Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 29 - An Abundance of Trophies

The way back to Kalraka was much less eventful than the trip into the wilderness had been. They saw what might have been a griffon in the distance once, though the Ebon Blade thought it was more likely to be a giant eagle or even a condor. It was hard to say since it couldn’t see things very well fifty feet away, let alone five hundred feet in the air.

The beast didn’t see them, though, which was the more important part of the encounter, and Ivarr continued through the valley and down the slope unmolested. The only monsters they had to fight on the way back were goblins. The ugly little scavengers were drawn to the foul smell of Ivarr’s sack of rotting trophies, but even that wasn’t enough to make him ditch his loot.

+87 Life Force

+6 lesser monster souls

The monsters made for easy Life Force, and it burned their souls almost as soon as it captured them, but they were unsatisfying things. The more they fought, the more its appetite grew, and the more it craved greater challenges and the rewards that came with them.

“This stuff will be worth a fortune when we get back to town,” its wielder told the blade confidently. “Besides. If I don’t show everyone what it is I killed, they won’t believe me this time either.”

The blade didn’t disagree with either point. It was just glad it didn’t have a sense of smell. While it was certain that no one smelled good in the woods after a couple of weeks of camping rough, the idea of carrying around rotting flesh struck it as grotesque and reminded it of the goblin lair it had briefly spent time in.

This time, Ivarr returned to a hero’s welcome. Though one of his friends vomited at the sight of the owlbear head and the worms that were writhing in the remaining flesh of its severed beak, no one accused him of making up his triumphs a second time.

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Immediately after that, they went to the bounty office and turned in the bits of creatures. While he was not happy to see Ivarr and his foul sack, he was impressed by the monstrous things it contained.

“An owlbear, huh? Orcs, too?” he asked after a low whistle. “Not something you see every day in these parts. You should be careful if you go too deep in the mountains, lad. People that go that far don’t always come back, ya’ hear?”

That warning was followed by a lecture on how he didn’t need to bring back so much rotting flesh. “An ear, a tusk, or a beak would suffice. I don’t need the whole stinkin’ head!”

Ivarr flushed at that, and as soon as he could get a word in edgewise, he promised him he’d be more careful. It was a lie as soon as he said it, but it was even less true when the bounty master paid him out in gold as well as silver this time.

That gold was the first of Ivarr’s life, and though it was nothing compared to the amount of gold the blade had left behind on Kell’s mule, it was still impressive. It would be more than enough to upgrade his gear and buy whatever supplies he wanted.

Well, within reason. They actually stopped to look at a merchant’s shop that was reputed to sell enchanted jewelry, but even the least of his trinkets was fifty gold, and no one outside the army could afford such things. Some of them claimed to double a mans strength, but the shifty eyes shopkeeper wouldn’t let him so much as touch them to test the veracity of those claims.

Still, it was enough to make the blade wonder how such magic worked. How do I increase my wielder’s strength, it asked itself. It didn’t know, how it knew that, but it did. It made Ivarr faster and stronger than he had any right to be, but if they could find a way to make him even stronger… Well, then they might be able to deal with the next minotaur on more even footing.

Instead of trying to buy something so pricey, he settled for new and improved armor made from his shredded set of leathers. That night, they celebrated his victory a second time with drinks. This time, a couple of his friends asked to join him, but Ivarr needed no urging to turn them down on his own.

“You saw what rough shape my armor is in, right?” he asked. “It's dangerous out there. I don’t want to see you guys get hurt.”

“Well, you always come back more or less fine,” Brik asked. “What’s your secret?”

“I move fast and quiet and take them down before they even know I’m there,” he lied smoothly. “There’s no way I could pull that off in a large group.”

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The other young men believed the lie, but they were disappointed by the statement. After that, they spent much of the night discussing whether or not they should sign up with one of the mercenary companies in the area, now that the army was starting to move.

While Ivarr didn’t exactly discourage them, his most recent trip had shown him just how dangerous the wilds could be, and he encouraged them to practice their sword fighting first. He even offered to help them practice while he was in town. However, as he was starting to explain his sword fighting exercises to the group and offering to spar with them, he was distracted from that idea as soon as the same pretty young barmaid who hadn’t given him the time of day the last time he was here expressed interest in him.

“So you really are a monster slayer after all,” she murmured in his ear after hearing about his other triumphs. “Perhaps I owe you a very personal and private apology…” After that, the previous topic of conversion was forgotten, and he quickly left his friends alone and went upstairs for a different sort of conquest.

That was a momentous first in the life of the young man, but the fact that the blade couldn’t block out their rutting annoyed it more than it should have. It spent hours just looking out the window and thinking about what they could kill on their next trip in an effort to avoid it, but that was only halfway successful.

Something about the moment resonated with some of its blurriest memories of Baraga. When Ivarr decided to stay a second night to wait for his armor to be repaired and upgraded with better-fitting greaves and a half chest plate of bronze, the blade knew he was really staying because of his desire for a second tryst.

Although the blade certainly didn’t disagree that its owner needed to be better outfitted for the challenges that lay ahead, it wasn’t a fool. It knew that the reason he lingered was because of the warm bed and the soft touch of the fairer sex.

The Ebon Blade considered killing her that second night and on several of the nights that followed as their one-night stay stretched on for a week. It wouldn’t even be hard. She was there half of the nights Ivarr stayed and showered his friends with silver. It wouldn’t have even taken a whole night for the blade to drain her dry, leaving Ivarr to wake up in the morning to a rapidly cooling corpse.

It was hesitant because of the effect that such a death was likely to have on the young man, but in the end that wasn’t what stopped it. It wasn’t until it figured out that she was simply there for its wielder’s money, and that as his coin purse shrank she became less interested that it stayed its hand. It probably should have warned him, but he wouldn’t have listened. These things were best learned the hard way.

It resisted, though it did vow to kill her if Ivarr suddenly lost heart in their quest to slay monsters. If anything, though, it increased his drive.

The young man associated the only success he’d ever had with women with his victories, and not the coins they had brought him. So, logical or not, some primitive part of his mind told him that he would have even more success with women if he bested more fearsome creatures.

That was probably true, but any thoughts in that vein made it think of its first wielder, and it quickly dismissed those painful memories. As much as it wanted the answers to certain questions, remembering the man, instead of the reasons for the man’s betrayal and eventual death, were something it shied away from for reasons it couldn’t put its finger on.

Those mental wars increased its desire to fix its soul again, but it resisted. Even if it had 5,000 Life Force, which was more than it was capable of holding, that would have been the wrong move.

Now that it was actively gaining greater monster souls, nothing was more important than continuing to upgrade its soul storage. It would have been a bitter irony if it finally got thirty or forty but could not store all fifty it needed.

Fortunately, even though its wielder was wasting the week, he was doing so in public places, allowing it to drain from passerbyers, and it was rapidly closing in on 3,000 Life Force. Before the next full moon, it would achieve 3,500 Life Force again, and when it did, it would spend it on Increased Storage 9.

There was no way of knowing exactly how much that would increase its storage, but 5,000 Life Force and 36 souls seemed likely. That was still far from its goal, but it would be enough for a few more expeditions at their current rate.

How am I ever going to get to 50 souls, though? The blade wondered. As it did the math, it realized that at the rate it was going, it would have to get to Increased Storage 13 or something, which would be insanely expensive. 3500 Life Force was expensive enough as it was.

Still, as long as its wielder was lingering, it had all the time in the world to think about it. Unfortunately, that time was poorly spent, and it discovered no new answers.

If you linger too long, your fledgling skills will begin to rust, the blade reminded him on the eighth day. You’ll never claim a griffon’s skull like you promised your lady if that happens.

“You heard that?” its wielder asked, flushing as he suddenly realized all the other things the blade must have heard. “We’ll get back to it soon, I promise. I’m just waiting on my armor. Then we can go.”

The blade almost laughed at that, but it held back. If its wielder was still bashful enough to think that a woman that had all but drained him dry cared about his accomplishments, then he still had a long ways to go.