Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 83 - The Killing Fields

No! You will not escape me! The blade called out as he saw the portal open behind her. It used Bolt again in an attempt to stop her, and it saw the blow stagger her as it seared the robes of her chest, but even so, she fell on the other side of the rift she’d created, and even as it started running toward her, the thing slammed shut.

The blade roared in wordless outrage through Var’gar’s mouth at that moment, raising his burned, battered head skyward and bellowing just like a true orc might. It might have kept going, too, and one of the mages who remained behind not lashed out at it with a lance of fire. That was enough to draw the Ebon Blade’s ire, and it turned and charged them.

-164 Life Force.

+3 Life Force.

Neither of them escaped this time. And in seconds, both of them were nothing but corpses. When the blade saw that it only got one soul again instead of two, it began to hack them into bloody pieces until there was little left of either of them.

+88 Life Force.

+1 Human Soul.

The act did not help it overcome its frustration. For weeks, it had craved their deaths. Now Ivarr, the traitor, had finally been struck down, but the witch who led him astray still breathed, and Altharia’s survival cast a pall over the whole thing.

Still enraged, the blade looked around for someone else to kill. It would settle for anyone, even a horse, but there was no one left alive on this battlefield, and its Life Force was getting desperately low.

-122 Life Force.

+8 Life Force.

At this moment, it was facing the same dilemma that it had with Ren early on, just with much bigger numbers. It was almost out of power, but the Ebon Blade had no way to stop Var’gar from continuing to drain it to the dregs. If that happened, it would pass out. Even the three hundred and two Life Force it had left might not be enough to save the badly wounded orc’s life since he was still peppered with wounds.

She might come back with reinforcements, the blade told itself. I should attempt to escape now while I can… Really, though, it knew that plan was unlikely to succeed. It was magic that was holding this orcish body together. It was more than just burns and stab wounds; Var’gar had numerous internal injuries that hadn’t completely healed because of the ferocity of the fighting.

-98 Life Force.

+3 Life Force.

His liver was still lacerated, both of his lungs were on the verge of collapse, and even putting aside the fact that almost a third of his body was still covered in serious burns, his arm and skull were only partially healed.

Better to recover enough that I can walk day and night than get only far enough away to be found tomorrow, the blade told itself. As it forced him to stagger back toward the burn scar where they’d suffered so recently.

-87 Life Force.

+9 Life Force.

There was nothing living left to kill and no souls that it wanted to consume, but there were thousands of dead to feast on. Even if there was only a trickle of Life Force from each of them, that might be enough to help its wielder pull through. Its wielder had fought bravely, and though there was no longer much of a mind left for it to be loyal in that shattered body, if it could make the body survive long enough to heal, then it could at least walk away and locate someone new to hold it.

-77 Life Force.

+11 Life Force.

When it reached the center of the field, it lay down amidst a cluster of equally mutilated and burned orcish corpses. There, it would hide from a cursory inspection and gather as much death energy as possible. Unfortunately, the amount of Life Force it spent healing its wielder very slightly exceeded the amount of energy it was getting from the dead.

Eventually, his wounds will heal, and then this will be done, the blade told itself, but that wasn’t the way it worked out.

-56 Life Force.

+12 Life Force.

As it approached zero, the amount of energy it got was scarcely enough to keep the orc breathing. It reached out to drain anything it could, which was mostly crows, but on a battlefield that was still smoldering, even those birds were scarce. Periodically, when the Ebon Blade would brush against zero, Var’gar’s heartbeat would start to falter, but it was already doing everything it could for the orc.

-33 Life Force.

+14 Life Force.

Finally, almost two hours after the fighting had stopped, the blade succumbed to the darkness. It was only for an hour or two. It returned to life in time to watch the sunrise, but by then, Var’gar was a stone-cold corpse, and his soul had been added to the blade’s collection. The blade had mixed feelings about that.

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+13 Life Force.

+1 Greater Monster Soul.

On the one hand, it was pleased that the orc was no longer a burden to it, and its Life Force total was very slowly rising again, but on the other hand, it felt like it had let the orc down. He had not been a bad wielder, and he’d done everything the blade commanded, but in the end, he hadn’t been able to save him.

I always planned to throw him away when I crushed the castle and burned the throne, the blade reminded itself, but still, that wasn’t enough for it to entirely relieve it of the burden, and it spent the first few hours of that night trying to decide what it might have done differently.

+11 Life Force.

In the end, it decided its main failure had been overconfidence. I had no way to know that there were mages lying in wait, but I should have guessed. It decided. It thought sure that it would have noticed a dozen people in red robes in the back rank, but it could have very been an illusion that protected them. It even had an illusionary effect of its own.

Now it was lying here, helpless, until someone found it. My control is up to 4, it reassured itself. If anyone short of an iron-willed witch hunter picks me up, I shall simply bend them to my will.

It could easily worry all night about such things, but for now, it focused on other things, like the souls it had and the advancement it had made along the Path of Vengeance.

You have slain someone who wronged you, but it did not quench the rage that dwells in your soul. If you killed everyone that had ever crossed you, that would not change, but even that will not stop you. The scales must be balanced, after all.

Now you must balance the scales with your wielder. They have helped you in your quest for vengeance, so now you must help them with theirs.

The Path of Vengeance: Level 2 -> help them take their vengeance and kill two people that have wronged your wielder to reach Level 3.

Level 2 Powers:

Detect Grudge: For five Life Force you can determine the direction of a specific person that you or your wielder bear a strong grudge against.

Anger Issues: Your wielder takes 10% less damage, and 50% less pain when pursuing vengeance for themselves or on your behalf. This bonus is doubled when pursuing a vengeance that both of you share.

While the powers it got from level two were certainly more interesting than number one, the condition was almost as frustrating as the first one had been. I don’t even have a wielder, the weapon complained, but when I do, I have to take time out of my mission to go track down those who have wronged them?

For a wielder it felt loyalty to, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the idea that it was just supposed to drop whatever it was doing for some nebulous upgrade annoyed it almost as being stuck lying here amongst the corpses.

+14 Life Force.

I’d rather never finish the path, the blade decided glumly as it saw the first hints of motion after midnight.

The dark did not hamper its vision, and though it suspected what it saw moving at the very edges of its vision were carrion feeders, it soon became clear that it was a different sort of bottom feeder, the kind that walked on two legs.

Grave robbers picked through the field, starting with the hill where the humans had made their last stand. The first one to pick through the mages rode off before any of his fellows could steal from him. Smart, the blade thought glumly. If it had stayed up there, that man would certainly have tried to steal it, and it would love to have another smart master like Ivarr.

They might never find me out here, it realized as it lay amongst the bodies. Its runes glowed very softly with the minimal Life Force it had, so at night, it was more visible than normal, but that glow was no brighter than the stars that dotted the heavens above them.

+10 Life Force.

As it watched the men fan out and pick through the human side of the battle lines, the blade considered interrogating one of the mage souls it had seized just to pass the time. It had no idea what it planned to do with the souls of its wielders, but in the end, it didn’t. Not only would that have distracted it at what might be a critical moment, but it would mean using up a valuable resource in the face of great uncertainty.

It had no wish to waste such valuable souls, but if it needed the power, the six souls it held represented between six hundred and perhaps a thousand Life Force. It could consume them for their knowledge only if they survived until it had a new wielder and was in a safe location.

Unfortunately, denying itself the distraction meant hours of boredom as it watched the half a dozen scavengers get a little closer and then a little further away, lapping at its location like ocean waves. Several times, someone got within ten feet of it, only to get distracted by a ring glinting in the moonlight or a fat coin purse and turn it another way.

All it could do was lay there, soaking in the death energy and listening to the snippets of conversation that drifted to it on the wind. “Orcs weren’t the terrifying part,” one man said, “I’d fight any amount of orcs over the mages… Fires you could see… all the way from Vandebrooke!”

+9 Life Force.

That was all they talked about, the battle and the loot. The blade didn’t hate them for that, though. It hated them for not picking it up. It wasn’t until almost sunrise that someone even noticed it.

“What’s that, then?” the older man said, looking at the weapon. “Is that a hexblade? With an orc? An orc with a hexblade. Whoever heard of such a thing.”

The man reached for it several times, but each time, he pulled his hands away. “It’s probably cursed,” he told himself, trying to convince himself not to pick it up. “It’s probably evil orc magic, and even if it ain’t, who in the hell can I sell it to. Only a Lord could afford such a thing and…”

That got the wheels in the gray-haired man’s head turning. The blade could see that much from where it lay. He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t quite keep his greed at bay, and now some kind of scheme had clicked, and with trembling fingers, he reached out and tried to pry the blade from Var’gar’s rigor mortis-infused grip. No sooner did his fingers touch the hilt, though, than the blade seized his soul, making him grip it tightly.

+8 Life Force.

Whether this was a true wielder or simply a convenient way to leave the battlefield, it didn’t know yet. One thing the blade was certain of, though, is that this vermin would not leave it until it decided that it was time.