Chương 42: More Power

The eighty-eighth loop arrived. By this point, Alcyr had rounded down his approach to the battle into two possible paths. Either he dealt with the cyclops and its motley warband of barbarians and wolves, or he headed straight to the workshop cavern to intercept the frost wyrm. Doing both was simply not an option due to the time constraint.

He initially started out by alternating his paths between loops, but then quickly began focusing more of his attention on the latter when it became clear the wyrm was going to be the bigger problem to resolve. If he headed to the workshops immediately, there was time to reach a few minutes ahead of the draconic snake's frenzied arrival. Once the monster set up its ice territory, the cavern became a death trap that not only slowed him down but also empowered the wyrm's frost abilities.

Intercepting the wyrm in advance was the only way he could see himself winning. And even then, the odds were stacked horribly against him. Alcyr was quickly finding out the power difference between a Master and a Grandmaster was far, far more severe than between an Elite and a Master, and Alcyr wasn't even a Master yet, which meant he was nearly two entire tier categories below the monster. Never before had he been so utterly outmatched. The creature's speed, durability, and strength dwarfed his many times over.

Not to mention its ridiculous size, as well as the powerful frost magic it possessed… Alcyr could hurt it if he aimed for its eyes — it was pretty much the only vulnerable part he could find across its entire serpentine body — but that was like trying to kill a man by repeatedly poking his ocular sockets with a toothpick and hoping he bled to death. Not ideal at all, he thought irritatedly as his Artes-enhanced silverite sword failed once more to penetrate the frost wyrm's scales.

The monster roared, deafening his ears and sending chunks of the cavern ceiling raining down. Machineries were crushed as it writhed violently about, trying to flatten Alcyr under its bulk. Alcyr evaded its movements as best he could, leaning heavily on his mobility skills. He threw a few more incendiaries at the foe, setting fire to its frost scales, before striking at those parts in hope his sword would penetrate.

[Dodge Counter has improved to 30] [Acrobatics has improved to 22] The empowered silverite blade — fuelled by Cleave, Red March Swordplay, and Power Strike — still bounced off. [Power strike has improved to 27] [Cleave has improved to 49] If it were a normal creature, its Grandmaster-tier endurance would have already been troublesome enough to deal with. But add in its strong draconic heritage and the many Mysteries it no doubt possessed, and it was a recipe for an unkillable monster.

At least his skills were levelling quickly. Fighting a Grandmaster while still being only a High Elite would be insanity for anyone else. No one would ever use it as a viable means of skill levelling. No one except him, of course. The monster breathed frost once more. Alcyr ducked behind the debris of a giant stone crusher, its fuel storage leaking oil. The icy breath froze everything instantly. Alcyr himself would have immediately died if not for his high elemental resistance skill.

[Frost Resistance has improved to 27] He leapt away right as the wyrm's jaws came snapping down on him. Its scythe-like teeth slashed the machinery he was taking cover behind to pieces, spilling more half-frozen fuel everywhere. Seeing an opportunity, Alcyr threw a grenade. The explosive detonated next to the monster's head and ignited the split fuel inside its mouth. The wyrm's head snapped back, hissing in pain as its weaker inner flesh was set aflame.

It was actually hurt that time; unlike previous attempts, such flames on its scales would have merely tickled it. It's more vulnerable from within. The realisation was hardly revolutionary. So the inside of its body was weaker than the outside, obviously. Unless he was planning to stick a flamethrower down its throat, that information was useless. … Actually, why can't I do that? In the next loop, he bought a miniature flame spewer from Lafmere. It was bulky, ugly, and had a very limited capacity.

But he could wield it one-handed. To make it even more lethal, he swapped out its usual pressurised fuel for an expensive alchemical mixture he bought from the town's black markets: Rainfire, an infamous incendiary formula invented by the Tenth Saint, the Saint of Revelation. That loop, he lured the wyrm's maw in close, daring it to try snapping him in two. After narrowly dodging the bite, he jammed the nozzle of his flame spewer between its teeth and pulled the trigger.

Alchemical oil flooded its mouth and ignited in a searing emerald blaze. The heat of the fire went far beyond his expectation, being so extreme the nozzle immediately melted, choking the highly reactive stream of dangerous fuel and causing it to ignite. Alcyr had a split second to curse before the flame spewer's miniature fuel tank exploded in his hand.

[New Skill: Fire Resistance 1 (Rare)] [Pyrotechnics has improved to 29] Alcyr was sent flying back, half his body on fire and his flesh already melting from the eldritch heat. The pain was incredible; dying by Rainfire had to rank one of his least favourites. However, his last sight was the wyrm screaming in agony, its entire head engulfed in green fire. As death took him, he could not help but smile. Promising.

The hundredth loop passed. The frost wyrm continued evading his best attempts to slay it. Fire became his primary method of hurting it, but his fires still did not burn hot enough to kill a Grandmaster, even from within. He focused on levelling his Pyrotechnics and Crafting skills, hoping it would soon reach a level high enough to slay the creature. His Fire and Frost Resistance skills were equally important for his survival, but those two alone were not enough.

Seeking alternative means to bolster his elemental resistances, he opted to take a break from trying to kill the frost wyrm and instead went back to slaying the frost cyclops and its warband. The main reason for this was because he wanted to accumulate blood echoes to advance the Mystery, 'False Life Adorns You', to the next stage so that he could better make use of the shroud's protective qualities.

The enigmatic resource only increased when he slew foes — with their count varying between 1-3 echoes for each kill or 10-20 in the case of him killing larger creatures like the cyclops. The count expired at a rate of one echo per minute when he was not in battle and one every ten seconds when the sanguine shroud was active. Lastly, the echoes did not seem to carry over between loops.

That final part did not matter much, since to achieve the Mystery's stage condition, he needed a cumulative count, not an accumulative one. The inability to retain the blood echoes or to choose when he activated the sanguine shroud was extremely annoying, since it meant he couldn't use the ability when it mattered most. The elemental protection would have come in handy for either the fight with the frost cyclops or the frost wyrm.

As it was now, however, it only really activated when he was knee-deep in the corpses of lesser foes. His only hope of making it usable was to unlock the next stage and pray that the Mystery would give the shroud more flexibility. On the hundred and ninth loop, he finally received the blood-hued notification after hacking apart a swarm of barbarians and blightwolves. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

[Mystery: False Life Adorns You] Awakening condition: Cumulative Blood Echoes (2500/2500) Mystery Stage: Dormant → Awakened Finally. That took a ridiculous amount of killing. No wonder the champions of Agony were such murderous fanatics if this was the lowest requirement to advance one of their Path Mysteries. I can't believe I'm starting to sympathise with blood cultists…

After he died in that loop and advanced to the morning of the next, he checked in with the oracle once more to discern the effects of his Mystery's unlocked stage. It did not disappoint. [Mystery: False Life Adorns You] Effect (Dormant): Gain the ability to amass Blood Echoes from bloodletting. When at least 20 Blood Echoes are gathered, the Sanguine Shroud manifests itself, regardless of the user's consent.

When activated, the shroud grants a major boost to Blood affinity, as well as a moderate boost to all elemental damage negation and a minor boost to all ailment resistance. The potency of all healing increases, with the effects doubled for any healing received from abilities associated with the Red March. The shroud deactivates when all Blood Echoes are spent. All effects scale with the current stage.

Effect (Awakened) — Blood Echoes can now be stored and will no longer automatically activate the Sanguine Shroud when 20 Blood Echoes are gathered. Sanguine Shroud is instead activated at the user's command, and stored Blood Echoes will expire at a much slower rate. When Sanguine Shroud is active, the user can consume Blood Echoes to instantly heal whoever is wearing the shroud. Effect (Aspiring) — Locked Awakening condition: Cumulative Blood Echoes (0/10000) The new awakening stage's effects were a huge relief.

Alcyr had suspected the Mystery would have some method of hiding the sanguine shroud; otherwise, its overall usefulness would be too limiting, even if one were a bloodcrazed murderer. As much as Flayed Saint desired to flaunt and promote bloodshed, he wasn't a complete idiot. That mad knight had made his way to the Godless Heavens through a strange mix of pain-crazed stubbornness and shrewd military command over his followers.

The gifts of the Red March thus often contained a sliver of subtlety to them, to better allow his 'soldiers' to reap bloodshed in his name across the Hundred Worlds. The ability to now store blood echoes and use the cloak at will, rather than spontaneously, would go a long way. Alcyr could now not only better hide his heretical blessing, but also increase the combat usefulness of the shroud by employing it only in situations where it was needed, thereby allowing him to stockpile a healthy reserve of blood echoes.

However, while all of this was indeed good, it was the last part of the awakened stage's description that really commanded Alcyr's attention. It heals?! An on-demand instant ability that could heal him whenever he wanted? That was superb! The only thing the effect seemed to require were blood echoes, and given how often Alcyr killed, accumulating a vast stockpile should be no problem! Or, at least, that was what he thought at first. His excitement rapidly waned once he tested it that night.

He expanded all the blood echoes he accumulated in the fight — twenty echoes' worth, just enough to summon the shroud — to heal himself. Rather than all of his wounds disappearing, Alcyr felt a scratch on his hand — the equivalent of a paper cut — close itself before he received the notification: [Blood Echoes spent.] … That's it? He tested it a few more times. The results were all the same. The exchange rate of blood echoes to healing was abysmal. He supposed he should have expected this.

The Flayed Saint was not a Saint of healing; the regenerative properties of the Red March Artes were always centred around sustaining a berserker to continue his bloodshed, not to keep him at wholeness — not unless one split a prodigious amount of blood, at least. Alcyr did a rough calculation, and he estimated he would need about five thousand blood echoes to restore himself to fullness in a pinch — tentatively equivalent to five thousand kills. I don't know why I got excited.

Honsu only ever cared that agony reigns and blood flows. All his boons are centred around the two concepts. The overall effects were still good, however. The fact that he could control the activation of the shroud now meant the Mystery was actually viable in combat. Still, he couldn't help but be a little disappointed. The next stage of advancement required a staggering ten thousand blood echoes as well. Alcyr was genuinely floored at that number. It was going to take him a long while to hit that goal…

The hundred and tenth loop came and passed. So did the hundred and twentieth, thirtieth, and the fortieth. Then the one hundred and fiftieth loop passed. Alcyr still couldn't kill the frost wyrm. That damn thing was seemingly invincible. Alcyr had dumped enough alchemical fire down its throat to fill a barrel, and even that didn't kill it. Because, as it turned out, on top of all the defensive skills it had, the wyrm had a regeneration ability as well. He reviewed his past battles.

On the hundred and thirty-sixth loop, when it had been on the brink of death — his silverite sword in its eye, its entire body set aflame in green fire inside and out — the giant creature suddenly started shuddering. Alcyr had optimistically thought that it might have been in its death throes, but then there was a sudden, brilliant burst of light, blooming from its glowing body. When the light faded, there was a giant sheath of damaged snakeskin next to it. And the frost wyrm was whole and uninjured once more.

Alcyr was not one to feel fear, but he would not lie by saying he did not experience a severe case of exasperation when he first saw that. All its wounds — even the ones inside its body somehow — were gone. The Rainfire that had been eating its innards also magically vanished. Whatever that ability was, it was a type of revival ability far exceeding the Second Chance skill Warlord Bjorn once used. Most likely, rather than a skill or Arte, it was the effect of a Mystery. Some legend associated with snakes.

The shedding of skin, signifying renewal… A Mystery of the Second Saint, or maybe something associated with the dragon gods? Either way, he was screwed. He then managed to bring it near to death's door twice on the one hundred and forty-eighth loop, using so much Rainfire it had practically cost him every coin he had to his name. Yet, even on its second set of fatal wounds, the wyrm had simply shedded its skin once more and returned back to wholeness.

It didn't even look smaller or become more fatigued, as he had hoped it would. If anything, it simply looked more pissed. Third times the charm? Perhaps. It couldn't possibly keep healing itself, though if he was being frank, Alcyr didn't know how he was going to bring the wyrm to death's door three times in a row. On the morning of the one hundredth and fifty-first loop, Alcyr simply lay in bed, mentally exhausted. Almost unconsciously, he held Lenore closer, now more than used to her presence.

She pressed into him contently, still asleep. He briefly scanned his Status Screen. His Sword Discipline skill was currently Level 59. He was now two levels away from the Low Master tier. Ural had not been joking about the inordinate experience requirement to level skills past Level 55. Even with such powerful opponents to sharpen himself against, his stronger skills were still progressing at a snail's pace. It was almost painful to see such sluggish growths.

The key problem was that Alcyr simply didn't have enough experience boosting Mysteries. Most people would claim anyone born with even one Mystery was lucky, but for him, one alone wasn't enough. A single Mystery could take someone to the Elite tier easily within a lifetime. But to reach Master, at least two or three were required. For Grandmaster, the common consensus was that at least four were necessary.

Someone like Commander Faldren, who had reached Grandmaster at such a young age, probably had around five or six Mysteries. On the more extreme end of the comparison, members of the direct Royal family were rumoured to hold no less than ten Mysteries within their System each, with half of those Mysteries being at least above the Awakened potency. It was just another example of how impactful and important powerful bloodlines truly were.

To those whose strength was of truly legendary proportions, something like Alcyr's 'Blessed Blood' Mystery would barely be an ornament upon their Status Screen, the same way he would treat a useless Common skill. It was unfair, but such was the world. He was born without any Mysteries and had to struggle to earn a modicum of strength, while countless others — beyond the 4th Regulars, beyond even the Morwyn Kingdom — were given such power with barely an ounce of effort.

His mentor said something about the matter to him once:"The gulf between the weakest and the strongest is the distance between Heaven and Hell itself. It is not something a normal mind can or should truly comprehend. If a worm understood the majesty of dragons, could it still live on knowing it was born a worm?" Others might call him strong, but he knew damn well he wasn't. Not compared to his mentor.

Not compared to being of true legendary power — beings who were worth comparing to, unlike those lesser nobles in the 4th Regulars. He needed more Mysteries. Or at the very least, he needed stronger Mysteries. If I can't get more, then I should focus on empowering my existing ones. Repeatedly fighting the wyrm allowed him to receive heaps of skill experience, but ironically, that was no longer what he needed to get stronger.

Switching targets to the frost cyclops and its warband was the only way to gain progress in both of his Mysteries' advancement. It would be better if I could both kill the cyclops and fight the frost wyrm… Not feasible. Engaging the cyclops and its horde always took too much time. Alcyr was stronger now, and while he might not die to the giant humanoid as often as before, victory was still more-or-less a coin flip, skewed a little in his favour. He wasn't a Master yet, while the cyclops was.

Its weak spots are too high up for me to kill it quickly or safely when I'm on the ground. Forearms, neck, eye… I always have to bring the monster to its knees first or risk jumping on its stone pillar to reach them. If only I could strike it from above… Above… Above? An idea came to mind. It was a reckless plan. Bordering on laughably suicidal. But death held no risk to him. And, if he was being honest, he was a little bored of the repetition. He had been stuck in the loops for almost half a year now.

Why not change things up a little?