CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Blutmädchen
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“Who are you?!” barked a curly-haired knight with a slightly taller build than Bram—a rare thing—though it might have just been his plate armor giving him the extra bulk. “Declare yourselves!”
Bram couldn’t answer. He was too busy trying not to puke.
“One mo—”
The narrowed gazes of House von Galen’s elite helped him resist the urge to vomit, but only for a while. In the end, his air sickness won out, and Bram puked the remains of his breakfast on the skyship’s wooden deck.
“Oi, I just cleaned that this morning, you Arse!” roared one of the knights.
His companions seemed equally vexed. They shouted curses at Bram, though he cared not at all.
“Call him…” Despite his rumbling stomach, the prince managed to rise back to his full height. “Tell your master that—”
Bram puked a second helping of bile onto the wooden floor, earning him more threats of bodily harm and eternal damnation.
Again, he didn’t care.
Bram got up without missing a beat, and then, after wiping the bile from his mouth, he declared, “Tell your master…the Governor of Lotharin’s arrived…to see him.”
At his side, Rowan could only giggle. Clearly, she found his inability to handle flying in her arms more amusing than disgusting, something Bram was secretly thankful for. She was the only one to be amused, though. For at the mention of his title, the mood shifted considerably.
“This daft bastard’s the governor?” one of the knights asked.
At his question, skepticism spread across faces half-veiled by steel helmets.
“Can’t be,” replied another knight. “The Ill-Fated Prince’s hiding away in Bastille. The coward would be too afraid to step inside this forest to even lick our lord’s arse.”
“That dandy fool wouldn’t look as filthy either,” another knight chimed in.
Comments about Bram’s love for luxurious baths and colorful clothes spread among the knights, causing the prince to frown. Obviously, someone in his bastion’s been a little loose with their tongues. In Bram’s defense, it’s not like he wanted to appear in front of von Galen’s knights looking like he’d waded in a bloody swamp, but the signs of his battle with Loveless stained what remained of his gear.
“No, you’re not the prince. You wouldn’t be here if you were,” claimed one of the knights. “We’ve all seen him cowering whenever the Baron and Vicomte put him in his place.”
“We all know what the little coward’s about,” added another knight. “Every bloke and tavern wench in the kingdom knows he soils his breeches whenever real nobles show up.”
Laughter.
It was the same mocking laughter Bram heard whenever he passed a cluster of nobles whispering to each other while hardly hiding the fact that they were gossiping about him. Hearing it now caused the simmering rage at the edge of his consciousness to rise once more. He didn’t even realize that he’d pulled Dusk out until he felt the chill of its handle against his palm.
Strangely, he felt something else too.
The back of his hand felt hot and seemed to grow hotter along with his rising anger.
Bloody hell…
Bram glanced down.
It might have been just a trick of the light, but he could have sworn the black lightning scar on his hand wiggled just a little.
“What have you got there?” another knight asked, interrupting Bram’s musings. “You trying to buy your life with that golden stick?”
“It’s a nice-looking stick, I’ll grant him that,” replied another knight. “Just the right size to shove up one’s—”
‘Crack!’
Rowan moved so fast that no one had time to react, and by the time the knight who’d mocked Bram looked down, her hand was already buried in his chest.
Silence.
It was a silence broken only by the roar of tearing flesh, a muffled cry, and a familiar beating. Steady at first but growing more erratic with each second. When the knight toppled over, the heart in Rowan’s hand also stopped beating.
Screams ensued. Anger, fear, confusion—these emotions rang through the air but were quickly silenced by a new kind of laughter. Low, sultry giggling that made one’s skin crawl to hear and yet evoked a sense of pleasure in one’s ears reverberated around them, forcing the knights back into silence.
Fools, Bram thought. If you lacked the courage to fight, then you should have run…not stand there like scarecrows waiting to be picked off…
He thought these knights were the elite of von Galen’s household, but they were nothing compared to the otherworlders in his party who stood their ground even against a nymph-turned-giantess.
‘Swoosh!’
With a swing of her hand—one that now held a ‘Blood Falchion’ between its fingers—the head of a second knight was severed from its neck. It rolled on the ground, sliding toward the sabatons of the burly, curly-haired knight who’d yelled at Bram to declare his identity.
Another long moment went by before he found his voice again.
“To battle, you Fools!” the curly-haired knight roared. “To battle!”
New screams began. Blades were drawn. Shields were raised. Helmet visors were pulled down. One by one, the knights of von Galen’s household charged at the intruders. However, Bram was right—they should have run instead…
“In your fight with Loveless”—Like a ballerina on stage, Rowan twirled around Bram to cut down a knight who’d rushed at the prince’s back—“I saw you wield an interesting sword art.”
Bram, who didn’t even have the spare health to summon Dusk’s violet-orange blade, could only nod while he marveled at the skill of Rowan’s swordsmanship which he witnessed for the first time.
“The Peerless Heart Sword belongs to Ser Anthony. I was only borrowing it.”
“Don’t act so humble… What you borrow is yours to claim.”
Like the lead dancer in a play celebrated on the grand stage of the majestic theaters of the Imperium’s capital, Rowan wove and spun her way around Bram while her falchion screeched across space. Its crimson blade sliced through metal and flesh as easily as if they were soft cheese. With this dance of death, she created a perimeter of blood and bodies around the prince that brooked no trespassers.
Despite the growing number of dead, however, many more soldiers were arriving from below deck. Quickly, a hundred souls were coming for Rowan. Bram didn’t think their numbers would matter though. Not now that the rebel trickster of legend unleashed the darkness trapped inside her.
“You’ve learned to wield—”
Rowan parried a sword aimed at her bosom and then pushed it aside so her falchion could bite into the chink between the armor of the offending knight’s arm.
“—a sword that can cut down—”
She sliced off his arm right at the shoulder and then moved to strike at the knight lying in wait behind him.
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“—a single powerful foe.” The tip of Rowan’s falchion pierced into the slit of the second knight’s visor, causing him to scream in pain. “So, allow me to show you—”
Her blade sliced through this knight’s helmet on its way to clash with a spear that had been aimed at her neck.
“—a sword that’s meant—”
After a parry came a riposte that dug deep into the spearman’s chest, and the blood had yet to spurt out of him when a smiling Rowan moved on.
“—to cut down a host of foes,” she finished.
Somehow, she’d found her way back to Bram’s side looking like she’d just finished swimming in a sea of blood. Crimson stains coated her hair and gambeson, with splashes of red freckling her pale face. It was a face alight with passion, which, on any other occasion, would have made men and women swoon to see.
“Blutmädchen…”
Here and now, the prince was finally witnessing the trickster who’d slain all those assassins of the White Rose who’d attacked his bedroom while he slept.
“This is who you are.”
Her impish grin flashed for him.
Surprisingly, the dark visage of the ‘Blood Maiden’ before him caused no terror in Bram. Instead, he felt pride at witnessing her strength, though envy also sparked within his mind. How could he not feel jealous when he’d sought power all his life only to be shown what real power looked like and how she used it with such ease?
“Bastards!” roared the curly-haired knight.
Tall and swift, he pushed past the two knights who fell to Rowan’s falchion and aimed his broadsword at the prince who seemed dazed and unready for a fight. Unfortunately for him, Bram was always prepared for a fight.
With his ‘Danger Sense’ tingling, the prince slid to the right a half-second before the pointed tip of a broad blade could skewer him in the gut. A half-step later, he kicked out with force, hitting the curly-haired knight’s knee with his boot right where the chinks in the armor were located. His boot dug into his enemy’s knee, causing it to bend at an awkward angle.
To his credit, the curly-haired knight didn’t scream. He just gritted his teeth and haphazardly lunged at the prince. It was a foolish choice, however, because Bram had been deftly trained by the duelists of the Delightful Troupe to take advantage of every weakness he found.
“Most people think I’m an incompetent brute, and—”
Bram deftly slid under the curly-haired knight’s wide swing to grab his uninjured leg with both hands.
“—they’d technically be right, but—”
Caught in a ‘Single Leg Tackle’, the curly-haired knight lost the foothold to push the stubborn prince off him, leaving him open to being lifted off his feet before he could use his broadsword against Bram’s back.
“—I am a brute with style and—”
After lifting the curly-haired knight high, Bram slammed him onto the wooden deck with all the strength and weight he could muster.
“—class!”
‘Crack!’
Gravity’s aid ensured his attack was a heavy blow, and with the curly-haired knight decked in steel from head to toe, his crash caused the wooden planks beneath him to groan and bend.
“I’m also a brute—”
Bram mounted the curly-haired knight.
“—who’s been trained to hone every inch of my body—”
Bram’s elbow slammed down on the curly-haired knight’s face, who, by a stroke of luck, had been the only one not to wear a helmet among the knights of von Galen’s household.
“—into a weapon, so that I might—”
Blood splashed onto Bram’s cheek from the broken nose he’d given the curly-haired knight, but he ignored it because he was already slamming his other elbow into the stunned man’s face.
“—be able to compete with sorcerers—”
As a final move, Bram’s hands grabbed onto both sides of the curly-haired knight’s head, so he could raise it to meet the prince’s head as it bashed against him.
“—in close combat!”
A sound akin to a ringing gong resounded, and when the headbutting was done, the curly-haired knight fell back, his eyes rolling into the back of his head while he frothed at the mouth. Surely, he wasn’t dead, but he’d be of no further use in the battle.
One might wonder how the prince who no longer possessed the sweet boon of ‘Giant Strengthening’ to empower his body could wield such terrible force against an armored knight. However, only Bram was privy to his status screen which he was looking at now with a satisfied, blood-smeared grin.
Right after he’d woken up from surviving his battle against Loveless, Bram had noticed a few notifications he didn’t have time to focus on right then and there. It wasn’t until the lull between one battle and the next that he finally had a chance to view the system’s messages.
ALERT! The users [Christopher Chase], [Hajime Hideo Miyamoto], and [Bridget Fowling] have all reached level five! They are now eligible for a job promotion!
ALERT! Encouraging the players’ job promotions may help to increase the system’s knowledge base.
Bram had thought that it was only natural his companions would rise two levels. Loveless had been a difficult dungeon boss. Of course, he couldn’t help feeling a little envious that they’d been allowed to advance their jobs while he remained a level one administrator. Fortunately, there were more messages to peruse that turned his frown upside down.
CONGRATULATIONS! You survive a harrowing encounter against a powerful foe, increasing your Constitution and Willpower by [+1].
CONGRATULATIONS! You used your wits to outmaneuver a powerful foe, increasing your Wisdom and Intelligence by [+1].
CONGRATULATIONS! You used your natural talents to best a powerful foe, increasing your Strength and Dexterity by [+1].
Bram may not have leveled up, but none of his companions earned a whopping six-point increase in their attributes. Hajime earned two points in Intelligence, Bridget received a point in Dexterity and Strength, while Chris got two points in Constitution and one more in Strength. These boons were earned through effort, repetition, and life-and-death encounters, teaching them that one’s attributes weren’t strictly connected to the rise of one’s level.
Here in the present, Bram’s increased status was revealing itself now, though those six points hadn’t been the main reason he dominated his duel with the curly-haired knight. That honor belonged to another growth of his.
STRENGTH: 45
Before he’d stepped out of the Red Ruin, Bram had invested all the points he’d earned from absorbing the Midnight Shard’s dark energy into his Strength stat. He now had half the strength he possessed the first time he’d become a blood champion. It wasn’t much compared to the kind of sorcery that summoned a giant flaming rock down from the heavens, but this boost in strength gave him an advantage against a foe who’d underestimated him.
The prince from the floor feeling proud of his accomplishment in defeating the most threatening of the enemy knights only to turn around and be reminded of what real power looked like. More bodies were lying on the ground nearby, and it was obvious from a glance that they’d each been bested with a single swing of a blade.
“Blutmädchen…”
A blood-smeared hand came up to caress Bram’s cheek, drawing his gaze to the ‘Blood Maiden’ appearing at his side.
“You need not be envious,” she whispered. “Ours is a partnership of give-and-take… So, take from me what you can when you can.”
With those words of reassurance, Rowan aimed her ‘Blood Falchion’ forward, and all who witnessed its shaking tip were forced to pause their march.
WARNING! A [Spray of Blood] is filling the air, causing [Minor Paralysis] to affect all targets within its unseen cloud.
ALERT! You’ve been designated as an ally by [Rowan Wolfe]. You will not be affected by [Spray of Blood].
The shaking of her falchion grew more violent just as a sliver of magic seeped into it. The magic trailed down its blade, causing crimson sparks to pop out of its edges.
ALERT! An opportunity has arrived for you to copy a new ability!
No one could move to stop her for all were caught in Rowan’s trap and were forced to be spectators to their coming demise.
“Life is stubborn… It finds a way to bloom even in the harshest of conditions.”
A blood-red aura spread out of the tip of the falchion’s blade.
“The Sword of Life is no different…” Rowan swung her falchion upward, and the blood pooling on the deck’s floor rose too. “Blossoming into flowers—”
The rebel trickster of legend flashed her stunned foes with a blood-smeared grin.
“—that dye the world in deepest red!”
The rising lines of blood formed into hundreds of red blobs that expanded outward, blossoming into flowers whose scarlet petals flew into the sky, engulfing the scenery in a storm of crimson.