Chương 92: Chapter 89

You have bought Infiltrator for 3 coins and added those coins into the ante. A list of entities associated with your Target has been provided. Select one to continue. Selection confirmed. You have no storefront coins left. Current Ante pool: 3 storefront coins. Begin invasion?

"No. There is more to be done." You have selected a neutral modifier: Gamble. How many coins to gamble?

"Give me three. I demand it." Warning! The target's luck stat will be counter-rolling against your own luck. Proceed?

"Yes." Rolling Three Gambles... Enemy Luck Succeeded! Infiltrator upgrade impacted - Your target will be forewarned by the enemy System. Enemy Luck Succeeded! The target will have three additional luck based events trigger over the course of this round, excluding gamble counter-rolls! Enemy Luck Failed! One storefront coin returned to inventory from the ante pool. You have selected a negative modifier: Tribute. The enemy System will select your starting location.

One storefront coin returned to inventory from the ante pool. You have bought Seek Target for 1 storefront coin and added that coin into the ante. You will now always know your target's location. You have selected a negative modifier: Focused Hunter. Only your current target will be permanently eliminated from THE GAME on being killed by your actions. One storefront coin returned to inventory from the ante pool. You have bought Ghost Passage for 1 storefront coin and added that coin into the ante.

Unaffiliated Non-Player entities cannot perceive you unless you deal damage to them. You have no storefront coins left. Current Ante: 3 storefront coins. Begin invasion?

"Yes. Send me to hunt these weaklings in your name, Old One. I will remind them of their true origins. It will be trivial." Greater Challenge Mode locked in: You are invading the enemy team's world this round instead of your prior location. You have bet three storefront coins as ante. Eliminate your target to return home for triple the ante spent if successful. Seek Target activated. Ghost Passage activated. Assassination target: Player - Michael Valentine Wade.

"You demand it. It is done." Wade gathered his scattered gear, ditching the flotation devices and anything that wouldn't be used anymore. Like that giant weasel trap he'd bought for way too much at the sports store. What a mistake. Well, maybe it wouldn't have been a mistake if the stupid life vest and arm floaties had actually done their job and let him float back up. What a shitshow. The demon behind watched with hardly any interest, simply waiting to get started.

As Wade pushed the arm floaties down and left the bright orange life vest on the ground next to the backpack, he found himself oddly curious about why Bael hadn't even mentioned a word about any of this.

"You don't have any questions at all about all this junk?" Did Azdrial really have life vests that looked exactly like this? If he saw Bael taking off weird-looking clothing, he'd be curious himself about it. Bael glanced at the pile of discarded gear marked to be abandoned, then back at Wade.

"Seen stranger." He gestured vaguely at the bright orange vest, then to everything Wade was wearing, including the yellow rubber boots filled with water.

"Though I'll admit, whatever culture you're from has... bold tastes. But down here, if it doesn't keep you alive, it's dead weight. Leaving this behind is the wise choice if that's what's weighing on your mind. No matter how valuable it might be, your life is always worth more." Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Well. I brought gear for my friends mostly, but since they're not here, anything you want to use in the meantime? Like something to cover up?" For obvious dangling reasons that Wade was trying hard not to stare at. Bael glanced down at himself, then back at Wade with that flat, unimpressed look.

"This is covered up. Anything other than my fur is either armor or theater, and the latter is unneeded down here."

"Theater?" Wade shared a look with Eri. The skeleton clicked his jaw twice and gave a shrug. He'd never met demons before. He had no idea if this was normal or not.

"Mortals consistently make decisions with the wrong bias when there's enough symbols of power, or enough skin showing." One hand patted his old beard, then he inclined his head down, patting the more friendly-looking horns he now sported.

"Our shape and appearance are tools to be used; any demon worth their contract knows that. Even knowing you are being manipulated, it still works. So, theater." Wade had an odd feeling demonkind didn't see clothing at all like he would. What would clothing be thought of for a species that didn't need protection from the elements or apparently cared about modesty? He remembered how proud Zin seemed of his custom-tailored suit, keeping his hair slicked back, immaculate.

Was it just a way to manipulate early impressions? Or did Zin actually enjoy the fashion of it all? Maybe it was less species and more individual preference. Bael's gaze glanced over Wade's backpack and weird gear.

"Nothing's going to care what I'm wearing here. Nothing in your sack looks to fit or offer any kind of protection from the rot. If you're offering because you're uncomfortable, say so. Otherwise, I'm fine as I am." Eri clicked his jaw again, then marched over to the gear and started looking around for anything he could wear on his head as a hat. If the demon didn't want any of this, then finder's keepers. Wade thought about the offer and then came to a conclusion.

"Yeah, I'd rather you have some clothing on just so I don't feel like I'm being an asshole holding stuff you could wear and not offering," he stopped and looked over to Bael.

"Even if it's not important to you, it's just… Well, consider it a personal quirk of mine." And the quest on his log said he had to free four more Blackrotten demons along the way, or else Play would probably find a way to strangle him back. He wasn't coming back to Illy and Leon leading a nudist colony when he had a bag filled with clothing already. He'd be getting some very accusing questions from Illy without a doubt. Wade pulled out stuff he was planning to hand over to Leon.

The original aim in bringing those was so that the Russian could wear something more than his pajama boxers for once. Bael gave the shirt and pants a careful look first, not reaching out to grab them.

"If you're expecting something in return, I did not agree to that. I don't need this clothing; I wear it only for your benefit. Are we clear on this?"

"Crystal clear, it's my gift," Wade said. Then paused.

"On second thought, not a gift but rather my request to you. That's probably more accurate." Bael gave a nod, then took the shirt from Wade's hands. He held it up, clearly suspicious. It looked like an adult holding up a kid-sized shirt.

"This will rip." But he then gave it a few tugs, frowned, and then tugged it further, watching as it stretched wider.

"What manner of fabric is this?"

"Tri-polyester blend," Wade said. And realized that had been said in English, not Demonic. Which meant this didn't exist in Azdrial.

"Gri-folyster Grrrend?" Bael asked, trying to sound out the alien word. It didn't sound like any language he knew, and Bael was old. He'd learned a lot more than how to work a forge. The loss of hell as a home had forced most of his kind to adapt or die off. The old ways of the warrior had passed. So as a craftsman, he had a deeper respect for fabrics and textiles than he used to, once upon a time. The fabric did stretch tight across his frame. And the pants offered wouldn't work.

He couldn't fit a hoof through them. So they had instead tied another shirt with long sleeves around his waist to use as a makeshift loincloth. That worked well enough. He gave it one more test, feeling the odd smooth fabric. Not quite silk, not quite anything else.

"Uh, it's from where I'm from," Wade said when Bael gave him another curious look.

"Also, there might still be some gear in my bags you could use. Not clothing, I mean. Stuff I'm bringing with me anyhow, so you might as well use it."

"Such as?" Bael gave a pointed look over at the overstuffed bag filled with random junk. This weird human necromancer was dead set on carrying all this around in the most miserable location on Azdrial. But he'd survived thus far and even beat him while fully Blackrotten, so Bael would reserve judgment until that bag became a liability.

"Such as this, I mean." Wade fished around the sides of the bag, fiddling with a strap that held a hilt, and then lifted it fully up.

"You used a longsword, right? I mean, you looked like you knew how to use one. I've already got my weapons, and so does Eri. Getting you up to par would be best." Bael looked way more interested in this compared to the clothing. This had actual practical value, even if he didn't yet have a mana crystal to power the weapon's enchantments. He'd need to rely on the sheer material and forging techniques to survive for now, at least until they found a survivor's supply crate.

All this passed through his mind in a flash as he reached a hand out to grab the precisely made sheath and began to examine what he had to work with and what kind of purpose this longsword was designed to fight against. He drew the blade slowly, and already he knew something was off. The steel sounded unnaturally clear to his senses. His eyes tracked along the fuller, the edge, the crossguard. And he grew more and more puzzled the longer he stared at it. Bael was no tailor.

He'd held back on his opinions on the strange fabric. Bael was no necromancer. He'd held back on his opinions on the skill this human had. And he was no mortal, traveling down in a world where mortals had no reason to visit. So he'd equally not asked what Wade was really here for. What Bael was, however, was a survivor. And that meant rapidly learning skills beyond those that would see him summoned to the frontlines of a war, but rather kept safe in the backlines of one.

He'd learned how to smith weapons, armor, trinkets, even jewelry and glass. Anything he could leverage with the mortals to be summoned away from death's doorstep. He'd spent so many decades dedicated to that craft that he'd grown to rather enjoy the work rather than see it as a means to stay out of hell. What Bael truly was, was a smith. An artisan. And the very first thing he'd fully mastered when it came to smithing had been forging blades. The very tool he was most familiar with as a warrior.

So when he drew this blade out of the sheath, Bael could tell with far more clarity and technical detail that this blade was different. Impossibly different.

"Mortal…. what is this?"