2 Chapter 2, The Silent Fiend
[One Year Later …]
Hog screamed as he blindly tumbled through the dark woods, running into every branch and tripping over every root in his desperate escape. Moonlight was scarce, and he barely saw past his own terrified tears. He hadn't slept in five days. He hadn't eaten in three. By Naga's thick thighs, their raiding band used to be 50 men strong; now he wondered if there was anyone else left.
It started as a rumor, about a lone soul aimlessly drifting about the lands of Ylisse while leaving scores of bodies in its wake; bandit bodies. Yet with every passing month, the corpses continued to mount, and rumor was washed away by a blood-soaked fact: the Silent Fiend prowled the halidom, preying on brigands and pillagers with the fervor of a soulless devil.
Hog and his group were merely its latest prey.
It all began so innocuously. One by one, their members would vanish during the quiet of the night. Their chief, Ragfel, called them yellow-bellied cowards, and set out with his most ruthless to hunt down the deserters and drag them back.
No one returned.
That's when they finally realized the truth: they were being hunted. Panic ensued, tearing apart whatever cohesion holding the survivors together. Suddenly, it was every man for himself. They scattered in all directions, hoping to buy time for themselves using one another's lives.
Hog could only pray that it was enough.
It must've been the Fell Dragon that heard him, because his pleas were answered with an arrow perforating Hog's left knee. Agony shot up his leg as he screamed and collapsed, tumbling forward until he barreled into a tree.
He was tired. He was hungry. He was in physical and mental agony. He just wanted all this to stop!
"Where are you?!" Hog howled, limping on his one good leg while drawing his sword. He didn't want to die! He refused to die! He was going to kill his attacker if it was the last thing he did!
Then it emerged from the darkness, shadows clinging to its tattered cloak, and Hog's fleeting bravado abandoned him like everything else. The slaughterer of bandits and raiders was standing before him, holding a simple by worn iron bow. It wore a hooded cloak obscuring all its features, but Hog was willing to wager all the gold he'd ever plundered that underneath the Fiend's hood wasn't a man but a demon that escaped from the deepest and darkest pits of Outrealm.
"Why are ya here? What're ya chasin' me for?!" Hog begged, his sword trembling in his numb hands.
The Silent Fiend didn't respond. It never did. Instead, it notched its bow with another arrow, and aimed it at Hog with deliberate slowness.
Until Scrat, one of his fellow marauders-in-arms, burst through the underbrush. He reeked of shit, piss, blood, and sweat, and was a damn sight for sore eyes. Naga must've heard Hog's prayers after all!
"Damn you! Damn your accursed soul to the Fell Dragon!" Scrat howled, his baggy eyes bloodshot as he wildly slashed his sword at the Silent Fiend.
The demon merely lowered its bow, stepped towards Scrat when his aimless swing missed, and buried its fist into Scrat's hooked nose, flattening it beyond even a cleric's ability to heal.
Then there was a flash of light, and the Silent Fiend was suddenly holding an iron lance. Foul devilry! It conjured a weapon from the Beyond! Without hesitation or preamble, the Fiend hurled the lance deep into Scrat's gut, making Hog's fellow bandit squeal like a stuck pig.
Hog knew it was now or never. He hobbled towards the Silent Fiend as fast as his good leg could carry him and tried to bury his blade into the monster's black heart. Instead, the demon dodged with a sway and kicked Hog in the side, his ribs blossoming with pain as they cracked. He was knocked to the ground, wheezing as each breath was accompanied by horrible pain. But he couldn't give up! He wasn't going to die here!
He might've dropped his sword, but wasn't without options! With nary a thought, Hog dove for the lance sticking out of Scrat's stomach and ripped it free. So what if it led to Scrat bleeding out? Every man for himself, and Hog was determined to live!
"Die, demon!" Hog cried as he thrust the pointed end of the lance straight for the Fiend's hooded head … only to watch in horror as the iron weapon vanished into motes of emerald light in his very hands, leaving him weaponless.
This … thing could vanish his weapons at will!
The Silent Fiend slowly loomed over Hog, while Scrat wheezed his last as his organs lay splayed across the forest floor.
Devastating dread ruthlessly quashed whatever false courage Hog had, leaving him feeling smaller than a gnat.
"M-Mercy … good sir?" Hog whimpered.
A beam of moonlight alit the Silent Fiend's features, revealing a set of icy blue eyes so alit with FURY they burned Hog's very soul. It conjured a sword with its demonic powers, and swung.
The last thing Hog saw was the world spinning … right before he caught a glimpse of his own decapitated body slumping to the ground.
~
I didn't bother burying any of the bodies; the wild could have them. These two were the last. Hunting them hadn't been an issue, as I had lots of practice by this point.
Nevertheless, these pests were nothing more than a detour to my real destination: Border Pass. A traversable mountain that stood between the borders of Ylisse and Plegia. Having kept my ear to the ground, I overheard the majority of Ylisse's curs were threatened by my culling, and were swarming together like a pack of drowning rats to deal with me.
I didn't mind at all. Let them gather. Let them fight. I would keep killing and killing until there was nothing left to kill.
Maybe then, Chelsea would be at peace.
I backtracked for a mile before finding the tree I'd stashed my travel sack in. I collected it, wetted my lips with a mouthful of water from my waterskin, and ate a bit of dried fruit I'd saved. Then, I got my bearings and headed west. My sense of direction was always fantastic, as I instinctively knew where north was no matter what.
Despite the moon hanging so high against the starry night sky, sleep eluded me. I hadn't expended nearly enough energy to collapse from exhaustion, so I pushed myself to travel during the night. I left the dark woods, came across a worn dirt road carved into the grassy plains of Ylisse by the feet of countless travelers, and followed it to my eventual destination.
As I walked, I fell into my usual habit of checking my stats screen. The familiar holographic display appeared with a flicker of thought.
NAME: ???
AGE: 17
CLASS: ???
LEVEL: 4
EXP: 91 / 100
HIT POINTS: 27 / 27
STRENGTH:14
MAGIC: 4
SKILL: 12
SPEED: 11
LUCK: 0
DEFENSE: 10
RESISTANCE: 9
Still Level 4. EXP was becoming harder to come by. While putting down Chelsea's killer net me +10 EXP back then, along with every other pest I fumigated that day, that amount was reduced to +2 after I hit Level 2. Now, I needed to exterminate at least 20 lowlives to earn a single point of EXP. I needed 100 EXP for every level up, but acquiring said experience was becoming harder and harder. This exponential growth curve was bothersome.
At least leveling wasn't the only way to earn stats. I'd acquired +3 to strength through rigorously pushing this body to its limits time and time again, and +1 to skill for re-learning how to use a bow. It came to little surprise that Link's body was exceedingly talented at archery, though I still committed hundreds of hours into improve my craft. I also spent plenty of time familiarizing myself with my newfound abilities, practicing day after day, month after month, with every weapon I could get my hands on so I was no longer a passenger in this form. I refused to rely solely on Link's muscle memory forever.
Wandering throughout Ylisse generous added +1 to my speed, while the few careless hits I received while hunting increased my defense by +2. Hopefully culling the bandits at Border Pass would push me to Level 5. The stronger I became, the more I could hunt.
Then there was my Personal Skill: [Projection, Trace Version]. I hadn't paid it much attention in the beginning—too busy killing as many pests as possible at the time—but when I had a quiet moment to myself I studied the skill further. I knew where it came from: it was the specialized magecraft of Shirou Emiya, from the Fate/Stay series, which let him create copies of whatever he saw, but was mainly focused on bladed weaponry due to his wonky Origin and Elemental Affinity.
Initially, I'd been ecstatic. I thought I'd be able to massacre bandits in swaths with Gáe Bolg, Excalibur, and other Noble Phantasms that could pulverize mountains. But when I tried, the only weapons I could Project were iron swords and iron axes.
I demanded the SYSTEM explain why it was screwing with me by giving me a nerfed skill. The SYSTEM argued it did no such thing, and "requested" that I re-read the skill's description.
So I did.
[Projection, Trace Version]
[Allows the user to reproduce the shape, substance, and history of a desired object scanned through the sub-skill <Structural Analysis>. Data of scanned objects will be stored in the SYSTEM's Catalogue for the user's future use.]
When I read "stored in the SYSTEM's Catalogue," I knew what was wrong.
Shirou's ability to Trace Noble Phantasms didn't solely come from his personalized version of Projection, but also from his Unlimited Blade Works. It was his Reality Marble that let him store countless famous swords, while his Tracing let him bring these treasures out into the real world.
I had Shirou's Projection, but not his Reality Marble.
In other words, I'd basically asked for Wolverine's Adamantium claws and bones, but not his mutant regeneration, leaving me with a half-assed power set. I almost bashed my head in after realizing my blunder. I tried asking the SYSTEM for a refund, for a different skill, but was told all selections were final, and was stuck with what I got.
I needed a whole day to calm down, lest I do something drastic.
After getting over my blunder, I put my [Projection] to use to ensure I knew the skill inside and out. Nothing would kill me faster than an ability I didn't know the limits of. Turns out, the SYSTEM made a few changes to the skill so it better fit within this Fire Emblem world.
For starters, there was no Gaia here trying 24/7 to erase my Projected weapons from existence, so anything I Traced remained until they broke or I dismissed them. A definite plus. Secondly, there was a cost to Tracing a weapon.
Just because I could, I held out my hand and whispered, "Trace, on."
My left hand glowed with the aesthetic magic circuits, and an iron sword materialized in my hand. Then, upon using [Structural Analysis], a screen popped up above the Traced weapon.
[Iron Sword, Rank: D]
A basic sword forged from weak and cheap materials. Possesses no special bonuses; an very basic weapon.
Might: 4
Hit Rate: 95%
Critical: 0%
Durability: 31/40
Magic Cost: 1
Most of it was information identical to its in-game counterpart, except for the Magic Cost. With the Traced sword still in my hand, I glanced at my stats screen. My magic, which used to be 4, now read 3¯(-1).
I dismissed my Projection, and it returned to 4.
Basically, the number of weapons I could Trace at once was reliant on my magic stat, and chances were the most powerful weapons would require more magic to maintain.
All in all, while it was far from the best skill I could've gotten from the SYSTEM, it was still a serviceable one, and I was going to use it to the fullest to kill as many fucking bandits as possible.
~
Two weeks later, I arrived at the Border Pass. The mountain range stretched from north to south, forming a natural wall dividing the two kingdoms. From what few hazy memories I could dredge up, it was also a battle location in the Fire Emblem Awakening game.
As for the lone traversable mountain, it was sprawling with bandits, and more were gathering with every passing minute. This was no longer some ragtag band of murderers; I was staring at the makings of an army. Makeshift camps dotted the cragged and tiered mountainside in the hundreds, and swarms of the ugly bastards scurried about like ants on an anthill.
There had to be a thousand of them.
It tickled to know so many of these mongrels were willing to work together to deal with little old me.
Perched in a faraway tree, and hidden by the darkness of night, I felt … determination? Excitement? I was looking forward to throwing myself against these impossible numbers. Ordinarily, one man going up against an army of a thousand was a death sentence, yet I felt no fear: only unwavering determination.
Tonight, Border Pass would be drowning in blood.
First, recon. Infiltrating wouldn't be difficult. No one knew what the "Silent Fiend" actually looked like as I never left survivors, so all I needed was a disguise.
I spotted an (un)willing donor heading my way. Another band of brigands was strolling down the nearby road, heading for Border Pass to join the bandit coalition. One of them needed to obey nature's calling and carelessly split off from the others, heading directly towards me.
I didn't question my luck, despite my stat screen claiming it was 0. I watched as the bandit shuffled towards the edge of the woodlands. Once he entered for privacy, and was far enough from his fellow cutthroats, I dropped down from the tree I occupied and slammed my palm against the brigand's mouth, silencing his screams. With my other hand, I Traced an iron sword and slit his throat.
My gaze never wavered as I watched the flurry of emotions pass through the filth's fading eyes: pain, confusion, panic, and ultimately death.
I searched for a pulse, just to be sure. There was none. Satisfied, I dragged the body farther into the woods, well away from prying eyes. With practiced motions, I stripped it down, then tossed aside my cloak to don the bandit's unwashed animals leathers over my own clothes. The attire reeked, having been worn by a lout who knew zilch about personal hygiene, but it was nothing I wasn't already familiar with by now.
I took my disguise a step further, cutting my cloak into ribbons and using them to bandage my head, obscuring my face. To anyone else, I looked like some poor bastard who suffered a serious facial injury.
Disguise donned, I stumbled towards the edge of the woods …
… only to freeze when Chelsea appeared before me.
She hadn't changed a bit since the day she died: lifeless brown eyes, auburn hair matted with fresh blood, and a hole in her chest where she'd been impaled. But what stood out, what always stood out, was her smile … her sad smile.
"Hey, been a while," I rasped, my voice hoarse from lack of use. I always relished her visits, infrequent as they were.
Chelsea's smile brightened a score, but just as quickly settled back into its sorrowful state. She glanced at the distant mountain of Border Pass, then at me.
"You don't want me to go," I surmised, absently brushing my fingers against her bow that I always kept fastened to my belt.
Chelsea didn't reply, she never did. But her eyes screamed volumes.
"I have to. I don't have a choice."
My friend scowled.
"They need to die. They all need to die. I won't allow them to live a second longer."
Chelsea glared at me, and I could almost feel my resolve wilt away; almost.
When she saw I wouldn't back down, she marched up and stood between me and Border Pass with her arms held out. Like she was trying to stop me from going.
It was meaningless.
I merely strode forward, and let my corporeal body pass through her ghostly form without looking back. I never knew if I was actually seeing Chelsea's spirit, anchored to the realm of the living by her unjust death, or if she was a specter conjured by my fraying sanity.
I didn't know, nor did I actually care.
I got to see my friend again in this maggot-ridden world, and that was enough.
I stumbled out of the woods, adopting a gait to my step while putting a slouch in my shoulders. I was dressed like a bandit, walked like a bandit, and could talk like I'd dropped out of elementary school. When I approached the perimeter of their fortified encampment, the "guards" let me shamble past them without a second glance.
Too easy.
Still, seeing so many scumbags in one place was new, and made me lament my lack of massive area-of-effect attacks. Oh well, spilt milk and all that. I waddled past bandits pigging out on their pillaged supplies, watched some idiots brawling with one another to the amusement of others, and spotted several groups exchanging gold coins through card games. Thankfully, I couldn't find any "souvenirs"; young women kidnapped from their homes and families to be continuously raped by these bastards for their sick entertainment. I was always extra thorough with bandit bands who crossed that particular line.
As I walked, sticking to the shadows of campfire to avoid attention, I formulated my plan. Usually, when against small groups of these lowlives, I'd pick them off one by one from afar while corralling them into a killbox of my choosing, then finishing off the rest in close quarters. For large camps of cockroaches? Sabotage their supplies, kill their leader, and identify their likely escape routes. Without someone to lead them, the group would often turn on one another, each fighting for a spot to fill the vacuum of power. Distracted, I'd add fuel to the chaos until it all came burning down.
Why change a time-tested formula? I'd quietly assassinate the leaders in their sleep, then set fire to the supplies. With this many mouths to feed, it'd only be a matter of time before these honorless curs turned on one another. I should find where they keep their alcohol. I liked alcohol; it made everything burn so brightly.
Where would their so-called leaders be? Likely in the largest tent in the highest spot. Why? Because these idiots loved to posture like peacocks.
So I headed up. The mountain's cliffside had spacious pockets of semi-flat land, where more temporary tents and shelters were posted. I stuck to the shadows untouched by torches and campfires, effortlessly making my way up the side of the mountain. Security here was a joke, which I was grateful for.
As expected, there was a huge pavilion set up near the top of the Border Pass. It was far too fancy to be something these parasites acquired naturally, with its supports of polished ivory and decorated weather-proof sheets. The logical conclusion was that they stole it from a noble or wealthy merchant.
The pavilion, large enough comfortably house a 100 bandits and have room to fit more, was unguarded. There was no one patrolling its perimeter. The fools gathered here likely thought no one was suicidal enough to sneak into a encampment of thousands.
I crept closer, extremely careful not to make the slightest of sounds. As I approached, I could hear several voices arguing from inside the spacious tent. Once I was right outside, the sounds muffled by its thick sheets became audible.
"—waitin' for?! There're barely any suitable raidin' spots this close to Plegia! We keep this up fer much longer, and our men'll eat right through all our supplies, and then we'll be facin' mutiny!"
"An easily resolvable problem, gentlemen," another spoke. This voice immediately stood out. It wasn't gruff or barely-articulate, which I'd come to expect of Ylisse's bottom feeders. It was, dare I say, aristocratic. Curious, I Traced an iron dagger and poked a peephole in the side of the pavilion. Taking a peek, I found the speaker easily enough, as the elderly man (he was even wearing a monocle!) stood out from the crowd of barely-literate brutes all dressed in a hodgepodge of pilfered clothes.
The elder of obvious high station wore a garment I'd never seen on a bandit. It was a silky black coat adorning with gaudy gold trimmings and violet highlights. It actually reminded me of Robin's and Validar's outfits from the game.
Then it clicked. It was a Plegian attire, meaning whoever this was likely someone of high social standing in Plegia. But what was a nobleman of the desert kingdom doing here, associating with bandits?
I focused on the Plegian as he continued to speak while fiddling with his curly white mustache. "Our most benevolent King Gangrel is willing to spare what supplies Plegia can afford should it serve to keep this … alliance functional."
Gangrel? Did he mean the Mad King, the sovereign of Plegia and one of the bosses the protagonists fought in the game? It was a bit of a struggle to recall the relevant information, as I hadn't played Awakening in a while.
"Sounds mighty generous of yer king," a brigand wearing a dented and bloody knight's plate mail commented. "Too generous. We ain't the type er folk ta turn away a score, but when yer in this line of business ya wind up earnin' a nose fer treachery, and the shit ya've been shovelin' stinks like yer Fell Dragon's rottin' ass."
There was a chorus of affirmative grumbles from others who felt the same.
If the Plegian was insulted, he didn't show it. "Gentlemen, whatever you might believe, the singular truth is this: my King shares a common foe with you all, a nightmare that has grown to haunt your waking dreams."
"Tha Silent Fiend," a bandit sporting a mage's robes spat.
A grim quiet pervaded the interior of the tent, as if the occupants feared the mere mention of my moniker was enough to summon me. I was rather proud of my profound effect on these pieces of shit, and resisted the temptation to burst into the tent screaming, "Someone say my name?!"
The Plegian coughed to clear the air. "Indeed. The Silent Fiend has become an … irritant, to my King. He wishes this vagabond disposed of, posthaste, which is why you have all been summoned here."
"Guessin' his fanciness don't like tha Fiend interferin' with his investments," a roided-out thug wearing nothing but a set of shorts grumbled.
"You are correct. My King has agreed to sponsor you all with gold and weapons so long as you agreed to preoccupy Ylisse's standing military forces while diverting a portion of your spoils to Plegia. Having your efforts stemmed by this … Fiend is unconscionable, and must be rectified immediately."
Say what?! I came here to kill bandits! When did I walk into a national conspiracy meeting?
"I've got a question," a female bandit spoke up. My first time seeing one; what a rare specimen, and soon to be extinct. "Why's your king spendin' so much gold on us? He got that big of'a bone ta pick with Ylisse?"
"What'z it matter, bitch?" roid-man scoffed. "Gold is gold. Who cares where it comes from? Only wretches like ya would question shit like that. This is why whores shouldn't be goin' around pretendin' to do a man's—"
The female bandit lashed out with her rapier, thrusting the pointed end into roid-man's chest and through his heart. It was an instant death that caught most of the tent's occupants off guard, though the Plegian merely raised an aged eyebrow.
"Anybody else wanna know why I prefer wearin' pants?" she-bandit scowled as roid-man's corpse hit the ground with a heavy thud.
While there were a few murmurs of discontent, none stepped forward to face she-bandit's ire. Pity, I'd hoped more of these animals would kill each other in their stupidity.
Since a brawl wasn't breaking out, I focused on she-bandit's rapier and used [Structural Analysis] on it.
[Rapier, Rank: E]
A straight sword with a narrow pointed blade that is effective against beasts and armored enemies.
Might: 3
Hit Rate: 90%
Critical: 10%
Durability: 34/35
Magic Cost: 1
[Ding!]
[<Rapier, Rank: E> has been added to the SYSTEM's Catalogue!]
Very nice, another weapon for my slowly growing arsenal. I searched the others to see if they had anything new for me to scan, but most were carrying iron swords and iron axes. C'mon, wasn't Plegia giving you fools free gold? How do none of you have any steel weapons?
"Moving on," the Plegian said, ignoring the dead body amongst their midst. "The motivations of my King are his and his alone. If you are uncomfortable with our current agreement, merely say so and I will ensure you're cut off from any and all further funding."
"Tch! Fine, keep yer secrets," she-bandit spat, wiping the blood off her rapier with her tunic.
"Excellent," the Plegian beamed. "Now, I do believe we've waited long enough. A few of our beneficiaries are still notably absent, so we'll continue without them. They'll have to be brought up to speed at a later date, which I'll leave to you fine gentlemen. Now, what shall we do about—?"
Someone interrupted with a feminine cough. I almost thought it was the she-bandit, until I saw its originator was a heavily muscled man with a closely shaved head and sideburns that nearly reached his nose. He also had a deep gash on his left cheek, and I doubt he got it cutting himself shaving.
"A quick question, sweetie," he said in a lithe tone that contradicted his massive frame.
"By all means, ask away good sir."
"Oh, stop that!" the brute said shyly, acting like a reserved Japanese schoolgirl. "Please, call me Victor! I just wanted to know when those much needed supplies will be reaching us from Plegia. After all, it's been ages since my lovely lads pillaged a fine little hamlet, and they're getting mighty antsy. Of course I'll keep their cute little behinds in line, but I don't want my dear sweethearts to starve if it can be avoided."
If the Plegian was disgusted by Victor's mannerisms, he didn't show it; bet he was a champ at poker. Instead, he smiled and answered, "Then you're in luck, Victor. My correspondence with the throne said fresh supplies will reach Border Pass in a couple of days."
"Oh, how fantastic!" Victor cooed gaily, even doing his own little dance. The bandits nearest to him cautiously scooted away. "Then I don't suppose we have anymore use for this fetching thing."
He pranced over to a corner of the pavilion and grabbed something, causing it to elicit a cry of pain. My heart rate nearly tripled as Victor dragged a redheaded woman by the hair to the center of the tent before callously tossing her to the floor.
"Ow, ow, ow," the redhead whined, trying to sound playful despite her circumstances. "You folks really don't know how to treat a lady. I hope you're not planning on getting any discounts at my store."
Although half her face was swollen black and blue, and she'd been stripped down to her smallclothes (letting everyone see the countless bruises dotting her body), there was no mistaking that distinctive red hair and mischievous tone.
She was an Anna.
Out of reflex, I used [Structural Analysis] on her. It was something I'd learned through experimentation: when using the sub-skill on a living person, the SYSTEM took the abundance of information it gathered and compiled it into an easy-to-read screen.
NAME: Annabelle, an "Anna" of the Anna Family
AGE: 19
CLASS: Thief
LEVEL: 10
EXP: 2 / 100
HIT POINTS: 3 / 26
STRENGTH:7
MAGIC: 11
SKILL: 14
SPEED: 13
LUCK: 16
DEFENSE: 5
RESISTANCE: 7
STATUS: Concussed, Wounded, Frightened, Near Death
Shit, this was bad! Things always got troublesome when hostages were involved!
"Oi, isn't this Anna? Tha broad that runs them wee shop in Southtown?" a cape-wearing bandit asked.
"Has the moonlight been addlin' yer brain? She's that cutthroat shopkeeper runnin' that store in Ylisstol!" another barked.
"Yer both barkin'! I've seen this bitch fleecin' folk in Ferox!"
"How intriguing," the Plegian murmured as he stroked his highly-groomed mustache. "I could have sworn I saw you peddling your wares at Plegia's capital barely a moon ago, young lady. Yet from all these accounts"—he gestured at the bandits glaring down at Anna from every direction—"it seems you've been getting around. Tell me, are you a spy? Perhaps working for the Exalt, or one of the Khans of Ferox? Now that simply won't do."
"Not a spy," Anna said cheerfully, despite looking one wrong word away from being drawn and quartered. "Just one of many in a big family of world-traveling merchants."
The Plegian raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Are you saying you have identical siblings?"
"Yup! All sisters and cousins! And we all love money and big spenders!"
The Plegian chortled, then connected a ruthless kick to Anna's face, nearly snapping her head clean off. I winced as I saw her hit points shrink down to 2. "Do you take me for a fool, young lady? If you're going to spin a fable, at least make it a believable one. Siblings? Cousins? Perish the thought."
The crazy thing was that Anna was telling the truth. It was one of Fire Emblem's greatest mysteries, as there were likely thousands of Annas running about all bearing the exact same name and appearance.
Gah, forget that! What was I going to do? How did this affect my plans?
"I'm impressed you caught her, Victor," the Plegian said as he adjusted his monocle. "Where did you find her?"
"Caught her sneaking about the outside of the Border Pass, sweetie," Victor replied while nudging Anna with his iron-tipped boots to see if she was still alive; she let out a garbled wheeze. "Little mouse was scampering around, spying on us from afar. Makes sense, now that we know she's a naughty-naughty sneak. What a bad girl. And here I was going to sell her to my favorite slaver for a healthy tithe. I can't do that now, can I?"
"No. She must be interrogated. We need to know what she knows."
"… cough!" Anna choked out a glob of blood onto Victor's feet. "Interr … ogate? What a … scary word. And here I thought … you'd roughed me up enough."
Victor placed his boot atop of Anna's chest and started grinding down, making the beaten shopkeeper wheeze as her ribs were crushed. "And I would have treated you with flowers and daisies if you'd simply come along when I asked, honey. Instead, you had to mar my beautiful face!" Victor stroked the scabbed gash on his left cheek. "Oh, Vincent is going to raise such a fuss when he comes back! You really did deserve everything love tap I was generous enough to give you, little harlot."
Even with her chest being slowly caved in, Anna quipped, "… if it bothers you … gasp … that much, why don't you lend me a knife … and I'll give you an identical cut on the other side? That way … you'll be nice and symmetrical."
Victor's smile became all the crueler as he lifted his foot from Anna's chest, only to smash it down on her right leg, snapping the femur.
Anna screamed, her agonized cry almost stopping my heart.
What're you waiting for?! A part of me bellowed. Save her!
There's too many! My more rational side argued. If a fight breaks out, the rest of Border Pass will know I'm here!
And what's wrong with that?!
"Sweetie?" Victor spoke to the Plegian, ignoring Anna's broken sobs. Even the other scum in the tent were relishing in her pain. "How badly do you need this naughty little mouse? Because this cat's patience is wearing thin."
The Plegian stroked his groomed beard. "While I would relish the opportunity to dust off a few of my old skills, it's actually quite rare for physical torture to acquire truly actionable intelligence. It's quite unfortunate that people will literally say whatever you want to hear so long as it makes the 'sessions' come to an expedited end. A sorcerer would have a much easier time ripping her secrets directly from her mind, yet we do not have one on hand. As the sound of her wailing grates me, you may do whatever you wish."
I stopped breathing.
Victor, on the other hand, put on a bloodthirsty grin as he reached behind him and brought out an oddly shaped axe, one with a scarlet hue. It almost resembled a large metal boomerang, but with a deadly sharp edge.
"Well, little mouse," Victor said as he raised his axe, ready to sink it into Anna's warbling throat, "I'll be a sweetheart and hear your last words. Anything you want to say?"
Get in there! Get in there and do something!
Don't! You're in the middle of the largest bandit encampment you've ever seen! Cause a scene and you're both as good as dead!
For an instant, Anna looked like she wanted to try and spit in Victor's eye. Instead, any last second rebellion gave way to a peaceful resignation.
"Mom always did say this life would be dangerous," Anna sighed lightly. Then, she smiled. "But it was fun while it lasted. No regrets!"
I froze.
She smiled.
In the face of certain death, Anna smiled.
[—gave me a true, earnest smile, like she was happy she'd done—]
I no longer thought.
I acted.
I slashed open the canvas with a Traced sword, dispelled it, then grabbed Chelsea's bow and Traced an arrow. In one smooth motion, I notched the bowstring and drew it back as far as it would go, then fired. My arrow shot across the length of the spacious tent before puncturing Victor's right hand, the very hand gripping his axe.
Victor howled as my arrow hit true, making him drop his weapon.
The inhabitants of the pavilion were dumbstruck by the sudden events, but I knew their surprise wouldn't last forever. In needed to make these opening moments count!
Setting side Chelsea's bow and dismissing the Projected arrow (making Victor's hand bleed freely), I Traced a pair of iron axes and charged into the crowd of gobsmacked bandits with a silent war cry.
I brutally decapitated the nearest two, using the axe's greater weight and striking force to send their heads flying. My next targets were outside of my range, so I chucked my axes at them instead. My left axe found a home deep inside another bandit's head, while the right missed its intended target by a wide margin. However, there were so many of these cockroaches clustered together in one spot that my miss wound up lodging itself in the neck of an entirely different target.
Good enough.
I swiftly unsummoned the axes and Projected a pair of swords.
I'd now lost my element of surprise, and the remaining bastards snapped themselves into action.
"It's him!" one of them shrieked hysterically. "It's the Silent—!"
I silenced the screamer with a vertical slash that opened him up from head to groin.
A different bandit thought he saw an opening and thrust his sword at my exposed back. My heart rate skyrocketed as I consciously activated my Bullet Time (took a ton of practice). With everything moving in slow motion, I pirouette out of the way, divested my attacker of his overextended arm with a downward slash of one iron sword, then cut out his eyes with a horizontal slice from the other. I finished him off by thrusting both blades deep into his chest, perforating both lungs.
I couldn't pull my swords out of the convulsing bandit as he fell over, but it wasn't an issue. I simply dismissed both blades, and Traced a fresh pair.
"Fuck! What're ya waitin' fer?! Roast 'em, ya damn magician!"
"Don't tell me what to do!" the brigand dressed like a mage retorted, nonetheless whipping out a worn tome from his robes.
I instinctively used [Structural Analysis].
[Tome of Elfire, Rank: D]
A spell tome bearing the magical formula for Elfire, a more advanced version of the Fire spell.
Might: 5
Hit Rate: 85%
Critical: 0%
Durability: 14/35
Magic Cost: 1
[Ding!]
[<Tome of Elfire, Rank: D> has been added to the SYSTEM's Catalogue!]
I raised an eyebrow underneath the strips of cloth covering my face. Was the SYSTEM saying I could created Traced versions of magical tomes? This was the first time I'd come across a tome, as bandits weren't typically intelligent enough to utilize magic.
Arcane circles formed all around the mage, illuminating the bandit's face to reveal his victorious sneer. He thrust his free hand towards me, and a similar arcane glyph appeared under my feet, ready to eject a burst of magical flames.
My response was to release the sword in my right hand, replaced it with a Traced iron lance, and hurl the spear-like weapon at the mage. My target, evidently unused to dealing with attacks directed at him, merely stood there with a slack-jawed gape as my lance impaled his shoulder, throwing off his aim. His magical targeting reticle shifted from me and onto a group of gawking thugs.
"Uh oh," was all the bandit mage could say before his spell completed on its own, causing a burst of ruby flames to erupt from the magic circle and set half a dozen of his allies aflame.
I promptly Projected a second lance and threw it right between the mage's eyes.
Still, that Elfire did a damn good job. With their bodies on fire, the unfortunate bandits were thrashing about while screaming their lungs out, knocking over one another and generally causing mass mayhem. One of the buggers collapsed against the side of the very flammable tent, causing flames to start crawling up the fabric.
To think a single spell caused this much damage, it made me want to learn magic all the more.
Wait, I'd forgotten something very basic: my [Structural Analysis] lets me reproduce the shape, substance, and history of items I scanned. In other words, it should let me wield these Traced weapons (tomes included) with the same proficiency as their original owner!
Would it actually work? I nearly salivated at the idea.
"Trace, on," I intoned, causing my false-circuits to flare as a Tome of Elfire appeared in my right hand. Ignoring the disbelieving stares I was receiving, I felt the SYSTEM organizing this specific tome's history for me to better utilize it. Irrelevant memories were filtered out, while those pertaining to the use of magic were seamlessly assimilated.
The process didn't even last a nanosecond.
[Ding!]
[You've learned the basics of wielding the fundamental forces of fire! +1 to MAGIC!]
With a smirk none could see, I lifted my left hand and chanted, "Elfire!"
I could feel the arcane forces thrumming within me, resonating with the tome as it activated the magical formulas enchanted upon its aged pages. While a beginner would've struggled to properly activate the spell, for me it was like riding an old bike.
So I cast it thrice, setting clusters of trash ablaze and purging their wretched filth from the world. Feeling the blazing heat consuming them made my lips contort into a maniacal sneer as I merrily watched these vermin suffer the fate they so richly deserved, but then remembered my original purpose: rescuing Anna.
A frenzied screech caught my attention as she-bandit sprung towards me from the flames, her face and half her body forever disfigured by third-degree burns. However, this didn't stop her from stabbing her rapier towards me in her final act of defiance.
I simply Traced my own rapier and casually parried her reckless attack. She-bandit was transfixed in muted incredulity when she saw I held a carbon copy of her own weapon in my hand. Fool hadn't seen anything yet.
Just like with the Traced Elfire tome, the history of my Traced rapier was gently integrated into my mind with the SYSTEM's aid. My prey's skill became my skill; I knew all her moves, techniques, and tactics like the back of my own hand.
[Ding!]
[You have learned the basics of a new weapon! +1 to SKILL!]
Why thank you.
I used that very skill to disarm she-bandit with a move that was blatantly her own. Her outrage at my flagrant theft of her technique was summarily cut down as I adopted a familiar fencer's stance before shooting forward, the tip of my Traced rapier piercing she-bandit's eye, then brain. I kicked she-bandit's corpse into one of the larger fires spreading throughout the tent, then hurried over to Anna, who'd watched everything take place.
Fucking hell, there was barely a square inch of her that wasn't injured. Victor truly put her through the ringer. Her hit points were hovering at a solid 1, making me fear that simply touching the shopkeeper was enough to extinguish her life.
So I wasn't prepared to hear Anna's tired giggles.
"Ah, I'm definitely dying, aren't I?" Anna groaned teasingly. "After all, you're here. The bane and dreaded reaper of all innocent Annas: he who can create free equipment out of thin air! Truly, it must be the end times for the Consortium of Annas!"
I stared at her blankly. Even when she was beaten, bruised, and an inch from death, this gutsy redhead kept her chin up. I couldn't help but admire that.
Involuntarily, I snorted, " 'Innocent Annas?' Surely that's an oxymoron."
Anna brightened immediately. "He talks! Guess calling you a Silent Fiend would be—BEHIND YOU!"
Her panicked cry was more than enough for me to spin around while activating Link's Bullet Time. I discovered Victor leaping at me from behind, his axe gripped in his uninjured hand and descending towards my head.
I dismissed all my current Projections before Tracing an iron sword, bringing it up to intercept the burly bandit's strike.
Our weapons clashed with an ear-piercing ring of metal. My teeth clenched tight as I felt the blow harshly rattle my arms, forcing me back several steps lest I collapse. Shit, it felt like he almost knocked my arms out of their sockets! This bastard's muscles weren't simply for show!
Realizing Victor wasn't like the rest of the rabble, I observed him with a [Structural Analysis].
NAME: Victor, Younger Brother of the Bandit Twins
AGE: 28
CLASS: Berserker
LEVEL: 1
EXP: 33 / 100
HIT POINTS: 31 / 40
STRENGTH:15
MAGIC: 0
SKILL: 8
SPEED: 10
LUCK: 2
DEFENSE: 6
RESISTANCE: 1
STATUS: Burnt, Enraged
A Berserker! That explained his brute strength! Though his strength was only a single point above my own, the bastard had thrown his entire body weight behind the blow.
"You've got guts coming here, honey," Victor jeered, spitting out the last word with pure venom. "I don't know whether to call you brave or stupid. Hmm, on second thought, I'll settle for dead. Why don't you do the cute thing and lie down and die for me, sweet heart? It'll save me the energy."
I didn't say anything, instead Tracing the Elfire tome in my right hand while gripping my iron sword in my left. With a resistance of 1, magic would deal more damage to this garbage reject.
Victor merely laughed. "Oh honey, don't you know? I was born a Victor, so victory will always be mine!"
I charged up my tome of Elfire to incinerate the trash, but the Berserker broke my focus by throwing his strange axe. I ducked, letting the scarlet weapon pass over my head, and prepared the Elfire once more.
"Look out!" Anna cried.
I didn't question it; I immediately leapt to the side, right as Victor's odd axe came sailing back towards its owner, nicking my shoulder along the way.
[HIT POINTS: 26 / 27]
I ignored the tiny screen that popped up to indicate I'd taken damage, instead choosing to watch as Victor casually caught his axe as it returned to him.
How the hell did it do that?
[Structural Analysis]!
[Short Axe, Rank: C]
An axe that can function as a ranged weapon. A stronger variant of the Hand Axe. While its greater weight increases its striking force, this is offset by its reduced accuracy.
Might: 7
Hit Rate: 65%
Critical: 0%
Durability: 25/25
Magic Cost: 1
[Ding!]
[<Short Axe, Rank: D> has been added to the SYSTEM's Catalogue!]
Bah, so Victor's toy was one of those annoying axes that could be used as a close and long ranged weapon. But how did it return to Victor so easily? Magic? Or maybe it was like Captain America's shield and simply gave the middle finger to physics.
But now I knew what to look out for.
I channeled my magic into my Elfire tome a second time, but was interrupted again by Victor's short axe, which sliced through the air like a boomerang with a grudge.
Shit! While casting a spell was simple, it still took me a few seconds to activate it, and in a life-or-death battle that was a few seconds too long! I instinctively knew instantaneous casting was possible, but right now my skill level was identical to the deceased bandit mage's, and I was willing to wager he was a second-rate mage at best.
As I was forced to avoid Victor's short axe a third time, I knew my current proficiency with magic wasn't good enough for one-on-one close combat. So I released my Elfire tome and grabbed my iron sword with both hands. This time, when Victor's annoying boomerang axe zeroed in on my head, I swung my blade at it with all my might, knocking it off course in the hopes of depriving the Berserker of his annoying weapon.
Instead, the short axe defied common sense by arching through the air in a perfect return path to its owner, who smirked at my futile attempt. That was some serious bullshit! On top of that, blocking the force behind the short axe numbed my arms while putting a nasty chip in my sword. I replaced it with a freshly Traced blade.
I couldn't take those hits head on anymore. It'd be smarter to avoid the short axe, then rush the Berserker while he was weaponless. If I was quick enough, I could take his head off before his bullshit weapon returned to him.
As if he could sense my plan, Victor delayed his follow-up attack. Instead, we cautiously circled one another, waiting for the other to make a mistake, all while the pavilion burned down around us.
As the heat became uncomfortable, the rags covering my face were saturated in my sweat. A droplet trickled down my brow and nearly entered my right eye, forcing me to blink.
Victor spotted this, and hurled his short axe with all the might he could muster.
But I wasn't caught unaware, having expected the Berserker to be so predictable. So as his short axe burled towards me, my legs tensed as I prepared to dodge and sprint across the distance between us.
That was until I heard a soft gasp, directly behind me.
Fuck! Victor positioned himself so Anna was in his line of fire! If I dodged, there'd be nothing between her and the flying axe! Could Anna avoid the damn thing on her own? She was beaten half-to-death and had a broken leg! The answer was kind of damn obvious!
Cursing Victor with every language I knew (which wasn't many), I didn't have a choice except grit my teeth and block the boomerang-axe with my sword. Damn, the raw power behind it was insane, nearly throwing me on my ass!
But it was a diversion. Victor had immediately broke into a headlong charge the instant he threw his weapon. Knowing I'd be forced to block the projectile, the Berserker seized the opportunity to close the distance and tackle me, knocking the wind clean out of my lungs. Breathless, I barely resisted as Victor wrapped his steel-like arms around my waist, hoisted me up, and whispered, "Enjoy♡!" before slamming me against the mountainous gravel ground with both our combined weight.
It felt like he broke every bone in my back.
[HIT POINTS: 8 / 27]
AUGH! I tried to breathe in, but my lungs were being strangled by barbed wires of pain. My vision flickered, and it took everything I had to not pass out while my brain rattled about in my skull.
And some-fucking-how, Victor's short axe returned to his hand.
"You see? Victor always wins!" the Berserker preened, then swung his weapon down at me.
The first thing that came to my frantic mind was to try and block the attack. The lack of air my brain was receiving must've contributed to that idiotic idea, as Victor had proven over and over again that he could overpower me.
Our weapons met, and Victor's snapped mine in half …
… right before sinking into my chest, damn near cleaving me in two.
My eyes became perfectly round as a screen popped up before me.
[HIT POINTS: 0 / 27]
[You have died!]
What … no! I … I … did I … did I really?
Doubt became certainty when Victor ripped his short axe out of the cratering gouge he ripped into my chest … and I felt nothing. Blood was gushing from the massive laceration that split flesh, muscle, and bone, pumped out of my body by the pint as my heart frantically struggled to stay alive, yet its efforts were for naught.
I couldn't put any strength into my arms, my lungs refused to take air, and my vision gradually dimmed as my mind began shutting down.
So … this is how it ends.
My life was literally hemorrhaging from me as I blankly gazed up at the pavilion's burning roof.
I wondered what awaited me next.
I was surprised to find I wasn't scared. No, I felt … peaceful. Like everything was finally going to be alright. This nightmare of a year, of me shuffling around reaping life after life, was finally brought to an end.
A figured hazed into existence above me: Chelsea. I was happy to see her again.
But when my dying gaze met hers, I saw she wasn't smiling.
No, she was sad.
Chelsea turned her head, focusing on something else. I tried to crane my own, but my body remained as still as a corpse's. But out of the dark corners of my fading vision, I thought I saw Victor sauntering over towards Anna. The shopkeeper wasn't smiling either; I think she was yelling, screaming furiously at the Berserker.
I didn't know what she was saying, but it was enough to make Victor's triumphant smiling contort into an livid scowl.
She was going to die.
…
…
…
LIKE FUCKING HELL SHE WAS!!!
[Ding!]
[Your unbridled stubbornness and raw rage have given birth to a new skill! <Too Angry To Die!>]
[Too Angry To Die!]
[Gives the user a chance to survive any killing blow with 1 hit point remaining! Trigger % = (SKILL + LUCK) X RAGE!]
[HIT POINTS: 1/ 27]
My wound immediately ceased bleeding. My mouth spewed a galloon of blood to clear my lungs, allowing fresh air to forcibly rush its way in. My vision sharpened until I could make out every lattice and stitch in the pavilion's tarp not yet swallowed by flames.
I felt no pain, only the undying need to tearing Victor apart piece by piece!
I didn't care if I was saved by the SYSTEM's deus ex machina bullshit. It was giving me a second chance, and I seized it without question.
I shot to my feet as if the Berserker hadn't nearly cleaved me in two, my bloodshot glare demanding bloody vengeance.
The Berserker was shocked, unable to accept what he was seeing. "I-Impossible! I … I killed you! I was the Victor!"
Fuck your victory.
"Trace, on!" I howled, Projecting Victor's short axe and throwing it at the Berserker.
Victor hastily snapped to his senses and safely batted aside my axe with his own. "No one likes a clingy man, honey! Looks like I'll have to remove your head for my victory to stick!"
I let the bastard ramble, choosing to Trace a second and third short axe and hurling them at Victor with seemingly reckless abandon. The loathsome bandit leader swatted these aside as well, jeering tauntingly at my failed attacks. I chose to expend the last of my magic Projecting a fourth and fifth set of throwing axes, although these were just as successful as the first three attempts.
But that was the whole point.
With my magic sitting at 0 (-5), I rushed at Victor like I was planning on beating him to death nothing but my fists.
"Pointless, darling!" Victor laughed, his own short axe raised and ready to intercept me. He swung downward the instant I was close enough, but I used the last of my flagging energy to enter Bullet Time. My accelerated heart rate caused my gaping chest wound to gush a few squirts of blood, but I grit my teeth and ignored it.
I caught Victor's short axe between my palms in a bare-handed blade catch, a technique that would've never worked under ordinary circumstances.
Victor showed momentary surprise at my ludicrous stunt, but corrected this by gripping his axe with both hands and pushing forward with all he had. I struggled against him with every fiber of my being, but the Berserker was simply stronger than I was. Inch by inch, the edge of his short axe crept closer to my face.
"My victory♡!" Victor cheered, throwing me a condescending kiss.
I couldn't disagree more.
Shunk!
Victor lurched as something embedded itself in his shoulder blade. Bewildered by his abrupt injury, he twisted his head around to see what it was.
It was a short axe, one of my Traced short axes.
Through my [Projection, Traced Version], I'd pillaged Victor's trick of boomeranging my short axes, making it my own. Turns out it was a technique Victor mastered through countless hours of sweat, blood, and tears, and I'd stolen it in an instant. The physics behind it all still didn't make a damn lick of sense, but I wasn't going to question it now.
Every Traced short axe I'd thrown was on a return course to me, except now there was an obstacle between my weapons and me: Victor.
"Oh dear," Victor mumbled when he realized the same thing, right as my second and third short axes chopped open his waist and left bicep. The Berserker cried out as he tried to spin around and block my forth and fifth Projected axes that homed in on him, but I kept a death grip on his own weapon.
Then, blood gushed from the hole in his hand, from the arrow wound I'd initially inflicted, coating his palms and causing them to slip from his weapon's wet handle. Without that leverage, Victor involuntarily twisted about, turning so he was face-to-face with my incoming axes.
My fourth boomerang-axe plunged itself into his stomach, cleaving through his abdominal muscles and butchering his intestines.
My fifth lodged into his shoulder, hewing his collar bone in two and reaching deep enough to nick his lung.
"… oh no," Victor mumbled as he collapsed to his knees, watching as his blood gushed from his various wounds. "Vincent … darling … cough … I see … I see a field of flowers … they're so beau—"
Grasping Victor's short axe by its bloody handles, I brought it down on the back of the Berserker's head, splitting it like a melon.
The bastard was no longer a part of this world.
I heard a familiar [Ding!] as soon as Victor died, but paid it no mind. The flames throughout the tent were eating away at its supports, threatening to bring the whole thing down on top of us. Throwing aside Victor's short axe, I rushed over to Anna (who was trying to decide whether she was dreaming or not) scooped her up as gently as I could afford, and burst out of the burning tent.
It was then that my temporary boost flickered out, sapping the strength from my limbs and making me collapse like a puppet whose strings had snapped. Anna and I hit the ground hard, but it nothing compared to my pain receptors restarting and firing up on all cylinders.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt!
My chest was still slashed open, and I didn't have a single vulnerary on me.
"Try and sit still," I heard Anna say as she pushed me onto my back, observing my injury with her unswollen eye. "By my sweet grandma's coin purse, how're you still alive?"
I didn't answer; I couldn't. Even breathing felt like I was inhaling burning coals.
Anna rest my head on her unbroken leg, brushing my bloody hair from my eyes. "As much as I appreciate you coming in to rescue this silly damsel, I hope you're not out of tricks just yet." She looked over to the lower cliffs of Border Pass, and I saw what was worrying her.
The encampment was a furious hive of activity, as torch-carrying bandits were beginning to swarm towards our location. It was like watching a cloud of fireflies buzzing towards a single place: here.
"Mr. Fancy Pants ran out the second you popped in," Anna explained. She must be talking about the Plegian. "I reckon he's been gathering up every bandit here while you were taking names and kicking butt. I get the feeling he doesn't like you very much."
I grunted.
"I know, right?" Anna laughed. "How could he think someone as pretty as me could be a spy? Trust me, this is going to cost him—and Plegia—more than an arm and a leg. You don't go besmirching the Anna Family's good name!"
I gave her a stare.
"We …" she swallowed, "… we are getting out of this, right? I was fully prepared to die today, but then you had to come and get my hopes up. Don't you know it's rude to play around with a lady's feelings like that? So c'mon, tough guy, tell me you've got one last miracle in you."
Although she kept her tone light, I could see the desperation in her watery eye, pleading for me to have a solution.
She wanted to live, she wanted to survive, and I truly wished I could make it happen. But what could I do? Both Anna and I were far too wounded to try and sneak our way out of Border Pass, and fighting was absolutely out of the question. Even if the two of us weren't knocking on death's door, we were outnumbered nearly 1,000 to 1.
Then I remembered I'd gotten a notification from the SYTSEM. Darn thing already saved me once, maybe it could do it again.
So I glanced at the screen, and read what it said.
[You've defeated an enemy a whole class above you! +10 to EXP!]
[You've Leveled Up!]
My status menu automatically popped up.
NAME: ???
AGE: 17
CLASS: ???
LEVEL: 5 (+1)
EXP: 2 / 100
HIT POINTS: 1 / 28 (+1)
STRENGTH:15 (+1)
MAGIC: 6 (+1)
SKILL: 13
SPEED: 11
LUCK: 0
DEFENSE: 10
RESISTANCE: 10 (+1)
Victor net me more EXP than I'd expected, pushing me to Level 5. Unfortunately, I didn't see how that was going to help me. I couldn't even feel the slight boost in power leveling up usually provided because I was in such a shitty condition.
C'mon, you damn SYSTEM, is there really nothing else?
In total defiance of my nonexistent luck, there was.
[Congratulations! You've successfully reached your first milestone! The SYSTEM will now bequeath you a reward for your hard work!]
My eyes rounded in saucers.
[Please selection <Option #1> or <Option #2>.]
[Option #1: receive ONE gift of your choice from across the Legend of Zelda series!]
[Option #2: receive THREE randomized gifts from across the Legend of Zelda series!]
This … this was it! If I was reading this right (and I sure as hell hoped I was), the SYSTEM was letting me choose any item from any Zelda game that ever existed!
"Um," Anna tapped my shoulder, "I really don't mean to rush you, but I don't think we've got a lot of time on our hands."
I looked over to see the army of bandits was scrambling up Border Pass, all of them baying for the Silent Fiend's head, their combined shouts striking the mountain like a deluge.
Shit, they'd be on us in a minute! Maybe less!
I wrung my brain to come up with an item that would save us. Problem was, I hadn't played all the Legend of Zelda games, only the ones that'd come out on consoles: Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask, Wind Waker, Twilight Princess, Skyward Sword, and Breath of the Wild. That only made up a fraction of the total Zelda games released.
And why Zelda games? Did it have something to do with why I was gallivanting around in Link's body?
Gah, questions for another time!
Okay, think, me! Think!
A Red Potion? Instant healing would be very nice right now. No, too short sighted. Even at perfect health, I wasn't fighting off an entire army of bandits.
Farore's Wind? Warp magic sounded like exactly what I needed. Fuck, actually it wasn't. This spell operated by letting me teleport to pre-set warp points I needed to set up beforehand.
The Master Cycle Zero? It was basically a motorcycle, and while I didn't know crap about driving a getaway vehicle, desperate times called for desperate measures. Ugh, was I usually this stupid? I couldn't even stand, let alone drive a motorcycle in this condition!
Din's Fire, so I could burn all these pieces of shit to ash? No, not while Anna was in the spell's blast radius.
Damn it! God fucking damn it! I couldn't think of any one Zelda item that would get me and Anna out of this clusterfuck alive, not with so little time! The pressure caused by our time constraints weren't helping either! The tide of bandits was almost right on top of us, barely 20 seconds away! I could feel Anna gripping my shoulder tightly as she feared for the worst.
I just didn't have enough time!
Fuck it! Let's play it by ear!
I barely managed to choke out the words, "… op … tion … two …"
[Ding!]
[Option #2 selected! Three gifts will be selected at random! Please wait!]
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry UP! Gachapon gods, don't fail me now!
[Gift 1: Colossal Wallet, from Twilight Princess!]
If my lungs weren't so thoroughly messed up, I would've cursed aloud. A wallet? A frigging rupee wallet? My luck seriously deserved to be stuck at 0!
Despite my griping, a lilac bag encrusted with 7 different colored gems popped into existence beside me. It tipped over, spilling forth an assortment of green, blue, yellow, red, purple, orange, and silver rupees.
Anna was practically salivating at the sight. "You can magic up gems too? If we survive this, let's get married."
I gave her a wry grin, appreciating her attempt at humor despite our situation.
Please, PLEASE let the second item be something good! I prayed.
[Gift 2: Keaton Mask, from Majora's Mask!]
I wanted to scream in frustration! I should've gone with Option #1 and asked for a Bomb Bag topped with explosives. At least that would've been more useful than the stupid fox mask that appeared atop of my equally useless rupee wallet.
I should've never tried to rely on a randomizer with my luck.
If this was how it was going to be, so be it. With titanic effort, I rose to my feet, ignoring Anna's warning about aggravating my wounds. I was going to get Anna through this safely, even if it cost me my life! Fuck the odds! I could do this! I would do this!
[Gift 3: Fierce Deity's Mask, from Majora's Mask!]
My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I saw what the SYSTEM's screen said, which was almost followed up by a heart attack when something materialized in my hands. Looking down, I found myself staring into the hollow eyes of the item that completely trivialized the final boss of Majora's Mask.
The tide of bandits crest our location. They were close enough for me to smell the reek of their unwashed bodies.
There was no time left; I knew what I had to do.
I donned the Fierce Deity's Mask without a second thought, and howled as memories that were not my own invaded the deepest recesses of my soul. The pain went far beyond anything physical; it was as if my very being was being twisted, rent, and reformed into something greater, something stronger, something …
… darker.
Unable to remain consciousness during the process, I ultimately blacked out.
It didn't matter, for an Evil God had descended up Ylisse.
~
~Current Stats~
NAME: ???
AGE: 17 (+1)
CLASS: ???
LEVEL: 5 (+4)
EXP: 2 / 100
HIT POINTS: 1 / 28 (+4)
STRENGTH:15 (+6)
MAGIC: 6 (+4)
SKILL: 13 (+4)
SPEED: 11 (+3)
LUCK: 0
DEFENSE: 10 (+3)
RESISTANCE: 10 (+2)
~Current Skills~
PERSONAL SKILL 1: Projection, Trace Version
PERSONAL SKILL 2: N/A
PERSONAL SKILL 3: N/A
SKILL 1: Too Angry To Die! (NEW!)
SKILL 2: N/A
SKILL 3: N/A
SKILL 4: N/A
SKILL 5: N/A
