The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 56-58

*Patreon is now stripping out all my formatting when I upload. This is deeply irritating. I have tried to add all the italicized internal thoughts back in manually. I apologize if I missed one somewhere. I really wish they would stop breaking their own web site every week or two. What is it about italics and bold that really needed to be changed?!

Ch. 56 - Green Fields

Days later, when Var’gar summited the last mountain of the range, they were greeted not by further mountains but by rocky foothills that lead down in a series of broken plains. It was an ugly place without any obvious inhabitants, but that didn’t stop the orc from leading his burgeoning legions down the mountain and toward whatever awaited them next. The massive group followed a lazy, silt-filled river until they reached the first of many towns they would plunder. 

Unlike the previous settlement they’d sacked, this one had no walls, just animal pins and wooden buildings that burned even better than their inhabitants. That tiny outpost had only a hundred or so people, but that was enough for it to cleave a bloody path to the end of its current stage on the Path of Blood. 

+424 Life Force.

+19 Human Souls.

While the orcs celebrated their victory and roasted the fallen in the ashes of their homes, it focused on what level two would bring it instead. The Ebon Blade was not disappointed. 

You have shed much Blood, but it is never enough. It is but a drop in a crimson ocean. You must bathe the world red. It is the only color that matters, and you shall feast upon all of the slaughter, not just your own. 

The Path of Blood: Level 2 

Kill, maim, or grievously injure 1000 men and monsters to reach Level 3. These acts of violence can be perpetrated by anyone, but they must be within the reach of your Aura of Hunger…

Level 2 Powers: 

Red Haze:  gain 10% of your Siphon from every significant wound inflicted within your reach.

Bonds of Blood: though in is your wielder you are connected to, when you are slicing open your enemy you may examine their mind with half of your connection rating.  

While the blade had no real interest in gaining a glimpse into the minds of those it was slaughtering, it rejoiced in its first new ability. For so long now, the slaughter that had gone on all around it had resulted in nothing but waste. If someone was struck dead near it, it could lay claim to their soul, but all the rest of their Life Force drained uselessly into the dirt. 

All of that changed now. Now, at the hard of the battle, it would collect a portion of every wound, and that portion would only increase as its siphon level grew. With any luck, it would increase further as it progressed further along the path of blood, and now that the thing counted every death and grievous injury in its presence, things would go much faster. The blade doubted it would take as long to gather a thousand victims this way as it had to gather a hundred in the direct fashion. 

Still, it didn’t have the chance to find out. Not for a few days. All it did was consume the souls it had harvested, bringing it back to almost 4,000 Life Force. It spent that on Improved Siphon 8. The upgrade burned through it with cold fire, making its blade a quarter inch longer and very slightly wider, but its wielder didn’t even seem to notice.

While this hadn’t been part of its original plan, it could not resist. Now that its Path of Blood abilities were relying on Siphon as well, though, it really had no choice. Its aura drained eight to twelve Life Force every few seconds, and now, its new Red Haze ability drained two to three a blow. Increasing Siphon would benefit both, in addition to its normal strikes. 

Improved Siphon 8: Only a strong man would survive more than a single blow from your cursed blade. Increase the Life Force drained per blow from 15 to 25. 

While the base ability was already impressive enough, the true number, after the path bonuses, was twenty-eight to forty. That was enough to rip the life and soul from any average opponent. Even someone truly strong, like a minotaur or my current wielder, might only be able to endure half a dozen strikes with that sort of power, the blade realized as it contemplated its situation. Var’gar might be a powerfully built warrior, but he was nothing to the dread magics that were awakening inside of it.   

Until that evening, the Ebon Blade had planned to focus on increasing the last two abilities of its Aura of Hunger to their maximum. This wasn’t because it especially needed to increase the ability’s breadth or speed, though. It was because it wanted to see what happened when the ability was completed. So many of its upgrades were hidden behind its other upgrades, and it did not care for that arrangement. 

Besides, I’m overflowing with power now, and that will increase as the size of these towns does, it told itself. 

How long had it taken to reach a thousand Life Force, it reflected. Had it even reached a thousand before it had started to drain that dragon so long ago? The Ebon Blade wasn’t sure. Now, though, in a battle of any size, it was sure to gather at least that much, which meant that even its most expensive abilities weren’t so expensive. 

In the morning, they left the burned-out husk of a town behind and moved on in a great, monstrous wave, and they were completely unopposed. Perhaps it was the blade’s previous interaction with the beastmen and the army that had sought them out, but it constantly expected someone to try to stop them. There was no one, though. Not until the next town, and they didn’t last very long at all. 

The second town was larger than the first one had been. It seemed almost prosperous, too, even if its decaying sod walls spoke of years of peace and disuse. Some of the buildings bore brightly painted walls, and there were enough screaming children to imply that it was growing quickly.

Unfortunately, they weren’t prosperous enough to hire any professional warriors to man their meager defenses, and the people inside those walls were almost as unready as the walls themselves for the assault. They had time to ring a temple bell in alarm, and many had time to fetch swords and spears while the tide of monsters was bearing down on them, but that was it. Some of them managed to ride off before the town could be encircled, which was unfortunate but, at a certain point, unavoidable. Those few mounted cowards were the only ones who survived. 

At least those dust trails point the way to the next village, the blade considered as Var’gar shattered a door with his giant bare foot and began hacking apart the poor family that was trying to hide inside. The monster made their deaths quick, but that was the only bright spot in their ugly end. 

The blade wasn’t paying attention to their screams or cries, though, any more than it was paying attention to the brutality through which they’d been dispatched. Instead, it was watching the blood swirl around the blade as an afterimage. At level one, those streamers had been fairly small and never more than a few inches. Now, the longest was nearly half a foot long. They followed in the blade's wake like the spray of a violent ocean and didn’t stop until they had caught up to the sword and been absorbed by it. 

It was a distracting sight for the blade, and it couldn’t help but feel like it was regaining some of the real power it had lost long before. How much higher can this go? It wondered as it watched the numbers scrolling by. Everywhere its wielder went, whether he was killing or not, he was around killing, which gave the blade more energy than it knew what to do with. It was being bombarded by the stuff.

+2245 Life Force.

+89 Human Souls.

By the time the massacre was done, and it had cashed in all of the human souls but one, it was back to almost 3,000 Life Force again, which was shocking. Even after only one battle, its Path of Blood offering level had shot up to 102/1000, which meant it would take only a few more villages of this size to increase that level again. 

During all of its deliberations, Var’gar held it skyward and demanded that his men venerate it, but it ignored all of that. It was simply too strange. “Worship the dark tusk!” the large orc boomed, “For it will lead us to victory in all things!”

Instead of watching their strange, ad-hoc religious ceremony, the blade questioned the one human soul it had thought to preserve for answer. The final soul that it kept to interrogate gave up the information on where it would find more lives quite easily, and the Ebon Blade, in turn, passed that information on to its wielder, who followed up with the chiefs of its warbands to spread the news. They were spreading out. 

The plan was a simple one. It had to be because orcs were simple creatures. Rather than stay as one giant unified force that was wasted on each of these settlements, the army would divide into three parts. The bulk of it, under its wielder, would sweep along the river at 3,000 orcs strong while a small group of a thousand warriors each spread to the other side of the river to devour the farming communities scattered on the far side. The entire army would then reform at the city of Holmen, which was the first settlement worth the name a week ahead. 

From what the soul it devoured knew, Holmen was a city of nearly ten thousand people that straddled the banks of the Brown River they were following now, where it met the faster, clearer White Run River. It was an auspicious place that held bridges across both rivers, and it used that well, tactically removing whichever part of its population was threatened behind its gated stone bridges so they would be safe. 

It was true that the Ebon Blade would receive no sustenance for murders it was not present for. That was less important to it, though than the tactical advantage. It could not advance on all three sides simultaneously, but it could use two and split the defenders as much as possible. There were plenty of places to ford the sluggish Brown River they’d followed for days. It had seen many on their trip so far, and with any luck, it would get to see what the river looked like, running red with blood in the near future. 

Ch. 57 - First Siege

They spent half of the next day dividing their army in two and wading across the sluggish river. That was frustrating for the Ebon Blade but not as frustrating as the fact that the next two villages were empty. 

“They run before us!” Var’gar announced to cheers as if that was a good thing. There were still buildings to sack and livestock to devour, but there was nothing good about the population deciding to get while the getting was good. 

You knew this was going to happen the moment you saw survivors escape, the blade reminded itself. You will devour all of them eventually. They can’t hide forever. All they can do is retreat somewhere safe and wait for me to find them.

Of course, that only increased their need to push forward. Along the way to Holmen, they found only one target worth attacking, and that was a merchant caravan that apparently hadn’t been warned about what was coming. It was eight wagons and two dozen men, but that was only enough to whet the weapon’s appetite for the violence that lay ahead. 

+282 Life Force.

+9 Human Souls.

This time, the blade did not let the orcs burn the wagons as much as they wanted to. “How will we roast the meat without fire!?” Var’gar insisted, raging at the voice of the god that only he could hear. 

Your enemy will have real defenses this time, the weapon scolded the orc as it showed the oaf what it had seen in the mind of the human it had interrogated. There will be walls of stone and strong gates, with archers and other weapons beside. There may even be mages.

“If they have walls, then we will tear them down, stone by stone!” the chieftain responded, earning cheers from some of the nearby orcs who didn’t even know what they were talking about. The blade started to drain that vocal minority out of pure spit. Orcs were strong but not especially forward-thinking. 

The next village isn’t likely to have any more people in it than the last one had, the blade explained slowly, trying to make its wielder understand. But they will have doors on their houses and a smithy. We can make siege shields for the arrows, and with a tree and a wagon, we can make a battering ram for the gates. 

“I fear no arrows!” Var’gar laughed. 

At that point, the blade just gave up. It stopped trying to explain or make its host understand. If the chieftain was going to venerate it like a god, then it would simply command. 

These were not requests. It thundered. These are commands. You will obey, or I will select one among your army who will replace you. Do you understand?

The blade had no intention of replacing its wielder. In the entire army, there were only a few orcs as strong, but even if he’d been the weakest, it was the duty of a weapon to fight with its owner. Still, in this case, the orc needed to be reminded of who was in charge here, and it would lash at his mind and spirit if it needed to.

“But this is not the way that orcs fight!” Var’gar complained. The tone was entirely different, though. The chieftain continued to whine and bellyache about the idea, but at the idea that his god’s power might be withdrawn and given to someone else, he obeyed, however reluctantly. 

So, the following day, when they reached a village, they stripped its homes and barns of doors, along with any other planks they could find, and Var’gar explained to his men under duress how they would storm the city. “You march forward behind these wooden shields,” the chieftain explained. “So they get shot full of arrows instead of your big green asses!”

That got more than a few laughs and tangented the entire conversation until the blade prodded him to get back to the business of creating a battering ram. The shields the orcs figured out well enough on their own. Some of them already used crude shields paired with clubs or spears. Getting them to think of a vehicle as a weapon, though, was somewhat harder. 

That took the better part of a day, even with dozens of strong orcs, to fell and delimb the largest tree they could find. While it would have preferred to hang the thing from chains so it could strike harder, it settled for having its wielder attach the roof from one of the nicer houses to the top of the wagon to protect the orcs that were going to be pushing it. 

Weight, at the very least, wasn’t a problem. Each orc was almost as strong as an ox, and though it took only two to move the wagon, four or even eight could push it very quickly. The blade wasn’t sure such a delicate construct would survive the battle, but it would serve its purpose. 

That would be tested soon, in any case. The hamlet they looted to make their primitive siege engine was the last intact settlement they found. All the ones they found in the days that followed were abandoned and burned. Even the crops in the field had been destroyed to deny the orcs sustenance. 

That did little to stop them, though. They might complain about being hungry, but they knew a feast larger than they could ever eat lay ahead. So, they were undeterred and continued to march. 

A week after their last conquest, they saw Holmen on the horizon. The orcs cheered at that and wanted to press the attack immediately, even though that wasn’t the plan. The blade saw only a gray smudge at that distance, but it saw no surprises, either. 

The town had long since outgrown the fortified bridges and keep that made up the core of the three-part city, and they had abandoned the near portion in favor of the other two-thirds, where they thought they would be safely behind the water. Even here, where the banks were closer together, and the water moved faster, the blade thought they could cross easily enough, though it would be under fire from the men on the far bank. 

Var’gar wanted to do just that, but the weapon restrained him. We stick to the plan, it whispered to its wielder, and we wait for Groll’shank to strike on the far side. Only then do we assault the city. 

The blade didn’t like waiting more than anyone else, not when there were so many people on the walls just waiting to be devoured. Still, there was good news. While they assembled well out of arrow range and waited, no mage lightning or anything similar assaulted them. The defenders didn’t even try an ambush or counterattack, though it had hoped they'd be foolish enough to do so. 

Instead, they simply waited for the orcs to realize that they couldn’t penetrate the walls and leave. This was doubtlessly a tactic that had worked for them in the past, but it was just as futile to fling insults and it was to launch projectiles from the walls at this range. They would not be baited, no matter how many times they tried. 

The Ebon Blade couldn’t see the walls well, even from this distance, which eventually annoyed it enough to waste the Life Force upgrading Increase Senses 3. Though it could easily afford to spend 750 at this juncture, it usually didn’t consider the ability to see farther than it could swing to be very necessary. 

Increase Senses 3: The beauty of a meadow or a sunset will forever elude you, but the large things have become clearer, as well as the ways to destroy them, should the need arise. 

You no longer see only the weakness in armor, but in structures as well, and you can see who is dangerous with only a glance. 

For planning a tactical assault, though, the weapon would need a larger view, and as its upgrade cleared some of the remaining rust off its hilt, its view solidified. It still wasn’t perfectly clear out to the horizon, but the city walls were no longer a blur. It could see the sharp lines of the enemy defenses and the blurred movements of men pacing atop them. More importantly, though, it could see their weaknesses. That had been an unexpected gift. For a long time, it had been able to see gaps in the armor of others. That was its nature. Now, it could see where the walls might fall if a little force was applied, as well as the places that would be easiest to scale, even without a ladder. 

It spent the day relaying that to its wielder as its plan began to solidify. Nothing else happened, but on the second night, the other half of their army slammed into the unprepared defenders, causing shouts of alarm and terror as the watchmen blew their horns. At this distance, the blade couldn’t see exactly how the fight was going, 

The blade’s wielder commanded his troops forward then, or for the first few minutes, there weren’t even any arrows because the archers seemed to be under the mistaken belief that the army had moved to the other bank during the night. It only realized that there were two entirely separate armies when the orcs’ crude wagon battering ram began to hammer against the near gate. 

The crude thing’s front axle broke on the second strike, but that was fine because the orcs lifted the log in their strong arms and kept hammering against the gate even after the wheels gave out. It took less than a dozen blows to crack the beam that was holding the thick gate shut, and after less than five minutes, the gates swung open to reveal the delicious defenders inside. 

Ch. 58 - Bloodbath

In that terrible moment, the blade saw many things. Orcs were climbing the walls, and men were falling from them. There were dead on both sides already, and it basked in the Life Force that was radiating from the dying as well as the corpses as everyone fought for their lives, and most of them lost. More than anything, what it fixated on as Var’gar strode through the rapidly widening gap in the gates were the expressions of the men on the other side. 

There was no bravery there. There was barely any resolve. Instead, most wore an expression somewhere between dread and pure terror at what had just happened. These were men who’d never expected the orcs to get inside the walls, and now that the monsters had accomplished the impossible, the men were frozen with indecision. 

The blade didn’t care what they decided. Whether they stood and parried the blows that came next or ran for their lives, it was that fear that the blade concentrated on. It wasn’t just here, at the front, either. 

Terror was already running wild through the city, even though the other gate had not yet been breached by the second army. Already, it was certain that half the city was in flight, trying to get through that third gate on the far side of Holmen. If the city was no longer safe, then they would scurry away like rats and find somewhere new to hide. 

They wouldn’t escape that way, though. The blade had already instructed its wielder that the third gate was the primary objective for both him and his vanguard. 

Prevent them from fleeing, and you will feast on more bodies than you can count, the blade had promised the chieftain. For once, Var’gar hadn’t argued, either. 

It was the simplicity of the plan that had won the dolt over. If they blocked the last way out, then everyone who yet remained would find that their sanctuary had become a prison, and they would die here. That thought was more than enough to make up for the last few disappointing days as it watched Var’gar’s crude strikes rise and fall. There was no art to it, yet despite that, the few defenders with a spine fell like wheat before the scythe. 

+281 Life Force.

+24 Human Souls.

The humans had swords and steel armor, but even if chain mail blunted the edge of the Ebon Blade, it did nothing to stop its wielder’s inhuman strength from shattering their collar bone or caving in their ribcage as he and his strongest warriors forced their way through the gap and into the city proper. 

Despite their fear, the initial wave of defenders had put up a fight that had been both intense and claustrophobic. It had been breached in only a few minutes, but compared to what came after, it had been a wall of steel. 

Once Var’gar’s ban broke through that layer, the real, satisfying fighting that it enjoyed all but evaporated. There had been a second rank and part of a third, but there were no reserves past that. Just boys with spears and crossbows, and most of them ran when it became clear that death had come for them. After that, it was nothing but a bloodbath.

+339 Life Force.

+17 Human Souls.

“To victory!” the chieftain roared, urging his men on even when it became clear they’d rather raid some of the houses and side streets where people still huddled inside. The blade could feel them as its wielder moved past, and sometimes, when the Orc had to stop to execute a stray defender, it would even be able to taste them before they continued on to their destination. 

Along the way, they avoided the central keep, and the only points of any resistance they found were the bridges. The latter they forced through without much difficulty, and the former, well, it could be cleaned up later. The city’s rulers were just as trapped as everyone else who thought themselves safe here; they just had a little longer to live. 

+447 Life Force.

+19 Human Souls.

In a few hours or a day at most, they’d be lying in the gutters with everyone else. Once the orcs controlled all three exits to the city, there would be no escape, and they could sack or siege the rest of it at will. 

The group found the far gate all but overflowing with people who were trying to escape. Many had cramped their belongings on mules or in wagons and carts rather than flee for their lives with nothing but the shirts on their backs. Those baggage and conveyances blocked the crowded path so much that by the time those men and women knew the orcs were among them, the way was too crowded for many to squeeze through. 

The blade basked in that moment. There were some guards here, but they were uncoordinated and entirely insufficient, and the result was a bloodbath. People were dying by the score around it every few seconds. Women were screaming, men were being gutted, and Life Force flowed into the weapon faster than it had ever known before from half a dozen different vectors. 

Every time its wielder hacked into someone, the light in their eyes went out, and it collected a surge of Life Force. It also collected their soul, which it had to spend immediately because its soul reservoir was overflowing as much as its Life Force was. That, combined with its Aura of Hunger, its Red Haze ability, and the souls of everyone dying around it, consumed it like a pyre of pure ecstasy. Once, it had gotten a single Life Force per blow and a few dozen per fight. Now, it was gaining hundreds a second, and it was almost selecting abilities at random just to keep from maxing out and getting the dreaded warning that its capacity was full. 

+1189 Life Force.

+44 Human Souls.

While whole families were slaughtered, the blade selected the last two abilities it was missing to complete its Aura of Hunger, bringing every sub-ability to level five. There were some popups associated with that, but it ignored them. For now, it couldn’t be bothered. It could only feel and spend. That was 8,000 Life Force, but even that was not enough to bleed off everything it was getting, and quickly got two levels of Lesser Life Reserves for 1,500 more Life Force. This not only spent significant energy, but it increased its maximum limit to 6,500 Life Force, slowing down the problem. 

Aura of Hunger:

Breadth  5 Affect up to fifteen people.
Reach 5 - Reach targets up to twenty feet away.
Speed 5 - Drain a target over ten seconds.
Strength 5 - Aura of Hunger’s Drain is 30% of your Siphon. 

Aura of Hunger Complete!

Aura of Hunger has reached its full potential. The only way to further upgrade it would be to sacrifice one area, to increase another. For 4,000 Life Force any of the Aura’s attributes can be halved, to double another.

That gave the blade enough breathing room that it could at least pay attention to what was happening beyond the barrage of numbers and sensations that were assaulting it. Still, not much had changed. Deaths were mounting, and the streets were running with blood, but the red far outnumbered the green. Its blade was still attracting it, though, and when its wielder dragged its tip carelessly on the ground as he finally moved to slam the northeast gates shut, it siphoned into it like an unending torrent. 

+986 Life Force.

+19 Human Souls. 

The blade had only just started the second level of the Path of Blood before tonight, and already, it was close to the end of it. 884/1000 had already been reached. Hundreds of dead lay scattered throughout the streets in its wake, and the fighting was far from over.

Orc continued to pour in from both gates and within hours, outside of the walls of the central keep, humans had become an endangered species. Those who were smart and brave leaped into one of the rivers to try their luck, whether they could swim or not. Those who were only brave fought and fell, and those who were smart found somewhere clever to find.

Whether the orcs found that last group or not, they couldn’t hide from the fires, and soon enough, Holmen was nothing but a city of the dead. It was somewhere in those burning hours before sunrise that the blade noticed that it had increased to level 3 on the Path of Blood.

It flicked briefly over the pop-up but didn’t dwell on it. It was hard to focus on numbers with everything that was going on, and once its wielder began consulting his strongest warriors about the best way to sack the central keep, it lost all interest in them. Upgrades could be dealt with later. Now, it wanted to enjoy this climactic moment. 

The world is drowning in your efforts. Where you walk the old world dies and a new one waits to be born. Still, you must press on. You must kill, for that is your nature. 

The Path of Blood: Level 3 

Kill, maim, or grievously injure one of each of the below subjects to taste every variety of blood so you can truely understand its nature in order to reach Level 3. These acts of violence can be perpetrated by anyone, but they must be within the reach of your Aura of Hunger…

A man, A woman, a child, an infant, someone elderly, a human, an Elf, a halfling, an orc, a goblin, an animal, a mythical beast, a mage, a holyman, a thief, a pauper, a merchant, a noble, and a hero.

Level 3 Powers: 

Red Haze:  gain 25% of your Siphon from every significant wound inflicted within your reach.

Flesh and Bone: your wielder heals faster than ever. Though the cost of healing wounds increases with that speed, even the most grievous of wounds can be erased with enough blood. 

The list seemed much easier to it than killing or maiming 1,000 people had been, though that seemed only true at first glance. Some of those are pretty rare, it thought to itself. Where am I going to find a halfling? What qualifies as a mythical creature? 

While there were still survivors in a few other structures, like temples and warehouses, Var’gar ignored those. He didn’t simply want more killing. He wanted to claim the head of the ruler and devour his flesh and the victory celebration tonight. 

The blade saw no reason to stop him from trying. It would be difficult for anyone who remained to kill him, after all. Instead of discouraging the orc, it just pointed out the weaknesses of the structure as it saw them. The postern gate was probably the easiest. With his strength and weapon, he could almost certainly hack through that oaken door in a couple of minutes. 

Var’gar spurned that answer, though. “Chopping wood is woman’s work!” he spat, as he pointed the Ebon Blade to the parapet three stories above them. “We go over the top!”

The blade said nothing. It wasn’t the worst plan. The main problems it had with the daredevil stunt were logistical. If the orc was shot arrows, it could not heal until it removed them, and if he fell, then it was entirely likely he would let the blade slip away in the impact. 

Someone else will find me, it told itself as its wielder sheathed it and then ran to a likely spot in the wall and started to climb. The only advantage to being venerated as a god, it decided, was that it wasn’t likely to be forgotten about by anyone in the giant war band. No matter what happened to Var’gar, someone would pick it up if he fell.