Athelstan was moving through the forest, his all but fast progress marked by the sound of machete swings and ripping branches. One of the problems of jungles that the elf didn't consider was stealth. Or the non-existent possibility of using it, since every dozen meters the mage had to cut something in front of him, making much more noise than he’d like to.

  It's been about two hours since he left the confines of the glade and he had yet to kill something. During this time he had heard some movement from the bushes around him, as well as animal noises from the deeper parts of the jungle. In one particular case, some creature both screeched and roared. What the fuck made that noise? He had no idea, but was willing to bet on magic. Even before the Accords came into this world he had learned to apply the same logic to a long list of weird shit he encountered, starting from the vile creatures his family kept as house guardians.

  Athelstan swept the sweat and sighed. At this point his disdain towards jungles was reignited and turned into full scale hatred.

  It’s one thing to read about them. It’s different when you are experiencing it yourself. His boots were wet and muddy. And the rains which have yet to come are going to make it even worse. He was hot as fuck. Even at night the jungles were boiling him alive, just with lesser intensity, breathing the air itself felt barely better than breathing a steam. The mosquitoes roamed the place, though due to being dressed in full set of clothes, as well as hauberk, Athelstan was mostly spared from their ruthless hunger. This, however, created another two problems. First, his back, arms and legs were completely wet. Second, little blood leeches targeted the only opening they could attack — the elf's face. This Irritated the drow even more but at least it made him realise another novelty in blood magic.

  When the first mosquito stung the elf’s cheek, Athelstan cursed it, desiring whatever amount of blood the creature sucked to kill it. Surprisingly enough the creature turned into a blood mist shortly after.

  Mysteries:

  Blood manipulation (common) — +1% Vit

  Use blood magic and HP to spellcast; life force makes your creations incredibly durable. You lose control over the blood projectiles as soon as they travel from you for more than a meter.

  Apparently, mysteries didn’t limit its usage unlike the skills of his class did. This knowledge made Athelstan appreciate the mysteries even more than the skills. The initial blood mist attack took 2 mana out of him, so later on he concentrated on turning his stolen blood into a very small needle and made it move a centimetre. It allowed the mage to kill any successfully attacking mosquito and practice magic spending less mana than the amount he regenerated, all while keeping him from internal whining.

  As such he kept walking, well, slowly walking and studying the nuances of blood connection once it entered another creature. The mystery description said that he’d lose the control over blood once it exceeds the 1 meter radius, but what if he managed to keep the blood shaping even at a distance, just without the levitation part?

  Coughing, Athelstan's dropped the thought for a while. At this point he felt quite thirsty and he spent the last hour following the tracks of an animal, in blind hope they would lead to a solution of his troubled state.

  He had found them in a mud, marks of paws with 4 claws. Judging from the size of it, the creature was about as big as a wolf and had 4 legs. The tracks looked pretty clear so it could be recent, though Athelstan was no hunter, apart from the basics.

  Now there were a few concerns about the traces, ringing in the cramped confines of the tired elven mind. The first one being the fact that wolves, according to drow’s knowledge, didn't live in the jungles. He didn’t care about this too much since he could simply forget something, but to see the second problem he needed only the basic math and he remembered it quite well. Unknown creatures travelled in packs, unless one would suppose that the animal liked to walk in circles. A thought Athelstan marked as wishful thinking. Last time the elf turned to it was when he dreamt about escaping the slave camp, and, since he ended up tortured and thrown into a surface jungle shortly after, the mage wasn’t keen on using such a thing again.

  The pack consisted of, approximately, 9 creatures plus another 4, in case Athelstan counted them wrong. Now 13 probably predatory animals was a big number. Much bigger than what Athelstan could safely deal with, however that was not impossible. He could kill the first 6 fairly easy with Blood Arrows, surprise effect and range. The initial attack would leave him with about 6-7 HP, just enough to not be easily killed by the remaining enemies. At that point he’d have to use Syphon Life, spear, more Arrows and hope it would be enough to emerge both victorious and, much more importantly, alive.

  Athelstan stomped on the mud, walking over the tree stump. Suddenly, he heard a hissing beneath him and his body stiffed as he looked down for the source. The elf couldn't see it at first even though his ears quite clearly indicated the place. He slowly backed the front leg away from the sound even when his claret eyes continued to observe the grass. Finally, after the reptile quieted down a bit, the elf managed to find it. Lying right near the trunk, a green, perfectly camouflaged creature hid inside the jungle’s flora, only its yellow eyes stood out.

  The mage took control over the arrow he made before venturing into the jungles, and it slowly left his belt. Sensing the danger, his prey hissed, but it was already too late. A flick of Athelstan’s will and, with the force of a shortbow behind it, the projectile flew into the snake pinning its head to the ground. Athelstan finished it with a few strikes of a spear, before checking the system.

  You have killed [Green Snake — lvl 1], common experience granted for killing an enemy.

  Red liquid cloured the green, both grass and animal, the creature’s tail still moving after death, despite the broadhead arrow, used specifically for hunting, piercing through its head.

  Athelstan didn’t have time to cook the thing, nor did he know if its meat was poisonous, so instead he just syphoned all the life from it. Turning into dust, the corpse gave him about 0,60 HP. Not a lot, but since the snake’s head was within a meter from him the connection with an arrow stayed firm. Grinning for the first time of the night he tucked it back under the belt and continued the tracking.

  After a few minutes of walking Athelstan heard a strange for this place noise, yet familiar for him. A clanking of plate armour, creation of mankind echoed throughout the territory nature claimed as its property. The elf wasn’t sure where did it come from exactly, but the source was on the left side.

  Ducking down, the drow considered his options. He could follow the wolves and hope to kill them, a risky but possible feat. Or he could go for a knight first. The plate armour would allow him to not only kill the wolves, but to significantly improve his chances against pretty much every predator in the jungles. That would mean more kills, more levels and better survivability.

  However, a fully armoured warrior could be an even harder target, than 13 wolves. Athelstan didn’t fear any chainmailed enemy, he had blood arrows and could create them with bodkin tips, but plate armour was a different kind of beast. Hitting anything but gaps, where different parts of armour met, wouldn’t do any harm to the person beneath it. The knight’s weapon was also important, since any weapon that uses blunt force would obliterate Athelstan, almost completely ignoring the hauberk and the gambeson.

  “Oh, fuck it,” Athelstan muttered and started creating 6 bodkin arrows, one of them with a special design.

  ***

  The blood mage looked at the armoured man’s back, trailing about 20 meters behind him. The elf had found him about twenty minutes after the search began. The warrior moved slowly through the place, though still faster than Athelstan, since he had no need to be aware of the predators. He had an armour after all, the elf wouldn't bother either.

  As the elf had suspected, his foe wore a full plate. That fact implicated that every person, who chose a warrior class got a full plate armour along with the chainmail. It made Athelstan quite glad about his decision to go after this one, since he would be in a serious disadvantage when facing a group of plated enemies. The drow had no doubt, sooner or later the guards will find each other and it will make his quest to kill Alaric much harder.

  The warrior carried a greatsword on his shoulder and a longsword on his heap, and while the elf would prefer him to carry nothing at all, it was better than a warhammer or Gods forbid a poleaxe. His spear still had a longer reach, about 30 centimetres. As Athelstan observed the swordsman he noticed another detail. The armour on his left hand was rattled and crooked, in some places it fell off entirely, and the limb itself was hanging. Something that brought joy in Athelstan’s heart, though it also caused concern. Unless the warrior was dumb enough to willingly put his hand in a beast’s mouth, and even humans weren’t so stupid, Athelstan had to reconsider the danger this place possesed.

  The armour had a few small gaps in the back of the knees, thighs and certainly armpits, though the last one he couldn’t see.

  Stolen story; please report.

  He didn’t consider striking the left hand, the armour fell off only at the edges, targeting it wasn't worth the risk. With a flick of his will, 3 bodkin arrows, currently max amount he could reliably levitate and target accurately, took off from his belt and, after a few seconds of aiming, struck one by one, piercing through the jungle greenery.

  At the last second, the knight turned on the left foot to the whistling and the armour shifted.

  The first arrow struck into his right knee and thrusted through the armour gap right into the soft flesh forcing a groan from the warrior. The second hit the left knee but found only plate, bouncing off it with a cling. The third one, aimed for his thighs, faced the plate as well. Athelstan ducked under the bush, the wounded man hid behind the tree too.

  The initial attack was not ideal, but an injured knee should be enough to seriously damage the knight's mobility. Or that was what Athelstan thought, because a second later the elf saw the man again. Running towards his position, with the arrow still dangling from his right leg, whatever skill the enemy used to resist the injury, it was probably not enough to ignore an open wound and a shattered joint at the same time. The man didn’t know Athelstan’s exact position yet, so the elf prepared to make his last stealth attack. Zigzagging through the trees and bushes the foe came close enough for an elf to see his features.

  He had an open helm, so the mage could see his face. It was a human, one of the taskmasters from the slave camp, whose name Athelstan couldn’t remember. A bit less than 2 meters tall, with green, bloodshot eyes and brown hair. At this distance, his hand looked even worse. Steel bent and covered in blood, yet the skill somehow made this previously broken and hanging disgrace of an arm working again. Now Athelstan could also see that the arm was missing a steel bracer and a glove. He shot the weak spot immediately. Somehow, probably due to another skill, the knight felt it and lowered the hand forcing the arrow to bounce off a shoulder protection.

  Athelstan stood up from the bush and faced the enemy with 2 arrows hidden under the belt behind his back. It should make the enemy unaware about their existence until the blood mage would use them.

  They looked at each other, a mage with a polearm on a higher position, chosen for better reach, and a wounded warrior with two melee weapons in full plate. The knight, likely due to his wounds and bleeding, wasted no time.

  As he moved towards the elf, Athelstan struck him in the head, and the warrior parried the attack, sending splinters of wood flying from a spear. The mage’s plans to quickly thrust the unprotected hand next were ruined due to the force that shook his hands and he grimaced.

  ‘Yeah, he chose a warrior class, probably has at least twice as much strength and agility as I do. And a higher level as well.’

  The enemy tried to close the distance during the opening and, rightfully seeing it as a death sentence, Athelstan shot one of his arrows into the man’s head. The enemy lowered it, forcing the projectile to harmlessly brush off the helm, but he stumbled and it gave the elf enough time to regroup.

  The knight made another step up the small hill, but slipped on the mud. While the foe tried to find balance, Athelstan squatted and hit the back of his injured knee with a wide swing of the spear. The strike was weak but it stung the man with the pain of the previous injury and, groaning, he fell to the starting point.

  Athelstan rushed down and struck him, both with a spear — to the head; and with a broadhead arrow, the last that his belt held — to the unarmoured hand.

  The arrow pierced through the palm pinning it to the ground and breaking bones. The spear attack, however, hasn't been so successful.

  The warrior rolled over, leaning on the elbow of his pinned hand and ducking his head, causing the spear to glance off the helm and strike nothing but mud. Before Athelstan could take it back the knight locked it under the elbow of his healthy right hand, while desperately swinging the greatsword. The weapon fell heavily on the elf’s left hand.

  Even though the mail protected him from cuts, it didn’t protect from the blunt force and, groaning, he felt the bone cracking. Before the drow could do anything the warrior stood up, tearing out the pinned hand with an arrow and turned the finished slashing action into a thrust. Seeing no other choice the elf had to leave the spear and back off, unsheathing the machete. At this point even the warrior’s skill couldn’t turn his teared hand into something useful, so the man dropped the greatsword and took the longsword out of his belt.

  For a second they looked at each other and Athelstan couldn't deny the respect he felt for this, even though human, but mighty warrior. With an arrow in his hand and another one in the knee, soaked in blood and mud, he still stood there. While it was largely due to a skill, that was not a basic one. He still remembered the description provided by a Blood Warrior class.

  Blood Warrior (Exotic)

  Stat bonuses per level: +2 Str, +1 Agi, +2 Vit, +1 End.

  First skill: Blood boil (passive/active).

  Blood boil (common). Passive — makes you more alert at all times. Active — speed your heart up to generate more adrenaline, numbing the pain and improving the reaction time.

  Every warrior class got a different variation of the same perk, but what the knight demonstrated so far, turning a mostly broken arm into a working one, ignoring numerous injuries and slowing down the bleeding, was more than just that. He had to upgrade it, maybe more than once, something that even Athelstan hasn't managed to do yet.

  Throughout the entire fight the drow tried to do something with the arrows that already hit the enemy, to change their shape the same way he made it with mosquitos, but it just didn’t click. He could feel the connection, but it felt numb compared to those within the effective radius of 1 meter. And unless he’d find a way to upgrade soon — the outcome of this battle might not be the kind he’d like.

  A man, while injured, still had a heavy armour, and outclassed Athelstan in speed, strength and stamina. He also was armed with a longsword, while the elf had only a fragile stone machete and an arrow. He couldn’t cast any more either, every arrow consumed at least 10 seconds, and that was when he could concentrate on it fully.

  Athelstan’s line of thoughts was interrupted, when a knight ran at him. Unlike his usual speed this time he moved twice as fast, probably due to some mobility skill.

  The elf side stepped, but the enemy’s dash ended about a meter before meeting him. Athelstan blocked the rising slash, his hands shook again, though this time it was worse, due to the cracked bones in the left one. The slash turned into a thrust and the elf parried the tip with a strong part of his blade, noticing the cracks in the machete, as he retreated. They continued fighting for a few seconds, the knight’s attacks becoming increasingly more desperate, likely because his supporting skill was running out of time. Athelstan got a few cuts, the nastiest being on his face. The sword had cut through his left cheek, making it look like a torn blanket and ripping a few teeth, but luckily not touching the tongue.

  The knight screamed in pain, stumbling and Athelstan, seeing the supporting skill stopped working, closed the distance and thrusted towards the foe’s head, only to see him smiling.

  The warrior sidestepped and with a roar slashed towards the elf’s hand. Athelstan, sensing some sort of energy in the longsword, turned the thrusting action into a slashing one, trying to take a limb for a limb. At this point his own is lost anyway. He cut through half of the unarmoured hand before the knight's blow landed. Stopped by the mail for a second, the longsword continued moving down, cutting off most of Athelstan’s left hand below the elbow area.

  Athelstan screamed in pain, pointing his right hand at the enemy. For a second he looked at the swordsman. The man’s shoulders slumped, his posture radiated exhaustion. The first time could be a fake, but this one had to be true. Either his supporting skill gave up, or that mighty blow required a lot of both stamina and mana. Either way, it was an opening and the mage didn’t intend to miss it.

  He felt the skin of his last remaining hand slightly ripping, as an unfeathered bodkin arrow brushed past it, flying from his sleeve and aiming for the knight’s eye.

  Without the skill, sharpening his senses, the man reacted at the last moment. He’d raised his head and tried to turn it but couldn’t do it quick enough.

  The arrow, originally meant for his eye and skull, pierced the cheek, tongue and mouth with a wet thunk, before going out from the other part of his head with a crunch. A music for elf’s ears–

  ‘Oh, fuck me,’ Athelstan thought after the warrior, pierced with 3 arrows, swung the longsword at him. The elf blocked the blow with a mailed part of the hand and closed the distance. He jabbed the man in the nose, causing additional pain by slightly moving the arrow in process. While the warrior stumbled, Athelstan kicked him in the injured knee and shoulder bashed into the man, tripping both of them up and making the human lose his grip on a sword. Since he couldn’t reach it with a hand, the elf pushed it further aside with a leg kick and started to strangle the man beneath him.

  The warrior have already been drowning in the pool of blood that came from his wounded tongue, so even the weak one handed strangling was semi-working, until the knight kicked the drow in the groin with his knee and, at the moment of weakness and with a help of superior strength, turned them around, pinning Athelstan with the superior mass. It was the elf’s turn to be strangled.

  Exhausted, Athelstan looked up at the man above him. Covered in mud and blood, a pale face with bloodshot eyes and a red arrow sticking out of his jaw — he looked more like a demon from legends than a human. “Fuing ie aeti,” the man wheezed, the words punctuated by his heavy breathing and increased amount of blood falling at the elf’s face. ‘Hah, the audacity of this bastard to say it after tanking 3 arrows and living through it.’

  Athelstan’s vision blurred. Death was close.

  He punched the man in the groin, but his legs found only cold certainty of steel. There was no way out, the human outclassed him in both stats and armour. Magic was his only option.

  But how? He couldn’t control the blood once it left the radius, all three of those did it a long time ago. There was no way to create an arrow as well. Even if somehow he’d manage to focus on spellcasting, one more arrow would probably kill him anyway.

  That’s when the new idea formed.

  What if instead of controlling blood he’d use it to drain the blood of others? The blood warrior class description talked about debuffing the enemies with bleeding effect, so it should be possible.

  He concentrated on the arrow and his connection with it. Then he dug deeper, into the connection between his blood and what it struck. He felt the lifeforce of the human and his blood flow near the wound. ‘That should work,’ he thoughtHe burned mana within him, as well as blood and lifeforce within the arrow and pulled the foreign blood.

  Immediately, he felt the torrent of blood falling faster from the warrior’s mouth, the wetness of the red liquid covering the drow’s face and chest. ‘More,’ he thought, burning more mana, focusing on the other two arrows, and the red waterfall continued.

  It proved to be fatal for the tired and wounded knight and he fell on the elf with a last sigh.

  Athelstan got himself an armour, mystery upgrade and at least a few levels. However, all of that could wait, because he lost his fucking arm.