NOVEL NEXT Chapter 20.2
Fortunately, Armand hadn't pressed the attack. He was too busy staring at his dagger – which was now vibrating with a high-pitched keening sound, the jewels embedded in its hilt glowing fiercely.
Seconds went by as whatever conniption the knife was having seemed to subside. Its vibrating ceased, and the glow dulled to a healthy gleam.
Our one saving grace is that he's confused too. Simon rapidly organized his thoughts. Need info. He couldn't use Identify on Armand again, that would just produce an identical Description...but the dagger was fair game.
Mild pain burned behind his retinas as he Identified the weapon – another peculiar detail to examine later. The system window popped into view.
Name: Dagger of #####
Description: An Artifact powered by #####. Passively absorbs mana on contact. When injuring a living creature, significantly more mana and ### is absorbed.
All of a sudden, Simon felt immeasurably relieved that he hadn't let Calloway stab him in order to land a Fell Harvest.
"You're...a Demon?" The madman's head swiveled on an axis, turning to gaze upon Simon with astonishment. His voice was like maggots wriggling in their ears. "You have gifted me the joy of *variety* tonight, Fell-walker. Never would I have dreamed of supping on the essence of your kind."
"And I didn't expect you to 'shed your skin', so to speak, so we'll call it even." Simon affected a casual demeanor, as if he and Armand were two office workers chatting at the water cooler. "Do you have a name for what this is? You almost look like an undead – not sure if you've heard of those – but it isn't quite the same."
"This is me. I am me."
"Very helpful, appreciate the candor."
Katarina let out a noise of frustration, horror, and disbelief. It was probably meant to be the sound of a woman at her wit's end, but it came across more like a cat whose tail had been trod on.
"You just couldn't be satisfied with the nightmares you've already inflicted upon me," she seethed, her crossbow aimed directly between Armand's eyes. "Had to show me an even worse sight. Not a Fell Beast, not a Demon, so what are you?"
"I told you – I am me. I'm more like myself than I ever was before."
As if it were a newborn babe, Armand caressed the dagger in his hand. "This sharpness reveals who we are inside. Cuts are made, life spills out. No putting on airs then. No wants or dreams left when you're bleeding on the ground. And everything they lose–"
"You take," Simon finished. "That knife drains people's mana. It's how you've grown stronger."
That was the secondary underlying motivation he'd sensed during Sin Scry, yet failed to understand at the time. Armand wasn't just killing people for his own self-satisfaction – he was doing so to empower himself.
Which also explained how an untrained nobody had reached Level 28. By gorging himself on the mana of unsuspecting civilians, he'd far exceeded his natural limits.
Katarina gasped with revulsion as Calloway tilted his head. "You know of my treasure, Demon? Have you been watching me from the shadows?"
The man grinned, showing two rows of cracked teeth. "Perhaps you're like me as well? One who partakes of the grandeur and merriment that the night has to offer?"
"Hardly. When I assassinate someone, it's to achieve a specific goal. For example: removing a deranged murderer from the board before he can harm anyone else."
Simon hesitated, considering what he should say next. He was fine with keeping Calloway talking – letting people monologue could be a wellspring of vital information – but the man hadn't actually divulged much useful intel yet. His knife's mana-absorption properties had already been uncovered by Identify.
Katarina cut in. "Where did you find that blade?" she asked, with a dazed tone. "Artifacts aren't made to hurt people, let alone devour their mana!"
News to me, thought Simon. He'd been blasted by an Artifact filled with sacred mana once before – pretty sure that counted as 'hurting' someone. Then again, sacred mana was harmless to humans, so Kat likely wasn't including Demons in her estimation.
Armand had the gall to laugh at them. "A hammer isn't made for bashing skulls, but when wielded in the right manner, it does the job well enough. Artifacts are merely tools, Red-Haired One. There's no laws that binds them against slaughter."
"Lady Victoria enacts restrictions on the Artifacts she creates."
"She didn't design this one. Helmund's imprisoned Artificers were responsible, I believe." He tapped a blood-red gem in the dagger's hilt. "Took it from a noble guard's pocket. He'd come to the lower districts for cheap booze and cheap thrills. Gave him so much more."
Armand's eyes widened with euphoria. "That was the night of my rebirth. When my treasure started peeling back the layers of who I'd *tried* to be – until only the truth remained."
He peered closer at her. "I showed you one such truth not long ago. It is why you sought out this Demon and made a Contract with him; for protection. You couldn't bear the burden of your own mortality."
"That's what you'd like to believe, isn't it?" Simon interjected.
The transmigrator stepped forward, clasping his arms behind his back. Katarina fell silent, staring at Armand with a piercing glare of disgust, seeming vaguely appreciative that she wouldn't have to speak with him any further.
"It's been a pleasure chatting with you," Simon lied. "Your knowledge of the dagger's origin was...enlightening. In exchange, I'd like to answer the question you voiced earlier: how Katarina managed to escape from you once before."
Calloway perked up. "Oh? How, pray tell? Did you interfere?"
"No. It wasn't me. Nor was it luck, skill, fate, providence, or anything else on your mind. The truth is honestly quite straightforward."
He smiled bright as the sun. "Your own ineptitude."
Seconds passed as Armand slowly grit his teeth. "What game are you playing, De–"
"It's an obvious answer, really. Very telling that you never came up with it yourself. You, with all your strength, under cover of darkness, ambushed a common footpad – no offense, Kat–"
"Some taken," she murmured.
"–Yet despite having the deck hilariously stacked in your favor, you failed. Of course, it couldn't just be that you're incompetent. That you're a fraud propped up by stolen mana. Her escape had to be an anomaly, a momentous occasion...because if it wasn't, then what does that make you?"
Perhaps Simon was being a tad hypocritical calling Armand a fraud, as the transmigrator was benefiting heavily from the god's system, but he'd earned his stripes with the slavers and the Ravenous Wanderer. Those were hard-fought victories where he'd put his life on the line.
And he doubted that Armand had ever purposely targeted someone who could hit back.
"Leeches all sing the same tune," Simon snapped, a sliver of anger filtering through. His clasped arms tightened behind his back. "You take, and you take, and you take, and then you venerate your parasitism as a sacred act. There's far too many your ilk in this world."
"I am not them – I am ME. You don't have any idea what I'm capable of, Fell creature."
"There it is. You want so badly to be important, to be recognized, to think that you're this...special existence. That's why you keep putting on airs and dressing up your killings as 'imparting truth' or whatever. To do otherwise would be admitting how miserable you are. Your self-image is so fragile that you've latched onto murder as a type of self-actualization. It would be pitiable if you weren't, well, you."
Armand went still. There wasn't even a hint of mirth left in his callous, deadened gaze. "Just what do you presume to know of me, Demon?"
Thanks to Identify and Sin Scry, quite a bit. "Enough that I'm not interested in hearing more from you," Simon professed. "When you've listened to one megalomaniacal rant, you've heard them all."
And he'd finished stalling for time anyway.
Hidden behind his back, and obscured by the encroaching darkness of night, Simon's right arm shone with a blackened Fell aura. He delved into the untapped depths of Channel Essence, grasping hold of a Skill that had been sitting unused on his Character Sheet for some time. Demonic mana always resonated with aggressive desire and high-risk situations – and right now, there were both of those in spades.
A large pattern began to form on the ground beneath Armand. It was the sigil of Kirkelas the Conqueror: five connected lines pointing upward in matching directions, like the edges of a thrusting trident. A circle closed around the sigil, brimming with energy as it took shape.
One second to form the circle. One second to charge with mana. One second to disappear, invisible to the naked eye.
Three seconds total for the Landmine to complete.
*Boom.*
Dust and dirt flew up into the air as the spell detonated. A blast akin to several sticks of dynamite had exploded from underground.
Unfortunately, gory pieces of Armand were not to be found amongst the debris. He'd dashed to the side a split-second before Landmine exploded, limbs contorting in an unnatural manner as his voice shrieked like nails on a chalkboard. The blast had clipped his left foot – annihilating the man's two smallest toes – but nothing beyond that.
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Katarina yelped with surprise, glancing over at Simon to ensure that this was his doing. The transmigrator sighed as he gestured at her to prepare for battle.
Was hoping for more. If they'd managed to blow off Armand's feet, the fight would already be over. Even if he possessed the capacity to regenerate from a wound like that, they could've run him down before he healed, piercing his heart and brain as he tried to crawl away.
Yet Calloway had sensed the Landmine as it charged up. The spell was invisible once it completed, but the power within could still be detected by those sensitive to mana. That was something to keep in mind when employing it against future opponents.
Would it have succeeded if I'd put more than 50 MP into it? Simon pondered. Made the blast larger?
Tough to say. He'd never been able to cast Landmine until now, so he didn't have an accurate estimation of how big its explosion radius could get. Maybe dumping all of his mana in one go could've done the trick...
But if it had failed, then he would've been left with an infuriated Armand and 0 MP to his name. As things stood, he was still down to 130 out of 220 MP from just two spells.
Well, no matter. Simon wasn't even close to running out of ideas.
Armand charged at them with the fury of a rampaging bull. His eyes practically screamed murder as his knife raised up like an implement of holy vengeance. Crossbow bolts sailed through the air, dodged with contemptuous ease.
Simon hefted his longsword and held his ground. He studied Calloway's movements, looking to test a theory. Sharp steel rushed towards the transmigrator.
And a translucent Barrier flickered into being. Empowered by a scant 10 MP, it immediately cracked under the force of Armand's wild swing, breaking before it could be absorbed – yet resisting just long enough to put the killer off-balance.
Simon dispelled the shattering Barrier and stabbed forward, feeling a harsh gust of air beside him as the knife missed his face by inches. He performed a retreating strike, thrusting his longsword as he drew back.
The blade clipped Armand in his side. At the same time, a crossbow bolt perforated the man's ear and tore it to shreds. Calloway hissed like a feral beast, scurrying away with abrupt, jerking motions.
It was a short-lived victory. Before their eyes, Simon and Katarina witnessed both wounds heal in mere seconds. Mana radiated with an off-white brilliance as it restored Armand to his previous state, as if their narrowly-won bout had never happened.
"Testing my patience," he snarled. "Your novelty wears thin."
Katarina cursed under her breath, starting to worry – as Simon smiled, having confirmed a favorable hypothesis.
He's worse at this than I am.
Simon was acutely aware of his own combat inexperience. Earth's relatively cozy living hadn't exactly prepared him for death-defying battles of might and magic. It was why he supplemented his battle prowess with as much strategy and surprise as possible – because if things ever came down to a straight-up duel with an opponent of equal or greater Level, he would be in serious trouble.
Yet Armand was proof that he'd misjudged how low the bar could go. The man's movements were wide, sweeping, and full of waste. It went past having a flair for the dramatic, which would've at least been understandable. Rather, his telegraphed motions were clearly hindering his speed, turning a Level 28 adversary into someone just slow enough to react to.
It was as if he was relying on his mana more than his own body. The knife's pilfered bounty did most of the work for him, almost forcibly moving his limbs along.
Like a reanimated corpse.
All power and no skill, Simon thought, with zero drive to improve or change. I'd bet there isn't an ounce of strategizing going on in that head of his. If we can just hold on, then an opportunity will inevitably present itself. He'll make a mistake sooner or later.
The transmigrator felt a sense of calm settle over him like a warm cloak. It stayed there even as Armand renewed his assault, zipping across the street with a hurried, stilted gait, his mana-infused muscles compensating for his lack of grace. The dagger rose up–
Barrier. 10 MP used. Dodge the attack, riposte with a strike, retreat to safety.
Armand bared his teeth at them, rubbing at the fresh streaks of blood on his cheek and arm. His injuries were healing quickly, but he seemed unaccustomed to the pain. Wicked steel flashed out–
Barrier. 10 MP. Dodge, riposte, retreat.
100 MP remaining, Simon thought, as if noting how much food was left in his pantry. Armand hadn't attacked again yet – he was in the middle of hurling obscenities at them – so the transmigrator took advantage of the lapse in combat to re-cast Identify.
Name: Armand Calloway
Estimated Level: 26 (28 when at full mana capacity)
Due to Calloway healing his wounds and expending mana to boost his strength and speed, his Estimated Level had shrunk from 28 to 26. It was similar to what happened with the Ravenous Wanderer – weakened via attrition.
Although the language used was flipped. The Wanderer's Identify Description had been: 'Estimated Level: 39 (17 when not mana-gorged)'. Its lower Level was the baseline. For Armand, his higher Level was the baseline. If he fled and rested, his strength and Estimated Levels would return to 28.
Both of them were mana-thieves, so what was the difference? If you absorbed a person's mana and kept it within your body for a long time, did the change eventually become permanent?
Regardless, his Estimated Level had only decreased by two Levels. They'd yet to injure him in any major capacity. Simon would run out of MP long before Calloway exhausted his mana reserves, and then there would be little to prevent the blindingly fast killer from sinking his knife into soft, pliable flesh.
Still, the transmigrator felt no panic. This situation wasn't nearly as hopeless as their fiasco with the Ravenous Wanderer. Armand didn't warrant being treated as an object of fear.
Even jumping off the roof had been far worse.
Simon locked eyes with one of the monsters of Caelryn City, staring deep into a soulless void. The monster stared back, perhaps searching for a glimmer of apprehension...yet found only determination and scorn reflected at him. Snarling once more, he hunched down and–
"Why?"
Katarina's voice rang across the street as she stepped forward. Simon blinked with surprise, hastily moving to get back in front of her – he couldn't protect her from behind, Barrier's range limit was just several inches – then blinked again as she held out a hand to forestall him.
"Answer me." Katarina's gaze rapidly shifted back and forth. "I asked you why, murderer. Why do this? Why hunt people as if they were livestock? Why worsen the suffering of those who've already suffered so much?"
Calloway laughed at her, regaining some of his mental footing. "What charming naivety. You can't possibly unders–"
"I get it. You're heartless." Her response was caustic and filled with venom, although she spoke the words slowly, as if distracted by something. "But that's just an excuse. It explains nothing. I want to understand how you can walk the same streets as me, yet feel no sympathy for its people."
Eyes still shifting, Katarina's voice grew taut with suppressed emotion. "I won't claim to be perfect. I've lied, hurt, stolen...but it was all in service of my own survival. I'd never harm someone needlessly – especially people whose only wish is to see the next sunrise. Everyone here in the lower districts shares the struggle of growling stomachs and barren coinpurses. I know what they've been through, and you should too."
A desperate note entered her tone. "Doesn't that matter to you at all?"
Silence blanketed the moonlit street. Armand Calloway went perfectly still, unmoving except for the errant twitches and spasms wracking his body.
"And where were these people you speak of so fondly when I lived every day in empty torment?" His voice was mocking; whether towards Katarina or himself, Simon couldn't say. "You ask of 'Why', but why should *I* be expected to show mercy to those who looked through me as if I was a ghost? How arrogant you are, to try and gain an understanding of me – to assume you could know what I think and feel."
Katarina chuckled bitterly. "I suppose you might be right. Maybe I am arrogant, if I thought speaking with you would produce anything of value. Maybe I am naive, if pointless cruelty can still surprise me."
She exhaled. Her eyes had stopped shifting. "But I'm not so arrogant or naive–"
With a muted twang, her crossbow fired.
"–That I won't learn from my mistakes."
Simon barely paid attention to the crossbow bolt as it sailed forward. Arrows wouldn't hit Calloway head-on. Both he and the murderer were more focused on listening to Katarina.
Neither noticed when the arrow started glowing a furious red.
As before, Armand leisurely dodged the bolt by tilting his head to the side – only for it to suddenly explode in a conflagration of heat and flame.