It took long enough for the branch against which he abutted to give way with a resounding crack, sending bark chips in multiple directions. The passage was narrow enough for most of it to bounce harmlessly against the rocky walls, but a previously unseen nest of amphiteres scattered into a slithering mosaic, only parting when Kristian’s mismatched sabatons touched down.
“Sky father,” Kristian cursed, the phrase a relic from yestertime—though Zayden’s translation spell left much to be desired, as neither Kristian nor any of the others ever figured out what it meant.
The reminder, even if of his own making, irked him into flaring his Presence. It came as naturally as breathing, the two Rootless Classes sitting on his hollow core all but a parting gift from his dear friend. The once liberator of this part of the cave system may have been gone, but the sector remained firmly in human hands under Kristian’s care, even if the Crown paid their nameless backlands little heed.
A smattering of rustled leaves shimmered in the low light, the same sea-green glow of the starry rocks above mirrored in them for a split second.
All things considered, the tremors his landing caused were no worse a ruckus than the amphiteres’ conniption. The monsterlings clearly remained incensed, but even creatures as underdeveloped as them took his unassailable Presence as warning. Only due to the likelihood of any action’s discovery was Kristian staying his hand.
Kristian summoned the obit and allowed time to pass, watching the sparks that danced on its surface, subtle enough that his limited Perception struggled to pick them up. He understood the tingling in his palm to be caused by the mana it channeled—something beyond his capacity to comprehend—but the sensation that rushed through his body never stopped being disquieting, even with this having become his oldest daily ritual.
Obit
This obit contains the details of one Zayden Owens the Champion Saint. Accrue [Toll] to contribute towards the cost of resurrection by grasping this obit.
Died: The Cold of 5767
Progress: 74,637,195 out of 105,040,000
This obit will become unusable if its subject is not restored by: The Cold of 6017
His skin itched by the time he put it back into his inventory, having channeled the measly cycles his [Toll] could accrue at once. He flexed that fist repeatedly as his attention returned to his surroundings, waiting.
While the average human could expect their soul to be beyond retrieval within a year of their passing, summoned Champions came into this world with an artificially increased period until dissolution.
Kristian would be a fool to squander the chance provided to him. His friend would live again, no matter how long it took. They had lost too much as it was.
Pulling his attention back to reality, Kristian found himself frowning. The ritual never took longer than half an hour, even under less than ideal conditions such as these. That could only mean one thing—his men were delayed, and with every minute he waited, the window of opportunity grew narrower and narrower.
A part of Kristian worried it might be entirely gone.
It would have been preferable to know exactly what he would be walking into, but it would be unwise to tarry any further.
He’d have to make do without their reports.
Each bound took him far enough that wind howled on his ears, the ground surprisingly sturdy even under the strain of his considerable Strength. Kristian rarely frequented these parts, but they might prove a worthy training ground. Later.
There might be farmers—or whoever else lived or dallied around barns—in his destination, but at the speed Kristian was going, the prospect of it mattering was dubious at best. The only difficulty he expected would be taking the fight into the forest, away from prying eyes that might detect him as anything other than a form flying at high speeds.
He could handle witnesses if it came to that, but their ilk performed a crucial task for society. They were not to be disposed of without reason.
The interdependent nature of attributes allowed him to overstep what his suboptimal Speed should have afforded him, but he would be unable to escape the backlash later. His Speed and all
attributes were simply too disproportionate for the latter to enhance the former without consequences.Kristian barely bothered to pay attention to his surroundings anymore. His Perception, lousy as it was, ensured he steered clear of all but his target. It also assured his aim struck true.
Wooden planks shattered, a heap of splinters spreading out in his wake. Kristian gripped his mark by their washed-out tunic, not even pausing his near-flight.
Your [Ambush] Skill has improved! 30 → 31
Time was of the essence, so Kristian wasted none on [Identify]—he’d learn anything he needed to know once it was done, anyway. He clinked his vambraces against each other, manifesting flexible hooks that followed the movements of his hands just as he launched his opponent between a pair of trees and against the cavern wall.
Kristian’s knee rose to deliver a direct blow to the would-be Champion’s ribs, his Endurance clearly lacking as the cracking was audible. The weakest yet.
Yet to underestimate an otherworlder would be asinine. Having had the privilege of belonging to the retinue of one, once upon a time, Kristian knew all too well how uneven the playing field was—for one, they started with a rate of +50 or even +100 attributes per level instead of the beginning rate of +10 non-otherworlders had to make do with. Only triple-digit locals could present a threat to them, and even then, Kristian knew he had to finish this quickly.
The boy was already wheezing on the ground, apparently unable to muster a response before Kristian’s hooks were upon him once again. It would be over soon.
At last, the would-be Champion reacted, a stream of crackling blueish light forming between his mangled hands. He's planted a Root already? But no matter.
Something about it set Kristian’s hairs on end, yet he struck through it anyway, rending the otherworlder’s flesh from his chest.
[Integrity] 382 → 201
The pain caught Kristian off-guard, the strange light bouncing not against but into his prized armor's enchantments, sending him reeling back as convulsions raked his being. It even tore at his now-overtaxed [Toll], barely leaving him with enough presence of mind to leap further back as his surroundings stilled and wrinkled for a moment.
[Toll] 606 → 873
(❗) Warning: [Toll] over capacity! You are now bleeding [Integrity].
Your [Mana Discharge] Skill has improved! 31 → 32
[Integrity] 201 → 187
[Toll] no longer over capacity.
By when Kristian managed to pry his eyes open, the otherworlder was dangerously close to the edge of the forest. He shot through the air after him, but it would not be enough. Not by itself.
Kristian’s Presence erupted, an intangible flood that clamped down ahead, and the otherworlder froze. The attribute had differentiated into Intimidation for a reason, even if Kristian preferred not to advertise that fact.
It was a risk—Kristian wasn’t exactly stealthy as it was—but the alternative would be a guaranteed failure.
Your [Domineering Aura] Skill has maxed out at 50!
The strange light build up around the otherworlder—the mage—again, enough that it would be unavoidable. If the effects repeated, Kristian’s Endurance would nonetheless allow him to withstand it.
Just barely.
You have murdered a Level 53 stranger! [N/A {} - N/A {} - N/A {Lightning} - N/A {}]
Kristian’s hooks struck true with finality. With his success confirmed, he bore the spasms without struggle, hitting the ground on his back as his legs all but collapsed from under him. What an irritating Mana Source!
[Toll] 606 → 847
(❗) Warning: [Toll] over capacity! You are now bleeding [Integrity].
Your [Mana Discharge] Skill has improved! 32 → 33
[Integrity] 187 → 24
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
[Toll] no longer over capacity.
You have reached Level 138!
He panted, remaining down. That was not an Affinity Kristian had ever seen, but the mage had lacked Classes, despite Champions’ capacity to forge those themselves. He’d assumed as much—if the previous reports were right, his arrival had been this very month—yet the level and his possession of a Root both surprised Kristian.
So long had it been since Kristian last faced a mage, that he’d placed himself at a disadvantage mere moments before his attack. It was easy to chastise himself in hindsight, but [Toll] was normally irrelevant to the non-mage.
That could have gone badly. In fact, were it not for the multipliers from the Classes Zayden forged for him, so long ago, he would likely be dead. He could not have borne that without his ludicrous Endurance. I was careless.
[Mana Discharge] took the edge off the [Toll] overload, to an extent, but such intrusive attacks were harrowing, taxing one’s channels in the same way circulating mana on one’s own would. Especially for someone who didn’t even use mana themselves.
Kristian could have gone another 30 years without such an incident, really.
He had to complete his objective with haste, but the would-no-longer-be Champion was still in the process of dissolving into an obit, so Kristian allowed himself the time to allot the +250 attribute points the extra level yielded him.
Into Endurance, of course.
[Integrity]
24 / 404
[Toll]
606 / 606
Strength
26370
Speed
1625
Endurance
28840
Agility*
1641
Stamina
26150
Resilience
1609
Perception
351
Charisma
1935
Adaptability
210
Luck
1200
Circulation
10
Intimidation*
15525
Even with the sizeable gap in power the multipliers of his
andIt was one thing to know having a bloodline to provide you with an Affinity to unlock magic Roots with was an unbelievable advantage, and another thing to experience just how ridiculous that got in practice.
The crystalline cube holding the essence of all the otherworlder had been was done forming, so Kristian would have to postpone his brooding and celebration alike. The increases to [Mana Discharge] had prompted his
Class to grant him the first level he’d achieved in years, and [Domineering Aura] was his second ever Skill to hit the cap, after [Disconnect] from his ClasslessKristian rose and clutched the obit of his felled foe.
Obit
This obit contains the details of one Jacob Hayes. Accrue [Toll] to contribute towards the cost of resurrection by grasping this obit.
Died: The Fields of 5800
Progress: 10,008,250 out of 10,000,550
This obit will become unusable if its subject is not restored by: The Fields of 6050
Would you like to activate this obit?
It was as he knew it would be. Every would-be Champion was brought into this world with a single second chance, their obit automatically carrying enough stored mana to resurrect them so long as they were at or under the peak of the Mortal Esse stage. Calculating such things with exactitude was a field for the ever-dwindling orders of scholars, but Kristian could guess the difference implied this {Lightning} wielder had still been far from the peak.
He resummoned his friend’s obit from his inventory and slammed this second one against it with a single mental command—fuel Zayden’s.
It wouldn’t be impossible for Kristian to attain the required amount if he went out of his way to request donations, but his own attempts—combined with what he managed to get his children to contribute before they started complaining—had barely made a dent.
But worst of all, it would draw attention.
If only there were a convenient source of stockpiled mana ripe for the taking! Kristian couldn’t help the grin. Zayden himself had suggested as much, back when he had still lived. His advanced core stage had increased the costs of resurrection beyond what the predetermined amount given to him would cover, by far.
Needs must. This otherworlder would never have reached such heights—most of them were simply summoned by whoever held enough power to be deemed the Saint of a specific Affinity, and most of them didn’t even attain said Affinity until later stages, if at all. Even among otherworlders, true mages were rare, for blood trumped all when it came to such things. There was a reason why the prevalence of Affinities was so much more frequent in nobility.
Zayden, however, had been an oddity. Summoned as Champion in honor to one Affinity—which he in fact attained—he not only manifested but came to embody a second one so thoroughly that he became its Saint.
Their world would benefit more from the Champion Saint’s return than from anything these fledglings could achieve—an unfortunate truth.
Obit
This obit contains the details of one Zayden Owens the Champion Saint. Accrue [Toll] to contribute towards the cost of resurrection by grasping this obit.
Died: The Cold of 5767
Progress: 84,645,445 out of 105,040,000
This obit will become unusable if its subject is not restored by: The Cold of 6017
The {Lightning} mage’s obit went to the forgotten corner of Kristian’s inventory with the rest, and he allowed himself a breath of relief.
And for once, he allowed himself to miss him. To miss them. Before Zayden faced the Prince in the battle that ended both of them, Georg and Helena’s own obits had been taken, never to be seen again now that they were lost to their enemies. Two of the five gone forever, just like that.
The glory days were now history, but they could make do.
After Zayden fell, none had bothered with their little corner of the cave system or the estate, nor had any of the heinous fey things Zayden drove out made any attempt to encroach on them. Kristian could only guess the Prince’s people never returned in part due to the Prince's own death, and in part due to the quarrel having been with Zayden himself.
For years, he’d dreaded they might still come. Companions to Champions reaped many benefits from such partnerships, but Kristian wasn’t deluded enough to think himself invincible.
If anything, today had reminded him of that.
Now, what he needed most was rest. His [Integrity] was low enough that no amount of passive regeneration could hold a candle to sleep, the warning debuff hammering away at his temples.
Kristian dismissed his weapons and withdrew through the forest, his Presence muted as he avoided the inhabited clearing where various individuals were scrambling around the demolished barn. Tearing it down entirely wasn’t my intention. Oh, well.
They likely sought the otherworlder they’d been harboring, not that they’d find him. It had been bad luck on the mage’s part if nothing else—anywhere less sparsely populated, he could have sought a Temple or noble to provide a haven for him while he grew stronger. Arriving next to the middle of nowhere had done him no favors.
His legs burned. Refraining from bolstering his Speed again meant Kristian couldn’t simply leap across great distances, not without being seen. It made the return to the estate all the more tedious.
Finally, he crossed the wards, breathing a sigh of relief in the same moment he remembered his men might still make it to the meeting spot—if they hadn’t already.
Still, waiting any further would have been an unnecessary risk, let alone returning now. It would take Kristian little effort to fight off an attacker, but he could do without. Rest was his priority now.
In short, he was tired—tired enough that when Kristian saw a small figure crouched next to the sump the manor bordered on, he didn’t immediately arm himself.
“What are you doing in my property?”
The figure flinched then turned, revealing a chalky face framed by a bottleneck bob with tawny hues. “Oh. Salutations! Mr. Rīsan, is it? My apologies for not greeting you sooner, I hadn’t noticed you there.”
Kristian’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t exactly suppressing his Presence anymore. And this was a seafarer. “What are you doing on my property?”
“Oh, my bad, we haven’t been introduced! I’m from the workshop? I’ve been helping Anselm with the recipes. Right now, I’m fishing for pearls, don’t mind me.”
“You’re what?”
The girl pulled back the fishing implement she was using, revealing a long translucent string from which a colorful stone hung. “It attracts pearls.”
Kristian watched as the girl stared unblinkingly at him, and for once, he knew this was an argument he would not win.
“Just get one of the guards to escort you next time. I’d rather not have any guests meet a preventable end.”
That much was true. It was only by staying his hand—if somewhat unintentionally—that Kristian had spared himself quite the headache. His son would have whined a lot. For all he disapproved of his son's dealings with her kind, he knew the boy would never forgive such a thing.
Kristian’s feet might as well have carried him across the remainder of the path on their own, because he reached the stairs after a momentary lapse in awareness.
Bernadette stood on the porch, arms crossed over her scrunched-up dress. “You did not tell me you would have an outing.”
“My apologies. Such was the rush I was in, that it slipped my mind to inform you.”
“You never tell me when you’re having an outing!”
He knew he should probably take steps to remedy that, but that would require admitting that frequently forgetting about his wife was a persistent issue.
“Later,” Kristian mumbled as he walked past her raised fists. She must have been livid, but if he didn’t get to the bed soon, he would collapse where he stood. And his back wouldn’t like that.
Still, going to his bedroom would be troublesome, so he slid into one of their storage closets and locked the door behind him. He propped a collapsible cot open and all but threw himself at it with a squeaking thud, not bothering to take his armor off. He was out too quickly to even sense sleep coming.