I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1316  Polite Monster

Knight Chrysler’s talent wasn’t particularly impressive when one thought about it. Besides, the young knight himself was only a Master, which meant Northern had only three abilities to draw from.

The first was [First Blood Rhythm], which needed no further explanation than what he already knew. The second ability was called [Whirlwind Recursion]—and funnily enough, it operated on a similar stacking principle as the first.

Where [First Blood Rhythm] stacked attack speed, [Whirlwind Recursion] stacked damage and converted it into critical damage.

It didn’t matter whether the damage was dealt or received. Not that Northern could receive any—but the ability stacked it nonetheless. Once it crossed a certain threshold, every strike became devastating. And if the weapon being used was Heroic grade or higher, it gained the chance to deal damage that even weapons a grade above couldn’t simply ignore.

For those below its grade, only complete annihilation awaited.

Heroic weapons were difficult to acquire. Even Northern had barely gotten his hands on a few, and he hadn’t received many items from Ul in general—not with her scathing envy toward the peculiarity of his nature.

‘When we see each other again… she’ll wish she never did that.’

Northern wasn’t personally pissed about it. He’d been robbed of many opportunities for growth, sure. But he didn’t miss them at all. Very soon, he was going to embark on the path of creating items himself.

Not just mundane items either—but those on the caliber of what Ul created from the souls and carcasses of monsters, the kind she gifted to Drifters as if they were trinkets.

‘Is she even the one doing that? Ugh! So many things to find out.’

His thoughts had wandered again. Northern paused his thinking, trying to retrace where he’d been before Ul shouldered her way into his mind.

‘Ah, yes! Heroic grade swords! I think my manifested shadow sword should be comparable.’

The swords were, after all, molded from an EX talent. Even though [Eclipsing Dread] once belonged to a child, it had gone a long way since then.

He was unsure of the exact comparison—not like these things came with manuals—but a weapon shaped by independent shadows derived from an EX class talent should be as strong as a Heroic grade item.

Right?

Northern did feel like the weight of his attacks was getting heavier. Duke Amene strained under each blow, his form degrading with every exchange. Northern was even trying to make sure he wasn’t enjoying it too much—wouldn’t want to get careless and let his power slip beyond what this particular demonstration required.

So if the damage was accumulating, it was only a matter of time before the Duke’s sword gave out entirely.

And then it happened.

With another of those spinning flourishes, a sharp clash rang across the yard, displacing air in a violent wave. Duke Amene had blocked overhead with his scabbard-arm—and that was a great mistake.

The blind man’s wet brows furrowed as a cracking sound reached his ears. That was the sound of separation. His sheath, the white scabbard split, one half tumbling away with a scatter of material fragments.

That was the only time Northern paused.

He stood still and looked at the Duke with an unassuming smile on his face.

‘Goodness. I got carried away with useless thoughts for a moment.’

Aside from being able to focus his consciousness on one train of thought while still maintaining his line of activity, another reason for Northern’s flawless engagement despite his distracted mind was [Tempest Cadence]’s third ability.

[Flow State]

It seemed that once Knight Chrysler became a Master, he had gained the ability to lock out all distractions and lock into the flow of his swords alone. Pure martial immersion.

Granted, Northern could manage multiple streams of thought simultaneously. He could be locked in according to the ability while remaining locked out in another stream entirely—present in combat while wandering through tangential considerations about item crafting and divine grudges.

It wasn’t the best application of the skill. But it wasn’t bad either.

‘It’ll be even better when it becomes EX.’

Northern finally raised his gaze to Duke Amene properly.

The poor blind man was dripping with sweat as though he’d been caught in a downpour. The day star hung in the sky without obstruction—no rain, nothing close to it—and the weather remained cold besides. Winter was only just beginning to pack up and leave.

The Duke trembled and lowered his arm. He looked like a man who had been squeezed and wrinkled by age and time, though that was more how he seemed than how he actually appeared.

He didn’t look any older than he was. But he acted extremely fragile—teetering on the border of breaking.

And Northern just observed, that same interesting smile settled on his face.

From Admiral Yan’s vantage point, such a smile was terrible. Northern looked like insanity personified to him.

It was hard to accept. Just moments ago, this same Northern had seemed calm, polite, demure. And now he looked like a monster.

The smile was the same. At the same time, it wasn’t. The difference between the two expressions was slight—and somehow that made it more terrifying, more eerie.

Northern looked at the Duke, who leaned against his sword where it dug into the sand. Amene had crumbled to one knee, his back rising and falling like a breathing mountain of flesh.

“Why are you so… tired? We haven’t even been at this for one minute.”

The Gentleman shook. He raised his head toward Northern, disbelief carved into his face despite his closed eyes.

“What?”

Northern tilted his head, slightly surprised by the confusion.

“I was counting… it’s been forty seconds. Since we clashed the second time.”

Duke Amene froze.

‘He was… counting?’

He doubted what he’d heard. And yet he knew he’d heard it correctly.

Northern had been counting while they fought. Counting, while Amene had thrown every available force of his life into each exchange. He had felt like his existence might end with the slightest mistake—had fought like every damned minute depended on it.

Well. Every second, apparently.

And Northern had been… counting.