The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 27-30

This story continues to kill it on Royal Road. It's gotten to #3 on rising stars, which is an all time high score for me. So, I'm releasing some bonus chapters over there this weekend. One for top 10, one for top 5, and one for top 3. I hope I get the chance to release one more for getting the top spot in a couple days, but, well, we will see.

For now, enjoy some bonus chapters. Still a pile of new chapters to come on Monday like always.

Ch. 27 - A Trip to Town

The side trip annoyed the blade to a small degree, but it was only a few days lost, and each night that Ivarr lingered in the half-burned city, it could siphon from the Lifeforce of everyone who lingered nearby. 

In fact, since they were going to be there only a short time on this trip, it didn’t even attempt to do so in a way that spared the lives of those it touched. Instead, it latched on to the oldest men at the bar and the weakest men on the street in an attempt to murder them and drain their souls before Ivarr moved on with his day. 

On the first day there, in increased the strength of its drain from 2 to 3 so that It could use 25% of its drain strength, and after its second victim, it increased its reach to 4 to drain those that were sitting just a little too far away from its wielder in the places he lingered. 

Aura of Hunger:

Breadth  2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Affect up to seven people instead of five.
Reach     4 -> 5 - 1500 Life Energy - Reach up to nineteen feet away instead of seventeen.
Speed     2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Drain a target over twenty seconds instead of half a minute.
Strength 3 -> 4 - 700 Life Energy - Increase Aura of Hunger’s Drain from 27% of your Siphon to 25%. 

It seemed like an extravagant waste of Life Force, but the blade had been meaning to improve the ability for some time. It had proven invaluable when it was forced to make do in situations where there was no battle to be accomplished, and now that it could steal the souls of the humans it killed, it could truly feast. 

It did so with a modicum of moderation, though. No one cared when the beggar that loitered outside the inn where Ivarr dined at on the first night died. 

While its wielder turned in his bag of horns to be paid out in silver and copper, it feasted on the men behind him in line, and when one of them keeled over on the spot, everyone noticed, but no one associated it with Ivarr or the ugly cloth wrapped blade on his hip. 

Everything paused briefly while the body of the dead man was taken to the healers. After that was done, the bounty office clerk gave him five silvers for the pair of minotaur horns, one for each pair of beastman horns, and three coppers a piece for the ears. He was skeptical that Ivar had killed such a large beast, but there was no denying that they weren’t simple beastman horns.  

It was a tidy haul and more money than Ivarr had ever personally had before. “What should I do with all of it,” he asked the blade when he was in the street. 

Food and armor are all you require, for now, the blade answered. Spend the rest on whatever you like so long as we return to combat in the next day or two before you allow your edge to dull. 

Ivar did just that. Second-hand armor was easy enough to find with so many recently dead, and he got a good price on some mismatched studded leather that was only a little too big for him. He could grow into it. After that, the rest of the supplies were easy enough, and this time, he was able to afford more than a few stale loaves. 

On their last trip, all they’d had was that and meltwater, but this time, he would be going back out into the wild with a skin of wine, some fruit, a slab of salted meat, and hearty brown bread. It struck the blade as a little decadent, but with some hunting, they might be able to stay out two or even three weeks on their next outing. Ivarr had no idea how to use a bow, of course, but the blade could always teach him how to use a snare and…

Why would I know or care about snares and trapping, it wondered. Tracking, it understood, and it had taken that skill for granted. Tracking let you kill people. Trapping, though? It had no idea. 

The following night, he told his friends all about the easy parts of his first week when he bought them all a couple rounds of drinks to celebrate his successful first trip. They were spellbound by that tale, especially the part where the goblins had almost ambushed him in the middle of the night. 

No one interrupted him until all that was through, and he was talking about the old prospector who’d just keeled over at the bounty office. The most anyone said about it was when Sammel laughed and said, “Well, not everyone is tough like you. Being out of the city is hard on the body. Where do you even find a wench to warm your bed at night?”

“That’s what the goblins are really for!” Brik answered. Everyone roared with laughter at that before the conversation turned to other topics. 

There was one point in the night when a couple of Ivarr’s friends seemed like they were about to ask to go with him when he left. That was when he told them about the minotaur. Surprisingly, the blade didn’t even have to push him to do that, which told it everything it needed to know about its wielder’s desire for secrecy.

“You think this is easy?” he asked, slamming his almost empty mug on the table. “Nothing about fighting a minotaur was easy.”

Not everyone believed him, but they still listened to him spend several minutes recounting the battle without too much exaggeration. If anything, he’s playing it down somewhat, the blade decided as it listened. 

Ivarr told them about how long the battle took and how important it was to use the terrain, basically repeating some of the things his weapon had told him in the aftermath of the battle. What he didn’t tell them, though, was that his magical sword basically won the fight for him, which was all the Ebon Blade cared about. As long as that part stayed hidden, he was free to say whatever he wanted. 

“Oh yeah?” Hallen asked. “Was it easier or harder than the dragon you slew after that?”

“Dragon?” Ivarr asked, confused. “I didn’t kill any dragons.”

“Really? Because I was sure if you were out there killing Minotaurs instead of beastmen, that wouldn’t be a problem for a warrior of your caliber.” Hallen continued. 

All his friends laughed at him this time, and the blade could sense its wielder’s hurt feelings, but the man didn’t get defensive. He just said, “Well, its horns paid for your drinks and the armor I’m wearing. So, you can believe whatever you like.”

His friends wouldn’t let that go so easily, which was funny because they’d all had dreams of being warriors themselves, and they’d all been too afraid to chase them when the time came. Unfortunately, that conversation was all it took to make sure that after its wielder struck out with the barmaid, who didn’t believe the minotaur story any more than most of his friends. 

She’d been interested in its wielder initially when he’d bought drinks and laughed about fighting goblins in his underwear. Unfortunately, no one could take him seriously as a slayer of terrible beasts yet, it would seem. 

They will, though, the blade thought to itself as the night came to an end. Ivarr left the city the next day, all alone. He did so with two weeks of supplies, some second-hand armor that mostly fit him, and no idea that both people staying in the room next door to his were stone dead.

“Next time, I’ll bring back the head of a griffon,” he told himself on the way out of the west gate. Then everyone will believe me. 

In time, no one will be able to doubt you, the blade agreed. Your skill is increasing noticeably, and I’m certain you could take any of those other men in a fight, even with a normal blade.

“Yeah, but why would I want to fight my friends?” Ivarr asked. 

You might fight them for sport, the blade suggested. You might deal with them to show them that you really are the warrior you boast about. Or, perhaps one day, you might find that they aren’t the friends you thought they were. You have a few silvers in your pocket now. Men have been killed for less. 

Ivarr insisted that wasn’t the case. “Brik? Hallen? None of them would ever betray me like that.” 

The blade said nothing. It considered pointing out that none of them had been brave enough to join him when he’d planned to leave the safety of the city the first time, but decided against it. 

In its mind, letting their friend go to an uncertain fate alone while chickening out themselves was tantamount to letting its wielder die already. It wouldn’t let that happen, though. It did not wish to be wielded by a monster again, so it would ensure that Ivarr lasted longer than Ren or Kell had. The young man might not have the heart to lead the war of vengeance it craved, but he had heart, and that counted for a lot.   

Instead of worrying about such petty dramas, it focused on the path ahead. It was back to just under 600 Life Force after feasting on the boy’s neighbors and the other men in the common room last night. It would get the other upgrades it craved, and soon. 

Ch. 28 - Day After Day

This time, Ivarr aimed to go deeper into the mountains. Rather than stay on the slopes where he could still see the city, he aimed for the closest ridge and, eventually, the valleys beyond. That journey was a slow one, though. It should have taken three days to reach that point, but each day, they found something to kill, and that slowed them down. 

On that first night, it was a handful of goblins. They attempted to ambush him while he was cooking dinner. They were ended swiftly. Ivarr got eight ears to show for it, and the Ebon Blade received 126 Life Force after it burned all of their lesser souls. That wasn’t huge progress, but there also hadn’t been any substantial risk, either. 

The second night, as they reached the tree line, though, the smoke from their campfire drew something much worse. This time, Ivarr had already gone to bed, and the blade was using the time to contemplate what it knew of its existence when it noticed movement at the hazy limits of its own strange perception.

At first, the blade thought that the hulking form that barged out of the shadows was a grizzly bear. It was only when it screeched that it realized its mistake. It was an owlbear, and Ivarr only just had time to get to his feet before the thing dashed through his fire, sending embers everywhere. 

The battle that followed was brief and vicious. The blade assisted its wielder, but unlike the fight with the minotaur, it didn’t simply take control. The lad suffered for that and incurred a couple deep wounds that healed almost instantly, but in the end, thanks to using the trunks of the pine trees around him as cover. 

+1 Life Force.

+16 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

Ivarr wasn’t strong enough to parry the thing’s terrible talons or its razor beak, but he was quick enough to dart from tree to tree, letting it spend its strength on ripping away bark and smashing wood to flinders before lashing out with a quick thrust and retreating again. 

+1 Life Force.

+19 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

The fight only took a few minutes, but the blade had no doubt that it was the drain effects of its own strange magic that won the day. None of the wounds that its wielder had inflicted were deep enough to do real damage, and it had felt only muscle and fat on the thrusts that penerated the creature’s hide. Its wielder had never struck bone or organs in his efforts. The blood was only just starting to accumulate on the churned earth that had once been their campsite when the seven-foot-tall beast finally keeled over. 

That gave the blade its second greater monster soul, but even that was not enough to stop it from berating Ivarr for failing to follow through properly. Each blow you made could have been your last if the tree you hid behind hadn’t held, it reminded its wielder. You should have made more of each strike. The only way to kill beasts of the size you seek is through blood loss or a vital strike.

The young man had clearly been expecting praise and was visibly disappointed when he didn’t get it. The Ebon Blade had considered it but decided he had a ways to go before a compliment was justified. Instead, it followed that conversation up with the suggestion that they should establish camp far from the corpse once he’d taken its beak. 

Still, once Ivarr was on the move, it was able to happily reflect on the events. Despite bleeding over a dozen Life Energy from the wounds that had sliced right through the young man’s armor and nicked his ribs, it was over 850 Life Force now, and it had another greater monster soul. 

That was how their second expedition into the mountains went. The days were mostly quiet, but almost every night was punctuated with some form of violence. That only intensified when they reached the first valley, where they found signs that an ogre or a hill giant lived somewhere near there. 

They spent four days there, avoiding the lair of the giant beast as they searched for other, more manageable targets. They spent four days hunting small bands of goat men, and once, they found a den of angry kobolds. Those tiny lizards were no challenge at all, which was good because Ivarr wasn’t even sure if there was a proper bounty on them.

+99 Life Force
+10 lesser monster souls

“I mean, I’ve heard of them, but I didn’t think they lived near Kalraka,” Ivarr said as he decided to take their long tails as trophies. 

Kobolds exist anywhere man isn’t, the blade said. If we go much further, I’m sure you’ll find even stranger things, too. 

It almost immediately regretted making that statement because only two hours later, they found a dryad. Well, really, the dryad found them. The leaf-clad woman was more wood than flesh, and it was impossible not to hear her coming as she crashed through the woods they were exploring like a storm wind. That one surprised the blade, given how rare they were in its experience. 

It couldn’t remember if it had actually fought one before or if it had only heard about them. It didn’t matter. Her thick bark skin protected her only slightly more than its surprise from its icy touch, and she went down fast. Even better, when she died, she yielded up another greater monster soul, so it didn’t mind. 

Of all the creatures so far that they’d fought, she was the strangest. That was doubly true when she wilted and blacked after she died. 

To the Ebon Blade, her existence was even stranger than the dragon it had already slain, if only for the wounds she left on its wielder. For the next three days, Ivarr’s wounds drained its Life Force levels, keeping them just below 1000 when it should have been above 1100. 

That was frustrating, but for once, he didn’t blame or begrudge its wielder the energy. It had no idea that the creature they’d fought had left seeds in the ugly slashing wounds she’d left on him with her wooden claws. They tried to sprout for days despite its healing, and eventually, Ivarr had to strip to the waist and dig them out with his knife one bloody abscess at a time as he plucked the seedlings free. 

Still, in spite of that, he insisted on continuing. “I’m not going back empty-handed this time,” he promised the blade. “This time, when I tell my story, everyone will believe me.”

The blade considered warning the young man about the dangers of pride but decided against it. Pride was the prerogative of young men. Rather than do that, it warned him that the farther we stray from civilization, the more likely we are to find creatures that consider you to be the prey rather than a hunter, the blade cautioned him. Remember that. 

Ivarr promised that he would, and the further they went, the more his life depended on it. They quickly left beast men behind and moved on to other, more dangerous monsters. This was orc country, and they, along with the animals that preyed on them, were even more dangerous than anything that Ivarr had seen so far. 

The first time he saw a group of them, he didn’t even engage. He simply hid in the bushes and waited for them to pass. That might not have been the bravery that the blade was used to seeing, but in this case it was the wise choice. 

It thought that the odds he’d be able to take five of them were pretty low. Their weapons were crude, but each of them was a head taller than he was, and the way their olive skin rippled with muscles made it clear that they could split him in two with those crude stone weapons without too much trouble. 

When the manticore flew over them on their third afternoon in that wild place, the blade even suggested that they head back. It couldn’t see it as more than a smudge in the sky, of course, but once its wielder had finished describing it, it was sure. 

That beast is bigger than a wagon, and if it catches your scent, it will devour you without much difficulty, it explained. 

Its wielder said nothing, but it could fear Ivarr’s fear in that moment. They never fought the manticore or even the wyvern they saw the following day. Their final opponent before they returned was a pair of orcs. More than anything, it was those two that convinced Ivarr he’d got too deep into the wild places. One bore only a giant club, while the other had a stone-tipped spear and a hide shield. 

Neither of them was half the warrior that Ivarr was, either, and yet they both almost killed the man. Once, when he attempted to parry the club and misjudged the strength of the blow, he paid for it by breaking half a dozen ribs. That knocked Ivarr off his feet and, worse, sent the Ebon blade flying from his hand. That would have been the end for him, except for the two brutes laughed about it long enough for its wielder to crawl across the ground and seize the blade again. 

-8 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

As Ivarr lay there gasping, his injuries were extensive, and he drained thirty-four life force in seconds just to regain his footing. Even then, though, he didn’t run. Instead, he charged, dealing several heedless blows to his surprised opponents. 

-34 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

Surprise only lasts a moment, though, and he outstayed that window, taking a spear through the guts as a result. Even that didn’t stop him. The blade was almost proud of him for that. It would have been if it wasn’t watching its Life Force totals go down in real-time as he charged up the spear to hack his opponent to pieces. 

+18 Life Force.

-13 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

-15 Life Force.

The pain was so bad that the blade could feel it passing through the link that the two of them shared, but in spite of that, the young man never wavered. He just turned to the second opponent, dodged the first strike with the club, and then impaled the giant green bastard through the heart.  

+16 Life Force.

-15 Life Force.

+1 Life Force.

The orc struggled after that, but as long as Ivarr refused to let go, there was little it could do. It cast its weapon aside and tried to run, but it couldn’t escape Ivarr any more than its wielder could escape the spear in his belly. 

When its most vital organ stopped and froze while the Ebon Blade leached every last drop of life from it, the orc fell over backward, taking Ivarr with it. For a few seconds, all he could do was lay there gasping as he gripped the hilt like his life depended on it.  

+14 Life Force.

-6 Life Force.

+2 Life Force.

“You’re right,” he gasped after he removed the spear and lay on the ground, healing. “I might have a little more learning to do before we come back here.”

The blade didn’t respond. The best lessons were the ones that were learned the hard way, and there was nothing like being gutted to learn something for the rest of your life. 

Ch. 29 - An Abundance of Trophies

The way back to Kalraka was much less eventful than the trip into the wilderness had been. They saw what might have been a griffon in the distance once, though the Ebon Blade thought it was more likely to be a giant eagle or even a condor. It was hard to say since it couldn’t see things very well fifty feet away, let alone five hundred feet in the air. 

The beast didn’t see them, though, which was the more important part of the encounter, and Ivarr continued through the valley and down the slope unmolested. The only monsters they had to fight on the way back were goblins. The ugly little scavengers were drawn to the foul smell of Ivarr’s sack of rotting trophies, but even that wasn’t enough to make him ditch his loot. 

+87 Life Force
+6 lesser monster souls

The monsters made for easy Life Force, and it burned their souls almost as soon as it captured them, but they were unsatisfying things. The more they fought, the more its appetite grew, and the more it craved greater challenges and the rewards that came with them. 

“This stuff will be worth a fortune when we get back to town,” its wielder told the blade confidently. “Besides. If I don’t show everyone what it is I killed, they won’t believe me this time either.”

The blade didn’t disagree with either point. It was just glad it didn’t have a sense of smell. While it was certain that no one smelled good in the woods after a couple of weeks of camping rough, the idea of carrying around rotting flesh struck it as grotesque and reminded it of the goblin lair it had briefly spent time in. 

This time, Ivar returned to a hero’s welcome. Though one of his friends vomited at the sight of the owlbear head and the worms that were writhing in its empty eye sockets, no one accused him of making up his triumphs a second time. 

Immediately after that, they went to the bounty office and turned in the bits of creatures. While he was not happy to see Ivarr and his foul sack, he was impressed by the monstrous things it contained. 

“An owlbear, huh? Orcs, too?” he asked after a low whistle. “Not something you see every day in these parts. You should be careful if you go too deep in the mountains, lad. People that go that far don’t always come back, ya’ hear?”

That warning was followed by a lecture on how he didn’t need to bring back so much rotting flesh. “An ear, a tusk, or a beak would suffice. I don’t need the whole stinkin’ head!”

Ivarr flushed at that, and as soon as he could get a word in edgewise, he promised him he’d be more careful. It was a lie as soon as he said it, but it was even less true when the bounty master paid him out in gold as well as silver this time. 

That gold was the first of Ivarr’s life, and though it was nothing compared to the amount of gold the blade had left behind on Kell’s mule, it was still impressive. It would be more than enough to upgrade his gear and buy whatever supplies he wanted. 

Well, within reason. They actually stopped to look at a merchant’s shop that was reputed to sell enchanted jewelry, but even the least of his trinkets was fifty gold, and no one outside the army could afford such things. Some of them claimed to double a mans strength, but the shifty eyes shopkeeper wouldn’t let him so much as touch them to test the veracity of those claims. 

Still, it was enough to make the blade wonder how such magic worked. How do I increase my wielder’s strength, it asked itself. It didn’t know, but it know that it did. It made Ivarr faster and stronger than he had any right to be, but if they could find a way to make him even stronger… Well, then they might be able to deal with the next minotaur on more even footing.  

Instead of trying to buy something so pricey, he settled for new and improved armor made from his shredded set of leathers. That night, they celebrated his victory a second time with drinks. This time, a couple of his friends asked to join him, but Ivarr needed no urging to turn them down on his own. 

“You saw what rough shape my armor is in, right?” he asked. “It's dangerous out there. I don’t want to see you guys get hurt.”

“Well, you always come back more or less fine,” Brik asked. “What’s your secret?”

“I move fast and quiet and take them down before they even know I’m there,” he lied smoothly. “There’s no way I could pull that off in a large group.” 

The other young men believed the lie, but they were disappointed by the statement. After that, they spent much of the night discussing whether or not they should sign up with one of the mercenary companies in the area, not that the army was starting to move. 

While Ivarr didn’t exactly discourage them, his most recent trip had shown him just how dangerous the wilds, could be, and he encouraged them to practice their sword fighting first. He even offered to help them practice while he was in town. However, as he was starting to explain his sword fighting exercises to the group and offering to spar with them, he was distracted from that idea as soon as the same pretty young barmaid who hadn’t given him the time of day the last time he was here expressed interest in him.

“So you really are a monster slayer after all,” she murmured in his ear after hearing about his other triumphs. “Perhaps I owe you a very personal and private apology…” After that, the previous topic of conversion was forgotten, and he quickly left his friends alone and went upstairs for a different sort of conquest. 

That was a momentous first in the life of the young man, but the fact that the blade couldn’t block out their rutting annoyed it more than it should have. It spent hours just looking out the window and thinking about what they could kill on their next trip in an effort to avoid it, but that was only halfway successful. 

Something about the moment resonated with some of its blurriest memories of Baraga. When Ivarr decided to stay a second night to wait for his armor to be repaired and upgraded with better-fitting greaves and a half chest plate of bronze, the blade knew he was really staying because of his desire for a second tryst. 

Although the blade certainly didn’t disagree that its owner needed to be better outfitted for the challenges that lay ahead, it wasn’t a fool. It knew that the reason he lingered was because of the warm bed and the soft touch of the fairer sex. 

The Ebon Blade considered killing her that second night and on several of the nights that followed as their one-night stay stretched on for a week. It wouldn’t even be hard. She was there half of the nights Ivarr stayed and showered his friends with silver. It wouldn’t have even taken a whole night for the blade to drain her dry, leaving Ivarr to wake up in the morning to a rapidly cooling corpse. 

It was hesitant because of the effect that such a death was likely to have on the young man, but in the end that wasn’t what stopped it. It wasn’t until it figured out that she was simply there for its wielder’s money, and that as his coin purse shrank she became less interested that it stayed its hand. It probably should have warned him, but he wouldn’t have listened. These things were best learned the hard way. 

It resisted, though it did vow to kill her if Ivarr suddenly lost heart in their quest to slay monsters. If anything, though, it increased his drive. 

The young man associated the only success he’d ever had with women with his victories, and not the coins they had brought him. So, logical or not, some primitive part of his mind told him that he would have even more success with women if he bested more fearsome creatures. 

That was probably true, but any thoughts in that vein made it think of its first wielder, and it quickly dismissed those painful memories. As much as it wanted the answers to certain questions, remembering the man, instead of the reasons for the man’s betrayal and eventual death, were something it shied away from for reasons it couldn’t put its finger on. 

Those mental wars increased its desire to fix its soul again, but it resisted. Even if it had 5,000 Life Force, which was more than it was capable of holding, that would have been the wrong move. 

Now that it was actively gaining greater monster souls, nothing was more important than continuing to upgrade its soul storage. It would have been a bitter irony if it finally got thirty or forty but could not store all fifty it needed. 

Fortunately, even though its wielder was wasting the week, he was doing so in public places, allowing it to drain from passerbyers, and it was rapidly closing in on 3,000 Life Force. Before the next full moon, it would achieve 3,500 Life Force again, and when it did, it would spend it on Increased Storage 9. 

There was no way of knowing exactly how much that would increase its storage, but 5,000 Life Force and 36 souls seemed likely. That was still far from its goal, but it would be enough for a few more expeditions at their current rate. 

How am I ever going to get to 50 souls, though? The blade wondered. As it did the math, it realized that at the rate it was going, it would have to get to Increased Storage 13 or something, which would be insanely expensive. 3500 Life Force was expensive enough as it was. 

Still, as long as its wielder was lingering, it had all the time in the world to think about it. Unfortunately, that time was poorly spent, and it discovered no new answers. 

If you linger too long, your fledgling skills will begin to rust, the blade reminded him on the eighth day. You’ll never claim a griffon’s skull like you promised your lady if that happens. 

“You heard that?” its wielder asked, flushing as he suddenly realized all the other things the blade must have heard. “We’ll get back to it soon, I promise. I’m just waiting on my armor. Then when can go.”

The blade almost laughed at that, but it held back. If its wielder was still bashful enough to think that a woman that had all but drained him dry cared about his accomplishments, then he still had a long ways to go.

Ch. 30 - An Interesting Offer

True to his word, they made plans to leave on the following day. However, on their last day in the city, it was not Ivarr’s friends that held him up, or even the woman that he spent his nights with. The blade had not bothered to learn her name because it didn’t think that the names of prostitutes mattered.  

Instead, it was the army itself that stopped him as he was heading out. Both of them briefly worried that they’d discovered the young man’s secret. The Ebon Blade could feel that fear coursing through its wielder as the lieutenant invited him to sit down for a drink, but both of them were way off base. Instead, they just wanted information. 

“I hear you’re a young monster hunter in the making,” the serious man said. 

He had a touch of gray in his mustache and was obviously a veteran. If he’d been a few years younger, then the blade would have considered him to be the ideal wielder. At least, that was the case until it noticed the double griffon in the man’s coat of arms. Something about that symbol soured its previous impression and left it hoping the man would choke to death on the half-finished meal in front of him. 

“I’m getting there,” Ivarr admitted with more caginess than humility. “But I’ve got a long way to go yet.”

“Nonsense,” the lieutenant said. “The bounty office gave me your name personally. Old man Naves is rarely wrong about these things. Said he’s surprised someone as young as you could take down an owlbear without a scratch.”

“Well, without a scratch is a bit generous,” Ivarr answered, rubbing his head nervously. “I was just out in the field for weeks. I just healed a bit before I got back, that’s all.”

“Well, either way, I think you’d make a hell of a scout,” the officer said, taking a bite of sausage. “What do you think? We’ll be moving in force soon into the mountains to clear out any lingering beastmen with a punitive force so they can never threaten Kalraka again. I could use a man like you. Hell, I could use three, but we take what we can get.”

Ivarr hesitated, blindsided by the offer. So, the blade stepped up. Ask him what it pays.  

“That sounds, uhm… interesting…” Ivarr said. The blade could sense that his first impulse had been to agree and try to get his friends on board as well, which would have been a terrible decision. He had no idea how poorly the militaries of most lands paid, and as a lightly armed scout, he’d be lucky to get a tenth of what he was making on his own. “What would a man like me be worth to you?”

“Well…” the officer hesitated, taking a drink from his frothy beer to buy a moment to think. “For someone of your obvious talent, I think that four silver marks a week should be sufficient.”

Both Ivarr and the blade quickly did the math and came to the same conclusion. Four silvers a week wasn’t quite a gold a month. It was a lot of money, but far less than what he’d made on his last trip. He’d come back with nearly two and a half gold in three weeks, which meant that this would be a two-thirds pay cut at least. 

The surface thoughts on Ivarr’s mind flicked from how light his coin purse was now to the busty barmaid and back again as his choice solidified. Suddenly, the blade was happier than ever that he hadn’t killed that woman. 

“I’m sorry,” Ivarr said finally. “I appreciate your generous offer, but I think I’ll keep doing what I’m doing for now. If that changes, I’ll ask for you at the bounty agent.”

“Just like that?” the lieutenant balked. “No haggling? Nothing?”

It only occurred to Ivarr that he could haggle in that moment. The blade had known that, but it knew he’d never get that number high enough to make it worthwhile. The only real advantage to such a switch would be the food, but since the blade couldn’t taste that, it didn’t really care. 

Perhaps finding a way to get its wielder killed so that it could find a way to trade up to someone with real power and authority would be. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help it get the greater monster souls it craved. It only had four now, and it needed forty-six more before it considered any change in tactics. So, for better or worse, Ivarr was growing on it. He was a young, dumb kid, but he was earnest and talented. 

The two talked a little while longer, and as a consolation prize, Ivarr offered to trade some current information on mountains for dinner and a few coppers. The lieutenant accepted that. There was no reason he shouldn’t; it was almost as good as getting the scout himself and at a much lower cost. Ivarr was too young and guileless to understand that, though, and the blade opted not to correct him. Instead, it listened to the conversation while the two of them ate and drank while poring over maps before its wielder was on its way. 

“Do you think I should try to kill that ogre this time?” the young man asked when they were alone and well outside of the east gate. 

I think that fighting an ogre is the very last thing you should do, the blade answered after a moment’s consideration. The thing lives to eat orcs and other similarly sized creatures. How do you think you would fare against it when you struggle to fight the things it eats regularly? 

“Good point,” Ivarr admitted. “But how would you fight such a thing?”

With magic, from far away, the blade said, half as a joke, as it remembered the way that Baraga moved as he took down his first dragon. When fighting something similar to you or against multiple opponents, you must not over-commit for flexibility. When you are fighting something that is several times stronger than you will ever be, though, you must go for a single decisive strike that will end the fight before it can end you. 

“Does an ogre even have such a weak spot?” its wielder asked skeptically. 

All things have such a weak spot. Even dragons do, the blade explained. In the case of a dragon, the thin rear wall of the eye socket or the ear allows for a strike directly into the brain, but for ogres, there are more options. There’s the heart, the spine, and the tendons of the foot and leg. They have the same vulnerabilities as you do, they can just crush you into paste before you can exploit them. 

The two of them spent the day talking about anatomy that day as they began to climb the foothills once more. It was only in this conversation that it realized it had dramatically overestimated what its wielder knew about anatomy. 

Ivarr knew that things had some vital points, like hearts and eyes, and that if you struck at them, you might kill them, but that was about it. Organs, blood loss, and everything else was a complete mystery to the young man. 

“You stab things enough times, and they die,” he said simply. “What else is there to know?”

There were many, many other things to know, so the blade started with the most vascular organs, like the liver, and then worked its way out from there. The two of them spent a great deal of time discussing the best ways to penetrate the rib cage, and then they went on to discuss the fragility of joints. The blade didn’t bother to try to explain the differences between what it felt like to slice through ligament or a tendon, and other things he could never hope to understand. Otherwise, though, he did his best to explain things to its wielder in the hope it would make his strikes that much more decisive.  

When a trio of beast men attacked them near dusk, they even did a little dissection after Ivarr made quick work of them so that he could see what it was he was striking at. That’s when he finally understood what the blade was trying to teach it. 

It was one thing to know what a main artery was, but it was another thing to see it cut with intention and watch the target collapse almost in an instant. 

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” Ivarr asked, both grateful and annoyed by the revelations, as he sat by a small campfire and pulled his cloak around him tighter. 

Honestly? The blade asked. I thought you knew. I thought this was common knowledge. 

“Maybe if you’re a veteran or a butcher?” the young man guessed, “But the only anatomy I ever learned was how to make kegs and barrels.”

The blade didn’t comment on that. It didn’t need to. Instead, it wondered how it knew these things. Did I always know them, or did I learn them through combat, it wondered. 

There was no doubt that it saw the world differently than the man that wielded it. It felt the impact of flesh and bone along its length. It knew the difference between a mortal blow and a flesh wound just by the feeling of the flesh it slid through. Still, the gap was clearly an oversight because of its assumptions, and it would have to correct it if the boy was ever to reach his full potential.