Chapter 114

Heart Puncture

Congratulations on completing the second quest of the Heartseeker Mantra!

Your reward: Heart Puncture.

Heart Puncture: superimpose ten strikes into a singularity, unleashing a strike that cannot be blocked, dodged, parried, neglected, or dispelled. The strike’s strength is dependent on the sacrifice made.

New task: take 10 lives using Heart Puncture.

Rewards: Heart’s Touch

“AAAAGGHHHHHHHH!!!”

Sylas remained in a daze for days to come, recalling back the scene just before he died. He’d done something inhuman--no, that was wrong. He’d done many inhuman things, such as dying countless times, but that was the very first time he’d done something that he would qualify as ‘fantastical’. It was the very first time he truly broke the laws of physics as he knew them. The first time he stepped onto the ladder of monsters.

It was a strike that took his life, yes, but it was also a strike that took the life out of the world and bent it under its might. Whether five or five hundred people were standing in that path, they'd have all died, he knew. It was that powerful. That life-altering. He knew, from that moment, he’d taken a path with no return. Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of his life without striking like that again.

He looked down at his open palm, at the hand that held the blade that shattered. It was a strike beyond all others, but it demanded equal amounts, he knew. The description of it didn’t do it proper justice--the level of damage he caused the first time he used it demanded his life, yes, but there was a major caveat there--he was impossibly difficult to kill. In fact, he’d wager that he was harder to kill than twenty-thirty ordinary people.

Someone could stab and slash and punch and rip and claw and cut him for hours, and he’d still live. The value of his life, from that perspective, as a tool of sacrifice, was incomparable to the rest. He suspected that if an ordinary soldier wagered their life for a strike, it would be nowhere near what he ended up executing.

Sighing, he picked up the flagon of wine and drank till his throat couldn't handle it anymore. His perspective of the world was changing with each passing breath, with each step he took forward. It wasn't just that he advanced in the Heartseeker, there was also his Way--he'd managed to reverse his blood. In fact, it was flowing backward right now. The sensation was strange... akin to feeling chills crawling up his veins, but they never end.

He did some tests already--a massive puncture wound would heal within a day. More miraculously, however, he was incapable of bleeding out. He could sit for hours and not even pass out, let alone die. More and more he started believing Derrek's recollection of the man who hung himself upside down, slit his throat, and bled for seven days and seven nights.

It was an issue, however--for him, at least. The only way to quickly kill himself at the moment wasn’t to even slit his throat, but to go directly for the brain--either through the eyes or the soft sides of the head. He worried, deep down, that there might come a point where even that won’t be possible. The only way he knew how to function in this world, truly, was through being reborn over and over again. If he were to be denied that... he would be lost.

Nonetheless, he was far from immortal--that was the comforter. Beheadings were still there--his neck wasn't made from steel or such and was still very much normal. A lot of the instant deaths still worked on him, it's just that... it took a while for him to die.

It was a weave, he realized, of strange juxtapositions--though his newfound durability worried him when it came to rebirth, it greatly empowered Heartseeker. After all, he could sacrifice very mild things for attacks that would effectively kill anyone not superpowered themselves.

Sighing, he put down the flagon and looked toward the window, smiling queerly. Days have been eerily quiet recently, with no heightened voice of a certain someone to continuously pester him and break the silence.

"You sure would make a terrible stalker," he spoke to the air it seemed, and yet, a moment later, a head popped out from the windowpane, causing Sylas to burst out into laughter. She was like a curious cat peeking in gingerly.

“W-what are you laughing for?!” she cried out, vaulting through the window.

“Nothing, nothing, sorry,” he waved it off, pouring her a cup. “At least you had the decency not to watch when I bathe myself.”

“I would never!!”

“I wouldn’t mind, though.”

“Ugh...”

“Ha ha ha, good to see you’re still the same.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, taking the cup.

“... I thought I scared ya’ off.”

“Oh, you did,” she commented, and he felt it. Briefly, but it was there. “Scared the wits out of me, to be honest.”

“You can talk to a God,” he said. “How’s that not scarier than what I did?”

“... not all magic is equal,” she said. “And same. My magic is... soft. Loose. Abstract. I hear a voice. I see things. I feel things. But that aside, I’m just an ordinary woman. I can be cut and I cannot cut. I can barely lift a sword without my muscles weeping.”

“Then train,” he said.

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head. “Training aimlessly would only get me so far. We ought to behoove our strengths, walk the path laid out in front of us. My strengths are not within the blade... but within my voice. That much I know.”

“You do have a nice voice.”

“You know what I mean.”

"... well, I'm glad you're back if nothing else," he chuckled.

“I never left.”

“It was a bit creepy having you just watching me from the distance, though.”

“... how did you do it?”

“Do that?”

“Do that,” she nodded.

“A many small million things, I gather, aligning in a perfect ensemble,” he replied, taking a sip. “And losing my life in the process. Did it hurt?”

“It didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“It rang strange,” she said. “It’s one memory... I distinctly recall. It’s not a vision. Not a retelling by a voice in my head. It’s a memory, Sylas.”

“...”

“I can just close my eyes,” and she did. “And picture it. When I died. When I felt it all just... go quiet. Is that how it’s like for you? To die?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Other times, it’s violent, loud, painful. Sometimes I’m not even aware I died.”

“I’m shocked,” she said, opening her eyes. “You aren’t screaming into the sky perpetually.”

“I am,” he smiled. “It’s just that the screams are silent.”

“Can you do it again?” she asked.

“I can,” he nodded.

“Amazing,” she sighed, setting her head down onto the table, her hair spilling over like water, softly lain.

“Oh my, you’re making me blush.”

“... you can already shake the heavens,” she said, glancing at him. “You’re quite dumb deep down, aren’t you?”

“Oh, wow, I was never so offended by something I wholeheartedly agree with,” he smiled.

“Do you know what is magic?” she asked suddenly, sitting up. “At its core, stripped away of its fancy. Forget the scale, forget the feeling, forget the reality. Beyond it all, what is magic?”

“... I don’t know. What is it?”

“A tool of defiance.”

“A tool of defiance?”

"Humans take what is by right gods'," she said. "And rise. At its core, magic is like an intangible blade or armor that we use to cradle ourselves in faith that we can defy the inevitable. We use it to empower ourselves, to elevate ourselves, and to look at the sky with confidence to face the thunder ripping back at us. But you... you became that thunder, Sylas. You became the rip that shreds the souls. You are magic in its infancy, an empowered blade coated with armor that cannot be wilted. You need to be aware of that.”

“...” Sylas fell silent for a moment, meeting her piercing gaze squarely. She truly believed everything she was saying. Every last word of it. “Thanks. I am,” he replied honestly to her sincerity.

“Good,” she beamed him a smile. “At least you’re smarter than a dung beetle.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I passed such a high mark,” he rolled his eyes at her.

“Hey, dung beetles are clever animals! They understand that there’s no such thing as waste and that everything has the potential to be useful!”

“... just stop,” he chuckled. “I get it. You’re a friend I never thought I needed.”

“Hah. So you finally acknowledge that we’re friends?”

“I suppose,” he said. “But does it make you that happy?”

“Of course!” she nodded. “After all, you’re a perfect bodyguard!”

“Oh.”

“No matter what happens or who attacks me,” she continued. “I can just have you defend me bravely. When you think about it... aren’t I invincible?!”

“There’s only so many times I can save you as a friend,” he flung her a teasing smile.

“Huh?”

“What’s it like here? A Knight saving his lady and such?” he said. “Yeah, that. For the truly permanent protection, at least that is necessary.”

“... I--I--I am a God’s Maiden, I--I can’t--”

“Oh, wow, I didn’t know it’d hit that hard,” he quickly recoiled. “I’m joking, okay? Just joking! No matter what, or how many times, I’ll help you, alright? No knighthood necessary.”

“... I’m fine with mean jokes,” she said, nestling her reddened cheeks into her bosom. “But that was just cruel.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“One apology’s not going to cut it.”

“How about a kiss, then?”

“Sylas!!!”

“Pfft, ha ha ha ha,” he burst out into laughter, while she tossed a wooden bowl at him, huffing and puffing angrily. The day was good, he realized. And silence was quenched.