Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 27 - A Trip to Town
The side trip annoyed the blade to a small degree, but it was only a few days lost, and each night that Ivarr lingered in the half-burned city, it could siphon from the Lifeforce of everyone who lingered nearby.
In fact, since they were going to be there only a short time on this trip, it didn’t even attempt to do so in a way that spared the lives of those it touched. Instead, it latched on to the oldest men at the bar and the weakest men on the street in an attempt to murder them and drain their souls before Ivarr moved on with his day.
On the first day there, it increased the strength of its drain from 2 to 3 so that It could use 25% of its drain strength, and after its second victim, it increased its reach to 4 to drain those that were sitting just a little too far away from its wielder in the places he lingered.
Aura of Hunger:
Breadth 2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Affect up to seven people instead of five.
Reach 4 -> 5 - 1500 Life Energy - Reach up to twenty feet away instead of seventeen.
Speed 2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Drain a target over twenty seconds instead of half a minute.
Strength 3 -> 4 - 700 Life Energy - Increase Aura of Hunger’s Drain from 25% of your Siphon to 27%.
It seemed like an extravagant waste of Life Force, but the blade had been meaning to improve the ability for some time. It had proven invaluable when it was forced to make do in situations where there was no battle to be accomplished, and now that it could steal the souls of the humans it killed, it could truly feast.
It did so with a modicum of moderation, though. No one cared when the beggar that loitered outside the inn where Ivarr dined at on the first night died.
While its wielder turned in his bag of horns to be paid out in silver and copper, it feasted on the men behind him in line, and when one of them keeled over on the spot, everyone noticed, but no one associated it with Ivarr or the ugly cloth wrapped blade on his hip.
Everything paused briefly while the body of the dead man was taken to the healers. After that was done, the bounty office clerk gave him five silvers for the pair of minotaur horns, one for each pair of beastman horns, and three coppers a piece for the ears. He was skeptical that Ivarr had killed such a large beast, but there was no denying that they weren’t simple beastman horns.
It was a tidy haul and more money than Ivarr had ever personally had before. “What should I do with all of it,” he asked the blade when he was in the street.
Food and armor are all you require, for now, the blade answered. Spend the rest on whatever you like so long as we return to combat in the next day or two before you allow your edge to dull.
Ivarr did just that. Second-hand armor was easy enough to find with so many recently dead, and he got a good price on some mismatched studded leather that was only a little too big for him. He could grow into it. After that, the rest of the supplies were easy enough, and this time, he was able to afford more than a few stale loaves.
On their last trip, all they’d had was that and meltwater, but this time, he would be going back out into the wild with a skin of wine, some fruit, a slab of salted meat, and hearty brown bread. It struck the blade as a little decadent, but with some hunting, they might be able to stay out two or even three weeks on their next outing. Ivarr had no idea how to use a bow, of course, but the blade could always teach him how to use a snare and…
Why would I know or care about snares and trapping, it wondered. Tracking, it understood, and it had taken that skill for granted. Tracking let you kill people. Trapping, though? It had no idea.
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The following night, he told his friends all about the easy parts of his first week when he bought them all a couple rounds of drinks to celebrate his successful first trip. They were spellbound by that tale, especially the part where the goblins had almost ambushed him in the middle of the night.
No one interrupted him until all that was through, and he was talking about the old prospector who’d just keeled over at the bounty office. The most anyone said about it was when Sammel laughed and said, “Well, not everyone is tough like you. Being out of the city is hard on the body. Where do you even find a wench to warm your bed at night?”
“That’s what the goblins are really for!” Brik answered. Everyone roared with laughter at that before the conversation turned to other topics.
There was one point in the night when a couple of Ivarr’s friends seemed like they were about to ask to go with him when he left. That was when he told them about the minotaur. Surprisingly, the blade didn’t even have to push him to do that, which told it everything it needed to know about its wielder’s desire for secrecy.
“You think this is easy?” he asked, slamming his almost empty mug on the table. “Nothing about fighting a minotaur was easy.”
Not everyone believed him, but they still listened to him spend several minutes recounting the battle without too much exaggeration. If anything, he’s playing it down somewhat, the blade decided as it listened.
Ivarr told them about how long the battle took and how important it was to use the terrain, basically repeating some of the things his weapon had told him in the aftermath of the battle. What he didn’t tell them, though, was that his magical sword basically won the fight for him, which was all the Ebon Blade cared about. As long as that part stayed hidden, he was free to say whatever he wanted.
“Oh yeah?” Hallen asked. “Was it easier or harder than the dragon you slew after that?”
“Dragon?” Ivarr asked, confused. “I didn’t kill any dragons.”
“Really? Because I was sure if you were out there killing Minotaurs instead of beastmen, that wouldn’t be a problem for a warrior of your caliber.” Hallen continued.
All his friends laughed at him this time, and the blade could sense its wielder’s hurt feelings, but the man didn’t get defensive. He just said, “Well, its horns paid for your drinks and the armor I’m wearing. So, you can believe whatever you like.”
His friends wouldn’t let that go so easily, which was funny because they’d all had dreams of being warriors themselves, and they’d all been too afraid to chase them when the time came. Unfortunately, that conversation was all it took to make sure that after its wielder struck out with the barmaid, who didn’t believe the minotaur story any more than most of his friends.
She’d been interested in its wielder initially when he’d bought drinks and laughed about fighting goblins in his underwear. Unfortunately, no one could take him seriously as a slayer of terrible beasts yet, it would seem.
They will, though, the blade thought to itself as the night came to an end. Ivarr left the city the next day, all alone. He did so with two weeks of supplies, some second-hand armor that mostly fit him, and no idea that both people staying in the room next door to his were stone dead.
“Next time, I’ll bring back the head of a griffon,” he told himself on the way out of the west gate. Then everyone will believe me.
In time, no one will be able to doubt you, the blade agreed. Your skill is increasing noticeably, and I’m certain you could take any of those other men in a fight, even with a normal blade.
“Yeah, but why would I want to fight my friends?” Ivarr asked.
You might fight them for sport, the blade suggested. You might deal with them to show them that you really are the warrior you boast about. Or, perhaps one day, you might find that they aren’t the friends you thought they were. You have a few silvers in your pocket now. Men have been killed for less.
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Ivarr insisted that wasn’t the case. “Brik? Hallen? None of them would ever betray me like that.”
The blade said nothing. It considered pointing out that none of them had been brave enough to join him when he’d planned to leave the safety of the city the first time, but decided against it.
In its mind, letting their friend go to an uncertain fate alone while chickening out themselves was tantamount to letting its wielder die already. It wouldn’t let that happen, though. It did not wish to be wielded by a monster again, so it would ensure that Ivarr lasted longer than Ren or Kell had. The young man might not have the heart to lead the war of vengeance it craved, but he had heart, and that counted for a lot.
Instead of worrying about such petty dramas, it focused on the path ahead. It was back to just under 600 Life Force after feasting on the boy’s neighbors and the other men in the common room last night. It would get the other upgrades it craved, and soon.
