"Smell the blood?" Slate asked. "Is that normal?" An affirmative feeling came from Merus.
Yes, most Guardians senses are enhanced to be the best in the forest. It helps when they need to track down... He paused uncomfortably ...recalcitrants.
Slate puzzled over that particular fact. Merus' senses were good, but they didn't seem the-best-in-the-forest-good. He asked Merus as much and got an irritated reply.
My talents were always better for magic. He huffed. The other Guardians have better physical traits.
Slate felt like he had hit a nerve, so he changed the subject. "So they'll be coming to this spot?" Most likely.
Slate reflected on the upcoming confrontation. The last Guardian he had killed had senses developed enough that elf had been able to attack Slate no matter how stealthily he moved. Something as simple as dropping from the trees wouldn't work. "Well. It's brute force or nothing. I'll just wait here and hope they're curious enough to make a mistake." Slate could feel Merus' appalled disagreement on the complete lack of a plan, but the elf wisely decided not to comment. To be honest, Slate wasn't even sure the best way to approach this conflict. He would have to rely on what advantages he could secure at the moment. He was confident in his own ability to adapt to evolving situations. It was basically what he had been doing since he arrived in Somnium.
The first thing he needed was to put the momentum on his side. The military accomplished this through what they called shock and awe. It was a way of putting the enemy off-balance to force them to operate within the desired framework. If they were busy responding, they wouldn't have time to do any planning. Slate walked over to the blood-drenched earth where Invid Blackbow had died. He sat cross-legged on the ground and closed his eyes. He allowed his tail to curl around his body and placed his hands on his knees in a typical meditation pose.
Slate concentrated and requested that the forest help him create his tableau. The moon took that moment to peek from behind the clouds, and the Wyldwood itself acquiesced to his silent request. The tree branches above him slightly pulled away, and a small beam of moonlight was allowed to fall on his still form. The scene he created was disconcerting. To complete the effect, Slate began to draw as much ambient mana into his body as possible. There wasn't any purpose for the mana except to make his enemies stop and ask questions rather than attack.
The two Guardians arrived a short time later. Slate sensed their arrival but didn't move as one of the elves nocked his bow with one of his arrows. Sensing his confusion, Merus began to give him information in perfunctory sentences.
Two elves. Windrunner Brothers. Cantor is the one with the bow. Caldor uses a sword. However, they're conservative fighters and are likely to attack from a distance. They've never attacked another Guardian in the Reaping. They're highly regarded more for their crafting abilities than their fighting, but they're still deadly opponents.
He continued, answering Slate's actual question. They both have weapons because they can shape them from the trees themselves. It's not considered cheating since they're directly the result of their own magical abilities. It's part of what makes them both so respected. Both could defeat me in melee combat, but they've always respected my magical aptitude.
Slate kept his eyes closed. He didn't need them with his mana vision active, and it added to the effect he wanted to present. "Cantor. Caldor." He said, with Merus' voice, by way of greeting without moving.
Caldor drew his wooden sword from a roughspun sheath on his back and stepped a half pace in front of his brother. "What's the meaning of this, Merus?" He gestured with his sword to the blood on the ground.
Slate finally opened his eyes and regarded the Protector closest to him. He allowed a pained expression to cross his face. "Something is hunting us. I was drawn here by the screams. I'm trying to commune with Silvys so that she'll lead me to the culprit of this heinous act." Slate couldn't allow them to have the time to start picking holes in his alibi, so he went on the offensive.
"What are you two doing here? Haven't you been having a difficult time communing with the Wyldwood as well?" He asked, his voice polite yet curious.
Caldor and Cantor shared a look as they both allowed their weapons to drop a fraction. Cantor decided to answer the question. "We weren't led here by the Silvys. We heard the screaming."
Slate arched an eyebrow and asked as innocently as he could. "Oh? So you two have been unable to commune with the forest at all?" The question made the brother's visibly agitated. The implied meaning of the question landing just as Slate wanted it to. This time it was Caldor who spoke.
"You know we've never been as good at contacting Silvys as you have, Merus." He raised his sword again. "We've decided to resort to other means for this Reaping." Cantor shot a startled look at his brother that Slate caught.
Slate could feel that this was the moment in the conversation where it could go either way. It was these types of conversations that lit his blood on fire. He knew he couldn't allow them to reach the end of that particular line of thought. He needed to take a gamble. "So…" He paused. "You're here to kill me?" He looked directly into the eyes of both of the brother's. Neither of them could meet his gaze. Slate crowed internally. They didn't have what it took to look someone in the eye that they were planning to kill. Slate had no such compunctions.
Cantor cleared his throat. "Well, no. Of course not. We just meant that we've had to work together and try and track down prey the old fashioned way." The elf put away his arrow and gestured to his brother to put away the sword as if trying to convince Merus of their good intentions.
Slate smiled at them, to put them at ease. He gestured at the blood around him. "I know that you can feel that I'm in communion with the wood. For some reason, being near the site of the murder had made it easier to connect with Silvys." He took a breath and looked like he was uncomfortable.
"I can help you re-establish your connection." He said quietly. The two brothers looked at each other. An entire conversation passed between their eyes. It was a power that only siblings seemed to possess. Soon they nodded and then sat down. The relief was evident in their eyes.
"Thank you for your help, Merus," Caldor said. "We know that this isn't the smartest thing for you to do. If we end up tracking and killing a beast more potent than yours, we'll win the Reaping."
Slate shared a shy smile. "It's more important than that." He said. "If we can't restore our connection then Silvys then how are we supposed to do our duties as Guardians?" Slate let the question linger in the air before continuing. "Perhaps Stonebringer was right when he said our actions this night would determine the future of Woodhaven. I'd like to think that helping you now is what the chief was referring to." Cantor laughed at the statement.
"Maybe you're right, Merus! My brother and I could be what he was referring to. It will all be because of your help!" Caldor didn't look as convinced as his brother. "What do you want from us, Merus? Surely you aren't doing this out of the goodness of your heart." He asked.
"You know I'm not cut out for this Guardian thing," Slate said in a self-effacing tone. "I just want to live a peaceful life with Lynia and study the forest's magic. I'm hoping you'll look out for me during the rest of the Reaping. If you do so, I'll help you, however you need." Both of the brothers seemed pleased by Slate's offer Merus' bookish personality easily selling Slate's pitch.
"Of course, Merus. We aren't so cruel that we would betray you like that." Caldor said. Slate only smiled in response as the brothers took their places next to him. As they did so, the trees shifted to their original positions and the moonlight was abruptly cut off. At the moment between light and darkness, Slate made his move.
Launching himself towards Cantor, Slate fastened his hands around the Guardian's neck. Both of the elves cried out in alarm. They were both in melee range, and Caldor hastily tried to draw his sword while Cantor struggled to pry Slate's hands from his throat. Using his mana vision, Slate could clearly see Caldor's movements even though he was focused
on choking the life from Cantor. He used his tail to coil around Caldor's sword hand.
Relying on a tried and true tactic, Slate flexed the muscles in his tail. Caldor screamed as the scales shredded through the limb, and his sword clattered to the forest floor. He clutched his hand as blood fountained from the severed hand. He dropped to his knees in shock.
Seeing the dilemma his brother was in, Cantor renewed his struggles. Letting go of Slate's, arms he went to reach for a knife that he held on his waist. Noticing the movement, Slate decided to end this particular struggle. He leaned forward and allowed his prehensile tongue to dart from his mouth like a projectile. He plunged the needle-like part of his tongue into the elve's eye.
Cantor screamed. All thoughts of retrieving his knife were forgotten. Slate plunged his tongue further into the elves socket and then released acid into the wound with a thought. Cantor's screams change pitch and frequency before the acid ate its way to his brain.
Slate rose and turned towards Caldor as the Guardian looked on in horror at his dying brother. The elf was still noisily dying as his melting brain caused his body to break out in seizures. Slate closed the gap in a couple of steps and knelt down so that he could look Caldor in the eyes.
The elf was frozen in fear and shock with his mouth agape. The situation had changed so quickly, and the way that his brother had died was so harrowing that Caldor didn't even struggle. Slate considered the best way to kill him without bringing more attention to the area.
Almost contemptuously Slate plunged his tail blade into the elf's mouth and then grabbed his head with both of his hands. With a grunt, he pushed his tail further until it pierced the elf's brain. Caldor's eyes rolled into his head, and Slate let the body fall to the ground as he pulled his tail out of the corpse with a sucking sound.
That was unnecessary. Merus noted.
"It was as quick an end as I could give them. The strong hunt the weak, remember?" Merus remained silent as Slate quickly stripped the bodies of their weapons, and promptly buried them in the earth. He knew that he could dispose of the bodies fast enough, but he didn't want someone to stumble on the proof of his kill in the form of their weapons.
He wrapped his tail around his waist like a brown sash. Slate stared at the location where he had buried the weapons and considered if they would provide an advantage over his own biological implements. He concluded that they might if he had the experience, but he would probably misuse them, and worse, they would ruin his disguise. Merus wasn't known for his ability to shape wood, and if he attacked another group of Guardians with the Windrunner's weapons, the other Guardians might grow suspicious. It was too early in the game to reveal his presence just yet. Slate might have to trick another one of them, and he didn't want to be found out by carrying another warriors weapons.
After he had dressed and consumed the brothers, he checked the messages that he had dismissed earlier. The brothers were levels 26 and 24. He was ecstatic about receiving a whopping 13,300 experience. It was the most he had ever earned in a single engagement. As it was, he was able to get to level 19. Consuming the brothers gave him the same amount of biomass as last time. He now had a total of 45. Slate was relieved to have definitive proof that biomass must have purely been a result of the mass of the enemy and not some sort of mathematical equation. It made logical sense, but Slate knew it was a fool's errand to try and apply logic to magic.
"Well. Where to next? Three down and four to go." Slate looked up and tried to gauge the position of the moon. "Looks like the night is about halfway over, so we're on track."
Start heading deeper into the forest. Merus replied. It looks like the rest of them have stayed somewhat close to the village. If I had to guess, they're working together and making ever wider circles around the Woodhaven in the hopes of finding something before the night is over.
"That's not a bad strategy. I wonder how the Guardians are going to divvy up the spoils?" Slate wondered.
They probably weren't. The Reaping is largely a selfish endeavor. After all, only one person wins the right to be the chief. Merus supplied. They're probably just letting luck decide. After all, the forest provides, right? He returned to business. If we can get inside their patrol circle, we could probably wrap this up fairly quickly before sunrise.
Slate grinned. "That's the kind of thinking I like." He took off into a jog deeper into the forest. He kept his pace manageable. If this were a videogame, he would have been moving at a pace that matched his exact stamina regeneration. Slate had already noticed that he was able to move faster through the forest since he had communed with it. He felt sorry for the other elves that had to traverse the woods without the forest's aid. He assumed they were feeling their loss keenly. After a somewhat long jog, Merus piped up.
Alright. You're close. Slow down. I can feel that he's right ahead of you, moving perpendicular to your own path. Slate reflected that knowing where his enemies were, was extremely convenient. He would kill to have had this kind of intel when he was in the military. It was a shame that he wouldn't be able to rely on this kind of information after he left the forest. He reminded himself to discuss with Merus other places of power and how they worked.
Slate moved into a crouch and strained his senses to pick up where his next enemy was. Predictably, his mana vision picked up the elf before any of his other senses did. Just as Merus had said, the elf was going to cross right in front of his path. He decided to simply ambush this enemy. Slate was close enough to see the Guardian's expression, and he looked more bored than anything else. Slate's prey wasn't even trying to be stealthy, announcing his presence for anyone with ears to find. Fearing a trap, Slate lowered his voice and addressed Merus. "Why is he acting like this?"
I'm not sure. Merus replied, clearly confused. It's like he doesn't even care about the Reaping and he's just going through the motions. I can't tell who it is, so I can't really say why he's acting this way.
Slate mentally shrugged. Whatever. One dead wood elf coming up. He thought. He crept closer to the noisy elf. He used every trick he knew to remain silent. He held his tail low to the ground in what he was coming to think of as the ready position. In his experience with the limb so far, most opponents weren't expecting a blade coming at them from such an odd angle. At some point, Slate would have to develop an actual fighting style for his tail rather than relying on instinct to defeat his enemies.
Slate soon closed the distance to the oblivious Guardian, and he couldn't help but feel that this was going to be too easy after the effort it took to dispatch the other elves. He shouldn't have worried so much. It was almost anti-climactic the way that the elf died. With a quick-stepping motion, Slate moved up behind the elf and caught him in a headlock. His bicep and forearm pressed on the Guardian's carotid arteries, and after a brief moment, the elf passed out. Instead of letting go, Slate increased the pressure and waited until he received the system message.
Congratulations! You have killed a level 22 Wood Elf! You have earned 4,550 experience. You are currently within a host body and can decide to give the experience to the host or to your own body! You cannot split the experience.
Slate sighed in relief. No matter how many times he would kill tonight, it was always going to be a stressful experience. Not necessarily bad, but stressful. "That was almost too easy."
Merus seemed to agree. It does seem a shame that one of our own fell so effortlessly. The other three at least put up somewhat of a fight. Merus seemed to be conflicted about something. Hey Slate?
"Yeah?" Slate replied distractedly as he searched around the body for anything useful. Seeing nothing, he began to go through the familiar consumption process.
Do you think your deity is truly the will of Silvys? Merus asked hesitantly.
Slate could hear the seriousness in Merus' voice and knew that the wood elf was at a turning point. Lying would get Slate nowhere. One of the most important rules about influence was to tell the truth in such a way that it disarmed the target and if you're goin
g to lie, make it a big one. Otherwise, it was more manageable and more effective, to just tell the truth.
"To be honest, Merus. I don't know. I used to think that I knew what God was in my own world. As it turned out, I didn't know a single thing. Maybe mortals will never truly know the will of the immortals" Slate looked up at the waning moon. "What I do know is thatLucidus has remade me and provided me with a purpose. I don't even know its name, but it's nice to finally have a purpose that I'm well suited for. In my world, society shames you for being successful even as they wish they could be you."
That seems stupid. Merus commented, but in truth he had felt some of that same pain himself. He had always felt like an outcast in his own village. He felt too...different. If it weren't for Lynia there wouldn't be a single thing tying him Woodhaven.
"Yeah. I agree. It seems even more stupid now. We were all seeking the approval of people who could give a shit less about us. Now that I'm here, I have a chance to create something larger than myself. Maybe I won't go about it in the nicest of ways. But there hasn't been a single empire ever created without violence, and if I had the choice, I'd rather have the people I care about issuing the violence rather than receiving it."
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