A sharp pain along the back of his neck was the first indication that Larek was under attack, as the dagger that the assassin was wielding stabbed into it. The tip of the weapon parted enough of his skin to draw blood, but it was the strength behind the blow that was enough to stagger him forward. Thankfully, the Fusionist’s own Body stat was high enough not to allow the attack to completely cripple him, but the simple surprise blow was enough to nearly shatter his spine.

  If there had been a Sharpen Fusion on the dagger, he was 100% sure he might have just died. As it was, despite the innate sharpness of the blade, his Body stat was high enough to prevent it from piercing too deeply, but it didn’t stop the sheer force behind the attack.

  Recovering quickly and with another pulse of Healing Surge to fix the damage that had been done, Larek whipped his halberd around, hoping to catch the assassin while they recovered from their blow, but his weapon passed through empty air. Even as he turned around, he felt a painful slice on his left forearm, as another attack by the assassin managed to strike him. This time, however, he was able to see the blur that was the other man, but that man was so fast that Larek had no way to stop him – at least how he was right now. He had things he could do to even the playing field, fortunately.

  Even as power rushed through him as he activated Tactician Mind and Fleetfoot, increasing his stats to increase his Agility, Intellect, and Acuity for a short while, two more attacks managed to land on his exposed skin, with a stab at his kidneys from behind being largely prevented because of his clothing, which had Multi-Resistance on them; the Fusion didn’t prevent the blunt force from the dagger sticking into him, but it was also specifically created to stop anything from piercing through.

  When his Battle Arts kicked in, the assassin suddenly became visible, especially as Larek whipped his halberd around and nearly split the man in half with his initial swing; but his opponent wasn’t dumb, nor easily caught off-guard by the Fusionist’s sudden speed. What was likely decades of fighting experience showed itself as the man nearly bent over backwards in an outrageous display of flexibility, allowing the weapon to pass harmlessly an inch over his body. Larek couldn’t take advantage of that position, unfortunately, as even as he stopped his swing and reversed its path, swiveling the blade around as he did, the assassin threw himself backwards in a backflip, moving so quickly that he was out of range before the weapon could even reach him.

  “Ah, there it is. Good old Fleetfoot; I remember it fondly,” the assassin spoke as he easily landed his backflip with a smirk. “Thankfully, I don’t need a crutch like that to show that I’m faster, stronger, and better than you.”

  Despite being roughly at the same level of speed now with his Battle Arts, the assassin proved his words weren’t just a boast as he moved within range, slapping Larek’s weapon out of his way with his dagger as the Fusionist attempted to strike him. It wasn’t just the strength of the slap that deflected it that showed Larek that he was outmatched, but the ease with which it was done; the assassin reminded him of Instructor Torge back at Fort Hilltower, with how easily he’d done it, as if he was shooing away a fly instead of a deadly weapon.

  Flinching back from a dagger that seemed prepared to carve up his face, the Fusionist felt his throat being slit underneath his chin, though the edge of the dagger blade still didn’t penetrate very far. Despite the sting going away after a split-second, it still hurt, and he could feel the blood pouring out of his neck. Another pulse of Healing Surge was needed to patch himself back up.

  A series of rapid slices and stabs came from the assassin, hitting Larek so rapidly that he didn’t have time to react. His body became a mass of bruises even as his arms, face, and neck ran red with blood as a multitude of cuts overwhelmed him. He attempted to fight back, either striking out or dodging the attacks, but they came on incessantly, each blow brought toward him by a master of the craft, who might have currently matched him on stats alone, but who also had more experience in fighting close than anyone he’d ever encountered before.

  He now knew that, if it hadn’t been for his Fusions being so effective against them, he never would’ve survived being targeted by the Unspoken Response. Now, without his Fusions to aid him, he was suddenly finding out how the rest of their victims had likely felt at one point or another, helpless against the power that the hidden organization had possessed for centuries.

  Even though he didn’t have his Fusions, Larek wasn’t a pushover. There was more to him than just the ability to create permanent magical formations. He didn’t necessarily like to fight, but he’d gotten much better at it over time, if only to survive. He’d trained and tried to develop his Martial side by attending Fort Hilltower. While he’d made massive improvements, he knew that he couldn’t match up to his Drekkin instructor there, and he had been sorely outmatched against both Chinli and Farmas when it came to their Martial prowess. He simply didn’t have the experience to fight on that level, both from the lack of it not being as much of a priority as his Fusions, and because he hadn’t been fighting for even a fraction of the time that the others did. He’d always had his Fusions to make up for any lack in his fighting ability, but that wasn’t going to help him now.

  In addition to his Fleetfoot Battle Art, he also had access to Consuming Speed, which would triple his Agility while reducing his Body stat by 60%; he was utterly convinced that the speed he could reach from using it would allow him to far outmatch the assassin, which would allow him to finish this fight in his favor. He was tempted to do that, but after he quickly discovered that the converted Unspoken Response assassin couldn’t actually kill him, as his weapon was too weak to penetrate Larek’s body very far, he decided to use this fight to his advantage.

  In other words, this was a perfect training opportunity. It might not have been his idea going into this whole confrontation, but he also knew that it wasn’t very often that he came across a situation where a Fusion wasn’t going to get him out of trouble. With his own Martial abilities so outmatched, and not even by something like being pitted up against someone with a higher Martial Skill, he knew that there wouldn’t be a better time to take advantage of the situation.

  As his body continued to take on more and more wounds, each of which were repaired by almost constantly drawing on the power of Healing Surge, Larek slowly began to sense patterns in the assaults and movements of the assassin attacking him. It was still difficult to do with how the man moved so fluidly that it was almost like a dance rather than a fight, but he had been identifying patterns in other things long enough that the secrets couldn’t stay hidden for long.

  And so, Larek trained.

  *  *  *

  Number 37 reveled in his new speed and strength, which had reached to such heights that he was fairly certain he was one of the strongest people in the world. After consuming so much potential from those whom he decided didn’t need it anymore, he’d nearly hit a wall in how much each consumption of potential could give him, but that hadn’t really bothered him.

  Until now.

  Spreading the ability to consume the potential within others with the creation of the Bereft, he had seen his rise as the quasi-leader of this group as a vindication of what he’d had to go through after losing his own potential, and it only felt right that he was in that position. After falling lower than even the weakest commoner in the Kingdom, he was now so powerful that no one could stand against him.

  Or that was what he thought, until The Fusionist, the same individual that the Unspoken Response had sent him against, had shown up. At first, shortly after his new awakening as a powerless husk of his former self, he hadn’t been able to recall much of his former life. After consuming the potential of around 10 Mages and Martials, however, his memories had started to trickle into his mind, bit-by-bit. Now, as far as he could tell, all of his forgotten life experiences as part of the shadowy organization had come back to him, and he remembered quite well who the man that showed up actually was: a nightmare that became real.

  But Number 37 now had advantages of his own. The former assassin was no longer scared of being killed from a distance, as there was a natural aura around him that dissipated all forms of energy, which he’d noticed fairly soon after he began hunting those with potential. The only threats to his existence had been Martials who had been stronger or faster than him, but all it took was consuming a half-dozen of them before nothing could catch him, let alone hurt him.

  But now The Fusionist had come knocking on his territory, looking to finish what he’d started. At first, he had worried, but after it became quite obvious that the frightening former target of the Unspoken Response was actually weaker than himself, Number 37 knew he could win this time.

  Unfortunately, killing The Fusionist was proving to be somewhat more difficult than he imagined. While the former assassin was stronger and faster than the man, at least in the beginning of the fight when he wasn’t using any Battle Arts, that didn’t seem to make a difference. He could strike the man with impunity, turning the poorly trained fool around in circles as he dominated the fight, but there was just one problem.

  His tools of death and destruction weren’t able to keep up with Larek’s Strength stat, nor could they overwhelm the Body stat that The Fusionist apparently possessed. He could stab and slice the man with his daggers, using all his natural skills and abilities hundreds of times, but the only result seemed to be a series of shallow cuts and bruised skin that healed quickly because of his victim’s Body Regeneration Skill. The assassin figured that stat had to be fairly high, in order to heal that quickly from his attacks, but he also knew that it was inevitable that the man would run out of physical energy at some point; from what he remembered during his life as a Responder in the Unspoken Response, there was only so much that a body could recover from in a short amount of time before the Skill started eating away at the physical energy that the person possessed.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Which meant that Number 37 just had to continue on this path and he would eventually succeed. It was only a matter of time.

  Mixing up his attacks with his dagger, the former assassin threw in a number of jabs and kicks where he could fit them into his assault upon The Fusionist, who floundered pathetically as he attempted to fight back. Unfortunately, even without a weapon in his hand, his Strength still wasn’t enough to do more than push the man back a little, despite the fact that he knew a simple punch using all of his Strength would’ve put a hole through a block of stone.

  But that was no matter to Number 37; it still inflicted damage to The Fusionist’s body, even if it wasn’t lasting damage. The inevitable would eventually come, and he would soon be standing over the pitiful corpse of the man who had caused all of this to happen in the first place.

  When one of his strikes to the man’s side was deflected by a forearm whipping in front of his extended strike, he figured it was a fluke and that The Fusionist had gotten lucky. It didn’t happen again for a few seconds, and another 3 dozen strikes got through without trouble, so he put it out of his mind.

  But then it happened again, though the deflection was a bit more forceful, nearly making Number 37 lose his balance as he was forced to overextend.

  I’m getting sloppy and predictable. My trainers in the Response would beat me within an inch of my life if they saw something like that happen.

  With that thought in mind, he redoubled his efforts to whittle down the physical energy within The Fusionist, changing up his modes of attack so that he wouldn’t run into the same problem again. He’d been trained in a half-dozen forms of striking, ranging from full-out head-to-head fights to stabbing a victim from the shadows, and he’d been adept at them for decades before he’d had the unfortunate luck to meet this man at his strongest. Now that he had an advantage, he was more than capable of using it.

  Changing up his strategies appeared to be the correct move, because it was another 10 seconds before he missed a strike, but this time it wasn’t because his arm was deflected. Instead, The Fusionist seemed to move out of the way just barely in time to avoid one of the former assassin’s strikes; the margin of avoidance had been so slim that it almost appeared to be an accident on his victim’s part, but it happened again a few seconds later, somewhat giving that it was intentional.

  “That’s not going to be enough! Dodging a few blows out of thousands will still kill you!” Number 37 shouted, annoyed that his strikes were starting to become less and less effective. The Fusionist didn’t say anything in response, but a small smirk infuriated the former assassin enough that he threw himself at the man, clutching his hands around his victim’s neck – before sending his extreme hunger to consume his victim’s potential. Number 37 had held off consuming the man’s potential until now, wanting his victim to suffer a humiliating and painful defeat at his hands, but he didn’t want to wait anymore. He could practically taste the sweet power inside the man, and he just knew that if he consumed it, he would receive an incredible boost to his own strength that would likely rival all that he’d consumed before. The feast was just in front of him, and now that he’d given himself permission to feed, he was ready to consume it without hesitation.

  By the time he felt his hunger extending itself inside of The Fusionist’s body, his anger and confidence were at an all-time high. Stretching to consume the buffet of power in front of him, he was shocked when he ran up against a wall barring his way. He battered at the energy preventing him from obtaining his meal, but even as he threw his entire focus behind it, he wasn’t strong enough to break through.

  Worse than that, after a few seconds of ineffectually clawing at the barrier in his way, he felt it push back. Coinciding with a powerful punch to his face, Number 37’s hunger was slammed into with a blast of impenetrable energy from within The Fusionist, sending him flying away into the side of a nearby building. The rejection was stunning enough that it took him a few seconds to pick himself up, completely unhurt from the blow and impact, and turn back to the man who’d repelled his attack.

  I guess this means I need to nearly kill him before I can feast on his potential. The former assassin was fairly confident that an unconscious foe was entirely unable to defend against his hunger, so he had to continue his plan from earlier. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked back at The Fusionist to see the man seemingly waiting for him, as if disappointed that the fight was over already. It’s not over; I’ve barely just begun.

  Number 37 threw himself back into the fight, pulling out all of his remembered moves and tricks to inflict the maximum amount of damage he could. It was working, too, as the man was soon liberally covered in his own wet and drying blood, as the former assassin sliced up so much skin that there was very little of the man’s exposed body that hadn’t been affected in one way or another, and he internally cheered as his victim seemed to be slowing down.

  But that success was quickly tempered by the way The Fusionist began to block, dodge, or deflect even more strikes that Number 37 directed toward him. At first, it was only 1 in every 50 strikes or so, but that number began to rise until it was 1 in every 20, then 1 in every 10, and within a few minutes of this battle of attrition, it seemed like every other strike he sent out was avoided in one way or another.

  “How? How are you doing this?!” he asked in a shout, as the sheer impossibility of what he was experiencing was blowing his mind.

  Through the drying blood on The Fusionist’s face, he saw a smile. “Oh, it’s not hard once you break down your attacks to a series of patterns. Not quite like putting together a Fusion formation or manipulating my own internal Pattern, but similar enough that I was able to adapt. Thanks for the training; I haven’t really pushed myself enough to learn how to fight completely without Fusions, as what little instruction I had was cut off prematurely.”

  “Training? I’ll show you training—” Number 37 said in a snarl, as he pushed himself to move even faster than before. Before he could strike again, however, The Fusionist suddenly made his halberd disappear into a sack at his side, and he pulled out the mundane-looking Logger’s axe from his other side. The former assassin nearly laughed at such a ridiculous weapon in the hands of his opponent, but his laughter died before it could emerge as he saw a change come over the man.

  Unlike the halberd that The Fusionist was wielding before, which seemed like a good fit for him even if there wasn’t any great ability to back it up, the Logger’s axe in the man’s hands seemed like an extension of his arms rather than a weapon. It was like looking at someone who had been missing a piece of their body, only to find that it was hanging off their hip this entire time.

  Uh, oh. What’s going on?

  Where the former assassin had previously held the upper hand, things quickly turned against him as the man finally had the ability to strike back. Most of the furious battle had simply been The Fusionist defending against him, unable to actually mount an offensive, but that all changed when the man held the Logger’s axe in his hands. Each little movement that Number 37 made was quickly countered almost before he could begin to strike, and the 1 in every 2 strikes still getting through quickly dropped to 0. His own ability to defend himself was put to the test a few seconds later, as he had to scramble to deflect or dodge incoming strikes by the axe himself.

  Fortunately, even if the man was Skilled in using his strange choice of weapon, he didn’t yet possess enough ability to actually hit Number 37. In fact, as the man extended himself to try to strike the former assassin, he left himself open to reciprocal attacks, and The Fusionist began to bleed once again as each opening was ruthlessly exploited. The fight turned back in Number 37’s favor once again – but his successes were short-lived; soon enough, the openings that had been wide open started to shrink until they were closed altogether, and the former assassin struggled to find a way to inflict any more damage.

  Worse than that, each time he dodged, deflected, or even blocked one of the man’s strikes, it seemed that the next time he attempted the same move, it became less and less effective. The beginnings of a disaster struck him as the tiniest nick against his upper left arm cut through the skin, drawing the smallest amount of blood with it; the wound was barely more than he would consider a paper cut, but it was also the first time he’d been injured in melee fight in at least a decade, if not longer. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there was no denying it now.

  Number 37 was no longer the most skilled fighter on the field. And with that realization, his instructions from his Unspoken Response trainers came back to him.

  If you’re outmatched by a wary target with no back-up available, escape as quickly as you can. Strike later when the target is unaware of your presence, as your strength is the nature of the Response that we give, not the speed at which it was given.

  While he’d abandoned that former life as it had abandoned him, he knew that there was still wisdom in the organization’s teachings. Therefore, as he disengaged from another exchange of strikes wherein he nearly had his left wrist bisected by an axe blade, his eyes glanced to the side, looking for his avenue of escape.

  Unfortunately, The Fusionist saw his look and reacted immediately. “Nope; you’re not getting away.”

  There was a brief flash of the man’s internal potential that Number 37 identified as another Battle Art, just before The Fusionist seemed to disappear. Even as he took his first step toward his escape, instincts honed from years of dangerous fights told him to throw himself to the side, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid what his senses said was coming. An axe blade tore through half of his neck with such force that he spun around a dozen times as he was flung to the ground, rolling a few times before he came to a stop looking upwards at the sky above. He attempted to pick himself up so that he could make his escape, but he quickly found that his lower body wouldn’t respond to his commands. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything below his neck, and his mind suddenly froze as he realized what had happened.

  His spine had been severed.

  He didn’t know how it was possible, as he should’ve had a strong enough Body stat to prevent such an occurrence, but apparently The Fusionist didn’t play by the rules.

  Unable to breathe, as his throat had been cut along with his spine, Number 37’s lifeblood poured out of his neck as his vision began to grow dim. The crunch of gravel against flagstones flooded his ears, the only sense still working remarkably well, and he saw his opponent suddenly appear ahead of him as he canceled his internal Battle Art.

  How is he so fast? Wait. Does that mean he could’ve become that fast this entire time? Was he playing with me? Why?

  “Again, thanks for the training, but I can’t allow you to leave and cause more trouble.”

  Ah. That’s why. I never had a chance, did I?

  “I can’t say that I’m sorry about your death, because you’ve tried to kill me not just once, but twice, but it’s going to take a while to recover from what you’ve done. Thankfully, this whole mess has given me some very interesting ideas on how to defeat that Gergasi and survive the upcoming confrontation. So, I guess I should thank you again – even if you don’t deserve it.”

  Number 37 wanted to scream and yell at the unfairness of it all, but his body betrayed him with its weakness. Even more helpless than he had been after his potential had been stolen from him, all he could do with his fading vision was watch the bane of his existence walk away, covered from head to toe in his own blood, but showing no sign that it even bothered him.

  Much too quickly for his liking, the former Responder from the Unspoken Response, the Progenitor of the Bereft, and one of the strongest non-Gergasi individuals in the world, finally perished after a battle against The Fusionist, who had used the fight as a way to train himself to get stronger.

  This whole world is so unfair….