Chapter 80
Charter of Destiny
Asher stood in the black void, flashing screens filling his vision.
There were no obvious changes to any of the Stages--they seemed... ordinary, untouched. The difficulty ratings ranged from 12 at the lowest to 100 at the highest, though he suspected it wouldn't matter which one he ended up choosing, as they'd all become 'impossible'.
He'd spent all the Souls he had in reserve, using them all up on an extra 130 or so Health and 20 Armor. There were a few thousand leftover, but as any stat that mattered had begun costing a few thousand per level, it wasn't much.
It was the strongest he could become... and he could only hope it was enough.
As it didn’t matter, he simply closed his eyes and spun around, swinging his finger over thin, non-resistant air. Wherever it landed... that would be his first stand, and hopefully not the last.
Opening his eyes, he looked at the window selected--T’lor’s Last Stand. He couldn't help but chuckle at the serendipity and at the foreboding choice.
T’lor’s Last Stand [Weekly]
Difficulty Rating: 86/100
Description: Over the tethers of time, there have been many heroes, spawned by many kingdoms, empires, and rebellions. The names of the most remain unknown, faded through history, though some echo as loudly in death as they did in life, for their acts of heroism were so fundamentally altering of the world that nobody dared forget. In the year 833 Before Empire, the Purge of the Unwanted occurred. The realms of the Unknown Kingdom were swept through by the Order of Knights charged with killing all the anti-royalists. Toward the end, only one small band of folk remained who fled to the mountains. Pursued, the Order of Knights met up with a solitary, retired soldier--T'lor--who promised the band that he'd buy them enough time. T'lor survived for 13 hours and 36 minutes before being overwhelmed, and the band of survivors escaped. Their lineage eventually led to the birth of the Empire's Founder. T'lor was canonized at the dawn of the Empire, his name etched in the tomes of history forevermore. Can you complete the same feat and hold back the pursuers?
Conditions to Clear:
Survive for 13 hours and 36 minutes.
Reward: [Pride of a Lion]
Note: Your starting weapon will be [T'lor's Sword], and all your upgrades will be pre-determined.
Caution:
Asher’s eyes wandered carelessly over the description, his mind reeling back and telling him to escape. But he simply accepted, taking in the pang of pain and the surging darkness.
By the time he opened his eyes, he was elsewhere--deep in the mountain, a row of jagged peaks to both of his flanks. Right behind him was an ever-narrowing pass coiling up around, appearing to be the only remotely passable terrain within sight. He was quite far up on the mountain, nearly touching the storming clouds, where the greenery was nowhere to be seen. There was only gray rock and brown dust with an occasional colorless weed barely hanging on.
His taking in of the scenery was interrupted rather unceremoniously, done so by a red-flashing alert window, something he already expected.
[Caution! Anomaly Detected!]
[--’Unknown’ has altered the Stage...]
[Calculating...]
[...]
[Calculations Complete!]
[Due to the Stage’s unique nature, the altered enumerators have been condensed]
[The following changes will be applied to the Stage:
XP Rate: -45%
The progressive curve of difficulty increased (enemies will become stronger faster and at a higher rate)
The weather has been altered--A rainy storm with low visibility
Added a Condition for Failure: more than 10 enemy soldiers get past you
Altered the Boss Encounters: instead of 12, you will only face 4; however, they will all be named, unique Heroes of the Age. The last Boss to spawn will be the Unknown King, oft considered the strongest of the Era; you will be unable to kill him. Simply survive.
Difficulty Rating Adjusted: 86/100 -> 97/100]
[Due to the Anomalous Changes, the rewards have been altered]
[In addition to the [Pride of a Lion], you will be rewarded the following:
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
1,000,000 Souls
1,000 Divine Gems
2x Ticket for any ‘Premium Furniture’ purchase
1x permanent, random, Common Blessing
For the next 10 Stages, all Soul rewards will be increased by 6x while all Divine Gems rewards will be increased by 2x
You will be able to exact punishment on the initiator of the Anomaly (within means)]
Asher cracked a smile, reading pensively through everything. Could be worse, he thought to himself. It truly could have been, too; his random selection of the Stage may have helped him ever so slightly. However, that may just be because the original Stage was already so damningly difficult that there was little to adjust.
He sighed, craning his neck and looking up at the ashen sky. It was getting somewhat dreary, battling it out in the rain so often. Though he liked it back on Earth as it provided the kind of cover that no modern tech could even approach, it also came with drawbacks, especially when compared with raw mother nature.
Up on the mountain, there was no asphalt or concrete; it was just dirt, and when the dirt got wet, it turned into mud. The ground would be slippery, the visibility would be bad, and the sounds would be muffled. He'd have to grow eight new eyes just to have a good overview of his surroundings.
However, the same applied to his foes--he hoped. If they could ignore the terrain’s restrictions, then it truly would be an execution.
[T’lor’s Sword -- Unique]
-- Weapon wielded by the Saint T’lor, baptized in the blood of the enemies in the last few hours of its life. It is said that its spirit raged in obliterating madness, unwilling to perish, bound to exterminate all of its Master’s enemies. Though the sword had been lost to time, there are rumors that it is biding its time, waiting for a new master capable of subduing its maddened spirit.
[...]
Effects:
Every deflection will be counted as a Perfect Parry
Weapon ignores 100% of the defense
The weapon consumes 99% less Stamina than an ordinary sword
The weapon grows stronger the more wounded you are
Wound Healing accelerated by 1,000%
Maintain perfect sight regardless of circumstances
[...]
Special Effects:
[Lone Star] -- all Stats are increased by 300% while fighting alone and against at least 10 opponents. The bonus scales up to 800% up to 300 foes.
[The Protector] -- immune to all Status Effects so long as defending a sovereign ground
[Undying] -- the first time Health drops to 1, become invulnerable for 10 seconds, and restore all lost Health.
[He, Undone] -- the sensation of pain is wholly dulled; feelings of fear, terror, or dread will never occur
Yet another window filled with text later, Asher grabbed at the rather ordinary-looking sword by his side. It was just about shy of three feet in length, two fingers wide, with an ordinary, unremarkable design lacking any individuality. It was as though the sword was mass-produced for soldiers in a war, forged shoddily at best... and yet, there was resplendence buried within, perhaps birthed through the slaughter across many battles and wars.
Asher took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, letting it all go, emptying his mind. Opening them, the window was gone, and the world was breathing.
Ever-green, wet leaves rustled in the speeding winds, while the rain began to churn from the sky, boring into the dirt. It wasn’t long before his clothes were one with his skin and his feet sunk slightly into the ground.
All he could see around him was darkness--and then, there was a flash of light. From the parted trees and the winding path, bouncing reflections of the moonbeams against the armors moved like fireflies. Rows of men approached, all decked out in rather fancy-seeming armors, gold and silver gilded, laden with hand-carved decorations.
Their helmed eyes glistened with harrowing apathy, the light within them extinguished. They were not human--at least not wholly. Wandering ghouls, they were, resurrected from an ancient memory and told to serve another master in a playwright's dance of carnage.
And he stood before them, sentenced to death yet still living, sword in hand, clothed in ordinary linen and wool, charged with staving off an army all on his own.
He chuckled at the thought--it wouldn't be the first time... far from it. Rather, it seemed he was growing rather attached to these sorts of stories. Whether he would live yet another... he wasn't certain. But Asher grasped the sword and tangled his wet fingers as tightly around the leather-bound handle as he could. He would hold or he would die. Just as in life on Earth as in this proverbial death here.
A man charged ahead of everyone else, plated boots stomping through the mud, slipping once or twice by the time he reached Asher. The latter thrust the sword straight into the gap between the helmet and the breastplate, tearing open the man’s larynx. Blood spewed out yet could scarcely make much of itself, drowned out in the rain immediately. The man let loose of the weapon and, wide-eyed, grasped toward his neck, holding on whilst collapsing to his knees and then to the side, dead.
Asher bent over and easily picked up the corpse, tossing it back behind him, intending to build a wall of carcasses so that he would have something to lean against when drained and vanishing. This act, however, seemed to have been a kindle that lit the flames of conviction--roars burst through the rain and the line of men rushed forward, swords overhead, plated clamoring in the storm.
He stayed steady, unflinching, unbothered, unfazed.
This was his war, once more, and he was the only soldier.
**
Silence permeated the hallowed halls of the Divine Court; bloodlines ancient and new converged here, today, all in a flux of silence, observing a moving image in the shapely mist with taut hearts. Beneath the mist, six bodies lay sprawled, pools of blood forming beneath them in a strange, runic circle, undulating light.
Havar, like everyone else, was silent, taken in by the fragmented silhouette in the rain, perched atop a mountain, guarding a pass. He'd witnessed it--the ordinary human's bellyaching outburst, the accusations that quaked the pillars of the Empire, the inundating will, the unbending spirit. And, for the first time in over a thousand years... Havar had begun to hope. It was the tiniest of kindles, nestled deep within his heart, hidden so deep and away even he was not fully aware of it... but it was there. Being nurtured with each passing second.
There were many like him in the hall, he knew; many who grew tired of the endless reign, of the mindless conduct, all in wait for an opportune time to don the mantle of the new age. All they needed was a symbol, a catalyst, a vessel to gather behind--and a spark to ignite the gunpowder-infused undercurrents of the Empire. And that man standing solitary could be just that--the spark to ignite the war to end all wars, the chaos to reverse the mandated history thousands of years in the making. A tiny ant shorn of blessed blood and a noble mind bore upon his shoulders the potential to awaken the quelled quagmires of hate.
And most here, in the hallowed hall, knew.
And most waited, drenched in silence, overcome with fanning desires--so selfish and some altruistic and some yet born of raw desperation.
How? Few pondered.
How did the Empire fall so far as to be malleable by the acts of an ordinary human? The mighty crest pressed upon the annals of life and death now stood quaking beneath the pulse of a human’s heartbeat, its ripples like shoring waves crashing against the stone that had never yielded and had endured the eons of erosion. But the stone had waned, years having eaten away at its heart and soul; the summit of greatness, ultimately, was merely the precipice of downfall.