Chapitre 5: Battle Royale
Winston looked at the fallen man's clothes, which had all been soaked in blood. He shook his head, regretful at having wasted a set of clothes.
I could have worn them for myself. He looked at his almost naked figure. I need some sort of protection, even the most basic clothes will do.
He eyed his surroundings, waiting for the most subtle shift in the waves around him.
I guess the fighting I did in my teenage years is starting to pay off. He smiled slightly.
Well, it might also be the result of that instinctual fighter thing I got.
He looked around with his spirit vision still active. The tumultuous waves were nowhere near the level that the white steel eel exhibited, making it comparatively harder to pinpoint the change, but it was becoming increasingly obvious the more he looked on.
It would seem spirit vision is something broken in this world...
Feeling a point object blazing through the waves, producing a noticable humm, Winston ducked into the grass.
Whoosh~
An arrow flew right past his head, a second too late at catching him.
Winston looked towards the distant hill where he could see the rough silhouette of a humanoid figure. The figure held a bow in hand.
Without a second thought, Winston began to dash through the grassland, rushing straight at the distant rock hill atop which the lone ranger stood all too blissfully ignorant at what was quickly approaching.
Seeing a crevice rushing and elongating in the sod, the archer quickly fired in a state of panic.
The arrow flew again, finding no target to land on this time too. Seeing the waves in the air seemed to become almost second nature to Winston. His eyes scanned the archer, overlooking his clothes and other equipment.
Worth robbing. He thought off-handedly. As the thought arrived in his mind, the simultaneous realisation that he was beginning to think like a Marauder now dauned on him.
He chuckled a bit, quickly reaching the base of the hill.
More arrows were fired from the bow, and so they were dodged. Winston moved with a frightening manner, with an unpredictability in his next moves like an insect.
The archer, seeing the man reaching the base of the hill he had kept for himself, began running down from the slope.
Just then, something grabbed him from the back of the neck.
Bam!
And then, a rough fist drove itself into his stomach. His eyes almost bulged out of his sockets and spit flew out from the now open jaw.
Arrgh!
He gave out a rough cry of pain. His stomach burned with unending amounts of hear. His grip on the bow loosened and it fell down on the ground.
Winston stood behind the man, his broadsword on the ground and his fists ready to pummel him to a near death state if necessary.
He held up the man from his collar and gave him another punch right to the face.
The man passed out and Winston took his clothes for himself. Having stripped the man almost naked, Winston cleanly sliced open his throat and ended his life.
A bit too tight for my liking. He thought as he stretched the sleeves and the collar of his now ranger like garment. In more ways than one, it made his range of motion somewhat limited due to the tightness. Then again, the outfit belonged to someone of a shorter and skinnier stature.
Without wasting any time, he flung the bow and the quiver to his back and picked up the broadsword. Then, he swiftly climbed up the slope of the hill, like the gentle and concise movements of a mountain leopard.
Reaching the top, he looked out. The waves in the air were calming down, no longer as tumultuous as they had been just a couple of minutes ago. The air blew across the land, carrying with it a rough smell of iron.
Everyone is ready to kill here. Winston's eyes were serious as he called forth his pocket.
Because of Headon's mention, the fact that the pocket provided necessary information and was widely used in the tower was deeply remembered by him. As such, it was only rational to think that such a used tool would show some important information in the middle of the test.
Because as he understood it, the tower inhabitants did not need any pocket to translate the language into Macsethian, because well, it was their own language. If not for the usage of a translator that it served for him, the obvious function would be...
The spherical ball appeared beside him, the number on it ticking down rapidly.
347... 331... 328...
The number kept ticking down, the pocket floating still in the air. In front of a test that would determine one's worth to ascend to godhood, any casualties were merely reduced to a number, a name on a list, a loser and a failure.
Winston didn't speak anything and closed off the pocket.
Now, the real question is... what potion should I go acting towards? He thought. As he understood it, digesting any one of the potions would result in the simultaneous digestion of the other two, which would in turn make him able to ascend to a higher Sequence in all three pathways. Or at least that was how the words in the dream made it seem like.
Just as he was thinking, the waves around him turned somewhat chaotic. He heard someone walking up behind him.
Winston turned to look.
Right in front of him, stood a tall man, almost 7 feet in height. The man had dark brown hair, propped back using a headband; his eyes were of a deep shade of crimson and the strangest thing about him, was undoubtedly his skin colour. It was a bright shade of red, as if the blood was shining clean through his skin.
Another strange deformity about the man was the fact that he had 2 sets of arms. On his chest, he wore a simple cloth in a cross formation, barely providing any form of protection or fulfilling the goal of covering his body. Below, he wore a small loin cloth. In his upper pairs of arms, he held two scimitars.
"Well well, what do we have here?" The man, nay, the thing wasn't a man. It was of some other species that inhabited the tower; some species capable of slanderous acts of violence and depravity, as such was the visual impression that his figure brought him.
His face was a maniacal grin, just that, along with a mashed up sneer somewhere in there among the slightest muscular movements of his face; at least that was what it looked to be in Winston's eyes. And considering his Marauder observational skills, he was confident about being right.
Such an obnoxious brute, the bright red horrible that stood before him held on his body the clothing stained by the blood of the people that previously crossed his path.
"Bad luck to you pal." The creature said, his scimitars readying for action.
In response, Winston snorted coldly.
"It seems that you've received some brain damage. You should die already. Every moment you spend breathing is an insult to the intellectually gifted." He said, a scowl marring his face.
As soon as his words landed, the red man, at first adopted a confused expression. Then, an angry expression appeared on his face.
"You!" He yelled, and then without stop, he rushed at Winston, his scimitars held high and ready to strike.
Winston readied his broadsword in response, adopting a stance.
The red brute swung his swords at him. He stepped back, almost towards the precipice of the hill. His figure staggered back a bit before stabilizing itself.
The red brute smirked, his confidence gaining a sudden boost.
Using his longer arms as leverage, the again swung his scimitar in a horizontal sweep.
As the swing approached, Winston smirked.
With a tremendous effort on his legs, he jumped from the precipice, right over the Sword swing and stabbed with his broadsword.
Skhhh!
Argh!
The broadsword embedded itself into the left shoulder of the man, narrowly missing his eye which was the intended target. The brute had realized at the last moment the consequence that would be of his momentary loss of reason and his blind charge into an enemy; and so, had adjusted accordingly to get the least possible damage.
Tap!
Winston, with his broadsword somewhat lathered in blood landed behind him and no sooner did his feet touch the ground than he started to run down the slope.
The brute turned back, his lower right arm holding the disgusting wound as his shoulder.
His shoulder blade had been completely pierced through, leaving a crevice like hole throughout. The muscles were damaged and the arm seemed to have been rendered limp as the upper arm dangled down. The scimitar that was previously held in the same arm had already been moved to his lower left arm.
"Get back here you bastard!" He yelled, again charging in a rage.
Brutes... they never learn. Winston thought in disdain.
Just as the slope broke off beneath his feet, Winston turned and gripping the broadsword like he would a spear, he threw it with as much strength as he could muster.
His feet slid back a bit due to the momentum he carried and the Sword whizzed forward with a noticable howl of the wind.
As a sequence 9 Marauder, although his strength had not been enhanced to a terrible degree as one would see in cases like a Beyonder of the Red Priest pathway, coupled with his already well built physique and exercised muscles, it proved to be barely enough to throw such a heavy object as a projectile.
The brute's eyes widened in shock and he tried to lean back. The Sword passed by him in the air, slashing a small part of his neck as it did so.
Stabilizing himself, the brute looked at Winston. Only to find the comparatively smaller man pointing a bow at him.
The bow was loaded with an arrow pointing straight at the four armed red brute.
And then, Winston said something.
"Tough luck." He said and the arrow fired.
Whoosh~
As quick as his reflexes might be, the man couldn't dodge the arrow aimed at his throat in time.
Spurt!
Guuurh!
The man fell down on the hot stone, his throat pierced by an arrow. Blood poured incessantly from his wound and as the blood filled his wind pipe and eventually his lungs, he saw the cold look of the man he had deemed as an easy prey. His eyes began to glaze over as tears began to appear inside them; they flowed in a steady stream, as if the brute, no, the man was pouring out all of his past traumas and fears out into the open before the one that had relieved him of his biggest treasure.
And then, darkness consumed him.
Winston looked annoyed. He covered his nose to block out of the scent of the man's urine. And then, after climbing up the hill once again to pick up the broadsword, he was on his way, this time through the fields.
Staying on an elevated height might prove to be beneficial to a ranged fighter, it was even preferable for the melee fighters in such situations like this.
However, Winston felt that there were stronger opponents still in the area. Just because he had met people that could not fight properly and were beaten easily, did not mean he could openly display himself like so.
Hiding under the hill was also not a great option. Such high grounds were ideal for predators to spot prey in the distance. As such, he did not doubt that many people would be heading to the stone hill, just as the red man had done.
~~~
A/N: Can spirit vision be used indefinitely if there's no 'corruption knowledge' to be seen anywhere? I don't think we've ever seen prolonged usage of spirit vision, but mystery pryer pathway's higher sequences have the problem that their spirit vision is so powerful that they unconsciously glance at things they shouldn't.
So, seeing that, I think with the combined spirituality of Marauder and Apprentice, along with the natural talent of spirit vision of Seer and Apprentice, I would assume that Winston should be able to keep up spirit vision indefinitely, unless of course, he gets into contact with someone of a higher natural order of life.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone