Chapter 88: "Talent" Wayne
This was the true strength of Demon Body Techniques.
It wasn’t just a simple projection of Energy. Instead, it could add all sorts of lethal special Effects to otherwise ordinary physical attacks.
Lance roughly estimated that the technique he’d just used had consumed about one unit of Energy from his Ethereal Energy Pool.
The consumption was very low, roughly equivalent to a Caster casting a 0 Ring Trick.
This was also the biggest difference between Close Combat Professionals and Mages.
Casters needed to precisely control their Energy output according to the upper and lower limits of a Spell’s model. Losing control meant suffering a backlash.
Close Combat Professionals, on the other hand, were far simpler and more direct.
They only had to consider the amount of Energy consumed. They could even unleash all their Energy in an instant, with no fear of a model collapsing and causing a backlash.
But this directness didn’t mean there was no subtlety involved.
Close Combat Skills had a clear "efficiency range" when it came to Ether consumption.
Once they exceeded this range, the Energy conversion rate would plummet.
For example, say the optimal energy consumption for a certain technique was between one and ten units.
If you insisted on dumping 50 units of Energy into it, the final damage might only be 30% greater than what you’d get from using 10 units within the normal range.
For Close Combat Professions, which already had limited Energy reserves, such an action was an enormous waste.
"That’s about enough."
Lance glanced at the sky outside and decided not to test the remaining techniques.
Actual combat was the best proving ground for his Skills.
He had important business to attend to tonight.
Using the secrets he’d obtained from Jeff, he had already selected a few targets to deal with.
According to the intel, Jeff considered one of them to be a formidable character, but something about it felt off to Lance.
...
Wayne was an indispensable Gold Washer for the Ghoul Dogs organization.
His job was to take the goods handled by the likes of Razor and launder them through various illicit channels, turning them into spendable Silver Coins.
Just a moment ago, he had completed a transaction for a backlog of goods that had been piling up for half a month, so he was in a decent mood.
In truth, Wayne had originally looked down on a backwater like Gray Rock Town.
He had once belonged to a fairly well-known underground criminal organization in White River City, where he was in charge of setting traps and running reconnaissance.
Unfortunately, his greed got the better of him. He was caught skimming off the top while handling stolen goods and had to flee in the middle of the night, eventually hiding out here.
But because the organization he came from was somewhat famous in their circles, the bumpkins in the Ghoul Dogs seemed to treat him with special respect.
This feeling of being admired made him think that staying in this small town wasn’t so bad after all.
However, the shadow of being hunted in the past still loomed over him, making him develop an extremely sensitive, almost neurotically paranoid nature.
His residence was located in a deep alley next to a tailor shop in the Artisan District.
It was a very inconspicuous, standalone room, which perfectly suited someone like him who needed to keep his identity hidden.
The building’s hallway was dim, utterly devoid of light, but he was so familiar with the environment he could walk back to his room with his eyes closed.
Wayne hummed an off-key tune as he took out his key and opened the door.
However, the moment his foot crossed the threshold, the relaxed expression on his face froze.
The room was pitch-black, so quiet that the only sound was the occasional gust of wind outside.
Everything looked the same as always.
But Wayne knew something was wrong.
The smell was different.
An unfamiliar scent, one that didn’t belong there, had mingled with the room’s usual odor of mold and dust.
This was thanks to his Ordinary Level Talent, Olfactory Record.
He could record scents like a Hound and make precise comparisons in his mind.
It was normally a rather useless Talent, but it was proving its worth at this critical moment.
’Someone came in!’
Wayne closed the door without betraying any emotion, using the turning motion to quickly scan the room’s interior.
The room was too dark. He couldn’t see a thing.
But he knew his own room well. The layout was extremely simple.
Aside from a single bed and a shabby sofa, there was almost no other furniture.
The only place that could hide an adult and was in a visual blind spot was the gap behind the wardrobe.
’By process of elimination, the intruder has to be there!’
Wayne suppressed his racing heart and pretended he hadn’t noticed anything.
He regulated his breathing while rapidly formulating a tactical plan in his mind.
’He chose to sneak in at night, so he definitely wouldn’t use a noisy weapon like a sword.’
’To maintain stealth, he’s bound to be using a silent, poisoned Crossbow!’
’If I show any sign of alarm, he’ll pull the trigger immediately.’
The kerosene lamp was next to the sofa. He couldn’t go over and light it now.
’I have to act like nothing’s wrong.’
Wayne’s hand reached casually for his belt, as if to unbuckle it and hang up his clothes. In reality, his right hand had already stealthily gripped the hilt of the dagger hidden at his waist.
’A Crossbow Arrow will take about 0.4 seconds to travel from the gap behind the wardrobe to my current position.’
’Human reaction speed has a limit. I have to predict his prediction!’
In the darkness, Wayne’s gaze became incredibly focused—it was the look of a Hunter about to kill his prey.
’If I were in his shoes, the moment I’d choose to attack is...’
With his back to the blind spot, he started a silent countdown in his head.
’Three...’
’Two...’
’One... Now! He’s making his move!’
"Hah!"
Wayne let out a low growl, his muscles tensing as he launched himself forward and to the side like a pouncing cheetah.
In mid-air, he executed a perfect tactical roll, evading the imaginary Crossbow Arrow.
At the same time, he drew two daggers coated with deadly poison from his sleeves with lightning speed.
With a flick of his right wrist, one dagger went whistling through the air straight toward the predicted hiding spot. He followed right behind it, lunging fiercely with the other dagger held in a reverse grip.
The entire sequence of movements was as smooth as flowing water, without a single wasted motion.
"Trying to kill me, Wayne? You’re still too green for that!"
However, just as his dagger plunged viciously into the shadows...
’Something feels wrong.’
There was no resistance of a blade sinking into flesh, nor was there the scream of pain he’d expected.
He had stabbed at empty air.
There was nothing there but a ball of old dust.
The ferocious yet confident sneer on Wayne’s face froze in place.
"Pardon the interruption."
A calm, emotionless voice suddenly spoke from the other side of the room.
Wayne, who was facing the wardrobe in a dramatic combat stance, froze stiff.
His neck turned with a stiff, jerky motion, like a rusty gear grinding into place.
The once pitch-black room was now illuminated by a warm yellow glow.
At some point, the kerosene lamp on the table next to the sofa had been lit.
A man in a dark gray traveling cloak was sitting there, the lower half of his face hidden in the shadow of his hood.
But he could feel the man looking at him as if he were an idiot.
That man was Lance.