Headed by a Snake

Chapter 877 Power Of A Gold-Rank

?Within the scope of minutes, Tarquin Wroe's mana output had raised from Unranked to Iron... two *entire* steps.

The phenomenon was unheard of.

But how?

Tycondrius clenched his fist.

He had broken the Laws... by his own power.

He... had gained a Skill he never realized he wanted-- the ability to commit wanton violence against his trainees AND simultaneously unlock their potential!

It was perfectly tailored for him as the guild leader of the storied Sol Invictus... as well as a cultured gentleman with a penchant for cruelty and violence.

...Tycon cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

It seemed... so... obvious that such a cheat-type ability could be learned by a Warlord like himself. The entire point of the Class was to push his allies into achieving their full potential!

"Boss..." Wroe murmured hesitantly, "Why... why are you smiling like that?"

This... was the true power of a Gold-Rank-- not their damage-resistant body, their nigh tireless physique, nor their boundless mana reserves.

It was their access to high-level Skills and Circle Spells.

--which was highly reliant on the aforementioned, but still.

Tycon carefully eyed the Hexblade in front of him, bloodlust boiling in his wide grin, righteous fury burning in his mana-filled eyes.

His new Skill held great promise... but needed to be tested.

If there were few or no limitations to its usage... then he had just become the most fearsome Warlord in all the Realms.

"CLENCH thy teeth, Tarquin Wroe!!" Tycon roared-- "for my next attack holds all the mana I can conjure!! My blood! My very FLESH!! MY BLACK HEART AND MY VENOMOUSSS SSSSSOUL!!!"

Tycon raised his hand high, prepared to strike down his friend and companion-- or obliterate his corporeal body.

"FOR THE GLORY OF SOL INVICTUS!!!"

"No, Boss, wait! WAAAAIT!!!" Wroe pleaded.

"Hold still, you!!" Tycon shouted. "That is a DI-RECT order!!"

"This is the strongest I get!" Wroe sobbed as he hugged Tycon's ankles, "Please don't hit me! I'll-- I'll die!"

...Tycon raised an eyebrow.

Though his muscles spasmed and a vice-like pain assaulted both sides of his head, he forcibly slowed his mana circulation.

"...No... is it-- are you..."

He sighed and put his fist down... "Mana suppression, Mister Wroe?"

"Yes! That's right!" Wroe shot back up and bowed at the waist, "I'm-- I'm sorry for hiding it. I was wrong!"

Yes. Wroe was at fault.

"Are you sure... it's not something else?" Tycon asked-- still hopeful-- "something I might possibly forgive you for?"

"No! I was in the wrong!" Wroe clenched his eyes shut, bowing even lower, "Please forgive me!"

Tycon struck him in the lower region with his knee.

"GUOHHH!! BOSS WHY?!"

...Tycon narrowed his eyes.

In his frustration, he had... missed his intended target-- the Daeva's abdomen. If the fellow wasn't impotent before, he was certainly impotent after that...

"...I apologize, Mister Wroe. I made a mistake."

Admittedly... Tycon had found it odd that his System did not inform him of the creation of a new Skill.

He had ignored it... out of the asinine hope that he had gained something more than a barely-Iron-Rank Hexblade who practiced one of the most useless techniques in the Realm.

"Bah," Tycon spat. "Mana suppression is a stupid ability."

He swallowed his disappointment... though it continued to roil at the base of his gut.

As much as he wanted to continue beating his disabled companion... Wroe had already suffered a severe and extensive beating, as well as several fractured bones.

--also, impalement.

Further violence would be selfish-- only serving to temporarily lift Tycon's mood.

"But... I'm really good at it," Wroe muttered to himself.

"We're moving," Tycon pointed to where the ferrywoman was waiting patiently. "To the boat, Mister Wroe."

Hades jerked his head up in acknowledgment and started back.

Wroe, however, did not move... and he still wore a pitiful expression.

He was injured, which made it somewhat permissible... but it was frustrating that he did not attempt to stand.

"Hey, listen Boss," Wroe whispered in a small voice... "I wanna apologize about all--"

"Get to the boat, Wroe," Tycon repeated-- unable to hide the annoyance in his tone of voice, "Crawl if you must."

"I just dunno if... I mean I still need more trai--"

Tycon knelt down to face Wroe properly and he raised his hand once more.

While somewhat disrespectful, it seemed appropriate, concerning the circumstances.

Thankfully, the threat was enough to convince the Daeva to move with a sense of purpose.

...

? Captain's Log, Date XXXX. ?

? So there I-- ?

Krysaos lowered his body, arcing the Heart of the Ocean low to the ground.

"?Cold Slide.?"

Forming a thin layer of ice over the dungeon tiles, he used his momentum to slide underneath a horizontal, rotating saw-- one of the Water Temple's traps.

Of course, he was headed straight for an open pit.

And, of course-- with how narrow the hallway was, he had zero chance of jumping out of the way.

He'd be able to do the crazy acrobatics if he was that knife-eared King-guy.

...Or maybe if he were the LT, he could've just bypassed all the traps by turning into a big-arse snake.

But nah.

Krysaos was only human.

Dropping his chest onto the smooth, frost-covered stone, he reached out his arms and legs to increase his surface area. It slowed his forward momentum... and it was barely-- just f*cking barely enough to stop himself from falling in.

Aaaaand... not down the throat and gullet of the giant eel lying in wait.

Krysaos had a new problem, though.

He was lying prone on an icy precipice... in front of a giant eel.

"Ugh, why's it gotta be eels?"

--or at least it looked like an eel?

A huge, spiny-toothed, eel(?) had most of its body in the pit-- see-through and glowing a dull white. The thing was easily big enough to bite off one of his arms... or a big chunk of his face.

So this eel-guy... without any warning whatsoever-- rude as f*ck, it started snapping at Kryasos' head and arms.

"F*ck off!! Gimme a break!!" He yelled as he frantically swiped his sword at the bitey bastard-- "or I'll make you regret it!"

Then... the big bastard went right for Krysaos' face-- just as he expected.