The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 146

Chapter 146: 146 | Collateral Damage is a Scumbag Expense

I dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, slipped into the hallway, and moved past Sloane’s door on feet that made zero noise against the hardwood. Eighty Agility and eighty Dexterity turned my normal footsteps into something that sounded like nothing at all. Past Diane’s office where a thin bar of light still showed under the door. Down the stairs. Through the living room. Into the gym.

The gym at night felt different from the gym during training hours. No morning light through the high windows. No Sloane circling me with that predator’s grin. Just the heavy bag hanging from its chain, the training mats covering the floor, the rack of free weights against the far wall, and enough room to swing a weapon without hitting a ceiling.

I closed the door behind me. Flipped on the overhead lights and turned the dimmer down to forty percent. Enough to see by. Not enough to draw attention from anyone who happened to glance at the house from the street.

I extended Joyful Cloud.

One flick of my wrist and the compact rod separated into three sections with a sound like a zipper being pulled through silk. The chains caught and held. What had been a baton became a six-foot sansetsukon that moved like it was breathing in my hands. The sections orbited each other in a figure-eight pattern that I recognized from the installed knowledge as a basic warm-up form. My wrists guided the motion without conscious input. The chains whispered against each other. The ivory segments carved clean arcs through the gym air with edges that seemed to blur when they moved too fast.

The weapon sang. That was the only word for it.

I ran through three forms without stopping. Basic strikes. Lateral sweeps. Overhead arcs that transitioned into low passes that transitioned into thrusting jabs with the lead section extending like a spear before retracting back into the orbit. Every motion connected to the next one. The chains allowed for angles that a solid staff would never permit. I could strike from behind my own back without telegraphing the direction. I could redirect mid-swing if the target moved. I could collapse one section and use the remaining two as a shorter weapon before extending again without losing momentum.

Strength Resonance. That was the core property. The staff amplified whatever raw force I fed it. At fifty Strength I could put a dent in metal. At eighty I could probably do worse.

But I hadn’t actually tested it yet. I’d been too busy making sure I didn’t break something expensive while learning the forms.

Time to fix that.

I faced the heavy bag. Adjusted my stance. Drew the lead section back and let it hang behind my right shoulder with the chain pulling taut against my forearm. The weight settled. My grip tightened. I pulled ninety-six Strength from my baseline through my shoulder and down into the staff like pushing water through a hose.

The ivory segment started to glow. Faint amber light along the edges that pulsed in time with my pulse.

That was new. That hadn’t happened during the warm-up.

I committed anyway.

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