Item: [Gravebloom]
Item Type: [Weapon]
Item Rank: [Blessed]
Item Description: [Blood and Death stained the soil from countless wars, yet Life always found a way to sprout, even in the harshest and deadliest places. The Graveblooms were forged for this task — to punish the sinful and to harvest the new life that blooms from their demise.]
Azrael studied the description several times over making sure that he didn't miss a single detail.
'So, if I understand this correctly, this thing isn't just made for killing but also for farming?' he raised an eyebrow, deep in thought.
Of course, there was a chance he was mistaken. But if he wasn't, then this was something far better than he had ever imagined. Taken literally, it meant that life could spring from the blood his enemies left behind.
Some Forsaken that didn't have to worry about Rifts could have dismissed this as useless, however, Azrael had been warned how deadly going into a Rift really was.
And what was the most overlooked issue when going on missions to close one?
Food.
Many items could create drinkable water, but food? That was a different matter entirely. Any edible item would be consumed and quickly gone. Seeds wouldn't grow inside the Rift without special care. Monster meat? That was a gamble—there was a high chance it would be poisonous even after cooking, toxic to the Chosen.
'If I am right, this could save me in the future,' he mused.
Without hesitation, he flicked his finger, summoning Gravebloom. Truthfully, the flicking part wasn't necessary, but he really wanted to try it.
The weapon immediately appeared in his hands; it was made out of sleek jade. Its blade was menacing and sharper than anything Azrael had ever seen. There was a symbol etched onto it — an angel with a crown and spread wings, adorned in what looked like gold. The handle was woven with silk threads that felt both sturdy and comfortable, allowing him to get a firm grip.
"Truly a sight to behold…" Azrael exclaimed, mesmerized by the view. He could immediately tell how deadly it was. Suddenly the thought of him having to kill countless Chosen just to keep his sanity didn't seem so far-fetched.
"Now that I think about it…" he muttered as he eyed the skill he had recently gained [Blood Manipulation], and then his Inborn Trait, [Heir of Death].
'Blood and Death stained the soil from countless wars… it's like this weapon is made for me, is this Fate?... or perhaps Destiny?'
Azrael scratched the back of his head, "Wait, what is the difference between the two?"
Shaking his head, leaving the philosophical question aside, he dispelled the scythe. There was one more lesson he had to attend today.
*****
Being proficient with a weapon was of great importance, but that didn't mean Azrael could neglect his hand-to-hand combat skills.
Should he ever find himself in a situation where he was unarmed, the only thing he would be able to rely on would be his hands. For instance, should he ever challenge a Remembrance, he won't be able to use the Blessed weapon Seyra had given him.
Unsurprisingly, the hand-to-hand combat class was more popular than the scythe basics.
Azrael's eyes swept across the area. He saw familiar faces—the top ten ranked students were all present, along with Victor and Troy, that arrogant fool.
The lesson was being led by Instructor Varen, who, unlike Champion Frederick, didn't seem eager to reveal how far he had progressed in his pursuit of power. Not that Azrael could blame him. If he had a way to alter or block the [Inspect] skill everyone possessed, he would've done the same in a heartbeat.
Since there were many Chosen attending the class, Instructor Varen divided them into groups. He didn't say it outright, but Azrael noticed that those who ranked highest during the elimination ceremony had been placed together.
"So we're divided by our scores…" he sighed.
In his group, the only one he recognized was Victor. It seemed Troy wasn't present—most likely because he had earned fewer points than both of them, despite all his boasting about his clan.
Just like before, the giant man was alone, with no one offering him to be his spar opponent.
It wasn't surprising. Taking into account his two-and-a-half-meter stature, coupled with the menacing look he had that didn't boost his chances, resulted in no one daring to engage him in hand-to-hand combat.
No one was that mentally insane!
Well… there was one exception, of course.
"It seems you are an outcast once again," Azrael pointed out as he approached Victor.
The man arched an eyebrow, "Isn't that the same for you?"
Clearing his throat, Azrael shook his head and dropped into a low stance. "Less talking, more fighting."
There were several reasons as to why he had chosen to fight against that man. The main one was that he looked like the toughest opponent there. And fighting him was going to improve his combat strategy and critical thinking quickly.
Not to mention, it was a rare opportunity to duel someone so unique. Most traditional moves wouldn't work on him, which meant Azrael would be forced to improvise.
He tried several tactics to outwit his foe, making use of any blind spots, moving and hitting faster than Victor ever could. Concentrating his strikes to one point for maximized damage, yet before the man with a weight close to two hundred kilograms, it seemed such hits were nothing but an annoyance.
However, that didn't mean Victor could dominate the fight, he was strong and fast, true, but nowhere near swift enough to catch the Death Heir.
While Azrael was forced to rack his brain on how to deliver more devastating attacks, Victor was forced to move in awkward ways, bending his body in ways he wasn't used to, all in an attempt to catch his swift opponent.
By the end, both men were left panting exhausted, since the fight had been going on for a long time. Victor had managed to catch Azrael once or twice. However, he had failed to put him down since Azrael always had a way to minimize the damage he would receive upon being hit.
Before the two men were about to pounce on each other once again, a voice brought them back to their senses.
"Good job!" Instructor Varen had a smile on his face, hands moving in rhythmic motions as he clapped. His eyes scanned the condition of his exhausted trainees.
"The lesson is done. It's clear you all have the heart in you. There is even a high chance most of you will survive your first Rift."
Taking a deep breath, Azrael surveyed the numerous Chosen pushed to their limits—most in much worse condition than he was.
There were several outliers naturally, most of them who had scored from first to tenth place. Despite their exhausted state, they didn't look as pale as the others.
'Their stamina is monstrous…' he noted, eyes observing them—a habit he had begun to develop lately. Thankfully, no one would find it suspicious, since most of the young had their eyes on the group too. They were not only powerful but also staggeringly beautiful.
Teenagers admiring the opposite sex was perfectly normal and wouldn't raise any suspicion. That's why he would easily blend in as just another admirer, rather than someone quietly calculating how to kill them swiftly.
He took a brief glance at his palm, clutching it into a fist.
'Now that I think about it, just today I have spent more than eight hours moving nonstop, pushing my body to the limit.'
This was far from normal. Had he been a Forsaken, he would have dropped dead halfway through the several lessons he endured today—yet he hadn't. The value of being Chosen was apparent.
With his body feeling like it was about to collapse, he managed to make his way to the cafeteria, eating almost to the point of a food coma. Afterward, he went to his assigned room, took a shower, and collapsed on the bed, taking the needed time to recover from the battles — only to do it all again the next day.