Weeks passed, and Silver's body underwent further tempering with each fragment he consumed nightly. He gratefully accepted the food brought by the guardian, spending an hour each day reading the book. Under the guardian's guidance, Gaven next door progressed rapidly in his own tempering, likely to complete his first tempering in a year at most. Observing this progress, Silver couldn't help but feel increased pity for the children around him, realizing that even slight guidance could drastically alter their trajectory and simplify their journey.
He discovered that the daily automatic tempering from his body alone was equivalent to about ten of the fragments, significantly reducing his estimate of how long it would take to temper his body. This prompted him to accelerate his plans to leave the slums, aiming to depart within a month while still in his first tempering phase.
Though he constantly reminded himself that he couldn't save everyone, he found solace in having enhanced at least one life by granting Gaven a lightning body. Time flew by as he taught the child how to make charcoal during his free time, using a stolen knife from one of the guardians to cut thin sheets from the trees for use as canvas, avoiding the need to rely on dirt.
Initially, he had hoped to create primitive paper, but he struggled to find a method without access to a large press. The time required to make paper would also be considerable, at least four or five days, which didn't align with his current priorities, especially given the existence of paper presses and industrial paper production methods in this world.
After such a long time, he had learned something about his body, even after working out every night as he had been. Since his body was tempered, he hadn't slept, only resting every few days when necessary to pass the time and give his mind a break rather than his body.
His aspirations to get rich quickly were dashed as he learned more about the world. Books were costly due to their knowledge, not the materials used, clocks with gears were already in existence, and carbon steel was considered a basic forging material. As someone who had been a postman for most of his life, he lacked the expertise to create anything groundbreaking like a computer.
Trying to make friends and connections seemed futile, as only the young ones weren't entrenched in the mindset of distrust and wariness towards strangers, believing that everyone coveted what they possessed. Further training the younger ones posed a problem, as the more he trained, the greater the likelihood of being caught producing those small batteries. He was aware that he would face punishment for the theft and feared being unable to explain how he acquired this knowledge in this world.
Disrupting the artifact industry, which brought the guild hundreds of gold coins with each sale, didn't appear to be a viable option for his survival. Consequently, he shelved his batteries to the back of his mind; it was already risky enough to create one lightning body.
Taking off the sandals off his feet to let the black bodysuit touch the ground he practiced his newest skill that he had learned rushing at one of the larger wooden building using his hands and feet with their limited adhesion, climbing up the wall using the force of the jump to get to the roof with a smile. The wall couldn't be large as he was just pushing at the wall to continue his momentum in the jump rather than trying to attach to it but it was one step closer to his super hero dreams.
Training his body was still a must even with the tempering of the body, it helped him digest the gains and adjust his body to be able to control the power that was inside of him allowing him to do more things with the same strength. A simple flick of his wrist, and one of the boards on the ground the knife that he had stabbed into it using his body to pull it back up into his hand pulling out of the wood.
At this point, the knife was dull and starting to bend but he had been straightening it as well as he could with a few flat rocks, but he didn't know the first thing about sharpening the edge. If he was going to have to fight he would do so from a range and not worry about the rope with enough knives but he lacked the ability to get his hands on more than what he had. With several flicks he didn't let the knife impale into the wood when he could pull it back in time but his reaction speed wasn't as good as he hoped.
The rotationless spin had been a challenge until just yesterday, with only about one in every four attempts hitting the mark he aimed for. Many landed nearby in the dirt or struck the wooden pole the piece of wood was attached to. With each practice session, he showed improvement, as he could recall hitting only about one in every ten when he first began. Of those, only one in three would stick instead of bouncing off the wood.
After his practice, he returned to the graveyard, observing the flickering fragments of souls around him. There were now a handful more, which momentarily dampened his mood before he seized a few of the older ones to consume. These older fragments had fewer memories attached to them, making them safer to ingest. Fresh fragments typically carried more attachments and had a higher chance of triggering memories of their deaths, but after three or four days, they became safer to consume.
Curiously, he encountered some souls that weren't human. He recalled a memory of a chicken looking to the sky as it rained, eventually drowning on dry land. This revelation about the simplicity of a chicken's mind left him scratching at his arm all day, as if feeling feathers all over his body. He still couldn't discern the difference between human and other creatures' soul fragments; they all appeared the same to him thus far.
Feeling a hint of surprise, he sensed that he could still consume another soul fragment after his fourth. He experimented by consuming one more, remarking, "I'm getting used to eating the souls. It seems that eventually, I'll be able to consume more of them." He licked his lips, eyeing the remaining fragments, knowing he couldn't swallow another even if he tried.
He paused, reflecting on his words before sighing. He sounded like a maniac or some demon, consuming the souls of people. He wondered if he would be considered a demonic cultivator if this was found out. Demonic cultivators used sacrifices and people's lives to temper their bodies and gain power. It was a shortcut that usually wasn't as potent as other methods of tempering. It allowed for rapid advancement in the beginning stages, but as one progressed, they had to hunt down stronger individuals to continue advancing along their path.
Most people only resorted to these methods when they became desperate, reaching old age without advancing and having no other means of progress. These individuals were usually more powerful, which made him regard the new souls before him with curiosity.
"There are too many today. I hope that my suspicions aren't correct and someone just accidentally poisoned a large number of children," he murmured, furrowing his brow. The better of the two options seemed to be accidental poisoning.
Pausing outside his own shack, Silver looked at the door, sensing a presence akin to what he felt when he first consumed the souls. Resentment, hatred—it lingered in the air, with flickering soul fragments weaving in and out of the shack. Glaring at the door, he felt a surge of anger rising within him, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle.
With a deep breath, he calmed himself, retreating into the shadows and shedding his clothes, leaving only the spider armor. In the darkness, the black bodysuit seemed to meld with the shadows, almost making him disappear. His breathing slowed, his mind becoming tranquil as the spirit of the assassin within the armor exerted its influence.
The armor's calming effect washed over him, easing his thoughts and sharpening his focus. It was as though the ancient spirit whispered secrets of stealth and precision, guiding his every move with silent assurance.
In this state, Silver felt a profound connection to the art of assassination, drawing strength from the legacy of the armor and the wisdom of those who had worn it before him. With a cold glint in his eyes, he awaited his prey, knowing that he was not alone—that the spirit of the assassin walked beside him, lending him its skill and determination.
As Silver stood cloaked in the shadows, the spider armor seemed to embrace him, its essence seeping into his very being. With each passing moment, he felt a strange calmness washing over him, as if the spirit of the long-departed assassin whispered soothing words into his mind.
The influence of the armor was palpable, its spirit intertwining with his own, guiding his thoughts and actions with a silent assurance. It was as though he could sense the wisdom of the assassin, honed through countless battles and stealthy maneuvers, coursing through his veins.
As he stood there, poised and ready, the turmoil of his emotions gradually subsided, replaced by a cool resolve. His mind became clear, his senses heightened, and he felt an almost instinctual understanding of the shadows around him.
In this state, Silver felt a profound connection to the ancient art of assassination, as if he were tapping into a legacy that transcended time itself. It was a strange and empowering sensation, as though he had become one with the very essence of stealth and precision.
With each passing moment, his confidence grew, his movements fluid and deliberate. He knew that he was not alone—that the spirit of the assassin walked beside him, guiding his hand and sharpening his senses, and so, as he awaited his prey in the darkness, Silver embraced the tranquil embrace of the spider armor, drawing strength from its silent vigil and the ancient wisdom it bestowed upon him.
As Silver waited in the shadows, his senses heightened by the influence of the spider armor, he observed the door of his shack intently.
After about thirty minutes, it creaked open slowly, revealing a figure cloaked in tattered rags. The child emerged, his frame thin and malnourished, his clothes hanging loosely on his gaunt body. His hair was matted and unkempt, framing a face contorted with a mixture of anger and desperation.
As the child stepped into the dim light, Silver's gaze narrowed, recognizing him immediately. It was Damien, the same boy who had choked the first soul that he saw the death of, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that reminded Silver of a rabid dog. Despite his young age, there was a raw, primal energy emanating from him, an aura of danger that sent shivers down Silver's spine.
Assessing Damien as a potential threat, Silver noted his wiry build and the manic gleam in his eyes. Despite lacking the refined strength of a tempered warrior, there was a ferocity in Damien's demeanor that hinted at a volatile nature. Silver knew that he couldn't underestimate him, even in his current state.
Drawing upon the instincts honed by his time as an assassin, Silver weighed his options carefully. He knew that engaging in a direct confrontation with Damien could be risky, especially considering the boy's unpredictable nature. However, he also understood that he couldn't afford to let Damien pose a threat to himself or others in the slums.
With a silent determination, Silver prepared himself for whatever might come next. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife, his eyes locked on Damien as he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.
Throwing his knife and rushing forward at Damien, Silver kept low, catching the boy off guard as the blade impaled his shoulder. Despite Damien's initial shock, he retaliated fiercely, tackling Silver to the ground. As they grappled, Damien wrested the knife from Silver's grasp, stabbing down repeatedly in a frenzy of adrenaline and fear. The blows rained down until the knife snapped off in the boy's collarbone, leaving Silver reeling from the sudden onslaught.
As the chaos subsided, Silver felt a sharp pain in his side, realizing belatedly that Damien had managed to retaliate with a knife of his own. Though the blade hadn't pierced his armor, it left a bruise that throbbed painfully. With a sense of dread, Silver realized how close he had come to serious injury or worse.
Breathing heavily, Silver slowly extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, sinking to the ground as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. Blood stained the earth around them, a grim reminder of the violence that had just unfolded. Despite the gravity of the situation, Silver found himself surprisingly detached from the act of taking a life. Examining his blood-stained hands with a mixture of disbelief and numbness, he contemplated the aftermath of his actions.
With a resigned sigh, Silver resolved to dispose of the evidence and mimic the actions of his assailant. Though his mind recoiled at the thought of covering up a murder, he knew that survival in this unforgiving world demanded drastic measures. With a heavy heart, he set about the grim task of concealing the evidence, steeling himself for the consequences of his actions.
'First time killing someone with the Spider Armor for your own self interests, the assassin's spirit smiles on you.
Chose one reward to enhance the Spider Armor:
Steel Heart: Constantly provides you with a calming aura to your mind, and relaxes your body.
Spider Weave Thread: A thin nearly transparent thread that is weaved from fine spider silk, incredibly strong.
Jumping Spider: Enhance your legs with the power of a jumping spider, allowing you to jump further and higher.'