LXVII

Master Wrath Lvl. 7. Lvl. 8. Lvl 9. Grandmaster Wrath Lvl. 1…

As rage the likes of which I have never felt, not even when Jorgenson died, or, much more recently, when I realized my master had been plotting against me from the start, flows through me, my wrath skill levels precipitously. Breaking through into master, then further into grandmaster, and still climbing…

Even as I feel nearly all of my strength exit my body, as even my ability to sense the elements around me is torn away, my affinity with the wrath particles within me only increases. Knowing that there is nothing I will be able to do to Lector right now in my current state, not that my name would allow it, I grit my teeth and clench my fists, resisting the urge to cry out in pain as hyper-condensed wrath fills my entire body, burning like molten lead poured underneath my skin.

"Why don't you take my name, while you're at it?" I ask through gritted teeth. "At least give me a chance to kill you?"

"Ha ha! Even with all that wrath inside you, you are nothing but a bug now. An ordinary human, capable only of being defeated by young children from a rural farming family."

"Oh? You can sense my wrath now?"

"Of course! I am a member of the highest council of wizards in the most magically adept nation on this planet! My magic sensory abilities are in the lesser dietylike range, having been built up over many centuries of constant use. To sense such potent wrath flow within you is quite a spectacle. I did briefly consider taking it from you as well, but my comrade, the Wizard of Rage, wouldn't take too kindly to having competition, so I refrained. As for those other skills of yours, count them as a gift."

"A gift?!" I roar, a tiny sliver of the smallest fraction of my wrath converted into a blast of pure rage that contorts my face and briefly taints my vision red.

"Yes, a gift. You'll need something to distract you from your approaching death. Well, I'll be off, I need to start practicing my new swordsmanship ability. Toodles!"

"Oh no you don't." I growl out. "You brought me here, if I die it will be by your hand! You will never again be able to abuse this power if I fail to escape the swamp, which is exceedingly likely." I am able to suppress my anger just long enough to essentially ask him to save me, valid reasoning and all.

"Hmm… I'm not sure about that, I merely brought you into a swamp when you were in a state that could easily escape, you losing your powers hardly warrants me changing my plans to accommodate your weakness… but fine, better safe than sorry, I suppose."

Without warning, he grabs hold of my arm. After an odd swirling, twisting, nauseating sensation that leaves me feeling ready to vomit, I am thigh deep in mud, in a cold, wet environment.

"I've teleported us to the trail at the edge of the swamp, I think it is a reasonable assumption that you could feasibly survive from here. Well, bad luck! I hope you manage to die before crawling out of this miserable hell, but even if you don't, I'll be back to take your skills again and again in a vicious cycle until you see fit to cut it off of your own accord! Feel free to tell anyone you want about this, and about my kingdom's new method, though if you want to survive, Eroen isn't the best bet. To ensure friendly relationships with my kingdom, as well as to placate the families of the various nobles you killed, your death is guaranteed without me around. Now, goodbye, and may we never meet again, for both of our sakes!"