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“Nod if you understand me.”

He nodded.

“Good.” I had to make this quick. "There’s a blind orc being held prisoner here. How can I get to him?”

“Above.” The man answered. “At the uppermost floors; w-where the Clan Head is.”

Shit. So if I was unlucky, I’d come face to face with this ‘Tanya’ person.

“Tell me the quickest route to get up there.”

“T-There is no direct route. T-This entire place was built like a maze.”

I pressed down on the dagger, drawing a bit of blood. [Artisan of Battle] activated regardless of what I wanted, his nether regions covered in thick oily ink.

He spoke quicker. Much quicker. “Please! I don’t know! Please! They never told me anything!”

The fact that he was freaking out this much even after I was threatening to wipe out his future offsprings probably meant he was telling the truth. I nodded curtly, though he couldn’t see it.

“Start counting to one hundred.”

“One… Two… Three… Four…”

I saw this scene in a movie once. Satisfied that he wouldn’t give chase, I turned around to leave.

And the shield slammed straight into my face.

I had underestimated these guys. In my head, they’d been these third-rate villains from a kid’s cartoon show, obviously the bad guys and lucky to share a brain cell between all of them combined. Just because they hadn’t been successful with the Cheonma hunt, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had labeled them with words like ‘weak’ and ‘useless’.

Except they weren’t.

These guys might not be the best at hunting monsters but that was because their talents elsewhere; I.E hunting other adventurers. An entire clan centered around banditry, tricks and running cons. Cartoons had a way of making us misinterpret the bad guys. For example, imagine a cartoon devil running around with pointy horns and a cute little pitchfork. Adorable. But watch a horror movie and you’ll realize that demons don’t even need to show themselves to scare us.

It was all in the presentation. The Scavs had made me underestimate them and I’d fallen for it.

In the end, these guys were professional killers. They had their hands in all sorts of illegal things that in the real world, we would associate with places like the Cartel, Mafia, Gangs and Terrorists. Trafficking, Rape, Drugs… and those things are real. We often ignore the reality of such things because it’s uncomfortable that the rules of society, which keeps us acting civil and nice, can be broken so easily. The Scavengers were a Clan of thugs and criminals that lived outside the law; I should've known they’d be experienced in situations like this.

But I had also cut my teeth on survival by being a slave. I wasn’t going to be out-done at suckerpunching just yet.

I rolled with the blow, avoiding an outright concussion. In a flash, my Lunar Shield was in my hand and I immediately bent my legs and ducked low; spinning in a neat circle. Grayish aura flickered to life on my crescent-moon-shaped shield and it sliced through the dwarf’s knee and the back of the man’s knees. And considering that this was my second hit on the man…

He screamed as the ink turned to sharp points, cutting into his nether regions.

I winced as I heard something plop behind me.

But there was no time to dawdle. He’d screamed which meant that every other scavenger in the near vicinity would come running. How long would that take? Five minutes?

‘Remember that these guys aren’t olympian sprinters. They’re more than that, they’re adventurers doped out on Cores that makes them the next best thing to superheroes.’

Thirty seconds, a minute if I was lucky.

I didn’t bother finishing off the man behind me. Time was precious and he was definitely out of the fight; and I somehow doubted whether he’d continue his adventuring days after this experience.

The dwarf on the other hand, was still on me. He advanced on me with an overhead strike, his warhammer glittering with light.

My falchion screeched as I slapped the head of the hammer away, stepping off to the side for good measure. But I’d made a poor choice in my impatience, stepping towards his shield-arm. He took the opportunity to barrel into me with his shield; using the Dwarven Racial Trait, [Transmutation].

Specifically, he used the first stage: [Gigantification].

The dwarf before me swelled in size, not just in height but width as well. Most dwarves were a little over four feet tall, reaching almost five feet if they were particularly tall for their race. This dwarf in front of me wasn’t the particularly tall type, though he had inherited the stockiness of everyone else. [Gigantification] nearly tripled his size, so that he was thirteen feet tall but still built like a brickhouse.

And as Einstein once said, Mass times Acceleration equals Force.

He had a lot of Mass.

When he slammed into me, it was all power and physics. I could’ve put up the best defensive stance, tried to skip away with all my speed. But as the shield approached me at breakneck speed, I knew that none of those things would work. The shield slammed into me with the force of a minivan and I felt the world shift, my brain unable to comprehend the transition from standing to airborne due to the shock of the charge.

My shield hadn’t done shit to lessen the blow. I groaned, trying to remember why I had been in such a hurry to get away. The floor shook and I looked up, seeing the thirteen foot tall Dwarven Shielder trying to smash my head in with his warhammer which looked like a toothpick in his arms.

｢ Lock Slaveborn casts [King’s Guard] ｣

My shield snapped above me, seemingly by telekinesis. Thank god that he hadn’t learned [Arms Race] yet, the second part of [Transmutation]. If he had, his warhammer and equipment would have grown in size with him. As it was, he couldn’t transfer his weight to the warhammer too well, it was just too small in comparison. He would have had better luck using his fist.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

So my shield held.

During his growth, he had stripped off his armor with a single flick of a switch built into the shoulder and waist. Most dwarves had specially made armor that could be stripped off just for this purpose; until they could use [Arms Race]. So right now, as big as he was, the dwarf was virtually naked.

Using Aura, I slashed in front of me, taking his ankle off at the heels.

“AAAAAGGGHHHH!”

The dwarf roared, his voice rumbling like a rockslide. It echoed and echoed down the tunnels, if someone hadn’t heard the mutilated man’s scream before, someone definitely heard this.

I leapt to my feet, shaking off the grogginess with growing panic. As I stood, I lunged forward with a simple stab towards the stumbling dwarf, scoring a neat cut across his thighs. He screamed again as black ink around his ankles drilled into him. There was a split second where I was torn between finishing off the dwarf or running down the hall as fast as my legs could carry me.

“Over here! This way!”

Those voices forced me into a decision.

｢ Lock Slaveborn casts [Hateful Wound] ｣

Turning to run, I heard the two men scream once more.

I sped down the tunnels. ‘Down’ being a deceptive word, I was running uphill. I might have been pumped full of adrenaline from the battle that didn’t mean my thighs and hamstrings enjoyed sprinting uphill. Still, there would be no stopping. I was going to leave this place with Arrosh, no matter what stood in my way.

I tightened my grip on the falchion, running into a small room.

There were more Scavengers here, some of them playing cards, some drinking and others just seemingly having a good time. I felt the weight of their attention as half a dozens stares snapped towards me. Once again, the Scavengers proved my initial impression of them wrong. Not a single one of them hesitated before leaping out of their chairs and drawing their weapons.

The key word being ‘leaped’.

Newton’s law of motion took over when I used [High Tide] as soon as they were airborne.

They slammed into the walls, landing in a tangle of limbs, table, food, beer and only god knows what else. They cursed and spat, trying to get up. But I had never stopped moving and sped past them while they struggled. Their curses faded into silence as I entered another pathway, heading upwards. I was breathing hard now and each step was another effort.

Still, if the angry yelling coming from the tunnels behind me were any indication, I couldn’t afford to stop.

The place was a beehive and was literally swarming with the Scavengers. Whenever I tried to take a turn or find an abandoned room to rest, I encountered more of them. I was forced to dip into my Dimension Ring, using the items that I had looted. Smoke bombs, Flash Bangs and one time a large curtain that blocked their vision just long enough for me to pass by. I was forced to drink a health potion on the fly, slowing for a bit as the pain of my ribs being mended made it hard to breath.

Eventually, I realized that the only sound I heard was my own breathing and footsteps.

As I gathered myself, I looked around me.

I thought that running upwards would lead to better construction. Actual walls, flat flooring and decor. But I was wrong, this section was the same as below. It was the same tunnel walls, except a bit larger. Maybe big enough to be considered a hotel lobby. As I wheezed, I checked what was left in my Dimension Ring; running through my mental list and crossing things off. The number of Scavengers I had outrun wasn’t small and the lack of items showed. I had over a dozen encounters and each time, dipped into the dwindling supply of items to make my mistake.

As a result, I was relatively in good condition.

I took in one final breath and looked at the wall on the other end, which I’d been purposefully avoiding.

A single door, built into the walls of the rock itself.

And standing in front of it, a [Player].

There was no way he wasn’t a [Player]. He wore a loincloth and little else, the exact spitting copy of a gamer who got famous for soloing a difficult boss with only a helmet. The only difference was the helmet in question. The [Player] in front of me didn’t have a helmet resembling a clay pot, instead he was wearing a horse head, the sort of thing that they sell on the internet.

There was no way a natural inhabitant of this world would dress like that.

He stood there, waiting for me.

Then he pushed off of the wall, picking up a scimitar in each hand. I heard tiny little cracks as he tilted his head left and right, the movement made comical by the horse head mask.

I heard myself swallow.

He took a step towards me.

And my world exploded in color, sound and blood as we lunged towards each other.

There had been no banter, no exchange of wits. Not a single word had been uttered by either of us, no build up to make each other angry or off-balance. This would be a battle of wits, swordplay and Cores; no outside factors to change the tides of battle. It was him versus me and I brought everything I had to bare.

It nearly wasn’t enough.

I immediately cast [King’s Guard] and followed it up with [Share the Load]. He hesitated as the manacle flew towards him. An adventurer might try and dodge it but as a [Player], he must’ve already known that it was unavoidable. He bobbed up and down, pretending to be surprised and rushed me in a flurry of steel; one hand feinting towards my neck and the other slicing down towards my knee.

He leaned more weight into the feint and my Lunar Shield immediately floated down. That told me two things about him. One, that he knew a little bit about my Core abilities. He didn’t bother trying to dodge [Share the Load] and knew enough about [King’s Guard] to trick the ability with a feint. Not only that, he knew how I moved. He knew my patterns, habits and had a rough idea of my swordplay style.

Two, he was fast.

I almost met him mid rush, the temporary sword trying to meet his scimitar and deflect it. But his arm fucking twisted and stretched like a rubber snake, avoiding my parry entirely and left a long gash along the top of my thigh. I hissed, more in surprise than pain, and countered with a two-handed strike. He was already gone, dancing away to my left and then doing that strange bobbing and weaving again. He was in the corner of my vision then disappeared.

If my Lunar Shield didn’t automatically block his scimitars, he would have taken my legs off at the knee.

He was bent low to the ground, almost parallel to it. I panicked, trying to gain distance and he pressed the charge. Each time his scimitar flashed, my shield blocked it in a spray of sparks. But his off-hand was never still, constantly testing my defenses and succeeding in leaving small nicks and cuts. I tried to fend him off with futility. I was too used to having the shield in my off-arm and not nearly as skilled in defense with the blade.

He pressed his advantage with brutal efficiency, the slow death of a thousand cuts. I leaned to one side, purposefully showing an opening but he didn’t dart in. Instead he kicked me in the knee, forcing me to return to my stance. He was patient, only taking noncommittal strikes and leaving me riddled with cuts no bigger than a paper cut.

And I still hadn’t touched him.

I don’t know why but that fact made me angrier than anything else he could have done. He had been silent, waiting for me. He was obviously a [Player] who was involved with Arrosh’s capture and imprisonment. Yet, the fact that a [Player], someone who wasn’t born in this world was better than me at swordsmanship touched on an insecurity that ran so deep, that I didn’t even know it existed.

Deep inside, I thought I was talented at swordplay. Sure, I had all this knowledge about the game but I had surprised myself at how fast I had improved. I wasn’t a mage, staying behind the safety of of my tanks and nuking my enemies from afar with spells. I was a Knight who could use [Aura]. Not only that, Skaris and Aurora had complimented me on my fighting style more than once.

More than that, I was Arrosh Bloodedge’s Disciple. My art was handed down to me from Nearnigh the [Sword Saint] and I had begun to believe that the title would be mine. Quest or not, I had taken that identity and made it a central ideology of who I was. Lock Slaveborn was not just an adventurer, but a swordsman and I had taken pride in that fact.

So when this [Player] showed up, prepared for an ambush armed with the knowledge of my Cores and Style, it lit a spark in my heart. A smoldering ember that made me feel hate and rage.

And fear.

Since when the hell had people started watching me? How long had I been marked as someone to be careful of?

｢ Lock Slaveborn casts [Tidal Force] ｣

“Get the fuck over here.” I was surprised by the snarl in my voice but took sick pleasure as an invisible hand yanked him towards me.

His form flickered, like a lightbulb that was close to going out then simply disappeared, appearing in the same place but having lost all the momentum from [Tidal Force]. [Flicker Step], an ability which allowed the user to ignore the effect of a displacement ability or a single instance of damage.

So I threw sand in his face.

“Ghh!”

I saw as some of the sand went through the eye holes in his horse mask and saw the light behind them go out. The man had closed his eyes only for a split second. But that was enough for me, I pushed through as he thrust out with his swords –one high and the other low– spinning around them tackling him in the chest with my shoulder. He was shorter than me and smaller than me, the body structure of a speed-based character.

I’d put on a lot of muscle while sparring with Skaris.

My shoulder tackle knocked the wind out of him and I thought I heard the crunch of bone. Thanks to the [Lunar Shield], buffs had flown into me at once and he definitely hadn’t accounted for the sudden increase in my speed or attack. He recovered faster than I thought, swinging his scimitars in wide arcs to keep me away. I glided in under one swing as my shield blocked the other, slicing him across the top of his knee the way he did to me.

[Flicker Step] flowed into me. I'd keep it as long as I could, to prevent him from using it.

Not only that but my shoulder tackle earlier had left a ring of black ink on his chest. The ink mark painted itself into thorny branches and his chest began to bleed.

Squeezing my fist, I cast [Hateful Wound].

I had to give him credit, he didn’t even grunt as the holes on his chest opened up to the size of my fingers. He simply rode through the pain, leaping backwards in a surprising feat of agility and athleticism. He bounded nearly ten feet in the air, landing more than twenty paces away from me. I saw the eyes behind the mask blink rapidly, trying to get the sand out of them.

Holding the sword in a two handed grip, I returned to my stance.

The eyes underneath his horse head helmet narrowed.

The stillness of battle stretched on. His eyes shone from under the mask.

The bastard was scheming.

I had no intention of letting him do that.

When he was near enough, I kicked up some pebbles near my feet towards his head but he didn’t even flinch. He knocked them out of the air with the flat edge of his blade. But he had shown me the opening I wanted. I surged forward, [Aura] coming to life, bending low to the ground I thrust upwards and-

-stopped right before cutting into his throat.

My sword tip was wavering.

It wasn’t an active choice, it was something else entirely. Was it a Core ability? A mental blockage? Perhaps some part of me-

The horse-headed warrior flew into movement, leading with a flying knee strike which was easily blocked by the shield. I watched as he moved with fluid grace, a languid quality about him as the shock of my hesitation just now turned everything into a slow dreamlike state. He spun past my shield, completely on the inside of my guard and…

…plunged his swords into my stomach.

The whole exchange had taken less than three seconds.

I staggered.

He left the swords in my stomach and kicked me away. I felt my back hit the ground.

I didn’t even feel pain.

I felt nothing.

What the hell had I done?

No. I could still move. I could still-

Something kicked me in the stomach and suddenly, I was struggling to breath, much less think. There was so much red-

“Fucking noob.”

That was the last thing I heard.

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