Upon reaching the training hall, Tunde was greeted by the sight of hundreds of initiates, each absorbed in their respective tasks. Some were practicing their own modified steps, while others were training with weapons. Tunde realized this was because many of them hoped to become so proficient with a weapon that, once they reached the disciple rank, they could perfectly assimilate one of the numerous weapon Ethra affinity crystals that the clan sold to its disciples during the Decennial Convergence.
The Convergence was an event that occurred every ten years all over the planet—a literal downpour of Ethra affinity crystals of whatever element or affinity was most prevalent in those continents. The most common crystals were those with affinities for blades, spears, or other weapons.
However, true gems were found amidst those downpours as well, an event that claimed the lives of many rankers during the mad scramble by empires and individual clans to obtain as much as they could. It struck Tunde as odd how the next Convergence was just a year away, which meant, luckily for him, he could begin his preparations for his next affinity.
Tunde had no idea where to begin choosing what he wanted, but he knew he could ask around. He had people he could consult now: Elyria, as soon as he managed to get in touch with her, with the best way being to advance to disciple rank; Elder Joran, no doubt, the scheming elder had some plan or another; maybe even Lady Ryka, she had to have some sort of idea. His final option was one that gave him cause for concern—Thorne, the adept revenant locked up wherever the clan had placed him. But again, he wondered if the adept was really the best choice, considering he was something totally unacceptable to the rankers of this part of the world.
He removed the thought from his mind, going up the steps to the training hall in silence as he felt his heart and breathing technique continue their synchrony. The cuff gave no jolts for a long time, his subconscious already acclimated to the breathing technique. His arms moved slowly as he gradually ramped up the speed at which Ethra flowed through his body, only aware of the adept ranker at his side the moment he missed a step.
He bowed immediately, sweat matting his body as Elder Joran sat on a stool right in front of him, the other initiates in the hall already bowing low, long before Tunde even realized it.
“You may continue with your activities,” the elder said to the initiates, who shot off towards their tasks.
Tunde raised his head, seeing the smiling face of Elder Joran.
“I greet the great elder,” he said.
“Elder Ming tells me you’ve really immersed yourself in the histories of Adamath and Bloodfire,” Joran replied.
“As ordered, great elder,” Tunde responded, not sure how the elder had received that information so quickly.
“And no doubt, you must have realized just how big the pond you’re swimming in currently is?” Joran asked again.
Tunde nodded wordlessly as the elder stood up.
“Come with me. You’ve done well with the breathing technique, it seems,” the elder said.
“It got easier as time went on,” Tunde replied, matching the elder’s steps.
“As does everything, my student,” Elder Joran replied.
As they made their way out of the hall, Elder Joran turned to him. “Keep up,” he simply said and shot off into the distance.
Tunde pushed himself, Ethra flowing through his limbs as he attempted to match the speed of the elder, who somehow seemed to be stepping on air as he shot farther and farther past every sign of buildings. A few minutes later, Tunde was straining to keep up, aware that his old self back in the wastelands wouldn’t have been able to maintain this sort of pace. In fact, he was sure it wasn’t something an initiate should have been able to do.
His breathing technique ensured he didn’t tire out, keeping his sight on the dot that was the elder in the distance as he pushed his already strained Ethra to the limit. They passed through the limits of the residential areas, moving towards a large forest that sat just outside the vast walls of Jade Peak itself.
Drawing closer to a forest apparently guarded by a team of disciples, they knelt as Elder Joran shot past, eyeing Tunde as he landed on the dusty but paved ground in front of them before entering the forest. As they left their defensive building, which was made of hardened rock and some sort of adhesive, Tunde could have sworn they gave him various pitying looks.
They recognized him, that much was certain, which meant that whatever the forest was, initiates shouldn’t ideally be there. But he was number 15 on the rankings, after all. He glanced up at the giant trees, which seemed to blot out the sunlight, giving the forest a warm, shaded look. His danger sense began to tingle rapidly as he skidded to a stop, taking a stance and opening his Ethra Sight to the forest. The overbearing life and forest-green Ethra seemed to press down on him, but even with that, he could make out the large shapes moving toward him.
They were creatures of the forest, and judging by the milky-brown Ethra flowing through them, he guessed they were peak initiate or early-ranked creatures. He looked up, seeing Elder Joran floating above him, high within the large branches of the forest.
“How did it feel, defeating three high-rankers, hmm?” the elder asked.
Tunde glanced down, shutting his Ethra Sight as he saw them, two in number, finally creeping into his surroundings. They were brown-coated felines with gleaming yellow eyes and long claws, growling silently.
“Pleasing, Elder Joran,” Tunde replied as he watched them surround him, calmly looking at them.
“Good, good. Now, I must apologize for their sudden ambush, the rankers I mean, not the claw stalkers. Those are a staple around these parts of the forest,” the elder said.
“I believe the great elder must not have been aware of their attempt. No one would go against your orders,” Tunde replied, wary as the claw stalkers growled.
“I’ll admit, I was caught off guard. It seems more than a few families in the clan are against my wishes to train some wastelander; they consider it a waste of time. Do you?” the elder asked.
The first of the claw stalkers sprang at Tunde, its deadly curved claws raised and its mouth full of flesh-tearing canines angled to bite down on his throat. Tunde rolled to the side, his fist smashing into the creature's side. He held his surprise in check as the creature seemed to flow with his punch, negating the attack as its entire body offered no resistance to the blow. His senses made him vault again as the other stalker attempted to pin him to the ground.
“No, Elder Joran,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the creatures.
“I believe so too. After all, I made a bet to get you to disciple in a month’s time,” Joran said.
Tunde almost fell into the snapping jaws of the creatures upon hearing that news. He brought his manacles up, purposely destabilizing his breathing, allowing the cuffs to send a jolt of power through his body. The stalker that had clamped its fetid-smelling mouth on his manacles yelped as it scrambled away in pain.
“Do be careful. Regular attacks don’t work on them; projection allows those attacks to connect, and you don’t have the ability to use it,” the elder warned lightly.
It took all of Tunde’s will not to turn to the elder in shock. Disciple in a month? Was that even possible? Or safe for that matter? He took his stance again, watching as the creatures circled him warily, cautious of what they felt had been his attack. He moved first this time, allowing his Ethra to flow through him again with his breathing stance as he pushed off first, the stalkers matching his move as they sprang for him as well.
He rolled underneath them, the creatures shifting out of the way with feline grace as he attempted to strike them from below, before rolling and getting to his feet.
“I’m sure you have doubts over whether it’s possible, advancement to disciple, don’t you?” the elder asked from high up where he was watching.
Tunde knew he could kill the creatures before they even knew he was there. It made him wonder what this whole situation was leading towards.
“I do not know more than the venerable elder,” Tunde replied as Joran chuckled.
“Wise words,” the elder replied.
“Grab that broken branch at your side, cycle your Ethra normally, and when it gets to your fingers, push it out slowly,” Elder Joran ordered.
The branch was in his hand in a flash as he cycled, pushing the Ethra through his fingers. It poured out in a rush, destabilizing him as the stick glowed. The creatures attacked him again, springing for him as they snarled. Tunde swung the stick with all his strength, his eyesight wobbling from the amount of Ethra he had infused in one go. The stick connected with the creatures and passed cleanly through both of them as he swerved to the side, allowing him to slam into both of them at once.
The claw stalkers fell in two pieces, Tunde panting as he dropped to his knees, his hands and entire body spasming severely.
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“Breathe, control your cycling, and swallow a healing pill,” Elder Joran commanded as he appeared beside him.
Tunde swallowed a pill, feeling his muscles and nerves, which were on fire, begin to cool down and relax as he sat on the ground, breathing heavily. He saw the elder staring at the blood-splattered bodies of the stalkers, a furrowed look of confusion on his face. Tunde turned his gaze to the bodies as well, unsure of what confused the elder.
“Tunde, where’s the stick you used?” he asked.
Tunde paused, glancing around as he searched for it futilely. “It must have exploded when it made contact or something,” Tunde replied.
“That would mean you somehow have a combustion or explosion concept which, my very dumb student, you don’t,” the elder said.
Tunde blinked, getting to his feet with a wince as his muscles strained from use. He walked closer to the bodies. “It should be somewhere around here,” he said softly.
“And yet, it isn’t,” the elder replied. “Also, the stalkers are missing chunks of their bodies, entire chunks cleanly torn away, mid-belly, if I’m not mistaken?” the elder said.
Tunde finally saw it—the missing mid-section of the creatures, not sliced in two or shredded, simply gone along with all their insides. Blood poured from their still-pumping bodies as they slowly died, the lower halves of the creatures twitching.
“And their beast cores as well. Those parts don’t just disappear,” Elder Joran said as he crouched to the ground, placing two fingers on the blood-soaked earth.
Tunde moved around a little, seeing no splatters or signs of flesh flying anywhere. The elder got up, wiping his hands on the skin of the creatures before folding his arms behind his back.
“Well, that was quite the revelation, wasn’t it?” he said.
Tunde merely stared helplessly, no answers forthcoming as the elder sighed, seemingly staring at him from beneath his cloth-covered eyes.
“Asking you to repeat the process would simply be too much strain on your body. You shouldn’t even be able to actually project your Ethra with that branch; it’s a testament to your body tempering process,” the elder said.
Tunde simply bowed at the waist wordlessly as the elder waved his hand irritably. “Bah, none of that,” he said. “What we need to know is what body tempering process exactly you used and how we can replicate it with a higher dosage for your eventual advancements going forward,” the elder continued.
“Forgive me, Elder Joran,” Tunde started. “But I wasn’t aware of whatever Disciple Elyria and, ah, Adept Thorne used in the process clearly enough, although I do remember Adept Thorne saying something about a large bone Disciple Elyria used during the process,” he finished.
“Bone, eh?” Elder Joran said, rubbing his neatly trimmed beard. “Alright then, come with me. We’re close to where I want to show you,” the elder said as he took one short hop that shot him to one of the large branches above them, moving leisurely.
Tunde jogged lightly, aware of the dulling pain within his limbs, especially his arms, as he pushed onwards, his mind on his imbuement technique. He hadn’t felt anything the moment the stick connected other than a slight vibration, nothing significant. Merely attributing it to the force of contact with the claw stalkers, he now wondered as he stared at his hands, his scabbed palms looking no different than they did a few minutes ago.
He focused as they went deeper and deeper into the forest silently, passing what looked like a pile of rocks that Elder Joran said was a footnote left behind by the clan to guide rankers that ventured into the forest.
“This forest leads all the way to the boundaries between the clan and the mountain sects,” Elder Joran said. “Usually, only peak disciples or adepts would venture this deep into the forest, seeing as it’s filled with rifts and Tier One to Four creatures that call it home,” the elder continued.
Tunde almost paused at that—almost—but the elder somehow noticed all the same from high up where he was. “And you wonder why I brought you here,” the elder said.
“I could only guess at the plans of the elder,” Tunde replied.
Elder Joran chuckled loudly, shaking his head as he landed next to Tunde.
“The reasons why initiates don’t just go straight to disciple are varied, but the single most obvious reason is due to impurities that slowly begin to taint the Ethra lines and heart of the ranker,” the elder explained.
“Impurities?” Tunde asked.
The elder nodded. “Most resources have impurities that start to reside within the Ethra lines and heart of the rankers. The better the resources, the higher the impurities, ensuring that subsequent resources don’t give the ranker all of its nourishment, until eventually, the ranker needs to get a purifying elixir to clear the lines,” the elder explained.
“These elixirs are expensive, more than what most initiates can afford. This means they have to work extra hard by going into dangerous rifts, mostly higher than their tiers, in order to get more valuable items or cores to sell and save up for a purification elixir. Most die within those rifts, by the way,” the elder said.
“These elixirs, how expensive are they?” Tunde asked warily.
The elder shrugged as he flicked his fingers, and the foliage in front of them was blown away, opening a path through the steadily thickening forest grounds, which had changed from dry-baked earth to grassy underfoot. “They have grades as well; the weakest of the elixirs sell for at least five thousand lumens per bottle, and an initiate would need at least two to fully clear their lines and heart in preparation for advancement,” the elder said.
Tunde stared wide-eyed at the price, mentally realizing it would wipe out all his funds at once. “That’s quite a lot,” Tunde said.
“Indeed, but luckily for you, you won’t need it, seeing as that band on your hand allows you to refine Ethra,” the elder said.
Tunde blinked at him and then looked down at the band, realization dawning on his face as he saw the smile on Joran’s face. “You forgot, didn’t you?” the elder asked.
Tunde nodded sheepishly.
“That—the biggest block on your path to disciple rank—has been cleanly removed by the heavens,” the elder said. “The rest, though, will depend on how fast you can absorb Ethra and how well you can keep processing it until your body is ready to advance,” the elder continued.
“But Elder Joran, pardon me, you expressly stated I should desist from using the band until at least the lord rank,” Tunde said.
“Desist from actively using it in battle, not from passively using its refinement process. Do you understand?” the elder said.
Tunde bowed, nodding. “Good. Now come, our camp for the next few weeks is just a few meters ahead,” the elder said.
“The next few weeks?” Tunde asked.
“Indeed. The city itself will provide nothing but distractions for you if you intend to reach the rank of disciple before the deadline—something that I assure you, we need to do for both our sakes,” Elder Joran said lightly.
Tunde fought internally, unsure if he should ask the terms of whatever bet the elder made.
“A Tier 4 rift, adept rank, in case you’re wondering, will be opening soon enough, deeper within these forests, close to its middle if my sources are accurate,” Joran said. “Its contents as well as resources would enable me to push to lord and you to adept rank, meaning it’s in both our favors to win the duel,” he continued.
“Pardon me, but who am I fighting?” Tunde asked warily
Elder Joran waved his hand as he spoke. “Oh, no one special, just probably the strongest disciple of Elder Moros’ faction,” he said as Tunde stared, speechless at the elder.
“A disciple?” he asked.
“Of course! You didn’t think they’d give the rights to an entire rift in a duel between initiates, did you?” Joran asked, chuckling.
Tunde moved on with the elder as they reached a clearing in the forest. Evidence of it being recently cleared stood out to him, and haphazardly at that. It looked like an earthquake and an explosion had happened simultaneously in the spot, creating a crater with what looked like a ring of earth raised to be some sort of barrier between the wider explosion and the protected spot within the ring. A wooden house sat in the middle, hastily put together, Tunde watching as a stream ran right in front of where the explosion stopped.
“Welcome to your home for the next three weeks,” Elder Joran said.
“My home?” Tunde asked, Elder Joran nodding enthusiastically.
“Right on the boundary of where the Tier 2 creatures reside, although they rarely come down this far into Tier One territory,” the elder said, as if trying to assure Tunde.
Tunde slid down the crater, passing the green large rocks that ringed what was to be his new home, making his way to the wooden house itself with its thatched roof made of smoothened flat wood and the same adhesive substance he had seen at the entrance of the forest where the disciples resided.
“Pardon me, Elder Joran, but what purpose will this serve?” he asked.
The elder wiped the smile off his face. “Over my long years as a ranker, I’ve come to realize that nothing pushes rankers like danger, and if regulated to a respectable amount, could prove wonders,” the elder said.
“You want to push yourself to the very breaking point? Then this is the way—actually fighting for your life, not dueling with rankers who simply want to incapacitate you,” Joran continued.
Tunde nodded, calmly looking around his surroundings.
“You will hunt your own food; you have a stream nearby for drinking and other things you might need to do. You will also have to defend your home from the creatures of the forest, meaning you’ll have to keep a keen eye and ear. It would be a shame for you to die after all my bragging now, wouldn’t it?” the elder asked with a chuckle.
“I will do my best not to let you down,” Tunde said, bowing firmly.
“See that you do. Your very advancement resides on this as well. Now come, let me demonstrate something to you,” the elder said.
A leap, and he was out of the crater, walking with the elder who led him to one of the trees surrounding the area.
“As you’ve seen, your body cannot handle anything more than a simple imbuement. While projection could and would leave you weak, it would be suicidal within this forest,” the elder started.
“Tiers One and Two creatures employ the use of swarming tactics, something you got a taste of the moment you entered the forest,” he continued.
Here’s the refined version of the last part of the chapter, with edits for clarity, grammar, and style, while preserving the original narrative:
“I actively held back the creatures with my domain, but I assure you, more than two stalkers were coming for you. As such, this is an endurance test as much as precision. You need to make every hit count and count well,” the elder added.
Placing his palm on the tree, the elder lightly tapped it, causing the tree to shudder. The large structure, with roots so thick that Tunde doubted he could rip them out of the ground, seemed solid enough that even a team of initiates would struggle to bring it down. And yet, the palm print of the elder was solidly carved into its surface as he removed his hand.
“I invented something, a cross between imbuement and projection,” the elder began. “What I made you do previously was a slight projection, something that wouldn’t be advisable to an ordinary initiate. That’s why they use weapons at that rank—to make up for their shortcomings,” he continued.
Tunde had seen the bandits of the wastelands use it and go powerless with just one use. He knew the risks that came with it, and his adverse effects were even worse, but it was not advisable all the same.
“Therefore, I created something I simply call ‘resonance,’” Elder Joran said.
Tunde wanted to point out that it sounded oddly like imbuement but kept his lips shut, nodding along.
“This is simply the process of imbuing my body to the point that it can withstand the effects of using projection on it. For example, holding an explosive in your hand while punching an enemy,” the elder continued. “This would normally lead to your hand exploding along with whatever part of the enemy you hit. But what happens when your body is strong enough to withstand the explosion and deals damage only to the enemy?” the elder asked.
“You become a walking bomb?” Tunde replied.
“Well, yes, I believe,” the elder said, nodding.
Opening his void ring, large sacks dropped at Tunde’s feet. Tunde used his sight and saw a myriad of rich colors emanating from the sacks.
“Those contain a variety of initiate and disciple grade essence fruits and Tier One and Two meats of creatures. They cost me quite a sum; put them to good use,” the elder said.
“Also, you might want to keep it quiet. They tend to draw the wrong crowd, if you get what I mean,” the elder said as a loud howl echoed through the forest.
Tunde grabbed them, throwing them into his void ring as he glanced up and noticed the elder was gone—so silently that he hadn’t felt a thing.