(Hmm...how should I go about it?)
Teret was mulling over his options as he dashed through The Wettened Wood's forest. Nary a sound was emitted as he advanced, the varying verticalities seamlessly crossed by his bony feet.
From just this, it could be seen that Walker didn't cheap out on teaching his apprentice. If people could erase the noises of their bodies in a meager two months, there would be too many assassins for the world to remain stable!
It would be a complete reform, leading these figures to revolt against the apparent world and submerge their rules, establishing a new era!
It was a good thing that Walker and Teret lacked that kind of ambition. Coupled with the fact that Walker hadn't (and wouldn't) teach anyone else, the collective leaders of the world could sleep in peace.
Blissfully unaware.
The grass swayed along with the frigid breeze, cicadas singing in the background. Perched atop a bough, Teret surveyed his surroundings in curiosity.
The world that was once simply an image in his eyes was now a brilliant canvas. The gloomy bloom and rich hues of Blendpunk Chthonim were a delight to his perception, every unbidden crack, and crevice a new adventure.
So, what should he do?
Teret leaned his back against the main body of the crooked tree as he considered his options. He would obviously complete his mission given by his teacher but after that...?
The whole "autonomous thought" thing was quite novel to the skeleton, but not without its pleasures. He didn't hunger for direction, or the rule of another's opinion...but his mind whirled around in a blur as he considered following his curiosities.
Everything was something to marvel at! Before Teret could even register it, a wanderlust and desire for adventure had seeped deep into his mind. Aside from growing stronger, it was his favorite thing to do so far.
Teret pulled up his quest window. What greeted him was the mission bestowed upon him by Mara after interpreting the wishes of the great Baihu.
"...Four beasts? The Azure Dragon, the Vermillion Pheonix, the Black Tortoise, and the Gleaming Qilin. Hey...why do I feel mad at just reading these names...?"
An eerie chill emanated from Teret's cloaked form, intensifying with each specific creature. It only subsided when he questioned it, but he felt something deep inside of his soul growl with bottomless hatred.
Teret stared at his hands, withdrawing them from the sides of his cloak.
"Okay. I'll kill them for you~!"
[Please note: Random Jackpot Algorithm has risen to LV 01 due to acceptance of its conditions. May fortune favor the new White Tiger!]
Teret glanced at the panel, his fingers subconsciously reaching out to dash it away into foggy particles. But he suddenly stopped, thinking better of it after remembering the words of his master.
The palm stopped, its clawed grasping movements becoming flat and upright. Then, with a few shakes of the wrist, Teret waved at the panel with what could be construed as a happy demeanor.
"Hi~! Thank you for everything! Please keep helping me out; thank youuuu!"
Clapping his hands together, Teret got up and stretched his bones for a bit. Then, feeling the entwining energies contained in his frame, he willed them across his whole skeletal system as he operated the Whisper Steps again.
--Aw...maybe that guy isn't so bad after all...
--Make up your mind already. You gonna spend that Redemption Point or nah?
--No. Go find something else to do, I don't want you to turn my son into a crazy!
--Isn't he already...
--No! He has manners. He said thank you~!
--...Rose tinted glasses.
While the two systems bickered in the void, Teret kept thinking as he rapidly approached Swillberg.
He didn't know how many enemies he had to deal with, and he could only get so far by quietly killing them. Sooner or later, someone would notice...especially since Reapers would definitely show up whenever a "life" was extirpated.
The terrain was to Teret's advantage, though. The buildings presented excellent footholds for him to run about on, even being able to serve as a makeshift barrier if things got too hot to handle. In addition, the scent of Duster's Brink already reeked of blood and decay, so it was unlikely that someone would be able to tell that someone was killed by odor alone.
Still, the skeleton doubted that just this would be enough. Thinking back on the ceaseless chatters of the miners within the Saltminer Downs, this racket had been going on for quite a while. It wasn't a question that these people were both greater in power and experience, and that gap couldn't be circumvented easily with his toolset.
Should he ask Mark Dugraff for help? No, recalling the village...Inhabitants didn't respawn. No Reaper bothered ferrying their corpses to a Breather Crypt, and they lacked the Deadman's Stigma. Perhaps the Stigma itself served as a marker for the Reapers?
A couple of plans came and went as Teret recalled everything he had experienced. Even his events in the Embrace of Maara were used as kindling to the churning furnace that was his current state of mind.
"...I think I have an idea! One that'll work a little, anyway..."
...
The smell of salt washed over this section of The Wettened Woods, the streaming carts bearing loads of the precious sodium chloride crystals. Various undead chatted as they held the weight of the cargo together, dragging them to and fro as they stored some in storage areas and packed some for deposit.
Mark Dugraff looked a bit wearier than normal, even more of his hair whitened at this point. Leaning against a wall slathered in defacing graffiti and several names, he sucked in a plume of smoke from the cigarette held up to his mouth.
Some zombies passed by with an understanding glance.
CCW-Stemmer and his cronies have been throwing a massive tantrum in Swillberg recently. Their quotas have nearly tripled in this short expanse of time, and the middlemen killers have been getting even rowdier.
Mark Dugraff turned around, lazily surveying the bustling works of the citizens of the topmost layer. He swore he saw an ominous yet familiar cloak for a second.
But as he saw it, he rubbed his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had hallucinated from the stress recently, and he was very worried about the status of the little town's beloved "Skelly."
As he took another breath, he missed the corners of a cloak billowing upwards in the draft.
Teret took a plunge down the depression in the center of Swillberg, the air whistling past his cranium as the mask he donned redirected the flow.
Not even needing to use the
Then he took that velocity building from his sudden propulsion, stiffening some parts of his body and utilizing
Tucking his frame together in a ball with the aim of reducing the pushback of the air, his feet met the leaning building with a slight creak.
Perched atop its firm surface, the ceiling (which was the floor above) didn't seem that far up. With a substantial jump, he could reach it...Teret noted it down and decided to use this building as a vantage point in the future.
(Right! Should I experiment...? I should rile them up a little first.)
Teret recalled the training with his master as he reflected on how to deal with a large group of people. The seasoned assassin claimed that when people stood together, their natural emotions and thoughts would both strengthen and blend together as they swayed with the "momentum" of their collective thoughts.
So how do you take advantage of that? First, implant an emotion with enough force, and it might catch on like wildfire. Then, while the message is busy being denied or disseminated, take that opportunity to cull the horde. Then, use that unrest as fuel to take out a bit more before they realize what's up!
Was this a surefire plan? There really was no such thing. But it was good as any, and Teret had enough patience and mental fortitude to ceaselessly experiment with the concept.
His aim? Don't question it yet. Teret didn't bother to as he scoured the level, seeing that many of the so-called mercenaries were bunched together in little parties.
He couldn't tell what their levels were just from a glance. At most, their usernames would be projected above their heads, and only a few confident or not-so-bright souls would override the system's default and proudly display it.
Well, it wasn't the most stupid thing you could do. Everything is Bury lacked the direct quantification of "stats," as it were, every single part of the status instead being reflected with levels. Physical strength could vary significantly between players with the same "level," and since there were no actual classes to speak of...well, those without certain abilities or senses would be hard-pressed to figure out exactly how strong a person was.
Teret was no different...he couldn't decipher the exact compositions of strength other Participants held. But...he could somewhat tell what he could take on.
An assassin relied on both their instinct and their logical mind, and assessing their targets was a vital skill fundamental to their craft. Coupled with the beastlike impulses Teret had gained a long time ago and had gotten used to under Walker's teachings...he had the advantage of finding a matchup that would work.
Two people were hanging out in a shady alleyway, each bragging with loosely flapping lips.
"You know I leveled up recently, right? Damn shitheads get cut up like butter from my precious embalming tools!"
"That's not how you're supposed to use them, damn newbie. I bet you can't even mess up those shabby mobs above with your dumb ass..."
"The hell you say to me? You're lucky I've known you for two years, Elijah. This Steven could go bam, boom, and bop!"
"I'll tell your mom about your browsing history."
"You wouldn-!"
A string wrapped around his neck, the color whitened and dazzling. As the subtly glowing qi constricted, the Vessel known as Steven was lifted into the air and disappeared over a ledge.
Elijah stepped back, shocked! Then, darting his eyes around, he tried to scream at whatever or whoever the cowardly bastard was that was striking from the shadows.
He missed the qi-string dangling right above his head, a gleaming edge beneath the nicked blade. Then, before he could open his mouth to vocalize, a sickening squelch occurred.
In the last moments of his perception, he looked forward. The string traveled down his gaping lips, the edge of the blade peeking out of his adam's apple. Bone fragments nestled along the sharpness, a pain shooting through him as his veins split in misshapen-hewn patterns.
Atop the ledge, where Elijah's eyes finally glanced...he saw a bony hand. It was waving at him...
Teret retrieved the two bodies, seeing that they didn't dissolve into smoke. The strings grasping their forms didn't stop undulating as Teret ran across the rooftop, lithely parkouring over the externals that lacked uniformity.
Plop!
After traveling some distance, Teret left their bodies in an area that was temporarily vacant. Then, expecting people to happen around the typically flooded areas, he traced the pathways with his eyes as he looked for more victims...I mean willing Participants!
Rinsing and repeating this pattern, he kept going until the mass of slurred together words raised in urgency. Beneath his sockets, people finally happened upon the lovely little "presents" he had set up for them.
Before the crowd of tens of Participants, Teret killed a few more. Coiling up his qi-strings into springs, he wrapped their lengths around the handle of his dagger.
Puk, puk, puk!
A rapid series of throwing and retrieving happened as Teret ran around, hoping to elude their gazes. The Whisper Steps carried him along the air as the Djinn Float allowed him to pivot in midair, the pink fuscia outline appearing and disappearing as he continuously changed his trajectory.
Little did Teret know, he had overplanned his little stunt. The Participants of the Duster's Brink were prideful and arrogant, not believing that someone could easily get the drop on them.
The craftier ones recalled the Participants with ranged toolsets, and the brasher ones wildly threw about accusations! Before long, the conjoined mass had started to suspect each other...
The unrest was flown by as Teret plunged down the depression once again.