Amelia walked up to the second floor of Bravehearts Bar, dragging herself up the stairs, each step feeling like a chore as she reached her and Sam's room, opening the door and stepping inside with a yawn.
Without wasting a single second, she collapsed on the bed, burying her head into a pillow while groaning, still holding a bag in her hand, which slipped slowly from her grasp and fell on the wooden floor with a soft thud.
Sam, who was sitting at the table with his empty book open, glanced at her curiously, tilting his head. "So how did it go?"
Amelia clenched her fist, raising her arm and giving him a thumbs up. "Good, I guess. I managed to sell the rifles and revolvers, as well as the Heart of the Skinless Blood Cat and the Rat King. However, no one wanted the Folk of Rage's Characteristics."
Sam nodded, leaning from his chair and grabbing the bag, pulling it toward him and opening it wide, staring inside.
Hmm... Six rifles sold at 5 pounds each, that's 30 gold pounds. Nine standard model revolvers carrying six bullets, sold at 3 pounds and 10 soli each, that's 31 pounds and 10 soli.
Now the Skinless Blood Cat and Rat King hearts. Hmm... sold at 350 pounds each, that's 700 gold pounds. Overall, we have 761 pounds and 10 soli.
Sam smiled faintly, staring at the William Augustus I on the 10-pound note.
Now that's what I call life. When the Folk of Rage's Beyonder Characteristics sell, we'll get an additional 600 gold pounds.
Hmm... What a life... He groaned, covering his face with an annoyed look. We're poor...
"Huh? No, you're rich. You're just comparing it to the Naboredisley family treasure." Malice chirped in, interrupting his thoughts.
Ah, yeah... Sam nodded, somewhat cheered up, and continued counting the money but slowly his brow furrowed and he leaned back in his chair, setting the banknotes down.
Wait a second... The hearts of the Skinless Blood Cat and Rat King sold at such a price? That means...
"Amelia, wake up, my brother from another mother."
"Fuck you, I'm a lady."
"Sure, now get your ass up."
"What now?" She groaned, rolling over in bed with a pained look, too tired to move, so she just rolled to face Sam.
"You know the hearts were the main ingredients for my potion, right?" Sam asked, tapping his finger on the table.
"Hmm? Of course, you told me." Amelia raised an eyebrow, not understanding where he was going with this.
"And you sold them at such a price... That price is usually reserved for potion ingredients of Sequence 8." Sam leaned forward, his voice curious.
"More or less, yes. What is it?" Amelia furrowed her brow, gripping the blanket as her eyes dimmed in thought.
"And someone bought them at that price... The potion ingredients of the Unwinged Angel are a secret, not many know about them, and even fewer if they aren't Devils. Meaning, if that person bought them at such a price, they knew the exact value and desperately needed them. In other words..."
"There's a criminal here who wants to advance, huh?" Amelia smiled faintly, holding her chin with an amused look.
"Exactly. I think I found one of my kin." Sam grinned, putting the money back in the bag and setting it aside, stretching with a yawn. "I'll come along for the next gathering. If I can get my hands on them, I can squeeze out everything they know about Backlund's criminal organisations."
"Mhmm... Sure, why not?" Amelia smirked, not really caring whether that devil lived or died. Spending time with Sam had taught her one thing, slaughtering Beyonders and selling their Characteristics, mystical materials and weapons was far more profitable than anything else.
Sam nodded, licking his lips and leaning forward in his chair, continuing to focus on his curses and drawing ritualistic diagrams in his book.
Ritualistic Magic was a dangerous subject of study, and curses were even more harrowing and insidious. It was easy to suffer backlash if you weren't careful and lacked knowledge. Everything had to be done with stunning precision, starting from who your curse was aimed at, to its effects.
Right now, he was mostly researching how to utilise his [Link] better. But as he had come to understand, his lack of spirituality and strength was crippling his progress. He knew how to do it but wasn't capable of doing it, like a man who understands the theory of laying a foundation but is physically unable to get it done.
Frankly, it was frustrating.
Sighing, he pulled out Paimon's research, titled Laws of Transgression.
Opening it, he started reviewing what he had already learned. A Medium was still the best method for supporting curses, but he also knew he could curse enemies directly in combat through Foul Language, projecting his voice into an enemy's mind and contaminating their thoughts, which would eventually lead to loss of control.
Sam frowned, studying a diagram in Paimon's book, then licked his lips and began working, using her diagram as a foundation while entirely changing the effects of the curse. At the same time, he deliberately imposed limitations on certain aspects, including himself, making it harder to curse a target and requiring more elaborate rituals, better preparation and more materials. However, by doing this, he could also strengthen the curse beyond the level he was currently capable of.
After half an hour, he finished. It was incomplete and, to put it plainly, a pathetic version, but it would do for now. He would improve it as he grew stronger.
Now... The Ether Body. It is vital energy and the physical manifestation of myself.
Putting his books aside, he stood up, then sat down on floor and calmed his mind, using [Ghastly Requiem] to stabilise himself and achieve greater efficiency.
Taking a deep breath, he entered a state of Cogitation to further empower his mental capabilities, and finally began feeling his Ether Body.
Ordinarily, the Ether Body showed nothing but colours representing an individual's health. Paimon's research directly stated that Hunters, Warriors, higher-sequence Secret Supplicants and Sailors could utilise the Ether Body best, their physical attributes frankly monstrous. Devils were up there as well. Sam had seen it with his own eyes and could feel how much faster his body recovered compared to normal pathways, and how much more powerful it was.
The aura colour seen through Spirit Vision is an external phenomenon of the Ether Body. From its thickness, brightness and colour, one can determine a person's health and emotional state. That is the truth.
However, with sufficiently advanced Spirit Vision, one can also determine which pathway an individual belongs to by their colours. A Spectator's would be serene, all colours blending like a still lake. A Bard's would be filled with holy light, while a Sailor's would be enveloped in blue, like a catastrophic tidal wave crashing across an ocean.
As for Sam's own Ether Body, it was saturated with nothing but loathsome darkness, a direct manifestation of the Abyss in his heart.
Slowly, Sam's body began to tremble, sweat pouring from his forehead and sliding down his face as he sharpened his focus, trying to feel his own vital energies.
At some point he began doing it instinctively, his thoughts involuntarily drifting, like soft, lazy clouds in the sky, unbothered and unhurried.
Why has no one thought about utilising their Ether Body? It doesn't make sense... or rather, it's not only dangerous but also difficult. Besides, those who rely on the Ether Body over spirit and the body of heart and mind aren't exactly known for their intellect, they're fighters, not scientists. Which makes sense, in a way.
Another possibility is that the Ether Body is the furthest from mysticism. But none of that matters now. If I'm able to truly grasp this, I'll obtain even more power and enrich my fighting style.
This is such a magnificent feeling.
He thought with a wide grin, eyes still closed, while his body began shaking wildly, muscles trembling and contracting uncontrollably, his nose bleeding, then his ears, viscous fluid dripping from both. His eyes, still shut, wept blood that flowed down like tears as his body began tearing itself apart, the Ether Body's foundation, which made up his very physical form, was being disrupted, and by destabilising it he was destroying himself from the inside.
Slow down... Shit, slow down... He thought, gritting his teeth as blood bubbled at his mouth and slid down his chin onto his chest, fists clenched, nails sinking into his own flesh.
Damnit... This is more dangerous than I thought, but... Fuck it, I'm still doing it! He grinned maliciously, trying to take control of his vital energies, but before he could advance further, his cheeks began to burn.
Slap!
Slap!
Slap!
"Sam! What the fuck are you doing!?" Amelia shouted, jumping from her bed and slapping him, right cheek, left cheek and back again until they reddened.
Involuntarily smiling, she kept hitting him, until she grabbed a chair and smashed it over his head.
Crack!
Sam groaned as the chair shattered against him, collapsing to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. He exhaled, chest rising and falling in ragged, pained heaves, hand clutching his own chest, his heart hammering so violently it felt like it wanted to tear through his ribs and escape.
"Shit... Thanks." He spat blood, covering his face with a bleak look. "I think I almost killed myself."
"Cretin, you almost lost control!" Amelia shook her head, crossing one arm under her breasts and planting the other on her hip haughtily.
"I know..." Sam felt bitter, on that much he agreed, and there was no point denying it. His actions had been reckless. However, someone else wouldn't see it that way, or rather, his other self.
"No... You made the right choice." Hollow emerged from the depths of his mind, grinning darkly. "Burn yourself in order to discover yourself. Only those with drive and madness achieve the extraordinary, Sinner."