Accidental Reaver

Chapter 220 - 219: Body a Slave Mind a Master

Tapping on the reception desk, the Reaver woke up the clearly overworked receptionist near the Black Arch, Persephone. Shaking herself awake, the woman hurriedly patted down her yellow and black professional clothes. She apologized. "Forgive me for the lack of energy, Defier Luke. The load lately has been—"

Luke gave a disarming smile, partnered with a hand wave. "Everyone's got their demons to wrestle after recent events. No worries, Iona hinted you might have some letters for me? Or anything of the sort? Can take your nap again afterward."

Blushing slightly, the woman took out a literal stack from a cabinet. Luke amended his request. "Burn any duel requests. From the feel of things, I've got too much to do to entertain anything so frivolous."

"Are you sure? Many are the other tier 3 hunters or nobles in Sylen. Even for you, turning them down is…"

"Required. Reputation matters when I care about who it applies to, and outside this building, incredibly few have the honor."

"Of course, Defier Luke."

Sorting it with some sort of spell, a blue glow gathered, and wisps of mana thinned the pile. Persephone turned any that came from it into ash, disposing of it in a crystal indent on her desk. "All that remains should be requests pertaining to other matters."

Grasping the rather hefty stack, the Reaver reserved a quaint study room tucked away in a nook on the lobby floor. Closing the composite black and red door behind him, he sat at a padded chair near a circular table. Runes glowed once and settled in the interior, sealing away the sound outside, while adjusting the lighting to a low setting that Luke preferred. A thin mana fed blue flame crackled at a brazier nearby. Sooty hopped and glided around it, curious as ever.

He reviewed the mixture of invitations, requests, offers, and otherwise. A lady offering marriage in return for his backing her family here. Another Tower Team 'graciously' extending a recruitment effort there. A fair amount of contracts for becoming a bodyguard or tutoring their progeny.

All trash. Discarded. Offers that fundamentally failed. To make a deal, you needed to figure out what the other party wanted or have leverage to circumvent that golden rule. The needs or wants of yourself ironically came secondary if you desired a better outcome for both parties involved.

That left a minority of the stack, reduced to a smattering of thin papers. A 'request' from the City Lord for an audience. With an eloquently put hint it involved the political machinations of the Duchess and their previous deal, agreed upon before the Tide ever took place. An information report on the changes in the Red Gorrids, Yellow Lions, and Velvet Hand, preemptively gathered for him by the information division within the Defier's Guild. A reminder to meet with Emalia at her family estate, and of Uncle Calen 'fondly' looking forward to their postponed duel.

Rubbing his temples at that, the Reaver still intended to visit, if for no other reason than to get an eyewitness account of how the other Titled noble family functioned. He hadn't cleared them of all suspicion. Unexpectedly, Calista becoming a Sinned flipped the mental board he prepared. Originally, he planned to turn Calen into a Sinned from the duel—unethical as it may be—but with Wayfinder's guidance and Calista already under influence, it seemed overkill, and questionably worth the hassle.

Setting aside the papers. Luke smelled the fresh sprig of mana mint. A slowly scrolling list of Interface log lines graced themselves. The Reaver filtered for what he considered important and began. In particular, the list of affinities and resistances stolen varied to such a degree he narrowed it down to the four of each that mattered more to his current abilities.

[You have stolen 17,129 HP, 1488 Strength, 735 Agility, and 589 Intellect. Stolen Ichor boosts these numbers]

[You have stolen 24 Ice Affinity, 10 Ether Affinity, 7 Shadow Affinity, and 5 Blood Affinity. Stolen Ichor boosts these numbers]

[You have stolen 49 Frost Resistance, 37 Fire Resistance, 23 Blood Resistance, and 21 Shadow Resistance. Stolen Ichor boosts these numbers]

The quantity of attribute theft blew anything up to this point out of the water. Even now, Luke innately knew he underutilized strength and agility in particular. Intellect naturally offered up most of its bonuses; adjusting to it required the least amount of effort. It hearkened back to the core lesson Musai imparted to him. His mind limited the body, although the Pupilless State gave a better point of reference, like turning a heavy Frost Titan into an improvised baseball.

He also received two similar notifications. Luke linked it to each time the understanding of the Greed Concept unexpectedly spiked.

[Spectral Bloom snatches away the knowledge of consumption from an Envoy, deepening your understanding of the Greed Concept within you]

[Spectral Bloom snatches away the knowledge of consumption from a second Envoy, deepening your understanding of the Greed Concept within you]

[You have stolen the Ichor of six different Envoys. All known Affinities increase minorly, the chains surrounding the legacy weaken. Greed deepens, and the requirements for a feat to the tier 3 slightly lower]

Ichor theft left him in a bind with its vague advantages—Affinity increases aside, that is. Feats often stalled people for years, so anything assisting with that was a tremendous help. The rest couldn't be a negative, so he threw it to the subconscious mind to chew on. Retrieving a tea drink from Sooty's Spatial Feather, Luke sipped on it and set it to the side.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

[You have reached level 68 through mass slaughter of monsters during the Tide, and slaying six Envoys. Unholy aura clings to you. Granting 28 skill points]

[Your companion, Sooty, reaches level 68. Acquired 14 skill points]

[Through repetition against a higher Tier foe, your companion, Sooty, has advanced Vorpal Touch to Tier 1, Rank II]

[Your companion, Sooty, has reached Expert Shadow Elementalization]

The Reaver raised both eyebrows at that. He glided his vision over to Sooty, still playing around the blue flame brazier. "How did you manage that, Sooty? Thousands in this city alone beat their head against the wall daily to reach Expert in anything, and I just get a message about you reaching it without my knowing?"

Sooty paused, hop-turned Luke's way, and proudly rattled toward the ceiling. She manipulated the shadows around the brazier. They became the shapes of feathers, beaks, and grapes. Their connection adapted by Reaver's Link, translated her simplistic thought: Play with talon friend. Rolling with it, the baffled man shrugged and returned to the log lines. A handful were notifications of upgrading abilities for both himself and Sooty through skill points during the battle against the Envoys. A different type of notification stole attention.

[The Greed Skull manifested during the Pupilless State. As a price for reaching for mastery beyond current understanding, soul strain affects you]

[The legacy left behind from the Sinned Seven in the Silver Black Tower guides your path with the Greed Concept. Deeper understanding requires less of the mind and soul. Remember that no power beyond the reach of Ludus comes freely]

With his fill of the Interface inundation, he decided to leave the rest for later. Details on the skill upgrades being chief among them. Back on the western front, he used up the majority of the skill points to advance multiple skills up a tier, with Essence Lance crossing that chasm without an investment. Based on the experience of using them during that hellish arena, he roughly understood the differences anyway, even without hand holding by the Interface. All underutilized brain juice diverted toward the Greed Concept anyhow.

Recent changes made it more accessible, but the Concept drained the hell out of him. It souped up any frost the Reaver manipulated, making it hunger and leech effectively. For confirmation purposes, he attempted to manifest the Greed Skull he vaguely remembered when the Spectral Heart partially took over against the Envoys. Flecks of dark gold shimmered in the air, frost fed into it naturally, and then it unceremoniously halted, going back into the surrounding etherweave.

None too disappointed, Luke instead studied the ability from pure memory. The influence of suppression died in the face of that skull. Its chomps consumed the attributes and other power sources composing its target—a hefty amount at that. While active, he swore injecting the Concept became an almost effortless task. In short, it put the core of the Reaver class, attribute theft, on steroids. Decimating those afflicted, withering the outside, and hollowing the inside. Shifting around in the chair, he used this opportunity to get insight from Wayfinder and Xera.

"Anything stand out to you two lately? The changes in the city? How things went against the Tide?"

Wayfinder rapidly rotated his needle around. "Careful you stop being Luke, and nick your mind to the Reaver. Legacies kick potential into the high direction. It ain't all dilly dallies and posies, use it, or it uses you. The city will do as it does, its fields revolve around the keys, which your fast approachin'."

Luke grimaced. He noticed it too, of course. His mind took on a different shade, before only as Rune. Now? Even without that fading identity, this class superimposed its purposes and desires onto him. Some of it aligned, but the problem came in its intensity. While it worked out this time, the desire for consumption, especially around anything with Ichor, bled into him. The Reaver willingly blew the battle up well beyond what Luke could reasonably handle. Yes, it became a golden opportunity, but also a near-death experience. In hindsight, he'd change little of what he did.

Xera orbited around Luke with Whispering Tome lazily following her. "Bloodlust abound! That's what I have to say, a lot of the fight went over my head, Master. In the south of the city, you have lots of eyes on you. I think the robed guys want round two."

"Robed guys? Which ones?"

"All of them. The purple ones, red ones, yellow ones. We're popular now."

"That's a way of putting it lightly, but I suspected as much. I think Musai's warning is starting to wear off, or they're wanting to reestablish the status quo after the Tide." Luke tapped a cheek in thought.

"There's little point in waiting for them to show up at my door."

He picked apart the information report on the Triad controlling Sylen's underworld. The Velvet Hand re-established and upgraded its red-light district, a typical cover for trafficking and drug trade. Indirect hits in the Tower and the three dungeons—now reactivated—'inexplicably' skyrocketed, a byproduct of the Golden Lion's methods. There remained the dark arm of the Pyrites, the Red Gorrids. An underground arena hosting illegal duels exploded in popularity. Veildust, an addictive narcotic, poured into the city, linked to the Red Gorrids. Lastly, all three Triad gangs started to expand in numbers, beginning to recover from their recent low.

For a while, indecision gnawed at Luke. Not from what he wanted, he knew that without a doubt. But how to go about it. Thus, he sorted the threads binding him. The Miels and their debt. Resources the Tower promised, even if the gains from the Tide devalued its importance. And the City Lord. A woman scheming to keep him attached to this city. She wanted a quasi double agent, officially tied to the Defiers while unofficially her dog.

Like a man banging a pan in a run-down dinner kitchen, it made for an effective distraction. He grasped a chair arm, wood splintered.

Since when did he care so much about what others wanted? To pay back moral obligation? Because it was the right thing to do? To preserve bridges better left burned to the ground?

Enough of it all. It serves him, or it stands in the way. The Tower likely contained just enough value to peruse it a handful of times. Iona no doubt had the connections to smooth out the process. The Miels, he decided to respectfully defer, in case he ever ended up entertaining their notion of an alliance in a lesser form. Pay the gold, move on. To entangle himself in the affairs of the higher society arena never panned out well thus far.

That left the worst for last—the City Lord. A manipulative woman, beneath only Musai in raw power within Sylen. The 'leverage' she possessed was a firm grasp on his identity, which became less of an issue by the day. That left the favors she effectively entangled him with. Luke owed a debt to her, and not just the gold kind. Timely assistance at the lake against the Pyrite family, even moreso at the Western Front—although her machinations put him in that situation in the first place—or running active interference against all who tried to unveil Rune. She already tied Rune to her faction through sleight of hand.

Running a finger through his hair, Luke read—this time in detail—the leftover letters. He wrote his own missive, addressed to the Miel family. In short, he informed them of too many priorities to name. Until the aftermath of recovery and the Tide settled, the proposed meeting was postponed. That probably bought him a few days' grace; it'd have to be enough. Taking advantage of the peace while it lasted, the Reaver flowed Essence throughout his body and soul. The soul strain mended at a tremendous pace. A short rest could resolve the leftover damage.

Doubt the Spectral Heart will place me in that position again anytime soon. As it rarely acts up in that manner until Ichor or god creature influence comes near. In any case, it's absolutely got to be a last resort. Bah, what am I thinking? It's incredibly unreliable. It never activated like that against Garic or Vathen. Something to take when it happens and expect it to stay silent otherwise.

This study room as good as any, Luke abated the fresh waves of fatigue no longer. "We'll have things to do again soon, you four. But, a little shut eye doesn't hurt."

Soon, his breath evened out. Xera and Wayfinder chattered between themselves. Whispering Tome made figure eights in the room, Sooty acting as a captain on top of it. 'Steering' with her wings as directional pointers. Dawn would arrive soon, deep gold rays threatening to pierce the city to its core.