The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 31-40 (Patreon)

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Ch. 31 - Bigger Game

The next few days were dominated by practice more than actual fighting. Now that Ivarr understood just how big a difference an inch or two could make, he fought with saplings all along his route. Each of these faux battles had a renewed intensity, sheering limbs off exactly where he meant to instead of simply being satisfied with being close enough. 

Though the blade gained no Life Force from these activities, it warmed some part of it to see its wielder improving. Plus, that martial focus kept its wielder from thinking wistfully about his barmaid, so it did not complain. 

Each day would begin and end with a vigorous exercise regime as Ivarr went through the sequence of strikes that the blade had taught him. When he pestered the blade, it even promised to teach it the rest of the sequence when he could execute the first half perfectly. It still didn’t remember learning it, but it was impossible to miss the effect it was having on the young man. 

Not only was he noticeably more muscular than he’d been a couple of months before when he first found the Ebon Blade among the rubble. His strikes were also more powerful and precise. 

In that time, they only killed a few packs of goblins. Still, since it had left Kalraka with just over 3,000 Life Force that was good progress. Also, it was enough to finally get the blade over its goal of 3,500 Life Force. 

+341 Life Force
+28 lesser monster souls

However, for obvious reasons, it didn’t spend it immediately. Its wielder was in a dangerous place, and it did not wish for some errant blow to strike Ivarr down and leave it somewhere inconvenient. So, it waited for some big score to build enough of a buffer that it could finally upgrade and see what that unlocked. 

That happened a few days later when all of its wielder’s efforts paid off after he spotted a lone orc hunter on the far side of the ogre’s valley. It was a short battle that was barely worth mentioning, save for how different it was from his last brutal encounter with the green skins. 

This time, he didn’t attempt to sneak up on it. He just approached with his sword in a two-handed grip as the thing raised its stone axe and bellowed a challenge. Ivarr still wasn’t particularly talented at feints, but then, his opponent was the opposite of sophisticated. 

When he feigned a strike at the monster’s heart, the thing roared and swung wildly, allowing Ivarr to step through the space behind its weapon and strike its undefended back before it could whirl around. Even though another half a dozen strikes were exchanged, the single blow had already decided the outcome of the fight. The blade had felt the main thoracic artery slice neatly in two along its edge as it reached for the heart and only just missed it. 

+1 Life Force.

+18 Life Force.

The Ebon Blade could have corrected that strike. Only a few degrees difference would have severed the heart as well, but if it held Ivarr’s hand forever, then he would never improve. Instead, it would save those interventions for desperate situations, just as it had with the minotaur weeks before.  

+1 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

You have gained 1 greater monster soul!

When the orc finally collapsed mid-swing and fell down face-first on the rocky slope, Ivarr let out a whoop of delight. “Did you see that?” he yelled. “Did you see that? I destroyed him.”

The blade had done more than see it. It had felt it as it absorbed another greater monster soul. Before it could use that Life Force to upgrade, though, it had to inform its wielder that its battle had been noticed by others.

Maybe turn around and deal with the three that are coming rather than celebrate the one on the ground, it told him. 

Ivarr turned and sprinted toward the nearest boulder just as one of them pulled back to throw their spear at him. The second round was far less kind to Ivarr than the first had been. Though he avoided that first spear, he almost died to the monster’s bare hands. While the other two spread out, it charged straight at the blade’s wielder and tried to rip the boy’s head clean off with its big meaty hands. 

-4 Life Force.

It practically embedded the Ebon Blade in its own chest as it charged Ivarr, but even as it did so, it pinned the young man’s arms at his side as it grabbed his skull with both hands and wrenched it hard. The blade felt half a dozen varieties of pain echo through its wielder in that moment. There was the pain of his hair being pulled out in chunks, the pain of claws ripping through his scalp to skitter across his skull, and more than anything the feeling that his neck was about to break.

+1 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

-23 Life Force.

+21 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

That last one was a close thing. The blade could feel several vertebrae cracking beneath the terrible force of the monster’s big green muscles. Only the slumping body of the orc as the blade in its chest drained it dry was enough to save Ivarr. 

+1 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

-18 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

You have gained 1 greater monster soul!

+2 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

It died in the attempt with a sword in his chest, but not before it left Ivarr half blind from all the blood in his eyes where its claws raked across his scalp. As he staggered backward, the blade was forced to take over. It parried a blow that would have split its wielder’s skull instead of simply his scalp, and then it followed that up by disemboweling the monster. 

+1 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

-9 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

That wasn’t enough to kill it, but it was enough to slow it down as its intestines tangled around its legs, which was all the blade was hoping for. It didn’t need to kill it. It just needed to reduce its opponents so that it could face them one at a time. While it tried to stuff its entrails back in, the blade faked a move to one side of the orc before spinning around to the other and stabbing the third creature in the back. 

+1 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

-6 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

You have gained 1 greater monster soul!

Unlike its wielder, the blade did not miss the most vital spot. It slid cleanly between the thick ribs of its opponent and neatly cleaved its heart in two, dropping in on the spot. 

+1 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

-4 Life Force.

You have gained 1 greater monster soul!

By that point, Ivarr had recovered, and the blade let him retake the initiative as he chopped the last orc into bloody ruin. 

Still think you’re ready to fight an ogre? The blade asked as its wielder put his hands on his knees and gasped for breath. 

“I think that fucking hurt!” the boy said. “My neck still hurts like hell.”

-2 Life Force.

If it had twisted just a little harder, then the monster would have popped your head right off, and you would have dropped me, the blade informed him. Then it wouldn’t have hurt at all because you’d be dead. 

“How badly injured can I be before you can’t heal me anymore?” Ivarr asked. “Like, can I lose an arm, or…”

-2 Life Force.

I have no idea, the blade admitted. As my wielder, you share the power that I store, but if you were to lose a limb… I don’t think that would count as you any longer, and I expect you would stay maimed. 

Those words weighed heavily on the young man, and even after he finished harvesting the tusks of the orcs for his bloody collection, he was quiet. The blade didn’t have to read his thoughts to know what he was thinking. He’d gotten cocky and felt like he was immortal, or nearly so. 

-1 Life Force.

-1 Life Force.

A brush with death had quickly disabused him of that. A little bit more pressure and his spine would have shattered completely instead of merely cracking. It might have been enough to sever his spinal cord. The blade didn’t know, but it was glad that he lived because now, with 3,884/4,000, it could finally upgrade its storage again and get one step closer to its real goal. 

Now, all the blade needed to do was wait for its wielder to fall asleep. It could upgrade at any time, of course, but it knew from long experience that with this much energy involved, the boy was sure to feel it. The Ebon Blade did not feel like explaining those dynamics to him, and since it didn’t want him to think it was keeping secrets, in just waited until he was insensible. Then, with one more look around to make sure that their small camp wasn’t about to have any unexpected visitors, it made the upgrade.  

Increased Reserves 9 instantly burned away 3500 Life Force, and the blade felt its heart fill with ice as it lost all that power. Its gem flared to life briefly outshining the embers of their fire. Ivarr moved fitfully in his sleep in that moment, but he did not wake up. Once the moment had passed, it reviewed its current energy levels to see what had changed. 

At that moment, the blade’s Life Force stood at 384/5000. That was enough that it could theoretically allow it to repair its soul again, which was positive. More importantly, though, was the fact that it could now hold 36 souls. That was important, considering it currently had 9 of those. The blade had 8 greater monster souls and 1 dragon soul, and it had a whole lot further to go. Fortunately, its upgrade screen revealed some options.

Aura of Hunger: Multiple enhancements available
Lesser Life Reserves 1: 500 Life Force
Lesser Soul Reserves 1: 500 Life Force
Increase Connection 4: 1250 Life Force
Increase Control 3: 1500 Life Force
Empower Blade 2: 2000 Life Force - not currently accessible
Improved Siphon 7: 2000 Life Force
Increase Reserves 10: 5000 Life Force
Repair Soul 4: 5000 Life Force

There were, in fact, not one but two more options available. It investigated both of those, along with Increase Reserves 10

Lesser Life Reserves 1: Increase your maximum Life Force reserves by 15%

Lesser Soul Reserves 1: Increase your maximum Soul Force reserves by 15%

Increase Reserves 10: This is the maximum level of increased reserves. 

Though the second one dealing with soul reserves was arguably the most important one of the three little blue boxes, it was the third one that interested it the most. Does that mean other powers will stop at 10? It wondered. If that power increases my reserves to 6,000 does that mean that nothing will cost more than that?

The blade had many questions at that moment. What it lacked, was answers, and it spent the night contemplating what its next move should be. 

Ch. 32 - A Chance Encounter

For the next four days, Ivarr fought orcs, where he found them in small groups. Other times he hid or fled when he found too many of them to deal with. He was wounded in almost every encounter, but he never again came as close to death as he had so recently. That had more to do with choosing the right battles than with improving his skills with the sword, even though he was getting better at both. 

+842 Life Force
+17 greater monster souls

“I need to learn how to shoot a bow,” he griped as the four of them waltzed across an open field in pursuit of a small herd of elk while he hid in a tree. 

To have a good chance of killing one of those creatures in a single shot, you would need more than a long bow, the sword explained. You would need a ballista.  

“I don’t need to kill them from here,” Ivarr clarified. “I just need to slow them down.”

That point made more sense.  When there were five together, removing one or two from the equation wouldn’t do much, but turning three orcs into two might make all the difference in the world in those first few seconds. 

That was not the Ebon Blade’s focus, though. While its wielder focused on the world around them, it focused on its own priorities. Four days of battles had gotten it seventeen more greater monster souls from the orcs they’d slain, along with another 842 Life Force. 

Last night, while Ivarr slept, it used 500 of that to level up Lesser Soul Reserves 1 and increase its soul storage by 10%. That left it with only 686/5000 Life Force and 26/40 souls, which meant that it was halfway to its next large goal. They were almost out of food, and Ivarr’s pack was nearly filled to the brim with yellowed orc tusks, but even so, he was loathe to leave any behind since they were worth several silvers a piece. 

The blade’s problem had nothing to do with food or tusks, though it had to do with Life Force. At this rate, it was going to have to burn greater monster souls for essence before it could collect fifty of them. As it stood, its most recent upgrade had increased its soul storage by 5 at the cost of 500 Life Force. That was a pretty good deal, considering that spending 3500 Life Force recently for Increase Reserves 9 had yielded the same benefit. 

The problem was that it now needed 1000 more Life Force to repeat the purchase and would almost certainly need either 1500 or 2000 Life Force after that to do it one more time. That was a lot of energy. 

Lesser Soul Reserves 2: Increase your maximum Soul Force reserves by an additional 15%

I could just burn the dragon soul and solve half of that problem right now, it told itself for the tenth time. 

It wasn’t going to do that, though, no matter how much sense it made, and the reasons were pretty obvious. Not only would it be very hard to replace, but given what the screens had told it, it was fairly certain that it would be required eventually for further progression. 

If I get Lesser Soul Reserves twice more, that will either bring me to 45 or 50, it realized. That still isn’t enough if I hold on to the dragon soul. This conversation with itself always ended up going around in circles, and that frustrated it, but it was careful not to let that frustration arrive to the point where its wielder would be able to listen in. 

None of this matters, it told itself. It will take one more trip into these mountains, or perhaps two, to get what I need, it reminded itself. 

That was a bitter truth. Even now that Ivarr was getting several greater souls a day, it was still far too few for its purposes, which meant it might have to wait a month or more to finally unlock the next level of the Path of Death. 

To make matters worse, there was no more killing that day. Orcs were seen several times, but never in small enough numbers to make attacking them feasible. Worse, by night, they were forced to retreat toward the upland slopes just to find someplace out of the way enough to sleep unmolested. That was all well and good, but it also meant that they’d started their return trip and were unlikely to go back to the valley in the morning for any more of the greater monster souls it so desired. 

It will have to be enough, the blade thought wearily as they paced up the slope. However, before it could spiral any further on the issue, it noticed that its wielder had stopped and was looking around. 

Do you see something? The Ebon Blade asked. 

“No,” Ivarr said, “Smell something. Smoke. There’s a fire nearby.”

It is almost certainly orcs, the blade cautioned him. 

“I know that,” its wielder whispered. “But if there’s only a few of them, or they're sleeping, the darkness will let us pull off one hell of an ambush.”

That sentiment reaffirmed the blade’s decision to stay with Ivarr as a wielder up until now. It was that sense of daring more than anything else that made it appreciate the man compared to its other recent wielders.

Unfortunately, there were no orcs to be murdered when he followed the smoke back to the fire it was coming from. Instead, he found only three humans sitting around the fire, chatting quietly between themselves. 

What should I do now? Ivarr thought loudly at the blade as he froze there, paralyzed with indecision. 

Either slink away or lower your weapon and introduce yourself. It told him. Standing here in the dark is a good way to get yourself killed if they notice. 

Ivarr’s mind considered both alternatives for a moment before he lowered his weapon and stepped forward. 

“Well met, travelers,” he said stiffly. “I--I’m Ivarr, and I’m traveling to Kalraka.”

The strangers, for their part, were mostly calm. Only one sprang to his feet and half drew his sword, but when he looked at Ivarr, he relaxed and resheathed his blade. 

“Don’t mind, my friend,” one of the men said. “We’re the friendly sort.”

“It’s just a damn kid,” the other man grumbled. 

“I… I was out collecting bounties,” he said, gesturing to the bundles of tusks lashed onto the outside of his backpack with his weapon before he realized he was still holding it and put it away. 

“Well, the world definitely needs less orcs. So, you’re welcome to crash here if you like,” the strange man said, “We’re on our way to Kalraka to resupply, the same as you.”

Ivarr balked then, fearing a trap. In an area with so little traffic, bandits were unlikely, but not impossible. That dissipated the moment the third face by the fire looked up. It was a woman, but not just any woman. She had a definite aristocratic look about her that marked her as either a priestess or a mage. 

No, not aristocratic, the blade realized. She’s not human. 

Bandits wouldn’t be traveling with the likes of her, the blade whispered to its wielder. Elves can be just as evil as anyone, but those sorts tend to be filthy rich and travel with their own private armies. Someone like her… She’s on business of her own that probably has nothing to do with us. 

The blade couldn’t recall spending any time with elves, nor could it remember any of them in the flickering memories that had washed over it more than once. Still, it had some definite impressions as to what they were about. 

Ivarr nodded at that. Thankfully, he maintained the presence of mind to avoid answering it out loud, but it was clear to the blade that he was bewitched by the woman’s beauty. That made sense since she was probably the first elf he’d ever seen. He looked at her with more intensity than he ever looked at his busty barmaid. 

“I— Well, how do you know I’m not dangerous myself?” Ivarr asked, tearing his eyes off the woman with great effort. “Maybe it’s not I that should be afraid of you, but you that should be afraid of me.”

“Anyone can see that you’re dangerous enough,” the man laughed, not bothering to rise from his seat, “No one collects that many orc tusks by being really nice to the green skins. But you’re a good sort. I can tell. I got a knack for these things.”

“A knack?” Ivarr asked. “What’s that—”

“His God would tell him if you were a villain,” the other man said abruptly, interrupting the first man. 

“Forgive my friend, Elom,” the apparent priest said. “He’s a simple sort, but in this case, mostly right. My God does not speak to me often, but Ganara does allow me to see the color of men’s souls, and yours is as pure as they come.”

The blade felt Ivarr get vaguely offended by that. The statement amused it, but it also intrigued it. It had assumed that people with those sorts of powers would see the evil radiating off of it since it was cursed, but that was apparently not the case. 

He mentioned nothing about Ivarr’s sword. His gaze didn’t even flick downwards once after that first moment. 

As long as Ivarr’s rag covered the faintly glowing ruby in its hilt, it seemed likely that the man would ignore it entirely, which suited it fine. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Ivarr said, eventually taking his pack off and setting it down at the edge of the firelight before joining everyone else.

The four of them chatted for a bit over the dying embers of the fire. The group was apparently out this far, searching for some ruins that were said to be in the vicinity. Ivarr couldn’t shed any light on where those might be, but he could tell them where there definitely weren’t any ruins, and they were able to strike several unexplored locations off of their map. 

As the group chatted, it learned more about each of them. Only the elf spoke little, and when she did, her words were thickly accented. The other two were more social and pretty typical of priests and warriors in the blade’s dimly remembered experience. 

That night, Ivarr didn’t exactly sleep soundly, but no one tried to hurt him, and toward dawn, when Dero woke him for the final watch, the other three slept as if he was no threat at all. Only the mage didn’t take a watch, but that didn’t stop Ivarr’s eyes from finding her several times in the dark. Wrapped in her red robes and her bedroll, he could see now details about her body, but that didn’t stop him from looking at her wistfully.  

In the morning, they feasted on the last of Ivarr’s ham, and then when they broke camp, Elom asked, “So, are you going to travel with us, or do you want a head start?”

“Head start?” Ivarr asked, confused. 

“You know, so you don’t have to see us again,” the other warrior said with a shrug. 

“Oh, well, I figure since we’re going the same way, we might as well go together,” Ivarr agreed with only the smallest delay. “It’s not like I can do much more hunting. I’m out of space.”

“That’s the spirit!” the strange warrior said, clapping him on the back. “Honestly, I can’t believe someone as young as you is out here on their own anyway. That must be one hell of a hexblade you’ve got there.”

In this case, Ivarr said nothing, which was the right answer. He just helped everyone get packed up, and then they broke camp. 

Though the blade didn’t really like the idea of teaming up with anyone, and especially this group, given the way the mage was looking at its wielder, it didn’t try to stop Ivarr from agreeing. It would have been stranger to refuse the offer of safety in numbers this far out into the wilderness. 

It’s only until town, the blade assured itself. After that, it will be just the two of us again. 

Ch. 33 - Unavoidable

The four of them made good time, and though the Ebon Blade wasn’t very comfortable with traveling with strangers, after a few hours, it got used to it. Even with the elven woman’s lingering gaze, it wasn’t much worse than being in town after a few hours. 

If anything, Ivarr took to the group even faster than that, showing just how lonely he’d been out here by himself.  The blade couldn’t sympathize. It couldn’t feel lonely any more than it could feel cold or smell the scent of rotting corpses. It just saw other people as possible hindrances or avenues of betrayal. I didn’t need friends, only soldiers and followers. 

Still, this group didn’t seem like dead weight. The holy man didn’t have an obvious weapon, and neither did the mage, though in her case, she was the weapon. It had no clear memories of fighting mages, but it knew they were bad news, and even the nearly 700 Life Force it currently contained might not be enough to save Ivarr if she decided she wanted him dead. 

It considered nibbling at her Life Force to see if she would notice but decided that it didn’t want to provoke a conflict. While it could tolerate its wielder fighting beside others, it would be better if those others were simple warriors like him rather than people with a firm mastery of magic. 

She can probably read the words on my blade, it thought, trying to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It couldn’t say since it had no idea what they were. 

All of those concerns fell away, though, when they were crossing through a meadow on the far side of the valley from the ogre cave. There, they almost ran directly into the beast they’d been avoiding for so long when it came crashing out of the woods on the other side of the meadow. One second, the four of them had been talking about how quickly Kalraka was rebuilding while all of them did their level best to avoid certain topics. 

Ivarr changed the subject when the conversation drifted toward his sword, and the mage clammed up whenever the ruins came up, forcing all of them to stick to more mundane topics. When the giant, 12-foot-tall beast that was more monster than man came out of the trees, though, those pleasant conversations about what meal they were most looking forward to eating when they reached civilization quickly transformed into screams and shouts.

“We need to run!” Dero shouted. 

“Over open ground? Never going to happen!” Elom shouted back as he started to run toward the giant’s right side. “Ivarr! You take left, I’ll take a right. We’ll buy time!” As the other warrior did so, he drew his own weapon for the first time. “Altharia, you handle it. You’re only going to get one shot!”

It wasn’t a longsword like the Ebon Blade, but it was a hexblade. That was apparent by the way that the claymore glowed an angry red as soon as he was unsheathed. 

Ivarrr started running toward the beast as he was told, but it was clear to the blade that he had no idea what he was being asked to do, so the blade explained, The other warrior doesn’t want you to fight and die. He knows you can’t kill it any more than he can, but the mage can. She just needs time, which you will buy by fighting defensively. 

She can? Ivarr asked silently as he unsheathed his own weapon and mirrored Trav’s movements. Do you know what that red sword does?

It’s impossible to say for sure, the Ebon Blade answered warily, But it’s likely that its almost the opposite of my power. It doesn’t heal you with the life force harvested from your enemies. It uses the life force of the wielder to strengthen their blows. 

The blade hadn’t realized that it knew all of that until it said so, but it was all true. As it reflected on it, it realized that most magical weapons were like that, which made its own nature that much more anomalous.

Why was I made this way? It wondered as its wielder moved into position. 

The only advantage that the group had was that the ogre was unarmed. If it had been carrying a tree trunk as a club, its reach would have been insurmountable. Still, it was confused. The blade could see it was more used to chasing down prey than it was to having men rush it, and it took a few ineffectual swipes in an effort to establish its reach as it bellowed at them. 

The other warrior darted in first, lashing out high and fast, making the thing step back from the glowing weapon so quickly that it almost trampled Ivarr. The young man managed to avoid being crushed to death with the blade’s help, but even so, it spoiled his attack, and his slash at the thing’s calf barely made it through the skin instead of crippling it like he’d been trying to do. 

+17 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

The ogre didn’t notice such an ineffective strike and continued to focus on the glowing blade that swung toward it again and again. This was enough to frustrate the beast, and eventually, it kicked out hard, catching Elom full in the chest and making the monster laugh with violent delight as it turned to face Ivarr. That was its only real mistake. 

+1 Life Force.

The entire time the three of them had been fighting, the mage’s power had been building. From such a distance, the blade could only see it as a faint glow, but closer, the intricacy of such delicate structures would have been unmistakable. The ogre must have been just as myopic as it was because it didn’t notice anything until there was a final flare, and a lance of molten lightning pierced through the air in a straight line between where it and the mage stood. 

+1 Life Force.

It had time to turn and face her, but the only difference that made was in where the wound was struck. It could see that she’d been aiming for the thing’s heart, but when it turned and straightened, it struck right through the thing's guts, coming within inches of severing the ogre’s spinal cord. That bony column stood there scorched and exposed even as blood and ichor poured out of the cracks in the otherwise charred and cauterized wound which gaped before them. 

The smoking hole in the ogre was the size of a large tree stump, and Ivarr could have easily climbed through it, not that anyone would ever want to do that. For a moment, Ivarr, the blade, and even the ogre stood there, stunned by what had happened. 

Then, it bellowed in rage and pain so loudly that Ivarr took a step back. The blade was ready to force its wielder to move, if need be, from some vicious backhand or counterstrike, but that never came. Instead, the giant, lumbering monster charged the woman who had injured it so grievously. 

+2 Life Force.

Ivarr sprang into motion then, charging right after it. It was stupid. He should have used the moment to escape. In its rage, the monster was even stronger than it had been before, and the other warrior still had not risen from where he lay in the grass after a single blow had knocked him back. Its wielder was courting death, and yet, for some reason, the blade was loath to stop him. 

Is that because someone else will be here to pick me up if he perishes? The blade wondered, or do I just want to see what he’s capable of? 

Either way, it let him charge the beast. It could see in his mind that Ivarr wanted to leap onto its back, but there was no way that was going to happen. What he should have done was hack at its Achilles tendon to make it stumble. Instead, he stored up all of his strength and then sprang explosively forward, hacking away at the exposed lumbar spine in a vicious, midair blow. 

+18 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

It landed, and the Ebon Blade felt and heard the bone’s crack beneath its blade. For a moment, nothing happened after that besides Ivarr falling into the grass and struggling to get to his feet. The ogre still roared and charged forward, and for a few seconds, it looked like it was going to reach its target and tear the fragile elf to bloody shreds. The priest was brave enough to stand at her side with a little mace he’d produced from somewhere, but he could do nothing to stop three-quarters of a ton of enraged flesh from doing whatever it wanted. 

Then, the thing stumbled. Even as Ivarr rose, it tripped and fell on its face. Its angry bellow was gone. It had been replaced by more confused sounds as it discovered it could no longer move its legs. 

The neck! The blade called out finally. Strike its neck and finish it while you can!

+1 Life Force.

At this point, the thing was all but finished already, but the blade had no interest in letting the mage or blood loss finish it off. It would not waste this opportunity, not when its wielder could pry one more soul free for it. 

Ivarr didn’t hesitate. He charged up the thing’s back and then brought the Ebon blade down, point first, with all his might. His first strike glanced off of one of the ogre’s thick cervical vertebrae and did almost nothing, but the second one sank deep between them, severing the spinal cord completely in a single motion. 

+14 Life Force.

You have received a greater monster soul!

Just like that, it was over, and the light in its eyes went out forever. Ivarr looked up just in time to see the half-finished spell of the elven mage slowly fading away. For a moment, both he and the blade had the same thought. She was about to cut him in two with a similar spell. It had just enough time to wonder if it was possible to parry such a thing, but instead, it evaporated. 

Ch. 34 - Aftermath

“Good work, kid,” Dero said, patting Ivarr on the shoulder while its wielder stood there trying to catch his breath. He didn’t stay to chat, though. Instead, the priest started jogging toward the fallen member of his team to see if he was beyond saying.

Despite his fatigue, Ivarr turned to join him, but before he could move, the mage stopped him in his tracks by asking, “Your blade… What is its make? I find its magic to be very strange.”

The Ebon Blade waited for its wielder’s answer almost nervously, then, as Ivarr turned back to her and regarded her silently. Then he decided to go with the truth and said, “Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I found it in the ruins of the Governor’s Mansion when I was helping to rebuild the city in the aftermath of the beastman attack. I’ve just been using it ever since to strike down what monsters I can. Why do you ask?”

She ignored the question and asked. “Does it… speak to you?”

“What? No, of course not,” the young man lied badly enough that the blade cringed at it, but the elf didn’t seem to notice. She instead breathed a sigh of relief.

“Some hexblades are made from… unsavory methods,” she said. “Since yours was so different, I thought it might be one of those.”

“Unsavory methods?” Ivarr asked. “What does that mean? Like evil magics, or—”

“Magic is not evil or good,” the mage corrected him before turning her gaze to the rest of her party. “Come, we must help them. We can speak later of this if you wish.”

That pause in the conversation hurt the blade almost physically. It felt like it was just on the verge of some profound insight, and then, just like that, it was snatched away, leaving it to sulk in silence. 

It wanted to throttle her. It wanted to put its blade against her neck and force her to reveal what she knew. It wanted to… that volcanic outrage tapered off the moment that its wielder silently asked, What do you think she meant by unsavory. Does she mean you’re cursed?

I have no idea, the blade confessed. But I would like to. Continue this conversation with her as soon as you are able. She is more likely to know about my nature than anyone else we could hope to find. 

The blade found it darkly amusing that yesterday it had been worried she would see its true nature, and now it was practically insisting she do just that. How a few simple words change things, it mused.

Of course, now that its wielder had ingratiated himself by saving her life, she was much less likely to act against it. That was doubly true since he’d dispelled at least one major concern she seemed to have. None of that was the reason its view on the situation had changed. It was down to pure curiosity, and if it wasn’t so desperate to build the storage needed to advance along the path of death, it would be saving to fix its soul again already. 

Perhaps if she gives me a pretext I could simply force my wielder to strike her down and then pull what answers she has from her soul, the blade considered. Its wielder wouldn’t like that, so it would be a last resort, but it was still an option. 

While the blade pondered these things, its wielder tried and failed to make conversation with the mage as they walked to where Elom lay. The priest was using some kind of divine blessing on the man in an attempt to help him, but even that did not appear to be enough to make him rise. 

When they arrived, Dero said, “He’ll live, probably, but I think that ogre broke pretty much every rib in his chest and more bones besides.”

Under the warrior’s chain mail, it was impossible to see the extent of the injuries, but it wasn’t hard to imagine. Being struck like that would be like being kicked by ten mules. It wouldn’t just be his skin that was hopelessly bruised; his organs would be just as traumatized. 

While the three of them discussed what they should do next, Ivarr asked, Do you think if he wielded you for a minute, it would—

Absolutely not, the blade roared in his mind with more outrage than it really meant to, making the man flinch hard enough that the mage gave him a strange look. I share my energy with my wielder. To give me away to another is to renounce your claim on me. If you do so, I would not welcome you back. Weapons are not treated in such a way. 

Early on, it had faced a similar moment with the shepherd boy, but it had reacted far differently. So, even as Ivarr struggled with that ultimatum that the blade really had no power to enforce, it struggled to understand why its mindset had shifted so much. Eventually, as Ivarr and Dero set about building a stretcher for the man, it decided that the issue had changed from fear to loyalty. 

With Ren, it had feared that it would be discovered and locked away in the dark once more. While it still had that fear, the idea that its current wielder could simply give it away disgusted it. It had been loyal to Ivarr and saved his life on several occasions, directly and indirectly. 

Not only would it be massively stupid to reveal its powers to other men. It would represent a betrayal of that loyalty, and the blade was certain that if the young man so much as suggested it again, it would no longer feel the need to keep him alive. 

Fortunately, Ivarr did not do that. Chastened, he helped fashion a stretcher while the elf fetched the gravely injured man’s sword, and then he and Dero continued on their journey. This time, though, because of their heavy burden, they were much slower. The remainder of the trip should have taken two or perhaps three days down the slopes, depending on how late they made camp each night. As it was, though, it would take a week with this much dead weight. 

Fortunately, that week was as heavy in new information as it was light on food for the three conscious members of the party. Hunting was poor this close to the city, and only a few edible roots could be found since it was a little too late in the season for berries. 

Still, the blade didn’t care about those things. It cared more about what the mage said over the fire that night when she explained what she’d meant about unsavory means and the nature of magic. “A proper artifact is one that is fueled by its wielder,” she explained. “The techniques that flow the other way, where the object powers the wielder… those are more complicated and very often forbidden.”

“Why would they be forbidden?” Ivarr asked, failing to entirely hide his nervousness. 

In that moment, the blade wished that its wielder would be distracted by the beauty of the delicate blonde woman as he had been before. He looked like a guilty child, and it was sure the elf would pick up on that. This time, though, he was too worried about the blade on his hip to even pay attention to how pretty the ageless elf was. 

“As I told you before, magic itself is neither good nor evil,” she lectured him in her accented voice. “But even though that is so, magic can be used to do very evil things. It can cause great suffering. Sometimes, even suffering without end. It can—”

“Hence why we’re looking for a tomb in the area,” the priest interrupted. “The good lady Altharia here is looking for a cursed object. It was buried with its owner, and she wants to destroy it to set it free.”

“To set the object free?” Ivarr asked dumbly. “I don’t see how—”

“The Mirror of Unending Vistas is an abomination that was crafted with the souls of an order of seeresses at the heart of its dark magics,” she explained. 

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Ivarr admitted. 

“Nor should you have,”  the priest agreed. “This was centuries ago. The cursed name of Al’Hazzarin has long been wiped away by history, but the elves remember these things and still seek to correct ancient wrongs.”

“When the mage-king died, he commanded that his mirror be buried with him so it could not reveal the location of his tomb, you see,” the mage explained. “So the souls of those poor women have been trapped alone in the dark all this time.”

“If he was so worried, then why didn’t he just break it?” Ivarr asked.

“Because some men’s greed knows no bounds,” she answered immediately. “The mirror is easily broken if only the tomb could be found. When that happens, they will return to the cycle of life and death and be born anew like the rest of your kind.”

“The rest of my kind?” its wielder asked. “Are you saying…”

Ivarr received the shock of his life that night when he learned that it wasn’t simply a myth that elves live forever. After that, as much as the blade wanted to return to what it was she saw when she used her magic to look at it, the conversation was lost in a rehash of things the weapon already knew. 

Elves were functionally immortal and rarely ventured into the wider world. She told him a bit about their cities and their culture. That part was interesting, but the blade was pretty sure it had known all of this at some point. What it didn’t know was about its origins, and it felt like it was so close to some breakthrough that it would have asked her itself if only she'd touched its hilt. 

That didn’t happen, though, and no matter how much it told its wielder to dig into the topic again, the opening didn’t come up again in the slow days that followed as they made their way down the mountains with their injured companion, step by treacherous step. 

On the third day, after the priest prayed for the wounded warrior for the fourth time, he actually woke up, however briefly. That was a good sign. However, when the man lapsed back into unconsciousness, and Ivarr asked the priest, “Why can’t you just mend his wounds?” he received an interesting answer that surprised the blade as much as its wielder. 

“Holy magic can only do so much,” the priest explained. “It can reattach limbs if it is used soon after battle, but even then, it would be days or weeks before such an arm or a leg could be used. The love of the gods can only augment the strength of the body's natural healing.”

“So there’s no way to just… make a wound heal completely?” Ivarr continued, trending more dangerous ground. 

“Well, there are ways,” the priest admitted, “But all of them are forbidden. We will just have to be patient and hope that Elom makes a complete recovery in the fullness of time.”

Ch. 35 - Teamwork

Day by day, the other warrior improved. Some nights, they still had to deal with goblin attacks, but those were no longer any trouble for the Ebon Blade’s wielder, and by the time they reached the city walls, Elom could even walk on his own. He was slow and tired quickly, so they ended up carrying him more often than not. Still, despite the occasional nighttime attack, the four of them made it back safely. 

+231 Life Force
+16 lesser monster souls

The only real advantage to traveling with others was that someone would wake you before death slinked close enough to rip out your throat. Ivarr had that advantage thanks to a blade that needed no sleep already, but he seemed to sleep sounder knowing someone had his back. 

Compared to its wielder’s reaction to recent events or even his new companions, the blade thought it was the reaction of Ivarr’s old friends that was more telling. Over the course of the day that he arrived, he found out that there’s been a pool started on whether he’d come back alive by the bounty officer, and if he hadn’t come back in the few days, they were going to declare those who’d bet on his death the winners. 

That made sense, considering half of the man’s friends acted as if they’d seen a ghost when he showed back up. Brik had apparently even gone out to look for Ivarr, though he lasted only a night in the wild places beyond the city before he returned. 

The only one who really didn’t seem to notice his absence was the barmaid. After spending so many nights together, she barely knew who he was.

Though his full coin purse was enough to remind her as he introduced his new friends to his old ones at the Hungry Hobgoblin that night when he bought everyone a celebratory dinner, by then, it was too late. That blank look had been enough to let him see through her for the first time, and that night, against all odds, Ivarr slept alone. 

It was a minor miracle, too, considering his purse was overflowing with as much gold as silver. Even after he’d split the bounty from the ogre four ways, the sheer number of orc tusks he’d turned in had bankrupted the bounty office, and they’d had to send a messenger to the new Governor’s office for more coin to pay the man. 

“8 regals and 12 silver marks... Ho boy... That's more than I’ve paid out in a spell,” the old man told him when he tallied up the coins. “You keep it up, and the army won’t have anything left to fight. They’re having trouble finding beastmen as it is!”

“The beastmen are all but gone,” Ivarr agreed. “There’s still bigger game to be found.”

That rare event had caused enough curiosity that an army captain came down and offered Ivarr yet another position. It was even at a better rate, but by then, he’d already promised his services to Altharia and the others until they found what they were looking for days before. The blade had seen that coming but made no move to stop it. As long as its wielder made no move to betray it, it would trust his judgment. It didn’t really care what they did so long as they were slaying monsters, and now that the mage had proven so knowledgable it wasn’t in any hurry to be rid of her soon either. 

The ogre’s death had brought it to twenty-seven souls, which put it just over halfway. That was the good news. The bad news was that the days passed by relentlessly as they waited for Elom to heal. That was agonizing because every day, the man seemed unlikely to improve much further, but every week, he got noticeably better in a way that made everyone hold out hope a little longer. 

After two weeks, they’d finally began to purchase supplies, along with a mule to carry them. Two of Ivarr’s friends had even decided to join the group for the next chapter of their little adventure, though he’d tried hard to talk them out of it. 

“Didn’t you see what that ogre did to Elom,” Ivarr said when they were out drinking one night. “It nearly murdered him. A month later, he’s still nearly crippled!” 

“He’s getting better,” Brik insisted. “Your holy friend says that it in time he could make a full recovery!”

“Yeah, and when’s the next time we’re going to go beyond the walls with a priest and a mage.” Sammel chimed in. “We’d be fools not to jump at this.”

Ivarr suppressed a sigh, but the blade still heard it. Its wielder suspected that both of the men were going to be somewhere between dead weight and a burden. It was inclined to agree, but when he’d asked it for advice, all it had said was, We don’t need any of them. Not the priest or the mage, either. We’re doing just fine on our own.

The young man had agreed but wanted to help them on their mission, and he saw no need to force the issue. Unfortunately, later that night, when Elom joined the three of them for drinks, the pleasant night turned sour. 

Both of the younger men used that as an excuse to go pack, leaving Ivarr to drink with a drunk, half-crippled warrior. Sober, he was generally fine but drunk, he found subtle ways to twist the knife and imply that it was Ivarr’s fault he’d ended up this way. 

“Look at you,” he slurred. “Not a ssscar on you. You don’t know the first thing about this sort of pain.”

“I’ve been pretty lucky,” Ivarr agreed.

“Luck. Pah!” the other warrior sneered, finishing his drink in one long pull. “No one kills that many orcsss without takin’ a wound or two. Nobody.”

Ivar didn’t have a good answer for that, so he didn’t give one. Instead, he just let the man vent about how he was still twice the warrior of any man in the bar. Elom had proved to be a lousy drunk, but Ivarr knew he’d be fine in the morning, or at least as close as he got to fine, and the blade had long since decided it wasn’t wise to snuff him out like a candle with the mage about.

“You’re going to be okay, man,” its wielder tried to reassure him. “You’ll see.”

That turned out to be false. Partway back to their inn, when Elom tripped, or at least pretended to, he yanked the sword out of Ivarr’s sheath as the other man helped him to his feet.

This enraged the Ebon Blade. Even as it felt its strength flowing into the other man, it rejected him. At that moment it had 1036 Life Force saved up. It had planned to get Lesser Soul Reserves 2 as soon as it had a couple hundred spare Life Force to spare to make sure it could keep its wielder breathing. Instead, it spent that thousand Life Force at that moment, emptying its reserve. 

That brought the blade’s soul storage to 27/46, but in this moment, it didn’t care about its longer-term goals, only in punishing someone who had stolen it from its rightful owner. If it was going to be stolen by an interloper anyway, it might as well use whatever it had to deny it to the bastard. 

Even as it rejected him, for a moment, it still glimpsed the man’s nature, just as Elom was allowed to feel the power of the blade surge through him. His spine straightened, and his legs flexed as crooked bones mended themselves. Then, just like that, it was gone. 

Name: Elom the Bloody

Occupation: Mercenary

Toughness: 4 +1

Strength: 5 +3

Agility: 6 +2

Speed: 5 +1

Intelligence: 4

Willpower: 4 -1

Morality: Selfish

Bloodlust: Medium

Status: Normal

Martial Skill: Medium

Armor Proficiency: Low

Dodging: Medium

Athletics: Medium

Goal: To get rich and steal the contents of Al’Hazzarin’s tomb for himself. 

The brief insight was enough to show the Ebon Blade that in some ways the man would be a better wielder than Ivarr. Still, it rejected him. It Would choose who held it, and it would not be separated from a wielder until that man had failed it. It didn’t know where that loyalty was coming from entirely, but it did not question it. 

“Yessss!” He called out, raising the weapon to strike down its wielder. “I knew it!” Even as he did, though, the blade acted a second time. 

With a wielder who was willing, it could help them fight and boost their performance to a level they might have never reached on their own. With a weak wielder, it could take control almost completely in all but the most dire situations. Against a strong wielder, though, it could still struggle in their grip. 

So, as the now uncrippled warrior tried to bring the sword down, he found himself suddenly all but frozen in place. His muscles might be stronger than they’d been in weeks, but now they fired spasmodically as two minds struggled for control of the same body, giving Ivarr a desperately needed opening. 

He responded by bringing his forehead down hard on the other man’s nose, spreading it across his face even as he reached up to contest control of the blade. That moment was as confusing for the blade as it was for the two men struggling to take control as it felt its connection shift back and forth between them, and for those few frantic seconds where they struggled and fought, all it could do was watch lest it hinder or aid the wrong man.

For a moment, it didn’t connect with either of them, though. Instead it connected with something else, and even as that connection felt strange, and it realized it was the other man’s sword the Ebon Blade pulled away. Something had happened, though, and as the struggle crescendoed both swords flared to brilliant life. 

Sword of Destruction (Rageblade): Two-handed, -2 Life Force/Minute. Increases the wielder’s strength and toughness by 5. Can be used to trigger a Devastating Blow at the cost of 3 Life Force.

Elom’s hexblade glowed red in its scabbard so brightly that it shined through the leather in some places. The Ebon Blade, on the other hand, only glowed red from the ruby in its pommel. The rest of its runes began to shimmer darkly, drinking in the light as they danced with dark flames. 

“No!” Elom gasped. “It’s mine! I need it!”

The moment that Ivarr regained control it refocused, and broke the blade free from the interloper's grip. Then the blade flooded its wielder with strength, and Ivarr used that to bring the weapon down hard on the man’s collar bone, cutting through his neck and partway through his sternum in a blow of pure rage. 

+19 Life Force.

+12 Life Force.

-1 Life Force

The weapon didn’t understand why it lost life force any more than it understood why the blow was so powerful that it actually dug into the wall of the building they’d been struggling against. It wasn’t until it saw the message that it made sense. 

You have learned amplify blade. 

The dying warrior looked at Ivarr one last time with a look of complete shock. “Why?” he managed to mouth silently before dying on the spot with his chest cleaved nearly in half. 

+14 Life Force. 

You have gained a human soul. 

Ivarr stood there for a moment in shock, with his sword still in the other man. “I-I didn’t mean to do that…” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

I know you didn’t, the blade told him, uncertain if it was Ivarr or its own violent impulses that had ensured the other man’s death. In the end, it didn’t matter. He deserved to die, and the blade was not saddened by it in the least.  

Still, after a moment, it followed up with, You should go. If your new friends find out about this, they won’t be your friends anymore. 

“But I can’t just leave him here!” Ivarr protested. 

You can either do the right thing or the smart thing, the blade argued. No one will believe this was self-defense. Everyone else knew that the man was crippled. 

Its wielder considered this for several seconds then sheathed his sword and fled into the darkness toward his inn. Even if it wasn’t right, he still knew it was the right thing to do.

Ch. 36 - Insight

That night, Ivarr barely slept. While he tossed and turned fitfully, the Ebon Blade studied its new powers. In the aftermath of the fighting, it noticed that the ruby that was its heart had grown slightly clearer. The thing’s facets might even have grown sharper. It wasn’t sure. There was also a new line of runes on the backside of its blade. While it couldn’t be certain that these mirrored Elom’s hexblade, it was pretty sure that was the case. 

Only one had announced itself in the middle of their recent fight, a second one was there on its option list waiting to be purchased. It didn’t have the Life Force to level either of them up without burning a soul or two, and it was loath to do that. Still, it learned what it could. 

Amplify Blade 1: This ability focuses the magic of the blade for a single moment, though not without cost. Use up to 1 Life Force to increase the power of an attack by 10% per life force spent. 

Amplify Wielder 1: The Blade’s connection with the user deepens. Increase the strength and toughness of the wielder by 3 at the cost of 1 Life Force every two hours. 

The few details it could discover were evocative, that though it didn’t like the idea of wasting energy to fuel abilities like this, it was sure that Amplify Blade would be used often enough. Some enemies, like the ogre, called for a certain level of strength. 

It was strange to the blade that it had gotten new powers and all. Stranger still, though, was the way in which it seemed to have gotten them. It had stolen them from the other man’s weapon. 

No, not stolen, it realized, copied. The other hex blade likely still functions just as it did before, but somehow, I’m more than I was. As it studied the runes on its blade it saw that they hadn’t changed, but they were just as incomprehensible as they usually were.

Aura of Hunger: Multiple enhancements available
Parasitic Link 2: 250 Life Force
Amplify Wielder 1: 350 Life Force
Amplify Blade 2: 500 Life Force
Lesser Life Reserves 1: 500 Life Force
Lesser Soul Reserves 3: 2000 Life Force
Increase Connection 4: 1250 Life Force
Increase Control 3: 1500 Life Force
Empower Blade 2: 2000 Life Force - not currently accessible
Improved Siphon 7: 2000 Life Force
Increase Reserves 10: 5000 Life Force
Repair Soul 4: 5000 Life Force

While it didn’t know why it had the former unlocked by itself but the later needed to be unlocked, it was grateful for it. It did not wish to be locked into paying additional costs for its user without a choice in the matter. 

The blade spent the evening studying them both, and was only distracted sometimes by its wielders nightmares. Once the sun rose, it set these issues aside and focused on its wielder, who was acting as if he’d confess the moment anyone even mentioned Elom’s name.  

With some subtle interference from the blade, he’d calmed down some by lunch. That was good because it was only a few hours after that Dero even noticed their half-crippled colleague was missing and went to look for him. 

“You sure you haven’t seen him?” he asked everyone at the table. “I thought he was just sleeping one-off, but he’d be down here to eat by now at least.”

Ivarr said he hadn’t, though he did admit to drinking with him the night before. Brik and Sammel gave similar stories, but none of them thought to mention the order in which the four of them had left the tavern, which was ideal, considering that the misconception immediately removed whatever suspicion might have existed from its wielder entirely. 

The warrior's room had been empty, and his bed was still made, so Dero began his search near the bar they’d been at. By dinner, the priest had found the truth, and by the morning of the following day, they’d found the culprit and arranged a public hanging. 

Though the man claimed he’d found him dead and had simply stolen the two-handed hexblade that he wore, no one believed that anyone could cleave through a man’s torso and the building behind him with anything else. 

This miscarriage of justice was almost enough to make Ivarr confess, but the blade convinced him not to do that. Some of this was done with a long silent discussion about it while the two lay awake the night before the execution. The rest was done by subtly encouraging the man to drink enough the following day that by the time the innocent thief was left dangling from a tree and the crowd who had come to watch the spectacle was beginning to disperse, he was good and drunk. 

While its wielder did that, the blade leached from everyone around it that would stand still long enough for it to drain a life force or two. By the time the hanging was complete, it was back to 124/5000 Life Force, which was an acceptable 

That night the elf stayed with him that night for hours after his friends poured him into bed. She told him how touched she was by how Elom’s death had moved him and vowed that it would not be in vain. Its wielder wasn’t conscious for any of that, which was tragic because she was half as inebriated as he was, and it was clear to the weapon that the striking elven woman was looking for someone to comfort her. 

Ivarr couldn’t handle anything close to that in his current state, though. Anything like kindness or desire would have been enough to crack his young soul right down the middle, so the blade pushed him down deeper into slumber while the elven maiden stroked his hair and complimented him. 

Ivarr might be a killer when it came to monsters, but as far as humans went, he was still a kid, and he felt terrible about what he’d done. The fact that it was self-defense didn’t make the burden any easier for his soul to bear. 

To the Ebon Blade, that was a warning sign that, in the long term, it needed to find a new wielder. That was probably true, but such a thing would not be someone else’s decision. It would rely on its current wielder until the main failed to meet its standards. That was the way of things.

It had been held prisoner for too long. From now on, it alone would decide what its future held. It was with that thought in mind that it turned to its final task of the evening once the mage had left Ivarr’s room in the early hours of the morning: devouring Elom’s soul. 

The moment it had stolen it in the heat of battle, the blade had almost devoured it on the spot. However, after a few seconds of thought, it decided that the knowledge it contained might be more valuable than a hundred or a hundred and fifty Life Force. It could collect that much energy in a couple of days of wandering around the city with its wielder, so that wasn’t much of an incentive. The knowledge that Elom could grant about the people he’d been traveling with, though, that was unique and priceless. 

Tell me about the mage and her mission! The blade commanded as the thin cobwebs that had once been a man’s existence blazed to life and then evaporated under the weight of the question. 

Even as the Ebon Blade asked, it was bombarded with memories and thoughts from the dead man. Many of them were vague and half-formed, but slowly, they bled together, filling in each other’s gaps to form a fuller picture. There was a first meeting where Elom seemed to have been more concerned with payment than mission. It was clear that he’d planned to betray the other two as soon as it was convenient to do so. 

There were also snippets of nights around the fire discussing the place they were looking for and the man who had made it. They came together, one at a time until they were one long conversation. It was more than a little repetitive, but the main thing to be gleaned from it was that the elven mage didn’t seem to know much beyond what she’d already shared. 

While the map revealing the supposed location of the tomb led to this region, the legends regarding the man were older than the stones of Kalraka’s city walls. He was a vile man who had coveted his possessions until his last breath and had apparently built a trap-ridden tomb to protect them for all time. 

What did the tomb look like? How big was it? How many levels did it span? No one could say. Those facts were as mysterious as its location, and all anyone knew about that was that it had remained hidden for a long time. Until Altharia’s research had uncovered the notes made by one of the man’s surviving apprentices, no one could even say what part of the old empire it had been in. 

Still, the warrior hadn’t balked at any of that. Neither the traps nor the monsters they might find on the way there had concerned Elom. The idea that deathless guardians might have been left behind to protect the man’s crypt didn’t seem to trouble him either, but that didn’t surprise the blade.

In these memories, he was much as he had been in life. He was a brash man with a large, magical blade. He thought that his ability to cleave nearly anything in two had made him invulnerable. He quickly found out that wasn’t the case when the ogre’s foot had left him with two dozen broken bones, but that had no bearing on the mage’s mission. 

The memories continued to flow through it, giving it a much better idea of some of the places they’d already searched and how little they’d found. Apparently, they’d been on the verge of giving up when they’d found Ivarr. 

The blade thought it might have been better if they did. Though it was certain its wielder would get to hunt more monsters either way, it wasn’t sure that it wanted to get tangled up in this mess. 

Is it really worth dealing with all this for a few answers about how magic works? It asked itself. Does she know enough to shed light on how and why I was made? 

Unfortunately, that answer was probably still yes, it realized. Even now, when it could probably get Ivarr to abandon these people and flee into the wilderness alone, it realized that it probably should keep them together until it learned more from her about the nature of magical artifacts. 

As the rapid-fire images faded, it was a little disappointed in the memories it harvested. The weapon knew everything that Elom had known about the mage and her quest, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to fill a tankard. The man simply had no curiosity and had asked very few questions. Most of the stray answers had come from Dero's idle curiosities while the three sat together around the fire. 

The Ebon Blade had been hoping for some more insight into the mage and some hint of treachery about her mission, but there was none to be found. Altharia, it would seem, was an open book.

There were flashes of some of the previous battles and moments where they thought they’d found the ruins in question. The only value those had, though, were the flashes of various spells she’d used. It wasn’t just lightning and fire that danced to her tune. She could also wield ice and other stranger forces that it had no names for. 

I should be wary of her, the weapon decided. She is dangerous, though perhaps not so dangerous as Ivarr’s guilty conscience. 

The blade spent the rest of the night more worried about the latter than the former. It could do nothing about the mage, but there were things that could be done about its wielder, and it vowed to harden the young man’s heart before it gave them away at some inopportune moment. 

Ch. 37 - The Way forward

With a pall that was equal parts hangover and guilt, the group set out the following morning. It was something everyone had been looking forward to. Even with doubts about Elom’s ability to keep up or even fight, they all wanted to leave the city and return to their quest. With his death, though, it was almost like a funeral procession.

The blade didn’t care about any of that. Instead, it subtly assaulted its wielder with feelings of resolve and righteousness. He’d acted in self-defense. He shouldn’t need such reassurances, of course, but the blade could ill afford a breakdown. Not when it was getting close to its goal. 

This time, they went further west than Ivarr had on previous trips. Instead of crossing through the same passes and going through the same valleys that he’d hunted in before, they looked for evidence of the mage’s tomb on the steeper slopes to the west, where nature would be a better guardian than any trap. 

Progress was slow, because they’d traded forest valleys for scree covered slopes and windy escarpments. Worse, though, was that monsters were much more scarce than they’d been before. After three days, they’d killed a handful of goaty beastmen but nothing with a greater soul. The slopes were too barren for even goblins to scavenge. 

The fight with the beastmen was only notable because that was the first time that its wielder noticed the blade’s new power. I feel stronger, somehow, he confessed the the blade after he took the head off one in a single clean stroke instead of simply hacking deep enough into its spine to murder it. 

+1 Life Force

+12 Life Force.

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

+2 Life Force

This magic burns the same energy that heals you, the blade warned him, so use it with care. Not all strikes need to be enhanced. As we discussed, precision matters more than strength. 

Its wilder’s thrill was muted as that sobered him. “I’ll remember,” he promised.

In the grand scheme of things, using an extra point of life force a few times in every combat wouldn’t matter too terribly much. The blade hardly cared about that level of leakage. What mattered to it was that it didn’t want its wielder to get lazy and learn to rely on tricks rather than skill, so it made its powers seem more precarious than they truly were. 

Still, the stunning vistas and the company of Ivarr’s friends improved its wielder’s mood day by day, and that was worth something, too, so the blade did not complain. Instead, it watched the young man’s friends try to emulate the exercises he did with his sword every night with great amusement. That, as much as anything, was the sign of the real progress its wielder had shown. 

Only a couple of months before, Ivarr had been just as graceless, but now his movements spoke of economy and power, and the swings came from his shoulders and hips. He wasn’t just tracing the motions. He was swinging the weapon with real power as he went through each stroke. 

His friends couldn’t even manage to trace the lines with any sort of exactness. Still, they tried, and after a few days, Sammel showed some signs of improvement. Brik, though, was better off using a spear in combat and keeping back reinforcements so that Ivarr could make quick work of the monsters they faced. 

Any skill that either of its wielder’s friends might have shown in practice or sparring was lost in actual combat. There, both men were held back by fear more than inexperience and flailed wildly in their first fight. Neither scored a kill, but they kept themselves from being stabbed by the goatmen’s spears, and that was the most important outcome. 

+221 Life Force

+5 Lesser Monster Souls

By the time they summited the first peak, the blade considered both men good for nothing but a source to drain Life Force from, but it resisted. Weakening them would only slow down the meandering group even further. 

Near the top of the mountain, they found a large griffon’s nest that was filled with the bones of the dead, but unfortunately, it was nowhere to be seen. The group it was with was grateful for that, though it regretted that it could not steal the thing’s soul and it to its collection. 

In all the days since Elom’s passing, it had only managed to gain another 400 Life Force. Fortunately for it, things only got worse as they passed beyond those rocky slopes and into the new valley because that’s where they finally found more orcs. 

Up until that point, it was the terrain that had been hard and the battles that had been easy. Now, suddenly, things were reversed, and the slopes were as gentle as the enemies were brutal. 

As the group and their donkeys progressed through that backcountry, it occurred to the blade that such areas would be perfect for farms and villages. Those wilds were certainly more hospitable than the plains they’d started their journey on. If not for the monsters that infested the area, the whole area would certainly be thriving. 

Orcs tended to prevent that, though. Each time they attacked, it was like a bolt from the blue. There was no warning, and in a group this large, there was no avoiding them and picking their battles, either. It was the moment the fight with the first hunting band of greenskins started that the blade purchased Amplify Wielder 1. 

This small ability made the setting that its ruby heart was mounted in grow slightly, becoming slightly more ostentatious. It was a hard thing to notice, but the gold mount that held the huge gem in place had definitely grown. Now, it wasn’t just eight small gold tabs holding the thing in place. It was a variety of little triangles, like a tiny crown around the edges. 

It also noticed that getting Amplify Wielder 1 added a new option to its purchase list, creating Parasitic Link 2. That hadn’t been there before, when it had purchased Parasitic Link 1, but apparently it didn’t have an ability that would make such a thing necessary. 

The blade was not giving its wielder 3 strength in total. It had wondered if the new bonus would simply replace the old one that had been there before, leaving the number unchanged, but it turned out to be additive. This made Ivarr almost as strong as the orcs he faced. The last thing it wanted was to spend Life Force on anything but increasing its soul storage. Unfortunately, it knew that the group would need every advantage now that its wielder was bogged down by his friends. Hiding from encounters that were too hard to tackle was no longer an option. 

Against those first two orcish marauders, the combination turned out to be overkill. Ivarr didn’t move any faster, but he certainly seemed to, in the way he met the first orc head on, brimming with confidence. He actually managed to parry an orc’s axe before he cleaved off its limbs with ease. He proved to be every bit as monstrous as the orcs he faced in that encounter. However, those upgrades proved necessary and even vital in the days ahead. 

+118 Life Force

+2 Greater Monster Souls

Sometimes, if they were spotted a ways off, the mage could strike down at least a few of them. More often than not, everything came down to Ivarr, and the blade appreciated those moments more than anything. 

The young man charged right into the thick of the fray. Sometimes, his friends would follow close enough to keep his flanks clear, while other times, they would stay back to guard the mage and the priest. With every encounter, though, the young warrior was quickly showing more prowess than he had any right to have at such a young age, and even though half of that was magical augmentation, the other half was dedication and practice. 

+134 Life Force

+3 Greater Monster Souls

Only the mage seemed concerned by this as the five of them sat around the fires by night. Dero, Sammel, and Brik would cheer on his exploits while Ivarr attempted to downplay them. Only the elf would ask him piercing questions during lulls in those boisterous conversations. How had he gotten so much stronger so quickly? Had his blade’s hilt actually changed? Did it feel strange when he felt it take a life?

Ivarr answered the best he could. He promised that nothing strange was happening. “It’s the same sword it always was,” he said earnestly. It didn’t even feel like a lie from him since he probably didn’t even notice the subtle changes. “As to the orcs… well, at this point, I think I’m just getting good at killing them. They’re pretty much the monster I’ve fought the most.”

The mage nodded. She never directly disagreed with Ivarr, but the way she looked at the blade so often told it everything it needed to know. She was able to see something that no one else could. She could see past its glowing ruby and beat-up appearance to see some truth about it. 

Once, she even touched it when its wielder was asleep. It did not wake Ivarr. It was certain rousing him just in time to stop it would be more suspicious than anything she hooded to find. Instead, it lay there silently with its breath held as it felt her cool fingers on its hilt and her sharp mind probing its soul. That moment felt almost like the moment it had connected with Elom’s hexblade. Briefly, it considered what it would be like to reach out and connect with her, but it resisted the urge because if she felt anything, it knew that such a moment would inflame her curiosity. 

She’s already out to destroy one artifact, it reminded itself. She would have no problem adding another to the list. The Ebon Blade had not been destroyed by the molten blood of a dragon, but it was fairly certain that if this mage tried, she’d have better luck. 

Ch. 38 - The Ways of Death

Days stretched into weeks as they made their way further and further into the unexplored areas where they thought the tomb might be hiding. They scoured hills, hoping that they were rocky cairns, and they braved orc-infested standing stones, hoping that they might have been erected by man instead of nature. 

+146 Life Force

+4 Greater Monster Souls

No matter how many of these out of the way places they scoured, though, they never found even a hint of the mysterious location. Though the blade didn’t have the best sight, it appeared to be utterly untouched by human hands. Instead, everywhere they went, they found more violence. This far from the comforting walls of Kalraka, it was the one true constant. 

Well, that and the fact that it was running out of space to store souls. The blade was still hundreds of Life Force away from gaining the next level of Lesser Soul Reserves, and it had less than ten spots left to fill before its soul reserves were entirely filled, even after devouring all of the lesser souls it had picked up. 

That wasn’t the end of the world since it could simply consume the excess for Life Energy. Somehow, that felt like a step back to it. Though there would always be more orcs, the fact that it was so close to its goal but still so far away bothered it immensely. 

+188 Life Force

+5 Greater Monster Souls

One night, in their second week, they were attacked by another minotaur that was only slightly smaller than the first one that the Ebon Blade had beaten with difficulty months before. This time, it did not attempt to force Ivarr to dance to its tune. In fact, it only adjusted a few blows here and there at critical moments. 

+15 Life Force.

+1 Life Force

Even with so little interference, though, its wielder proved to be its match this time. Even with his magical strength, he lacked the ability to go toe to toe with the thing, but that was true for almost any opponent this deep in the wild. Instead of trying to parry the blows of a minotaur’s club, he let the trees do that. He sprinted from trunk to trunk, jabbing where he could, wearing the beast down until it bled out. 

+1 Life Force

+19 Life Force.

+1 Life Force

For a moment there, the blade felt itself in perfect unison with its wielder. It wasn’t trying to force or even nudge Ivarr to make the perfect strike. They were both doing it at once, in perfect unison. In that moment it felt like they might have beaten anyone with a little effort. 

Synchronization Achieved, +100% damage, +100% dodge for one minute.

The message was almost expected this second time. The last time it had seen the pop up, it had been because both he and Ren desperately wanted to kill the dragon. This time it wasn’t about the minotaur, or about saving Ivarr’s companions. It was about the pure thrill of battle. Their souls sang in those desperate moments as they constantly pivoted around the larger, stronger foe. They were moving so fast that the world seemed to slow down around them, and both of their souls rejoiced in the dance of death that they were, for the first time ever, equal parts of. 

+1 Life Force

+2 Life Force

+14 Life Force.

This time, he didn’t even need to wait for the club to break. He just ducked one of the attacks once the eight-foot tall bull started to tire and brought his sword around in a vicious backswing that was so hard that it not only severed the beast’s spine but it made the runes along its blade briefly glow with black fire as it enhanced the strength of the attack well beyond normal human limits. 

After that, there was nothing to do but put the braying beast out of its misery. With a short, sharp jab to the base of its neck. It was a mercy killing for a foe that had fought well, and the blade respected the dead monster more than most of the men it had encountered to date. 

+1 Life Force

+17 Life Force.

You have gained a greater Monster soul. 

It wasn’t until that was done and the devastated forest was finally silent that either the Ebon Blade or its wielder noticed the way that everyone was looking at Ivarr. No one was looking at him like he was a hero; they were looking at him like he was a monster, and it was so silent that you could hear the drops of blood dripping from the bull-man’s carcass. 

“What in all the hells was that?” Sammel asked finally. He was the first to speak. “I… Humans can’t move like that. People… That’s not possible. Tell me that’s not right, Brik. Tell me you saw what I saw.”

“I…” Ivarr’s other friend was obviously disturbed, too, but he was looking for a reason to give Ivarr the benefit of the doubt. “You were like a blur, man. You were everywhere. It was definitely magic.”

“It was,” the elf agreed after a moment. “I knew his enemy had too much strength, so I… I hastened his steps and provided him aid.”

Everyone relaxed visibly after that. Even Ivarr did, uncertain of what precisely had just happened. The blade knew it was a lie, though, and told its wielder as soon as everyone finished celebrating the attack. 

She did nothing on your behalf, it explained. She is merely covering for you. I cannot say why, but I suggest you ask her about it in private as soon as you can. It would appear we both still have as much to learn about my nature as we do about her motives. 

Ivarr did exactly that, though he had to wait until evening to find a moment when everyone else wasn’t around. She confessed immediately. “They would not understand what your weapon is doing to you, I think…” she answered cryptically. 

“Doing to me?” Ivarr answered in confusion. “I’m just learning to use it better and—”

“When it drains the souls of your enemies and uses it to power those strikes, what does that feel like?”

“I… Is that what it’s doing?” he asked. That revelation annoyed the blade. It did not want to share that information with its wielder, and had purposefully withheld it because it might make him squeamish against a human opponent at some critical moment.

“I see the magic traveling through the weapon and into you,” she confided with a passion that was almost amorous. The blade was sure she had suspicions about its nature, but she was definitely into its wielder, which seemed to frighten Ivarr more than the minotaur had. 

“When you fight,” she continued. “It is like… a lightning storm. Untrained eyes cannot see it, but I can. I can see the energy arcing from you to the sword to your enemy and back again. Eventually, if the fighting lasts too long, I can see where you will strike next, even before you finish the last blow. It would be quite lovely were it not so terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Ivarr asked, swallowing hard. 

Its wielder had no idea how the sword worked, and usually, he had no interest in such things. He knew that it made him stronger, healed his wounds, and trained him to be a better warrior. That was enough for him. 

Now, it could feel the ways its wielder’s mind twisted at these words. It wanted to intervene, but such an action would have only made things worse. So, it silently listened instead. 

“There are powerful magics in your blade,” she said. “Not evil, I think, at least not in the hands of a good man like you, but they are not good either. You should be wary of it, especially as it grows in strength.”

Ivar nodded dumbly, shaken by her words. “I will, but can you tell me more about the magic or its origins?”

“We would need to return to my tower for that,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps when all of this is done and the tomb of Al’Hazzarin is purged, we can take a trip there and research its origins together if you like.”

“I’d like that,” Ivarr said, finding the courage to hold her hand, at least until Dero started walking back toward the camp. The two of them pulled away from each other then, which was good because the blade had already had enough of the conversation that was doing a good job of blurring the lines between its own doom and flirting. 

While it had very little care about who Ivarr slept with, it did not like the idea of being subjected to any serious testing by this woman, and certainly not in her place of power. That seemed like a one-way trip to being locked up in the dark once more. 

Still, it did not share these thoughts with its wielder. It would be pointless. Right now, Ivarr was thinking with his dick. It was obvious from the way he blotted out even her most concerning words in his mind with the feeling of touching her pale skin. He would agree with anything the woman said. 

The topic of its power didn’t get brought up again that night or in any of the days that followed. Instead, there was only exploration and fighting. 

Once, the group found a small ruined temple, though it was too eroded to say who it might have been dedicated to. The stumps of its stone pillars still stood several feet high, but the small basement that had been created beneath its foundation by water erosion held only a giant spider and the corpses of goblins. The poison had burned like fire in Ivarr’s veins for a minute when the thing had bitten him, but by the time he slew it and returned to the surface he acted like the horrific arachnid had never touched him. 

+67 Life Force

+1 Greater Monster Souls

After that, there were other days and other fights, but none were as intense as Ivarr’s battle with the minotaur. Things returned to normal, and eventually, after weeks of struggling, the blade succeeded in both of its goals. It had to burn two greater monster souls, to reach 2000 Life Force, but it was finally able to get Lesser Soul Reserves 3. That increased its soul capacity to 53 and made the ruby in its hilt swirl with hazy images of the dead contained within it.

+174 Life Force

+6 Greater Monster Souls

As hard as it had struggled to achieve this goal, it was anticlimactic. It wasn’t until two days later, when they happened upon a hunting band of three orcs as they were crossing a stream that the blade finally got what it had sought for so long: enough souls to advance along the path of death. 

+44 Life Force

+2 Greater Monster Souls

For that upgrade, just as it did for all of its previous upgrades, it waited until its wielder and the winsome mage were both slumbering. It was only then that it finally unleashed the tide of dark souls that swirled within it and reached level 4.

To take so many souls, you have carved a vast swath through the countryside. Whether you have done so for selfless or selfish reasons, the land has been changed forever by your passing, and all of the Death that you have created along the way. 

The Path of Death: Level 4 -> 1 dragon soul -> to reach Level 5.

Level 4 Powers: 

A Wide Reach: All the souls of those who die within 15 feet are yours to claim, whether you killed them or not. 

Touch of Death: Bonus damage increased to +5 siphon damage in the form of deadly hoarfrost and frostbite.

As exciting as it was to see this new level unlocked the fact that the Blade had been saving its dragon soul this whole time just in case was extremely vindicating now that it had reached this point. It had held on to if for months just in case, and now it was finally putting it to use. 

It burned that soul as well, feeling profoundly empty as it did so. A moment ago, its soul storage was almost completely full, and now there wasn’t a single soul contained within it. Still, any emptiness it felt was dispelled as soon as it read the words at what came next. 

The road of Death is long, but it only ends in one place, and you have reached it. You have achieved mastery over mortality. The world is timeless, endless graveyard, and it is now yours to feast upon. 

The Path of Death: Complete. 

Level 5 Powers: 

Beyond their Reach: Life drain effects associated with magic and undeath do not affect you or your wielder. 

Grim Reaper: Bonus damage increased to +10 siphon damage in the form of deadly hoarfrost and frostbite.

Endless Malaise: You gather Life Force simply by being around the dead. This can be a trickle or a flood depending on a variety of factors, but generally does not exceed 1 Life Force per corpse per hour. 

Ch. 39 - A Long and Winding Bloodbath

Even as the blade rejoiced in its own private victory and contemplated whether or not it should pursue the path of blood or vengeance next, the lucky streak of the party that it traveled with came to an end. The following day started out like any other on their winding trip of exploration. Dero and Altharia reviewed the map he was slowly drawing to judge which blank spot their efforts might best be spent fleshing out while Ivarr practiced his swordsmanship with his friends in the daily warm-up exercises. 

It might have been a camping trip or hunting expedition were it not for the fact they were still at least a week from civilization. This deep in the mountains, they hadn’t even found a village worth the name. Why would they? There was no way to herd sheep or tend fields when monsters might strike you down at any moment.  

That same danger applied to Ivarr and his friends as much as anyone else. They’d left the claustrophobic safety of the woods and were climbing toward the ridgeline. Then, the next thing anyone knew, a dozen hulking orcs were charging down at them like an avalanche of rage. 

-1 Life Force

Though the sight was no doubt terrifying, the blade analyzed it bloodlessly and decided that they would probably still survive. It didn’t strike the blade as a planned ambush or any other sort of sophisticated attack. The orcs outnumbered the humans, so they thought that they’d be able to feast on their flesh. It was no one’s fault that after almost a month in the wilderness, someone finally died. 

Everyone did their best. Altharia rained fire on them, maiming half of them before they even reached the group, and despite earlier attempts to keep a lower profile, Ivarr fought like the god of war himself after charging heedlessly toward them. Despite being on the wrong side of the slope for such large opponents, he still took on four at once. Even with the strength of the blade, he was still wounded several times.

+184 Life Force

+4 Greater Monster Souls

Wounded or not, though, he wouldn’t fall, and he took on the entire brunt of the enemy's attack himself. It was enough to make the blade proud of him, even as he gutted and dismembered his opponents. He didn’t notice just how much more life force his attacks were draining now. Nor did he know how much more quickly his opponents were falling. He just knew he needed to do more.  

That left just two orcs for the other three men, but for inexpert fighters using mundane blades, two orcs was one orc too many. Though they succeeded in killing them both, Sammel and Dero were both wounded by the end of the battle.

+2 Greater Monster Souls

Wounded was a lot better than dead, though, which was Brik’s fate. Ivarr didn’t find that out, though, not right away, even as his weapon captured the man’s escaping soul. 

-5 Life Force

Instead, after whirling around and verifying that those two had been dispatched, he charged up the hill and killed the wounded orcs who had survived the mage’s fiery wrath. After that, when none of the orcs were breathing, and he’d looked around from the ridge to make sure no other attacks were coming, he walked back down to the group. 

That’s where he found everyone else gathered around a corpse. The man had been his friend a few minutes ago was just a corpse that had been split from neck to groin by the sharp stone axe of an orc. The leather armor Brik had been so proud of had done almost nothing. It was a horrifying sight, but Ivarr endured it with more stoicism than the blade would have expected. 

+99 Life Force

+3 Greater Monster Souls

Unlike his near breakdown over killing Elom in self-defense, he accepted the death calmly and simply stood there with his tears cascading down his cheeks. This time, he didn’t ask if the blade might be able to save him or even if the priest could do something. He just reached down and closed his friend's eyes forever. 

They didn’t make it any further that day. They spent the afternoon building the man a cairn on the rocky slope, and they spent the night just below the ridgeline to shelter from the wind. There was no joy in that night, though, or in any of the nights that followed. Instead, frustration only grew. 

-1 Life Force

Ivarr’s flirtations with Altharia died the same day that Brik did. Instead, he started talking to the sword more about what he could do to get stronger or faster, but it had no wisdom to give the man. 

With me in your hands, you’re as deadly as any four men, but not even you can save everyone, the blade told him. 

That night, it didn’t attempt to console its wielder any further or even to try to sway him on a subtle emotional level. Grief was a natural part of death and battle, and the blade would not deny the young man that. 

Instead, it consumed greater monster souls it had harvested that afternoon, along with Brik’s soul, and then contemplated upgrades. It had received 283 over the course of combat, which was much more than the 38 it had started out the day with after its last upgrade. Nine orcish souls gave it another 412 Life Force, and Brik’s soul added 86 to that. He wasn’t a very powerful soul, but every little bit would help it to get stronger. 

-1 Life Force

Still, with 819 Life Force, there was little that the blade could upgrade with so little energy. Starting the Path of Blood or increasing its Siphon further were its largest goals at the moment, but both of those would require at least 2,000 Life Force. So, instead, it settled for Parasitic Link 2 for 250 Life Force, just to make the slow drip of Life Force it had been losing thanks to its recent upgrades, vanish. 

As gloomy as Ivarr became as the days passed, he didn’t turn out to be the weak link. As their supplies started to grow scarce, it was Sammel that finally cracked. He’d done better than the blade had expected up to this point, but after his friend's death, it was obvious that he lived in perpetual fear that each fight would be his last. The man stank of fear.

Each time the group faced off against anything after that, whether it be an orc or a goblin, he would practically cower behind Ivarr to the point where the man’s proximity made it that much harder for its wielder to fight. This behavior persisted even after he healed until finally, with a disgusted look at the map next to the campfire one night, he said, “This is hopeless. We’re never going to find it. You guys know that, right? We’re just walking around in circles out here.”

“Never?” the mage said. “Everything has to be somewhere. Just because we didn’t find it this time doesn’t mean we won’t find it next time.”

“Not all of us are immortal. I have a life to live back home.” Sammel countered. “We have more trophies than we have food at this point.”

“Yeah, Supplies are getting low,” Dero said, trying to put a positive spin on things, “But with a little hunting and some luck we can pull together and next time we can—”

“I don’t want to hunt,” Sammel exploded. “I don't want to fight, I don’t want a next time, and I definitely don’t want to search for a stupid tomb we’re never going to find anyway.”

The group debated the point for more than half an hour, and though no one else was eager to abandon their quest, the Ebon Blade could see that they all knew that Sammel’s time with them was at an end. Eventually, it was agreed that they would return to Kalraka the following morning, even if they couldn’t all agree on the reasons for that destination. 

The decision did less to dispel the gloom over the group than the blade would have thought. Truthfully, it was happy to abandon this quest. It had what it wanted. Its wielder could go anywhere else now, and it would be able to get enough Life Force to unlock one of the other paths or make the upgrades that it really desired. 

The blade would probably get more life force just from draining the people who walked by it in a city at this point. That didn’t have half the appeal of fighting pitched battles, but it certainly spoke to the breadth of its current options. 

Unfortunately, it knew that its wielder had not given up 

“Maybe it really isn’t here,” the mage said with a sigh. “Perhaps the map was in error, and the true mountain peak isn’t even in this range.”

“We’ll find it,” Ivarr promised, annoying the blade. It had what it needed. It did not wish to hunt monsters forever now that their souls were not what it required. “Even if we have to come out ten more times. It’s here. I’m sure it is.”

She hugged him then while the blade tried to decide if it was an excuse to be close to the woman or the death of Brik that had made its wielder so determined. They traveled through the rugged terrain for several days, along a different route than they’d come at first, and the blade realized only slowly that the place was familiar to them. The backside of the mountain was literally the valley where it and Ivarr had spent the most time hunting back before they’d stumbled across this group. 

What about the ogre’s cave? It asked

The blade didn’t care too much about this mission, but if it could help end it, well, then it was all for that. 

“What about it?” Ivarr mumbled to himself. The Ebon Blade could feel the waves of self-loathing spread through its wielder as thoughts of the ogre led to thoughts of Elom and the battle that crippled him, but it couldn’t be helped. 

It’s burrowed into one of the mountains that she seems to care about most, the blade repeated, spelling it out for the distracted man. What if it hides the entrance to what you’ve been looking for?

“The cave? But the ogre was in there, surely…” Ivarr started to say.

“What’s that?” Dero asked. “Ogre cave?”

“Uhmmm, yeah,” Ivarr said, “You know… it’s a big cave, and it's nearby somewhere. Maybe we should check it out before we go back. It might hide something even worse, you know?”

“That idea is wonderful,” Altharia responded when the two of them shared the idea with her. It was actually enough to make her smile for the first time in days. “To skip it would be a terrible missed opportunity.”

Ch. 40 - Into the Dark

Although everyone in the group assumed that the cave would be empty since they’d killed its occupant so recently, that turned out not to be the case. The goblins had either moved in right after the ogre had vacated, or they’d coexisted the whole time as a sort of tolerated vermin. 

Either way, the place was overrun with them, and the group had to use more of the mage's fire than Ivarr’s arm at first, just because they were too numerous to fight. After those first few purges there were at least fifty charred corpses littering the ground. There might have been nearly a hundred, but the blade wasn’t counting since most of them died well outside of its ever-increasing reach.

Sammel insisted that it was a sign that they should skip it, but the blade would not be denied a fight, especially after missing out on so much Life Force because most of the creatures had died just far enough away that their suffering did not feed it. 

+46 Life Force

+9 Lesser Monster Souls

The Ebon Blade urged its wielder forward, and together, the two of them made short work of the creatures that were left after the smoke cleared. Sammel guarded the mules at first, but once everyone else moved far enough in that he could no longer see them, he quickly rejoined the group. 

+86 Life Force

+6 Lesser Monster Souls

They didn’t have to go very far past that to find what they’d been looking for all this time. As they stood together in the dank, foul cave, all Ivarr could say was, “Well, son of a bitch, It really is here,” as he gazed at the stone door that had been sealed with runes of brass.

Toward the end dealing with the eye-watering stench of smoking goblin shit and rotting corpses had been more difficult than the remaining fights for its wielder, even in the dark. Ivarr couldn’t see very well, even with the light of the blade’s ruby and the holy light of the priest, but the blade itself had absolutely no problem with the darkness, and it would help steer the blade with minor touches to make sure that the swings found their mark as they went. 

+187 Life Force

+14 Lesser Monster Souls

At this point, it didn’t take much to seal fatal damage to something as small as a goblin. It had only to make the barest wound with its blade, and they would simply slump to the ground as a half-mummified, partially frozen husk. The path of death had increased the energy that it drained by quite a bit, and though this wouldn’t be quite so easy to see on a bigger target like a man or an orc, it could drain a goblin dry.

+5 Life Force

Unfortunately, those heightened powers could do nothing about the door, though. No one but the mage could, and given how clean the area surrounding it was, it was clear that the goblins had given the thing a wide berth for a reason. 

“I can’t believe it,” the elf murmured, too stunned to have finally found it to do much more than stare. “All that searching and it was under our nose the whole time… This… this is wonderful.”

“It will be more wonderful if we can get it open,” Dero chimed in.

“I-it might not even be the tomb,” Sammel insisted, but everyone ignored him. They’d scoured the whole region and found nothing that looked half so likely as this. It had to be the correct spot. 

“Come on, man,” Ivar said, pulling his friend away from the boundary of cleanliness that showed the edge of goblin activity by his collar. “Let's leave this to Altharia and make sure there are no more vermin.”

+7 Life Force

The other man protested but went with its wielder while it spent several minutes studying the thing before she cast the first spell in an attempt to disarm the thing. For a moment, the tarnished runes glowed a light blue as whatever she was trying to do appeared to be working. 

Then, the light turned dark, and even as those same runes throbbed with shadows that didn’t look terribly different from the Ebon Blade’s own magic, shadowy arms reached out from the runes, and the edges of the door. It was every shadow that could fall under the spell of the door’s defenses were bottomless pits, and the hungry prisoner’s from beyond were anxious to break free. 

Each arm was different, in an unsettling way. It turned out that their strange slender nature that made them almost two-dimensional was perhaps the least disturbing part of the whole thing. Not all of them had the same number of fingers, or even belonged to the same species. They were inhuman whether they had nails or claws, though, and the blade was sure that they’d be able to rip the souls out of a mortal body almost as easily as its own magic. 

+3 Life Force

The Ebon Blade’s feeling of alarm in that moment were so strong that Ivarr spun around and raised his sword at the same time Dero began to pray to his god. Neither of those things was enough to stop the hundred pitch-black hands as they surged outward to grab whatever was within reach. Fortunately, that reach seemed to be limited and fruitlessly groping around the area that had been kept clear of by the goblins they simply gave up and vanished. 

Fortunately, no one had been close enough for them to touch, let alone grab. However, if they had been, well, the blade was certain they would be dead, the only question was whether their corpse would have been left behind or not. 

It said nothing, though it would have if Ivarr approached the line. The weapon just waited for the humans to discuss what just happened, and the mage said much the same thing. “No one is getting through that door with their soul intact as long as those runes are there,” she confessed. 

“But you can get around them, right?” Dero asked, “Or disarm them?”

“Would that I could,” the mage said disparagingly. “I just tried to dispel the magic in them, and you saw the result. We may need to copy the marks and then return to the inner kingdoms for more specialized advice from my colleagues before we can proceed.”

+5 Life Force

The blade almost salivated at the thought. Suddenly, the elven woman was talking about taking it exactly where it most wanted to go. For a moment, it dared to dream that it would finally get the revenge it so craved. 

Then Ivarr said, “Well, if you can’t disarm them, then why not destroy them?”

“That won’t work,” Altharia sighed. “I wish it would, but void runes like that would drink in the energy of any offensive spell I might cast on them, not just magic which is meant to dispel them.”

The blade’s relief was immense. Still, its traitorous wielder would not give up. “What about the stone?” Ivarr asked. “The runes only work if there’s still a door, there, right? Can you destroy the door, or even the wall it's attached to?”

The mage stood there with pursed lips for a second before she smiled and said, “I think I might be able to do something like that…”

The Ebon Blade could have cried out in frustration at the moment. Instead, it simply watched as the woman started to cast a more powerful spell than the gentle blue lights that characterized her last one. 

It took only a few seconds to realize that this one was the same one that she’d used on the ogre all those weeks ago. This time, though, it was close enough to see the rippling bands of glyphs expand around her as she sang the spell into being. 

For almost a minute, nothing happened except that the magic expanded, the weaves that blossomed around her became more complicated, and her song became more sonorous. Then, when she reached a crescendo, she stopped. When her words no longer existed to contain the forces she’d channeled, then were unleashed in a terrible crescendo of their own. 

While Altharia sang, the filthy cavern had pulsed with dancing lights in a dozen different shades of red, orange, and yellow. When she released it, though, all of that ethereal grace was washed away by a deep, violent red that slammed into the center of the door like a lance that was as thick as a tree. With a sound like a rushing river, it slammed into the stone door and bathed the walls around it on all sides with fire as it tried to force its way through.

Everyone else stepped back as the runes came to life once more, drinking in the light in their predictable pattern. This time, though, even as the hands started to appear the same way they had before, something important broke in the spell, and the dark runes vanished a second time beneath a tide of flame. 

They would not emerge again until the spell was done, and by then, all of the runes were glowing white and starting to melt. That superficial damage isn’t what had broken the spell, though. Even as the flames faded, the Ebon Blade could see what had happened. The elf had punched a hole through the door just as she had the ogre. This time, it was merely the size of an arm and not a tree trunk, given how hard the material was, but it was still enough to shatter several runes and knock the pieces to the floor. 

“Very impressive,” Dero said when the smoke cleared. “But how do we know it worked?”

“It worked,” Ivarr said, already moving into the reach of the magic. It was a rash move, but the blade agreed with it, so it didn’t try to hold him back. They’d found the tomb, and now, as soon as they found a mirror and broke it, they’d be out of there.

Nothing swarmed to attack its wielder, and though Ivarr had to use it to push the door open because the stone was much too hot for bare flesh, that didn’t pose a problem either. It swung open without a slight grating noise to reveal a dusty tunnel that went deeper into the mountain.