On the run…
Charles suddenly realized something, his expression lighting up.
"I get it now!"
"The Falna—no, the blessings from the gods—respond to the wishes deep in one's heart, generating corresponding abilities. My weekly refresh must follow the same principle!"
"To awaken an entirely new ability purely through willpower might be hard. But if it's just altering an existing skill according to my desires—that's much easier!"
The former was creating something from nothing; the latter was just reallocating experience points.
"Just now, my will to survive outweighed all else, so I ended up with a skill that keeps me alive at the brink of death! And it seems luck only determines how powerful such a skill turns out to be."
Realizing this, Charles felt a surge of confidence about his future.
"At the very least, I can decide what kind of 'skill pool' I draw from. Whether I get an R or an SSR… that's up to luck!"
Having grasped the key point, Charles stopped running.
In that brief moment of thought, the side effects of lowered Endurance became apparent.
His body felt heavier by the second, while the sound of footsteps behind him grew clearer.
When he glanced back, the two pursuers were less than ten meters away.
"I can't keep wasting stamina. This needs to end quickly."
Charles pulled a crimson dagger from inside his coat and spun on his heel.
"What now, little rat? Not running anymore?"
"Hah! Guess you've run out of steam!"
Seeing him stop, the two slowed their pace, grinning cruelly as they approached with swords in hand—like cats toying with their prey.
In the dim corridor, Charles slowly raised his head. The pale blue glow of the magic-stone lamps caught his chin, highlighting the malice in his eyes. A predatory smile spread across his lips.
"You think you've got me cornered?"
"What else?"
The white-robed attacker sneered, closing half the distance. Six meters…
Five…
Four…
"Then maybe you should figure out first—who's the hunter, and who's the prey?"
Charles leaned forward. The instant the man lunged, he pushed off hard with his right foot, leaping high toward him.
The attacker's eyes widened, his face lighting up in excitement. One hand shot up to block the knee strike, while the other swung his sword down in a powerful slash.
Shrrrip—!
Warm blood sprayed across the white robe, flecking the man's face. He trembled from the thrill.
Yes—this feeling! Watching life fade right before his eyes!
Thud—
Then came the metallic clang of something striking his face.
"Heh… ghh… grghh—"
He tried to laugh, but his throat made only a strange gurgle.
Charles hadn't been knocked away. Though his chest was slashed open at an angle and blood poured freely, the Falna on his back blazed with heat.
He knew it—his passive skill [Go Wherever You Want] had triggered!
It negated the knockback effect, and now his strength would surge like never before.
In that brief midair pause, Charles exploited the opening: one hand tossed a coin pouch to distract, the other slipped past the man's guard, his crimson dagger slicing cleanly across his throat.
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
The second white-robed man swung his sword in a waist-level cut, sending Charles flying, then kicked directly into the wound.
Splurt—!
Charles vomitted blood—right into the man's face—before slamming into the wall.
Hitting the ground, Charles rolled aside, and in the instant his opponent wiped at his eyes, he slashed at the man's thigh, cutting deep into the femoral artery.
Blood gushed like a fountain, pooling quickly.
"Damn it! Damn it!"
The man yanked a high-grade potion from his robe and poured it over the wound, but there was no sign of healing. He stared at Charles in shock.
Charles grinned, white teeth stained red.
"Won't work. This blade carries an incurable curse. You're not walking away from this."
"You… you maniac! You lunatic!" The man dragged Charles up and punched him over and over in the face.
He never imagined this brat would go so far—willing to trade life for life.
"Hahaha… hit me harder, and you'll just bleed faster…" Charles taunted, his grin widening.
"What's wrong? Feeling dizzy already?"
"Come on, keep hitting me! What's the matter, out of strength?"
Charles lay on the ground, guarding his cursed dagger with his life. He let the man rain blows upon him. Within four minutes, his assailant went limp, collapsing in despair as Charles pushed him off and drew the dagger slowly across his throat.
The man died never knowing how someone with his guts spilling out could still move.
---
After finishing both pursuers, Charles clutched his belly and rolled on the floor, kicking wildly.
"Ahhhhhh—! Ohhh—! Gods, it fucking hurts!"
Even though [Go Wherever You Want] had negated most abnormal statuses, and [Fragile College Kid] kept him in the fight, the pain from two near-fatal slashes was bone-deep—enough to break anyone. But thanks to his skills, passing out wasn't an option.
"No wonder… Mundo lost his mind…"
Still clutching his stomach, Charles picked up an alchemical potion—condensed from his own blood—that had fallen nearby. He poured it over his intestines, rinsing them off before pushing them back inside.
Leaning against the wall, he waited for the potion to work.
Minute by minute, heat spread through his body. Looking down, he saw the torn flesh knitting together, misaligned ribs shifting back into place, and grime being pushed out of the wound.
In just five minutes, he was whole again.
"Hahahahahaha—!"
The pain vanished. Charles threw back his head, laughing as tears pricked his eyes.
Those enemies were around Level 1, C-rank.
But he was still too weak—forced to rely on reckless, wound-for-wound strikes to take one down, forced to depend on a cursed blade to slowly bleed them out.
And he knew there would be many more fights like this.
His moment of weakness passed quickly, replaced by a sharper, more frenzied resolve.
Gripping his dagger, he picked up the tossed coin pouch, slung it over his shoulder, and pulled on one of the white robes from the Dark Faction.
This time, he had the power to strike back.
"No one will stop me. I will live—and I'll live better than anyone. Freer than anyone!"
With that vow, he stepped back onto the battlefield.
"Ready to die, trash?"