Chapter 80: Origin.

Common sense told me I should head back to the dream immediately to restock.

Experience told me that unless I wished to fight that horde again, then I should finish my business here. Just as I could respawn, so could they.

Whatever, my hands are deadly enough weapons anyway, as I just proved against that horde. Bringing my right hand up to my face I focused on it, until it morphed into a more bestial shape with long and sharp dagger-like fingernails.

To test it I dislocated my arm and swung it like a whip toward one of the corpses on the ground. Flawlessly, my arm seemed to morph into an almost liquid-like state for a second before with blurry speed bisecting the corpse so perfectly that it almost looked like it was never whole in the first place.

There wasnt even a drop of blood staining my hands.

Nodding in satisfaction at the absolute monstrosity that I had created out of my bare hands I started exploring the bloodied and burning streets of Lond- Yharmam.

No noise other than pained groans and the crackling of flame. As if this very place was the picture-perfect definition of pandemonium.

But that did little to deter my loot Gobbo instincts as I started scouring the streets for loot. Avoiding any doors or passages to not get overwhelmed with options while searching.

As I did so I came across a fat ma- I mean. I came across a rather rotund fellow wearing heavy armor with a hood who wielded a large axe befitting of his size.

Now normally, I am not one to correlate size to speed. Which made sense as after seeing Smough sprinting after you, that idea crumbles down to ash fast.

But damn was this guy slow.

I could dodge him by walking at a brisk pace.

In the end, nothing really stopped me from going up his face and shoving the barrel of my gun into his eye, and playing Scrabble with his brain.

Attacking fast doesn't mean anything when you just can't reach your opponent in the first place. Regardless, I picked up the blood vial he dropped and resumed my explorations of gothic London.

...

The enemies weren't really a problem for me. They might be stronger, faster, and smarter than hollows but in the end, those qualities weren't enough to close the gap in danger between me and them. As long as I wasnt mobbed, they did not pose a danger to my "life".

The real problem was the lay of the land. In Lordran I mostly knew where to go because my hollowing hadn't majorly affected me by then. But now I had mostly forgotten about the things in Bloodborne. Granted memories start getting clearer whenever I see things but that was beside the point.

Although in my wanderings I found something very... peculiar on one of the corpses.

A small rock the size of a pebble, blood red in color, and in its middle it a double helix that closely imitated the look of Deoxyribonucleic acid(I was majoring in biology... I think) aka. DNA.

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<Blood Stone Shard>

A solid shard that forms in coldblood.

After death, a substance in the blood hardens, and that

which does not crystalize is called a bloodstone.

At the workshop. these bloodstones are embedded in

weapons to fortify them.

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"A substance"

From this description I noticed something. This wasnt my inspect skill.

My inspect skill can only make speculations based on what I know. it can't provide me with information I didn't have access to. Yet it now did. The skill had clearly undergone some change somehow. Whether that was due to "system restoration" or the world I'm in, I didn't know.

Regardless, this was helpful as with increased intellect I rarely needed inspect anyway. And this description gave me some insight(heh) into what exactly was a bloodstone.

I had noticed that something new had emerged in my blood when I got isekai squared.

First of all, blood echoes. What are they and what are their relation to souls?

I possess an intimate understanding of souls thanks to reaching the apotheosis of Lordran and absorbing the 4 lordsouls that gave birth to all souls.

And as ludicrous as it may seem, the closest thing I can compare souls to is EXP and mana.

Souls act like energy that has experience imbued into it. Which kinda explains how working out and crafting weapons generate "souls". Why older and more powerful things grant more souls, because they have more experience, they have a more powerful essence.

That was also how I forged the Dragonslayer. When crafting it, I focused my intent into making it strong against dragons and channeling lightning, that intent created the information part of the soul and the energy created the base. When that fused with the material it created the dragonslayer.

It was also how wearing a ring once worn by a famous archer increased your skills with the bow. Because their information and experience along with the energy they had spent over time started slowly imprinting themselves into what they wore, turning a ring into a ranger's ring. Turning a regular metal armor into Noir.

Now then bloodtinge. A coldblood dew he found said what he needed to fit in all the pieces.

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<Coldblood Dew>

Droplet of coldblood containing Blood Echoes.

Use to gain Blood Echoes.

Hunters sustained by the dream gain strength from Blood Echoes. They imbibe the blood with thoughts of reverence, indeed gratitude, for their victims.

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"Blood Echoes" are the alternative version of souls. Yet they are far different. Far more primal. While "soul" was completely formless this clearly wasn't. No matter how much I inspected it I couldn't make heads or tails of it no matter what.

I felt like a toddler who hadn't even learned what shapes are that got arithmetics put in front of it. Like there was a barrier denying me any understanding of it.

But I could still make out that to solve this Arcane and Bloodtinge were important.

As for the blood stone shards, I could surmise that they were the solidified version of Bloodtinge, or whatever it stood for anyway. And if it truly did work like souls then it made sense how using them would make weapons stronger.

Regardless I still pocketed everything in sight. And for once, actually having a weapon that had range was heavenly. And with my hand-to-eye coordination, shooting skill, and everything else, the gun in my hands was deadly. If I was lucky I could bring down a British person in a few bullets.

I also discovered that I could make the bullets myself by sacrificing blood using a contraption that basically all hunters seem to have. So I of course abused that to hell, instead of a hunter I was more like a sharpshooter. While smashing things was fun, a gun was a man's dream.

And upon further exploration, I have come to a conclusion.

This place is somehow WORSE than Lordran.

At least in Lordran things had even a tiny resemblance of coherence and sense. This place didn't. Werewolves, guns, zombies, madmen, giants, executioners, sickness, poison, blood, eldrich abominations. You name it it is here.

And if Lordran was unhygienic, this place was on a whole nother level, at least in Lordran everything was stale and stuff, hollows barely had blood left. But this place? Blood and fresh corpses everywhere. Anywhere you stepped onto, the overwhelming stench of blood welcomed you.

I tried knocking on the several doors I found but they were either silent or

...

They were mocking me.

"I don't reckon you're from 'round here! Well, pffft, stuck outside on a night of the hunt! Ahh, you poor, poor thing...Hah hah hah!"

"Wretched outsider! Tryin' to fool me to open this door? Heavens, the depths of depravity..."

"Lousy offcomer. Who'd open their door on a night of the hunt! Away with you. Now!"

Treating me like some poor motherfucking dog. They were lucky, really, really lucky that my mental corruption was mostly sealed. So that I had at least half a mind to not bust their door down and invert their insides.

From what I could recall with my "lousy" memory, there weren't many that lived after offending the Reaper of Lordran.

God, I still can't even think about that title with a straight face.

Really, they should be grateful that dispersing this nightmare was my job and not a goal unlike the fate of the undead, or else I would have left these motherfuckers to their fate.

After that I went up to the great bridge, avoiding the large presence close to one end of the bridge, cleric beast if I recall. Instead, I chose to head in the opposite direction, dispatching the various werewolves with some difficulty.

Another thing to note is that the thing that got me the second closest to dying here was a motherfucking old man in a wheelchair. As my brain had gone into loot mode I forgot about the chair-ridden old cunt waiting with a gun in his hands.

As I picked up the item, the fucking fossil shot at me. If not for my almost supernatural instincts I would've had my goddam head blow off. And in my rage, I may or may not have picked up the old man and snapped all of his limbs like crackers before shoving his gun down his throat and impaling him on it as the other end of the gun peeked out from his behind.

Man, I really am irritable lately. Regardless, having looted a decent half of what I assume to be central Yharmam I started walking down to the other end of the bridge at a relaxed pace.

Ahhh, I had really missed this song and dance it seemed. I could just see the imaginary fog wall appearing over the bridge. How long had it been since I had a proper boss fight again?

This should be fun.

❕Drop me some stones if you liked the chapter.

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