SWNOVELS Chapter 85 Appropriating
As soon as Lumian confirmed the situation, he pivoted on his heel and bolted.
He couldn't leverage the environment here, and he was clueless about the 'blacksmith' monster's abilities. What choice did he have but to run?
Once he escaped to the nearest natural trap and it was still in hot pursuit, he'd consider counterattacking.
Thud thud thud!
Lumian didn't run in a straight line but snaked left and right in an S-shape.
He worried it might predict his trajectory and hurl a fireball or long-range weapon.
The old Lumian could run on a curve, but he'd have to throttle back at points. Otherwise, his body couldn't take it and he'd eat dirt.
Things were different now. He was extremely limber, far beyond ordinary humans. His muscles and tendons easily let him arch his body in a smooth semicircle.
With this move, he felt that unless the 'blacksmith' monster had special abilities, he should reach the ruins seven to eight meters away.
Suddenly, dread gripped his heart with premonition.
Without thinking, Lumian plunged forward, riding his momentum.
Sizzling, sharp pain seared his back. The evil pewter-black dirk had sliced him, spurting bright red blood.
The 'blacksmith' monster had caught up in a single bound and swung its weapon.
It seemed to have shortened over a dozen steps to one!
Lumian endured the pain and rolled twice before finally touching a half-collapsed building.
He vaulted in with a whoosh. Slithering through the walls and furnishings as cover, he bolted out the back entrance.
Being back in this area was like a tiger returning to the deep mountains or a trout in a river. He adeptly wove through the ruins and buildings, at times circling around, other times going straight.
Within ten seconds, he arrived at a natural snare he had spotted earlier. He ducked behind the roof that had slid to the ground and held on for the 'blacksmith' monster to turn up.
He didn't try the sacrificial dance because he felt there wasn't enough time. The other side clearly had some distinctive tracking prowess.
As time passed, Lumian didn't spot the 'blacksmith' monster, nor did he catch any sound approaching. He didn't note any indistinct footprints around him.
It didn't chase after me? Lumian couldn't help but frown.
He was glad, but he also felt this situation was a bit odd.
After some thought, he guessed the 'blacksmith' monster couldn't leave the city wall, so the moment he went into the building ruins, it gave up chasing him.
Considering he had already suffered two injuries and was drained, Lumian decided not to explore further.
Leveraging his terrifying flexibility, he treated the wound on his back and headed toward the edge of the ruins.
After walking a long time, he looked at the familiar collapsed buildings and suddenly felt something was off.
It has already… been more than enough time to finish a meal. The dream ruins… aren't especially large. I should be able… to walk out in a straight line. Why haven't I… escaped yet?
The more Lumian contemplated it, the more he sensed that something was amiss. His thoughts were becoming foggy and disjointed, as if severe exhaustion was overtaking him or he was about to drift off to sleep.
He forced himself to focus, relying on his Hunter abilities to locate the path, hoping to get out of these ruins immediately.
However, as he walked, he couldn't help periodically slipping into a daze. Eventually, he didn't even know what he was doing.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Lumian's eyes abruptly reflected the flickering orange glow of a fire.
He found himself back by the "city wall" and the chamber where the 'blacksmith' monster was.
Not good…
I'm… under… its influence…
No wonder… it didn't… chase me…
It seems… I can't force my way… out. I can… only… think of a solution… starting… with that monster…
Lumian's thoughts slowed and fogged.
As he approached the chamber involuntarily, he struggled to perform the mysterious sacrificial dance.
Since he had to confront the 'blacksmith' monster, his greatest reliance was the black thorn symbol on his chest. He had to activate it immediately!
Amid the sonorous but intermittent noises from within, Lumian saw the door emitting orange flames open. The monster in a black robe holding a pewter-black dirk and hammer appeared in the doorway.
Unlike before, much of the rotting marks on its face had vanished, and fresh flesh had grown over the wounds that exposed its bones.
Its eyes lit up as it gazed at Lumian with undisguised greed and amusement.
This made it appear more human than zombie.
At the same time, Lumian saw himself reflected in the glass window.contemporary romance
His face was pale, and his eyes were dull. Some of his skin showed signs of decay.
He looked more like a zombie than a human.
Lumian instantly realized the truth.
I will… take its place… It will… walk out… as a human…
Lumian, who didn't know what ability had affected him or when he had encountered the anomaly, only had one thought—giving it his all by finishing the sacrificial dance and partially activating the black thorn symbol on his chest.
He slowly but firmly began his dance, but the 'blacksmith' monster didn't seize the opportunity to attack. It seemed to be patiently waiting for the outcome, afraid that additional actions would impact its fate.
As he edged closer and danced each step, Lumian's vision grew increasingly blurry. He only knew that the 'blacksmith' monster's smile was becoming more and more human.
After advancing some distance, Lumian's mind buzzed.
He heard a terrifying sound that seemed to come from an infinite distance yet also seemed close at hand.
This wasn't clear enough and was very illusory. It only caused some disorder in his mind, preventing him from experiencing a near-death experience.
Amid his grogginess, Lumian's thoughts cleared, and his vision returned to normal.
He felt a burning sensation in his chest and knew that the partially activated black thorn symbol meant trouble.
Almost simultaneously, he saw the smile on the 'blacksmith' monster's face freeze.
Numerous silver and black warts protruded from the monster's face, head, and hands.
The wicked dirk in its hand buzzed and vibrated violently, as if trembling in fear.
Pa!
Amidst a crisp metallic snap, a jagged fracture shot across the pewter-black dirk's demon-etched blade.
The 'blacksmith' monster crumbled into silver-black warts and warped maggots crawling across its black robe.
The maggots and warts stopped moving, turning into lifeless gray flesh.
Lumian gawked at the scene, dumbstruck. It was as if the enemy had suddenly committed suicide mid-battle while he stood by helpless.
After over ten seconds, he snorted at the fleshy lumps in bemused disbelief.
"So you dragged me here to attend your own funeral?
"You should've said so earlier. No need for all this pomp and show. I'd have gladly shown up and applauded your swan song!"
He strode over to the chunks of flesh the 'blacksmith' monster had crumbled into and scrutinized them intently.
Nothing else seemed amiss. Save that the slightly cracked pewter-black dirk still quivered minutely, like a wounded animal encountering its mortal foe.
Lumian's heart raced as he looked down at his chest, sensing the black thorn symbol beneath his clothes.
He realized the truth and grabbed the pewter-black dirk with his right hand.
The evil dirk trembled vigorously but didn't struggle or resist. It was docile.
As soon as he held it, the heat in his chest intensified.
Something leaked out, resonating with the pewter-black dirk.
Amidst the metallic hum, Lumian grasped a greater understanding of the sinister dirk in his grip.
It was a corrupted Beyonder weapon, gaining power and a semblance of life.
In other words, Lumian hadn't encountered a 'blacksmith' monster—the dirk was the true menace. The 'blacksmith' monster was its puppet, or rather, wielder.
It could gradually transform any living being who touched its cold steel and drew blood into a zombie, robbing them of will and reason. They would always clutch it and act on its desires.
Those who were cut by it, spilling crimson, would have their destiny appropriated by its edge.
When seizing one's fate, it could inflict no further harm.
Just now, it had bartered the fate of the 'blacksmith' monster becoming a puppet to exchange for Lumian leaving the wilderness as a human.
If there was nothing to trade, he had to kill the target completely to strip a portion of his fate from him and store it in the dirk.
This ability came from the Dancer's corresponding Sequence 5, Fate Appropriator!
Therefore, after the corruption in Lumian's body was half-activated, it resonated with the evil dirk through flesh and blood, letting some knowledge seep out.
Otherwise, he could only get someone to use divination and figure out patterns to grasp the pewter-black dirk's abilities and characteristics. He could also rely on his repeated experiments to gather information.
After sorting out the additional knowledge in his mind, Lumian looked at the evil dirk that was still trembling in his hand and chuckled.
"Actually, I don't mind you appropriating some of my destiny, but you'll have to bear the consequences!
"If you can swap with my fate of being trapped in this time loop, I'll kneel and grovel before you three times.
"Tsk, but randomly appropriating destinies will only hurt you!"
The pewter-black dirk merely trembled, not daring to respond.
Lumian now understood why the dirk was so obedient.
First, the half-activated black thorn symbol suppressed it. Second, encountering Lumian had traumatized the sentient weapon.
Exhaling, Lumian said, "From today onward, your name is Fate Appropriator Dirk. Got it?"
The dirk bobbed up and down twice, as if nodding.
"Unfortunately, you're only a Beyonder weapon. Your power will gradually fade. You could have lasted two years, but now, severely damaged from your foolishness, you'll only survive half a year," Lumian said regretfully.
In fact, he could replenish Fate Appropriator by extracting power from the corruption in his body, but that required finding someone to repair the crack.
No sooner had he spoken than the heat in his chest quickly vanished. The minute was up.
Wasting no time, he hurled Fate Appropriator Dirk away as if it were red-hot coal.
done.co