I decided to take stock of what I earned during my stay in Exarch’s Bend.

In all the drama of the invasion and my escape, I hadn’t checked my stats in some time, nor had I given myself the opportunity to inspect my ill-gotten gains from the Nightwalker job.

Ren Kageyama Level 30 Grandmaster Rogue [Cursed] HP: 110/110 Strength: 45 Intelligence: 67 Endurance: 60 Perception: 55

I’d hit level thirty from killing the knights. The level progression I was experiencing was insane to put it lightly. I’d evolved from a high-level thief with no combat skills to someone who could take out two skilled knights on my own. Becoming a master of multiple disciplines was very unusual. It took a huge amount of time and effort like learning a skill on Earth, and there was no guarantee you had the tools and training available to you.

Levelling up any further would be difficult. Each level took exponentially more experience to earn, even if I had an amazing ability to steal other people’s XP, I was still limited by their total sum. I could grow only as strong as they did. If I wanted to take down a dangerous high-level monster, I’d need to find a way to grind up to the top.

I could wield Stigma properly. Her once debilitating weight was now no heavier than the bag I carried with me. When I started I didn’t have the foggiest idea on how to use a sword to fight, but now I just did. Having foreign knowledge you don’t remember learning inserted inside your mind was a strange sensation.

I inspected Stigma next.

STIGMA OF A THOUSAND TEETH Level 20 Relic Strength Required – 10 Attack speed – 2.0 Damage - 32 Grants ability: [Consume] Affix: [Empty]

[Consume] allows the wielder to syphon the strength of defeat foes. 25 percent of [Experience] is transferred to the wielder.

[Consume] allows the wilder to take [Affixes] from other items and apply them to Stigma.

Stigma, having started at level 1, had seen a huge increase in her stats thanks to the strong enemies I’d killed. A level 1 weapon was something like a stick you could pick up from the ground. Weapons didn’t grow in power unless their rarity increased, but Stigma was a special kind of weapon. She grew with me by consuming enemies. 16 damage a second was a marked improvement from where she was before. I could justify using her in a battle proper now.

Skills Thievery Level 13 Survival Level 8 Cooking Level 8 Swordfighting Level 6 Lances Level 4 Heavy Armor Level 4 Utility Magic level 2 Offensive Magic Level 1 Leatherworking Level 1

[More information]

My skills had increased slightly, though they tended to be harder to accumulate than levels. An errant crafting skill had worked its way into my book of tricks, presumably from one of the Knights who was trained in a trade before he enlisted. If I continued to consume other people, the list would quickly grow long and unwieldly very quickly. There were hundreds of skills and trades to learn that covered just about anything you could think of. The primary purpose for levelling up skills was to unlock [Techniques.]

Similar to casting spells, performing techniques like the one I used to infiltrate the storage facility relied heavily on concepts. Concepts were the core building blocks of everything in this world, just like atoms and molecules. Words and conceptions had power. For example, a legendary weapon was legendary because it was perceived to have assisted in a significant deed, or been wielded by a significant person. This didn’t even have to be true.

Even something as basic as a mass-produced iron sword could become legendary. If millions of people around the world unknowingly used their conceptual power to create a narrative around that weapon, their energy would make it more powerful. Tales passed through stories would eventually create a weapon to match the legend.

So why hadn’t anyone with influence and time harnessed that strange power to make an unstoppable weapon of mass destruction?

The reality was much more difficult. If you walked up to a person and asked them to use their innate magic to make something more powerful, it won’t work. Awareness of the façade breaks the spellcasting process. The person knows that the weapon in question isn’t really legendary at all, their perception is altered, they can’t do it anymore. Affixing an item intentionally was difficult and much more complex than collective perception.

As well as the issue of deceiving millions of people with a story about the intended target, the process took so long that you’d be dead before seeing it through to completion. Not much good for a power-hungry man on a mission.

Techniques had limits. If you were delusional enough to believe that you could fly, then perhaps you could. But many techniques worked because people believed they worked. They had a twisted logic to them that while not necessarily accurate, fooled the person using it into thinking they made perfect sense.

[Power Strike] was one of the earliest sword techniques you could get, at level 7. The stated intent was to increase the power in your body so you could deal more damage for one blow, but I had my doubts over whether the technique actually did that. Due to the way that magic and concepts worked in the world, it may have been more accurate to describe it as a spell. They were distinctions without differences. The casters may be wrapping the edge of their blade in a magical aura, not strengthening their arms and bodies.

Without evidence, I could only go with what people told me; and that was for the best, much like with legendary weapons shattering the illusion would make the technique worthless. I held back my cynicism and took count of the techniques I’d learned.

I had my thief skills, [Shadow Walk II] and [Lockpick III] - which allowed me to blend into the shadows and open locked doors and chests. My survival level had increased by two, granting me the [Herbalist] technique, which allowed me to identify edible plants and flora. I also found it easier to find good places to set up camp.

Cooking was a strange fusion of alchemy and magic. Sure, you could rustle up a nice dish using some ingredients you found, but exceptional cooks could make meals that benefitted you in various ways that didn’t just fill your stomach. Things used in them came with [affixes] which could be unlocked by using cooking techniques. I’d finally earned the first of them by stealing everyone’s home-cooking recipes, [Season.] Season would pick one of those potential benefits and unlock them at random.

While I wouldn’t unlock the first usable ability in Swordfighting until the next level, I had unlocked a passive bonus named [Riposte,] which increased damage after being attacked by ten percent for five seconds. A useful bonus for when you were on the defence. Not all skills were created equal. If I wanted to take down some of the creatures and demi-gods that were kicking around, I’d need to level my weapon stats effectively.

I had also neglected to check the [affixes] on the two rings I’d taken from the Nightwalker’s lair. That was because I knew I wouldn’t get much use out of them.

Defender’s Magic Ring

Level 7 Rare Ring

Intelligence Required - 12

Weight – 0.1

Defence - 32

Affix: [Armadillo]

Blocks 10% of damage when below 40% HP.

A low-level ring with a fairly common affix. This must have been forged by a blacksmith.

“Stigma, how does your ability to eat affixes work exactly?”

The spectral seductress appeared beside me, “Curious about your beloved, are we?”

“Stigma.”

She pouted, “So cold. I can currently hold three affixes at a time, do you see these indents here on my blade?” I pressed my finger into the small dents; the iron underneath moved when I put pressure on it, small circular objects inserted into the body of the sword. “That is where the affixed runes go. I can store them in my memory and use them at any time. If you order me to, I can switch through sets of them on command.”

A versatile ability. I could create different sets of affixes and swap between them as and when they were required.

“All you need to do is consume the ring.”

In the interest of experimenting with Stigma’s ability, I slid the sword over the top of my legs and placed the ring against it, “Consume.” The bloody red energy that had become Stigma’s defining feature lit up. The rune etched into the ring glowed brightly before dimming. On one of the three circles, a matching rune was etched by flowing orange sparks.

“See? Now I can use that ability whenever you like.”

“And if I told you to turn it off?” Stigma responded by pointing to the rune bearing device. I could hear the mechanics inside whirring to life, forcing the flat disk to rotate around and out of sight. When it returned to its original position, the rune was gone.

“I’m full of surprises, don’t be afraid to ask,” she cooed.

“Alright, let’s keep it on for now.” The sword moved again, returning to the original alignment of the disks and granting me its power.

The second of the two affixed rings was no more interesting than the previous one. It came with an affix called [Efficiency,] which reduced the cost of casting spells by 1%. Only good if you were a mage casting a lot of smaller spells in bulk. Cali wouldn’t need such a basic affix herself, so again I consumed it and added it to Stigma’s repertoire. Finding a second of third level variant would pay much more than the lowest level version.

All in all, I’d become much more powerful than I was just a few days ago.

But to comprehend the full breadth and depth of how powerful certain heroes and monsters could be… I was like an ant beneath them. I’d be swatted aside and killed if I ever met them. This wasn’t a normal RPG system. There was no upper boundary on how strong you could become, just the amount of time you could dedicate to doing so.

A normal person would die before ever reaching those heights and crossing the 100-level threshold, but if you had a special weapon or piece of equipment, and if you were blessed by a deity somehow, you could do it.

I could do it.

But to what end?

What good was accumulating such an incredible amount of power?

I could only focus on what was in front of me. Perhaps a greater purpose would find me in time, for now, I wanted to make Bell pay for screwing me over. I had Cali at my back and Stigma feeding me strength, but that didn’t mean I could waltz into Blackwake and kill a bunch of people. I didn’t want to turn myself into a social pariah anymore than I was already; plus, I wasn’t feeling particularly murdery. If someone attacked me first I had no problem fighting back, but if they were just minding their own business, I’d leave them alone.

Not the best strategy to extend my rapidly depleting life, but it was one that made me feel comfortable. I didn’t want to turn into a complete lunatic. I had a blade over my neck, but I wasn’t going to crack just yet. I’d stick to my guns until the bitter end, that was the only way I knew how to live. My way, or no way.

How was I going to find Bell when I got into town?

It was a big place. Ten-thousand or so people lived there, and the centre was densely packed. I knew that the richer side of town was probably where Bell was hidden, in a broom closet somewhere. I needed to scope things out, make some contacts, and keep myself alive while looking for him. Luckily for me Blackwake had no shortage of work for people of lesser repute, plenty of chances to find trouble and hopefully a few bandits to slay.

With plans fermenting in my mind, I settled in for the night; listening to the repetitive sound of Cali sharpening her halberd.