Chapter 291: Brothers
"That was insane, Stone. I can’t believe that was a level-fifty Golden boss."
Drunkard couldn’t help cheering, pumping a fist as he watched Marcus finish off the Bone Boar without even breaking a sweat. The massive creature lay in a heap of shattered bones and glowing residue, its health bar long since emptied.
"Dude, if it wasn’t a level-fifty Golden boss, how do you think we jumped two whole levels?" Invincible Strong shot Drunkard a look of pure contempt while happily dumping his new attribute points into his Necromancer build. Early-game leveling for his class had been pure torture, so one elite kill that handed him two full levels left him grinning like an idiot who’d just won the lottery. "I’m still trying to figure out which way is up."
"Hold on," Marcus said, a fresh grin tugging at his lips. "There’s more exp on the way."
He spurred his horse forward without another word, charging straight at the Skeleton Marshal that still had fifteen percent of its health clinging to it like a bad habit. A level-forty elite like this one was no joke either—its experience bar would top off their night nicely.
"Triple Surge!"
The skill roared out of him like crashing waves, each surge higher and heavier than the last, slamming into the Marshal and driving it straight into the dirt. Another stepping stone crushed underfoot. Marcus was really starting to love landing the killing blow; the satisfaction of it hit deeper every single time.
The familiar chime rang out immediately.
Ding!
"Congratulations, player Stonehaven, for killing the Silver Skeleton Marshal. Reputation increased by 200. Received 30 gold coins."
Revenge tasted sweet. He knelt beside the corpse and triggered Gathering without hesitation.
Ding!
"Congratulations, player Stonehaven, you have gathered 3 Death Ribs. Gathering proficiency increased."
Ding!
"Congratulations, player Stonehaven, you have gathered a Low-Grade Death Core. Gathering proficiency increased."
Death Ribs were solid intermediate crafting material, perfect for forging weapons or armor. The Death Core was the same tier, a condensed lump of pure death energy with a thousand uses, especially prized by death-type pets. The Marshal had been low-tier, though, so the materials weren’t anything to write home about. Marcus tossed them into his bag without a second thought.
But the actual loot on the ground? That was a different story.
The boss had been generous. Two pieces of blue gear, a skill book, and best of all; two golden items: a sleek black war blade and a matching skeleton tunic, both humming with dark energy.
High Luck really was something else. The drops felt almost too comfortable, like the game itself was smiling at him.
The skill book caught his eye first.
—
Bloodstorm Battle—intermediate rank.
Spin your weapon like a whirlwind, dealing one hundred and fifty percent damage to every enemy within five meters. Five-second cooldown. Required level thirty, warrior class only.
—
Solid skill, usable soon, but useless to him. He set it aside and picked up the black war blade and tunic instead, both forged from bones infused with black iron and steeped in dark power. He ran Appraisal over them.
—
Black Bone Iron Blade: Golden equipment. Level-forty requirement, two-handed weapon.
Extremely hard weapon forged from bones soaked in dark energy and reinforced with black iron.
Effects: Attack + one hundred eighty, Strength + fifteen. Additional Constitution + ten. Attacks deal an extra thirty death-energy damage. Hit rate increased by fifteen percent.
Active skill: Black Iron Frenzy. Unleashes two explosive strikes in rapid succession with a chance to stun. Three-second cooldown.
Black Bone Iron Tunic: Golden equipment. Level-forty requirement.
Extremely hard weapon forged from bones soaked in dark energy and reinforced with black iron.
Effects: Defense + one hundred twenty, fifteen percent stun resistance. Additional Constitution + twelve, Health + three hundred. Reduces incoming death-type magic damage by twenty percent. Ten percent chance on attack to trigger Undead Shield for twenty minutes.
—
The stats were rock-solid. Golden gear that came with its own skills usually sat at the top end of the tier, and Marcus realized his Luck wasn’t just bumping up the drop rate; it was making the drops themselves noticeably better. Luck really was the kind of stat that kept on giving.
"Amazing, Stone," DragonBlade called out as the group walked over, still buzzing from the fresh chunk of experience they’d all picked up from the Marshal’s death. Leveling had never felt this effortless.
"The drops are nice," Marcus said, "but they’re level forty. None of us can use them yet."
By the time they reached him he had finished appraising both golden pieces. He held out everything the Bone Boar and Skeleton Marshal had dropped, expecting the usual split.
"Not bad at all..." DragonBlade and the others murmured, turning the items over in their hands with appreciative sounds. Good gear just felt right to look at. But once they’d examined every last stat, they handed everything straight back to him.
Marcus stood there holding the pile, not sure what to do with it.
’Still angry?’
He smiled bitterly, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. It had been a full year. In every old game they’d played together, loot was always divided by need; who could use it, who needed it most. This time, after checking the numbers, they hadn’t even discussed it. They’d simply given it all back.
They were putting him on the spot, and they knew it.
"Drunkard," he said helplessly.
Drunkard pretended he hadn’t heard, eyes fixed on the Bone Boar Burst Stinger he still held out like an accusation.
Marcus turned to Cleaver next. The big warrior just grinned, deliberately avoiding eye contact, and refused to take the Black Bone Iron Blade.
With no choice. Marcus looked to DragonBlade, hoping the steadier man would break the silence. DragonBlade had been the first friend he made in this circle, the reliable one everyone listened to when it mattered. Drunkard, Cleaver, Gloomy Arrow; they had all come together through Marcus and DragonBlade. But today DragonBlade’s face stayed carefully blank. He simply handed back the small dart he’d been admiring, Barrage of Bone Spikes, and said nothing.
They were all in on it. A united front.
The Bone Boar Burst Stinger and Barrage of Bone Spikes were clearly rogue gear. In the old days Drunkard would already be yelling, one weapon in each hand, showing them off, racing off to get them appraised, or betting Cleaver and Fate’s Trial on how strong the stats would turn out to be. Today he just stood there, silently holding the stinger out, forcing Marcus to deal with the problem himself.
"Drunkard..." Marcus tried again, his voice softer this time.
"Bro," Drunkard said, finally looking at him, his tone no longer playful, "do you still recognize me as your Brother?"
Marcus’s chest tightened.
"Do you still see me as your brother?" Drunkard pressed.
"Cleaver, just take it. Don’t make this harder." Marcus’s composure started slipping as Cleaver casually handed the blade back again.
Back then, the Bloodstorm Battle skill book would’ve gone straight to Cleaver without question. And even if the blade wasn’t Tye highest grade, Cleaver loved swords. A bone-forged black iron blade? He would’ve already been swinging it around.
"Make it harder?"
The grin vanished from Cleaver’s face. His eyes burned, and his fist tightened. "I’d rather beat you up, grind you into dust and feed you to the dogs."
"M-Marcus," he said, using the real name this time, "do you consider me a brother? A friend? What the hell do you take us for?"
Cleaver couldn’t hide the anger anymore. He had been holding it in for a long time, and now the lid was off.
"M-Marcus, tell me what I’m supposed to do here. You don’t tell us anything. You don’t let us help. So why should we accept anything from you? Grind you into powder and feed you to the dogs; I really want to grind you into powder and feed you to the dogs."
Cleaver was on a roll now, the words pouring out of him. None of them had ever seen him this furious.
"I’m sorry," Marcus said quietly.
A wave of raw emotion hit him as he looked at each of them; Cleaver, DragonBlade, Drunkard, Invincible Strong, Fate’s Trial, Gloomy Arrow. He meant it with everything he had.
They were angry because he had faced Snow’s father’s threats completely alone instead of asking for help. They had already yelled. Drunkard and Invincible Strong had already punched him. But today was the moment they needed him to really feel how badly he had messed up.
Abandoning your brothers was the most shameful thing a man could do.
"I’m sorry. I handled it badly back then. I was wrong."
He had to admit it out loud. A year ago he had been so immature, so wrapped up in stupid pride and saving face that he hadn’t wanted to bother any of them. So he ran. He accepted Snow’s father’s terms and disappeared. Looking back now, it was laughable; dumb as hell. He had been too soft, too simple. Snow’s father had squeezed him like wet clay.
He had changed since then. He understood things differently now. You couldn’t always afford to be righteous and proper. Sometimes being a shameless bastard was the smarter move. At least then he wouldn’t be hurting like this. At least then Snow wouldn’t have left.
"M-Marcus, if you ever pull something this stupid again, don’t blame us for getting rough," Cleaver said, his temper cooling the moment he saw the genuine regret on Marcus’s face.
"Stone, I get that you had your reasons," DragonBlade added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "But sometimes you think too much."
"Stone, you’re good at everything except being ruthless. You lack nerve. Sometimes you need to be cold. Dominant. At least make it so people can’t push you around; so they’re afraid to push you around."
DragonBlade, who knew him better than anyone and had more years and experience on all of them, laid the old flaws out plainly. Every word carried weight. If Marcus had simply ignored Snow’s father’s threats back then, done a few dirty things, been more aggressive, the old man wouldn’t have had it so easy. He wouldn’t have been so smug, and Marcus wouldn’t be stuck in this passive trap now.
"So what now, Stone?" Drunkard cut in once Cleaver and DragonBlade had finished. That was why they had picked this fight in the first place.
"Stone, this isn’t over. Drunkard and I have been digging. We’ve got some information on Snow’s father. What do you want to do about it?" Invincible Strong spoke up proudly.
Invincible Strong and Drunkard had only met Snow a handful of times. They didn’t really know her. So when it came to her father looking down on Marcus and threatening him, they weren’t thinking about her feelings at all. They wanted action. They couldn’t swallow the insult. They wanted the old man to regret ever opening his mouth.
"Stone, I agree you handled it badly. I’m with Drunkard and Invincible Strong. You have to do something," Fate’s Trial said firmly, stepping forward. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it mattered.
"Stone, when something needs to be done, don’t hesitate," Gloomy Arrow added with quiet sincerity. Of all the brothers, he and Marcus had the least family power behind them; they understood each other on a deeper level because of it.
"Yeah," Marcus said, voice thick with emotion. "This isn’t ending like this. I’m going to handle it."
His problems were their problems. Their support hit him harder than any boss skill ever could.
"Stone, what are you waiting for? You don’t still have feelings for Serena, do you? Even if you don’t, this can’t end like this," Drunkard and Invincible Strong pressed, growing agitated. His answer sounded too vague to them, like he was brushing them off.
Marcus suddenly noticed how much sharper and more imposing both Drunkard and Invincible Strong looked now. Their usual joking energy had vanished, replaced by something dangerous and undeniable. You couldn’t ignore them. Fate’s Trial carried the same quiet intensity. Rich kids from powerful families; when they got serious, their presence changed completely. You’d never guess they had ever played the role of his underlings.
Something about that intensity triggered Marcus. The Human Rock technique inside him surged, swelling through every vein, filling him with a heavy, unshakable power. His whole bearing shifted. A version of himself they had never seen before suddenly stood in front of the domineering, rock-solid, sharp and heavy all at once. Impossible to overlook. Impossible to stare down.
"I’m going to do it. Soon. I’m going to make Snow’s father regret everything. But I will not make Snow suffer. I won’t put her in a difficult position."
He said it with absolute certainty. He had already broken her heart once. He refused to do it again. He wanted her happy with him, and he was going to make that happen.
"Yeah. Stone."
Drunkard and Invincible Strong nodded, the overwhelming presence and commanding aura leaving no room for doubt. They believed every word. They also understood exactly how important Snow was to him. No matter what, she couldn’t be wronged or hurt.
Stone was Stone. He was not to be underestimated.
Drunkard and Invincible Strong suddenly realized that this fierce, unyielding dominance was impossible to resist. You couldn’t stand against it.
"Maybe we worried for nothing," they murmured to themselves.