The first thing I felt when I finally awoke was the cold.
I'd passed out against that same pile of dead bodies. It was dark. The only light was the muted red glow emanating from the cursed blade that my left hand still clung to. Nobody had disturbed me since the attack. The others had fled as soon as they heard soldiers approaching. They didn't want to get caught.
I still felt like shit.
It was like I'd run fifty marathons in a row. My mouth was filled with cotton. I couldn't move my arms or legs thanks to the ache that ran through them. I rolled over, witnessing the carnage that I'd unleashed. The Inquisitors were dead – skewered through their stomachs and dropped to the floor to join the multitude of other dead warriors who laid there. To kill even one Inquisitor was a renown worthy feat, to kill an entire squad of them?
"[Status.]"
Ren Kageyama
Level 10 Thief
[Exhausted] [Dehydrated] [Cursed]
HP: 4/30
Strength: 12
Intelligence: 34
Endurance: 26
Perception: 23
I swore under my breath. Stigma had nearly killed me.
Skills
Thievery Level 12
Survival Level 8
Cooking Level 7
Swordfighting Level 3
Lances Level 2
Heavy Armor Level 2
Utility Magic level 2
Offensive Magic Level 1
I'd consumed several of the knights. I'd survived for now, and took some of their skills for myself. Earning [Experience] was a long and arduous process. Even senior Inquisitors only provided me with a few levels. It was still much faster than learning it myself. Level three with swords meant I could hold my own in a duel now. I found my mind filled with foreign knowledge and memories, my arm twitched as muscle memory settled into place.
Levelling those skills also provided other benefits. For example, levelling heavy armour would increase my strength and carrying capacity. I'd never had the privilege of wearing armour before, it was too heavy to justify. You'd get caught by the local bailiffs in no time at all. With my new buffed strength, I could wield Stigma properly, and grab some of the lighter armour from the dead bodies to protect myself with. It was all mass-produced trash. I didn't need to [Inspect] them to see that.
My hands landed on the chest plate that Stigma touched earlier. I forced myself back up and unhooked it from the man's body. I wrapped myself in the steel and clamped it shut. With that and some fitted chainmail I could survive basic attacks. I felt myself recovering somewhat, so I climbed to the top of the mound and retrieved the long red banner that hung from one of the spears. These heraldries held a lot of meaning to the people who stood under them.
It was a well-detailed piece of cloth. Golden fringes and the façade of a roaring lion decorated both sides. My use was much more primitive. I pulled Stigma from the body she was stabbed into and wrapped the cloth around the blade, binding it tight with a coil of rope I kept on my person for emergencies. The hilt was still visible but it'd help keep it a secret from the people I didn't want knowing.
I was in the shit now. Getting found with a weapon like this was tantamount to a capital crime in every major city, not to mention that I'd somehow murdered eight Inquisitors in the process. They'd descend on this place like a hoard of locusts, burning and pillaging until they found the person responsible. The wounds were unnatural and the purple burn marks around the holes screamed 'dark magic' to anyone with a casual knowledge of the arcane. I needed to get out of dodge before they started to wonder where they went.
A familiar voice called to me from inside my own mind, "You survived, my beloved."
I ignored her oddly affectionate language and staggered to the bottom of the pile, "Barely," I croaked, "What the hell was that?" Each step I took was a tremendous effort.
Stigma explained, "To kill eight Inquisitors at once required a significant amount of power. Luckily, their souls were suitable nourishment to keep you from withering."
"You're telling me that was luck?"
"The result would be same. Life or death, hanging on the knife's edge. By my curse or their sword. You've already become more powerful, as have I. Now we must seek greater prey."
"I'm in no shape to fight anything right now."
She appeared in front of me with a satisfied smile on her face, "Tis' a shame none of these bodies have anything left in them. [Consuming] them would have provided the boost you need." Her body was clearer to me now than it was before. "We are connected. A contract forged in fate and blood. We will fight and struggle until the day that our light burns out."
"Great."
The flirtatious tone of her declaration was off-putting, "I must say, you are the most intriguing lover I've had yet. An outworlder, and a moralistic one at that."
"Lover?" I sighed, "You're a ghost who lives in a sword. Intimacy doesn't seem to be on the cards at the moment."
She smirked, "Oh? Is that so."
I froze. I felt something touch my dick, a hand.
"What the hell is that?"
I patted myself down. There was nothing there. But I could feel it, clear as day.
"Very impressive, and we're out in the cold too…" she teased. She floated through the bodies and cupped my cheeks. I could feel the sensation of her ghostly hands against my skin, "…I already told you. You and I are the same. You are the only man with the ability to see me, feel me, or taste me. When I want to, I can inflame the nerves in your body and make you feel the way I want you to feel."
"Oh, amazing. I'm being assaulted by a ghost now."
"There's no need to be so cold to me," she pouted, "I can make you feel amazing."
"Well, that's be a nice change from you making me feel like shit. Is this the time or place to be getting handsy with me?" I hopped over another body as I approached the edge of the main battle. It had taken me nearly five minutes to get here.
"There's never a bad time to be one with my beloved!"
Except for now. I ignored her for the time being and headed into the woods. I'd grabbed some chainmail on the way and slipped it into my bag. When I found somewhere warm, I could put it on over my clothes and under the bulbous chestplate. I had intended to head to the nearest Rouge's camp and sell my goods, but taking stock of how Stigma affected my body was my new priority. I once again cursed my rotten luck.
I'd hidden my backpack beneath a tree. I'd learned early on that carrying all of your valuables when out looting was asking for trouble. If a sheriff or another thief wanted to start a scuffle, you didn't want to lose everything if you were on the back foot. "How long do I have?" I asked Stigma. I knelt down and fished the heavy bag from inside the trunk.
"Each soul lasts for two days, usually. But we burned all of them to launch that attack. Tomorrow your own soul will begin to be spent, I recommend that you slay another creature before that happens. Or don't, being one with you for eternity sounds so wonderful…"
"Yeah, those other guys were just one-night stands, huh?" She just laughed at me in response. "There's really no way around this…"
"There is, but making it happen is beyond most."
"And that is?"
"Certain creatures have more powerful spirits than others, a full course meal versus a midday snack, if you will. Slaying one would provide enough energy to allow you to live for a decade without worry."
"What's the catch?"
"Those creatures are extraordinarily dangerous. Dragons, demons, fallen angels, heroes. Those touched by the gods benefit from this power. Mustering the strength to defeat them is another matter. [Consuming] increasingly skilled foes may make it feasible. I have not been with one host long enough to see it come to fruition."
"Nothing can ever be easy. How do animals do?"
"Less than a human, but enough to survive in sufficient numbers."
I had never hunted before. The woods were filled with wildlife that were very good at hiding. There was only one option, find gear that buffed my hunting skill from zero to one. Hunters could use a spell called [Sight] that revealed nearby animals. The Hunter's Guild kept a tight lid on what training was available, furs and meat from wild animals were extremely valuable and having people cut into that market would be harmful to their bottom line.
I needed an item that contained a [Memory.] Those were items that had been used for many years, passed down between generations, and had the essence of the person that used it infused into the physical form. It was a special type of [Affix] that could boost a skill. They were priceless. People fought wars over them. It was the only way I was going to jump in level and learn how to hunt unless I could bribe a hunter to teach me normally.
The nearby city of Exarch's Bend had a large hunter's guild HQ. If I was going to find something useful, I'd find it there. I hadn't broken into a building in years though. Picking valuables from dead bodies was safer and just as lucrative. I still had my lockpicking tools at least, I never went anywhere without them. The Bend wasn't exactly having a good time with all the fighting going on either. There'd be a lot of scrutiny levied on outsiders.
I rummaged through my bag and found a tin of water I kept in case of emergencies. I eagerly swallowed down every last drop and banished that foul taste from my mouth. With water taken care of, I needed to replenish my health. I grabbed a potion from the same pouch and considered using it. They were expensive. I only had one by sheer chance, having found it on the body of a dead officer. They used [Stitch] and [Mend] to rectify basic injuries like cuts and broken bones.
But I didn't have a broken bone. Stigma had eaten away at my body like a parasite. I didn't know if it'd do anything. I wouldn't have many chances to use a potion properly anyway. I decided to take the risk and down it there and then. To my relief I could feel it doing something. A moment later I found it easier to stand and move, though I was still in a rough shape. I needed to find somewhere safe to rest and replenish my energy.
I headed East, in the direction of the Bend, keeping my eyes peeled along the way for animals to kill or suitable locations to set up my tent. A sinister voice in my mind told me to head out onto the main road and make myself visible to raiders and bandits so I could consume them, it wasn't Stigma, it was my own sense of cynicism. Nobody would miss a bunch of murderers and rapists like them. I didn't even feel bad about killing the Inquisitors – the scale of their crimes was even larger and institutionalized. They were rotten from root to branch.
I did hear a commotion coming from the dirt path beside the woods, and judging by the voices it wasn't a skirmish between the enemy armies. I creeped through the twisted trees and found a good place to hide. Out on the road were four people. Three of them wore chainmail armour and wielded wrought iron weapons. Bandits were like worms – they always crawled out of the mud when it rained. With the nearby ground soaked through with blood, there were few soldiers out on patrol for muggers.
However, what I noticed, and they didn't, was that the person they'd selected as their target was not someone to be messed with. Long silver hair, dark skin and ears that pointed outwards from her head. Not only was she an elf, or an 'Ashmorn' as the people in this world called them, but she was also a mage. She was wearing a long blue coat, light metal armour on her arms and legs, and she was wielding a shortened polearm called a [Catalyst Halberd.]
The reason it earned the peculiar name was because of the mechanical mechanism attached to the bottom side beneath the curved blade. I'd describe it as an underslung magic caster, a lot like a grenade launcher. It had a trigger mechanism and a chamber to store the 'catalyst,' a type of dust that was needed to cast powerful spells without sundering your own soul to the four corners of the universe. They came in all shapes and sizes, but Halberds were popular because of their ability to keep people away.
Simply put, they were doubly fucked. Even inquisitors knew better than to pick a fight with someone using one of those.
"Are you just going to watch?" Stigma tittered from my right, "Four souls, ripe for the taking!"
"I'd have to be fucking insane to attack her. These guys are toast."
She had already positioned herself in an attacking stance. The halberd was tucked under her left arm, finger wrapped around the trigger. It took tremendous core strength to wield such a heavy weapon, even if the wooden shaft had been cut short to make it easier. I missed the start of the confrontation, because the first of the bandits charged at her with a wild cry.
"[Ignite!]"
She pulled the trigger. A fireball of skin searing flame grew quickly. The bandit skidded to a halt, but it was too late to get away now. She thrust the spear forward sending it flying into him. His entire body combusted like he was made from flammable wood. He screamed and tried to stamp out the flames by rolling on the ground – but this kind of magical fire didn't obey the normal laws of physics.
"What the hell? She's a mage!" one of the surviving men cried.
"Kill the whore!"
I smirked. If they thought they were safe because she fired her shot, they were wrong. She quickly twirled the lance up and around her head, bringing the savage curved blade down on his neck. A wet gurgle and a curtain of blood spurted from his mouth. His head hung half-off his neck. Dead in one blow. Before the other could take advantage, she had already ripped it free and started the motion of her next attack.
Utilizing a lance required precision and incredible predictive ability. She had already moved before he could react. She ran him through, piercing the pointed end through his torso and out the other side. She used her strength to lift him off his feet and slam the spear down into the ground, sending him back first into the dirt and freeing it from his corpse.
In moments she had dispatched three bandits. "You made me use my catalyst…" she murmured without audible emotion. She withdrew a bloody cloth from her pocket and cleaned off the spear's blades. With the job done she continued on her way with little more than a backwards glance at the now deceased foes.
Stigma was impressed, "My apologies. It appears that you were correct."
I shook my head, "Ashmorn mages? Nothing scarier in the world." Sensing a chance for some cheap food, I quickly unwrapped Stigma and walked over to the corpses. May as well make use of them before their souls escape, I concluded. I pressed the tip of the blade against the burnt man's chest and used [Consume,] he didn't have many skills of note. The same was true of the other two who I also quickly dispatched.
"That should be enough for a week," Stigma predicted, "A stroke of luck."
I sighed, "I deserve it after all this crap."
Stigma bounced around with excitement in her eyes, "If there are more of these men nearby, we could kill them and do the world a favour."
"Finding them is the hard part. These guys know how to hide. They'll be in the woods somewhere, and when these stiffs don't come back – they'll move on." I rewrapped the sword and slipped it onto my waist.
The mage was heading to the Bend. Things were about to get interesting over there.