Absolute Craft-Chapter 45: Superbia (2)

Chapter 45: Superbia (2)

Sheathed Pride’s bonus stats wore off.

Right then, Blake shifted his tactics. He hid behind a tall tombstone, carefully observing the opponents from a safe spot. At the same time, he kept his stats in view, tracking his mana usage and new skill costs.

For instance, his dragon breath skill proved surprisingly potent and versatile, so Blake needed to know exactly how many times he could use it. He also realized the true purpose of Superbia (Mythic), thanks to Sol’s passion and desire to aid him. Perhaps Sol also wanted to share in the excitement.

Meanwhile, Kyria drew inspiration from Blake’s rapid decision-making. Incorporating tombstones into his plan, he used them for defense. He also knew the area better than Blake did.

"Target tombstones around him," he ordered. "Flush him out."

Though his tone grew more serious with each of Blake’s small victories, he still smiled broadly behind his mask, his eyes gleaming with passion. It was fun. He was learning quite a bit. But that didn’t mean he would let Blake overrun his forces.

Kyria’s people shot down the tombstones he had marked through the guild system, summoning a third adversary: the undead.

When each tombstone shattered and turned to rubble, white hands emerged from the broken shards, dragging out the corpses of fallen soldiers. They were the same ice zombies Blake had defeated repeatedly in the dungeon—only their levels and ranks differed now.

Clad in white military uniforms with swords at their sides, the ice zombies rose and surveyed the area for fresh prey. They weren’t driven by hunger; their loyalty to the Winter General persisted in their very bones, compelling them to guard his tomb.

Blake surveyed the scene with a sneer, looking especially menacing in his new form—like a demon who’d just spotted easy prey.

’Trying to use a third party to whittle me down is clever... but not when I have Sheathed Pride at my disposal,’ he thought.

He hadn’t killed his opponents for a similar reason. If possible, he’d disarm them and keep them alive for the extra stats. In this game, one could regenerate limbs or eyes through low-level healing spells or potions, but more serious wounds still demanded time. And Blake believed he had all the time he needed to defeat them.

Yet, the arrival of the ice zombies changed the situation drastically.

Blake changed course again, scanning for a stronger approach. He moved so swiftly that by the time the zombies noticed him, he had already left his hiding spot. Before moving on, he smashed the tombstone he’d sheltered behind. Using Prideful Step, he darted toward another tombstone. He propped it up as a shield, shattered it, then raced on to the next. In his wake, zombies clustered together, following the trail of destruction.

He took his time with this new plan, methodical and deliberate. Because of this slower pace, Anonymous House’s attacks piled onto him. That didn’t amuse Kyria—it only fueled his suspicion.

"Even if Blake’s speed was tied to a skill, he should have used it again by now," Kyria muttered. Then he gasped. "He’s trying to lure all those zombies our way!"

His right-hand man, a swordsman with real-life experience, asked, "How? He might be fast, but not fast enough to slip past us. We can slow him—even if it costs us a few people."

"I’m not sure. This game doesn’t have rigid roles or classes. Everyone branches off uniquely with different titles and experiences. He’s already at this stage. We can study him, but more importantly, we have to adapt. He’s been outmaneuvering us so far."

"Should I step in?" the swordsman asked.

Kyria shook his head. "He’s shown how crucial numbers are. We’ll take him on as a duo. I’ll swap from healer to mage. Meanwhile, our guild will keep the pressure on."

"Fine," the swordsman replied.

Meanwhile, Blake continued to gather zombies behind him, practically "snowballing" in the truest sense. The horde had grown large enough that he joked to himself about rolling them up like a giant snowball and hurling it at Kyria’s face.

He faced off against a few melee combatants, disarming them and reducing their ranks to twenty-one. Soon, only the ranged players and tanks would remain—an easier force to handle.

’By now, Kyria might guess I plan to charge him with these zombies. That’s such a basic strategy that he must suspect I have something else in mind. He likely hasn’t noticed Sheathed Pride’s skill usage, though, unless his eyes are sharp enough to realize I’ve been buffing myself for a few seconds at a time. He probably still doesn’t grasp its core principle,’ Blake mused.

Suddenly, he halted. Sensing every enemy taking aim, he activated Sheathed Pride once more, boosting his stats tenfold—thanks to the fresh enemies closing in. The surge of power didn’t faze him; instead, it sparked several new ideas.

Still, closing in on his main targets with this power-up wasn’t easy. He had to gamble and be ready to adapt on the fly. The best players could weaponize every possible factor.

Blake literally possessed one such factor in his skill set.

<You have used Infinite Blessing on your Pride’s Shackle>

<You have temporarily buffed your Pride’s Shackle with Explosive Crit (Legendary)>

<Explosive Crit (Legendary)—you temporarily unlock a critical chance stat. When you inflict a critical strike, you cause a small, physical explosion that affects nearby enemies>

In less than a second, Blake knew exactly what to do. He whirled around and dropped face-first to the ground.

’Your time to shine, Beatrix. Take over me,’ he thought.

With his back to the sky, Beatrix unleashed her skill—Pride’s Hound—and teleported him thirty meters behind.

In that instant, he appeared above his unsuspecting enemies... and as he did, Beatrix seized control of his body, transforming his Pride’s Shackle into a bow with a resonant clank. She drew the bowstring with all her master’s might, conjured shadow arrows, and let them fly in rapid succession.

They sliced through the graveyard like ravens of death, intent on one purpose: to eliminate the healers.

Unaware of the threat hovering overhead, Kyria stood still, trying to locate Blake. He only grew alert when he heard the ominous whistle of arrows, which made him freeze in place.

In the next heartbeat, every healer around him took two arrows to the eye sockets—losing not only their vision but also their lives, as their skulls burst in a gory spray of blood, brain matter, and bone. Some of that grisly debris spattered across Kyria’s face.

He stood there, eyes wide and trembling.

’I love you, Beatrix,’ Blake thought, a pang firing through his chest before it flared with warmth. ’You too, Sol.’