Infinite Hoarder: Storage of the Void

Chapter 6: The Fallen Holy Swordsman

The golden flare in the trees was getting closer, moving at a speed that suggested the person was either very motivated or very desperate.

“Mayari, stay low,” Baskara said, squinting as his eyes flickered with blue data points. “Target is incoming at... let’s say thirty kilometers per hour. He’s losing blood, he’s losing stamina, and his left boot is dragging. It’s a mess.”

“He is a Temple swordsman,” Mayari noted, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. “I recognize the plate design. That is Kiet the Gale. Why would his own brothers-in-arms be hunting him?”

“Maybe he missed a shift? Or didn't turn in his paperwork?” Baskara shrugged, his fingers dancing in the air. “Whatever the reason, they’re going to run right over our dinner. And I just cleaned those plates.”

“You are worried about the ceramicware?” Mayari asked, looking at him with an expression of disbelief.

“I’m worried about everything. That’s my job,” Baskara replied. He stood up and took a step toward the middle of the narrow dirt path that led into the clearing. “Hey! Mr. Gale! I’d suggest you use your turn signal, because the road is officially closed!”

A man in battered, blood-stained silver armor burst through the brush. He was staggering, his chest heaving, holding a longsword that looked far too heavy for his trembling arms. He barely looked up as he neared Baskara.

“Move... boy...” the knight gasped, his voice like gravel in a blender. “Get away from here. If they catch you near me, you’re dead.”

“See, that’s the problem,” Baskara said, checking his inventory. “I’m already a dead man according to the Cathedral. Being extra dead seems inefficient. Also, you’re about to attract five elite knights to my campsite. My inventory doesn't include 'Professional Cleaner' yet.”

Kiet collapsed to one knee, the tip of his sword digging into the dirt to hold him upright. “I can't... I can’t go any further. Tell the girl to hide.”

“Don't tell me what to do, Swordsman,” Mayari said, stepping into the firelight.

“A Dark Elf?” Kiet’s eyes widened. “The stories were true? But... wait. Who are you people?”

“I’m the guy who’s about to save your life, which will make you a very expensive asset for me to maintain,” Baskara said. He turned his attention to the road. “Okay, tracking five targets. Arrival in ten seconds. Mayari, watch his flank. I’m going to use the 'Stockpile Overload' maneuver.”

“Are you going to shoot them?” Mayari asked.

“Shooting is expensive. Geometry is free,” Baskara grinned. He thrust his hand forward. “Bulk Release: Item Groups [Stones], [Heavy Timber], [Discarded Pews]. Target: Seven meters ahead. Release!”

With a sound like a small mountain collapsing, the forest road was suddenly blocked. A wall of basalt rocks, massive oak logs, and dozens of broken marble pews from the Grand Cathedral’s basement materialized in a chaotic, impenetrable heap that reached six feet high.

CRASH!

“What in the name of the Divine...” Kiet breathed, staring at the instant fortress.

“It’s not pretty, but it’s dense,” Baskara said, brushing dust off his hands. “Physics says they’re going to have to stop. And while they’re busy swearing at my furniture, we need to talk business.”

“Business?” Kiet coughed, a thin trail of blood running from his lip. “I’m dying, human. My mana is gone. My muscles have turned to lead. I’ve been running for three days.”

“I can see that. Your UI is basically a solid wall of red text,” Baskara muttered, leaning over the knight. “You’ve got a status effect called 'Abyssal Fatigue (Tier 4).' That’s pretty impressive. Most people pass out at Tier 2.”

“Status windows...” Kiet blinked. “You can see my stats? Only a High Seer can do that.”

“I’m not a seer. I’m a logistics hero. Your tiredness is just excessive weight that hasn't been properly allocated,” Baskara said. He reached out his hand. “Hold still. This is probably going to feel weird.”

“Wait, Baskara,” Mayari interrupted. “You said the limit is weight. Can you actually store a concept like tiredness?”

“Technically, fatigue is the accumulation of metabolic waste and stress-induced chemicals,” Baskara said, his eyes glowing blue. “In this world, everything that can be measured can be managed. If I can take the Rot out of you, I can take the 'Slow' out of him. System! Manual override. Isolate condition: [Physical Exhaustion] from Target: [Kiet]. Item mass estimate: zero point two kilograms of neuro-chemical data. Store!”

He pressed his palm against Kiet’s shoulder.

Kiet’s head snapped back. He let out a silent scream, his back arching as if an invisible wire was pulling him upward. A faint grey mist was sucked out of his skin, coiling into Baskara’s palm like wisps of cigarette smoke.

[Item Stored: Raw Fatigue (High Grade). Weight: 0.2kg. Duration: 12 Hours.]

Baskara winced, rubbing his own temples as a dull throb began at the base of his skull. “Ugh. That’s a nasty one. Storing that much weight in the mental processing unit is like running a background update while you’re trying to stream a movie.”

“What... what did you do?” Kiet asked. He stood up slowly. His hands weren't shaking anymore. He looked at his palms, flexing them. “The ache is gone. The fog in my head... it’s like I just woke up after twelve hours of sleep.”

“Better than coffee, right?” Baskara said, though he looked a bit paler. “But heads up, Kiet. You don't 'own' that rest. I’m just holding onto your tiredness for you. If I release it, it all comes back at once. You’re essentially operating on borrowed time.”

“I don't care about the cost,” Kiet said, drawing his sword with a clean, lethal ring. “I can fight. That is all that matters.”

“Good. Because your fan club is knocking,” Baskara pointed to the barricade.

On the other side of the wall of rocks and church pews, sounds of frustration echoed.

“Break through! Use the earth-shaper!” a voice boomed from the shadows.

A section of the basalt wall exploded as a concentrated spell of sonic force hit it. Through the dust, a man in heavy golden armor stepped into the light of the campfire. He looked at the scene—the Dark Elf, the suddenly-upright legendary knight, and the plain-clothed teenager with glowing blue icons hovering in the air.

The knight leader stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened, his gaze zeroing in on Baskara’s face.

“You...” the leader whispered, his voice full of disbelief.

“Me,” Baskara waved lazily. “Long time no see. Did you guys find my sandwich yet? I’m assuming that’s why you’re chasing Kiet. He clearly stole the last ham and cheese.”

“The logistics hero...” the leader growled, his hand tightening on his mace. “The discard. The one we threw into the forest to rot.”

“It didn't stick,” Baskara said. “Turns out, there’s plenty of storage space in the forest. And I’ve been busy cleaning up the junk you guys keep throwing away. Assets, people, magic spells... you’re very wasteful with your resources.”

“This isn't possible,” the knight leader said, ignoring Kiet entirely now. “You were assigned a storage box skill. A utility tier failure. How are you standing here with Mayari of the border guard?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Baskara sighed. “Sometimes, to properly organize a kingdom, you have to look at the trash first. And right now, Sir Gold-Armor, I’m looking at five very low-efficiency units that are currently infringing on my campsite’s noise-cancellation zone.”

Kiet stepped beside Baskara, his sword leveled at the leader’s throat. “I don't know how you did it, Hero. But I feel like I could kill a dragon right now.”

“Save some of that for the walk back,” Baskara said. “I’ve got five units of fatigue in storage, and my processor is at eighty percent capacity. If we’re going to do this, let’s make it quick. I still want to get through that tart for dessert.”

“You are insane,” Kiet laughed, a wild, sharp sound. “I like you. You make no sense at all.”

“That’s what they always say,” Baskara muttered, checking his status. “Right before I show them the bill.”