Shardrunes

[Voidknight Ascension] Chapter 64: The Dagger

Added 2023-09-21 13:00:03 +0000 UTC

Sam rushed at the trio, aiming for Kai first, because he was the biggest threat. As he fought, using only hands and feet out of fairness, Sam wondered about how he could use Void mana more effectively.

He had already used [Void: Surge] once and while it felt absolutely broken in terms of strength, it nearly wiped out all of his MP from channeling it for two seconds.

A third or more of his MP per second was too high a cost to use in any but the direst of circumstances. And while [Scour] was useful, it was also difficult to control.

Without a Void affinity—which seemed criminal—he struggled to use it properly. The rarity of his Void mana seemed less to do with his power over the Apocalyptic mana and more to do with just how obscenely powerful the mana itself was.

It never seemed to dawn on Sam that as he parried, countered, and dodged their attacks, that he could spend the majority of his concentration on ways to improve his Void mana control instead of the fight in front of him.

That was until he gained his first Tactic. Sam was so stunned by what he saw that Matt’s clumsy attack slipped through and Sam went tumbling to the ground on a wave of water.

Tactic Learned: [Rolling Strikes]

[Rolling Strikes]

(Battle Tactic)

Whenever you employ this Tactic, you gain a stacking damage buff for the last damage type you attacked with. If you have not recently attacked, then your current damage type gains the stacking buff. You can only have (1) Tactic up at once, canceling or changing Tactics resets the stacking buff to zero.

Sam got up with a smile on his face. Now that he finally had a Tactic, he had something to test out while sparring.

“Why is he smiling like that?” Matt asked. “I don’t like it.”

With a shower of sparks, Sam drew his [Charred Claymore]. “Got a new toy to test out,” he explained.

***

Simon sharpened his Dagger, listening with one ear to the chatter and clatter of his “guests” below.

Some of those people clumsily trained, practicing against one another. It was a sad showing, truth be told. Then again, they were too mixed. Scouts and Fighters and Mages all needed different training.

Even Simon could see that.

They were probably trying to increase their weaponry skills to have a better chance of surviving the next monster encounter.

Simon doubted it would make much of a difference.

This Skyshard, as it was called, was much more than he had expected.

It was larger than his house in the Hamptons, which was a tough metric to beat.

For a moment, his old life flooded back to him. The Financial District, meetings with people who made backroom deals worth millions of dollars as if it was nothing, and the thrill of destroying any and all competition for the sheer joy of it.

New York had been Simon’s hunting ground, finances and business deals, his weapons.

With a handshake and a few well-spoken words from a handsome young white man, he could end careers and doom thousands to poverty.

But it all paled in comparison to the true power he now wielded. Killing people for sport was looked down upon by “civilized” society.

Here? Here he was rewarded for culling the herd. How hilariously civilized people were when they no longer had access to food or water, and they were set adrift in a sea of unending change.

His first cohort had immediately torn itself apart before the wild boars charged into their camp. Three people died in the first few hours.

Simon had tried to adapt, to hold to the ethos of his past life. Killing was not allowed there, after all.

Then he realized the truth.

Nobody could stop him.

Those that could, earned that right. And those that could not, deserved to die.

It was as simple as that.

There were no laws here. No cops, FBI, or security guards. The person who was alone roasting a hunk of meat was just as fair game as the bandit looking to waylay unsuspecting people.

Nobody was innocent.

Push anybody hard enough and they snapped. He had learned that the hard way when one of his “friends” had pushed him in front of a charging boar just to save his own pathetic life.

When nobody came to his aid, even after the boar trampled his left leg and shattered it like glass, Simon knew his old life was dead and buried.

He had survived, but those who betrayed him had not. Simon did not mourn their loss in the least.

Even with only one leg, he managed to kill the boars and triumph. The rest of his cohort was gone, but some of the dead in the clearing had health potions on them. He never did figure out why.

They had clearly hoarded them without any intention of letting the others know.

That was fine by Simon. With his leg marvelously healed and a heap of EXP for killing the boars solo, he quickly catapulted through the first couple of levels.

He couldn’t help but grin, recalling that addictive wave of power.

But what truly had set him apart from the dregs of society was the Dagger. He had found it buried in a moss-covered skeleton’s ribcage. The blood-red jewel in its pommel seemed to call his name.

With the Dagger, he heard a voice. A whisper that told him how he could attain power so that he would never be hurt again.

The next animals he met were easily dispatched with bow and arrow, but he always preferred to get up and close with the Dagger for the kill. There was absolutely nothing on Earth like the rush of a good clean kill.

He didn’t need to take any unnecessary damage with bow and arrow. And he became skilled at taking a target down to near-death so he could finish it off with the Dagger. That way, he could preserve whatever healing potions he found.

Arrows were difficult to come by though. Until he started hunting people.

All the call girls and coke in the world paled in comparison to the surge of a level up. It was like being struck by lightning!

He hunted down his former cohort, resolving to go solo. He had seen what happened when the shit hit the fan and people were around. He didn’t need them. They were a liability at best, and treacherous snakes at worst.

Simon and the Dagger relished each of the kills.

It was all the sweeter when he realized that they gave far more EXP than a similar animal of that level. Perhaps it was the new world’s way of saying “hey, humans are pretty dangerous, have some more EXP for taking out the garbage!” and Simon was more than glad to do it.

The loot was pretty bad. Most people only had starting gear, so Simon could only replace what was broken with similar rarity, but as he crept through the island, he came upon a brilliant tactic.

Keeping to the higher branches in the trees, he watched as groups of people took on monstrous forms of common creatures from Earth. Deer, elk, badgers, snakes, spiders, all several times their usual size and strength.

The fights were usually messy and hectic since so few people in modern times knew how to swing a sword or draw a bow, much less use magic or keep their cool during combat.

Hell, most people struggled to get up to change the channel if their remote broke.

They were all too easy to dispatch once they were finished with the monsters. Simon saw it as a win-win. He got the extra loot and EXP they gained from the monsters, on top of what the humans gave.

And as far as he was concerned, the fewer humans there were, the better.

Strength was the only rule of the land now, and he would make sure he came out on top.

It soon became clear that killing weaklings who were too scared to fight even a single monster without their whole cohort to help corral it was a losing strategy.

Once he hit level 5, killing people half his level barely seemed to give anything. And the Dagger grew agitated with such easy kills. It craved challenge, contest.

It needed to strive.

And Simon yearned for the same. He felt stifled, surrounded by so many low levels.

So, he tracked monsters and stronger people, those who had gained unique abilities, spells, and even some pretty choice equipment.

You didn’t go out hunting squirrels when you could take on a lion. Not unless you were a coward. And Simon accounted himself as no coward.

There was always the possibility that those weaklings would eventually level up enough and become powerful challenges later.

If he killed everybody he met, there’d be nobody to play with later.

He met a few people, usually of the friendly sort. Those he let live for the most part, unless they had some good loot on them.

Not out of the kindness of his heart, but because what was the point? Besides being utterly alone, killing everybody you met had a way of biting you in the ass when their bodies were found. But if somebody stumbled across a group of bodies near some dead monsters… well, nobody would think twice, would they?

And that made Simon’s job a whole lot easier.

You didn’t slaughter lambs. You let them grow up until they were fat and rich.

Which was exactly what he planned for his present company. Maybe he’d even take them out hunting to get some levels. Fatten them up.

It was what a good shepherd would do.

He put on the affable city-boy persona he had worn so well back on Earth. Ask questions, probe, reveal nothing, and do it all with a smile.

And most of all, radiate keen interest.

People were selfish pricks. They wanted nothing more than to talk about themselves. Simon let them. And in turn, he learned a great deal.

He had made the mistake of being ensnared by Darren’s illusion magic, and once he broke free, he got out of there as fast as possible. Not before stealing a key to one of the Skyshards and stabbing a few people, of course.

Turnabout was fair play. The bastards sure deserved it.

At least he only killed people.

Darren manipulated and abused them, toyed with them.

Without his voodoo, Darren would have been the perfect mark. He talked all the time. Gladly giving up valuable information and gloating about it all the while.

Once he realized that going after Darren was impossible with his current skill set, he had gone out on his own.

And who should show up but the ex-members of Darren’s little cohort that he ranted and raved about so often?

It was serendipity.

Simon welcomed them with open arms and would learn all they had to offer before setting them against Darren’s group.

Then he could clean up the stragglers and move on to his next mark. The man that Kale wouldn’t shut up about.

The man that the Dagger thirsted for. It wouldn’t shut up about drinking Sam’s blood.

If he was half as strong as Kale made him seem, then Simon would finally face somebody worthy of his—and the Dagger’s—time.

He looked down at the rocky outcrop he was sitting on and realized his hands had been idle for too long.

Sam Hunter was carved into the stone over and over again. Simon hastily carved it out, chastising the Dagger.

He could not let his guard slip. Not even for a second. It was a powerful ally, but it would steal control from him if he let it.

Business first, then leisure, he reminded himself.

Darren would pay. Not just because he had ensnared him in his illusions, but because he saw a glimpse of the real Simon. And that he could not allow.