Essence Matters: Blasphemy Swamp Blunder
In essences, what truly matters is the content. Even among legendary-grade ones, their value tiers diverge based on that content alone.
The essences from the chests Amon had opened rated a measly 2/10 and 4/10, respectively. One was Adaptation, the other Recovery Acceleration. Adaptation gradually built resistance to techniques that struck him. Recovery Acceleration boosted the regen rate of all recoveries—everything except divine power.
Both had fatal flaws, though. Adaptation first required the targeted body part to actually take damage. Considering essences applied to clothing, that meant patching up his gear every time it triggered. And in modern society, the attacks you had to block were bullets. Expecting a slight resistance boost after tanking one? Insanity.
Recovery Acceleration had the same issue. It sped up healing for wounds, stamina, mana, mental fortitude—everything but divine power. Versatile, sure. But outclassed across the board. Stamina recovered faster via gene therapy or cyberware implants. Mental strain? Awakening agents handled that. And crucially, "recovery" here meant quicker clotting, not regrowing lost limbs. With true Regeneration as a superior alternative, there was zero reason to pick this.
Above all, both were clothing-bound essences. When you already had prime options like Heat Resistance, Electro Resistance, or Invisibility for gear, why bother?
But none of these issues applied to Amon. Without hesitation, he shattered the essences. Just like with Sky Step before, they didn't bind to his clothes—they absorbed straight into his flesh.
Sonia and Kashi, watching the spectacle, reacted in their own ways.
"I'd only heard rumors, but... is this how it works?"
"Ooh... then feed him this one too, and that one..."
As Sonia marveled and poked at Amon's chest, Kashi suddenly started rattling off a mental inventory.
Amon flashed a wry smile. He peeled Sonia off and reined in Kashi's rampage. Once the pair had calmed, he checked his status.
He nicked his hand with a knife. The wound clotted in one second, healed in three. His recovery was already superhuman thanks to divine power; now it bordered on inhuman.
Amon sliced his finger again with the same force. The blade didn't even nick it this time. He'd already adapted.
Nodding in satisfaction, Amon glanced up. Sonia piped up with a question.
"Adaptation makes sense, but why not go for Regeneration?"
"The best defense is a good offense."
As Sonia had implied, Regeneration would've mended wounds faster—but at the cost of stamina and mental boosts. For Amon, who refused all surgeries, those were non-negotiable. Dismemberment? Just don't get hit.
So he'd picked Recovery Acceleration for the tempo boost. Sonia nodded in understanding. Kashi raised her hand.
"Yes, Kashi?"
"You can absorb essences freely anyway, right? I know it's wasteful, but is there any reason not to?"
She tapped her executive nameplate, flaunting her wealth. In her head, every legendary essence from dungeons was already earmarked for Amon's belly.
Reading her thoughts, Amon chuckled wryly.
"It won't be that simple, I suspect."
"Why not?"
Amon tapped his temple.
"Essences tax your mental fortitude too."
Cyberware, gene mods, magic engravings—all augmentations burdened the mind. Overdo it, and you'd wind up a cyber schizo, flipping out overnight. Essences were no exception.
Amon had mental headroom since he skipped other mods, but he wanted to save it for his endgame build. If there was spare capacity after that, fine—but for now, conserve. Especially since absorbed essences, unlike removable clothes, had no known reversal method.
"Let's hold off on Regeneration for now."
"Such a shame."
Kashi deleted her essence list.
"I figured with your mental stats, you could handle a hundred easy."
"...Where'd you get that idea?"
"Faith?"
Sonia nodded along from the side. Amon just tilted his head at their reactions.
The next day, Amon and Sonia headed for the dungeon: Blasphemy Swamp.
A self-contained ecosystem of venomous flora and fauna had turned the whole place into a poison jar. Every creature there got equally tainted and cursed—hence the name. But despite the ominous vibe, it ranked low-tier among dungeons.
Why? It had been thoroughly conquered. Ancient as it was, every toxin had been analyzed over the years. New mutations popped up occasionally, but poisons worked predictably. Mix the right antidotes and meds, and you were golden. Prep your entry point and stock up—it was a casual stroll.
Seminary interns gathered at the entrance, grouped neatly. Their supervisor, the Squinty Priest, stepped forward.
"Artiel. Mingming. Christie..."
Quick roll call, then he distributed antidotes and assigned safety escorts and graders per group. Amon made the rounds to his four charges.
"I'll be in charge of your safety from here on. Nice to meet you."
Amon spoke through his balaclava and shades.
He'd worn them for Sonia and Kashi's sake.
—"Wear 'em. Mandatory."
Kashi had whispered to Sonia, who thrust the gear at him with a fierce glare. Amon read the jealousy underneath and could only smile wryly.
He was self-aware about his looks. One glance in the mirror sparked faith; Sonia's mindset was crystal clear. Plus, Amon hated seeing her in skimpy outfits in public. His own jealousy ran just as deep, so he complied without fuss.
Result: A suspicious dude in a skull balaclava topped with shades. (He'd tried a plain brown sweater mask at first, but took backshots from the girls and upgraded.)
As Amon introduced himself, the students scanned his gear and build.
Back when he'd hit Johnson's merc office, he'd scanned as "retired ninja." Now?
'Active security chief material???'
Scan failed across the board. Shoes, pants, coat, gloves—military-grade top-shelf, every piece. Only black ops or megacorp security execs pulled that off. Even they had partial scans; full blackout pegged Amon at chief level.
The students who'd dismissed him as some scrub sat up straight. Respect came from strength, after all. Their internal label shifted from "hey" to "sir."
Jealousy or fear? Those needed some friction to spark. Theirs was pure awe. And proportional relief. That guy's guarding us? Even scavengers or gangs inside? Safe.
Shiny-eyed stares locked on Amon. He turned away, burdened, and met Sonia's gaze. Her faint smile drew his habitual finger-heart. She beamed back.
The students gasped—not at the couple reveal (Sonia had prepped them). His caliber impressed, sure, but this was different.
Sonia's grin.
—"The Gunpowder Saint smiled!"
—"They really are dating!?"
—"Whoa..."
Sonia reserved full beams for private moments. Her classmates, used to her smirks, reeled from the genuine article. Her groupmates shrieked.
—"You sly fox bitch! Do that all the time!"
—"I'm hurt. It's just business, huh?"
—"Lucky you. Dating a stud like that. World's unfair."
—"Ask if he has any hot guy friends around?"
Poking her ribs playfully. Amon recognized them as Sonia's "friends" from home stories.
'Solid friend group.'
No imaginary pals—he'd worried for nothing. Real ones. Amon smiled warmly at them. Sonia bantered back, no performance—just true camaraderie.
'You've made great connections too.'
Amon beamed like it was his win.
Introductions done, Amon's groups entered. He trailed with a single sword sheathed, tension high for instant response.
But it proved needless. The students dominated. Mid-to-high tier by merc standards.
'Future paladins, after all.'
Mercs were bottom-barrel chaff. Comparing elites—even student ones—was unfair. Plus, per Sonia, detox was divine magic 101. In a divine power-packed class, this dungeon was a joke.
Amon's oversight gig turned spectator sport.
'Do they even need me?'
Tension eased—not complacency, rational call. Burning out before real trouble beat pointless strain.
But soon, he regretted it.
Hours later.
"Fuck..."
Amon stood amid the devastated dungeon core, muttering blankly.
No scavengers. No plot twist. Kids safe, unscathed. Just... Amon's massive fuckup.
"Ah, shit..."
Correction: massive.
Stone-faced, he could only dry-wash his face repeatedly. No one to blame doubled the frustration.
'Who could've seen this coming...'
It started innocently. Curiosity.
—"Sir, ever tried divine magic?"
A beginner spell anyone could cast. Even thick-skulled Amon.
He rubbed his eyes, recalling.
—"It's the Confession of Faith line—purification and destruction scaling with devotion?"
At the heart of what was Blasphemy Swamp—now some other concept entirely—Amon pressed his eyelids.
He was truly wronged.