Tunde ignored the explosions booming from the direction of the palace, his focus locked on the three initiates closing in on him. They attacked in unison, their movements synchronized, but he trusted Elyria, who was locked in battle above him with two disciples, the clash of their weapons ringing out in bursts of raw speed.
Perhaps it was his heightened perception, but the three bandits using the same Ethra type made them predictable. He dodged the sand spikes they sent his way, exploiting their mistake when they foolishly imbued their weapons with Ethra, leaving themselves vulnerable.
This wasn’t a true battle, he realized, not in any meaningful sense. Even the fiercer, more brutal exchanges between Elyria and the disciples resembled rankers clashing with sheer strength and a touch of flashy Ethra. His Ethra-enhanced vision caught every detail, and he had already claimed a curved blade from a fallen initiate, one of the many victims of Thorne's sudden and brutal assault. Deflecting a strike with ease, Tunde twisted away from the incoming blade, retaliating with lightning speed. His strike found its mark at the shoulder and throat of the initiate, who collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Rolling forward, Tunde moved swiftly through the settlement as sand-based attacks erupted around him—blades, spears, and more whizzing past, some even grazing his skin and drawing a hiss of pain. He dived into a nearby building, activating his Ethra sight to see a group of over ten initiates converging on his position.
Taking a deep breath to steady his cultivation, he surged more Ethra through his body, bracing for the impending fight. As soon as he saw them begin manipulating the sands around them, he burst out of the building, hurling his blade like a spear. It found its target, embedding itself in the throat of an initiate, whose eyes widened in shock.
Rolling to avoid a sand spear that slammed into the spot where he had stood, Tunde grabbed a ranker, snapping his neck with brutal efficiency before using the lifeless body as a shield. Sand blades and spears stabbed into the corpse as Tunde leaped away, diving into a narrow valley between two sand houses.
His feet pounded the ground as his breathing grew harsher, his concentration narrowing to a razor’s edge. He sprinted up the side of a building, propelling himself onto the roof with a powerful push. With a moment's respite, he scanned the area, his gaze locking onto the palace where Ethra raged with terrifying intensity. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision from the overwhelming power he witnessed.
The sight of the potent yellow Ethra made him shudder; its sheer intensity caused him physical pain to look at. Not even staring at Thorne’s Ethra had that effect. This meant someone far more powerful was there. As he turned to warn Elyria, who had just cleaved a disciple in two a few buildings away, his battle instincts screamed at him.
He threw himself backward as a massive sand fist obliterated the roof where he had stood. A disciple, by the looks of him, had appeared, causing Tunde’s eyes to widen. He jumped off the roof, rolling to the ground below. The height didn’t faze him; he felt no shock from the fall as he bolted towards Elyria’s position.
Fighting a disciple was out of the question, despite his previous encounters with them. He wasn’t ready to push his luck, not against one who could form a projection that solid. Another sand fist exploded near him, showering him with debris as he coughed through the dust. He sensed the ranker about to drop down on him and quickly grabbed two metal rods lying nearby.
Feigning weakness, he swayed as if exhausted, the bandit raising his blade and imbuing it with Ethra. The moment the ranker landed, Tunde rolled away, hurling one rod like a spear. It pierced the man’s shoulder, drawing a scream of pain, and before the disciple could react, the second rod impaled his skull.
Tunde stumbled backward, his breathing ragged, eyes wide with the adrenaline still coursing through him. Someone dropped down beside him, and he scrambled to the side.
“Easy! It’s me,” Elyria’s voice called out, bringing him to a halt.
He turned to see her gripping a handful of void rings, which she casually tossed into a pouch she had picked up somewhere. She glanced at the disciple's body.
“Wow, that’s a rough way to go,” she remarked with a wince.
Tunde glanced at the impaled corpse, holding back the urge to retch.
“But you brought down a disciple again. They really need to stop underestimating you,” she added, forcibly removing a void ring from the disciple’s finger. She tossed him a pouch with the ring inside.
“Might as well start looting the spoils. I’ll scout ahead,” she said.
“Thorne?” he asked.
“You don’t want to get involved in a battle of adepts, believe me,” she replied. “Something tells me he’s doing just fine.”
“No, I saw something stronger—stronger Ethra. Something more than an adept within that palace,” he said quickly.
Elyria froze. “Describe it,” she demanded, her tone suddenly serious.
“I can’t, it’s bright, powerful, and dense—almost liquid. A sand Ethra user, I’m sure of it.”
“Probably a lord,” she whispered, her voice tense. With a flick of her finger, a metal blade shot behind her, striking a hidden foe. A wet thud followed, and a severed head rolled into view.
“Always be aware of your surroundings,” she warned.
**************************
Thorne was locked in a relentless battle with two adepts, a vicious cycle of imbuement and projection, with Thorne at a disadvantage due to the sand-filled environment. The adepts were empowered by the very element around them, their bodies hardening as their Ethras surged. Thorne was forced to channel more and more undeath Ethra into his weapon, dodging and parrying their coordinated attacks. With a sharp, calculated swing, he slipped under the guard of the first adept, accepting a stab to his stomach without hesitation. The muffled pain was nothing to him—one of the cursed benefits of being a revenant was a low threshold for weapon-induced agony. Fire, though, was another matter entirely.
Grabbing the adept’s neck, Thorne sensed the moment the man realized his mistake. Without mercy, Thorne used a technique he had stumbled upon by sheer luck, one he avoided due to the sheer disgust it invoked even in him. He didn’t know its name, but it was brutally effective. Activating it, he watched as the adept’s skin turned a sickly, putrid green.
With a swift yank, Thorne ripped away the flesh and skin from the man’s face, leaving behind a gruesome, blood-soaked horror. As the adept groaned in agony, Thorne stepped back, narrowly avoiding a barrage of sand-projected spears that shattered the structures behind him.
He could end this whenever he chose; he knew that. The rankers of the wastelands—the dregs, not the true wandering rankers who were steeped in blood like these bandits—were a poor excuse for fighters. Thorne was a Herald, and their disciples used adepts like these for training. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the sadistic urges that had been festering within him ever since he was infected with this Ethra affinity. Some might call it a blessing; a few even sought out the revenant cult to obtain it. But Thorne could feel it corroding something deep within him, driving him to the brink of madness.
The last adept was fighting a losing battle, retreating as Thorne pressed his advantage. Thorne could see it, and he approved—it would lead him straight to his target.
That was when the ground beneath them began to quake, and the adept smiled before bursting into a cackle.
“Lord Khusen has finally advanced! You will di—” the adept’s words were cut off as a bone blade pierced through his skull, choking him on his own blood.
Thorne watched as the building around him began to crumble, the ground erupting with power. A pressure he knew all too well settled across the landscape. He shot backward, retreating from the collapsing structure. This was not a foe he could engage carelessly—this was a lord.
****************************
The aura hit Tunde like a physical blow, driving him to his knees in an instant. His vision swam, and he blinked rapidly, struggling to make sense of the overwhelming pressure. He glanced at Elyria, shocked to see her on her knees as well, though she resisted better than he did. The blades that usually floated behind her lay scattered on the ground in a tangled heap. The Ethra surrounding them turned completely yellow, growing brighter by the second, forcing Tunde to squeeze his eyes shut.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Cycle your Ethra,” she whispered with great effort.
Tunde couldn’t manage a nod, but he obeyed, forcing his Ethra through his body even as he was pressed flat against the ground. A flash of familiar Ethra nearby drew his attention to Thorne, who was also close by. Elyria forced her head up, her voice strained.
“At least the bastard’s alive,” she whispered.
The pressure eased slightly, thanks to Thorne, and the pounding in Tunde’s skull began to subside. He managed to push himself onto his knees, raising his eyes to the sky. There, a shining figure wreathed in golden Ethra floated above them. Tunde felt like an ant before this power—a single gesture from the ranker, and he would be nothing but a smear on the ground. He knew it; he could see it. That man was a living embodiment of power.
As Thorne, cloaked in red and green Ethra energies, stood on a column of sand, Tunde realized just how vast the difference in power was. While the lord's Ethra was wild and abundant, Thorne’s was more condensed and lethal. Was it a matter of rank?
Elyria tapped his shoulder urgently, gesturing for him to retreat. Tunde mouthed Thorne’s name, but Elyria’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Are you mad? Just because he wants to throw his life away doesn’t mean we should too,” she whispered furiously.
Tunde glanced back at the figures above, who were speaking in low tones, clearly preparing to clash. He took a deep breath, shaking his head.
“No, we stay and loot,” he said.
Elyria tilted her head, skeptical.
“You said it yourself, we must take risks to advance,” he added.
“Against rankers of our stage? Yes. Against lords? No—that’s just asking to die,” she corrected.
Tunde sighed, understanding her caution. He doubted his battle instincts would warn him of whatever attack the lord might send their way before he was nothing but paste on the ground. The only reason they were still alive was that they were hidden. The moment they moved and the lord noticed, they were as good as gone. Activating his Ethra sight again, he bit back a groan at the blinding sand Ethra filling his vision. He searched for a way around the area, his eyes landing on a glowing spot beneath the palace’s rubble.
He turned to Elyria, explaining what he saw.
“It could be anything—from rankers to traps,” she whispered back.
The detonation of attacks shook the ground as Thorne clashed with the lord above, the explosion reverberating around them. Elyria grabbed him, shouting over the noise.
“Lead the way!”
Tunde forced his eyes open as Elyria deftly dodged flying debris and even bodies. He pointed toward the ruins of the palace, where Thorne and the lord were locked in combat. The lord flew through the air, while Thorne seemed to leap from building to building, those miraculously still standing. But Tunde knew Thorne’s luck would run out eventually. Reaching the ruins, Tunde hastily grabbed a slab of broken rock, cycling his Ethra through his body before shoving it aside as Elyria joined him.
They found the bodies of three adepts, broken beyond recognition, but their void rings remained intact on their fingers. Tunde quickly snatched them away, tossing them into the sack he carried. Elyria grabbed him and jumped straight down through a hole into a dark cavern below. His Ethra sight painted a picture of their surroundings as they landed roughly on a smooth surface. Panting, they both got up slowly.
“Well?” Elyria asked.
He pointed towards the left.
“That way,” Tunde said, his voice steady despite the darkness pressing in around them.
“If we can even make our way through this darkness,” Elyria muttered.
“My Ethra sight allows me to see clearly,” Tunde responded, taking her hand to guide her toward a faint pinprick of light.
“You truly are a seeker. It’s what your people were known for, if I remember correctly, right?” she asked, her voice softening with curiosity.
Tunde nodded, leading her forward. “Perhaps my Ethra enhances this ability,” he said thoughtfully.
“It’s leaning more towards light Ethra, but why you can see in the dark or detect the Ethra of rankers is beyond me,” she replied, her tone tinged with intrigue.
Tunde nodded again. “Is there any way for me to know for certain?”
“In my homeland, we have devices to test for the affinity of Ethra users. If we survive this and reach a city, we might find something similar,” Elyria answered.
Tunde was about to reply when they stepped into a room so saturated with Ethra that he had to shut his Ethra sight to avoid being blinded. The aura in the room was overflowing with vitality, and he felt his manacle hum to life—a sensation he hadn’t felt in some time. He turned to Elyria, who was staring at him with wide eyes.
“You’re like a walking treasure detector,” she whispered, awestruck.
Around them were hundreds of essence fruits, herbs, high-tier meat, a pile of lumen coins, and other valuable items. Elyria moved quickly, her hands outstretched as she began to touch everything, her void ring swallowing up the treasures.
“How much space is in your ring?” Tunde exclaimed as he watched her collect an entire pile of lumen coins in an instant.
“Enough for whatever we need,” she replied with a casual shrug.
Soon, the room was completely empty, devoid of both light and treasures, as Elyria stole the Ethra orb that had been illuminating the space. She handed it to Tunde, whose manacle immediately siphoned the energy, leaving behind a husk of an orb. He passed it back to her for safekeeping, and the two of them lumbered out of the room, Tunde’s Ethra sight activated once more. That was when they felt a new pressure crashing down on them, far greater than the lord of the sand bandits.
Elyria’s eyes widened as she was forced to her knees, while Tunde shivered under the immense weight. This was different from before; it wasn’t just a show of power. This was a finely honed blade pricking at his neck, and when he felt liquid trickling down his throat, he froze—it was blood. Elyria’s voice trembled as she spoke, terror evident in her tone.
“A blade Ethra lord,” she whispered, her features paling.
************************************
The moment Khusen shot into the sky like a ball of pure energy, Thorne knew he would have to go all out just to match him. Immediately, Thorne activated his domain, absorbing all the dead bodies around him, excluding those of the adepts—they had void rings he would need later. His heart pumped vile undeath Ethra as he grabbed two arm bones from a fallen disciple, imbuing them with his Ethra. Canceling his domain, Thorne watched as Khusen, the bandit prince, stared down at him.
The lord stage was where your Ethra path began to influence your body, and looking at the glowing prince surrounded by faintly shimmering sand, Thorne could see the raw power Khusen wielded.
“Perhaps I should have killed you when I had the chance, legion dog,” Khusen said softly, his voice carrying across the distance.
Thorne nodded. “Good, you remember me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I must thank you for the opportunity you presented to me. It’s not every day a high lord of the revenant cult seeks my help in finding viable rankers for their sick experiments,” Khusen replied, his voice dripping with mockery.
Thorne gripped his imbued blades tighter, pouring more strength into them.
“You should thank me as well—a bestowment and a secondary Ethra. Now your path forward is clear, but that gives you no reason to kill my sect members,” Khusen finished, his tone casual.
“The Heralds will come for you, or your corpse when I’m done,” Thorne growled, rage suffusing his mind. He needed answers, but all he could see was this bastard dead and decaying, his body rotting on the bare earth. He had to restrain the bloodlust boiling within him—a downside of the undeath path he had hoped to temper with his other affinity. But it was already taking hold.
A blade appeared from Khusen’s void ring.
“Perhaps I should charge the high lord for cleaning up his mess—and those of your insect accomplices, scampering around thinking I’m oblivious to their presence,” Khusen sneered.
Thorne struck without hesitation, unleashing domain, imbuement, and projection all at once, draining his Ethra heart as quickly as he replenished it. Khusen laughed, clashing with Thorne as the revenant felt the bandit prince’s aura settle on him, slamming him into the ground. Thorne was up and moving in an instant, dodging a hail of sand-forged weapons—fists, spears, blades—that tore through the air. The only reason he wasn’t shredded to pieces was his own domain, which weakened the attacks to a manageable level, a benefit of being a revenant.
All these thoughts echoed through his mind as he moved, hyper-aware of his surroundings. For the first time in weeks, he felt truly alive, dancing at the edge of death and refinement as every ranker should. He shot through the building like a blur, leaping from rooftop to rooftop before clashing with Khusen again. The lord was irritated, his movements lacking finesse. Thorne could tell he was new to his power, forced to drop his cultivation prematurely in his haste to reach the next stage.
It was obvious—Khusen followed no particular fighting technique. Like all disadvantaged rankers with a bloodline Ethra path, he had the misfortune of being born in the wastelands, which explained his powerful sand Ethra path. The revenant high lord must have been the source of his bestowment, granting him a blade Ethra path. Thorne’s suspicions about the lord stage had been correct.
To advance to lord, a ranker needed to fuse two Ethra affinities to create a core. While sand and blade Ethra were common choices, they were often wasted in becoming a lord. Dodging another strike by a hair’s breadth, Thorne swung his blades, infusing them with both his undeath Ethra and his other affinity—strength Ethra. The attack screamed through the air, crashing into Khusen, who grunted in surprise, his eyes widening as the blow landed with full force. Thorne smiled as Khusen glanced at his hand, horror spreading across his face as a green smudge began to grow.
“No, you filthy bastard!” Khusen roared, swinging his blade in fury. A hail of sand-infused blades tore through the landscape, and Thorne projected his domain outward to weather the attack.
The blades shredded him, ripping open his body as his undeath Ethra struggled to heal the damage, black Ethra blood pooling around him. Immobilized, Thorne stared up at Khusen, who raised his blade, imbuing it with so much Ethra that it glowed, coating the skies above with golden light. Thorne closed his eyes with a smile—perhaps it was better this way, dying weak, a disgrace to the cult. His family name would be preserved, untainted by an undeath Ethra user among them.
But before the technique could be unleashed, another lord’s aura descended with such force that it crushed the building Thorne was on, slamming him into the ground and holding him there. Khusen was swatted down like a fly, crashing into the earth nearby. Thorne could only watch in stunned silence as the bandit lord struggled to his feet, visibly shaken under the immense pressure.
Above them, something shimmered before revealing itself—a large vessel, all green and glowing with power. A green blade with a serpent wrapped around it was painted on their banner. From the ship descended over twenty rankers, including three adepts and a man with his hands folded behind his back, a sword floating at his side. He hovered in the air, clad in black and green robes, his lord’s aura exuding authority.
“Now *that’s* the aura of a true lord,” Thorne thought, a mixture of awe and dread washing over him.
“In the name of the Talahan Empire and the Verdan Clan, I hereby place all rankers under the sound of my voice not affiliated with the clan under arrest,” the man said softly, his voice echoing across the battlefield.
“Please, feel free to resist,” he added with a slight smile.