Jack activated Sense Blood Mage and felt a small drain on his mana. He didn’t sense another blood mage. Hmm… looks like the skill is either too weak or they are too far away. As a level 0 skill, it would be at its lowest power setting. He shrugged, planning to test the skill to find its limits.
Harvest Pseudo Skills was an interesting skill. It allowed a blood mage to replicate a skill from any skill holder the blood mage killed while in contact with the target. Jack could already sense that the pseudo skills wouldn’t be as powerful as the originals.
I already have four of them.
He focused on the Pseudo Warrior First Strike skill to get a feel of what it did. A sensation surged through him, an echo of muscle memory not his own. It wasn’t a full skill; it felt hollow like an imprint taken from a corpse. A weakened version of a warrior’s skill… hmm… that’s not a bad skill. And then it clicked. The orc warrior, the chanting in the barn, and the same feeling of power at the moment of the orc’s death.
Jack concentrated on each of the pseudo skills in turn to get the feel for them.
Next up, Greatsword Slice, he thought. “Interesting. So another weakened warrior skill.” He chuckled at how useless the skill would be for him. He had to be wielding a greatsword to activate the skill. “I still have to grab the greatsword hidden at the back of Ron’s Diner… if it’s still there.”
He scratched his chin before checking the next skill. Pseudo Rogue Detect Trap skill. Another weakened skill, he mused. That’s useful. It was a weakened version of a rogue’s skill. It was the first pseudo skill he might use. A rogue’s Detect Trap skill would, as the name implies, detect traps.
“I didn’t know goblins had skills,” he whispered while thinking about the Pseudo Goblin Enrage skill to get a feel for what it did. Jack frowned at the skill as he considered whether it was a good idea to use a skill that enhanced rage during combat. Feels like it would make me stronger, but at the cost of clarity.
Having no frame of reference to compare—goblins didn’t share what their skills did with sentient races—he assumed it was a weakened version of a goblin skill.
But something didn’t line up; he’d killed a mage during the drug deal. “Why no skill from the mage?” He muttered while shivering at the memory. I didn’t get the wave of power when the mage died.
Jack thought about what was different between the four kills that got him a pseudo skill and the one that didn’t. “It’s the dagger… it has to be.” He drew the weapon from his side. It was still the battered dagger he’d bought from the strange weapons merchant. Red tarnished blade, damaged handle, and runes so faded they couldn’t be active.
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He ran his fingers along the edge; still razor sharp. “You’re the link, aren’t you?” He thought back to what the merchant had told him. Something about an assassin who hunted blood mages? He didn’t recall the details. “What would happen,” he murmured, “if I killed a blood mage with you?”
Jack glanced at the six nobles who were laughing, drinking, and unaware of the threat. What would happen if I drove you into Greaves’ throat and twisted? He smiled at the thought.
He went back to considering how he’d gained skills. Only the kills that involved the dagger had gifted him a skill. Well, other than the stag kill, but he assumed a deer wouldn’t have any skills. If they did, it would mean he’d get a skill from killing a chicken. He couldn’t help but chuckle at what sort of skills a chicken could possibly possess. It wasn’t as if chickens had martial prowess. That would be ridiculous.
Jack stared at the palm of his right hand. There was a faint scar where the blood-red rose had cut him. Every time he drew blood using the dagger, it itched. His palm didn’t itch when he killed the mage with arrows. Are they linked? Is this why I gained the Blood Mage class?
He thought about his classes again and felt sick. His compatibility with blood mage was higher than with scribe. And even now, he could feel a new thread unwinding inside him, drawing tighter with each kill, each offering of blood.
“I’m a damned blood mage!” he muttered as he sheathed his dagger. “But… I don’t have to use it.”
He was about to rejoin the others, but checked his affinities first.
[Affinities Screen-Internal View]
Fate 72%
Time 62%
Blood 56%
Void 55%
Divine 44%
Arcane 43%
Chaos 37%
Death 34%
Light 32%
Earth 26%
Darkness 25%
Sound 21%
Healing 21%
Psychic 20%
Fire 16%
Metal 16%
Space 15%
Ice 14%
Luck 14%
Air 13%
Poison 11%
Water 11%
Lightning 9%
Nature 9%
Gravity 3%
Jack compared the values to when he last checked them almost a week earlier. Only one had changed.
Damn! Blood has shot up… His mouth dropped open. His affinity for Blood had increased from 19% to 56% in a single week. Could gaining the Blood Mage class be the cause? Jack thought. It has to be. Shit! This is not what I want.
He exhaled. And returned to the group, who were still celebrating the successful hunt with wine and pastries.
“Enjoying a moment of reflection?” asked Baroness Idrisa as he returned to the circle.
Jack inclined his head. “I was just thinking, my lady.”
“Good,” said Greaves, lifting a wine glass. “Reflection is the foundation of our power.”
“I understand now, my lord,” Jack said. “What happened today… what I felt…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He let them draw their own conclusions.
The nobles smiled.
Quill raised her glass. “To Jack.”
Greaves echoed her. “To the one the Fates chose.”
Jack raised an imaginary glass, though he held nothing.
Let them believe I’m one of them.
Let them think they’ve drawn me in.
I’ll see you all dead.
Jack smiled.
