Born a Monster

227 Servant of the Axe – Tarantula’s Secret

Chapter Type: Conflict (versus other), System

It turns out there is a mental condition called Dread, like a daily bleeding condition for your Serenity.

True, I shouldn’t have been experiencing it; Tarantula might be a Champion, but if she’d truly been as competent as she thought, she should have just attacked me and been done with it.

After a month and a half, I was almost certain I had no secrets from her. She had questions on magic, on mentalism, on the arts of hunting and wrestling – she even asked about my gathering and crafting professions.

“It’s hard to believe that over half your divisor comes just from aging slowly.” She said, one day when I was purifying the shrine. “And the rest... are you CERTAIN you aren’t level two in anything?”

“If so, then my System is lying to me.” I said.

“That’s so sad. Most of us trust our Systems.”

“I won’t swear that you can’t. I do know that most people, when they push themselves, far exceed the abilities of their System.”

“And you push yourself often?”

.....

“Simple survival seems to require that from me.”

She rubbed the metal point of her spear with her thumb. “There is very little simple about survival in this world.”

“It seems fairly straight-forward to me. Keep your health, sanity, and serenity positive. Eat food, drink enough water.”

She shook her head. “I’ve watched you; you try to nourish those sailors like yourself. You may sit and think, but you have very little idle time. I saw you gave up the chance to learn a combat spell to help make a little girl happy.”

“There’s a bit more to that story than those points. And I’ve used that spell on my own crafts.”

“Your chess board? That craft?”

“I don’t need your approval.”

“Good, because you don’t have it. You only killed the last bearer of this spear because you lean on those around you.”

“In a very real sense, we all lean on each other.” I said.

“Yes, but I’ve noticed you are... diffuse. You have what, a dozen professions?”

“I’ve given up counting. I’d say a third, and approaching half of them, are professions I’ve learned by doing.”

“By refusing to focus, you are... needlessly inept.” She spun her spear around once, placed the butt of it against the ground.

“Ih!” she said suddenly, “Why ARE there rats here?”

“Ask them; they have the length and breadth of the island available to them. Yet they make their nests in that iron cage over there.”

“You should carry it far into the jungle, and leave them there.” She said.

“After you kill me, you may do that.”

“Oh, so bold. I thought tomorrow was when your health reached full.”

“I’m at thirty-six out of forty, I don’t mind if you attack today.”

“I don’t think I can call it an attack; it would require you having the skills to defend yourself.”

I sighed. “You MUST know...”

That was when she activated her stealth. By the time she had reached me, I had my shield out, and my arm through the straps. Even as I deflected her spear, I pulled my battered Flavian from my inventory.

“You know I can defend myself, why do this now?”

She scoffed, swinging the spear like a scythe. “Why wait?”

The shield felt spongy, but that was because I hadn’t tightened the straps. There was nothing to be done for it; she may not have been an expert in the spear, but she was fast enough.
“I’ve purchased defensive abilities recently.”

“Defensive! You are too mild!”

“I have learned that critical hits HURT.”

“Weak! Coward! Let me TEACH you another LESSON in the art of PAIN.”

I blinked. “Are you ready to give up?” I asked.

“Why? I’m WINNING!”

I waited for her to try a high thrust, and moved in for the trip attack. She darted to the side rather than away, and bounced a hidden blade off my shield. Was she even watching...?

I adjusted my balance, moved to strike her with my shield. She feinted high, then went low. Using the haft of the spear like a staff, she struck at the back of my knee.

I didn’t go sprawling, but I stumbled, the muscles of my leg closing on it like a vise. Due to the momentum of my bash, my torso fell forward. I thrust with my Flavian, and caught nothing but air.

“You bastard!” she screamed, releasing her weapon and pulling an estoc, a thicker version of a rapier, from her inventory.

Had she charged then, she had me off balance; I would have taken a wound or two. Instead, she allowed me to rise, the enchanted spear falling to the ground.

“This isn’t a duel.” I said. “Why would you come after me with a weapon you didn’t understand?”

“A MAGICAL weapon! One enchanted to kill you!”

Geralt the Blade could make a shield a disadvantage with his rapier. Tarantula... was less skilled.

Actually, I’d fought a number of opponents with more fearsome skills than hers. Or had I just evolved to where normal levels of combat ability no longer...

Her blade scored a glancing blow off the tip of my nose; a reminder that combat isn’t the place to focus on anything other than combat.

She was sweating heavily, and I was sweating lightly. Both of us were breathing heavily.

“Why won’t you just DIE?” The thrusts kept coming, and I traced a line of red across the back of her sword arm.

She screamed, and withdrew.

What.

The.



Seven.

Hells.

“Are you training my comrades in swordplay without any actual combat experience?” I asked.

“Fool! I am a fifth level Executioner. Let me hit you once, and...”

Oh.

I moved forward, deflecting her stop-thrust, and continuing. I was expecting her to dodge, or pull another blade...

My knee hit her in the stomach, and we both sprawled to the ground.

I landed beside her rather than on top, and I parried two blows in rapid succession. We rolled apart to come to our feet, both huffing and panting.

“Who are you,” I asked, “and what have you done with the real Red Tarantula?”

“I AM the Red Tarantula!” she spat. “I have killed a hundred men. Behold my title!”

“I can’t SEE your title, and you know that.”

“Feel the aura of death radiating from me.”

“That faint necromantic aura?” I asked. “I endured worse as the student of a Witch Doctor.”

There were tears in her eyes. “I am a deadly assassin.”

She came at me with a series of strikes, fast and heavy... and intense in their burning of fatigue. When she paused, I struck. Slow, methodical blows, none of them meant to hurt her.

“Who ARE you?” I asked, slowly pushing her back.

She turned, rolled, and came up with the spear in one hand and her sword in the other.

“Now, I have the weapon you fear.” She said.

“Put your sword away and hold it properly.” I said.

She put her sword away, resumed her stance. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, until just now. What, did you put all your development points for your first class into Executioner?”

“Assassin.” She looked down. “I was a dishwasher, and I earned a class called Maidservant. I made level four and forgot to buy any feats. I’ve been making my way with skills, but...”

“Okay, first thing is we need to get you off the Red Tarantula title.”

“Why?”

“Because the real Red Tarantula...”

“I AM THE RED TARANTULA!” she said, hurling the spear at me. “I have killed over a hundred men.”

The spear slid off my shield, stuck into the shield-enclosure of one of the prayer stones.

.....

“How have you not unlocked any new abilities?”

She said something.

“Maybe your feet heard that, but I didn’t understand that.”

She raised her face. “My System is broken. I can’t actually USE my development points to gain abilities.”

“What syntax do you use for your interactions?”

“Syntax?”

“How do you address your system?” I asked.

“In Neonen, like my mother does.”

“In full sentences?”

“Of course, in full sentences.”

“And you think about the words as you say them?”

“What?”

“Okay, how do you know what level you are?”

“My System told me when I made level five.” She said.

“Have you ever done a system inquiry?”

“My System never responds. For the first twelve years of my life, I suspected I didn’t even have a System.”

“A suspicion dawns on me.” I said. “Repeat after me.”

“Okay.”

“System. Inquiry. Class. Assassin. Status.”

She did so, and her unfocused eyes lit up in wonder.

I found myself in an embrace, her meager breasts crushing against my shield, her hands clasping my back. Her sword, temporarily forgotten, waved lazily from side to side, tip deep in the Earth.

I found myself the victim of some manner of snot attack.

“Oh gods, oh gods. All this time... You will teach me more.”

I do the estoc a grave dis-service by this comparison. Ask either your local swordsman or sword-smith; I’m sure they will explain the differences far better than I can.