Elder Joran stepped through the large jade doors of the jade hall itself, hands folded behind him, his face bearing a soft smile. Waving to the disciple guards who were so far down the rankings that Tunde facing them would have been a complete waste of time, producing his medallion as he moved towards a corner rather than straight for the woman who sat at the crystal desk who bowed respectfully at him from the distance. The incident that had happened a mere day earlier, when the largest congregation of powers the clan had seen in a long time had gathered together in a spot still fresh in their minds.
All because of one wastelander.
Joran chuckled to himself as he waved the medallion across the wall, bright golden inscriptions in a circle revealing themselves as the wall broke in a fine line from the top down the middle and opened up letting him through. It amused him how far the clan went to push the narrative of being mysterious with its higher powers when he knew just how carefree they could be, he should know, he’d been with them for the past five years.
Passing through as the walls closed up behind him, throwing him into perpetual darkness, the elder ignored the absence of sound and light. He could ‘see’ well enough with his affinity, hands folded behind him as the inscriptions lit up again and Joran felt himself being transported through spatial means to another location, an extra room of some sort still within the hall itself, or at least he was told. It served as a meeting spot for the powers of the clan whenever they wanted to converse, away from the eyes of other people.
The wall opened again, revealing a large room, wooden floors laid with expensive-looking rugs, and a brazier in the middle of the room burning sweet-smelling leaves that gave off the smell of early spring. Seated around the flames were three figures, their gazes turning to him all at once, all three glowing with the bloodline trait of all members of clan Verdan eyes, dark green in the barely lit room seeing as the windows had been covered with dark clothes even though the room itself wasn’t actually within the building, or at least, that was what Joran suspected.
The windows usually changed view, shifting across the entirety of Jade Peak, showing them the lives of the over ten thousand people that called the entire city home. Jade Peak boasted of a modest number of citizens, from the numerous branch families to the other families as well, the various merchant houses, to the random citizens who moved to the city to make a living for themselves and even the occasional tourists who thought being close to the wastelands proved their toughness.
He sat next to Elder Celia, nodding to her as she nodded back before he addressed the two lord siblings in front of him across the brazier.
“I greet the lords of the clan,” he said formally.
Alaric Verdan, lord and right hand of the patriarch nodded in return, Lirien Verdan, left hand of the patriarch blinked slowly at him as Joran sighed within himself, that was as much as he would get from the cold woman. One would naturally take offense from her, but the truth was, Lirien Verdan was a block of solid ice crystal, the truly terrifying part would be seeing her full smile, the last person to see that had been ripped in half with her bare hands.
There was a reason she was known as the terror of Jade Peak, the daughter of the monster himself, for where Alaric was a methodical killer, precise with a tinge of raw brutality, she was wrath unleashed, she was the one the patriarch sent when he wanted to pass across a message, something she had gone to deliver to the mountain sects that had begun to infringe on Verdan clan territory. Rumor was, Alaric had gone to drag her back from her rampage, she had gone toe to toe with the lord leaders of the mountain sects, slaying two and leaving them so weak that they had to retreat to their mountains where lord-level weapons might have killed her had Alaric not interfered.
Joran believed every word, he’d seen her and her spear at work, the weapon crafted by artificer Iphan when she had broken through to adept rank, a lord-ranked weapon forged with Ethereon, pure high-quality jade crystals, and a tier 4 hydroserpent, the dead creature imported from the far reaches of the west and had almost bankrupted the clan. Lirien had used it well, bleeding with it, shattering entire clans with it, and making its worth back in the riches of the clan as it was known today. The fact that she had chosen to send his student on such a dangerous journey had rung alarms within his mind, yet, she was not one he could move so casually against, besides, what was the use in making an enemy so deadly as her?.
Alaric turned to him.
“Congratulations on getting the wastelander to disciple rank, your works have begun to bear fruits I see,” he said.
Joran nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking.
“And yet” he started, his voice soft and harmless.
“Lord Lirien might just have sent him and two other disciples to their deaths” he responded, watching the cold gaze of the lady.
“You were the one who decided to send three disciples into the wastelands” she responded calmly.
“You had an entire house and more to use, why did you send three alone?” she asked.
It was at times like this that Joran was grateful to be blind physically, to stare into the gaze of the one also known as the merciless spear of Verdan to the Talahan empire would be numbing. Gratefully accepting the cup of tea from Celia with a nod, he sipped thoughtfully before speaking.
“Because I didn’t want to disappoint you” he responded.
He noticed the frown on Alaric’s face yet continued as the spear stared at him.
“Lady Lirien, forgive me” he started.
“But would it be safe to assume you see something in him?, Tunde, my student I mean” he asked.
A few seconds later, she nodded a bit.
“maybe” she replied as Joran nodded as well.
“The ruthlessness of his nature when it came to surviving, subconsciously, I mean, it accounts for his lack of aura” Joran replied as Alaric narrowed his gaze.
“you’ve been cultivating an assassin,” he said calmly.
Joran smiled, shaking his head.
“No, far from it actually” he responded.
“What you see, is a man, a child really, seeing as he’s not into his first century really, but a being who had no sense of being, ego, till I gave him one” Joran continued.
“you’re describing a null,” Celia said softly with a frown.
“Thankfully not,” Joran said with a light chuckle.
“All Tunde sees when he goes into battle, is not the superiority or inferiority of his opponent to him,” Joran said.
“He sees his very existence on the line, a do-or-die situation, survival of the fittest, and I admit, that drew me to him” Joran explained.
“You were hoping I’d interfere when you brought him to the hall,” Lirien said.
It wasn’t a guess; it was a fact.
“Well, I was thankful you were there,” Joran said nodding.
“I’d hate to damage the adepts of the clan so close to the surge” he continued.
The others frowned at him, the threat of his words so palpable, especially when they considered the fact that he also threatened a direct descendant of the clan and his branch.
“The fact that your student would be facing my grandson doesn’t mean I’d have a cause to be petty” Lirien replied with a frown that cracked her features.
Joran shook his head.
“No, I simply wanted register a house, my house, or rather, the wastelander’s house, and yet, the others, adepts I mean,” Joran said.
“couldn’t resist the draw of my student, you know what I mean, don’t you?, lords?’ he said.
The two lords stared into the fire calmly as Celia looked curious.
“Just a disciple, and yet, his presence while relatively weak for someone of his rank, is as sharp as a razor,” Lirien said with a hint of a smile.
That should have alarmed Joran, the clan, the empire even didn’t need two spears, two maniacs of battle, and yet, everything pointed to the fact that Tunde was walking that same road filled with bloodshed.
“a double-edged blade” Alaric added with a frown again.
“Is this about his aura?” Celia asked.
It amused Joran, how little Celia knew of lord rank and above, the intricate connection between the presence of a ranker and their aura. Most cultivators usually mistook or assumed both to be one, not realizing the vital difference between the two. Presence was the general sense of strength or deadliness exuded from a ranker, most times revealing just how dangerous they were.
Auras, on the other hand, is dictated by both the ego and affinity of a ranker and could take many shapes both offensive and defensive. A ranker who had an affinity for blades would no doubt feel deadly in both their presence and aura and would most likely manifest a sword-looking aura in the later stages of their advancements, it was why both were mistaken to be the same.
In Tunde’s case however, both were absent, it was what made him such a deadly foe to face, an average disciple would underestimate him till he got too close, the fact that both lords had seen and sensed the danger and uniqueness of the kid and the fact that the other adepts could sense nothing but their natural instincts warning them that the cub in front of them would one day be a monster proved his worth.
Joran nodded to Celia.
“More or less, the absence of it in this case,” he said with a chuckle.
“You still haven’t answered my question Joran” Lirien said.
“To be honest” Joran started.
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“I never expected you to interfere, but you did and sent him on what is proving to be a suicidal mission no matter the number of disciples or initiates we sent” he continued.
“Plus, I have no doubt, that the clan wouldn’t leave the safety of its mines to mere disciples, no, they were to be scouts, weren’t they?” he asked, staring into the unflinching gaze of both lords.
Alaric folded his hands.
“For the glory of the clan, some deaths are necessary,” he said.
Joran chuckled, shaking his head.
“While ensuring the family branch heads, as well as the grumbling adepts, would be appeased with his death, I must say, a bold move” he replied.
“And yet, you let him go without any backup,” Lirien said.
“Your orders, not my wishes, lord Lirien,” Joran said.
“Since when have you listened to orders easily, blind tiger of the Verdan clan?” she replied.
Joran shrugged, sipping again, the flavors of the tea spilling into his mouth as he gave a pleasurable sigh.
“I might be stubborn sometimes,” he said as Celia snorted.
“But I would not undermine the authority of the clan in the face of its lessers” he responded.
“The disciples around or the adepts?’ Celia asked curiously.
“Yes,” Joran replied with a bright smile.
“And so, I chose to believe, that the merciless spear of Verdan would not so casually throw young bloods to their deaths, although, judging from what I’ve heard of the attack on the stronghold, it seems I might require another student soon enough,” he said.
Lirien gave a short laugh, it sounded like broken glass being dragged against a rough surface, Joran randomly thought to himself that he’d rather die seeing her frown than hear her laughter.
“You have so little faith in me,” she said.
“Faith is a rare currency afforded by the high lords and masters of this world, to believe in faith any rank lower than that is to be an idiot” he replied.
“What are you driving at Joran?” Alaric asked.
“I grow weary of these games of yours” he added.
Joran bowed in apology.
“It was not my intention to waste the time of the lord, I merely wish for the lords to consider my request,” he said.
He noticed Celia frown, the elder knowing him well enough to ask for something outlandish.
“Go on, you’ve amused me enough for today to grant your wish,” Lirien said.
“Similar to how you’ve sent Elyria, the other wastelander, and Thorne, that, thing to go take care of our little problem up north” he started.
“I simply wish for my student to get a little reward for doing the impossible” he finished.
Alaric sighed, Lirien laughing as both lords realized where he was going.
“To be clear” he continued.
“I propose, that my disciple, my student, seeing as they’re merely decoys and Lady Lirien is no doubt curious about his capabilities in battle,” he said.
“I would request you allow them to complete this mission on their own or die trying, with no help from me nor Moros, seeing as no doubt. He’s there to ensure things don’t go out of hand” he completed.
“you’re asking the impossible” Alaric said immediately.
“Our intel says the Corespawn who leads the rest is a peak tier 2, you know what that means, don’t you?” he continued.
“Indeed, probably an early adept, or tier 3 if we should use that term” Joran replied.
“But look at it this way,” he said immediately.
“If he dies there, all these go away, no more issues for you or the clan” Joran completed.
“But if he returns?” Alaric asked.
“Got you,” Joran thought to himself as the lord realized the weight of his statement.
“Well,” Joran started smugly.
“Not only does the clan get a disciple deadly enough to wipe out an entire horde of Corespawn as ludicrous as that sounded, but he should prove a sufficient challenge for your grandson, don’t you think, lady Lirien?” Joran asked, pushing the bait to the lady who grinned in a feral manner.
“You have my attention,” she said.
“Again, what is it you want?” Alaric asked.
“To solve the issue of the dispute between myself and the clan heads, no doubt, you do realize I was never accepted the way Moros was accepted’ Joran said.
Mostly because Moros danced to the tune of the family heads, but Joran didn’t voice that out, they all knew it.
“And so, I propose, that house dark fist, moves its base from jade peak to the same place the now destroyed stronghold that watches over the clan’s mines once occupied,” he said.
The silence in the room spoke to the shock of all its inhabitants, Celia, staring at him like he had run mad, Lirien, too shocked for once to even speak and Alaric trying to find the prize behind the madness that Joran asked.
“You do realize” Alaric started.
“That the wastelands could be the point from where the surge would begin on our side of the continent?’ he asked warily.
Most would consider his plan madness, it was evident from the way the lords stared at him, even more would think him to ask for his death from such a claim. Still, Joran saw the possibilities as he’d thought of it.
“indeed” he replied.
“The first line against the untold horrors that would spill from rifts uncountable, I assume you think I’m herding them to their deaths?” he asked.
“Those that would be foolish to join your house” Celia replied, still shocked.
“I do not suffer the weak, and I will not hide the dangers of such an endeavor, and yet, I see no other way to calm the simmering rage between the family heads,” Joran said.
“Not unless, the patriarch himself deems to interfere?’ he asked, looking over the rim of his cup at the lords.
Only the higher echelons of the clan knew just what the high lord had been doing for the past year in seclusion, apart from the random presence he exuded to reveal he was quite aware of the happening within the clan, Rowan Verdan had retreated from the public eye a year ago into the inner walls of the jade citadel itself, not even his two children, Alaric and Lirien had been able to see him with the only one having access to him being artificer Iphan himself.
“no” Lirien simply said as Joran left it at that.
“Still, what you ask of us, while ridiculously hilarious yet simple, proves to me you have a hidden agenda,” Alaric said.
“Only to temper my house’s disciples in the hottest and most terrible of fires” Joran replied.
“No doubt, the news of the revenant would have reached the imperial clan, and no doubt, this surge is gearing up to be quite powerful, for the first time in three centuries, the regents have spoken,” he said gravely as a terrible calm pervaded the room.
The mere mention of those beings, the true powers of Adamath yet below the divine-like hegemons themselves brought a feeling of impending doom to the room itself.
“Are the technocrats still moving with their timeline for whatever that thing is?” Celia asked.
“As of now, yes, in time for the surge itself,” Alaric responded.
“Good, so do we have a deal?” Joran asked.
“Is this about the rifts outside the territory of the Verdan clan?” Lirien asked, cocking her head.
Joran smiled.
“Surely, with the amount of danger my student and his teammates are about to face, you do expect them to get a good reward, right?” he asked.
Lirien stapled her fingers together, glancing at Alaric who closed his eyes, hands folded together in thought.
“They have three days,” he said.
“Then, the clan interferes” he finished.
“I’ll need that in writing, along with the promise that they get to keep all they find out there, as much as it poses no threat to the clan itself,” Joran said with a smile.
Lirien gave a soft laugh.
“I’ll admit, I’m curious to see what sort of ranker returns from the wastelands,” she said.
Joran sipped the tea again, dropping it gracefully.
“My one problem with the clan has always been its underestimation of its lower rankers,” Joran said.
“And now, I get to try out my way on my more than willing student, please, I do so hope your grandson is ready for what would return from that place,” Joran said as he got up.
Lirien simply grinned, her green eyes alight as she said nothing, Joran wasn’t sure if he had just woken up the true spear of the clan herself. Alaric spoke.
“Leaving for wastelands?” he asked.
“That would defeat the purpose of letting them do their thing, no, I simply wish to let them know that their survival is at stake, should make things a bit more interesting I believe,” Joran said as he moved to leave the room.
“Joran” Lirien called out.
Swallowing nervously as the tone of the merciless spear bristled with excitement, he turned while keeping a calm look. Staring into the glowing eyes of Lirien whose spear was gripped so tightly, its runes whose inscriptions were as undecipherable as they were tiny glowed.
“Prove to me, he’s worthy of what I feel from him, and you have my name,” she said.
Joran rocked at the implications even as Alaric turned sharply at her, Celia freezing. To have the name of a lord of the Verdan clan, was to have near-infinite resources at his rank, not even Jashed had the name of his mother to wield, not even Celia with her father, Alaric. Joran bowed low for the first time that day, sincerity in his every word.
“I will strive for the glory of the clan,” he said as he left the room, passing through into the dark enclosure of the walls as they lit up to return him to the jade hall proper.
“The clan and more” he completed as he murmured.
*****************************************
Tunde sat in a lotus position as the vibrations of the vessel lulled him into a deep state of meditation, breathing calmly as his Ethra flowed through him, his heart pumping to fill his Ethra lines with power. The relic hadn’t moved from the moment vengeance had settled over it, whatever the artificer had done with the gauntlets, they were working, still, he missed the presence of that foreign energy coursing through him.
Debating the fact that he hadn’t told the elder, he took a deep breath, raising one finger as he gathered resonance into it, feeling the appendage hum with the power before dispersing it. Preparing himself, he stood up calmly, visualizing what he wanted to perform, the dummy carved from some wood that was supposedly resistant to Ethra due to centuries of perfect cultivation. Feeling the build-up of resonance from his Ethra lines, he began the gradual process of pushing it to the entirety of his limbs, concentrating as the strain of such a process pushed his Ethra cycling to its limits.
Breathing calmly, he felt the power ripple through his body, it was in direct opposition to the elder’s method of gathering power to one spot, but Tunde had been considering the viable methods to expand on that power, it was the only technique he had considering his Ethra was still a mystery. Feeling the power beginning to build in all four of his limbs as he strained to control them, it was akin to a warm rod attached to his bones growing hotter by the second, still, he endured it. When he finally unleashed it, a palm strike to the mid-section of the wooden dummy, a resounding crack and explosion echoed around the room, a nicely shaped hand print carving itself smoothly in the mid-section.
It hadn’t gone passed Tunde that his attacks when infused with his Ethra seemed to make whatever surface it touched vanish like it wasn’t there, like it obliterated every trace of its attack as well. Staring at the damage, he was so lost in it that he didn’t hear the entrance of Draven.
“I see why Elder Joran has such faith in you,” he said as Tunde glanced backward in surprise.
“With an attack like that, the damage you could do on contact, I shudder to face you,” he said.
“Is Elder Moros still in seclusion?” Tunde asked softly from where he crouched, staring at the dummy.
“Yes, apparently he has no reason to talk to us till we approach our drop point” the large ranker replied.
Tunde nodded softly, feeling the damage with his bare fingers.
“To be honest, I expected worse, I’d take his silence over anything else,” he said.
Draven stared at him in silence as he raised the dummy back up, feeling the crack behind its frame.
“They say the elder found you as some wandering savage within the wastelands,” Draven said after a while.
“They?” Tunde asked as he winced lightly, feeling the lethargy within his muscles, the strain of using resonance in such a manner taking its toll on his body.
“Most rankers I knew, back when I was an initiate,” Draven said, sitting on the wooden floor of the room they were in.
Sighing, Tunde realized Draven wasn’t wearing his signature gauntlets.
“I know that’s a lie” Draven continued.
“Why?’ Tunde asked softly, sitting opposite him.
“Cause I’ve seen the savages of the wastelands, flesh eaters and the bandits, the servants of the wasteland king, you don’t look like one who’s spent his entire life in the wastelands,” Draven said.
Tunde stared at the stone Ethra ranker for a few seconds before speaking.
“And where do you think I came from?” he asked again.
“To be honest?, you don’t look like you’re from around here, the empire I mean” Draven replied.
“I’ve traveled far from a young age, the isles of blades, the heartlands of the empire itself, even the steeps of the great Urai mountains” he continued.
“And yet, I’ve never met anyone so odd as in your case” he finished.
“Not my color?” Tunde asked with a frown.
He hadn’t met anyone as dark as him from the moment he had stepped foot on the continent, no doubt, he and his people were truly native to Crystalreach. Draven shook his head.
“No, merchants from cry- “he said as it finally clicked, eyes wide.
“Crystalreach?” he asked softly.
“So I’ve been told” Tunde replied.
Draven seemed puzzled by the response.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“a few weeks ago, I knew nothing about all these” Tunde said.
“Ethra, cultivation, rankers, none made sense to me, don’t ask how,” he said with a soft smile.
Draven nodded, keeping quiet for a few minutes Tunde moved gently as he felt the pain in his limbs vanish.
“And yet, you’ve somehow pushed your way to disciple rank like it was nothing,” Draven said.
“Either the hegemons favor you, or fate looks down on you with benevolence” he finished.
“My fate has been a joke from the onset” Tunde replied cryptically.
Sitting up, he spoke.
“I grew stronger because I hungered for it, I have nothing left to lose,” he said.
“No family, no relatives, only my life, and I’d bet it to get stronger” he continued.
“that’s your motivation for advancement?, to get stronger?” Draven asked, bearded face staring at Tunde.
He shrugged.
“Is there any other reason?” he asked.
Draven was about to reply when Isolde walked in.
“Elder Moros requires our presence, we’re drawing close,” she said.
Tunde wordlessly stood up, nodding at Isolde before they left the confines of the training room to meet Elder Moros.