, and hope the chilling scowl inherited from my mother was enough to dissuade any loyalty additional traitors might hold in their hearts.

It annoyed me to no end that many of my clan that had been more than happy to betray their brethren would be cowed into hiding their true feelings, and likely get away with their weakness. Yet the only way to ensure the backs of my still breathing allies remain intact. Yet allowing cockroaches to fester always resulted in more cockroaches.

Cultivators were trained to be aggressive, take the offensive, and be unyielding in their convictions. And yet, I failed on all accounts. I took a defensive role, ensuring the survival of others while allowing the cancer of traitors to go unpunished by their own cowardice. It wasn’t the first time I ignored the way of my clan for the cold logic favored by my mother’s avian brain. Protecting the flock is simply more important than plucking the worms of their hidey-holes.

Despite the turmoil my spur of the moment decision caused, I kept my gaze and intent focused on the forces previously behind me. Under my scrutiny, few dared to attempt such obvious betrayal. Once my blade met the throat of one who attempted to attack our allies, despite the obvious position we had found ourselves in, a sense of order once again emerged. Sure, their attack could have been a misunderstanding, or perhaps stupidity, but by cultivator logic ignorance causes guilt as equally as treacherous intent.

The fighting died down quickly, and the binding commenced. Fallen foes tried to prevent further conflict, while allies were given priority treatment for wounds. On either side, the death toll was a non-zero statistic.

I snapped myself out of introspection to see the vine warrior kowtowing before me, weeping in self torment over her rash actions. It was obvious she wasn’t truly one of the traitors, such was her shame.

I couldn’t help but sympathize. Such moments of stupidity were carried into the future, weighing one down at the most inopportune time with burdensome memories. Still, letting such actions go unpunished would serve as a poor example. Yet I had little authority over an individual not of my one kind, much less of my clan. Smacking the warrior to the ground, I step past their weeping form. Hoping that such humiliation would gain enough sympathy as to lessen the punishment brought down from her own superiors when they passed judgment.

Putting those as fouled behind myself, I focused on the more obvious traitors. Those attacking the stunned, repentant, or otherwise engaged. Their actions offended me on several layers. Their betrayal to start, but also their insidious intent, and callousness to achieve their goal, whatever it may be.

I wish I could say that I calculated the target that would save guard the most lives, innocent or otherwise, instead I focused all my attention on the most obvious foe and assumed the saved processing time was time well spent.

Somehow, I had missed it during the heat of combat, but upon second look I realized the they attacked those that were already down. The foe delivered finishing blows to those that would otherwise be able to make a recovery with enough healing and time. The foe was a reaper, one who sought only to make themselves feel powerful when they had little to speak of.

As if drunk, my blades slashed on reflex rather than skill. Prematurely, I thought my blow would miss from my eagerness to strike. Yet instead an arch of something near translucent executed from my blade. Wind, I would later realize, channeled from my wings to my blade in a wave that continued the reach of my blade and blasted upon my foe.

While in my mind’s eye, they were split asunder, in reality they were launched backwards with broken ribs and eyes wide from the sudden blow. I nearly froze myself from the development, but there were more foes to contend with.

Try as I might, I couldn’t repeat my success with the piercing crust. Sure, the occasional flurry of wind occurred as I swung, but it altered my edge alignment more often than aided my designs. After one mace came a bit too close for comfort, I had to let the inspiration pass and focus on the task at hand.

The battle was even more than I would have liked. Sure, the numbers were in our favor, but most of our would-be allies were injured in the initial blows. Mostly due to what would be realized was friendly fire.

Eventually I found myself holding a blade in each hand. The curved sword in my left hand, grip reversed to allow pick like puncturing, while the right held my streight-sword, poised to thrust should an opponent leave themselves open. While I wish I could say that I switched between styles as gracefully as a dove used both wings, I mostly focused on using the weapon that gave me the most edge, irrespective of the hand holding the blade.

The battle ended before I know it. Somehow it was disappointing that I wasn’t the one to land the finishing blow, ending the conflict once and for all. Instead there was a lot of head turning. Many, including myself, simply looked towards the next target to aim their might towards.

The realization miffed me more than instinctual action ever could. Being weak was one thing, but being another sheep in the flock was unthinkable, unacceptable. With naught but defiance afforded a second thought, I considered my foes, my surroundings, and my potential allies. I deliberated on who I thought was truly scum worth ending and who might yet be spared and saved. Further delegation narrowed my focus on those who were most likely to cause the most damage, and thus neutralizing could cause the best outcome.

I wish I had debilitated foes with a single strike, before moving out without a glace back. Real combat didn’t work that way, at least not at my level. Those I could defeat easily, I feared I had been too aggressive towards. Those who challenged me, made me fear my own end.

After a series of easy battles focused on assisting those around me, I realized that combat had ended. I wasn’t sure if the relief or the confusion was moving evident as I looked around, expecting another foe to show themselves.