The Samurai and the wolf crouched low. Hiding in the shadows on a narrow ledge overlooking the Aztec-looking temple that was most likely the cultist’s hideaway.

She scouted out the area, creating a rough layout in her mind. The temple was enclosed on all sides with only a single entrance that she could see.

The main gate led into a courtyard which was currently deserted apart from a few guards who roamed the area. They would be easy pickings. The only challenge would be killing them all before they could alert the others.

Despite it being late at night in the Kalhatchi, the unblemished sky cast a midnight glow, allowing the moon free reign to light up her foes and the surrounding area.

She chose to see this as a good omen, even though it would make it harder for her to sneak in.

The layout of the temple seemed rather simple from the outside. The courtyard led to a single building at the back which was tall and tiered.

Perhaps she would face more challenging opponents as she climbed the floors. That would certainly be interesting.

She nodded to Pocco and began climbing down from her vantage point. It was time.

The bottom of the cliff she’d used as a lookout tower was directly adjacent to the right-side wall of the courtyard. Hugging it, she crept slowly towards the gate.

She held a masterful control over her body. Her steps were silent and even her breathing deliberate.

As she rounded the corner she caught sight of the glow of a lit torch: the first guard who had been positioned at the gate.

Though only one carried a torch, she knew there was a second standing a few meters to the side of him. Gesturing with her hands, she ordered Pocco to take out the second guard.

The torch wielder belonged to her.

She unsheathed her blade slowly, making sure not to scrape the metal edge on the sheath. She didn’t need to do this. She could just as easily have summoned it to her hands, avoiding any chance of making sound.

But the risk was what made it fun.

Her heart pounded and adrenaline rushed through her as she steadied her two-handed weapon and crept further forward.

She could practically smell the guard’s sweat as she pounced like a jaguar and dissected the man from shoulder to hip.

He didn’t even have time to yelp as her decisive blow cut his body in two.

She marvelled at her new power as his torso slid away from the rest of his body with a muffled thump and the sloshing of blood and guts.

Back on earth, no amount of training and skill would allow someone to cut a person in two like that. Let alone with such ease.

Slicing through the guard was as simple as slicing butter. The feeling was exhilarating.

Less than a second after she’d landed her hit a second muffled thud hit the ground as Pocco tore the jugular from the other guard.

For a moment she wondered if the cultists chose to adorn red robes to hide the blood stains of their enemies. She dismissed this thought upon feeling how weak their auras were.

She seemed to have a natural talent for gauging an opponent’s strength. From what she had gathered it was due to her naturally high mana.

Her bonus to the intelligence stat helped with that. She had discovered early on that the number of intelligence points one possessed directly correlated to the amount of mana they had.

When she looked at a person she saw their mana. It glowed around their skin like a semi-transparent, living aura.

These men were weak. The mana did not love them like it loved her.

Their auras were barely visible, a completely intangible reddish hue that barely even constituted as a glow.

She felt nothing but disgust for her dead foes.

Their deaths had offered her nothing but the satisfaction of soaking her blade in human blood for the first time.

Back on earth it was common in literature and media for people to feel something after killing a human for the first time. Some vomited, others cried or had night terrors.

She, however, felt nothing.

She wondered why people made such a fuss out of killing. It was easy, simple.

Human history was built on the billions of lives lost on the battlefield. Did it make people feel better about themselves to pretend it affected them? If killing was such a heinous crime then why was her race so hell bent on war?

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They must have been lying about the emotional impact. Perhaps it was a clever ruse to make the wolves seem less dangerous to the hens.

All of these thoughts raced through her mind in a mere second or two as Pocco dragged his victim’s body into the shrubbery.

She left hers where it fell. She needn’t stain her hands by touching it. If the cultists were all this weak, then she’d vastly overestimated them.

There was no need to hide anymore.

Besides, there were only two more guards, sitting idly on the stone steps which led to the temple doors.

Stepping out from behind the wall, she brazenly waltzed towards them. Pocco panted as he proudly trotted next to her. His muzzle was dyed crimson.

Now this makes me feel like a real samurai. She thought gleefully as the two men did a collective double take.

“How did you get past the-”

Her blade swept effortlessly through his neck before he could finish his question. His head flew through the air, mouth still agape, mid-sentence.

Before the second man even had time to widen his eyes in surprise, his head also left its neck.

“Pathetic.” She muttered to herself as she ascended the steps to the temple doors.

The doors themselves were rather large. At three times her height and twice her width. They seemed to be made of gold that glinted in the pale moonlight.

There were intricate carvings on them depicting a kingly figure sitting on a large throne. A sparkling crown sat atop his head with golden light shining out of it.

How tacky.

Placing a hand on each door, she pushed hard and an ear-splitting creak sounded through the night as the doors swung inwards.

She gripped her katana with both hands, adopting a readied stance so she would not be caught off guard by any attackers.

However, as she entered the interior, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

The ground floor was a huge, open throne room. A large golden throne took up most of the back wall. It was grandiose, to say the least.

Come closer warrior, I wish to speak with you.

A strange voice spoke directly into her mind. She could feel its mana, just a sliver of it, running through her head. It felt powerful, more powerful than anything she’d faced so far.

She felt her lips curl upwards. This was the fight she’d been waiting for. A worthy opponent, at last.

“Who are you? Come out and face me?” She announced loudly to the room, looking around for the source of the voice.

That’s no way to speak to a god. My minion’s will hear you. He teased in her mind.

“Your minion’s will all die by my blade and then so will you.”

Ha! I love your confidence. Very well, let’s see shall we.

All around the room robed cultists appeared as if out of thin air. There must have been at least 80 of them, which, according to the quest, would be all of them.

The Samurai wasted no time in taking action. She wasn’t going to let them gain the advantage. She turned to her right and leapt towards the closest group: a cluster of around 12 cultists.

They had an array of different weapons from axes to basic swords, to polearms and spears. It mattered not. The Samurai cleaved through them before they’d even readied their weapons.

She didn’t even need to use a sword skill to do it. They were simply too weak to pose a threat to her.

On the opposite side of the room Pocco had also begun his assault. He pounced at the chest of a burly, club wielding neanderthal and ripped happily at his face as the man screamed. Pocco’s tail wagged wildly.

The Samurai was almost distracted at how cute he was. He really was the best familiar she could have asked for. She adored animals.

People… not so much.

She continued her advance cutting down attacker after attacker. Not a single one managed to land a hit on her. They were slow and weak. Hardly worth the effort of killing.

She moved her head slightly to the side as an arrow whizzed past. She whistled and Pocco was upon the archer, tearing at his throat.

The familiar was a natural born killer and loyal to a fault. They were a match made in deepest depths of hell, at least that’s what she hoped her enemies thought.

Not that many of them had time to think before she sliced into them.

They fell one after the other as she danced upon their corpses, a laughing reaper of chaos. Perhaps that would be a better monicker for her than The Samurai.

Reaper had a nice ring to it. Though she was rather fond of the name the locals at the Adventure Society had given her after she told them the class she was given.

In no time at all the temple floor was slick with the blood of the cultists. Anyone would think a ritual sacrifice had taken place. The sheer amount of blood stored in the human body amazed her.

How could so much liquid be held inside such a small skin bag. It was as if people were bigger on the inside. She had read once at school that the intestines alone could stretch 15 feet long.

A fact that seemed to ring true as she disembowelled the screaming man in front of her. His intestines clung to the edge of her blade and as she pulled it back like a fishing rod the organ just kept coming – like a clown pulling handkerchiefs from his sleeve.

It was mildly amusing, but not as amusing as his pleading whimpers as he looked on in horror at the scene before him. It must have been horrifying to see one’s own intestines pulled from inside them.

That was what he got for daring to face her at such a pathetically low level.

From the notifications that kept popping up on her interface, the cultist’s she’d killed were all barely at phase two.

How weak did they have to be to barely scratch the second phase after decades of living in this world, when she was well on her way to phase three after barely a month?

As she dealt with the penultimate cultist and sheathed her sword, the leader showed his face.

His robe was topped with a crimson wrapping that covered all but his deep black eyes. It certainly looked more fitting for a desert scene.

He laughed and stepped into the middle of the room, in front of the throne, spinning a khopesh in each hand.

The khopesh was an ancient Arabic weapon she’d learnt about during her martial arts training back home. It had a distinct and vicious look to it.

The blade itself was shaped like a sickle with a flat edge rather than a point. It was a slashing weapon rather than a stabbing one and if her memory served it was popular amongst the soldiers of ancient Egypt.

The leader tossed one khopesh into the air and caught the spinning blade as it fell back down. His posturing did not impress The Samurai.

“Let’s dance.” He said in a hoarse whisper of a voice.

She simply nodded and activated one of her sword skills.

Midnight Slash (common)

Unsheathe your blade in an instant 10-foot leap to slash through foes. This skill imbues the wielder’s blade with dark mana.

Activating this skill has a medium mana cost.

The Samurai drew her blade and disappeared from the cult leader’s vision. He looked to both sides but saw no sign of her, then he heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being sheathed once more.

Turning towards the noise would be the last act of his pitiful life as he fell to the ground, staring up at his severed legs which were standing up on their own.

“Your turn.” The Samurai said, looking up at the golden throne.