It always comes down to this question: how does someone say goodbye?
And you all remember what I mean by goodbye, right? I’m not talking about the ones said to a friend or family before leaving for a short while. I’m talking about… the last goodbye. The one said with a smile as you lay in bed before closing your eyes for the final time, the one said with tears in your eyes and a heavy heart.
There are so many different ways to say goodbye though.
The last time… it was a [Mage]’s, and we saw how she destroyed something dear to the world as her way to say goodbye to it.
But what about this time?
Sadly, I believe, we’ll have to find that out.
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Albert watched the ten men and women walk into his shop without seeing them.
Instead, he looked at the world outside his front window, at the street filled with people milling around, at the blue sky overhead and the distant gray clouds that promised snow.
And then, finally, at the dozens of [Guards] stationed along the streets and, he knew, all around his beloved shop.
He sighed.
Looking down, he opened his pocket watch, watching the seconds tick away as the ten undesired guests positioned themselves to cover all the exits. He had half expected someone to appear in the doorway that led to his workshop, having maybe managed to pick the lock in the back and survive the nasty surprise that would entail. But there was nobody. Rookies, the lot of them.
Then he put on a bright smile: “Why good evening! It has been quite some time since I had so many customers at once. Please, go ahead and take a look at the merchandise in stock, if you can see it it’s for sale. Although I’ll kindly ask you not to try and buy the furniture,” he faked a chuckle.
The person in the lead of the group didn’t even bat an eye at this as, calmly, she walked towards the counter he was sitting behind and, with the nonchalance that came with power, placed a gold coin on it. The same gold coin those two imbeciles had shown him not a few weeks ago.
“I call upon Remembrance, Albert Sirion. If that is even your name.”
He sighed, pinching the coin between two fingers, as if afraid that it would infect him with some unknown disease, and looked at the side showing a crown without its king.
Putting it down, he shook his head: “It is my name. I was part of the Game since my birth, so I saw no reason to get myself a new one, and when I left I did so for good, so I saw no need to change it.”
He raised the sleeve of his shirt and showed the woman the tattoo of a bishop’s hat on fire.
“It is the real thing,” he said.
“Let’s make sure now, shall we?”
The woman took out a monocle from her front pocket and looked through it at the tattoo. He knew what she would see: a layer of shining lines, for the ink had been imbued with mana of a particular type, he knew not what, that would shine through some specific enchantments.
A moment later the monocle was put away and the woman nodded, satisfied: “It would seem you indeed completed the Pilgrimage of Eights.”
He nodded: “I did, which means I am free. The Game shouldn’t be allowed to even interact with me.”
The woman sighed: “Look, Albert, I understand, it’s against the rules –”
“It’s against every Tradition and Law of the Game is what it is,” interrupted the old man.
“Yes, yes, I know, but I’ve got orders, I can’t do anything about them.”
“Oh, but you sure can. Used to be Bishops like you would assassinate their Kings when they started to do stupid things. Or would try to become their Queens. But no, nowadays people seem to have lost the ability to think for themselves, while the Game has become nothing more than an over glorified assassin’s guild. At least the Gardener and her people know what they are, while the Game has forgotten its original purpose.”
The Bishop seemed surprised for a moment when he mentioned her role, but she shrugged it off in an instant and went on: “You talk as if you knew the Game’s purpose.”
“Oh, I don’t, and I never really found out. That’s one of the many reasons I left. How can you support a cause when nobody knows why the cause exists to begin with?”
They both knew that this banter was useless and wouldn’t change anything, but the Bishop feared Albert too much not to give him the chance to talk, and he respected the hard work it had taken her to become her King’s right hand woman too much not to allow it.
Still, they ended up staring at each other as the people around them started shuffling nervously.
Then: “Albert, please, it’s just one last mission.”
“I. Don’t. Care. It’s always ‘one last mission’ and ‘one more, you can do it’. I completed the Pilgrimage, I’m the first person in five centuries who managed to do it, even when they sent me to steal an artifact from a dragon. I did it. I did my ‘one last mission’. The King in Disia, north of here, assured me of that. I am not coming back.”
The Bishop sighed, shaking her head, before looking back, out of the window and into the streets slowly filling with [Guards].
“I’m sorry Albert, I didn’t want to do this, but I have orders.”
She looked back at him, pleading with her eyes, asking him, nearly begging, to change his mind. He just crossed his arms and stared her down, the weight of decades falling on the woman’s shoulders.
Then… she spoke again, and it felt as if something left her: “We know of the arachne in your home. She lives in the first room right in front of the stairs to the first floor. Her room is filled with webs and toys and other knick knacks hang from the ceiling. She has a hammock and our Rook says he thinks he saw a book on a pillow.
“If you won’t come with us… well, you know how blackmailing works, you used to do a lot of that.”
That was more or less when Albert’s world fell to pieces.
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“We struck the motherlode Albert! This is fucking amazing! Look at this! There must be hundreds of Skill Scrolls here! We’ll be rich!”
That was Oria, Albert’s closest friend in life. She was a bubbly and hopeful Pawn, just like him (without the bubbly part), who loved playing card games. As in, she constantly carried around a deck of cards and never lost a chance to play a game.
“Language Oria!”
“Oh shut the fuck up you, just because you’re getting more training for spywork in high society doesn’t mean you always have to be so prim and proper.”
“I’m not being prim and proper, it’s just basic decency.”
“Exactly, prim and proper!”
Albert sighed: there was no way to change her mind when she became like this.
Instead he decided right now was the moment to throw at her the bucket of frozen water that was reality: “And anyway, this isn’t going to be ours. We’re just mere Pawns, they’ll give us a pat on the shoulder, maybe give us some points to get us closer to a good promotion, then take all these Scrolls away to some King’s vaults where he’ll keep them and give them away to his most loyal Pieces.”
Oria’s bright smile remained locked in place for a few moments, before it disappeared completely and she started acting like the grumpy teenager she actually was, putting her hands in her pockets and pouting towards the ground.
“I know, but did you have to crush reality on me like a dwarf’s hammer?”
“If you hadn’t called me ‘prim and proper’ I would’ve given you five more minutes.”
“You ass!”
He chuckled and, for all Oria tried to keep looking grumpy, she couldn’t stop the smile forming on her face. They were very close friends.
Then she brightened back up and looked at him with a mischievous smile as she stepped closer to the walls holding the dozens upon dozens of Skill Scrolls.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea: why don’t we use a few of these? Like, they won’t notice if a few are missing.”
“Yes, but they will notice that we suddenly have a few new Skills.”
“Nah, don’t worry, we’ll just take one each.”
“None of these Scrolls have been appraised though.”
She waved him off: “Oh don’t worry so much! This used to be a vampires’ lair, there must be great Skills in there. Worst case scenario you get something useless, but imagine if you get one of their most powerful Skills! It’s like –”
“I swear to the gods if you compare this to a game of cards I will slap you until we get out.”
She pouted: “You’re no fun!”
He sighed but… he had to admit that she was right: Skill Scrolls always contained some kind of Skill, more or less useful, and they were talking about ones coming from vampires! They’d been known for having some of the most powerful and honorable [Knights] to ever exist, for their ability to turn the places they called home into deadly traps for their enemies and for being some of the strongest people in this world. They could’ve probably conquered entire continents, instead they’d chosen to stay in their own little kingdom in Eva’s north.
“Alright. One Skill Scroll each. Only one!”
Oria nodded and beamed at him, going for a tackle hug and not missing. Albert was agile, but he was nothing compared to her, who was receiving intensive training for infiltrating high security locations.
“THANK YOU! Now, eeny, meeny, miny, moe, I choose you!” she pointed at a random Scroll and grabbed it… carefully. They both looked around the room, expecting another trap. Getting here had been very, very, very difficult, because the place had still been riddled with traps of all sorts. More than once they’d risked their lives, but they made a great team and so, in the end, they’d managed it and gotten here.
As they waited in silence for something, anything, to happen, they looked around.
Nothing.
“Phew, seems like we’re out of the danger zone.”
“Seems like it,” agreed Albert.
He, too, chose a Scroll at random and took it in his hands.
It was surprisingly light: one would expect that something powerful enough to contain a Skill would be heavy with… he didn’t know. Power? Sin? Something?
Instead it looked exactly like any other Scroll one could find in a shop. The only thing that was different really was the feeling the paper gave off, a deep sensation that there was something in the pages, something powerful.
Without further hesitation, and with a bit of trepidation, Albert unrolled the Scroll and managed to read the first few words on the paper: ‘I, the Crimson Countess Mirelia Everan –’
Then the world went white.
And then black.
And then he was standing in that blackness, a woman’s figure in front of him.
“Ah, at least we managed to make the process more comfortable. Good to know.”
She wore a beautiful black and red dress, simple in design, with no frills and decorations. It clung to her figure, revealing her forms, but looked surprisingly… practical. Then he saw that, on the side of the gown, which reached just barely her mid calf, there was a long cut. He also saw that she was wearing riding boots. It was as if she’d been ready to go for a cavalcade with a lover.
Or, if her mussed hair and the tension in her lineaments was anything to go by, to run away from something.
“I’m sorry boy. Our enemies should’ve found this place first and fallen to the traps or to our final trick.”
She chuckled mirthlessly: “We had never expected our [Knights of Lifeblood] would’ve managed to kill so many of the [Vampire Hunters], nor had we expected the traps would’ve done quick work of the ones who remained.”
Sighing, she looked around in the darkness: “The library of Scrolls you found, it contains no Skills. It contains our Conditions, our hungers and our weaknesses. It is no treasure, just another trap. I’m sorry an innocent like you had to find it.”
She stepped forward and, meanwhile, Albert stood there, frozen in place, incapable of moving.
The woman, the vampire, approached him and, seemingly out of nowhere, she took out a simple glass chalice filled with a deep red, moving it towards his lips: “Drink. You have no other choice. And… I hope you’ll find a way to deal with it. The blood of animals will manage to sustain you. If you’re intelligent and value your sanity you shouldn’t drink the blood of other intelligent races, for some reason it tastes better, more addictive.”
She tipped the glass to his lips and he got his first taste of blood.
For some reason it was sweet and spicy, truly wonderful, and he immediately wanted more. A new part of him screamed for more, wanted to jump onto the woman and sate this newfound hunger, but his more rational side won through sheer force of will, managing to squash that side.
“I’m sorry,” said the woman one last time, before disappearing.
[Condition - Vampiric Thirst Contracted.]
He opened his eyes, the Scroll in his hands dissipating into smoke, but he cared not for that as he turned around and, with a glance, saw that Oria hadn’t yet opened her own.
[Fast Draw]! he thought as his hand rapidly took one of the throwing knives on his chest and he immediately threw it, managing to nail the Scroll out of his friend’s hands.
“It’s a trap Oria! They all give Conditions. Each and every one of them!”
Then he fell to the ground as his stomach growled and twisted, his eyes turning red as an unfathomable hunger tried to take over him.
“Albert, what – That’s impossible!”
“Do I look like I’m suffering from something possible?” asked Albert, curling his fingers into claws as he resisted the hunger.
“What can I do?”
“Blood. I need blood.”
He felt as if he hadn’t eaten in centuries.
And, in truth, he hadn’t. The Condition had been starved in the time it had spent in the Scroll.
A moment after he had said that he felt something warm touch his lips, followed a moment later by something wet and just as warm. Immediately, without thinking, without realizing where the blood was coming from, he latched his lips on the source of what he desired so deeply and started sucking. The taste was heavenly, the best drink he had ever had. No words could describe it, so he imagined this was what the gods drank during their banquets up in their palaces in the skies.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Slowly, very slowly, he began feeling full, and together with this feeling the hunger abated.
He regained control of himself and realized what he had been sucking on all this time: Oria’s arm. She’d used one of her knives to cut herself and allowed him to drink. It said a lot about how much she valued his words, of how much she valued him, that she’d cut herself to allow him to drink after just a few words, without doubt or hesitation.
Looking up he saw that she was a lot paler, but still she smiled.
“It’s so like us. We find a ton of Skill Scrolls and all they contain is a bunch of Conditions, which should be impossible, and the first thing you do is get one of them. Just our luck.”
After a moment in total stupor Albert felt tears falling from his eyes and, fast as lightning, he hugged Oria. She immediately hugged him back, promising they’d find a way.
Indeed, he found it, years later.
Alone, but he found it.
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Oria had died seven years later during one of her missions. They never told him how and at whose hand, said it would only spurn him to seek useless revenge (which was true) and that such things weren’t useful in the Game. She had failed because she hadn’t been good enough, that was all.
That had been one more reason to leave the Game in his ever lengthening list.
And now he stood in front of people who reasoned just like the ones who’d told him that the love of his life just ‘hadn’t been good enough’.
He wanted to laugh.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted them all to die.
No, calm down, deep breaths.
Of course he didn’t breathe deeply, that would’ve been too much information.
“Ah, so you didn’t already tell to the [King] of Scasce that there’s an arachne in this city.”
“Of course not, then we’d lose our only bargaining chip on you,” promptly answered the woman.
Albert nodded sagely: “Ah, so would you mind telling me how in Airm you managed to get all the [Guards] currently staying around my shop?”
The Bishop shrugged: “My King pulled on some strings.”
“Ah, yes, he pulled on some strings. Right, right. But, you see, I met the [King] once upon a time. Well, he didn’t know it was me, but that matters not. I met him, and I know the man, and I also know that, for all that he’s just… mediocre, yes, he doesn’t really allow the Game to toy with him. That’s probably one of the main reasons this Kingdom is still standing, and why maybe calling him mediocre would be a disservice. So, yes, he’s a good enough [King].
“And I just can’t imagine him agreeing to send what must be dozens of [Guards] to surround a simple [Clockworker]’s shop, for all that he may be old, for something so simple.”
“Why would that be so difficult to believe? I heard that you could once move nations by calling in on a favor.”
“Yes, but that’s because I had a Class that specifically hinged around that. Your King on the other hand? He’s merely a [King of the Great Game]. Basic Class, not even an Uncommon one. That’s how bad he –”
“How do you know my King’s Class?” asked the Bishop, suddenly more guarded.
“I met him too. He gave me the mission for my Seventh Pilgrimage. I got lucky and managed to glimpse through his protective items at his actual Class. And sure, many things can change in two decades, but I find it hard to believe that he gained a better Class, especially seeing your reaction.”
He smirked at that and now the Bishop understood why he had been so feared and respected in the Game. She also understood why her King wanted him so badly.
“So, the only reason I can see for the presence of all these [Guards] is that your King revealed the presence of the arachne living over our heads to Carmine. So, basically, you’ve got no bargaining chip against me.”
A smile graced his lips, a very tired smile.
Then, very slowly, as if his muscles had been covered in lead weights, he lifted his right arm and placed a mythril knife on the counter, his hand around the grip.
“And you’ve just taken away my main reason to live. For the second time. Now, I’m not a man prone to wrath, but I’ve lost too much to the Game, so how about I repay you in kind?”
The Bishop took a few steps back, her hands raised placatingly: “Now now now Albert, let’s not do anything rash. You may be right, and I’m not saying you are because even I don’t know everything my King does, but that just gives us the chance to make a deal. How about we… protect her, yes. We could take her –”
She didn’t manage to finish the sentence as the knife Albert had been holding suddenly flashed towards her.
[Fast Dodge]! she shouted internally as her body blurred down, under the knife, no, the dagger. The person right behind her wasn’t so lucky as the blade struck them in the face, right between the eyes, ending up hilt deep into his cranium. She realized, right then and there, that Albert hadn’t been aiming at her. He knew that she’d dodge, it was a certainty, because she was a Bishop. So he’d just killed an enemy and made her waste a Skill.
As these thoughts processed in her mind and the rest of the room froze in shock he had enough time to say one last thing before Airm descended upon them.
“[Whisper in their Ear: Isse] Girl, I’m sorry. You have to run. Run away from this city as fast as you can. They found out. I’ll keep them at bay and help you along the way. I’m sorry… I love you.”
Then he looked back at them and extended his hand towards the dead Pawn: “[Recall Weapon].”
The dagger flew back into his outstretched hand, where he twirled it around until his grip felt sure. It had been decades since he’d last used his dagger, but muscle memory was an Airm of a thing and he felt like it had been just yesterday. It saddened him that he could still remember perfectly how to use his weapon of choice but, sometimes, didn’t know how to cook a simple dish. So many chances to learn different things, all thrown down the gutter.
Everyone looked at each other as weapons were drawn out, from simple throwing knives to short swords and shields to wands. It was nine against one, plus the dozens of [Guards] outside who were getting ready to bust in from what he could see, and he didn’t have the element of surprise on his side. That had always been his main weapon back in the day.
Luckily for him now he had another Class that he didn’t have back in the day.
Before it began though, he had… one last thing to do.
“[Call Them All In]. Protect her. Help her survive, at all costs.
“[Call the Favor In]. Old Crow, please, take care of her better than I did. I trust you. Goodbye.”
There… he’d done it.
He’d called in every single favor from every person in the world he’d ever done a service for. Hopefully his Levels would be enough to force them into compliance.
Still, there was not enough time left to dwell on such worries. There was no time left at all. He… wasn’t planning on surviving the night. He’d be lucky to survive the next ten minutes.
They stood there, looking each other in the eyes, a standoff not unlike the one between two [Knights] ready to fight in a duel, waiting to see who would attack first and how. It was a waiting game, and he’d always been good at those, especially now in his twilight years.
He examined the weapons at his enemies’ disposal. The people who worried him the most were those with throwing knives: for all he was good with those, no, especially so, he knew all too well how fast they could be thrown and how difficult it was to notice them until it was too late. The men armed with short swords, on the other hand, would be an annoyance at most, considering there was little space for them to actually move well. Finally, the people with the wands he wasn’t worried about at all. They’d probably do more harm than good to their own sides, especially if they were trigger-word-happy.
No, the real problem would be the numbers, especially of the [Guards] outside.
Then the Bishop managed to surprise him: “[Board: Flatten the Field].”
And immediately every object around him, every piece of furniture, every clock… it looked like someone had taken a hammer to reality and comically splattered everything to the ground and walls, leaving behind only a flat surface.
Well, let’s change our assessment, now the people with swords are useful and I can’t find cover behind the furniture to fight off the throwers.
“Interesting Skill young lady. How long does it last? A minute? Five?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she attacked, taking a foil out of her bag of holding and lunging towards him.
Albert didn’t even have to try to dodge it, batting away the attack with the flat of his dagger nonchalantly.
Then he moved his head back as a throwing knife flew past his nose, only to then step aside to dodge a sword attack that had looked rather clumsy to him.
And all the while he talked: “Bishop, your attack was sloppy, work on the footing. Thrower, you twist your body around too much, wasting time. And you, sword guy, are as graceful as a sand worm in water.”
The fight was on.
They didn’t waste time, they knew that, at this point, he wouldn’t join them no matter what and, after what they’d done, he’d make sure to kill them (or so they thought. He would’ve escaped if they’d run). So the only way out of this was for Albert to die. The problem was… he was too fucking fast! How in Airm could an old man like him move that fast? And he wasn’t using Skills, she could tell.
Well, to answer that, he was actually using a Skill, a Passive one: [Vampiric Vitality].
And, currently, he was pushing it to its limit, consuming blood in exchange for enhancing himself even further.
There was a problem with that though, although for whom that problem sussisted was yet to be decided. Because Albert had another Skill, the Capstone Skill he’d gained when he’d hit Level 50 in his [Timesmith] Class: [Blood is Time].
A Skill so simple and yet so powerful. A Skill that converted blood into time. The Skill that had allowed him to decide how long he had yet left to live. A Skill that was consuming the years he had left to live to allow him to fight like this.
Hopefully he’d have enough and there would be no need to feed.
The man with the shortsword attacked again and, this time, as Albert dodged, the sword changed trajectory, redirected by some unseen force towards him.
Ah, a Skill. [Redirect Momentum]? Probably. In that case, his thoughts whirled as these words formed and he let himself drop to the ground back first. The impact didn’t punch the air out of his lungs, after all he did have [Improved Back Muscles]. From the ground his hand flew out at the man’s feet, his dagger cutting the tendons of the closest one. Immediately he screamed in pain and fell to the ground, where his throat had a swift encounter with Albert’s blade, ending the man’s life with a brand new very big smile.
Then a knife managed to find its way into Albert’s dagger arm.
With a grunt he shot up to his feet, his abdominals contracting and helping him dodge a second knife before he had to sidestep a lightning bolt that scorched the wall behind him slightly.
Ok, gotta put someone behind me so that they’ll kill themselves with friendly fire.
His [Dangerses] screamed and he looked back in time to see Bishop’s foil coming for his face. His feet moved before his mind realized it and positioned him in the perfect position to dodge. Naturally she corrected the direction of her attack, but that lost her some momentum, enough for Albert to put his dagger between them and redirect the attack, the two blades sliding against each other, the metal of the foil sparking as its edge was damaged by the much stronger mythril.
In that moment he saw one of the Pawns with the wand, probably the same one who’d attempted to shoot him before, raise it and pronounce the words to activate the Spell stored inside.
He was faster though as he grabbed the Bishop’s arm and thrust her between him and the Spell. Not a second later lightning struck, of all things, the foil, the charge moving through the metal and up into the woman’s hand, arm and, finally, the rest of her body, grounding itself back into the ground faster… well, as fast as lightning. Looking at the metal he clearly saw that the blade, while slightly smoking, hadn’t changed color or deformed, which meant that the wand only had a [Minor Lightning] Spell grafted on. He’d actually had the displeasure to see the effects of a [True Lightning] Spell on someone… it hadn’t been a pleasant sight. The poor sod had survived, but his armor had melted onto him in a few places.
Still, no time to lose, he had the main enemy in his hands! His dagger flew towards Bishop’s throat, ready to end her life, but a moment later, instead of her, he found himself holding the man with the wand, his dagger slicing his throat instead of the woman’s.
She stood in his place, panting heavily and trying to step away from him as much as she could.
Now that, that was ‘role appropriate’. Bishops attacked only when it was safe to, letting the Pawns whittle the enemy’s numbers down, not the other way ‘round.
The man fell to his feet, clutching at his new smile.
And Albert realized that he’d lost six months of life just by doing all of this.
Well, it’s all or nothing, he told himself, a stupid excuse for all that was happening. He had never wanted any of this. He’d hoped against all hope that, truly, the Game would abide by its own rules, but how could you force a player of a game to abide by the rules they themselves made when given the chance to change them? The temptation was just too much.
As fast as he could he took out the blade sprouting out of his arm, keeping it in his left hand.
Thanks for the ammunition, he thought to himself as he activated the Skill [Stem Bleeding], reducing the amount of time he was losing each second.
Two down, eight more to go.
He just hoped the [Guards] outside would keep dilly dallying for a few minutes more: the only real threats for Isse were in this room with him, for all they were incompetent fools.
Everyone stood stock still, nerves on the edge of a very thin knife, looking at him and waiting for his next move.
After a few seconds of this Albert spoke: “You know, I won’t be the first to move, you might as well attack and see what happens.”
He didn’t offer them to run. At this point it would be counterproductive.
A moment later another idiot with a wand pointed his weapon at him and unleashed, of all things, an [Arrow of Light]. No, wait, the light was too bright, the shape too well defined. So an [Arrow of Radiance]. Where in Airm had they gotten something so good? Those were usually used only by [Paladins] of Flato.
Still, it didn’t matter: an [Arrow of Radiance] may have been more dangerous, its shots more powerful and capable of passing through enchanted armor like a hot knife through butter, but the speed was the same as a normal [Light Arrow], which meant that… it was easy to dodge if you were expecting the shot. That’s why such armaments weren’t popular among adventurers (unless they were in big parties): to deal some real damage with these you had to have numbers on your side. Just arm as few as as ten people, and watch them shoot in different directions with such a weapon and you still had a guaranteed hit. Less though, and your chances dropped. Only one? The chances were close to zero.
Albert sidestepped and, this time, managed to redirect the knife thrown his way.
“You gotta try harder, you damn nuisances. I’ve met recruits back in my day who were better than you.”
One thing he had to give them: for all he tried to egg them on, to make them lose their patience and make a wrong move, they kept their calm. Even after he’d killed two of their people.
So they still teach them that Pieces are just Pieces, useful until they can no longer do their job. Hah, so the good is forgotten and the bad just keep on increasing.
It was so tiring.
Hadn’t it been for Isse he would’ve already given up, sat on the ground, maybe drunk something, before either letting these imbeciles kill him or doing it himself.
“Albert, we can still –” tried for the hundredth time Bishop.
His arm flashed forward, the throwing knife going for her face. But obviously she dodged it.
His [Dangerses] pinged him again and he turned around just in time to see one of the men with shortswords going for his head.
“[Power Strike]!” he shouted.
A Common Skill? Against me? Really?”
Unfazed he raised his arm, knowing full well that this time he couldn’t use the same trick as before since the man would expect it.
[Arms of Brass], he recited. Nothing changed… outwardly, that is. But the moment the blade met his arms a clang was heard and it just… bounced off. The Pawn looked first at his blade, then at Albert, and then at nothing else as his head flopped backwards, kept in place only by his spine and a bit of flesh.
Then it was chaos.
Everyone started attacking him all at once, but every single time he managed to dodge and weave between the attacks. The next to go down was another of the knife throwers, one of the [Arrows of Radiance] piercing through his heart. Then came the turn of the Pawn with that wand, which he took out by using the dead man as a dummy shield kept moving by his Skill [Illusory Clone]. He kept the wand and used that instead of the multiple knives being thrown at him.
And all the while he attempted to dodge every single lunge and attack from the Bishop, who looked steadily more and more panicked as she finally realized, truly, that she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
That isn’t to say that he didn’t get wounded. On the contrary, he was down to five years left to live.
In the end they were the only ones left in the room: him and the Bishop. He checked his clock, noting how much time he’d lost. Too much. But, seeing how the [Guards] outside hadn’t yet walked in since the fight had started, maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to survive this.
“Well, this wasn’t pleasant at all,” he said, closing his pocket watch, “I’m glad it’s ended. Now, kindly, leave, or off yourself, whichever has less consequences for you. I’m telling this as a professional kindness: you won’t like what I’ll do to you if you choose to stay.”
He was thirsty. Only slightly, but it had been quite literally decades since he’d last felt thirsty in any way that mattered.
She lunged at him in desperation, screaming both in rage and agony from the wounds he’d managed to inflict to her. He, too, was in pain, although not as much: he’d been conditioned to ignore the sensation from when he’d been eight and decades with a sword’s shard in his flank had only enhanced it.
He tried to dodge and, like before, she changed direction, trying to skewer him through his eye.
And, just like the first time, he dodged that too, grabbing her arm. The girl really hadn’t learned from the first time. Only, this time, instead of trying to slit her throat with his trusty dagger, he sank his teeth in her neck and clenched.
[Vampiric Fangs], he recited, before sinking now long teeth into her exposed neck, breaking skin and reaching for the artery in her neck.
Blood pumped into his mouth and down his throat, although he didn’t taste a drop of it: there was just too much on his mind to even begin to think about enjoying any of this. Instead he drank and, quite rapidly, felt the time he had left to live begin to replenish. Which was good, he’d probably need every second.
The girl in his grip moaned in discomfort and pain, slowly becoming paler and paler, until her breathing became ragged and her heart began to fail. Finally, an entire minute later, she stopped moving at all.
He threw the body down and looked outside.
A chuckle escaped his lips.
The [Guards] were getting ready to charge in.
It was so, as his shop went back to normal, every flat surface growing back the furniture it had absorbed, that he walked upstairs, for that was the best place to entrench himself.
He would soon find out though that someone else had had the very same idea as, when he opened the door that led to the first floor, he found himself facing a dozen men. There were already dead bodies scattered around, killed by his Skills and traps.
He sighed.
And got ready to die.