The Hammer of War, Chapter 43

Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 0

STR – 40
DEX – 31
VIT – 149

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

Two points to Strength. One to Dexterity. One to Vitality.

That… was a lot.

I stepped back, boots crunching in the snow. The moose lay still, steam rising off its body in soft waves. Its eyes were glazed over, but not twisted or cursed. Just empty. Like it had gone to sleep and never gotten up.

My fingers flexed, then curled into a fist. There wasn’t any dramatic change. No sudden surge of power or fire racing through my veins. But I knew what those points meant. Back when I still gained stats from regular training, getting even a single point took days. Weeks if I wasn’t careful. That moose just gave me four. For one fight. One kill.

I glanced at the corpse.

Big bastard.

Didn’t deserve to go out like that.

A nasty little thought crept in while I stared. What if I did this again? Just one more moose. Or two. Hell, if every wild animal gave even half of that… I could get real strong, real fast.

But I shut that down right away.

No.

I wasn’t about to become the world’s worst poacher just to pad my stats. That wasn’t the plan. That was never the plan. I’d fight devils, vampires, whatever came next—but I wasn’t going to start wiping out animals that were just trying to live their lives. This one attacked me. That’s why it died. That was it.

Still, it was hard to ignore the numbers. Four points. Just like that.

I looked around the clearing again. Nothing stirred. The trees stood quiet. The wind moved like it didn’t want to bother anyone. Somewhere behind me, water still trickled through the creek, soft and steady.

I moved to the moose’s side and crouched. Reached out and touched the side of its neck. The fur was thick, matted slightly with snow. Warmth was already starting to fade. I wish I’d just stayed away from it. That way, it wouldn’t have charged me and fucking died of a heart attack. Still, I gained something off of it. And dad taught me to always be respectful of anyone who gave me anything. 

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I didn’t want you to die. And I’m sorry that you did.”

I stood and backed away. The body would freeze over soon. Maybe a wolf or bear would find it and have the feast of a lifetime. Maybe it’d just lie here and rot into the soil and a new tree would sprout where it died. Either way, it would return to nature and, hopefully, allow something else to grow and live. Its part was done.

My part wasn’t.

I adjusted the strap of my coat, rolled my shoulders, and started moving again. North, like always. Each step felt just a little easier. Not faster. Not lighter. Just… stronger. Like the ground gave back a little more each time I pushed off.

The sky had darkened while I was distracted. The gray had turned heavy. Thicker clouds rolled in. Snow started to fall again—not heavy, but steady. Enough to coat the trees in a fresh dusting and soften the world underfoot.

I kept walking.

Sooner or later, something else would find me.

Vampires. Devils. Whatever. The Hunters already had.

And if the Hunters could track me through this cold, then it wouldn’t be long before the others did too. House Stolas didn’t seem like the kind to let things go. Especially after what I did to Helena. That name probably still echoed in whatever hellhole they called a home. I could probably defeat whoever they’d send after me, but–after seeing Serafall ignore my [Blank] aura–I did not want to risk anything until I was strong enough. 

So, yeah.

I’d fight again soon, but I also needed to get stronger first. 

On that note, I wondered if I could absorb the souls of the daemons in the dungeons. I doubted it, since they were spawned by the System and probably didn’t have their own souls, and it’d be way too easy if I could, which wasn’t how the System rolled, but I’d try once I found a place to hunker down for a while–a place that wasn’t in Northern America. I’d try it once I swam to Iceland or something. 

The snow came up to my ankles in some places. Dry, powdery stuff that clung to the hem of my coat and whispered underfoot with every step. The trees around me were quiet. Just tall, straight trunks and bare branches, no sign of towns, roads, or people for miles.

I kept moving.

Joining the Hunters still floated in the back of my mind. Lukan had made a good case. A safe place to rest, weapons, allies, structure. Not bad, especially with what was chasing me. But structure meant rules, and rules meant someone up top pulling strings. I didn’t like strings. And, honestly, if the Hunters were anywhere close to being good at their job, then there wouldn’t be any vampires in Portland.

Still, he wasn’t wrong. It’d be good to sleep without one eye open. Just for a night. Maybe two.

I made a mental note to revisit the offer later—after I’d put some more distance between myself and anything with fangs or wings.

So far, keeping to the woods had worked. No devils. No vampires. No civilians either, which was the point. There was a romantic part of me that wondered if I could just be a mountain man and live off the land, like Bear Grylls 

That lasted three days.

I’d just finished climbing a shallow ridge when a voice cut through the quiet like a knife across frost.

“Did you think you could outrun us, human?”

I stopped walking.

Didn’t draw.

Didn’t speak.

Just turned my head and looked up.

There, perched in the crook of a tall maple tree, was a woman. Pale skin, long black hair, and the kind of outfit that didn’t belong in the middle of a Canadian forest. Leather straps barely clung to her chest, more decorative than functional, and thigh-high boots that didn’t look made for snow. What the shit. Why was she dressed like a stripper? Her wings—thin, batlike, glossy black—twitched slightly behind her like they were feeling out the air.

Definitely a devil.

I kept my face flat and neutral. Didn’t give her anything. But, I had to admit, if her outfit was meant to use her bodice as a means of distraction during combat, then it was effective.

She smiled, sharp and bright, and dropped from the branch without so much as a flutter from her wings. She landed light in the snow about fifteen meters away, knees slightly bent, one hand brushing her hair behind her ear like she wasn’t just announcing a kill.

I raised a brow and tilted my head. “How’d you find me?”

She grinned wider, flashing sharp canines.

“You offended Ukko,” she said, like I should know what that meant. “He told us where to find you.”

I blinked. “Ukko?”

She shrugged, wings shifting. “Finnish god. Lightning, thunder, that kind of thing. You must’ve stepped on something sacred.”

I stared at her for a second. Then looked around the woods.

Same trees.

Same snow.

Same silence.

No shrines. No old statues. No ancient glowing rocks.

“…How?”

She smiled like I’d asked a stupid question.

“Gods don’t need reasons. They just need moods.”

I scratched my chin.

“That seems like a personal problem.” And then, it dawned on me. The Bull Moose. It must’ve been a sacred creature for this Ukko guy and I just ate its soul. Or it could’ve been something else altogether. At least, the devil was right in that gods really don’t need reasons to do anything if Greek Mythology is anything to go by. “Ah, now it makes sense.”

She laughed—short, high, a little too pleased with herself. “Keep talking like that. I like my prey arrogant.”

I stepped once to the side, adjusting my stance just slightly. The [Tau Rail Rifle] stayed in my inventory for now. I didn’t want to escalate too fast. Not yet. Plus, I was pretty sure I didn’t need it at all.

“Prey?” I asked. “You sure that’s the word you want?”

She tilted her head, grinning. “Confident. I like that.”

Then her smile dropped.

“Let’s see if you’re still smiling when I pull your lungs out.”

She started walking forward. Her boots didn’t sink at all, like the snow just decided not to exist for her. Her wings spread slightly, casting thin shadows on the white behind her. 

She lifted her right hand and closed her fingers into a fist. There was a brief hum, a flicker of red and black light—and then a bow burst into existence. The thing looked like it had been carved out of molten obsidian and smoke, edges flickering at the ends like dying coals. A matching quiver full of arrows appeared on her hip, each one burning faintly with the same unstable glow.

Definitely magic.

Which raised a question.

Was she not briefed?

Did Serafall not send out a warning bulletin to all the Stolas Devils? Because unless this woman was swinging in the same weight class as Serafall herself, her spells wouldn’t mean much inside my [Blank] aura. They’d fizzle, short out, maybe pop like fireworks if she pushed too hard. Also, why would she come this close if her main method of combat was with a bow?

And if she knew that—and still came close—then she was either extremely confident, extremely stupid, or not really here.

A projection, maybe. An illusion. 

Which… worked, honestly. The outfit alone was enough to draw attention. Looked like someone took a dominatrix cosplay and ran it through a fantasy filter. All leather and cleavage and strategically-placed straps. Flashy enough to make someone stare, stupid enough to make someone die.

I didn’t stare.

I scanned.

The trees around us were tall, old, packed close together. Good cover. Branches hung low, weighed down with snow. The shrubs were thick enough to crawl through. The fresh powder gave soft footing, but not enough to silence every step. I swept the area with my eyes. No shapes. No movement. But that didn’t mean anything.

She’d said “us,” after all.

This was a trap.

Sniper? Maybe. A flanker? Probably. Could be anything, really. My [Tempestus Scions Training] ran a dozen scenarios in the back of my head like tabs on a browser.

I let out a long breath, scratched the back of my head, and kept my voice calm.

“Before we begin,” I said, “may I know your name?”

She stopped walking. Stood tall. One hip cocked. That bow stayed in her hand, ready but not drawn.

“Halia Stolas,” she said.

There was a little pride in the way she said it. Like it mattered.

She tilted her head, watching me.

“Niece of Helena Stolas.”

I nodded slowly.

“Ah,” I said. “I killed your aunt.”

“You did.”

I gave her a look. “This is about revenge, then?”

She laughed.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The Patriarch of House Stolas put a very pretty price on your head: a Sacred Gear User peerage member. I’d like to be the one who claims it.”

I blinked. Looked at her again. Then gave the woods another glance, just to be sure.

And then, I shrugged. “I appreciate the honesty.”

She grinned. “I’d get a bigger prize if I brought you in alive. After all, a human killing a devil is almost unheard of, unless they–you know–had something very special about them.” 

“You gonna come quietly?” she asked.

“No.” I said. “I don’t think I will.”

She pulled the bowstring halfway back.

“I didn’t think so.”

A shadow shifted slightly behind the trees to my right, about fifty meters away. Quiet. Barely a ripple in the white. An ally? A sniper? No idea. 

I didn’t move yet. Didn’t blink. Just watched the space behind her shoulders.

“Well,” I said, voice flat. “Let’s get this over with.”