Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 35 - Teamwork

Day by day, the other warrior improved. Some nights, they still had to deal with goblin attacks, but those were no longer any trouble for the Ebon Blade’s wielder, and by the time they reached the city walls, Elom could even walk on his own. He was slow and tired quickly, so they ended up carrying him more often than not. Still, despite the occasional nighttime attack, the four of them made it back safely.

+231 Life Force

+16 lesser monster souls

The only real advantage to traveling with others was that someone would wake you before death slinked close enough to rip out your throat. Ivarr had that advantage thanks to a blade that needed no sleep already, but he seemed to sleep sounder knowing someone had his back.

Compared to its wielder’s reaction to recent events or even his new companions, the blade thought it was the reaction of Ivarr’s old friends that was more telling. Over the course of the day that he arrived, he found out that there’s been a pool started on whether he’d come back alive by the bounty officer, and if he hadn’t come back in the few days, they were going to declare those who’d bet on his death the winners.

That made sense, considering half of the man’s friends acted as if they’d seen a ghost when he showed back up. Brik had apparently even gone out to look for Ivarr, though he lasted only a night in the wild places beyond the city before he returned.

The only one who really didn’t seem to notice his absence was the barmaid. After spending so many nights together, she barely knew who he was.

Though his full coin purse was enough to remind her as he introduced his new friends to his old ones at the Hungry Hobgoblin that night when he bought everyone a celebratory dinner, by then, it was too late. That blank look had been enough to let him see through her for the first time, and that night, against all odds, Ivarr slept alone.

It was a minor miracle, too, considering his purse was overflowing with as much gold as silver. Even after he’d split the bounty from the ogre four ways, the sheer number of orc tusks he’d turned in had bankrupted the bounty office, and they’d had to send a messenger to the new Governor’s office for more coin to pay the man.

“8 regals and 12 silver marks... Ho boy... That's more than I’ve paid out in a spell,” the old man told him when he tallied up the coins. “You keep it up, and the army won’t have anything left to fight. They’re having trouble finding beastmen as it is!”

“The beastmen are all but gone,” Ivarr agreed. “There’s still bigger game to be found.”

That rare event had caused enough curiosity that an army captain came down and offered Ivarr yet another position. It was even at a better rate, but by then, he’d already promised his services to Altharia and the others until they found what they were looking for days before. The blade had seen that coming but made no move to stop it. As long as its wielder made no move to betray it, it would trust his judgment. It didn’t really care what they did so long as they were slaying monsters, and now that the mage had proven so knowledgable it wasn’t in any hurry to be rid of her soon either.

The ogre’s death had brought it to twenty-seven souls, which put it just over halfway. That was the good news. The bad news was that the days passed by relentlessly as they waited for Elom to heal. That was agonizing because every day, the man seemed unlikely to improve much further, but every week, he got noticeably better in a way that made everyone hold out hope a little longer.

After two weeks, they’d finally began to purchase supplies, along with a mule to carry them. Two of Ivarr’s friends had even decided to join the group for the next chapter of their little adventure, though he’d tried hard to talk them out of it.

“Didn’t you see what that ogre did to Elom,” Ivarr said when they were out drinking one night. “It nearly murdered him. A month later, he’s still nearly crippled!”

“He’s getting better,” Brik insisted. “Your holy friend says that it in time he could make a full recovery!”

“Yeah, and when’s the next time we’re going to go beyond the walls with a priest and a mage.” Sammel chimed in. “We’d be fools not to jump at this.”

Ivarr suppressed a sigh, but the blade still heard it. Its wielder suspected that both of the men were going to be somewhere between dead weight and a burden. It was inclined to agree, but when he’d asked it for advice, all it had said was, We don’t need any of them. Not the priest or the mage, either. We’re doing just fine on our own.

The young man had agreed but wanted to help them on their mission, and he saw no need to force the issue. Unfortunately, later that night, when Elom joined the three of them for drinks, the pleasant night turned sour.

Both of the younger men used that as an excuse to go pack, leaving Ivarr to drink with a drunk, half-crippled warrior. Sober, he was generally fine but drunk, he found subtle ways to twist the knife and imply that it was Ivarr’s fault he’d ended up this way.

“Look at you,” he slurred. “Not a ssscar on you. You don’t know the first thing about this sort of pain.”

“I’ve been pretty lucky,” Ivarr agreed.

“Luck. Pah!” the other warrior sneered, finishing his drink in one long pull. “No one kills that many orcsss without takin’ a wound or two. Nobody.”

Ivarr didn’t have a good answer for that, so he didn’t give one. Instead, he just let the man vent about how he was still twice the warrior of any man in the bar. Elom had proved to be a lousy drunk, but Ivarr knew he’d be fine in the morning, or at least as close as he got to fine, and the blade had long since decided it wasn’t wise to snuff him out like a candle with the mage about.

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“You’re going to be okay, man,” its wielder tried to reassure him. “You’ll see.”

That turned out to be false. Partway back to their inn, when Elom tripped, or at least pretended to, he yanked the sword out of Ivarr’s sheath as the other man helped him to his feet.

This enraged the Ebon Blade. Even as it felt its strength flowing into the other man, it rejected him. At that moment it had 1036 Life Force saved up. It had planned to get Lesser Soul Reserves 2 as soon as it had a couple hundred spare Life Force to spare to make sure it could keep its wielder breathing. Instead, it spent that thousand Life Force at that moment, emptying its reserve.

That brought the blade’s soul storage to 27/46, but in this moment, it didn’t care about its longer-term goals, only in punishing someone who had stolen it from its rightful owner. If it was going to be stolen by an interloper anyway, it might as well use whatever it had to deny it to the bastard.

Even as it rejected him, for a moment, it still glimpsed the man’s nature, just as Elom was allowed to feel the power of the blade surge through him. His spine straightened, and his legs flexed as crooked bones mended themselves. Then, just like that, it was gone.

Name: Elom the Bloody

Occupation: Mercenary

Toughness: 4 +1

Strength: 5 +3

Agility: 6 +2

Speed: 5 +1

Intelligence: 4

Willpower: 4 -1

Morality: Selfish

Bloodlust: Medium

Status: Normal

Martial Skill: Medium

Armor Proficiency: Low

Dodging: Medium

Athletics: Medium

Goal: To get rich and steal the contents of Al’Hazzarin’s tomb for himself.

The brief insight was enough to show the Ebon Blade that in some ways the man would be a better wielder than Ivarr. Still, it rejected him. It Would choose who held it, and it would not be separated from a wielder until that man had failed it. It didn’t know where that loyalty was coming from entirely, but it did not question it.

“Yessss!” He called out, raising the weapon to strike down its wielder. “I knew it!” Even as he did, though, the blade acted a second time.

With a wielder who was willing, it could help them fight and boost their performance to a level they might have never reached on their own. With a weak wielder, it could take control almost completely in all but the most dire situations. Against a strong wielder, though, it could still struggle in their grip.

So, as the now uncrippled warrior tried to bring the sword down, he found himself suddenly all but frozen in place. His muscles might be stronger than they’d been in weeks, but now they fired spasmodically as two minds struggled for control of the same body, giving Ivarr a desperately needed opening.

He responded by bringing his forehead down hard on the other man’s nose, spreading it across his face even as he reached up to contest control of the blade. That moment was as confusing for the blade as it was for the two men struggling to take control as it felt its connection shift back and forth between them, and for those few frantic seconds where they struggled and fought, all it could do was watch lest it hinder or aid the wrong man.

For a moment, it didn’t connect with either of them, though. Instead it connected with something else, and even as that connection felt strange, and it realized it was the other man’s sword the Ebon Blade pulled away. Something had happened, though, and as the struggle crescendoed both swords flared to brilliant life.

Sword of Destruction (Rageblade): Two-handed, -2 Life Force/Minute. Increases the wielder’s strength and toughness by 5. Can be used to trigger a Devastating Blow at the cost of 3 Life Force.

Elom’s hexblade glowed red in its scabbard so brightly that it shined through the leather in some places. The Ebon Blade, on the other hand, only glowed red from the ruby in its pommel. The rest of its runes began to shimmer darkly, drinking in the light as they danced with dark flames.

“No!” Elom gasped. “It’s mine! I need it!”

The moment that Ivarr regained control it refocused, and broke the blade free from the interloper's grip. Then the blade flooded its wielder with strength, and Ivarr used that to bring the weapon down hard on the man’s collar bone, cutting through his neck and partway through his sternum in a blow of pure rage.

+19 Life Force.

+12 Life Force.

-1 Life Force

The weapon didn’t understand why it lost life force any more than it understood why the blow was so powerful that it actually dug into the wall of the building they’d been struggling against. It wasn’t until it saw the message that it made sense.

You have learned amplify blade.

The dying warrior looked at Ivarr one last time with a look of complete shock. “Why?” he managed to mouth silently before dying on the spot with his chest cleaved nearly in half.

+14 Life Force.

You have gained a human soul.

Ivarr stood there for a moment in shock, with his sword still in the other man. “I-I didn’t mean to do that…” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

I know you didn’t, the blade told him, uncertain if it was Ivarr or its own violent impulses that had ensured the other man’s death. In the end, it didn’t matter. He deserved to die, and the blade was not saddened by it in the least.

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Still, after a moment, it followed up with, You should go. If your new friends find out about this, they won’t be your friends anymore.

“But I can’t just leave him here!” Ivarr protested.

You can either do the right thing or the smart thing, the blade argued. No one will believe this was self-defense. Everyone else knew that the man was crippled.

Its wielder considered this for several seconds then sheathed his sword and fled into the darkness toward his inn. Even if it wasn’t right, he still knew it was the right thing to do.