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[Omen of the Witchblade] Chapter 42 – Grim Work
🕑 Added 2025-01-07 00:21:52 +0000 UTC“Ray, where the hell are you?!” Harold called from the cold fog that surrounded the camp. He swiped his torch left and right through the frigid stuff, but it made no difference. It always came back.
“Ray!” Harold called again, cupping a hand to his mouth. “Sonnuva. Probably taking a monster dump somewhere, taking his sweet time. See if I care to cover his ass with the watch lead. Maybe the lashings he’ll get will remind him to keep to his patrol route.”
Harold continued his rounds leisurely, as he always did. Nobody was stupid enough to attack the Stolst gang. Those that were quickly paid for it in blood. Their brutality was well known by now. They didn’t just go after the person responsible. They went after their friends and family. They tracked people to their camps and torched everything, including anybody stupid enough to be living there.
It was good to be in a gang. There was safety in numbers.
Monsters trembled before them, and people showed them proper respect. The Stolst gang was quickly becoming one of the larger, stronger groups.
Jimmy said they’d be a proper organization once they had enough powerful members over a week ago, and now look at them! Everybody recruited had the gang’s name added to their own. Harold was proud to have the “Stolst gang” show up whenever somebody examined him. It meant he always got the proper respect he was owed. Not that he understood how any of it worked. It was all above his pay grade, but he was happy to be part of it.
Who the hell wanted to be out in the woods on a night like this? This was the sort of night werewolves hunted in. Harold picked up the pace. He wanted to be snug in his bedroll already, but he had a few more hours before his relief came.
There was no noise, nothing that would have drawn Harold’s perception to something behind him, but he found himself turning all the same.
Lifting his torch, he saw a small woman standing before him. Her eyes sparkled with emerald light. She was cute enough, and women currying favor with guards wasn’t unheard of, though he’d never seen it firsthand.
He grinned lasciviously. “Well, little lady, what’re you doing–” Before he could get the rest of the words out, the woman thrusted her hand toward him as if she was holding a weapon. At the last second, silver ash materialized and the strangest sword he had ever seen was diving for his heart, already in motion.
The weapon pierced his leather armor easily. Coldness seeped in from his numb limbs. He felt the world tilt and jolt, belatedly realizing that he was on his back. Darkness turned his vision into a dim tunnel like he was staring down a paper towel tube.
The last thing he heard her say before velvety sleep took him was, “You better have what I need. This is getting ridiculous. It’s like playing a gacha game!”
***
Mel looted the latest guard, but all he dropped was a [Simple Leather Jerkin].
“I’ve already got three of those damn things,” Mel grumbled. She was looking for something specific. Something that, according to the convoluted loot rules, she couldn’t just rip off their bodies. Certain important objects were bound to a person’s soul.
She needed a [White Insignia (Elite)]. The symbol of the Stolst gang’s most loyal adherents. The worst of the worst.
Like she had learned back with the Bloodtide Covenant, simply taking the white-knotted insignia they wore on their breast was not enough. It didn’t have any magic to it. She had to loot it.
Over the last few days of hunting Stolst Captains and Lieutenants, the self-named “elites” of the gang, Mel had learned some valuable information about where the murderers of her friends were hiding. They were her first priority. Killing higher-ups was just a side gig. Originally, she had been able to use her [Sanguine Coat] to disguise herself, and waltz right into camp looking like one of the Stolst gang members. People didn’t bother to examine you if you looked the part and walked with purpose. Mel had picked that up from Sabrina. She had to hand it to her. The woman knew her stuff.
Unfortunately, the Stolst gang didn’t take too kindly to waking up in the morning to find all their Captains and Lieutenants murdered. They must have recruited some proper Mages, because the camp Mel tried to enter yesterday—this very camp—had set off some sort of ritual spell that functioned like an alarm. The moment she tried to enter the “elite” section of the camp, a horrible noise filled the outpost.
It was an interesting–if simplistic–IFF system to determine who could pass through the ritual spell encircling that section of the camp. If you had a [White Insignia (Elite)], you didn’t set it off. Anybody else, from the serving men and women to the grunts, all the way to their enemies, set off a godawful racket of noise. It was the reason they were furiously patrolling.
Mel had kicked the anthill. Luckily, they never knew what caused it or they would have been on even higher alert.
Her understanding of ritual magic was less than a Mage’s. While she could only cast G-Tier rituals, Mages could perform F-Tier rituals.
Considering that this was beyond Mel’s understanding, she could guess that it was F-Tier. Perhaps higher.
If I had time, I would practice my ritual magic, Mel thought to herself. She wondered if she would have benefited more from practicing it instead of searching for a way back up to the original plateau for her friends.
None of this would have happened then. They’d still be alive.
Having their [Soul Crystals] didn’t help the situation. She had no idea how a [Revival Scroll] worked, and even then, she would only get one for placing in the top 3.
So much time had been wasted not hunting monsters, doing quests, or eliminating other competitors. Though she was clearly stronger than a lot of the people she was going after now, Mel couldn’t forget the dozens of campfires she had seen on her way through the grassy hills.
Her best estimate was that she was at the leading edge of the masses, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Especially if that dragon was still there giving out Ancestral aspect gems like they were candy.
Of course, you did see a lot of people die just trying to get onto its back.
Mel slipped back through the fog and waited for another patrol to walk by. She was getting good at taking them down with efficiency.
Instead of stalking and waiting, with dawn only an hour or so away, Mel took out the guard as soon as she saw his name. She never killed anybody who lacked the Stolst gang nametag, unless they tried to kill her first. Those were people who hadn’t been “initiated” yet. As easy as it would have been, Mel didn’t feel right killing them.
Thankfully, the Stolst gang didn’t let just anybody patrol their camps. Only the loyalists. The people who had killed a human in support of their group. They guarded from more than just outside threats. More than once, Mel had seen the people inside the camp without “Stolst gang” tied to their names make a break for it as soon as they realized the guards and captains were dead.
Even in the depths of her icy rage, Mel found that uniquely satisfying. She stopped burning the outposts immediately after that and waited an hour or two for the place to clear out.
The “recruits” often stole anything that wasn’t nailed down. It meant less loot for Mel, but more damage to Warren. A trade she was more than willing to make.
The guard went down just as easily as all the others, but Mel’s lack of due diligence cost her this time. Another guard, having just rounded the corner, saw her killing the previous guard.
Thankfully, they thought they could take her. Most guards, especially the men, underestimated Mel. Maybe it was her appearance, or that she often seemed unarmed since she waited until mid-strike to summon her weapon. Instead of running for help, the guard drew a curved sword and struck a pose as if he was in a fencing diagram.
Mel stared, shrugged, then rushed him. She batted aside his initial thrust easily, knocking his curved sword out up and wide. His eyes flew open in surprise as Mel rammed her twinblade home into his chest. Just for good measure, she gave it a twist and eased him to the ground.
She finally found what she was looking for on the last guard who had surprised her.
The [White Insignia (Elite)] would allow Mel to access the camp without detection. She looked down at the pile of bodies. Any longer and I might not have anybody to fight inside.
On that macabre thought, Mel attached the white insignia to her [Heathen’s Cuirass], under her [Sanguine Coat] which was now banded in shades of gray to help her blend into the night better.
Deklin had told her more than once that wearing all black was a rookie mistake. Gray blended in better with the night. Wearing black made you stand out as a deeper shadow that instantly made people suspicious. But gray? Gray might as well not exist.
She effortlessly slipped into the camp through one of its many holes. It wasn’t as if anybody was patrolling anymore. With nobody reporting issues, the elites of the camp slept peacefully with the assurance that their noble guards kept them safe.
The rest of the camp, as with all the others, was still fairly active. People still had to mend armor, make food, and do a thousand other little things.
Things that the “elites” didn’t bother with.
Mel stood over one of the bedrolls in the officer’s tent. This is way too easy, she thought to herself.
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mel went about her dark deed. She wasn’t proud of it, but she wasn’t about to shy away from the work either.
A promise is a promise, she told herself as she went to find the Mages first in case they had some other trick up their sleeve.
Mel walked out of the elite section of camp well after dawn. She had turned her [Sanguine Coat] into its usual long blood-red duster coat. She wanted them to know what happened.
Never one to let a dramatic moment pass her by, Mel tossed the head of the captain into the middle of the camp. Most people were just waking up, providing a groggy audience for the Mystic.
A woman screamed, but surprisingly nobody raised a weapon at Mel. The guards were dead, and she had just thrown the camp leader’s head onto the ground. Her reputation preceded her this time. There were several fearful looks of recognition.
She heard people whisper, “Emerald-eyed Demoness.”
That has a nice ring to it.
Another scream echoed out from the elite section of the camp. A young man wearing the white insignia but the burlap sack outfit of a serving man picked up a sword and lunged at Mel’s back.
Mel shifted to the side and clamped her arm down hard against the blade, using her bracer to pinch the flat of the blade between her armored hip and wrist. She looked over her shoulder at the young man. “You better think long and hard about what you do next. I’m not fond of being stabbed in the back.”
The young man’s eyes went wide. He didn’t even try to pull the sword out. He turned and fled like all the others.
Mel walked out, largely unchallenged. The few people who tried were now nursing wounds ranging from broken bones to missing fingers depending on how close they had gotten to hurting her.
Most of them were Mundanes, their blessing would heal them in time.
Once it was cleared out and ransacked, Mel returned to the camp to loot anything worthwhile.
Unlike the previous camp, this one was set up as a staging point. No wonder it had better protection. There were supplies aplenty. Far more than Mel could take with her, even after the recruits took as much as they could hold. Her supply of potions was beyond anything her inventory could carry, even after she had found a second [Exile Storage Ring].
As soon as she tried to put it on the same finger, it joined with the first and upgraded from Uncommon to Rare, more than doubling the storage size at the same time.
Despite the welcome upgrade, Mel still had to fit extra potions in the various pockets on her [Heathen’s Cuirass]. Eventually, she buckled and stole a [Survival Bag]. A slim leather messenger style bag that had two linen-lined pockets on the front and back.
Together with her increased storage, she could hold all the new loot. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything beyond potions that was very useful. She did take time to break down more scrap, upgrading all of her equipment to the highest she could: Epic.
For some reason, no matter how many [Weapon Scraps (Epic)] she shoved into the kiln, it wouldn’t upgrade any piece of equipment to Legendary.
Either it required something she didn’t have, or the amount of Epic scrap needed was obscene.
Her ring was the only piece of equipment she had that wasn’t Epic. Apparently, it wasn’t considered armor or weaponry. None of the scrap worked to enhance it.
But apparently another ring does, Mel thought to herself. At least I didn’t need to find four rings just to upgrade from Uncommon to Rare though.
Loaded down with more scrap than she probably needed, Mel found a secluded spot deep in the forest to rest up before she headed out to the next camp.
She didn’t even need to interrogate anybody this time. Each of the guards had a crudely drawn map with patrol and hunting routes clearly marked on them, as well as the names of the groups.
I really should’ve thanked them. They did like eighty percent of my work for me.
Mel curled up and went to sleep immediately, her soul unburdened by the slaughter of murderers.
***
Warren Stolst was having a very bad day. He rubbed his temples, trying to push back the throbbing headache that threatened to consume him.
Everything had been going so well! He was recruiting Mages and Mystics left and right. Acolyte numbers were still low, but that was to be expected. They were rare.
He had five outposts set up, small bases that surrounded his headquarters, all made to support his operations. With each outpost, his numbers swelled. People were attracted to the safety of lights and numbers.
They would put up with anything he put them through if he could offer them the safety of palisade walls and three square meals. It was perfect.
And then the runners started showing up.
Messengers that he had planted at each outpost with the express purpose of reporting a catastrophic disaster. They were the fastest he could supply, and they were always given the choicest tasks to keep their morale and loyalty high.
The first one reported that some demon had tortured one of their scouts to death and was supposedly coming for them. Warren figured it was a monster that had been woken up.
There were a few of those. Monsters that were more powerful than others, they often had names of their own. When they were slain, they offered up great rewards, sometimes even titles. They were often the target of lucrative quests.
When the second report came in, on the heels of the first, a picture started to take place.
Then, just a few days ago, another outpost went dark. Their runner never made a report. He didn’t think anything was beyond salvation until the fourth outpost vanished.
The only reason he knew that they had gone dark at all was pure luck. A monster hunting party had lost track of their quarry and got lost. They ended up coming upon one of the camps, only to find nothing but ashes. Somebody had burned his outpost to the ground.
Now this.
Everything was coming together finally.
Jimmy and his cronies stood to the side of Warren’s tent at the center of the camp. By all records that he could count on, there was only one other outpost left standing. The body count was unimaginable. Over eighty percent of his membership was simply gone.
He suspected the vast majority were defectors and deserters but kept that to himself. Better to rally the troops against a threat than to suggest the majority of their recruits would rather flee as soon as their betters were slain.
“I told you, I gave you a direct order,” Warren said, spittle flying from his lips as he rounded on Jimmy. “I said to leave them alone!”
Jimmy put his hands out to the side. “They left the camp, boss! You said leave the camp alone! I left it alone, but you can’t blame me for attacking ‘em when they presented such a juicy target. I’m only human.”
Warren wanted to throttle him. Everything had been going so well. His empire was being built, one brick at a time. Then Jimmy had pissed off the wrong person, and she was making it her personal mission to ruin his life.
Worse, to ruin his legacy.
“We can still salvage this,” Warren said. The werewolf wasn’t involved. That was the only silver-lining he could see. They could do this. The girl that had it out for the gang was only human. He nodded to a young man at the flap. The boy darted out into the camp.
“What’re we going to do, boss?” Jimmy asked, hope and fear warring on his features.
“You’re going to fix this,” Warren told him. “Take the Bloodletters, hunt the bitch down, and finish this.”
Jimmy’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. “I won’t let you down, boss!”
He turned to walk out, his steps light and unbothered. The Bloodletters were the strongest members they had. Each and every one of them was a full-blown Copper. No fours in their group.
They took on the toughest adversaries, downed the nastiest monsters, and cleaned up the worst messes.
“Oh, and Jimmy?” Warren said, causing his Captain to freeze and turn slowly. “If you don’t succeed, don’t bother coming back. I’ll kill you myself.”
It pleased Warren greatly to see Jimmy’s slumped shoulders and nervous gait return.
That pleasure was short-lived, however, as his “guest” was guided in by his secretary.
Wearing opulent robes of putrid green that shimmered whenever the tall, statuesque man moved, Warren would have given anything to run this creature through with his sword.
Unfortunately, this meeting was a necessary one.
The robed figure spread his beringed arms wide and gave a delicate bow, one that Warren mimicked poorly. The man rose, his white teeth bared in a rictus that looked nothing like a smile to Warren.
“The Vile Covenant welcomes this meeting,” the emissary said smoothly.
