85 Chapter 85: A Hunter must Hunt.
You know, it seems like I was too used to the absurdly durable weapons I make. Which seems to lead me to grossly overestimate the durability of my weapons. Because magic is apparently not really a common knowledge in this world so weapons are held together by more metal than soul, unlike my deadman blade.
So after turning a few dozen to hundred beasts, rotten dogs, crows, and "British" townsfolk into salad, my beloved pimp cane started getting dull. I was completely unused to that, as much as I was unused to this fighting business anyway.
When my blade got dull I mostly couldn't care less as with my abilities I had confidence that I could cut a man clean in half with a pillow. But in here my equipment mattered more than ever. So unfortunately for myself, I had to take a break and head back to the dream.
After greeting the Doll I went up to the workshop. Ignoring the schizo on his wheelie I went up to the bookshelf, if the old bag of osteoporosis says I can use anything I want here then don't mind if I do.
I grabbed most of the books from the bookshelf before leaving 1 foot in the grave's workshop to sit down on a bench and study the books. With my enhanced intelligence, the task wouldn't be too hard. There was a good reason why I have to go through all of this trouble.
I know bloodrock or whatever are used to enhance weapons. I just don't know how they do that.
Do I just crush up the rocks and snort them? Melt them down? Piss on them? Do a ritual? I just didn't know. So I started reading to books under the curious gaze of the Doll.
...
Alright, reading those books left me with more questions than answers but now I can at least use those damn blood shards in my inventory. To enhance a weapon you simply break down the bloodstone and infuse its essence into the weapon. Which enhances its overall quality.
Although I had my speculations on how that worked I wasn't keen on pursuing the line of thought. I was sick of philosophy by this point.
After all, I'm a bold action man, not a mild contemplation one.
Philosophy and theory crafting was for those loser nerds like car seat the maidenless and fatherless who spent hundreds of years researching magic just to go insane over a crystal that could be broken by a light breeze. So I got to work right away.
By questioning the chair-bound geriatric I found the forge part of this place so I could get to work on my pimp cane. Thankfully my kleptomaniac habits came in handy as I looted a bunch of pieces of high-quality metal and wood.
Firstly I removed the tip part of it that was purely decoration and hindered the weapon's lethal potential by severely dulling the stabbing power of the cane. Instead, I made to blade go all the way down to the end with a proper sword tip.
But since that derived the cane part of the cane I made a polished wood sheath that fit seamlessly over the blade, turning it into a seamless cane.
Goddamn cane swords are cool.
The most tedious part was sharpening all of the blades of the threaded cane. But after several hours I sharpened everything and polished the blade, making it look like it was newly made. With an audible chink I pulled a bit of the blade out, its sleek metal polish reflected off of the sun.
Nodding in satisfaction I got to upgrading it with the blood stones which in all fairness was rather easy for me since I have had experience all my life in directing energies toward weapons to enhance them. Giving me a +3 pimp cane that could likely survive a serious onslaught before needing repairs.
Done with improving my weapon for now I went back to the waking world after waving the Doll goodbye.
Immediately, I noticed the difference in performance. The sword went through the beasts like they were warm metal and it was made of red hot butter. No noticeable chipping, rolling, or dulling. So I took my time slaughtering some of the village people as I went around looting and looking around for the next boss.
I swear, at this point, I only want insight because I want to know where to go and nothing else. In my arduous and frustration of emo London, I came across a figure, but something stood out about them.
No, it was not their seeming sanity or their feminine figure.
It was that they dripped the fuck out. How can one person have this much drip? I know it's edgy as all hell but...
But...
But it's so goddam cool!
She held so much drip that Im sure she is singlehandedly responsible for all those children dying of thirst in Africa. Whenever she steps into a room she must be making waterfalls cry and taking their lunch money. Noticing my presence the woman looked in my direction.
"Oh, a hunter, are ya? And an outsider? What a mess you've been caught up in. And tonight, of all nights. Here, to welcome the new hunter.
Prepare yourself for the worst. There are no humans left. They're all flesh-hungry beasts, now."
Hearing her husky voice I was snapped out of my thoughts of wringing her neck like a towel to get that drip as I listened to what she said. And I was confused by something she said.
"What do you mean by, 'No humans left'? last I saw there were plenty of huntsman around still unfortunately kicking." Hearing my words the faucet tilted her head back slightly in a condescending manner before explaining regardless.
"Those are no longer human. While they wear the skin of one, they certainly aren't men. They've long been transformed by the blood, seeking more flesh to consume.
Ya really are a new one aren't ya? Well, everyone has to start somewhere, don't let the hunt and the blood consume you. I am Eileen, the Crow, and a hunter of hunters who've gone mad."
"I am John... John Bloodborne." I tried, I tried so hard to resist but the words escaped my tongue.
"John.. Bloodborne? Is it? Alright then, I certainly hope ya won't go mad John. Now off you go, there are still plenty of beasts to hunt. A hunter must hunt. And here, a welcoming gift." Saying that she handed me a few tattered pieces of parchment with some lines scribbled onto them. Taking them off her hands I bowed and left. Still resisting the dark urges inside me to strip her drip off her corpse. But I refused since her stature was far smaller than mine so I couldn't wear her clothes properly.
And so I resumed hunting.
...
Sewers.
SEWERS.
S E W E R S.
So, much, sewers.
Never have I wished for my dear armageddon blade so badly so that I could just collapse this place. How funny it is now that I think about it.
John Bl- Moore, John Moore, the Father of Humanity, Reaper of Lordran, the Chosen Undead, the Primeval Human, Slayer of Gods, The Dark Lord of Humanity. Rolling around in sewers as he wrestles dirty rats and British "people".
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
By the way, did you know that 99% of Yharmam is made out of sewers?
Why the fuck does a city need this many sewers? Why are they so easy to fall into? Why the fuck are the sewers over 20 meters tall? Do giants shit here? Why are there so many people in the sewers?
If my hair was still capable of graying and falling out due to stress then this place would've made me bald in a few hours.
And the goddam pig here was the most disgusting thing I have had the misfortune of fighting, just absorbing its blood echoes made me feel like I needed a shower.
Really, just how much sewer can you fit into a singular city before it is classified as just a large sewage system and not a city? You go down the wrong ladder? Sewers. You go down some flights of stairs? Sewers, you have just stumbled upon a rat family of 10 dining on a poor sod.
I swear, the moment I can use armageddon blade again I will burn this place down. At least hunter armor was made with sewers in mind so I didn't have to suffer TOO much. Regardless, trudging through these goddam sewers is enough to give a man +1 insight.
But, after killing over hundreds of beasts and getting bolt infusion to level 6 I finally got out of the sewers and after a bit of travel, stumbled into another person other than Elien or whatever. But as I saw them, I felt a prickle on the back of my neck. A premonition of danger from my instincts.
I entered the graveyard, but unlike a traditional graveyard, the gravestones were just bunched together, leaving large patches of emptiness around with a giant crooked statue in the middle. In that graveyard, I saw an old man wearing a hunter's clothes hacking away at a corpse.
He was tall, even taller than me, I would say around 7ft. I felt a dangerous vibe coming from around him as he turned to me. His eyes were covered by bandages yet I could still feel his bestial gaze.
Yet instead of getting intimidated I got excited instead. Adrenaline boiled in my veins. A worthy opponent.
"Beasts all over the shop... You'll be one of them, sooner or later..."
Saying that he dropped the mutilated corpse in his hand and turned to face me completely, his modified hunter's axe and pistol raised. And me with my modified Threaded cane and pistol. As we faced each other felt like the air got colder as the wind blew between us.
< Side-Quest received Challenge:.. >
{Father Gascoigne}
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