Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 64 - Just Like Old Times
The days began to blur together in much the same way the villages that it slaughtered after that. One dying farmer looked much like another, and they spent weeks hacking their way across the region. Would it have paid more attention to what was happening if it had been held in human hands or if it had listened to humans chat around the campfire at night? Probably, but it was hard to say. It only had two modes now, boredom and bloodlust, and neither required much thought.
+1149 Life Force.
+54 Human Souls.
+6 Greater Monster Souls.
While it still enjoyed the fights, there was only so much orc it could take. Their bestial ways did not sit well with it, and though it admired the killing rage of its wielder, it could only watch them devour the corpses of so many humans before even it turned away in disgust; animals existed to feed, but that did not mean it had to watch.
The weapon mostly tuned out of the world when he was awake unless enemies had been spotted or they were getting ready to assault a village. That, combined with, or perhaps because of its recent changes in senses left it somewhat disassociated from the world. It would focus on some detail of its system interface or its interrogation of a halfling soul as it tried to learn more about the strange people, and suddenly, when it looked outside again, the army be a dozen miles or more from where it had last seen them, and nothing would look the same.
Still, despite its increasing inattention and growing knowledge of the region, the blade wasn’t sure it had been here before. Well, it knew that it had to have been at least once. It had been carried across the area by someone to be hidden away in the temple that had been freed from so recently. It wasn’t until it asked the soul of an elderly weaver woman about the largest settlements in the area that it saw something it recognized again: the Dwarfs’ Fist.
The fortress had been on its mind more than once during its bloody campaign, but the idea that it was somewhere close by had never occurred to it. The soul that he devoured seemed to think that it was riddled with orcs, which wouldn’t surprise it. It had fought such monsters there long ago in Baraga’s hand. It had assumed that it had been part of some desperate military campaign, but it was hard to glean much from glimpses.
That didn’t matter, though. The idea that they might get reinforcements there did, and even though there were no humans to kill in the area, it still forced its wielder to turn his army east to the ancient fortress just the same.
This might be the last time we are able to reinforce our numbers before we face the inner kingdom, the blade explained. We will seize whatever warring tribes there are to find and make them join our assault.
The chieftain complained but gave no serious resistance. The orcs of their army had eaten well for nearly a month, and the blade had no doubt they could comfortably starve for nearly as long without dying, even if it didn’t think that would be necessary.
The trip across the scrublands was long but uneventful, and though they saw a human patrol once, the men on horseback fled as soon as they realized just how many orcs were arrayed against them. That annoyed the blade. It would have loved to consume them, of course, but it would have loved even more to keep their location a surprise as long as possible.
There was no way to hide the location of an army, but facing a real army with heavy horse, archers, and mages instead of the paltry defenses they’d seen to date would cost the orcs hundreds or even thousands of lives, and the blade would prefer to spend those lives in battle in the Inner Kingdoms rather than far from them.
Despite its concerns, the orcs continued untroubled until the tall grasses were replaced by patchy yellow weeds, and the rolling hills gradually faded away in favor of irregular sandstone outcroppings.
That was where they finally found the Dwarfs’ Fist. As a fortress, it was imposing, but only from a distance. Built atop a stone plateau, its yellow stone walls toward a hundred feet above the ground, and its towers stretched even higher.
Up close, it was easy to see the damage it had suffered in successive sieges over the centuries. If it had even held a strategic location, that was no longer the case. Now, it was mostly a navigational landmark for passing caravans and a lair for orcs and goblins. As they approached, it saw the bones and the spoor of both. The place might look deserted by daylight, but by night, it was no doubt a very dangerous playground for all manner of nasty predators.
Fortunately, none of that scared it. They weren’t there to fight over scraps. They were there to pillage the strength of the orcs that dwelled in the decaying village, and they wanted to fight first, so much the better.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Var’gar made it deep into the tunnels before the first fight, but even then, it was only goblins. He never even saw half of the vermin that were lurking in the shadows because the Ebon Blade sucked them dry as the orcs marched forward, and they cowered in the crevices.
+422 Life Force.
+135 Lesser Monster Souls.
The goblins made for a fine appetizer, but it wasn’t until the orcs had actually entered the lower levels of the fortress proper that they met real resistance. The corridors were narrow enough that they were clearly never made for an orc, so Var’gar had to fight the bellowing, dark-skinned orcs that came at him, one at a time. He slew half a dozen brutes without even bothering to pull his weapon.
+268 Life Force.
+6 Greater Monster Souls.
It was only when they entered into the heavily shaded lower courtyard that they found anything approaching a leader. “You aim to beat me in my own lair?” the big orc demanded, pointing at Var’gar with his oversized club. “Or maybe you’ve just come to bring me dinner as tribute.”
That caused a round of laughs. They only intensified when Var’gar shot back, “If you beg for your life, then maybe I’ll settle for just breaking yer knees.”
In any normal circumstance, the orcs that its wielder was facing down would be able to see the thousands of orcs backing him up and respond appropriately. Unfortunately, the chief of these ruins was denied that advantage. Though orcs were still coming up through the tunnels to join Var’gar, he was still badly outnumbered, and, in a rare instance, he wasn’t even the biggest orc here.
Huge as he was, the chieftain he was facing down had at least a foot on him. Its wielder didn’t care about mere size, though. An ogre might not be as strong as him at this point. Still, they didn’t start to fight yet. The blade had long since learned that wasn’t how these things worked. First, they needed to stack up enough boasts and insults. Only then did they switch to brutal, one-on-one combat.
Just like all the other orcs that Var’gar had fought in the past, the chief of this tribe tossed away his weapon before they grappled. Amidst two orcs of similar strength, such a match could go on for a long time, but with its magical strength flowing through its wielder, the only reason it wasn’t faster to kill the chieftain of the Dark Fort tribe was because Var’gar was a sadist, and he liked to take his time.
Its wielder broke both of the wrists of his opponents in moments, but he let the fight linger on for several minutes, and the blade did nothing to speed it up as he mocked the larger orc and urged him to surrender. Surrender was not forthcoming, though after enough body blows, he called for help, ordering his warband to come to his aid.
+72 Life Force.
What a waste, the blade thought bitterly, as Var’gar finally drew his black blade and started to cut down those that sought to interfere. As much as it enjoyed drinking the lifeblood of these fools, every orc that its wielder struck down in a fit of pique and pride was one less that they would have in the battles ahead.
+484 Life Force.
+9 Greater Monster Souls.
Fortunately, orcs were slow but not entirely oblivious when it came to self-preservation. Once they saw how easily Var’gar was dispatching them, they surrendered. By that point, the Ebon Blade tuned out completely, studying the walls of the fortress and the layout, even as its wielder ordered another feast in his honor.
Increasingly, that seemed to be its wielder’s favorite thing to do. More than even killing, he was growing drunk on the power of lording over so many other warriors and making them worship his own personal god. The blade rarely imposed on him outside of battle, but tonight, as the fires began to build, the dead were gutted and secured to large spits, it commanded its wielder to climb higher.
Go to the top of the fort, it commanded. I wish to see the best way forward when we continue our conquest tomorrow.
In the very back of Var’gar’s mind, it could hear discontent. It was clear that the orc would love nothing more than to claim this place in his own name and rule over it. It would be a fitting end for an orc, but the blade had not come all this way to be the god of cannibalistic dung heap. It was more than halfway to its destination, and as its wielder grudgingly climbed higher and higher, that destination came into view.
From the foot of the rocky outcropping that Dwarfs’ Fist was carved into, there was nothing but plains in every direction. However, from the ramparts, four stories above the bloody courtyard, which was, in turn, fifty feet above the ground, they were just high enough for the blade to see the Adrenii Mountains, which were a low, heavily forested range that separated the inner kingdoms from the outlands they were currently in. That was promising, of course, but it was not the reason the blade had forced its wielder to come up here.
The truth was that it was overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia at being back in a place that it remembered. It would have expected anger to accompany such a feeling, but as it looked around and recalled a half-remembered battle, it felt only a vague sense of sadness, which was an uncommon emotion for it.
The blade looked down at the crowded courtyard below, and the bodies of the dead orcs gave it the strangest sense of déjà vu. It had been here before. It knew that. That certainty didn’t stop the weight of memories from becoming overwhelming. So, even though it hadn’t been its plan, it burned enough souls to boost its Life Force above 5,000, and then it purchased Repair Soul 4, and its mind was consumed by the rising tide of images and pain.
