Chapter 179 - Unexpected Mercy

Eric lurched up with a gasp, his soul screaming with such horror that he thought he’d go mad with terror as dark fingers scrabbled within his very soul…

Before his head bumped against the necromantic bone cage covered in spiky ribs and tusks he must have summoned while hovering between life and death, his ES Space and Adept tier Flesh Sculpting allowing him to do in a fever dream what Sam had made clear few necromancers were capable of doing at all.

Eric shuddered with dreadful memories he would have done anything to forget strange. How strange and awful it was to recall himself being crumpled like tissue paper by overwhelming forces as his dying soul was consigned to the blackness of the void… before being instantly restored to pristine condition.

As if fate, existence, or the System itself had simultaneously cut away the final paragraph of his life, before pasting a freshly edited version.

Eric blinked, pulling himself free of his dazed stupor, for a moment utterly confused and disoriented as he pieced together what had happened.

His regeneration was an incredible boon. But it hadn’t been enough to completely circumvent the death clawing at his insides as Rank 30 Air Qi attacks shredded him from within, a heartbeat before he pounded his enemy’s face all to hell with a single devastating punch. Yet his victory hadn’t stopped the cascade of damage from shredded intestines and perforated organs. Even his desperate sip of the dregs of his final healing potion had only slowed death’s encroachment down.

Slowing it just enough, just barely enough, for Eric to enjoy a single golden hour of deathlike stupor, for all that it had been an exercise in pain and nightmares. Still, he had endured it, so exhausted he couldn’t do more than take the shallowest of breaths. Because whatever one’s Vitality, even if one’s wounds were so catastrophic that high double digits couldn’t resolve it, a golden hour in either slumber, near perfect stillness, or a dazed stupor would still allow a System reset, just the same as if his Vitality were only twenty. A final hail Mary pass, for when the damage suffered was beyond any ability to repair.

Eric swallowed, filled with an odd mix of horror and gratitude, taking deep breaths, desperate to steady himself and ease away the last of the screams crawling at the back of his throat.

Then he heard the squeals and grunts, breath turning ragged with a reflexive jolt of terror before realizing that yes, he was safe at that moment. The boars he now sensed were completely ignoring him, even as they tore into a pair of corpses and squealed and gored at a final shrieking man.

Eric blinked, recognizing the one cultivator who hadn’t sneered and closed on Eric, probably because both his legs had been cleanly severed.

Strangely, the body of Scar, just feet past Eric’s cage, was completely unmolested.

The same couldn’t be said for the pair of cultivators it was clear that Eric’s final blasts had taken out, a single glimpse of a face that had been cauterized down the center, leaving a big gaping crater, making it clear that in his final dying moments, Eric’s 79 Finesse had been an absolute life saver.

But it didn’t change the fact that he had been utterly vulnerable to the crippled cultivator for over an hour. The one cultivator who had seemed genuinely uncomfortable with Scar’s vindictive braggadocio.

His opponent had had all the time he could possibly need to slice effortlessly through Eric’s bony shell and rip him to shreds while he lay helpless and dormant. Yet the dark elf had refrained from any such action. An elf who was now desperately struggling against a pair of hot-eyed boar, his dark-elven features free of the arrogance and disdain the others had worn, his face showing only exhaustion, fury at his oncoming death, and a terrible sense of despair.

Eric winced under the weight of what he sensed and saw.

His bone cage gone in the blink of an eye.

And how weird it was to lurch back to his feet on trembling legs, before realizing they weren’t trembling at all.

He had never felt stronger.

Not like he had collapsed in a steaming pile of his own entrails, just an hour before.

He shivered at the memory, the sheer horror of it, more in touch with the spectre of death than he ever wanted to be.

And Eric could hear all too well the cultivator’s desperate cries as the spiritual energy he projected from his masterwork blade fading, lethal cuts turned to glancing slashes as two irate boars turned to three. Even the one tusker now slowly approaching Eric abruptly turned around, as if they could sense their prey collapsing at last.

“I love you, Riana!”

A man’s final dying words… too much for even Eric’s jaded ass to bear.

You have critically struck Spirit Boar with bardiche! Boar has been slain!

Haymaker has shattered spirit boar ribs!

With a roar, Eric charged, bringing all his hard-fought Adept tier skills to bear.

Cleaving off hocks with his now fully repaired bardiche, ripping open flanks with a lightning fast series of draw cuts as he flipped weapons in the blink of an eye, putting his saber, and Iado skills to the ultimate test.

And now, like never before, he was determined to prove himself.

Both to himself, and to the trembling man about to collapse on the ground before him, lashing out with his fists, fists he didn’t dare exude any sort of explosive Qi from, knowing just how damn important it was not to rock his foundation, at least not yet, but fists that nonetheless struck with resounding force sufficient for the air to echo with the boom of knuckles striking harder than a charging bulls, knowing that some part of him wanted to imprint that furious punch that had been the death blow for the man who had nearly killed him, as much as it was training up the lead strike of what might one day be a fearsome ability… should he ever learn the secret of channeling his Qi in combat without straining his foundation.

You have successfully slain 4 Spirit boars!

3 additional spirit boars have fled!

Eric flashed a bleak smile at their retreating forms, realizing that yes, they were definitely smaller than the massive beasts he had last practiced his punches on, and was actually able to take out the two smallest with his fists in record time.

A feat which had earned the unflinching regard of the one surviving cultivator. Looking just as weak, vulnerable, and sickly as he no doubt was, having spent an hour fearing death, perhaps fighting for his life, with fresh stumps for legs and no reprieve or aid in sight.

Eric took a deep breath, grateful for the tingling feel of unmarred flesh, the agony of disembowelment a nightmare quickly forgotten.

Yet he was humbled by just how close he had come to death.

“Why?”

Eric gazed down at the exhausted dark elf who had whispered a single word filled with uncertainty, confusion, and desperate hope.

Eric sighed, tilting his head, seeing no reason not to tell him the truth. “Rhiana.”

The man blinked and swallowed, tears coming to his eyes. “Please, young master, I beg of you! Don’t—“

Eric held up his hand, slowly shaking his head.

“I didn’t save the life of a psychopathic cultivator following orders to kill me, a lowly adventurer whose major crime these days seems to be surviving when powerful people clearly want me dead.” Eric flashed a sad, jaded smile. “I saved the life of a dying man who realized that all of this was absolute bullshit, and wanted nothing more than to get home to the arms of his woman, perhaps the mother of his children, who loved him desperately.”

Eric sighed and looked away, unable to bear the pain-filled expression on the dark elf’s face.

He swallowed, forcing himself to speak on. “I would like your cultivator’s oath, however, that you will never deliberately try to bring harm to me or mine, through direct or indirect means. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

The elf actually had tears in his eyes. “I swear it!” He sobbed, before biting back bitter laughter. “Not that I could possibly be a threat to anyone, with my legs cleaved off.”

Eric smirked. “Like they won’t come back after a good night’s sleep.

The man gazed at him strangely. “What are you talking about?”

Eric blinked. “Wait… you guys don’t fully regenerate after a good night’s sleep?”

The dark elf blinked, before bursting out in melodic laughter. “Of course not, boy. What kind of fairy tale do you think life is?” His eyes then widened, as he gazed at the massive rents in Eric’s own armor. “Don’t tell me you...”

Eric favored the elf with a look that was strangely pitying. “Let me guess. Your clan elders never told you about the benefits of grabbing a System class?”

The man adamantly shook his head. “Of course not. System classes and cultivators are anathema to each other. Powerful classers aren’t even able to access proper mystic realms. The spiritual energy is too dense for them. Everyone knows that.”

Eric smirked. “So that’s the reason for the level 10 stricture on this realm. But cultivators of any level can enter freely, I take it?”

The elf closed his eyes, an odd mixture of relief and pain upon his brow. He slowly shook his head. “No, youngblood. The strictures upon this world are clear. Thirty Ranks or levels is the maximum that may be brought to this newly claimed world during its time of transition, as your own master should have instructed you.” He sighed. “And it cost the clan dearly, sending us here to retrieve the divine spirit fruit after the schism war caused our portal to this mystic realm to rupture. Had we not been informed that a fresh portal to our lost peach groves had formed within a newly claimed world… my clan would have saved a fortune.”

Eric gazed into the elf’s imploring eyes for long moments before finally sitting down and pulling out a flask of water from his storage pouch, solemnly passing the cultivator before him a fresh flask as well. The injured cultivator drank with trembling hands gratefully.

“I’m tired of thinking of you as ‘dark elf’ in my mind. What should I call you?”

“Pavelija. Call me Pavel, if that’s easier for you. It means loyal servant, in our native tongue. And what should I call you?”

Eric smirked. “Considering that I just killed three of your clan’s elites, maybe it’s best if we stick to ‘Roundear.’ Though I’m surprised you didn’t just call me human trash. or some tripe like that. Speaking of which, you’re claiming these are your clan’s lands. That isn’t entirely true, is it?”

Pavel had the grace to look away. “It’s true. Centuries ago, our sect did claim this territory from another. But all I know of this is what I read in our archives.” His eyes lit with wonder. “It truly is a miraculous place. You can sense the spiritual energy radiating from each of these fruit! What a proper alchemist or spirit doctor could do with these spiritual treasures would be miraculous!”

Eric nodded. “I believe it. To say nothing of the boons you could obtain from eating them right off the branch.”

Pavel swallowed. “True. But you must be very, very careful should you dare that path, as you no doubt already know.”

Eric frowned. “But the way Scar spoke...”

“Scar?”

Eric shrugged. “What I choose to call the psychopath who was dead set on killing me the moment he laid eyes on me.”

Pavel winced. “I… yes. Perhaps its best we leave it at that. Names have a… weight. Best, perhaps, if you fought and survived against a nameless opponent… and my superior fell to an unnamed foe.”

Eric smirked, before nodding his agreement. “Anyway, the way he spoke, he reveled in the butchery your clan, or sect, had delivered to the original caretakers of this land, acting like he’d happily do it all over again.” Eric’s frown grew. “And the moment I tried to strike a deal with your group, to reach some kind of accord where we all came out ahead… all came out with our lives… that asshole just screamed for my head.”

Pavel was silent for long moments, before bowing his head. “Everything you say is true,” he whispered. “Eli… I mean, Scar, did indeed glory in the darker remnants of our sect’s heritage. Indeed, he and his father both savor the, how should I put it? Old ways of garnering power and ruling the sect like kings.” He cleared his throat. “Like all sects of note, ours is ruled by a counsel. Scar’s father is but one voice. But any elder may assign any junior to serve, and put their own scion in charge. Do you understand what I’m saying, young master?”

Eric smirked at that. “Right out of a cultivation novel.”

Surprisingly, this earned a smirk right back from Pavel as well. “Perhaps. What soldier doesn’t read stories of war, after all?”

Eric furrowed his brow. “So your saying that your sect is now far more chill than it once was, but Scar’s father is one of the hotblooded psychopaths eager to swim in rivers of blood for power, his son’s the same way, and you just happened to find yourself trapped in a nightmare of charging some unknown sap whose only crime was pissing off your superior, but you were honor bound to fight me.”

Pavel paled and lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry. I know that ultimately, none of that is an excuse. I wronged you, and my life is now utterly in your hands.”

Eric sighed. “And what kind of asshole would I be to judge you? When the officer in charge of your squad says shoot, you fire. You don’t question the politics behind it. It’s not your place to judge, and nothing’s more devastating to an army’s effectiveness than underlings refusing to follow orders. Moral is shot, and an empire can be lost.” He shook his head. “And yeah, your sect did some pretty fucked up shit, if my dreams and visions are anything to go by.”

The look Pavel gave him made it clear that maybe he should have skipped that part.

“But considering that the Americas were founded by Conquistadors and Settlers who might not have been the monsters some people painted them out to be, but did bring with them no less than six plagues that might have decimated upwards of 90% of the native populations over a couple of centuries, means I’m in no place to pass judgment. It was on their lands that the nation I grew up in and loved was founded, and I refuse to let anyone try to convince me that I should hate my home, my country, and everything it stood for, when I know damn well that foreign powers far more corrupt than my own country were using propaganda to try to destroy us from within.”

Eric flashed a bitter smile. “Not that that means anything now. But if I were to pass judgment on you for the actions of your sect centuries ago, I’d have to look at the ancestral blood on my hands. Stains which I refuse to bear.” Eric clenched his fist. “No matter the sins of my parents, or endlessly great grandparents, I refuse to bear the guilt for any actions save those I committed with my own two hands!”

Pavel swallowed. “Your words have merit… young master.”

Eric froze, gazing at his own clenched fists, sensing how he was looming over the wounded man.

He flashed a rueful smile, quickly stepping back. “Sorry.” He turned and glared at the badly mauled remains of the pair of cultivators he had shot dead. “But I won’t apologize for taking those two down before I collapsed. The looks in their eyes...”

“They were Scar’s boon companions. With similar vicious temperaments and predilections for violence. As Scars fortunes rose, so did theirs.”

Eric gazed at the uncomfortable-looking man for long moments. “I take it you were the fourth, forcefully volunteered to round out their unit?”

The dark elf’s eyes widened, as if Eric had revealed some big secret, before his lips curved in a rueful smile. “You are correct.”

Eric smirked as he approached the remains. “Are you going to tell me they gave you all the shit assignments? Setting up camp, clean up, latrine duty, smacking the back of your head before screaming at you for the quality of your work?”

This actually earned a chuckle. “How long were you spying on us, Young Master, to glean such insights?”

Eric smirked. “Ha. Just like a cultivation novel.”

Pavel’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed it was, and that observation allowed me to quietly laugh at the vindictive fools I was burdened with, whenever they were off sleeping or whoring.” His bemused smile turned to a pained grimace. “And now I am crippled, and, where any other elder responsible for a mission would do all they could to nurture survivors of natural disasters,” he said, looking pointedly at the Spirit Beast remains, “Scar’s father will no doubt want my head.”

Eric blinked, taken aback. “Wait, that’s insane!”

“Hardly. I’m a worthless cripple who allowed his son to die.” He flashed a bitter smile. “Or at least, that is what he will claim before the council to justify taking my head, which he will no doubt do the moment I give my report, knowing he will be lightly reprimanded at best, and I, of course, will be dead.”

Eric gazed at the elf for long moments. “Here’s a crazy idea. Enter a pod, grab a class that will not interfere with your cultivation progression, and embrace the adventurer’s life. It’s possible to do both. Believe me, I know.”

The dark elf gazed at Eric for long moments before slowly bowing his head. “I do sense an odd… synergism of powers. How remarkable.”

Eric grinned. “Best thing is, if you’re a Pod survivor, and that’s pretty much automatic for any cultivator, at least that’s my hunch… high Vitality doesn’t just give you vigor. You’re actually able to regenerate! Best of all, even if your injuries are so fucking grave that regeneration can’t keep up, all you need is to sleep or keep as still as possible for one hour once Vitality hits 20 or more, and you fully regenerate!” He paled and shivered. “But trust me, you really really don’t want to be awake for that last bit. Not if you can help it.”

Pavel gazed at Eric for long moments. “And that’s how you survived Scar’s killing blow.”

Eric winced. “And fuck was it a close thing.”

Pavel sighed. “If only it were that easy… benevolent master.”

Eric shrugged. “Maybe it is. Is your Rhiana a part of your sect?”

The elf blinked, hard eyes gazing into Eric’s own for long moments before answering with a smile. “No. She was a servant for the sect. I used a sect boon I had earned to claim her as my personal servant, humbled by her care and cooking skills.” His smile grew. “She, in turn, claimed my heart, and of all the abilities I’ve gained, she is the greatest prize I could have ever asked for.”

Eric smiled. “I’m happy for you both. So all you need to do is smuggle Rhiana and your offspring here to Earth, where no sect assassins over Level 30 can bother you. And why would they? They already lost three lives to stupidity and only one elder will want immediate vengeance.”

Pavel blinked, his gaze actually turning thoughtful. Intent brown eyes gazed into Eric’s own. “You’d really be willing to help me? After all that happened? After we nearly...”

Eric laughed. “Damn right. Why not? Those assholes might be willing to throw you away, but you’re a person, your hopes and dreams matter. You’re more than some jaded backstabbing elder’s tool.”

Pavel chuckled, then winced, eyes growing wide when Eric actually lifted him up. Quite effortlessly, after putting the remains of the beasts and the fallen cultivators into storage. He was pleased to see that he could separate the cultivator’s bodies such that they were infused with no unexpected energies, sensing his ability to control his ES skill had somehow increased by leaps and bounds in the time he was so close to expiring… as if the System reset had had unexpected repercussions.

He shuddered at the thought, pouring his focus instead upon the miraculous treasures he had managed to claim.

You have successfully claimed 1 Epic Tier Wind Blade! You have successfully claimed 1 Epic Tier Chain Mail Hauberk! These Spirit Treasures may be soul-bound at reduced cost! You have claimed the contents of one storage space… contents automatically incorporated into your own: Food has been placed in a positive energy sector of ES Space!

Chapter 180 - Just How Bad Is The Deck Stacked Against Us?