Chapter 67
The Hunt Begins
Asher opened his eyes, well-rested.
He crashed soon after returning to the cabin, having woken up once to take a swig of water before returning to the bed. By his estimate, he’d slept for nearly 18 hours altogether... which tracked. He was exhausted, thrice as much mentally as physically. Having been tossed into the tumultuous storms of the greedy creatures of the impossible make, he couldn’t relax even for a second--and just trying to keep track and follow everything was simply too much.
Yawning, he went to the living room where he saw a nice stockpile of daily meals--one good thing was that they seemed to exist in a strange state of suspension whilst in the cabin, meaning that in whatever state they were served in, they would not get worse or better.
Hunger surging immediately, he began wolfing them like crazy, watering them with some ale. Midway through, a fluttering of wings caused him to sigh as he looked up. Qyne buzzed for a moment before she landed on top of the barrel, sitting down on the edge, legs tossed over, looking up at him.
“... what?” he asked, ending the enduring silence.
“Where have you been?” She asked.
“What do you mean? Right here.”
“For a flicker of time,” she said. “You went away.”
"Wow. I didn't know you were paying that close of attention to me."
“Where have you been?”
“You’re being annoying again,” Asher said, finishing a jug of ale and turning his gaze down. Qyne had changed, ever so slightly, since that day--since he slammed her into a bloody pulp. Whether it was fear, reservation, or calculated wryness, she was much harder to read than before.
“... were you consumed by the Age?” she quizzed. Asher remained unflinching, as though the words meant nothing. Which, in a way at least, they truly didn’t.
“Were you consumed by stupidity or something? Before, even though I hated your guts, at least I could respect your tongue.”
“... my Mother was forced into a war,” she suddenly said.
“Oh.”
“She hates war.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“What did you mean when you said that the Duke used you as a pawn?” she asked again and the silence fell between the two. There was a legitimate look of loss within her desperate, glistening eyes... but Asher was unmoved. If he thawed at the flutter of eyelashes, he would have died a long, long time ago.
“So, this war,” he said. “Who is it against?”
“Covenant of Dryads,” she replied without reservation. “They are trying to usurp our home and take parts of our land.”
“Right. I remember that stupid screen saying that I’d become a mortal enemy with them if I chose to execute you. How come they started a war, then?”
“... there are no permanent bonds,” she replied. “Only greed. Had you executed me, you would have still just been an ordinary human. They would have no qualms over exercising their unifying judgment over you. But... if you beheld power equal to theirs, their grievances would have gone up in flames like twigs in a dry desert.”
“Shouldn’t you be helping her, then?”
“She doesn’t need me.”
“Neither do I.”
“...”
“Sucks, don’t it?”
“Where have you been?” she asked yet again.
“Well, I tried being subtle.”
“If you tell the Emperor, he might reward you for the information.” Asher smiled faintly at the words. Here and there, even through the facade, she’d slip, and her heart would bleed the colors of her true intentions.
“Cute,” Asher said, standing up. “Gotta go now. As always, chatting with you was... painful.”
A brief moment later, Asher found himself standing near the Upgrade Shop at the plaza. Life churned, on and on, unbothered by the eclipsing reality of their doom. It was borderline as much a fantasy as the magic itself, how adaptable humans were. No matter the circumstances, the decrepit mind would find a way to distort those very circumstances so as to maintain a baseline level of sanity. Survive, endure, and prolong.
For a moment, he considered all the post-apocalyptic stories as well as the stories of the species's untimely demise--how much would it really take to undo humanity? A single asteroid? A deadly plague? A massive war? A series of volcanic eruptions? Continental shifts? Life would endure, he postulated; yes, it would do so in a derelict state, almost wholly alien to what it was at the moment, but even in the ashes and embers, it would find a way to survive.
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Just like here, in an alien world, taken by force from the only home they have ever known and forced to do things they have never done before... life existed. It wasn't just survival either--but genuine living.
As he eyed the groups, he landed on a figure who stared back at him--Sarah. She had a strange smirk on her face and winked at him before disappearing, prompting him to frown for a moment. Not because he feared her retaliation but the exact opposite--the fear of not feeling that fear. Juxtaposed against creatures ascending Godhood, humans as a threat felt so... feeble, meek, and tiny.
He didn’t like feeling that way--rather, in more ways than one, humans were vastly more dangerous than creatures like Qyne or Caey or the old man. Even the Emperor as well as the entire council surrounding him weren’t as dangerous; they all viewed humans as severely insignificant, tiny dots in an otherwise iridescent world. The struggle was adorable, sort of like watching a hamster run up its wheel.
Other people, on the other hand, shorn of laws and conscience are capable of evils beyond description. There was nothing quite as dangerous as a group of desperate people who have, at the same time, absconded their humanity in lieu of survival.
Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment before chuckling. He didn’t mind it, in the end; it was akin to the stirring fire roaring at his back, roaring whip tossing him onward even when his will would falter.
Turning to the side, he entered the Upgrade Shop. He had close to 34,000 Souls to burn through, though he already decided to save at least 10,000 for ‘extenuating’ expenditures. Still, 24,000 Souls, even with his somewhat inflated stats due to the Ring, would still afford a decent upgrade.
The first thing he did was spend 8,000 Souls on Movement Speed Upgrades. It went from Level 6 and 0,5 upgrade to Level 11 and 1,7 upgrade, totaling in 2,7 baseline Movement Speed. With 16,000 Left, he elected not to touch Health or Health Regen as the upgrades felt rather minuscule in comparison. He spent 6,000 Souls on upgrading the base damage, upgrading it to Level 22 and bonus 25 damage, totaling in 26 base damage, more than doubling it altogether.
Both Movement Speed and Damage costs, at this point, entered four digits--with the former costing 4,000 per further upgrade and the latter costing 1,000 per upgrade.
He also invested 2,000 Souls into critical chance, increasing it by 2%. Similarly, just after 3 upgrades, the cost skyrocketed up to 1,300 Souls.
With 8,000 Souls left in tow that he 'reserved' for upgrades, he spent half of them upgrading Luck--getting it up from 1 to 2,5. To go from Level 4 to Level 5, the cost would be an incredulous 8,000. Though Asher could scarcely conceptualize what 'Luck' entailed, he banked on it being ever so slightly important.
After mulling over it for a few minutes, he didn’t touch any of the other upgrades and instead decided to spend the 4,000 left in the Furniture Store. Though there were some options still--such as upgrading his Armor or Cooldown Reduction or even Attack Speed, he felt he was ahead of the curve enough that he didn’t need to rush too much.
Hoping it wouldn't bite him in the rear, he spent 4,000 runes on a dining table and a cushioned dining chair as well as a few pieces of silverware--though he didn't mind eating from the floor using his bare hands, he missed a tinge of civility, even if it was just shallow and very surface-level.
Exiting the store, he stretched and yawned, heading over toward the Tavern. He decided to already go to the Adventure Center today and take up a new mission, but not before he filled himself up. Just before he entered the Tavern, the sounds of exploding fireworks distracted him, causing him to look into the sky.
Some of the most explosively fantastic colors burst out in a rather familiar yet distant fashion--long-buried memories of his childhood, where he’d climb up to the rooftop with his brother and father to observe New Year’s fireworks flashed briefly through his mind before he was brought back to reality. From them, letters began to form, quickly spelling out a very short and simple sentence: The Hunt Begins.
Almost at that exact point, Asher witnessed something beyond astonishing--the previously thriving plaza became... empty, wholly bereft of life, with only him remaining standing there. It was a rather funny scene--as much a concept of 'funny' could break through the bizarre reality--almost as though everyone was abruptly kidnapped by aliens as so denoted in some Kansas Chronicles of abductions.
Shrugging his shoulders, he entered the Tavern, realizing that, just like the outside, it was empty save for a single person behind the counter. He approached it and sat up on the stool, all under the strange look of the woman who held her arms crossed over her chest.
“Aren’t you gonna get ready?” she asked.
“For what?” Asher asked back as he ordered a tankard of beer, spending 1,000 Souls, through a screen.
“The Hunt.”
“Oh.” she delivered the tankard right after. “Newbie here. No clue what the fuck it is.”
“As it says, it’s a hunt,” she explained. “At the end of every Stage, you will be offered an option: to invade another person’s Stage. If that person fails the Stage and dies, you will have to finish it in their stead, but your rewards will be doubled. If the person completes the Stage, you two will be forced into a duel--but one without powers. It becomes a brawl of sorts, where the best weapon you can bring is just an ordinary sword.”
“...” Asher took a sip of the beer and licked his lips. Mead and ale were fine, as was the depressingly disgusting wine... but, in the end, the beer still was the best for him.
“Hello? Won’t you go get ready now?”
“Ready for what?” Asher asked again, smiling faintly.
“Prepare a knife or a sword or something in case someone invades you,” she said, seeming exasperated at his ignorance--wilful or otherwise. “And, you know, get in the mental state of fighting another human being after fighting monsters?”
“Hm,” Asher finished off the beer as he stood up. “So, that’s why she behaved that way. ‘cause she knew the hunt or whatever is coming.”
“You already have someone targeting your back? As a newbie? What the hell did you do?!”
"Are there any rewards for who kills the most people?" his words suddenly froze the woman's expression. She stared at him rather hollowly, the worried expression vanishing into one of apathy.
“Perhaps consider surviving your first Hunt, and not something so monumentally stupid I feel like slapping you.”
“How about we make a bet?”
“A bet?”
“Hm,” he said. “If I take the first place, you’ll treat me to a beer. And if I don’t, I’ll let you slap me. Twice.”
“...” she stared at him for only a moment before cracking a faint smile. “Alright. What if you die, though?”
“There might yet be a chance of me not being first,” he said as he headed out. “Someone might know how to game the system better than me, after all. However... I won’t die.”
“Wow, Mr. Confident over there.”
"I survived a bullet to my heart," he stopped at the Tavern's entrance and turned toward her, beginning to slowly gesture. "A dagger to my spleen. A fall from fifteen feet onto the concrete ground. And, by far the worst of them all--the only time in my life I wished from the bottom of my soul that my fuckin' body would just give up and die--ricin."
“Oh, sorry. I meant to say Mr. Badass,” she grinned sardonically. “Must be nice being so badass, Mr. Badass.”
“... just save me that beer,” Asher chuckled, stepping out. “See ya’.”