Chapter 50: The Boy From Woodsedge

SHADOW

He awoke lying on his bed in Whiteholme. His [Perfect Clock] skill told him that he’d been asleep for two days. In his hands, he still clutched the larger device that had been at the end of the tunnel. He’d needed to use [Permanent Shade] to teleport out, because things had definitely gone wrong once he’d decided to act. Luckily, or at least as best he could tell, the device didn’t seem to have been affected by their jaunt through the Shadows. He could not say the same for himself.

He’d lost so much experience, his pool had been emptied, erasing all the progress he’d made in the last three months. More than that, he ached, both in body and mind. He knew before he even pulled up his display what he would find.

You are now spiritually exhausted.

As the debuff told him, all his experience gains would be reduced for the next six months. It was the exact same as the last time he’d used his yearly cooldown, unfortunately.

But at least I'm not dead.

He knew that the physical lethargy weighing down his body would pass in a few hours now that he’d awakened, possibly faster, since his stats were markedly higher this time around and would aid in the recovery. The feeling was uncomfortable but familiar. He’d made sure to commit the misery to memory, as it was a clear deterrent to relying on [Permanent Shade].

He left behind his shadow as he stretched and rose to his feet, taking his time before ascending the long, spiraling stairs. Six flights later, he was behind the bookshelf in the bedroom of his childhood home. It was the safest place he knew, mostly because no one would ever suspect to look at a tiny house just past the slum line in Whiteholme. Whiteholme was no one’s destination, after all. People merely passed through while heading elsewhere. The nearest actual point of interest was Snowcap Mountain.

Shadow sighed as he saw the snowy whitecap looking down at him through the kitchen window. As a very young boy, he’d apparently thought it was a slice of titanic cake dipped in sugar. How much his world had changed since then. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been back in years. Despite it all, somehow the place still felt like home.

He sat the device on the kitchen table while he checked all his wards and alarms. Nothing was triggered, broken, or out of place. Only after he was certain the house was still secure did he sit down and scan the device, using every possible tool and skill at his disposal. All he could figure out was that it was some sort of amplifier for the reusable explosives, and that was mostly due to a twistable knob labeled “timer length” paired with how he’d seen it used in the tunnel under Perpetua.

By the time he rose again, his lethargy had fully left him. He’d decided to take the device to an actual expert, to see what a true artificer could make of it. He packed a backpack, carefully placing the device within it instead of his portable storage, and headed out into the chilly, midmorning breeze that filled Whiteholme.

While normally he would have preferred to stay in the shadows, here in this city, he always felt comfortable enough to walk about with his hood lowered, letting his half-pointed ears breathe. He only had a few streets to go anyway. Whiteholme still had not grown beyond the wooden palisades they’d built in his youth, back when monsters ranged more freely off the mountain.

First thing is to figure out exactly what this device is, and what else it does. Then decide what to do about it.

He’d taken the device in an attempt to slow the tunneling process until he could figure out a way to warn the Sovereign without directly contacting the god--or revealing his involvement at all. But how exactly he’d do that, he was still figuring out. He had ideas, but too few of them seemed to end favorably for him, especially since he’d had to use [Permanent Shade]. Its long cooldown was a concern, as it made him much more vulnerable. He could actually die if--

A suddenly-visible greatsword burst from his chest, close enough to his right shoulder that it almost took off his arm.

Shock and disbelief warred against his senses as unexpected pain flooded through him. He had been caught off guard? How, and by who?!

With a deft backward leap, Shadow swiftly slid off the newly visible sword, wondering who in all the realm could be wielding it. But any answer to that question would have to wait because the only piece of them that was visible was the blade with Shadow’s blood dripping off of it.

Shadow’s quick reactions weren’t quite quick enough though. Already the greatsword was coming for him again, and though he moved away from the first strike, the blade made four swings in quick succession. A [Blade Flurry], he realized too late, and more than that: each swing seemed to be doubled, most likely by a [Blade Echo], which would give his assailant a swordsman-based Class.

The fourth echoing strike cleaved straight through the device that Shadow hadn’t yet decided how to handle. The metal split smoothly, cleanly, into two hemispheres, leaving one in each of Shadow’s hands. Suddenly, he was beyond furious.

I risked my gods-damned life for that thing, and now this asshole, whoever they are, might have just fucked the whole of Perpetua to get at me?!

Shadow shoved the two halves into his magical storage, because why the fuck not at this point, and reflexively rolled out of the way of the next sword swing. Shadow still couldn’t get a read on his opponent, but that no longer mattered. He knew what he had to do: finish the fight fast, hurry to the artificer, and figure out just how screwed the device actually was.

He summoned his daggers to his hands and easily blocked the next few attacks that all came much slower than the earlier skill. The attacker’s invisibility had retracted enough to show the attacker’s arms, and just like that, Shadow knew he was fighting a man, and he started gathering [Insight].

His slowly-appearing opponent was already swinging the massive sword again, but this time Shadow could begin to take the man’s measure. After only a few strikes, it was clear the attacker and blade were covering more ground than normal, far larger than any normal daggers should have been able to keep up with. Little did his attacker know.

Shadow’s daggers were anything but normal.

Shadow met the blade with both of his, not willing to risk underestimating the swordsman's strength--which seemed to be lower than he expected from someone capable of surprising him. Despite the ambush, it felt like this fighter was either not a strength-based Class or multiple tiers lower than him.

Shadow knew what that meant. “Gods-damned quest fuckery!” he shouted before chugging a healing potion. “There’s no other way you could sneak up on me.” His taunt was basic, but he wanted to know if his opponent would rise to the bait.

The swordsman refused, wordlessly whipping the huge hunk of--Was that tier 2 metal?--through the air toward Shadow’s chest again. Whoever he was, he was at least smart enough to keep pressing the advantage he'd gained through surprise.

The invisibility was peeling back around the attacker’s chest, which was clearly very muscled, but as quickly as his sword was flying around, it was hard to pay attention to much else. Shadow actually found himself pressed, and only once the invisibility had faded most of the way down his attacker’s legs was he able to land a proper [Identify], though only on the attacker.

[?, Human, level 16 [T2], Swordsmith]

{{Student of Jamal}}

What he read didn’t make any sense. Firstly, how in the names of all the forsaken gods was a tier 2 putting up this much of a fight against him? Why had the idiot even thought he could? Though perhaps those questions were both answered by his next concern: how had whoever this was earned that title? As far as Shadow knew, Jamal had never taken a student. Except clearly he had, and Shadow knew that anyone capable of convincing that swordmaster to train them--and then to gain that title--that person would be remarkable.

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That he was also being enhanced by some improved invisibility, something that even stumped Shadow’s upgraded detection, was clear quest fuckery. But why had this person gotten a quest to come after Shadow at all?

There were too many questions rushing through Shadow's mind as he was forced to keep dodging and blocking his opponent's enormous, constantly-moving sword.

That the fight had already begun made roughly half of Shadow’s skills completely useless. But Shadow wasn't feared only for his perfectly planned assassinations. Even if he wasn’t at his deadliest, he still had some skills that made him feared in normal combat. One tool he had cultivated specifically for fights that proved truly challenging was [Insight]:

[Insight] A resource that builds in combat with your understanding of an opponent. When at maximum stacks, may be spent to guarantee one Perfect Blow against that opponent.

With his [Insight] already building, Shadow knew that all he had to do was last long enough, and even this attacker would be brought low. Granted, he didn’t want to have a long fight against this {Student of Jamal}, but his Path was practically begging him to learn more about whoever was behind that title.

Besides, whoever this man was, he was no fool. He kept mounting more and more pressure against Shadow. If the assassin wasn’t careful, he might legitimately get overwhelmed, and then who would deal with Brightside’s insane scheming?

It was time for Shadow to fight back.

Weathering another round of attacks, he activated a [Shadow Clone] and sent it behind his enemy, who was just now becoming fully visible. Shadow switched places with the clone, and with a flick of his wrist sent both daggers flying toward the swordsman's back as he drifted away.

But the boy turned, almost too quickly. And Shadow saw that he was a boy, barely old enough to have been Awakened. Yet his greatsword rotated around him with a fluidity and haste that actually deflected both daggers. Immediately he recognized the technique Jamal made famous--proof that the boy's title had been earned.

With a showy snap of his fingers, the daggers were back home in Shadow's palms. The snap wasn’t strictly needed, of course, but style was still important. Besides, the daggers still arrived in time to block the next blow, which was aimed at his chest.

This time Shadow blocked with only one dagger, while he sent the other flying toward the boy's shoulder. It sank in all the way to the hilt, delivering its payload. Then Shadow recalled it, not daring to let it stay there, not with the boy's speed. It returned back to his hand and waited for the next beat.

Honestly, Shadow was impressed. The boy was talented, especially for a tier 2. But he’s still only tier 2. Just keep chipping away and building [Insight], and he'll fall, one way or another.

Except there was the whisper of a memory that flickered past his eyes when the boy looked up. He'd seen that face before. And somewhat recently. He sprinted through the gallery of his [Eidetic Memory], and he finally found the face.

He recognized the boy at last. Again, Shadow was shocked. But he was only level 1 just over a year ago! The leveling speed was beyond impressive. Shadow would even go so far as to call it prodigious. All this from some kid from practically nowhere.

“Damn it all. You’re the boy from Woodsedge.”

- - - - -

TRISTAN

Tristan saw the recognition at last cross the face of the man called Shadow, only to be replaced by genuine surprise.

“Damn it all. You’re the boy from Woodsedge.”

Tristan tightened his grip on his greatsword, wincing at the sting in his shoulder from the one dagger he hadn't been able to block. Even with [Tempered Spirit] blocking some of the attack, and [Rivalry] active, Shadow still hit hard. “So you do remember. That means you know why I’m here.”

“You’re here to die, just like all the others who have come for me since that day.”

Tristan balked at how blandly the words rolled off the man’s tongue, without malice or ego or judgment. They were spoken as fact, like there was nothing to it, and the outcome had already been written.

“But you don’t have to,” Shadow continued, voice equally impassive. “You can go back home to Woodsedge and make swords to your heart’s content. You’ve clearly got a gift for it.” He nodded toward the [Oozebane Greatsword]. “I collect information, and I’ve seen many weapons. Even amongst the higher tiers, your blade would be impressive. Seems like you’ve got several talents, judging by your title. Would be a shame to waste them here.”

“My name is Tristan Hammerson, and you killed my hero! All those talents have brought me here, to this moment, to fix the world you broke that day!”

Tristan took one quick step forward before swinging his sword horizontally, using [Cleaving Slash] in an attempt to cut straight through his opponent.

Shadow leapt backward and sighed. “Cliche. But I suppose that tracks. You’re, what, 18? You’re still just a kid. You could have a long life left ahead of you, if you just leave now. I’ll even give you my word: I’ll let you go. I won’t seek you out. Just go. I’ve got shit to do, and it’s far more pressing than ending your Path early.”

Tristan wasn’t even tempted by the man’s offer, and he surely didn’t let the man’s play at peace slow his assault. Tristan reminded himself who this was: a murderer, a monster, and proud enough of it to wear the title for the world to see.

[Shadow, Half-elf, level 44 (tier 4) enlightened bladeweaver]

{{Legendslayer}}

Tristan still had no idea what the enlightened bladeweaver class was, but he was starting to learn its capabilities, which apparently included throwing magical daggers ridiculously hard and then instantly summoning them back to his hands, even from within Tristan’s shoulder! That was an ability Tristan wouldn't mind trying to unlock for his own swords someday, to protect against disarming if nothing else. It was highly unlikely he would ever throw his greatswords... though now he did kind of wonder if that could be a usable trick.

At least now he wouldn't be caught off guard by a man he’d supposedly disarmed.

Tristan dove deeper into melee with the man, no longer trying to keep him at a good range, instead knowing that if he was close enough, he'd eventually manage to connect with Shadow--ideally before the half-elf’s daggers could carve him up. He knew it would be a complicated dance, and his opponent was very quick. Maybe as quick as Jamal.

He only realized how fast when the half-elf blocked three swings in a row, drawing closer blow by blow.

“Does your master even know you’re here?” he asked. “Am I really going to have to kill another person he cares for?”

Tristan pushed violently away, filled with rage and renewed purpose. But he needed to compose himself. He was struggling to find the right distance between them, where he could still swing his sword but the half-elf’s daggers couldn’t reach.

Shadow, for his part, seemed willing to merely dance with him. The bladeweaver flitted backward, somehow managing to stay just out of Tristan’s reach. A terrifying thought shot through Tristan’s mind: Shadow might actually be faster than even Jamal was.

That didn’t stop Tristan though. He swung his greatsword over and over, determined to land another blow. He refused to give another break in the action, which could allow his opponent time to think of a way out of this. Because at least for the moment, it seemed like Tristan still held the advantage. He was on the offensive. He was pushing Shadow around and controlling the tempo of the fight.

Shadow’s only recourse so far had been throwing his blessed daggers. But each time he did, Tristan used the Roving Blade to deflect them and keep pressing forward. When Tristan tried to strike back, every attempt was met with Shadow’s own equally frustrating evasion.

The bladeweaver was always just out of range. Just beyond Tristan's reach. Like water, he repeatedly slipped through Tristan's grasp.

But the half-elf never seemed to attack back. The realization was concerning, even if Tristan wasn't really being pressured at all. Why wasn’t Shadow fighting harder? Tristan had half expected him to try to close in more, especially since he was using daggers. But he didn’t, and instead he seemed content to stay back and throw his blades. Tristan must have blocked twenty by this point, if not more. Sometimes even six had been flying at him in rapid succession, and the Roving Blade had found them all.

Just as certainly, there were always two more daggers in Shadow’s hands. And yet he wasn’t pressing harder.

It was time to change things up.