Sworded Affair

Chapter 101 : Firewater

A few, thoroughly unpleasant minutes were enough for Emma to recover herself and stop dry heaving, the clean forest air a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming stench of decay that had flooded her senses. A glance back at the cabin showed it returned to pristine form, hundreds of years of decay gone as easily as it had come.

"What was that?" Emma murmured, hand on her throat as she felt the faint vibrations of her vocal cords. "It was worse than usual, but that was hardly the first time I've smelled a bit of mould."

[Your previous uses of Oversoul have been on targets that have already lived for some time, their senses having already acclimated to life. Your current body is effectively a newborn, without any prior experience to provide a layer of protection, and its first introduction to smell left a lot to be desired. Believe me, it could have gone a lot worse if you didn't have your own memories as a human.

Sometimes, spiritual beings of entirely magical origin are summoned to possess living bodies, in order to better serve as bodyguards, teachers or warriors. As with all things, the young are more adaptable, taking readily to the possession; the older and more powerful require elaborate rituals to gradually get used to flesh and blood, lest their sudden introduction to sensation drive them mad.]

"The System simulates the five senses for Undead users, so they don't go crazy from the loss," Emma recalled. "It's dangerous going both ways then."

Shaking her head at the frailties of mortality, Emma went to climb back onto Sir Bearington. Her arms burned with exertion, only managing to pull her body up and over the saddlebags on his flank with considerable effort.

"Was I always this weak? I don't even weigh a hundred and twenty pounds; you'd think I was trying to climb a mountain."

[This body is how you were at your first death. Every level brought an increase in strength, but it happened gradually over time: so it's a bit of a shock feeling what it was like at Level 0.]

"I don't like it," Emma decided. "Some food will make me feel better though."

Sir Bearington began to amble down the length of the gallery, putting his nose to work with a precision Emma could only dream of. Skipping the cabins, he chose to duck into one of the tents, not unlike the one Noah had stayed in whilst getting his arm fixed. The pair emerged in a kebab shop, the kind found in every town centre in England, very much a structure of brick and glass. There was no sign of the tent they'd entered from, and the entire setting was notable only for the fact that the proprietor, an old man with a head of grey hair who didn't register to the System as anyone important, didn't raise a single eyebrow at the bear.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"What do ya want?" He asked brusquely, waving at the menu displayed on the wall behind him; one that included prices.

That was when Emma remembered she didn't have any money on her.

"...I'll come back later," Emma muttered, her face coloring in embarassment as she turned her mount straight back around.

[Sherwood Gallery leads visitors to what they want, which is not always what they need. Attempts were made to add nuance to the guidance system; but that's a complex work, and was ultimately abandoned due to the projected cost being unjustifiable, in relation to the time it would save shoppers.]

"The bank first, then," Emma sighed, as she emerged back in the forest. "That's actually one of the objectives on the Quest; one that slipped my mind completely the moment I thought about food. Am I losing it?"

[You're a teenager again, with all the disjointed thought processes and impulsiveness that entails. Emotions undergo a layer of abstraction in your true form, whilst most of your previous possessions were in combat situations with a clear threat in mind. Using it now, in a period of calm, being a bit scatterbrained is to be expected.]

For lack of a better idea, Sir Bearington was doing loops around the Gallery now; which seemed to be having some effect, as every complete loop resulted in a building disappearing, popping like a soap bubble and leaving nothing behind. After all the cabins were gone, the tents were the next to vanish, this time in groups of three. Eventually, there was only a single tent remaining: when Sir Bearington stepped through, Emma found herself in a large, open reception area.

"That's a lot of gold."

It really was: every wall, floor and ceiling was covered in gold, even the desk the receptionist sat at being no exception. The receptionist himself wore a smart suit of black and gold sequins that called to mind the glory years of Michael Jackson; their shining brilliance matched only by his bleach white teeth.

"Welcome to Sale and Swindell. How may I help you today?"

---

"How does this place even work?" Noah huffed, darting around a corner as he did his best to keep the elusive Saint in his sight.

It wasn't easy, and the worst part was that he was pretty sure the feline was holding back considerably. Hopping over the central river for the fifth time that day, Noah was rather unprepared for a watery arm to reach out of the water, grabbing and holding him aloft.

[Greater Undine - Level 20]

"Unhand me at once!" Noah demanded, drawing a groan from below but no slackening of the oversized limb.

If anything, the grip holding him tightened, starting to drain his mana as the Shieldwall Spike flared to life, protecting his body from crushing force. Gritting his teeth, Noah stared into the distance, at a rock that was roughly his size. Then he was free, stood on solid ground once more as stone crumbled to dust beneath a grip of iron. Raising his finger, Noah pointed at the offending appendage.

"One for all."

The watery arm - and the entire river it was attached to - glowed black.

"Balefire. Accelerate."

Embers of midnight coalesced within the water, burning unhindered for one second that carried the weight of ten. Two seconds and half of Noah's mana later, a water elemental burned to death.