You have successfully dodged musket volley!

Quickness check made!

Eric raced as quick as he could along sprawling corridors that had been instantly uploaded to his interface, now displaying reds along with the passages in the right hand corner of his mind’s eye.

And before two confused-looking orcs he sprinted towards could even blink and turn to face him, he had lashed out with a furious barrage of essence-infused punches so potent that the walls behind the orcs had collapsed in explosive white-hot blasts of liquid flame. Of the patrollers themselves, nothing remained save the stench of overdone brisket and two pairs of hairy cloven feet as Eric raced through the massive fireball he had catalyzed, hooting and laughing like a madman as he raced at full speed for the pair now gazing his way up the corridor, blocking the stinging pair of musket balls with nothing but his middle fingers and a shit eating grin before drawing and striking with his blade the instant he closed, frowning only slightly when they collapsed at his feet.

For he had failed to neatly bisect them with lazor-tight beams of liquid flame and instead had blasted them with jets of fire charring most of their internal organs before they were finally put out of their misery with two additional jets of flame.

He paused, making quick note of his progress since he had begun his blitzkrieg. His progress was very modest, skill wise, but there was unquestionably something to be said for the sheer rush of power he felt to be able to laugh away musket balls the way he once could paint balls. Save for the need for eye protection, he had never felt so close to the awesomeness that was Super Punch Man than he did at that moment.

Of course, his favorite anime hero would never match him in the flowing blond hair department, that was for damned sure.

You have slain an additional 37 Orc musketeers!

You have butchered an additional seven Level 15 Orc Berserkers!

(You are significantly more powerful than your targets. Reduced experience earned.)

Fire Fist is now Rank 5!

Unarmed combat is now Rank 13!

Windfire Strike is now Rank 7!

Eric furrowed his brow, manic glee at tearing through his foes turning to something harder, colder, and far more disciplined as the facility shook with the roars of the remaining survivors, including the chieftain himself.

The fact that he had yet to feel any progress in his cultivation base, now the lowest of his three classes, told him everything he needed to know.

This cakewalk was unworthy of him.

If he truly wanted to be worthy of his cultivation, he needed to push himself. To face challenges like he never had before. He shook his head even as the vast laminated corridors of what Eric suspected had once been a massive dairy plant, and perhaps something else as well, as the occasional tantalizing whiff of chocolate caught his exquisite senses suggested, now rang with the roars of the chieftain himself.

“Come, intruder! Face me one on one, if you dare! For I am Chief Redtooth, and I would face you in the sands of life and death! Let us meet, coward! Let us settle our differences in the way that matters! The dance of blood and steel!”

“I accept!” Eric roared, feeling a sudden frisson of intense excitement, his Interface instantly pinging to where the challenge had been offered.

It was only seconds before Eric burst out of a side corridor into what he suspected had been the central milking area, the once well-cared for chamber showing the remnants of its former operation by the dozen chrome and bronze vats now shoved into a single corner of the vast, auditorium-like domed structure, hardwood flooring now covered in fine white sand, a double row of benches lined up against the far wall and seating no less than a full dozen orcs. The only reds Eric could still sense in the territory, in fact, along with one giant behemoth wielding a trident of black iron radiating faint necromantic magics.

The massive orc covered in thick plates of hammer-hardened steel roared in challenge when he caught sight of a grinning Eric.

“Is this a fucking joke to you?” The nine-foot tall orc roared, beady amber eyes scowling Eric’s way. “Why the fuck are you wearing nothing but pants, human?”

Eric shrugged. “I needed something to secure my sword-sheath's suspension from, you know? I mean, look at these chains. Can you imagine how it would sting if I wore this against my bare leg? It only looks like I don’t have any hair there. I men… fucking ouch! Hurt’s a lot worse than your bitch-boy’s musket balls, I’ll tell you that, and training up my fast-draw skill has been half-the fun here today. I’m so close to Rank 15 that I can fucking taste it!”

Chieftain Redtooth snarled, eyes glittering with unbridled hate as Eric slowly approached from the far side of the massive chamber, noting the twelve berserkers happily playing audience goers, but their hard eyes were locked on Eric a bit too intently, their hands never far from the axes casually lain beside their benches. And Eric’s mocking smirk didn’t shift a lick as he slowly closed the distance, forty feet shrinking down to thirty as Eric slowly lowered his balance, though not shifting his mocking smile for an instant.

“Unforgivable arrogance!” The beast roared. “Daring to mock us with your naked flesh! Making light of our fangs with your tiny teeth locked in a pathetic rictus of a smile! Do you think to cow me, human?” Redtooth roared, raising his trident high. “You are nothing! Less than nothing! And I will prove it on the sands this very moment! Fight me with everything you have, human! The winner will claim rights to every possession the loser has ever owned!”

Eric flourished his blade so fast in response that the chieftain only managed a single blink before Eric had resheathed it once more, more than one hotly whispering orc insisting he hadn’t drawn anything at all. Merely embraced foul magics, base illusions, and the slight-of-hand mastered only by the crudest sort of Contender.

“I’ll take only what I choose from your corpse and your domain. But sure, claim what you like, if you actually manage to kill me,” Eric said. Words that seemed to please the chieftain to no end as he abruptly roared and charged, bellowing so fiercely that the chamber itself seemed to echo with the blast of spiritual energy a surprised Eric felt washing over his person, realizing he had most definitely underestimated the cultivating orc now charging straight for him, javelin radiating discord and despair whistling through the air.

Quickness check made!

It was all Eric could do to lever aside the inky dark head of the massive trident tearing through the air.

Eric’s eyes widened with sheerest exhilaration, lips cracking a fierce grin as he tasted too long forgotten peril sweep for his neck.

In an eyeblink, the bellicose chieftain lost his mask of stupefied uncertainty, revealing the cold calculating eyes of an actual challenge, and Eric instantly understood what he faced.

“You’re one of the mercs hired on, aren’t you?” Eric said as he twisted under a savage series of pummeling blows that caused the wooden tiles to explode in shrapnel, shattering stone blocks deeper still as the massive orc happily used his weapon like a great cleaving maul, before instantly switching techniques, lunging forward in a twisting serpentine style that could have disemboweled Eric right there, had his own winding counter not forced the trident high and to the side as he darted forward, lashing out with his own blade.

Only for alarm bells to flash inside his head as he realized he couldn’t, the coldly smiling chieftain having twisted the shaft of his polearm, binding Eric’s blade between two of the trident prongs before twisting and wrenching back.

Unified Perception check made!

It was only at that moment as Eric skittered closer to the chieftain, refusing to let himself be disarmed or reveal more cards than he dared, finally got a good look at the twelve lounging berserkers, hiding more than ice-cold intelligence in their too bright eyes, and he finally saw the war axes for the front that they were.

A spike of alarm shivering through his soul when he sensed just how well his enemies had set him up. He, the overconfident fool who had been so effectively crippled of his greatest weapons and still charged headlong into unknown peril.

You have been momentarily stunned by Mamba Strike!

Blow has been enhanced by Death Qi!

Vitality mitigates Serious Wound to Light Wound.

Qi Resistance mitigates Death Blow to Serious Wound!

Yet the split-second he had been caught by surprise, registering the not quite perfectly hidden tools of destruction that he had no doubt would soon be leveled his way, had been enough for his foe’s massive foot thrust to slam right into Eric’s abdomen, sending him soaring with a cry. And if the orc chieftain thought it odd that the now groaning Eric had still managed to hold onto his blade, certainly his crumpled, groaning form put the smirking giant at ease.

You have managed to yank your weapon free of Master Bind martial combat technique!

You have begun embracing Unified Restoration Technique!

The chieftain snorted and leaped back, cold mocking laughter washing over Eric as he dropped the act entirely. “This is the champion my employer fears? Pathetic! You’re an arrogant boy who thinks slaughtering weak-willed fools makes you anything but an overconfident fool yourself!

Eric took desperate advantage of that moment, groaning as if in mortal pain even as he poured in as much Mana and Spiritual Energy into his Unified Restoration technique as he could, desperate to feel cracked bone fuse cleanly together, necrotically infected flesh having all abscess burn away in several agonizing seconds that stretched far too long as the chieftain’s contemptuous smirk turned to a look of genuine disdain.

“This is all you’re capable of? Brought low so easily? How very… disappointing.

With a jolt, Eric sprung back to his feet, forcing a smile and hamming up a wince and groan, earning fresh derisive laughter from his opponent.

Which was good. Very good.

All the better was the looks of bemused contempt and eagerness he saw flashing between the twelve berserkers gazing at him with such jaded disdain.

Because the minute he truly began to bore them was the moment they quit with the farcical contest and blasted Eric with weapons they sure as hell shouldn’t have, right where he stood.

You have successfully evaded Piercing Thrust!

Javelin tines have successfully bound your dachi!

And Eric could spare no more time gaming out the twelve sentinels measuring him so damn intently, too damn intently, all his focus now on trying desperately to control the center, to force Red Tooths’ agile trident off line as best he could. But the agile weapon kept winding around his own, seeking to force Eric’s blade aside before plunging for his flesh, forcing him to retreat, dodge, and slip away time and time again, being denied any chance at closing, or even the ability to force the trident head away.

His gaze became one of hyper-focused intensity, analyzing his foe’s every shift in stance and balance as best he could, sensing the instant before his coiled power would manifest in a furious lunge as Redtooth lashed out with his trident in a furious barrage of blows, pushing Eric back, back, forcing him ever more off balance until he was forced to spring away, forced to reposition himself as the orc chieftain absolutely controlled the center of their gladiatorial contest, the advantages of supreme skill and a polearm with three extra feet of reach and shaft allowing for a wide-angled grip so capable of utterly mastering the bind was an overwhelming advantage for any save the most dedicated of sword masters.

Add to that triple tines so good at locking opposing blades before ramming forward in the thrust, forcing Eric’s own blade back even as tines pricked Eric’s flesh time and again, sizzling and bubbling with dark corrosive Qi sizzling into Eric’s naked flesh time and time again, and Eric was forced to accept that he was completely and utterly outmatched, in terms of both weapon mastery and weapon pairing, with his resolve to face his foe with raw skill alone.

A move he had had to make to put the twelve assassins eyeing him with such bemused contempt at ease. His ragged cough and the blood dripping on the sands was a bitter, painful sacrifice that sated their bloodlust and teased their savagery. To the point that only one was frowning, peering at Eric with cold calculating eyes, choosing the moment that Eric was frantically countering yet another series of furious chained lunges, to ask his partner why the clearly exhausted human bleeding all over the sands was just as fast, just as quickly springing back to his feet as he had been at the fight’s very beginning.

It was an observation that alarmed Eric so severely that he almost missed the change in his opponent’s attack pattern, Chieftain Redtusk fainting with a final low thrust before whipping his trident around with a roar, the weapon whipping through the air in a vicious Zwerchhau strike that would have exploded right through any mortal’s skull.

And for all that Eric’s instincts screamed at him to duck, he deliberately leaned back just enough to clear the tips of the prongs… and not even that, crying out when blood spurted over the sands once more, his jaw shattered, now screaming as he raced around in what only could be called panic, to the point he now had twelve potential assassins at his back, the chieftain roaring with laughter as he shook the bloody prongs of his trident in a sobbing Eric’s face.

Critical Wound reduced to Medium Wound! You have resisted forced infusion of Necrotic Qi into your Pristine Meridian Base!

The chieftain and his crew are amused by your buffoonery!

Eric didn’t need the interface to tell him the last, the roars of mirth from the mercenary killers now less than ten feet behind him was so close he could feel food pelting his back… attacks that could be so, so much worse were they not amused, emphasized once more just how precarious his position truly was.

Even the Orcs sitting next to the sentinel still radiating cold suspicion were laughing with mirth.

“An entertaining fight, no, Zog? don’t worry. Surely Redtooth will allow you the final blow.”

The chieftain paused only long enough to beat his chest, still completely unharmed by Eric’s three foot long mithril blade.

“Look at that foolish boy! Observe how he cowers before me! Near crippled by multiple blows embracing just a touch of my wicked Spiritual Attacks. And this is why the Cultivator’s Path is just as important as your class!”

Hard eyes looked over the dozen respectfully seated men now just eight feet behind a panting Eric. The halfblood’s head was down, suppressing a groan as the chieftain spoke on.

“It is the glorious fusion of blood and death that allows for our ascension! Allows us to crush this pathetic maggot! A maggot who struck fear in the hearts of numerous unworthy excuses for chieftains so easily slipped into this world. A monstrous maggot who took the lives of thousands of our own, if the panicked fools are to be believed. Can you believe that rubbish?”

He sneered down at Eric, spitting his contempt. “No matter how mighty the stupid halfblood thought himself, it is only now, led like a rat into a trap who is denied the use of his deadliest tools and too stupid to know he was racing to his doom, that he finally understands just how weak, foolish, and powerless he truly is against warriors of true skill. Warriors who mastered the field of battle before the first blow was ever struck!”

The orc chieftain gazed at Eric for long seconds, no doubt savoring the exhilarating sense of absolute mastery over foes confronted with the horror of their own imminent demise

“Well, maggot? Any last words?”

Eric forced a smile, despite the awful grinding agony of a jaw slowly being fused back into a semblance of working order by a gift that certainly didn’t stint on pain.

“Sure. Credit where it’s due, Red Tooth. All things being equal, a six foot trident in the hands of a skilled warrior will hands down trump a sword held in the hands of an unarmored fool too stupid to have a shield for just such a contingency.”

Eric forced a smile, feeling his heart start to pound, readying himself for what came next. “All other things being equal.”

Redtooth roared with laughter. “So you admit I’m your better. Wonderful!” He flashed an evil smile. “It will do absolutely nothing to mitigate the screams I look forward to tearing free from your flesh. Agony that I will assure, absolutely assure, lasts without a sliver of reprieve or mercy. Not until I myself am crowned king of this pathetic excuse for a planet! But still, how sweet it is to see yet another would-be champion yield before my superiority!” Redtooth flashed a cold, cold smile, slowly approaching, delighting in every footstep, as a trembling Eric continued to back up.

“Oh yes. Certainly an unexpected twist, is it not? A Warlord with twice the power of the pathetic excuses for would-be overlords slips through the cracks holding back so many far, far worthier than the trash I see before me. But many things are possible for those with the right connections. When weak-willed fools who dare to call themselves orcs are so pressed, so desperate for succor that they invite an entire goblin faction to claim first portions of their whole damned feasting table! The sheer gall of it! Ha!”

The high level mercenary shook his head with bemused mockery. “But still, it worked out in the end. For those goblins alone had the funds necessary to pay the fines, and the administrators, necessary for exceptions like myself. Myself and my men to repair all the damage that the unmitigated foolishness of so many of my brainless brethren have caused! So perhaps I should thank you, Roundear. For if it were not for your limited skills forcing my brethren to see the light, to understand that I and I alone am destined to be their lord and master, this could have had a far different ending.”

Chieftain Redtooth gave a mocking shake of his head, having forced a visibly shaking Eric so close to the benches holding increasingly raucous orcs that his blond tousles were now in easy reach of massive paws slapping his ears, kicking his shins, or just pouring impressive tankards of ale over the shivering elf’s head. “And now I think it is best if we call an end to this farce. Don’t you, little fool?”

With those words, Eric stopped shaking, allowing the blade held in a shaking drip to drift naturally to his side, right where his sheath was. He gave what the orcs behind him no doubt judged a defeated sigh.

Only the chieftain saw his wicked smile.

“You’re right, It’s time we ended this farce,” Eric said in a brilliant flash of mithril as he spun and struck, the air alive with blinding white hot flame, blood, and surprised shrieks.

Iado skillcheck made!

Burst of Strength in effect! You have embraced your wrath!

Windfire Strike activated!

DOOMSLICE!

You have successfully synergized Windfire Strike with Doomslice for triple standard Qi cost!

50 Temporary Soul Reserves Spent!

90 Qi Points used!

You have critically struck multiple opponents!

“What? No, no! You do not—“ The chieftain instinctively raised a disbelieving hand at the sight of a howling Eric tearing through a dozen orc assassins who had taken their ease, slouching right behind a warrior primed for killing, a dozen axes casually leaning against their benches, the blaster carbines Eric had sensed when the fight first started were now helplessly out of reach from desperately raised arms cleaved effortlessly by obsidian-sharp mithril as Eric finally stopped holding back, an effective 100 Quickness, the match of his opponents, skyrocketing to maximum as Eric tore through upraised limbs, shrieking throats, and panicked skulls in a frenzy of blood and fury and pink frothy gore, until naught but a single pair of would-be assassins to his former rear had managed to backpedal in time, one actually managing to pull out his blaster with a furious snarl as the other, unarmed, merely ran for all he was worth.

The furious chieftain, caught momentarily flatfooted, now sprinting forward with trident in hand.

Eric sensed death’s dice once more rattling inside his skull, sensing his final moments quickly blossoming into grizzly certainty, unless he acted… NOW!

You have successfully tossed your mithril blade!

Mithril blade has stunned Orc assassin! Blaster shot misfired!

And for just a heartbeat, Eric felt relief and terror in equal measure, unarmed and naked save for pants, the massive chieftain behind him, a pair of orcs before him.

Pushing forth a final burst of desperate speed, he lunged and grabbed the stunned Orc caught momentarily flat-footed when the hilt of his sword smacked against the creature’s skull, denting it, now that he got a closer look… though refusing to waste a moment’s time more than that has he spun around and, roaring, charged the momentarily perplexed chieftain.

“Die, roundear filth!” The chieftain roared, lunging for all he was worth… before blinking in momentary confusion as his trident was near knocked out of his hands when his own screaming man was rammed right up onto the tines.

Redtooth found himself holding up his own squirming, dying soldier still firing his blaster carbine wildly as Eric darted forward so fast he was a blur to even the chieftain as the orc found himself crashing to his knees, a look of genuine perplexity on his features when Eric’s fists began pounding into his back.

Each blow a massive discharge of strength, explosive fiery Qi, and white-hot rage.

Fire Fist has critically struck Reinforced Steel armor! Armor saves versus destruction!

Fire Fist has critically struck Reinforced Steel armor! Armor has suffered catastrophic failure!

Fire Fist has critically struck unprotected Spine!

Fire Fist has blasted through Basic Qi Ward!

Chief Redtooth has been stunned!

Chief Redtooth has fallen to his knees!

You have successfully struck your opponent in the throat!

Chief Redtooth is dead!

And for just a handful of white-hot moments, Eric knew furious bliss, after having endured the vicious crippling blows of an enemy toying with him, mocking him, eager to make Eric suffer. And suffer Eric had, his Pristine Cultivation base and daring to walk Death’s perilous path all that had allowed him to endure blow after blow of poisonous Qi without his foundation crumbling entirely.

All to put his enemies at their ease.

All to prevent a dozen blaster rifles from being simultaneously pointed and fired his way.

You have been critically struck by Blaster Carbine!

And his plan had worked. To brilliant effect. His foes so contemptuous and condescending that hey had enjoyed tormenting the very enemy just biding his time until he could strike. And strike he had, utterly obliterating nearly a dozen, including using one to jam upon his enemy’s trident before finally unleashing the Qi attacks he had been holding back for far too long.

Only to find himself gazing down stupidly at the hole in his chest.

Because eleven snipers down just meant that there was one left to kill him as unwinnable odds finally caught up with him, the level thirty something sniper laughing and cackling like a madman as he smirked at the hole gushing blood from Eric’s chest.

“I got you, asswipe!” The orc cheerfully roared, his hyped voice equal parts relief and exhilaration. “You thought you could get the drop on all of us? You were a clever little worm, I’ll give you that. But not even you can take out a whole crew of killers trained to get rid of pissant anomalies just like you on a dozen—“

Eric cried out as he felt something rip inside him in ways he knew were not supposed to. But he had no choice, not if he wanted to live, he thought, as he crouched down just as fast as 209 Quickness would allow him, his opponent’s eyebrows rising in comic disbelief before a second discharge of plasma tore through the air.

Still hitting Eric’s shoulder, drawing a fresh spurt of blood.

But it hadn’t been enough to cripple Eric’s arm, even as his heart frantically pounded to compensate for severe internal bleeding, lungs filling with something awful as he desperately yanked up his now inert shield and, with a desperate roar, charged forward.

Trusting in his Tactical interface and peripheral heat sense to ping against the now frantically backpedalling orc, blasting his arcane blaster carbine Eric’s way for all he was worth.

“No! Hell no! You’re dead! I had you to rights, no, that’s impossib—“

Congratulations! You have successfully slammed Orc Assassin with 650 pounds of dead orc and steel!

You have stunned your opponent!

You have successfully secured your opponent’s blaster rifle!

You have successfully ripped out your opponent’s throat!

Experience earned!

You are now suffering from Severe Internal injuries and potentially fatal blood loss.

All your opponents are dead!

Congratulations! You have successfully claimed Dairyland!

How do you wish to shape this realm, Contender?

And Eric, rapidly losing consciousness as the lifeblood gushed out of his chest, shaped Dairyland in the way he knew he must, even as he greedily sucked down the sweet, sweet crimson cup of potency rendered from so many high level kills, flooding his body and soul with life-giving potency, praying it would be enough to stabilize him as he crashed into a perilous slumber, Unified Restoration forced to work at an insane pace as he flooded it with every ounce of Spiritual Energy and Mana he could get his hands on, in a desperate bid just to keep himself among the living.