Bloodstar System: Infinite Evolution Through Beast Slaughter

Chapter 51: Counting the Haul!

Joren had no idea what the others were thinking.

His attention remained buried in the system panel.

[Host: Joren]

[Mental Force: 1000, Rank Two Psionic Master]

[Combat Rank: peak Rank Two]

[Combat Art: Helios Furnace Scriptur, Mortal Perfection 2000/2000]

[Combat Art: Breath Severing Slash, Mortal Perfection 2000/2000]

[Bloodstars: 34160]

The sight of those numbers settled something inside him.

This was what gave him the confidence to survive in a world like this.

The lower level Voidbeasts he had chased down during the retreat had not been worth much individually, but there had been so many of them that it hardly mattered. That last round of slaughter had pushed his Bloodstars to an entirely new height.

His gaze moved farther down.

The Talent section that had once stood nearly empty was now crowded.

[Sevenfold Bladeheart Blue]

[Undying Body Blue]

[Bloodthirst Frenzy Blue]

[Thunder Dominion Blue]

[Primal Might Blue]

[Spider Sense Blue]

[Phantom Thorn Blue]

[Frostgrave Path Blue]

[Lithe Form Green]

Eight blue Talents.

Any one of them could have created a top class Awakened Warrior.

Now all eight belonged to him.

He could take a hit, dish one out, run, control the field, burst, recover, vanish, and strike from concealment.

"Still a shame."

If he had managed to kill even one beast king...

That would have meant a purple Talent.

The Golden Dragon Falcon’s [Sovereign of the Skies].

Or the Shadow Fiend’s [Domain of Eternal Night].

Just thinking about them made his fingers itch.

Joren forced himself to look at the real problem.

Realm.

He was still lacking in realm.

No matter how strong a Talent was, it needed a body capable of carrying it.

His peak Rank Two foundation had already reached its limit beneath the weight of so many blue Talents.

To hold a purple Talent, to truly gain the strength to kill a beast king, he had to break through Rank Three.

His eyes returned to the Combat Arts section.

[Combat Art: Helios Furnace Scriptur Complete]

[Combat Art: Breath Severing Slash Complete]

Both had reached the end of their current paths.

Joren began sorting through what came next.

First, he needed to spend some Military Merit at Vega Forge and replace his weapon. The Black Gold blade was good, but it could no longer keep up with his bursts of power.

The throwing knives needed replacing too.

The Nightshade series had been discreet enough, but the material was far too weak. They could not even pierce the hide of a Rank Four Tyrant.

With that in mind, he raised his tactical watch and tapped the dark screen.

This newly issued tag was genuinely useful.

No cutting off ears.

No digging out crystal cores.

Even in the middle of a chaotic battlefield, any lethal strike caused by him would be recorded automatically.

A pale blue number appeared before his eyes.

It might have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

[Current Military Merit Balance: 203230]

Joren’s pupils tightened slightly.

Then the corner of his mouth rose on its own.

Two hundred thousand.

More than two hundred thousand Military Merit.

At the exchange rate used by Alkaid Authority’s shameless internal store, that was equal to two billion.

So the old saying was true.

Violence made fortunes.

Good deeds left bones in the road.

Different world, same business.

Nothing paid like war.

...

Norcrest, Alkaid Authority headquarters.

The massive alloy gate slowly lifted, and the black transport rolled into the underground garage.

Support crews who had been waiting rushed forward at once. Some began inspecting the vehicle while others unloaded weapons and damaged equipment.

The entire branch was still brightly lit.

Manester walked at the front, moving with purpose.

Then he stopped and turned toward Joren, the kindly fatherly smile still on his face.

"Joren."

"You have had a long day."

Without any of the usual distance of rank, Manester reached out and straightened the collar of Joren’s crooked combat suit.

"Go back and get some sleep tonight."

Joren nodded.

"Understood, Sir."

Manester studied him with open approval.

A young man with this level of combat power should have been insufferable by now. Most would already be making demands, asking for resources, better housing, special treatment.

Joren had done none of that.

Calm.

Composed.

This was how a true powerhouse carried himself.

"Right."

As though he had only just remembered, Manester raised his voice until it echoed across the empty garage.

"Tomorrow morning at nine, Conference Hall One."

"I will be holding a commendation ceremony for you."

"You earned it."

He gave Joren’s shoulder two heavy pats, then left with Kyo and the rest of the senior officers trailing behind him.

Once the group disappeared into the distance, Jazz finally let out the breath he had been holding.

His rigid back loosened.

Standing near two peak Rank Five fighters brought a pressure of its own.

"Damn..."

Alar sagged against the side of the transport and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

"That nearly killed me."

"I was afraid to breathe too loudly in case Commander Manester looked over."

Jazz answered in his usual heavy voice.

"He values Joren. What does that have to do with us?"

Even as he said it, he shifted one step aside and put a little more space between himself and Joren.

Alar did the same.

He was still talking, still pretending nothing had changed, but his body had already betrayed him. His hands had nowhere to go. His eyes kept wandering. He could not quite bring himself to meet Joren’s gaze.

The air turned strange.

On the battlefield, they had fought side by side with death pressing in from every direction. No one had time to think about status.

Now they were back inside a base built on order, rank, and rules.

The difference between them rose like a wall.

Who was Joren now?

Someone who could stand beside Kyo and speak as an equal.

Someone Manester treated like a treasure.

Someone who had chased down twenty Rank Four lords alone.

And who were they?

Ordinary Antares Command soldiers who still struggled to survive along the edge of a Beast Tide.

That was hierarchy.

In a world ruled by martial strength, power created the greatest distance of all.

Kaia watched the three of them, something difficult to read in her eyes.

She wanted to break the tension, but for once, no words came.

Then Joren turned around and lifted an eyebrow.

"Wait."

"The battle is over, right?"

"Does this squad seriously not have a tradition of going out for a victory meal?"

Jazz froze.

A rare trace of confusion crossed his rock hard face.

"Come on."

"I will pay if I have to."

"I am starving."

Joren headed toward the elevator without waiting for an answer.

Alar and Jazz looked at each other.

The relief in their eyes came first.

Then excitement.

"Damn it!"

Alar slapped his thigh, and every trace of awkwardness vanished.

"I knew it!"

"Joren is not that kind of person."

"I told you he remembers who stood with him!"

For one brief moment, they had truly been afraid he had changed.

Kaia looked at the two grinning idiots and kicked Alar in the leg.

"Did you not hear him say he is hungry?"

Alar immediately hurried after Joren.

"Joren, wait!"

"Dinner is on me tonight!"

"I know the cooks in the cafeteria. I will get them to make something special!"

Kaia brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and quickened her pace.