The few weeks I spent with Laevarian, both in his village and traveling to the nearest city, were oddly some of the most peaceful of my life. The elf was good company, and I was still new enough to the System that he was able to overcome how intimidating I apparently was, even then.

Laevarian’s personality is atypical of trueborn elves, in my experience. He lacks the usual arrogance and he truly does enjoy teaching people his knowledge, even if they aren’t of his people. His lust of adventure and fondness for traveling are aspects I sometimes have to work hard to match, despite my body’s instincts.

Once he overcame the emotions born of the loss of his clan, he became more easy with himself and with me. We were never destined to be anything more than distant friends, in the end, but that does not mean I do not value our time together.

Without the various things Laevarian taught me, I would not have survived much longer. The System is only forgiving of ignorance if you have the power to smash through everything using pure force. Considering that I was a mere Tier 2 race in a world where Tier 8 was the peak, I was pretty close to the bottom of the pyramid of power at the time.

Despite that, I managed to enjoy myself, something I never expected, given my life before. I will forever be grateful to Laevarian for the time he spent on and with me. Not to mention his patience with my ignorance.

__________________________________________________

He came out of his meditation to discover that Laevarian was doing the same. Their eyes met and both shrugged, wry smiles on their faces. Neither could tell whether the other was the one that jolted them back to consciousness, but there was something comical about two men that didn’t swing that way being so in-sync that they awakened from a long meditation at the very same moment.

“Lyam,” The elf said, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Laevarian?” He replied.

“I think I would like to go back to adventuring,” He said, a smile that only had the vaguest shadow of sorrow attached to it curving his lips.

“Do you want to go with me?” Lyam asked curiously.

“Not a chance,” The elf said, laughing softly. They both knew their closeness wasn’t meant to last. The bond born during the burial of the elf’s village would never quite disappear, but their natures weren’t truly compatible. At best, they would be distant comrades, at worst, they might become enemies if they forced it.

Lyam didn’t know it, but this was a function of the gods that was overtaken during integration into the System, the testing and forging of potential bonds. The elf was aware of it, but he uncharacteristically refrained from lecturing on it. It was better to discover it for oneself. The System didn’t display this aspect of its function to its denizens intentionally, and those that discovered it generally refused to reveal it to those around them, somehow knowing the System wouldn’t appreciate their actions.

“Part at the city?” Lyam suggested tentatively.

Laevarian nodded, “Probably for the best. I suggest you find others from your world, if you can. Those who have dwelt here since birth will not hesitate to use you if you do not take care and have no backing.”

Those words didn’t surprise Lyam. Though racial traits might skew things somewhat, his interactions with the elf had already taught him that people were people, though he would likely have to widen his expectations of their potential based on the power granted by the System and those aforementioned traits.

“I don’t think I want to be around the people I just left behind, though. Those that survived won’t be happy with me,” He remarked as they resumed their travel through the treetops, acting like they hadn’t just spent three days sitting in a tree.

“Usually, at least a few ‘patches’ will have been transported into the same general region. A few will have made their way to the city, most likely, since newly-transported zones inevitably need to be ‘conquered’ to be made habitable,” Laevarian remarked.

“Interesting… then I should probably hurry, before rumors of my actions get ahead of me,” Lyam said, looking cheerful all of the sudden. While he had spent most of his life effectively alone, Lyam knew very well that he was only able to do so because of the advanced technology.

He wasn’t stupid enough to believe going it alone was going to work in this world nearly as well as it had on Earth.

Four days later, they came to the end of the treeline, with grassy fields leading up to an incredibly tall stone wall extending into the distance. The wall was higher than the tallest trees, many of which were magically-enhanced redwood analogues, more than a thousand feet in height. Honestly, Lyam couldn’t see any practical reason to make a wall that high. It was made of dark gray stone, which occasionally shimmered with what he assumed was magic.

“Why are the walls so high?” He asked curiously.

“Most of the beasts of the forests wont bother trying to climb something that high, and that is just the outer wall. Its only reason for existing is to keep the forest from intruding into the cultivated lands beyond. It also extends several hundred feet below the surface, to prevent the forest from burrowing under,” Laevarian replied. He didn’t seem impressed, but then again, he had been there before.

“So there are no defenders on top of the walls?”

“There is a guardhouse every mile or so with a squad of men assigned to watching for dragons and other flying monsters. Even then, they are only to alert the city, not try to take them down,” The elf said with a shrug.

“Where’s the gate?” Lyam asked after considering that particular statement for a moment.

“A few dozen miles to the east is the South Gate. I did not want to try approaching it from the treetops, as the guards there are always nervous when someone flies or approaches the gate by anything other than the road,” He explained as they both dropped to the ground, Laevarian’s fall slowed by the wind, Lyam’s by psychokinesis.

“Is there anything I should keep in mind when entering?” Lyam asked.

“Do not tell them you just arrived with the Sublimation. I advise you to let me do the talking, and if you must speak, you should avoid speaking in a way that shortens words for convenience,” The elf replied, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Shortening? You mean contractions?” He asked with some confusion.

“I do not mind, as you are so much younger. However, most people would consider the way you speak to be rude,” Laevarian said with a chuckle.

“Why?”

“Levels,” The elf replied simply.

“Levels? What do you mean?” Lyam asked confusedly.

“Most people, even those who are of normally short-lived races, can live centuries just by getting to level 20 and utilizing the cheapest vigor concoctions. As such, most people do not believe in shortening conversation for the sake of convenience outside of battle,” He explained.

“It is also a common speech pattern in newly Sublimated peoples, drawing attention from those who have an interest in containing or capturing those like you,” Laedvarian finished as they began jogging toward the road in the distance.

“I see… and what is the name of this city?” Lyam asked after considering the elf’s words carefully.

“Daena.”

________________________________________________________________

The South Gate was a rather grim structure, much like the forbidding wall it was set into. By nature, a gate was the weakpoint of a wall, and it showed in the scarring on the black stonework around the entrance. It was a black stone structure that shimmered with runes, each of the massive doors crackling with such magical energy that Lyam could feel it from over a mile away.

Small openings a hundred feet up contained hundreds of soldiers that held a palpable killing intent that Lyam sensed was similar to his own. Men on some type of flying creatures patrolled far above the road, occasionally clashing with aerial beasts coming from the forest.

A long line of massive armored wagons was set up on the road leading to the gate, and Lyam just had to ask, “What are those?”

The elf followed his pointing finger and gave him a somewhat exasperated smile, “Those are armored wagons.”

“I can see that… but why armored wagons?” Lyam clarified.

“Monsters,” He said simply.

“… so they use armored wagons for transport so they can get past the monsters in the forest?” He asked, confirming.

“Yes. Most merchants make use of some kind of armed and armored transportation when passing through ‘wild’ areas like the forest. Attacks by monsters are almost guaranteed, though attacks on roads are almost always unintelligent ‘swarm’ beasts and bandits. Intelligent monsters prefer to avoid the trouble and the possibility of adventurers being sent after them,” He explained.

“That must make trade extremely expensive,” The Saevere remarked.

“Indeed. Most foreign trade goods are highly expensive. It is usually cheaper and less dangerous to just delve into one of the System’s Dungeons or Raid Zones than to travel across the continent as a merchant,” The elf nodded, shaking his head slightly as he considered the insanity some people would go through for coin.

He didn’t realize that his own view was somewhat skewed by his experiences as an adventurer. Adventurers tended to view merchants as fools who didn’t have the willpower to challenge the System’s Dungeons or travel without their wagons. Already, he was slipping back into old patterns, having been ‘freed’ from his duties to his clan.

Lyam wanted to remark on the other man’s behavior, but he just didn’t know enough about his new world to know whether anything he said would be appropriate. Moreover, his frequent questioning of the elf had led him to realize there was a massive gap between their ideas of common sense. Hopefully, it would not be too hard to figure out a way to carve out a niche for himself in the realm of the System.

Lyam and Laevarian got into line behind the last of the wagons and a small group of women in robes with cat-like ears on their heads and shortswords sheathed in their belts. Several of the women eyed them appreciatively, one in particular licking her lips as she focused on Lyam’s claws, for some reason. Following her gaze, several of the others nodded appreciatively, and he suddenly got a feeling similar to the time he spent a month evading a CIA strike team in Islamabad.

They seemed different from the race-changed catkin he had met in the ruins of the town. Their features were more feral and angular, their ears somewhat wider, and they seemed to be built for strength as much as agility.

They didn’t approach, however, and Laevarian gave him an amused look, “The Felinor seem to like you… but then again, their women judge men on their claws and their scent.”

“Felinor?” Lyam asked, trying to distract himself from the open staring of the cat-women.

“Felinor are a mercenary race who established themselves in the System around three hundred years ago. They all hold variations on the Cultivator Class and are nomadic, hiring on with caravans and mercenary armies with only rare breaks for mating and raising children. You will probably see them everywhere you go, given how common they are throughout this part of the world,” He replied.

Lyam shook his head, deciding to forget about the women’s stares for the moment. They were far enough ahead that Laevarian’s wind would prevent them from hearing the conversation, but it seemed a little too rude to continue discussing them like that.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach the front of the line?” He asked curiously.

“From the crests on the wagons, probably two or three days. Most of the merchant alliances I recognized have middling or poor reputations when it comes to smuggling, so the guards will probably search them all,” He said calmly.

Lyam felt a flash of irritation, quickly suppressed, “Is it always like that?”

“Yes. Reputable caravans and merchant organizations generally will not bother with somewhere this far out of the way. After taxes, they can hardly make a profit most of the time,” He said.

He gave Lyam a sly smile, “You probably will get a few invitations once it gets dark. Felinor women hate sleeping alone when decent company is available.”

Lyam wasn’t sure of the idea. He had never liked being hunted, even when it was just for sex or romance. His Saevere side, however, was eager for the chance to find out what the women were like in bed, its curiosity mixing with raw male lust able to balance out the remnants of his caution from his human days.

In other words, it probably wouldn’t take much to tip him into bed with one of those beauties… and they were beauties. Their feral cat-like eyes and twitching ears combined with lithe, slender bodies with curves hidden only slightly by their battle robes well enough to made his imagination go a little wild. It was telling, though, that he didn’t single out any one of them in particular for that attention.

I guess two years without getting laid is a bit too long, He thought with a healthy dose of self-derision. He could easily suppress the desire by sinking into the cold, heartless part of himself, but it did not seem worth it. A night with one or (if the looks he was getting were any indication) more of them would probably scratch that particular itch quite well, unless he was missing his guess.

Sure enough, as darkness approached, the gates closed and the escorts for the merchant caravans began setting up camps, getting fires going with dry wood gathered from the edge of the massive forest, some bringing back creatures to set up on spits over them for dinner. He noticed that roughly half of all the guards for the various caravans were Felinor, with the rest being a mix of a dozen different races (though he didn’t see any humans).

Laevarian left briefly and returned with a small boar-like creature an hour or so later as Lyam set up the camp, lighting a fire using a firebow in a pit he dug with psychokinesis and building a spit out of greenwood from a branch cut off one of the trees. The elf had already dressed and skinned his catch (the skin set to dry on a makeshift rack beside the fire), so all Lyam had to do was impale it from front to back on the spit before setting it up over the fire, rotating it slowly with psychokinesis as they sat, making light conversation they would forget moments after.

They each sliced bits of meat off the spit and ate it just like that. The beast was far too big to eat it all in one night, but Lyam figured most of the meat would be gone by the time they reached the gates, given the elf’s opinion on how long it would take.

The meat was oddly tender in his mouth, and when he ‘looked’ at himself he could see it infusing his body with mana every time he swallowed a scrap. Apparently, eating monsters was beneficial to more than just nutrition, as he could sense that his body was adapting to mana a little more each time he ate monster meat.

“What is this thing called, anyway?” He asked after he had had his fill. Lyam wasn’t picky about food, so as long as it wasn’t poisoned or too rotten, he was willing to eat.

“Zak. A few centuries ago, these creatures came through a Sublimation and mutated into the perfect prey. They eat dead leaves and rotten things, and their only real defense is their sheer numbers,” The elf replied off-handedly.

Most people from modern Earth would probably be repulsed at the idea of devouring the meat of a carrion eater, but Lyam just gave a mental shrug and said, “It’s nice and tender.”

“My favorite meat,” The elf said with a nod.

Laevarian went to sleep on the ground, a rich black fur covering him from just below his shoulders to his booted feet. Lyam was covered with a similar fur, salvaged from the village, but his eyes remained open, staring at the stars above as he considered what was to come.

An hour or so after he laid down, he felt a presence by his side, a gleaming pair of green eyes with slit pupils meeting his own, glimmering with lust as she slipped under the fur with him. He gave a mental shrug as her hands began to caress his body under the fur, and he dismissed his clothes to his inventory.

No reason not to enjoy this new world when I can, He thought, meeting her lips with his own, his hands going around her naked back.

She was lusher than he would have guessed from what he’d seen outlined by her battle robe, and he had to wonder if that was some kind of magical function. He gently caressed her body as she caressed his, her slightly lengthened canines showing as she grinned lustily at him.

He also found, to his delight, that she really did have a tail.

For exploring the body of a newly-encountered species and following the path of curiosity, you gain +1 to Willpower.

And I thought the only results of sex were pleasure and kids, He thought with amusement, determined to get everything he could out of the opportunity as he returned his attention to the silky-skinned girl’s body.

_______________________________________________________

When he awakened the next morning, the girl was still curled under the fur with him, her naked body wrapped around him like a glove. He didn’t feel the pain in his shoulders from her claws anymore, reminding him that his body healed much faster in this new world than it had in the old.

Her nose was buried in his neck, and she appeared to be drawing in his scent with a blissful expression on her face… in her sleep. He’d found out her name was Mirrha after the first round, and they had enjoyed one another thoroughly… several times.

Laevarian had his own partner… no, two of them. Both had similar features to Mirrha, and he could see the elf was as blissfully sated as he had been when he finally fell asleep. Considering the looks the girls had given him, Lyam would have assumed he would be the one with multiple partners… but he honestly was fine with just Mirrha.

She was almost too much on her own.

Mirrha stirred, grumbling complaints about the sun as she opened her eyes blearily before focusing them on him with a wide grin that showed her fangs. The other three girls that hadn’t ‘participated’ were grinning at them from their banked fire near the wagon, and they responded to his wave with hoots of laughter.

“You are a strong male. A fine mate you will make,” Mirrha said approvingly as she gripped… Lyam under the furs.

“Mate?”

“Not time for true mating yet, but fun this was. I will blood my daggers when the time comes to challenge for you,” She chattered happily.

He had a rather ominous feeling at those words, “Challenge?”

“Felinor are mostly female, with only occasional males popping up here and there. Mating order is determined through challenges, and male worthiness is decided well before the breeding season,” Laevarian said cheerily as he emerged from his furs, a pair of soft brown leather pants appearing on him before Lyam got an eyeful.

“Elf-mage also good mate. Cultivation good, strong foundation,” One of the Felinor girls under the elf’s fur nodded approvingly.

“Did we just get recruited for Felinor mating season?” Lyam asked with some trepidation.

“Just sit back and enjoy it when the time comes. Felinor females do not understand ‘no’ when it comes to mating. The ones that survive will appear in your bed, and you should just forget about the others,” He replied unconcernedly, as if he had been through this before.

“You have obviously done this before,” Lyam stated, narrowing his eyes as Mirrha’s battle robe appeared on her and she rose from under the fur, drawing him to his feet as well. Lyam willed his armored pants on before Laevarian could get an eyeful and settled down by the dead fire, summoning a still-steaming hunk of meat and tossing it to Mirrha.

“Is good mate,” Mirrha said approvingly as she tore into the cooked flesh ravenously.

Lyam dug into his own meat as Laevarian followed suit, obviously considering what to tell his traveling companion.

“Most male adventurers and mercenaries at least get ‘tasted’ by Felinor at some point. Their females always breed true, so they have no cultural taboos about taking non-Felinor as mates for a season,” He finally said.

I’m in a new world, and now I’m talking about having sex with a catgirl after actually having sex with a catgirl… Lyam was wondering if the System wasn’t a bit crazy. He had known boys at the orphanage that would have salivated at the idea, and he was pretty sure that at least some of those who survived would be overjoyed.

While it had been long enough that he hadn’t even considered saying no, he was wondering now if he had made a mistake.

“Also, do not make the mistake of thinking Felinor are stupid. They simply cannot be bothered to speak other races’ languages properly due to their ‘inherent superiority’,” The elf warned. The Felinor girls preened obviously at his ‘praise’, and Lyam got the feeling that a lot of men spent at least a part of their lives flattering Felinor women shamelessly… for obvious reasons.

The girls were good company at breakfast, obviously enjoying the meat. They began conversing in low tones with one another while eyeing Lyam and Laevarian and giggling occasionally. The language they were speaking was somehow not translated by the System, something that surprised Lyam somewhat. So, he decided to ask his companion, considering the man never seemed to mind lecturing him on various subjects.

“Why does the System not translate their language?” He asked bluntly.

“Races that manage to maintain their cohesion after Sublimation tend to create a Cant, essentially convincing the System to make their language into a Hidden Skill that can only be obtained by initiation. The Felinor language is one of those… and one that is almost impossible to learn, even if one is initiated. It does not make any sense to most other races, because it is highly reliant on their early socialization, instincts, and body language,” He explained, obviously enjoying yet another chance to lecture.

“Do I need to worry?” He asked.

“No, Felinor do not expect their mates to help with raising the children from their mating. I suggest you just enjoy yourself while you can… and avoid relations with other females during breeding season. Felinor are not jealous normally, but during breeding season…” He shrugged, giving Lyam a wry smile that told him the man had experienced the results of that jealousy in the past.

Breakfast with Mirrha and her fellows ended abruptly when the gates opened and they had to return to guarding the wagon. Apparently, the wagon’s owner made allowances for sleeping arrangements, but whoever they were was less forgiving when things became active.

Lyam didn’t mind. In truth, Mirrha’s clingy behavior had already started to wear on his nerves when she left. He was not accustomed to being constantly touched, even by women he slept with.

He continued to converse with Laevarian about a variety of subjects during the day, including the various races they saw both guarding and driving the wagons. He came to understand that the wagons themselves were powered by the mana of specially-trained mages who were given a relatively easy life in exchange for focusing all their growth into their magical stats after reaching adulthood.

Guards were apparently expected to feed themselves, usually through hunting and eating monsters as the caravans traveled. Given the instability of the job, it did not surprise him much that a small commission in advance was standard and that many used that commission either for lodging along the way or equipment costs.

The Felinor girls really were professionals, apparently, as they stopped ogling them once they returned to duty. However, Mirrha had assured him that several of the others were also interested, and that he should expect another visitation that night.

Lyam didn’t know how to feel about that. He liked sex as much as the next man, but he generally felt sex was just a way to blow off steam and release tension, not something to be sought out for its own sake.

He also didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Mirrha had already decided he would be a father within a year, without consulting him. He knew her culture differed drastically from his own, but he caught himself wondering if passing on his tainted legacy to another generation was wise, even if he was not going to be involved in bringing the child up.

Laevarian looked on with knowing eyes. His own people were strict about breeding, so it was a shock to his system the first time Laevarian had been picked out by a Felinor female during his adventurer days. It only took a few years for him to simply accept that he had no say in the matter and that he might as well enjoy the trip.

And boy did he enjoy it!

_______________________

The second night, Lyam sat by the fire, filling one of his bottles with ink made from his own blood.

Do you wish to permanently sacrifice 10 points of HP to make one bottle of Blood Ink? Y/N

He selected yes and winced as the blood in the bottle turned violet, becoming a viscous ink instead of blood. The jolt of pain only lasted a moment, but it was definitely noticeable. It wouldn’t hurt him if he used the blood of others, but in exchange, he would have to restore his own karmic balance afterward, a process that Laevarian told him was usually more time-consuming than it was worth.

That done, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and took out the leather holster for his tattoo needles. When he inserted one of them into the ink bottle, the needle glowed crimson for a few moments before turning violet, telling him (based on the knowledge gained from his skill) that the needle was ready to be used. Roughly one quarter of the pint-sized bottle had vanished into the needle, and he instinctively knew this was just enough ink for a single runic phrase. He had already figured out which phrase he wanted to use, so he began meticulously pricking his forearm right above the wrist in exactly the desired pattern. Each time he made a prick, he left the needle in for a single second.

It was easier than he imagined a mundane tattoo artist’s work would have been. The magic of the needles and the ink made from his blood responded to his intent to an extent, so in about an hour, he was able to complete the tattoo, which looked like a small circle made out of minuscule runes.

The runes he had used were the ones for ‘blood’, ‘fire’, ‘invoke’, and ‘manipulate’. When he was done, he mentally tied off the essence infused into the ink inside his arm and a prompt appeared before his eyes.

Do you wish to create the Blood Curse Tattoo Spell: Bloodfire? This will permanently reduce your HP by 40. Y/N

Lyam winced but assented to the change, enduring the sense of burning as part of his life energy was converted to become the base of a living spell curse.

You have gained 1000 xp for creating your first Blood Curse as a Curse Blade. You are now Level 10, you have gained 10 AP and 2 skill points for reaching Level 10. You may now choose a new Profession. Be aware that choosing a new Profession may only be done once every ten levels and you may not change it once chosen.

As you have already gained a Tier 2 class, you may not gain a new specialization until Level 20.

He checked his status immediately afterward and considered where to put his AP and SP. He knew he couldn’t afford to put off distributing them any longer, given the message on time limitations. He thought about it and realized he needed to pump up his HP, due to the way his Class required sacrifices of max HP to infuse his ink and curse tattoos. He quickly pumped 5 points into Con. He felt his body grow stronger, becoming somehow more vital.

My Intelligence and Willpower seem to be growing on their own… but I doubt that this pace will keep up forever. However, I can’t have my physical stats falling behind the magic stats… at least not too far. There is no point in having magic if I can’t react to an enemy’s movements, He thought. He went ahead and pumped three points into Strength, two into Agility, and two into Dexterity.

Charisma is fine as it is, but the goddess said that Luck basically effects… everything. I think I’ll pump up Luck and my magic stats with the rest, He put five points into Luck, three into Willpower, and two into Intelligence.

Just to round things out, he put his last two points into Endurance.

He then touched an icon in his personal menus he hadn’t bothered with before… the Skill Shop. The reason he hadn’t touched it before was that without a Class, he hadn’t been able to use the Skill Shop, which basically allowed one to gain the most basic level in a Class-related Skill, Spell, or Ability not given when gaining the Class.

There were five options present, each of them interesting in their own way.

Shadow Cloak (Ability)- By sacrificing 5% of your MP while active, you gain the ability to manifest a cloak made out of shadows that envelops you and conceals you in darkened or shadowed areas.

Karmic Sacrifice (Spell)- By offering up someone or something you value to the System, you may create a permanent curse effecting a particular target. Depending on the severity of the curse versus the value of the sacrifice, you incur a degree of negative karma. Curses that cause positive effects will still incur a negative karma value due to the nature of curse magic effecting others directly.

Soul Weapon (Ability)- By sacrificing 100 Max HP, you can permanently bind and empower a weapon into a manifestation of your true nature and power. This weapon will grow with you and has a chance to change depending on your need and desire. Only one Soul Weapon can exist at any given time, and destroying a Soul Weapon to allow the creation of another will not refund the lost HP. Weapons created in this manner may not be destroyed by any except the maker while the maker lives.

Shadow Manipulation (Skill)- A Mage Dagger Class Skill, gives the user the ability to manipulate shadows in the area, shaping them to their will and – at the higher levels of the Skill – allowing for shadows to be given a form capable of physical resistance and/or damage.

Blood Magic (Skill)- A School of Magic that functions through blood sacrifice, a close cousin of the Curse Magic School. This School will not count against Magic Affinity Talents.

Lyam somehow knew that all of these were potentially powerful… but his instincts screamed at him to avoid Blood Magic. The synergy between it and Curse Magic felt dangerous on a level even greater than it appeared on the surface of things.

He decided to obey that instinct while paying the price to get the other four at the most basic level.

Name: Lyam Aldren

Level: 10

Race: Saevere

Profession: Hired Killer

Class: Curse Blade

Title: Cain’s Successor, Kinslayer, The First Curse Blade

Available AP: 0

Available SP: 0

HP: 2420/2420

MP: 2515/2515

Str: 16

Agi: 25

Dex: 25

Con: 23

End: 20

Int: 32

Will: 32

Cha: 14

Lck: 15

Martial Skills: Light Blades 40, Backstab 25, Stealth 25, Magic Resistance 5, Shadow Manipulation 1

Magic Skills: True Sight 40, Gravity Magic 19, Curse Magic 12, Soul Magic 1

Crafting Skills: Blood Curse Tattoo 15, Enchanting 10

Spells: Psychokinesis, Gravity Arrow, Blood Curse, Create Soul Familiar, Blood Curse: Bloodfire (invocation and manipulation, basic invocation consumes 1 HP and 1 MP per second), Karmic Sacrifice

Weapon Style: Cat Dances with Swords (Novice)

Non-Combat: Perception 50, Mana Cultivation 25

Abilities: Soul Weapon (Novice), Shadow Cloak (Novice)

Perks: Kinslayer I (5% damage boost to sapient humanoids, -5% to damage taken from sapient humanoids), Absolute Metabolism (Perfect immunity to and absorption of poison, disease, and curses)

Racial Perks: Mana Core, Innovative Nature II, Inspiration

Talents: Compartmentalization (This individual can shuffle his emotions to the side almost at will), Cold Mind (This individual will ignore all attempts to sway him emotionally from a chosen course, whether born of magic or conventional means), Persona Creation (This individual naturally adopts personality traits that will give him a better chance of success in his chosen endeavors), Greater Magic Affinity (potential to master at least 3 schools of magic, two basic, one Celestial, Class Schools do not count for Affinity Talents)

Lyam frowned. Something about his HP didn’t add up. He’d noticed it at previous levels, but it was pretty glaring with this one. He decided to ask Laevarian, since he still had access to that particular living encyclopedia of all things ‘System’ (or so he called him inside his mind).

“Laevarian.”

“Yes?”

“Exactly how is HP and MP calculated? No matter how I look at this, it doesn’t match up,” He complained.

Laevarian gave Lyam a look, “HP and MP have so many variables involved – most of them invisible even on a status screen – that it is pointless to try to calculate them. However, there are some theories as to why this is so.”

“HP is effected by all the physical stats you have to differing extents, your raw level, your Class; your Titles and achievements, your training, your cultivation, and even what you eat between levels. In addition, each individual attribute point has a slightly differing value to the System that is never shown in any way we can understand. MP is effected by all the ‘mental’ stats; your cultivation; your levels; your Class; your Titles; and how much you exercised your mind, magic and social skills between levels. As such, predicting those particular stats is pretty much impossible beyond saying that physical stats will raise HP and mental ones MP,” He continued the explanation.

“So… the System fucks with you as you use SP to raise your stats?” Lyam asked, looking a bit helpless.

“That is… one way of putting it. However, the final part of the theory is that the System does not want people to use attributes to bull their way through force, instead focusing on creating new skills, spells, and Classes. People who never do anything the System likes will find that their AP are less effective regardless of how they allocate them, and people who consistently discover new abilities, spells, and skills are rewarded by the System,” He replied.

“… so the System wants people to game it?” Lyam asked incredulously, “I thought you said the System is ‘ruthlessly fair’?!”

“It is, to those who progress. Those who do not progress are not even considered to be worth the mana needed to sustain life,” Laevarian said with a shrug.

“…” Lyam had to restrain the desire to ask if that was why the elf’s village was destroyed so easily. There was no point in bringing it up and causing him unnecessary pain.

Lyam idly called on the new blood curse as he considered what Laevarian had said, a finger-sized ball of dark crimson flame manifesting above his left palm. The pain it was causing him was mild, so he was able to ignore it easily.

This System really wants something from people, but it is unwilling to actually spell out what it wants. People study it and try to extrapolate what it wants, but the best they can do is a theory that sounds shaky as all hell to me, He thought as he formed the flame into loops, arrows, and even a spear. The curse tattoo seemed to do exactly what he thought it would do, based on the instructions in the book.

He found that there was very little in the way of limits to how dense or how dispersed he could make the flame. He could spread warmth over a wide area or create a pebble-sized ball of flame he instinctively knew would melt steel like butter. The only limitations it seemed to have was that if he wanted to increase the total amount of power the imprinted ‘spell’ could use, the cost went up exponentially the more he tried to do. If he wanted to create a fireball the size of his head with the same intensity as the pebble-sized one, he had to expend one hundred times the MP and HP… and endure pain that was reminiscent of when he gained his Class for a second or two.

I wonder if this will get easier as I level up? He thought hopefully. The MP and HP cost didn’t bother him, but the pain was beyond distracting, verging on being incapacitating when he went beyond a certain threshold.

When he asked Laevarian about it, he got a surprising response.

“Yes, the cost of ‘imprinted’ spells is always greater than one cast from a Class or Mastered school of magic. Normally, Bloodfire is a Blood Magic spell, but you are using it as a Curse Magic spell, resulting in a penalty to costs dependent on how far you mold the spell to your will.”

“What if I create a tattoo for a spell from a school I’ve already Mastered, like my Gravity Arrow?” Lyam asked curiously as he used Bloodfire ‘pebbles’ to create fist-sized craters of molten glass in the field beside the road, watching his HP and MP to try to determine his regeneration rates.

“You will still have some increased base costs, but you will probably see a reduction in total consumption per use after your Class and School bonuses.”

That made sense… and it also made him realize his original plan, of using the tattoos to give him access to spells from other schools, was inefficient. He only had so much skin he could use, and it was better devoted to more efficient curses, given the cost of making them.

“I guess I will have to rework my plans… but then, if there was one thing I learned from killing people for a living, it is that no plan is perfect,” He remarked without thinking about it.

Laevarian looked at him curiously, “So that is what you did in your old world? I am surprised you did not choose a pure rogue Class, then.”

Lyam was a bit surprised Laevarian showed no sign of disgust or contempt, so he had to ask, “Just how are hired killers regarded in this world?”

“Assassins are valued by nobles and kings, and a killer is a killer in the eyes of most others. You might receive more caution from someone who offers you hospitality, and those with non-combat Classes might be wary of you at times. However, anyone with your aura would be seen that way, in any case,” Laevarian replied.

“Is my aura really that bad?” Lyam asked with some amusement. While he had managed to contain his ‘killing intent’ during his training at the ruined village, he wasn’t a master of his aura by any standard.

“Yes. Your aura is stained with blood and death, and if you were not containing it, it would repel most people with any degree of sensitivity. Felinor females on the other hand…” He said, shrugging.

Lyam winced as he realized Laevarian had just informed him of one of the reasons Mirrha and the others had taken such an interest in him.

He gave Lyam a mischievous smile, “… they like men with a bit of blood on their fangs.”

Lyam groaned out loud, and Laevarian laughed, his eyes glittering with humor.

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Mirrha considered her chosen mate from her place on top of her employer’s wagon. He was odd. She did not recognize the scent of his flesh or that of the blood she spilled when she mated with him that first night.

However, she decided she found the scent pleasant. He would be a good mate; the children that would come from their mating would be strong. His aura was like a mist of blood spilled with the cold intent of a true hunter, and the first time she felt it, she had decided to taste him.

She was glad she had, for he was an attentive mate, seemingly understanding what she wanted even before she did. Such mates were rare. Males were usually too simple, too intent on their own pleasure to give. Her previous mates had all been such.

She looked at her sisters and wanted to let out a sigh, her ears twitching. She would need to bloody her daggers many times in the days to come. Her sisters had also caught his scent, though they had tasted the elf instead. It was only a matter of time until their respect for her was eroded by the instincts of their kind as they approached the mating season.

She pitied the other races, so many of them in heat constantly. It must be horribly distracting to be constantly consumed by lust, even when it was not the proper time for children.

Felinor biology was far more sensible than that of the other races. Only being fertile a few weeks out of every year made everything simpler and kept sex as a pleasurable pastime for her kind outside of that particular period of the year.

She missed her daughters at times like this, but tradition was tradition. Felinor were raised by the tribe, not by the mother. A Felinor child was too easily spoiled if the mother was allowed to follow her instincts, and the System was unforgiving of weakness.

She knew her daughters would appreciate this male. They would challenge her, and she would revel in that challenge. It was not like it was with her sisters, where the results were pre-determined. At level 90, she was simply too strong for her lower-leveled sisters. Her daughters, who were thriving as Hunters in the lands to the north, were of similar level to her, the constant battles there tempering them faster than even she.

Mirrha sometimes wished she had been chosen to be a Hunter instead of a Wanderer, but the shaman’s choices must be obeyed. All Felinor had a destiny, and hers was to wander the lands as a mercenary and bring back information and wealth to her people. Her children’s destiny was to hunt the horrific beasts in the north and eventually die without ever finding a worthy mate in the outside world. Their mates would be rare Felinor males, weak and easily destroyed by disease or the whims of the System.

Something about the man with the blood-stained aura intrigued her, even beyond his attractiveness as a mate. The potential for power she sensed from him using her War Cultivator’s Spirit Sense ability was not something she had encountered before, so she had no way to quantify it. Even the minuscule steps he had taken on the path of cultivation had revealed a talent the shaman would have happily consigned to the Hunters if he were Felinor, even a male.

A strong aura, a developed killing intent, and the vaguest hint of a Dao that might take form one day... All were signs of great talent as a cultivator, even with the System’s restrictions.

Perhaps I should share him. Our people would benefit from such a talent mingling his bloodlines with many of ours, It was an idle thought, one with no force behind it. Mirrha never shared her mates, at least not the first time she picked them. Her sisters would have to make do with the Wood Elf, who was himself a fine specimen of a male.

The others who sought to taste him would eventually challenge her as well, but their challenges were less relevant to her. They were of other tribes, and so she felt not even the faintest obligation to help strengthen their bloodlines.

There were plenty of adventurers in the city, in any case. They could find their own mates after she dipped her knives in their blood.

Not that she would begrudge them a few nights of pleasure before the season, of course. There was no reason to be rude.

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Laevarian was worried about what was coming, though he made an effort not to show it when he lectured Lyam on the various things he needed to know to survive and avoid revealing himself as long as possible. Lyam’s aura spoke of someone who should have been in their late 80’s or so in terms of levels. The lack of levels would work against him when trying to conceal what he was, and Laevarian was fairly sure that some of the more experienced adventurers would realize something was up.

For all that the other man frightened him sometimes with his potential or the horrific casualness with which he obviously considered killing those around him, Laevarian knew that once he had the levels to back his life experience up, there would be few who could match him. He did, however, often wonder why he was so invested in Lyam surviving.

Yes, he had owed the creature a debt for helping with the funereal rites, but escorting him to the city and introducing him to the adventurers’ society and the Guild would be more than sufficient recompense for his actions. Instead, he was answering the man’s questions without hesitation and treating him like a student instead of a stranger.

Laevarian’s knowledge had been the primary reason he was allowed to adventure in his younger days. Despite the Elders’ unwillingness to adapt to the System’s demands, they had understood that ignorance was foolish… so one elf every generation would be sent out into the world to learn, gather information, and bring it back to teach the next generation.

That was Laevarian’s role… though he was only allowed to teach what was approved in advance, and he was not allowed to encourage ideas of becoming an adventurer or wandering outside the bounds of the village’s territory without permission. Laevarian was also encouraged to ensure the children would only pick Classes that were entirely elven in nature, like his own. He had hated it, for it was a foolish policy, given the demands of the System. However, he also knew that disobedience wasn’t an option.

Now he wished he had managed to worm his way out of the geas that had bound him while teaching and educate the children properly. If even just a few had been able to learn those lessons and escape the Elders’ iron grip on their people, he might not be the last of his tribe.

Now that he was free, he should have been looking to get rid of Lyam’s presence and only tolerating the creature as a traveling companion. Though he was more easygoing than most of his people, the fact was that Lyam wasn’t even an elf. He should not have found it so easy to get along with him.

In fact, he sensed that, once the journey was over, neither of them would be close friends. At best, they would have a somewhat distant relationship, though he sensed that Lyam would not deny a request for aid outright, and he thought he would feel similarly.

The only conclusion he could come to was that the System was influencing him to help Lyam adjust. It was not a difficult leap of intuition, when it came down to it. The System favored innovators, and Lyam was definitely an innovator, despite his ignorance of most of the basic facts of life in his new world. It was also not unheard of for the System to manipulate people into helping those it considered to be valuable.

He pitied Lyam if that was so. The System was merciless with those who caught its interest, aiding them with one hand while throwing them into the pits with another. Lyam would probably be allowed only just enough time to understand something of his new world before the System decided it was time to challenge him.

Laevarian decided he needed to make plans for moving on to another city, as soon as possible. Another aspect of that problem was that such challenges were rarely restricted to the individual in question when the System could test many others at the same time.

__________________________________________________________

Nina didn’t like the look of the odd traveler and his elf companion as they approached the gates. His aura stank of blood and death, though his karma was oddly clean in comparison. Her ‘Eyes of the Divine Scales’ made it unnecessary for her to have an examine skill or spell, as most people were open books when it came to their auras.

The elf was an elf. Elves were all the same, at least those who were born as elves. He had less of the usual arrogance tinting his aura than most, but she caught the typical wanderlust of an elven adventurer as well as age tempered by elven resilience to the passage of time. It looked to her that he had been a warrior type in the past but now was walking the path of magic.

The other one was odd, truly odd. Other than his aura, he had claws, black corneas, and a mana core, something someone at his level of cultivation shouldn’t have at all. It was even compressed, if only a little bit. However, as he approached, she got hints of kindness, compassion and generosity somehow clearly delineated from an icy cold detachment, bloodlust, and extreme paranoia. It was like he was a patchwork of personalities that were all connected to the same base person without conflicting in any way, shape, or form.

If it were her choice, she would deny him entry, but she merely reported his estimated level and probable class (a mix of mage and rogue, from what she could tell) to her captain, as required. Nina was a White Dragonkin, so it was difficult for her to work under those less competent than herself, but her contact with the Mayor was clear. She cursed herself once again for her bad habit of gambling herself into debt then having that debt sold to whatever power-monger needed a convenient bit of muscle with a vision skill less intrusive than a true examination skill.

“Nina, that traveler is seriously… off. He stinks,” Ferz, an orcish warrior who often served as her partner on the walls at night, muttered to her. He was perceptive in a different way from her, some fae blood in his background granting him the ability to smell auras and magic. He glared at the creature openly, not bothering to hide his hostility… and shivered suddenly, lowering his eyes when he met that abyssal gaze.

“Nina, do not challenge,” Ferz whispered to her, his voice quavering.

She looked at him with disbelief. Ferz was a Level 45 Ice Berserker. Fear was not something he felt easily, even when he encountered something far beyond his level. However, he was obviously terrified of this Level 10 creature. She looked at the creature again, trying to use her vision ability to delve deeper beneath the surface… and wanted to cry.

How the hell can he function with a spirit that scarred? She thought with horror. She’d seen souls that were damaged or scarred by past trauma, but the traveler’s soul looked like a cracked mosaic, tens of thousands of small scars and fractures marring a surface that was somehow still beautiful, for all that it should have hinted at madness. He should have been a raving lunatic, but she could sense none of the foul taint of insanity. She merely felt like she was looking at something somehow… alien.

Her horror quickly turned to intrigue. She wondered if she would be able to find him during her off hours. She would really like to hear his story.

_____________________________________________

They got through the gate easily enough when the time came, though two of the guards seemed to become extremely hostile when Lyam approached. One of them, an orc, his blue-green skin flushing with rage, glared at him briefly before their eyes met and his face went pale. The woman looked stricken after she stared at him for a few moments, but Lyam had no idea of what she saw that would create such a reaction. He had not been examined. Laevarian had taught him how to detect the intrusive touch of that particular branch of skills earlier that day.

They were asked their business and then passed on through with a dismissive glance from a Dark Elf in heavy plate after a few formal questions about their business in the city. It was obvious that the woman had passed him some kind of information, but Lyam had no idea of how that could be.

“Probably a vision ability of some kind,” Laevarian suggested when Lyam asked him a few minutes later, “While examining is considered rude, most guard forces have at least one person with a perception or vision ability that can give them a general idea of the disposition and abilities of a person without the intrusiveness of a scan.”

Lyam shrugged and turned his gaze to the lands beyond the gate. In its own way, what he saw awed him as much as the wall and the great forest.

Except for the roads, almost every part of land from the wall to the city proper was covered with fields of crops. There were a few patches of trees that looked to be fruit orchards and a few fields where what looked to be domesticated meat animals roamed, but most of the land was taken up by rows of vegetables and grains. Not even an inch of land was wasted, and men and women worked the fields, their backs bent as they harvested vegetables or reaped grain with scythes. On the sides of the narrow roads between fields were massive carts waiting to be loaded with the harvest, with massive six-legged lizards with muzzles over their heads tied to metal posts driven deep into the ground nearby. He supposed they were the beasts of burden, since he couldn’t see any other reason their presence would be tolerated.

The city proper was over four miles away, but it towered over the field surrounding it, seemingly built in circular fashion around a massive hill that seemed to be built into as well as on top. Rings of walls encircled the city proper, four layers in all, and Lyam could see soldiers patrolling the tops of each.

The walls not nearly as tall as the outer wall, apparently meant for dealing with less primeval threats than the flying beasts and megafauna of the forest.

The armored wagons were moving quickly to Daena’s city proper now that they had gotten through the main gate. They were already halfway to the city, and Lyam didn’t feel any particular need to hurry. He had a feeling Mirrha and her sisters would find him wherever he went, regardless.