The past hour of Dyani’s life had been a lesson in veils, where failing meant much more than a poor grade. In the past, she’d only bothered veiling herself at specific moments, usually to avoid detection while sneaking up on a monster.
At the moment, half of Dyani’s attention was on keeping a constant veil over her power, while the other half searched for signs of pursuit. She had to rely on her physical senses, since her spiritual senses relied on the very same aura of mana that her veil was keeping inside her body.
But she didn’t dare discard her handicap, or even use a skill, as that would release mana that could be sensed and tracked, or even disrupt her veil entirely. Someone better trained in veils could probably conceal their skill use, but she hadn’t ever tried before, and wasn’t going to start today. Dyani had already heard the echoes of footsteps, too many and too loud to be Pikawon’s, and the call of a bird, which she doubted was native to this environment.
She encountered the occasional monster, but so far she’d managed to sneak past some of them, and dodge and flee the others. Most were from species she’d fought before and was confident in killing under ordinary circumstances, but it was already a struggle to keep herself completely veiled for this long without the distraction of combat.
That wasn’t even considering the sounds of the fight, the mana released from a monster’s skills, or the corpses they left behind.
So Dyani left the monsters alive, and even picked the paths with more and stronger monsters. While a line of corpses would serve as a trail right to her, she hoped that living monsters would dissuade anyone from following, or at least slow them down.
Dyani used the time between finding monsters to think of new and creative ways to punish Pikawon for his betrayal.
She’d long since figured out that he’d incapacitated her so he could draw the city guards away, which was stupid, since he was the one they were really hunting. It was exactly the sort of thing the hero in the novels she liked so much would do, so she should’ve been thrilled, but being the one protected, instead of the one facing danger, felt embarrassing and shameful.
After months fighting side by side, it felt viscerally wrong for either of them to face monsters, even human ones, apart.
At one point, her emotions became so turbulent that a monster scored a small scratch on her leg. The monster was a Fungal Rat of all things, the most common and least impressive of the monsters she’d fought down here.
If she was going to get hurt, it should be from fighting something more impressive.
She was tempted to strike it down on principle, like a noble smiting a beggar who’d dared to speak in their presence. She resisted the impulse. Leaving behind a bit of her blood on the rat’s claw was better than leaving a corpse.
Dyani’s path towards more and stronger monsters continually led her into areas of higher ambient mana. Even though the change was gradual, it was significant enough for her to notice, even through her veil. Not only was the mana stronger, creeping closer to level 3 with every step, it felt darker and less peaceful, like the depths of a lake seen through its rippling surface.
She was beginning to suspect there was something behind the sewer’s constant manifestation of monsters, beyond the decay of mundane and magical waste. If her suspicions were correct, she was heading toward the perfect place to avoid magical tracking, and somewhere more dangerous than anywhere she’d ever been.
***
Pikawon had an intimate knowledge of the local sewer layout. It wasn’t enough. The first group caught up with him minutes after he gave away his anti-tracking talisman.
The group consisted of three city guards, and a large brown dog with bloodshot eyes. The dog immediately howled and charged at his back, but the three guards took a moment to ready their skills. He didn’t give them a chance.
He pumped more sense dampening poison into his claws.
The only other poison he’d had stored wouldn’t be useful.
He slashed in the direction of the charging dog’s eyes, letting the poison spray out. The dog yelped and turned its head to the side, so the poison only struck one closed eye.
Pikawon didn’t know how effective applying the poison topically would be, but it was the closest thing he had to a ranged attack, and he really didn’t want to get close to the burly beast. He jumped to the side, bouncing between the sides of the corridor with each step.
The first skill came shooting towards him when he was nearly upon the three hunters. It was a standard Mana Bolt, just a concentrated ball of pure mana without physical substance.
Lacking a way to effectively dodge while midair, he reached out to intercept the attack with one hand.
The Mana Bolt flashed, impacting his spirit rather than his body. The mana channels in the affected arm shrieked as they were flooded with foreign mana, then the entire arm went limp and numb. The Mana Bolt wasn’t powerful enough to cause permanent spiritual damage, but it would take precious time to regain sensation and even more to regain control. It would take a couple minutes at a minimum before he could channel mana through the arm, far too long to be useful in this fight.
But Pikawon had another arm, one perfectly capable of channeling mana. Silver streaks of blade mana trailed his claws as he slashed at the outstretched arm of the guard who’d cast Mana Bolt. His Sundering Claw tore through defense-enchanted fabric, skin, and muscle, cutting nearly to the bone. The man clearly hadn’t invested anything into toughness.
The man screamed, falling backward and throwing off the aim of one of his companions. A conjured icicle flew past Pikawon, close enough to feel its chill, even through his padded cloth armor.
His armor was better at defending against physical attacks than elemental energies, and the icicle was a physical object, so it probably wouldn’t hurt him too badly if it had hit, but it carried enough ice mana to chill and slow his movements, which he really couldn’t afford.
Pikawon slashed at the Icicle caster next. The man dodged enough to turn a torn out throat into a shallow gash across the chest.
The Mana Bolt caster was preoccupied with staunching the bleeding on his arm, which Pikaown considered a waste of time. These guards had to be at least level 4 or 5, and were supposedly trained in combat. If they didn’t have the points in vitality to survive a moderate wound for a few minutes in a combat situation, they really shouldn’t be down here.
Either he’d overestimated their levels, training, or discipline, because the Icicle caster was nearly as distracted by his little gash as the other guard. The man was nearly hyperventilating as he watched the blood dribble down his chest.
Maybe this would be easier than Pikawon thought.
His instincts flashed a warning as danger approached from left and behind. The large, unblinded dog leaped towards his back, while the guard on his left, a tall woman with close cropped hair, reached for him with arms that were suddenly coated in liquid fire.
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Pikawon didn’t recognize the skill. He tried to identify it without much hope, and was surprised when it came up with a match.
* Flare (Common)
* Type: Attack, Ranged
* Affinity: Fire
* Range: Medium
* Cost: Low Mana
* Effect: Conjures and propels a small ball of fire at a single target.
He knew that skill, but it didn’t match what he was seeing. The woman must have a talent that changed how skills expressed themselves, as opposed to his own talent, which transformed them into new skills entirely. He hoped she was limited to using talents on herself, and would be unable to utilize the Flare skill’s ordinary ranged attack.
He jumped forward, wishing he had a copy of Dyani’s signature skill, Mana Jump. He planted a foot in the Icicle caster’s chest, right over his gash, knocking the man over before running past.
The dog’s claws barely grazed his back, but they delivered enough concussive force to make him stumble. That gave the fire arm lady just enough time to graze his hip with a burning hand.
His armor held up for a moment, but the Leafling fiber cloth was designed to turn aside blades and the Cloud Sheep wool was chosen to cushion and disperse blunt force. Neither were any good at resisting fire.
Pikawon didn’t scream. It was closer to a yelp.
He spun to face the fire arm lady, lashing out with his claws to spray her with poison, but his reserves had finally run dry. Only a few drops leaked out, most of which sizzled away in the heat.
That was the problem with concentrating the poison, it became more potent, but there was less of it.
As the fire arm lady advanced with the dog with force magic, the Icicle man rolled over onto his stomach and started to rise. The Mana Bolt man was out of the fight, still slumped against the wall while keeping pressure on his wound.
Pikawon was down to two thirds of his mana with his numb arm hanging uselessly at his side. He was out of his sense dampening poison, the only weapon that could keep these guards from tracking him, short of killing them.
But he did have one more poison stored.
He hadn’t intended to absorb it, and hadn’t even considered it a poison when he’d accepted it from Dyani.
She’d just planned a little celebration when he’d reached level 3. She bought a bottle of cheap wine for them to share. Pikawon had never drunk before, so he’d taken his first sip cautiously, but he needn't have worried.
Twin Fang Cauldron had awakened and absorbed the bulk of the alcohol with much greater efficiency than it had initially absorbed the Rat Back Poison. He didn’t know if that was because the alcohol was non-magical, was more common, or if it was just easier to extract poison from a liquid than a solid mushroom, but it had prevented him from feeling more than the mildest buzz.
In an ordinary attack, alcohol would do little more than sting, but besides technically being a poison, it did have one more interesting property.
Eyes already squinted nearly shut, Pikawon sprayed out all of his stored alcohol. He didn’t think wine was ordinarily flammable, but his skill had only extracted the pure alcohol, which was more than happy to ignite.
As soon as the edge of the clear, crescent wave touched a burning hand, the entire thing went up in flames. Unfortunately for his targets, it didn’t explode and burn away to nothing in a single moment of light and heat. That would’ve been painful and distracting, but far better for them than what happened.
Instead, the alcohol splattered against everyone still in the fight, the burning liquid sinking into their clothing. The protective enchantments didn’t even activate. Apparently mundane alcohol and flame wasn’t considered a threat.
The Icicle man and fire arm lady screamed and smacked at the flames. The woman with burning arms was forced to extinguish her skill, lest she do more harm than good. The dog barked and whined before leaping into the shallow channel of sewage and rolling over.
Pikawon winced at that more than the burns he’d inflicted. That stink wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon.
He took advantage of their distraction and ran for it. He was nearby around a corner when his instincts shouted a warning of danger coming from behind. This time he failed to protect his core from a Mana Bolt. Pikawon collapsed, scraping up his exposed skin as his magic and body failed him.
He just barely managed to twist his neck enough to stare incredulously at the Mana Bolt man who’d pulled himself together enough to attack him. His free hand was still clenched around his wounded arm, but he had his foot extended towards Pikawon, still glowing with residual mana.
The first guy Pikawon had taken out, who’d been useless ever since, had shot a Mana Bolt out of his foot at a moving target, and had still managed to hit his target square in the back.
He couldn’t help being impressed. He only wished the man was on his side.
Pikawon commanded his muscles to move, but they barely twitched. His core was reeling from the flood of foreign mana, which permeated his own mana and refused to move at his command. All his magic would be impaired until his own mana broke down the foreign mana and flushed it out. That was a problem, as the points he’d allocated to strength, speed, toughness, and mind thoroughly connected his body and core.
Those attributes weren’t totally negated, since they relied on allocated experience, not mana. His muscles were still faster and denser, and his entire body was still more difficult to damage, but the links between his core and body did allow foreign mana to spill through, disrupting his control over his own body.
If he’d only enhanced his magical attributes, his body would be largely unaffected.
Pikawon would’ve preferred simply being too powerful to be affected by the attack, but in this moment of desperation, he would’ve taken any option that allowed him to run.
With the small amount of control he still possessed, he started to crawl. The arm he’d used to intercept the first Mana Bolt was even more useless than before, but he managed to flop the other forward far enough to pull his body forward a couple centimeters.
If he could just stay ahead long enough for his spirit to recover, he could escape, stay free, stay him, not the breeding stock they wanted, not a caged beast. Without conscious choice, he began the longest prayers he knew, half thought and half spoken through hitching breaths.
“First Saint, Blinder, hide my steps. Show me the worthy path to take.
Second Saint, Nighthunter, grant me speed. Dip your blade in my blood as price.
Third Saint, Legion, send your host. Put in my hand the devils’ chains.
Fourth Saint, Mountainfall, shield my journey. Be the parent to this wandering child.
Fifth Saint, Secretbreaker, harass my foe. Cast your spells upon their backs.
Sixth Saint, Blademother, share your grace. Let my every step be a dance to your song.
Seventh Saint, Mule, keep my pace. Let me walk with strength unerring.
Eighth Saint, Fallen, turn your head, your first face to me, your second to my foe, and your third to no man.
Ninth Saint, Lost, remember me. Should I fall, take me into your rest.”
Pikawon wasn’t the most pious, but he did have faith. He found it easy to believe in the saints, instead of the goddess.
They weren’t all powerful, all knowing entities sitting in the heavens. The saints were heroes of old, paragons of virtue.
And they were dead, except for maybe the eighth, who had preserved himself in undeath and disappeared from the world.
Prayers to the saints were less about asking for something, and more about expressing a truth or an ideal.
Right now, he wished to live up to those legacies more than anything. If he were as swift as the Nighthunter and as tireless as the Blademother, he could flee without issue. If he were as enduring as the Fallen or Mountainfall, he could shrug off these attacks.
With the physical strength of the Mule, the summoned spirits of Legion, or the magics of Blinder or Secretbreaker, he could smite his enemies with holy power.
If he had a sliver of the Lost Saint’s wisdom, he might never have found himself in this situation to begin with.
He deserved some help, didn’t he? He’d put his friend’s safety ahead of his own desires, when the hunters were at the gates, if not before.
Giving Dyani the anti-tracking talisman and drawing the hunters off had hurt him more than he would ever admit. As much as he wanted to stop living in fear, he’d been happier in the last few weeks than he’d been in years.
If a divine messenger had appeared before him and offered to teleport him to the other side of the planet, safe but never to return, or let him stay in Root Perch, hiding with his friend, he knew what he’d pick.