Orelio knew the man he had set his sights on. Well, he didn't know him personally.

He was Arion, known as the Bloodletter. Orelio knew his reputation from Irving's camp. Even among the Reverie fanatics he was one of the more famous. His style of showering himself in the blood of his enemies had a way of spreading fearful rumors among enemies and allies alike.

Orelio could see the remnants of the blood he had spilled today already on him. His once nice fur coat was matted up in gore and the hatchets' shine was dulled by the crimson liquid they were covered in.

"So, this is where our stray went off to."

"You see anywhere else around here to go?"

"Nope. Nowhere interesting, anyway. What's the deal? I thought you would have loved to have the glory of claiming a blessing for yourself."

"Among those who follow Reverie it may be considered an honor, and if it was given freely I'd have taken it. But unlike you people who only think of violence, I know the consequences would outweigh the benefits."

The Bloodletter twirled a hatchet around his finger, "What, the little puppy scared of hurting his new master? You know if you killed him and claimed that blessing for yourself you'd gain strength beyond your imagination. You'd no longer be a mutt," He smiled viciously, "You'd be a wolf."

"I don't fancy the thought of being hunted by the church any more than I like being chained to another's will. My legacy will be my own."

"So you'll choose your own path? How admirable. Wouldn't it be better then to stay out of the way entirely then? Why stick your nose in a conflict that should have nothing to do with you?"

"A future I had long thought to be out of reach has suddenly landed in my lap." Orelio smiled, "Besides, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the challenge that comes with headhunting."

"There's the feral spearman I've heard so much about. Any time I saw you in camp you either lounged about or gambled your savings away. It was a bit disappointing."

"Oh that's right, the faith of Reverie looks down upon gambling, doesn't it? Seems a bit strange considering most of the ideology is based on gambling your life in combat."

"Fighting is a test of skill, not luck. I do hope you have more skill than you seem to have in luck, as yours seems to have been pretty shit recently."

"You have a point. Anti-magic Area." Orelio fell into his stance, activating his projection. Their conversation was over. He could feel the barely contained animosity emanating from his opponent.

Orelio wished he had bothered getting more info on the stronger members under Irving's employ. The only thing he had known about his comrades in arms was that the majority of them were conscripts and the few mercs he had hired were either affiliated with Reverie or old hands. It was something of a fluke that Orelio even wound up there.

He had never thought much about his allies. In his mind they had simply been background characters, people that were meant to be a footnote in his story. The only real worth he had found out of them was the conscript's similar fondness for cards.

Orelio took the initiative, dashing to the left. Arion pursued, charging through the trees and trying to close the distance. In truth, all Orelio needed to do here was buy time for Stein to get away. At least, that's what he hoped to make Arion think.

Right as Arion was about to catch him, Orelio pivoted behind a tree, then did a quick backstep and thrust his spear forward around the angle he had just disappeared behind using his claw grip. The Bloodletter grunted and barely parried the attack with a hatchet.

The first of many.

Orelio's projection counted anything other than an abject miss against his intended target as a plus one to the combo. Orelio had never bothered considering the exact amount of extra speed each tally to the combo gave him. He liked to keep things simple, more hits equals more speed. That was all he knew how to do.

Orelio pulled his spear back and leaped away from the tree, taking a more conventional stance. He had hoped to catch his enemy more by surprise, but since his opening gambit had mostly failed he would make Arion come to him. He didn't find it surprising that Arion chose to chase after him instead of Stein. Followers of Reverie were battle maniacs after all, the notion that one would pass up the chance to fight a sorcerer to the death was unthinkable.

The Bloodletter rushed him, hatchets primed for mayhem. Orelio put up his spear in a block, and Arion brought his hatchets down, trying to chop it to pieces.

Predictable.

Even with only a single tally to the combo, Orelio's enhanced speed was enough to surprise anyone expecting the same pace as before. He whipped his spear forward, aiming to bash Arion's exposed face with the butt of his spear.

Even as Orelio launched his counterattack, no, even before he launched it Arion was backstepping. The butt of Orelio's spear whished uselessly through the air.

What the?

"Come on, you can do better than that can't you, mutt?" The Bloodletter patted a hatchet against his shoulder, looking at Orelio with a gaze that oozed boredom.

Orelio didn't bother responding, instead dashing forward after resetting his stance. He made to thrust, then pivoted again and whipped his spear in an extended bashing attack. The Bloodletter caught the blow in the nook of a hatchet, then slid it along the shaft in an attempt to hit Orelio's hands.

Seen it before.

Orelio let his feet drop out from under him, falling to his knees. As he fell his spear was freed from the contact with the hatchet and Orelio once again pushed his spear into the bash. It wouldn't do as much damage, but if he could at least wound Arion's leg...

Except his enemy once again wasn't where he expected him to be. Again he had backstepped, against every preconception Orelio had against the man. The Bloodletter was supposed to be a fiend, a veritable devil that waded through bodies as easily as water. Yet here he was being passive to a frustrating degree.

"The little puppy looks confused, isn't that cute."

"You… what are you?"

"Did you ever realize Irving was favoring you?"

"...What?"

"Irving was smart, you know? He saw what was happening even before everything played out the way we knew it was. He knew he could do nothing to stop it, so he distanced all the people he thought he might be able to spare."

"You're saying he kicked me to the curb because he pitied me?"

"He showed you favor far before that. The renown you've been seeking this entire time, you've never been able to get your hands on it, even as hard as you try. You seek the strong to prove your worth but are blind to the simple fact you aren't worthy."

"Don't talk like you know the limits of my strength. I'm-"

"A first tier sorcerer, I know. One with a projection so fundamentally flawed you lost to a battlemage. It's based on that equally flawed ideology you spouted before. A fight is gambling your life? That's the thinking of one who lacks strength. I'll show you. I'll even allow you time to realize how out of your league you really were." He fliped his hatchets into a reverse grip, brandishing the blunt ends.

Orelio took his stance as Arion rushed in. Orelio tried to throw out a thrust to force him back, but Arion's speed is far greater than it was before. He easily parried it to the side with a hatchet. In a smooth motion he buried the blunt head of the other hatchet into Orelio's solar plexus and pain shot through him as he felt a bone crack.

He's been faking his strength this entire time?

Orelio wildly swung his spear with slightly enhanced speed, simply trying to connect and somehow to build up the combo. Arion avoided it with ease and smashed the back of a hatchet into the liver.

Orelio crumpled, pain from his chest seeming to blot out the world. After a moment his senses recover, and he crawled to his feet. He saw Arion has taken a few steps back, mocking him with a smile and gaze like he was looking upon something pitiful.

"You…" Orelio could barely breathe, let alone speak. Yet he knew he needed to drag out a conversation long enough to recover or he's dead. Not that he's sure he isn't dead either way.

"...Was hiding my strength? Yeah, sorry. I like to toy with my prey. Bad habit, I know."

"You… know my..?"

"Oh, that? Yeah. You don't really watch your surroundings that much, do you? I had a good vantage point from which to view your little fighting style on the field in the last battle. It's certainly effective against crowds, I'll give you that. But the fact that you lost to a mere battlemage after you ran off really says how weak it is in a one on one."

"What's… a better alternative then?"

Arion smiled. He knew Orelio was playing for time and an advantage, but he had such a sadistic streak he couldn't help buying into it. "To give an example then, do you know why I employ such a disgusting fighting style?"

"It's just your nature?"

"Hah. While I can't deny that's a part of it, I use a cumulative projection, similar to yours. Unlike yours, the effects of mine don't simply come undone once I make a mistake." He gestures to his gore smeared coat, "I gather my enhancements, plaster myself in them, ensuring it's not so simple to lose them."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

So the more blood he covers himself in, the stronger he gets. Judging from his style it's probably bonuses across the board, unlike mine which just increases my speed. It may not even necessarily have to be blood he himself has spilled. How truly…

"...Boring."

"What?" Arion's playful attitude vanished.

"How utterly boring. You just raise your base attributes to outperform everyone else? I thought you were supposed to enjoy this. How is such a drab method of victory enjoyable?"

"Hmph. I suppose a gambler would never understand."

"Heh," Orelio found himself laughing uncontrollably. The pain and feeling of imminent death seemed to dull his sense of reason, "A gambler, huh? Hah! You know, I think you're right. About my projection, I mean. It is sad. I'm only placing safe bets, with no real stakes in the game."

Arion tensed up, feeling something wasn't right.

"I think it's time… to jack the ante."

Orelio raised his spear skyward in one hand and placed the other on his chest, "Inspiration; Soul of the Gambler."

***

For the first time in the fight, Arion truly didn't know what would happen next. Though, he highly doubted that the beastman did either.

Magic is the product of using mana to bring a well defined concept into reality. Projections were the same, but that concept was applied to the entirety of one's being and usually came with some kind of trade-off. The fundamental truth behind these acts was that the concept had to be well defined.

The exception to the rule was Inspiration. Mages and sorcerers alike were forced to respect the power of the mind, to be able to wield mana to create something from nothing. But sometimes the mind conjures fantastical ideas that have no base in the rules of reality. Ideas that consume the imagination and can empower fantasies that have no place in this world.

Invoking Inspiration as a spell or projection was insanity. Summoning forth a concept with no definite shape could result in disastrous consequences.

Invoking one as a projection in particular was ludicrous. Projections were personalized ideas slowly molded over time through constant tinkering to find the right balance. Calling forth Inspiration as a basis for one was like cutting an arm off and attaching a sword in its place simply because it seems like fun.

"You've lost your mind…" Despite all Arion's sadism and twisted morals, even he didn't fancy himself crazy enough to invoke Inspiration.

"What? I thought it would be good to set up a better test of your theory. Is a fight a contest of skill or luck? I have no idea what'll happen from here on, so I’ll be the gambler. I place my life, nay, my very soul on this roulette." Orelio lowered the spear to his side and started walking forward, a manic smile plastered across his face.

Arion wracked his mind, thinking of what he should expect. Even if Inspiration was an unexpected variable, it was unlikely this new projection deviated that much from the previous one. Even the idea behind Inspiration has to come from somewhere, some thought or experience.

Orelio blurred as he moved. Arion barely even registered that he had moved at all before the spear whacked him in the side of the head, sending him cartwheeling to the side. He landed in a heap in a pile of leaves, then scrambled back to his feet.

That's one hell of a fucking buff.

Arion gave up on defensive reinforcement, putting everything he had into enhancing his perception and his weapons. He was confident he could at least somewhat match that speed, he just needed to sharpen his senses enough to see it coming.

Orelio stood where he had hit Arion, frowning at his spear.

Arion charged him while he was distracted. This was no longer a matter of enjoying a fight. The longer this went on the more likely something unexpected was bound to happen.

Orelio didn't even look at him as he took his spear in both hands and swung it into Arion's side, again with blinding speed. Arion was ready for the fast reaction though, jumping over the sidelong sweep. He raised his hatchets as he flew towards the spearman, ready to cleave them into his skull.

Orelio wasn't even phased. He kept swinging his spear around, and Arion's enhanced perception watched it accelerate even as the boy spun it around. It was brought back full circle before Arion even came close to landing his skull-splitting blow. With a terrible force it crashed into his ribs, the force knocking the wind out of his body and sending ripples through his torso.

If Stein were here he would have likened the scene to baseball. Arion's body was sent flying back with insane force even as he blacked out. The world came crashing back as he bowled through a sapling, the small tree's branches helping catch him somewhat even as the trunk splintered. The young birch toppled, dragged down by the weight of Arion stuck within the branches.

Arion writhed in the leaves as he hurled blood. It felt like every bone in his ribcage had been thoroughly shattered and his organs scrambled. In truth it was a miracle he had survived the blow at all. Very likely his projection had saved him.

He distantly heard footsteps approaching through the leaves and he tried to stand, every motion wracking his body in agony. He managed a kneel as the spearman readied his weapon to deliver the final blow.

So this is how it ends.

He managed a bloody smirk, it would be shameful to fear death after the amount he had dealt to others. He knew in the end they were all made of pieces that would be recycled and born anew anyway. He wondered if his next incarnations would resemble him.

Even as he bravely knelt to face his death, his body wouldn't let him rest. A new wave of pain passed through him as he bent forward to hurl more blood. He heard the spear whistle above his head.

Unable to lift his head back up, he tilted it to the side, looking at Orelio through a crooked view. A shocked look was plastered on his face as he looked down from his extended spear to Arion's barely breathing form.

The look of shock turned to one of horror even as blood started leaking from his nose, eyes, ears, anywhere it could, really. He stumbled backwards as he coughed up blood that splattered over his tunic and the ground. Within moments Orelio seemed to be in just as bad a shape as Arion, his face completely covered in his own blood.

So that's what your wager was. I should have figured.

Arion felt himself chuckling a bit before it was interrupted by more blood coming up. He should have known that the beastman was too much of a simpleton to think of something complicated. It was so simple he understood it completely just looking at him.

His previous projection built up speed based on the amount of consecutive hits he could land and was ended when he failed to hit. His current projection gave him a high combo by default in exchange for a heavy whiplash when that combo was broken. That was the gamble.

Still, though he had and would continue to deny the ideology, he couldn't deny that it was a terrifying projection. With that speed he could challenge nearly any other first tier and be victorious under ordinary circumstances.

And yet, though Arion hated to admit it, luck had decided to bless him with an irregular situation.

In truth, Arion had only told Orelio half of his projection's effect. As much as it annoyed him to admit it, his projection's secondary effect was somewhat similar to Orelio's original projection.

In simple terms, the amount of blood spilt by his current enemy added a correlated modifier to the bonuses granted by his base effect. And with Orelio leaking blood out of nearly every orifice he felt his strength steadily rising, even through the pain.

He felt it reach a point that he could stand without collapsing. So he stood, still slightly bent over clutching his stomach and looked at the beastman who was currently leaning his back against a tree trying to catch his breath through the coughing.

"You know… we could call it here," Orelio said between breaths.

Arion laughed between coughs, "Not on your life, mutt. But I'll admit we won't get anywhere without a brief reprieve." He stared the beastman down as he felt strength slowly trickle into his body.

Abandon the fight of a lifetime? He'd rather have died kneeling in the tree.

***

Orelio's everything hurt. He knew that was a potential outcome from using Inspiration, but it didn't help dull the reality of the pain. He had placed his life as his bet. He was honestly just glad he hadn't died instantly when he had missed.

The Blootletter seemed to be recovering better than he was, which confused Orelio. A blow like he had dealt would have been enough to kill an ordinary person, yet Arion seemed to be revving himself back up mere minutes after taking the hit. He doubted the damage was truly healed of course, but there was no doubt this fight would have yet another round.

Finally feeling as though his body had stopped leaking blood from everywhere it could, he stepped away from the tree he had been resting against. The amount of blood lost had him feeling woozy, but there was nothing he could do about that.

The Bloodletter licked his lips and readied his hatchets. He was still bent over in an odd way, but Orelio highly doubted he would be moving as well as he should either.

He raised his spear once again, "Inspiration; Soul of the Gambler." The Bloodletter chuckled, though what he found funny Orelio could only guess.

Orelio dashed to the side, ready to make a lunging attack from a new angle, before stumbling over a root and crashing to the ground. Moving at such a high speed made his muscles feel like they were cramping in eight different spots.

Ignoring his screaming muscles he forced himself up and saw Arion lumbering toward him. He dived to the side as Arion's hatchet bit into the ground under where he had been. He scrambled to his feet, face to face with Arion.

Okay, not trying that again. I think my only choice is a frontal assault. He said he only saw what I did on the field, so something I learned off the field should throw him off.

Orelio never thought he would be grateful for the experience of Stein beating the crap out of him, but that fight had allowed him to evolve in a way he had never expected.

He stepped forward, thrusting his spear toward Arion. He wasn't sure whether he was simply that much slower now that he was injured, or whether Arion was somehow buffing himself up even more as this fight went on, but it seemed like he was able to react faster than he had earlier as he parried Orelio's opening attack.

You adapted to my style, but now that I know your tricks I'll just adapt right back.

He made like he would attack again, with an upward slash, and as expected Arion backstepped to get out of the range of Orelio's spear.

Arion smiled triumphantly as the spear whished through empty air, but his sense of victory was shattered as Orelio's fist crashed into his face. The spear flew off into the canopy, the upward strike having never truly been an attempt to attack at all. Feints, after all, could not be considered a miss because they were never intended to hit at all.

"You…" The Bloodletter tried to get words out but Orelio didn’t give him a chance.

He pummeled the thoroughly unprepared Arion with lightning blows. The Bloodletter couldn’t even put his guard up as Orelio repeatedly hit the man's stomach and chest, causing blood to dribble out of his mouth.

Arion raised a hatchet in a desperate last ditch attack, but barely even registered that his swing went through empty space before him as his vision was almost entirely clouded by red at that point.

Orelio, having sensed the time was right, had backstepped. He put his hand out to where he knew it would be and grabbed the falling spear out of the air. As Arion's last ditch attack swung through empty space Orelio stepped forward and thrust his spear between what remained of the ribs of Arion, The Bloodletter.

"Heh. I…" He didn't get to finish his last words as he coughed up a load of blood before his breathing stopped.

Orelio pulled the spear out of the chest of his enemy as he felt the effects of his projection fade away. His previous projection hadn't had an end time limit so long as it was kept active, but Inspiration needed an active target for it to be considered a proper gamble.

Not that I need it anymore anyway.

Exhausted, he sat slumped against a nearby tree. He could still hear the battle raging nearby, but it seemed that his luck yet held out as there were no stranglers near him. He doubted he could have mustered the strength to fight back.

"A blessed, huh? Heh. Guess this is finally my chance. Dad, I'll show you… I'll make sure you know your son was the stuff of legends. My legacy starts now." He mumbled to himself, content to sit and rest against that tree for as long as he needed.