There's a title Sinners earn if they manage to kill a Knight while climbing a Tower. That's a rare goddamn feat, let me tell you that much. Even with a class, the gulf between Servant and Knight is a magnitude of difference.
Most Servants are just a bit stronger than they were. A little bit tougher, a little bit faster. Sure, if you were any ol' Joe, and suddenly you could pick up a two-ton sword and swing it around like a blade of grass, you might start thinking that you're unstoppable.
Well, after hitting class ascension, any Knight can break that sword with two fingers regardless of Specialization. Hell, any Knight can punch their way through a mountain if you give them enough time. Probably survive a mountain collapsing on them, too. That's not even getting into the specialization evolutions they might have.
But despite this, despite Knights seeming like natural disasters in human form, they can be beat. Take it from me, I've done it. If you understand what you're fighting, you know their limitations, and you know your environment. Well, let's just say you might be able to turn one force of nature against another, and suddenly those impossible odds you're facing? Not so impossible anymore.
Anyway, the title. You kill a Knight, you climb the tower, you'll enter the Claimed Hells being called a Sineater. And that title comes with actual benefits from the Harbinger. Aspect benefits. And prestige. Some doors are going to swing open for you, my friend. Hell, you pull that off, you come by the Trespassers Lodge.
Fuck all the circles. Me and mine might wanna have a conversation with you.
-John Bishop
53
Hunting Hunters (I)
Mulver Groon sighed as another little arrow broke against his exposed flesh. He didn't know what he was thinking, volunteering to play the role of hunter in this year's Blood Games. He did owe Count Vladek a favor, that was true, but he could have paid it off participating in the Everwar—taking the fight to one of the other circles directly rather than wasting time playing recruiter.
Not like they were going to be getting any quality recruits this year anyway.
Mulver sighed as another glowing arrow twanged out from across a narrow hallway. The projectile, infused with force and fire, crashed against his exposed chest and detonated like a small explosive. The walls and ground shattered in an instant, the structure of their composition nothing but glass and water. The orc didn't even flinch as more shards rained down on him. Even without focusing his senses, he could hear a trio of elves running away from him, taking a sharp right into an open room and immediately trapping themselves within a closed-off torture cell.
Poor bastards.
He happened upon these Sinners, at an inopportune time, they'd just finished their class specializations and were all about level 6. Mulver arrived in the Moongrave via his Spatial Navigator, hijacking an Essence Rift some two kilometers away before ascending the pylon to get a better view of his surroundings.
This Moongrave was one that belonged to the Circle of Envy. Such was why everything was made out of mirrors and the air was stained with mists while the ambience was filled by whispers.
For a moment he even considered letting these elves go, feeble as they were. The damned fools all selected the [Hellish Archer] specialization, but the only difference between them being their foundational class. Two among their number decided to walk the Path of Lust, while one strayed and survived an initiation into Wrath. Aside from this, there was nothing to write home about them. They were your typical elves — or Faeblooded as they called themselves. \
Pretty typical for their like as well: A bit quicker than most baseline humans, longer-lived, with a magical melody infused in their souls, and a general apprehensiveness that made them act more like rabbits than warriors.
The Circle of Pride wouldn't get anything from these ones, but still, his branch needed recruits, and the count was breathing down his neck. So, Mulver did his duty as a Knight to the Circle of Pride. A very half-assed duty that he expected wouldn't really lead anywhere. He made contact with the elves the usual way. He slammed down across from them, and then cut his own chest open, before using his wound as an Essence Gate to summon forth one of his newly created demons.
To his disappointment, the elves didn't even bother trying to fight him. They took one look at Mulver’s new created Skullbiter, squeezing its ugly maw from Mulver's bleeding clefts, and ran for it. He had the dog chase them for a while, and then they made the delightful choice of trying to hide in one of those glass houses, one absolutely infested with Incubators. A few minutes later, one of the elves was missing an arm and on the verge of shock, another was being mauled by the Skullbiter, with only the last one showing any hint of competence.
He managed to fire a glowing arrow into the head of Mulver’s lesser demon up close, and finally killed the thing. If only that hadn’t also ended up blowing the arm off the other elf...
So, to summarize, he was looking at two soon-to-be-dead elves and one that was likely going to be too traumatized for any long-term use whatsoever. And the stupid thing was, it wasn't even his fault. He hadn't even really been the one to hurt them, they did this to themselves.
Strolling down the hall, Mulver sighed and drew his Dagger of Sacrifices. Casually, he cut his palm, amplifying the pain he felt, and invoked his dominion over the [Concept of Wounds]. Blood, destruction, and space resonated from wtihin him, and he shaped their associated essences to shape new demons within the minor realms formed within his wounds.
His Class Specialization had started out as the Wrathful Summoner. As he diverged into the Circle of Wrath, however, a suite of exciting options unveiled themselves to him, which led to the current Specialization he was using: the Conduit of Scars.
In simplicity, every injury inflicted upon his person resulted in a portal and a minor realm being created within him. He could shape and create an entire horde of lesser to minor demons using his abyssal invocation and further empower them via his skill shards, and that wasn't even getting into what he could do with his blood-based constructs. But ultimately none of that mattered right now, because even though he was a caster archetype or whatever the fuck the Trespassers called him, he was still a Knight hunting Servants.
And shitty ones at that.
And if he wanted to, he could smash his way through these reflective walls and tear the elves limb from limb. But where would the fun in that be? Where was the fun in any of this.
They weren't going to put up a fight. From his open wounds emerged crimson centipedes, humming with vital essence, that coiled around his exposed torso as he summoned a Sin Contract from his Inventory. A massive number 10 was printed on the first page, detailing just how many years of service that sole surviving elf was going to give his current Circle.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Honestly, it wouldn't be long at all, and if they survived that ordeal, well, they might actually start enjoying life in the claimed hells. Or getting by, anyway. Maybe he'd see them around, even, buy them a drink sometime.
As Mulver finally arrived before the open doorway where the elves were huddled, he regarded his quarry and found two laying next to a bloodstained gurney that had too much bondage shit sticking out from it. He swore, it was like everyone wanted to be the Circle of Lust, the Harbinger-damned sluts.
The only competent elf was a tall, ashen-haired and... alright, he couldn't tell if they were male or female, but they did have their arrow knocked, and the glow on its tip this time was substantially brighter than earlier. The centipedes surrounding Mulver's body simply chattered, and he gave the archer across from him a wide grin. "You know what, I'll let you take your shot first, and then we'll talk—”
He never managed to finish his words, because at that moment someone did take their shot.
Instead of a small firecracker arrow detonating against his body, what felt like the collective weight of an entire storm shattered the ceiling above Mulver and blasted him out the other side of the building.
Worse, it just kept going. It was like the winds were someone’s hands, and a cyclone was set on scraping him down to a smear against the ground.
***
"Did you hit him?" Rafael asked.
Wei twirled his spear in a flourish as he guided his gust of wind. The Knight of Pride was dragged along the ground, and splashes of water and shards of glass filled the air as he tumbled from place to place, his limbs clawing out, desperately trying to stop his acceleration.
Mulver Groon, Knight of Pride/Wrath [Conduit of Scars] Lv. 41
The environment of this Moongrave was vastly different from the battle-scarred hellscape Wei just left. It was characterized by a thick veil of mist hiding clear ponds and a surface made from glass. Just like with the Moongrave of Wrath, however, the glass didn't go all the way down, for after 30 meters or so remained only obsidian and spreading Sin-Incubator tendrils.
Presently, he and Rafael were around 400 meters away from where the Knight of Pride was. It took the young master a considerable amount of focus to keep his attention on the orc. Faint distortions filled the air here, but rather than harmless mirages, they functioned like invisible veils for lesser demons resembling a mix between snake and cat. Wisely, they scattered and fled the moment Wei’s winds swept through the area.
The Knight of Pride, meanwhile, was a large and powerfully built specimen that almost looked humanoid. Their body was leathery and grey, more like a beast hide than a man's skin. They had the sharp tusks jutting from their underbite, not a hint of hair could be observed on their body, and claws extended from the end of their digits.
Wei's Aspect of Enlightenment told him that he was looking at a sub-variant of the orc species known to be an extremely robust and vicious species that, according to Rafael at least, held the reputation of being exemplary soldiers.
Chains of blood shot out from the orc’s injuries and buried themselves into the ground below. Glass cracked and Wei tried pulling harder, using his whims. From each cut lining the orc's body came new blood-made limbs that bound them further to the ground.
Wei sent another surge of strength through his gale, but found himself unable to dislodge the orc. Instead, the opposite was happening. The orc was using their blood tentacles to maneuver themselves with contemptuous ease. The full weight of a cyclone passed over them, but the Knight resisted it as if it was barely more than a strong wind. More staggeringly, their wounds were already rapidly healing, with each chain turning into hardened scabs. Without hesitation, the orc summoned a curved blade with glowing veins and used it to start cutting their own bare torso open, calling forth new streams of blood to wield.
Faintly, Wei felt an interplay of different essences surging free from the Knight’s wounds. And what's more, he felt these essences forming something of a nexus within them. There was power to this Mulver orc. Something far beyond the Knight of Lust.
Wei’s only concern was their casual acts of self-harm. It was a heartening thing to see, considering he was going to make this orc kill themselves, but the young master wanted to be a suicide he engineered—not something chosen of the orc’s own accord.
"Drop my veil," Wei said, speaking to Rafael. The lich regarded him for a moment, and then, with a casual gesture, pulled back his projected field of invisibility, leaving Wei exposed while he himself remained hidden. Hidden from most, perhaps, but Wei's Omniscience meant that there was still no escape for the Trespasser. Not this time.
"Would you like my assistance?" Rafael asked, his tone genuinely curious.
"No, observe the orc's victims first. See if they have anything to offer. I think he was hunting three Faebloods. I will face the Knight myself."
"Right, right," Rafael said. "But I know you are capable, and one of the best parts of capability is when one has a plan for unexpected situations."
"If I require your aid, I will request it," Wei said simply. "And I know where to find you. And it will be easy for you to find me as well."
At once, Wei summoned his Spatial Navigator from his inventory and shot the lich a look. "It's not like you'll be able to leave this Moongrave without me anyway." With that, Wei pulled the sphere back into his inventory and set out.
Winds burst around him as he rose into the air, and carried by ruinous winds, he quickly sped toward the Knight's location.
Swirling cyclones formed beneath him, geysers erupted from the water, and the ground shook. Flashing thunderstorms whipped and left scars upon the land. Obscured by a blanket of thick mist, flashing lightning painted Wei's looming shadow as he encroached quietly.
The Knight of Pride looked up into the sky as more bloody tendrils extended from him, slowly pooling together in an array of eight different circles around his person. More than just the essence of blood, Wei felt something spatially abnormal within each of the circles. A second later, they ignited, and an eight-headed hydra emerged from the portals and coiled around Mulver. Their form was twenty meters long and well over twelve tons in mass, and slithered and glided through the air with uncanny agility.
But it was only the first demon to arrive.
Wei watched as the Knight cut himself some more and summoned forth more demons. Most of them continued to spill from the gates of blood: small demons, large demons, some bearing the shapes of beasts, others carved from the forms of man, and some too strange for Wei to even fully describe. One similarity, however, was that feeling of nexuses. A central point where essences merged and broke. Every wound gave off such a resonance, and Wei found himself trying to understand why.
The young master lowered himself upon a cyclonic platform of tumultuous wind. There was a good fifty meters between him and the Knight still, but he could perceive the frown on their bestial face without any difficulty.
"Are you fucking serious? Are you really? Really now?" the orc scoffed. "How shit can my luck be? Can't believe I'm about to get into a poaching fight over some elf shits."
"Poaching fight?" Wei said, arching an eyebrow.
"Which circle are you representing?" The orc asked. There were well over twenty demons arrayed around him now, and each of them snarled and growled at Wei. "Pride? Pride! What the fuck? Why’d the Circle send another? They already have me here. Are you from Siever’s branch? Whistleroot? What is this? Are you trying to fuck over the old man?”
Wei just stared at the orc, his expression blank. It took him a moment to piece the information together from the subtext, but when he did, a slight smirk adorned his face. "Oh, I'm no Knight. Not truly. And I’m not here for some petty political reason.”
"What?" the orc said, now their turn to be confused. "Then why the fuck are you here?"
Wei said, "You are a hunter, are you not? A Knight that preys on Sinners trying to ascend the tower."
"If by prey you mean: participate in the world's worst recruitment drive? Yeah, I guess I am."
"Very well," Wei said. "Tell me, are you particularly suicidal?"
The orc's frown deepened. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Do you enjoy harming yourself? Do you have any thoughts of ending things? I see that dagger in your hand and watched you stab yourself several times. I intend for this to be a fight, not some sudden suicide," Wei paused. "That is my desired outcome."
The orc just continued staring at him. "I'm sorry, again, what the fuck are you on about? What do you want from me? Just who are you?"
"Just someone trying to unlock a class divergence," Wei said. "Now send your demons and let's fight."
Mulver blinked as his jaw fell slightly again. Opening and closing his mouth over and again, a final grunt of resignation left him as he shrugged at Wei. “Right. Fine. Fuck it.” All sense of apprehension faded from him. In their place remained only a feral grin. “Let’s do this. Prefer this anyway.”