I Acquire Overpowered Traits Just By Taking Damage

Edmund studied me from head to toe, taking in the bloodstains all over my face and body and the sizeable tears in the brigandine. His eyes went to the bloodied sword in my hand before shifting to the greenskin corpses that littered the immediate area.

Only with the second look, and a relatively calmer mind, did I fully take in the gruesome display I had wrought with my own hands. Scattered limbs, severed heads, entrails out in the open… blood carpeting every inch of the forest floor.

If the me from just a few days ago had seen this, he would have vomited out his insides. But perhaps the torture had not only given me traits, but also a stronger stomach.

Edmund's expression got worse and worse the more he studied the aftermath. I could see it in how his eyes darted, how his eyebrows clashed… he was trying to make sense of it. He looked like he would run out of horror any moment.

"Yup, five percent's not going to make it. No, not even ten percent. Fifty percent would be generous on my part, since I think I've killed twice as much as you," I said while wiping the blood off my sword with the leaves of a nearby sapling.

Not because I really cared about the silver, but because I didn't want him running away. It seemed I would need to give an explanation. Although I didn't know where to start, or even what to say. If he ran off without me saying a word, I might return to the town to face a mob with pitchforks and torches… and that dream from last night might indeed become reality.

He finally stepped out of cover.

"How? They got you… I know they did. You fell… and they… they surrounded you…" He pointed at the spot where I had tripped and fallen. "You shouldn't have survived that. No one could."

My mind raced for what to say. Even if I wanted to tell him the truth, it was hard to explain. I couldn't even fully understand it myself.

An idea came to mind. "The thing is… it's my armor… it's actually… uhmm, enchanted."

He tilted his head and approached, examining my badly beaten armor. About three meters away, he decided he was close enough.

"No, look at the condition of that. That's no enchanted armor. Enchanted armor would fully deflect mere greenskin attacks. And enchanting requires a fortune.

"If I'd enchant something, I'd enchant a full plate. Enchanting a brigandine is like covering horse dung in molten gold. And there's no way a commoner like you could afford th—"

He was still inspecting me when he got tongue-tied and grew pale. "Seven gods! I just saw one of your wounds close! How did you do that? You didn't even chant anything… or drink anything."

He was referring to the slash wound in the back of my right hand. I'd gotten it from the last goblin I killed, and it must have just healed then.

"You were just mistaken. I mean, look… that's a deformed pinky there!" I raised the same hand at him—only to notice my little finger was still twisted.

"Aaaaaaahhhh!" he exclaimed in surprise, stepping back. As my luck would have it, just as I did that, the bones snapped back into place.

That did it.

I sighed heavily. I guess I should just try telling him the truth.

"Spare me, my lord!"

To my surprise, when I looked at Edmund again, he was kneeling on the ground. I think he thought I was going to use the sword when I just moved to return it to the scabbard.

"My lord? You don't just call anyone that…" I said to him.

"I've only heard it in stories. But I have heard of high nobles and royals powerful enough that their wounds heal by themselves," he said, keeping his eyes to the ground. His hands were shaking.

"That's a big assumption to make over a broken pinky finger," I said.

He looked up to give me a brief, fearful glance. "You withstood an entire goblin army… and sent them fleeing for their lives. I think that is evidence enough."

---

Boarding day arrived with a bright sun and a cloudless blue sky.

The harbor was as lively as ever. Dock workers ran about, pushing or pulling carts or carrying cargo in their arms or on their backs. Sailors busied themselves with the complex web of ropes, pulleys, and beams of the ships. Merchants haggled loudly. Passengers talked among themselves. Loved ones gave tight hugs and said tearful goodbyes.

Seagulls flew overhead, loudly squawking, trying to make their presence known in the hubbub. And as an ever-present background was the rhythmic dance of the waves, slamming against the wooden docks.

The busiest place was in front of the largest ship in the harbor. The Defiant Resolve, with its dark wood and large sails, had the majesty of a dragon.

The cargo, including my two heavy bags, had been carried into the hold. Now the gangplanks had been lowered to let the passengers in. There was a visible divide between the boarders—the larger, more chaotic line of commoners, and the smaller, more orderly file of nobles.

I thought I'd be boarding as a commoner. But after the second time I had been outed as a noble, I decided to change my strategy. I found it would be less suspicious if I just took on the identity of a low-ranking noble.

That could easily explain my manner of speech and posture. And in case something happened, and they saw some of my healing powers again, I could try to pass it off as a minor magical ability.

Of course, Edmund was convinced I was a high-ranking noble in disguise, which… in fact, I was. The only catch was that he thought I had been sent here by the king or a high lord to spy on the expedition.

He agreed to keep my "secret." And with the eagerness I'd seen many times in ambitious folk, he offered his service. I think he really wants a knighthood.

We agreed that I should no longer be Devon the commoner, but Master Devon, son of an obscure baronet.

"Seventh son of Sir Martin of Eastbarrow—admitted," the clerk in front of the gangplank said, after a brief scan of the parchment he was holding.

Edmund walked on ahead with a smile before remembering to glance back at me. The smile on his face disappeared when he saw the expression on mine.

It was my first time boarding. The only manner of transport I'd ever known were carriages. I didn't know there was a list. I thought I could just walk in.

"And you sir, what's your name?" the clerk asked, in the same bored but polite tone.

Edmund walked back. "Ah, this is Master Devon… he is with me."

The clerk flipped through the list, which was only two pages. "Uhmm… of which House?"

We hadn't gotten that far. Last night, instead of brainstorming my identity, Edmund kept yapping about his hopes and dreams. Of how he wanted to settle with a woman who had a beautiful face and beautiful body, but simple enough to want to live with him in a small estate, farming cabbages.

"I am known to Sir Lawrence," I blurted out in desperation.

I panicked when the next thing he did was holler to the deck, "Sir Lawrence, there is someone here that claims to be known by you…"

I failed to recognize the old man who had been leaning on the railings, watching the file since earlier, since he had a hat on and his pipe nowhere to be seen.

"Who?" He turned his attention to us.

"A 'Master Devon'?" the clerk told him.

He narrowed his eyes at me. The old man's brow wrinkled as he focused. A blurry eyesight or a blurry memory could ruin it for me.

"Ah! Yes… the young master from the other day. I see you've stopped pretending to be commonfolk," he smiled. "Harder than you think it is, isn't it?"

"Is he admitted then, sir?" the clerk asked.

"Yes… admit Master… uhmm… what was it again?"

"Devon," I answered myself.

"And where do you hail from, Master Devon?" he asked with a concealed playful tone. He knew I was still in disguise. I was a runaway after all.

"Uhm… I am Devon… of the baronetcy of Far… Farmarshlands. Yes, Farmarshlands," I said, already knowing how unconvincing I sounded.

"Yes, Sir Lawrence," Edmund came to my aid, which was bad news. "I've been to Farmarshlands… it is quite far… and is full of marsh… lands."