Joran unceremoniously dropped Moros in front of Alaric, the wounded elder grunting in pain as he held back his scream, Joran smiled, turning his gaze to the lord whose rapt attention was on the battle about to unfold in the distance. Healing attendants had immediately congregated around the wounded elder, healing Ethra burning its way slowly through the system of Moros. Undeath Ethra was a disaster to deal with, unless you were Tunde, Joran realizing just how big a deal that was. He glanced at Moros, wondering if he had seen anything of Tunde’s relic’s ability.
Only a fool would assume he hadn’t used it, not with what he had just gone through, not even with the gauntlets Borus had given him. It was obvious the artificer had hedged his bets on his student dying, not that Joran could reveal that to Tunde, but it was obvious anyone would covet such a relic, especially with the way the artificer had painted it as some apocalyptic weapon. Still, signs that Tunde had stuck to his fist-fighting style and resonance lay around him and Joran couldn’t ask for more.
“You have so much faith in your student,” Alaric said, arms folded.
Joran could feel the gaze of the other adepts on the battle in the distance that was about to kick off, smiling.
“Good,” he thought to himself.
“Let them see just what I’m sculpting.”
“He lives or he dies” Joran replied as Tunde shot at the monster, resonance burning in his hands.
He sure hoped the boy had another strategy than simply using resonance, seeing how fast it burned through his endurance and Ethra both. The lord nodded.
“As is the way of the cultivator, still, the presence of the revenants throws things with the revenant accomplice of Tunde’s into a whole new light,” Alaric said.
“Immediate execution of the supposed herald?” Joran asked curiously.
Alaric frowned.
“Had he still been within our territory, then I might have considered that option” he replied.
“Ah, the clan moved ahead with that plan then?” Joran said.
“The surge is a week or two ahead of us, all indications point to the Acacia clan working with the mountain sects to hold that point of convergence,” Alaric said.
“It still doesn’t make sense, so far away from their borders, the mountains sects risk a lot for what power they seek to get,” Joran said frowning.
“a new tier 4 rift right within said convergence zone?, you understand what that means, don’t you?” Alaric said, turning to Joran.
“Limitless lords, at least for a while, insane to think of” Joran replied.
“Weak lords after the first reaping, but still, lords all the same, we lose our hold on the mountain sects if that happens,” Alaric said.
“Besides, we have news that the last-born daughter of the high lord himself will be obtaining her second affinity there as well” Alaric added.
“Peak adept already?, how time flies” Joran whistled.
“Indeed, now you understand why the clan cannot have infighting at this point, whoever goes through the rift first has a stable foundation to lord rank, but we can still get one or two lords as well from the rift before we’re forced to withdraw its core” Alaric explained.
“Naturally, it should go to either Celia or Jashed, but the nature of your conflict with Moros here complicates things,” Alaric said, glancing at the elder who stared at Joran venomously.
No doubt, the fact that Joran had carried him from the battle with the Necroshade to this spot right in front of the adepts and lord Alaric bit at him, Joran could simply throw him back if he liked.
“However, I have decided in the favour of the clan as a whole, besides, Celia would rather go the hard way and Lirien would fall on her spear before she allowed her child to take the resources without proving himself first as one of the strongest adepts of the clan,” Alaric said.
“Meaning taking one of our positions as the three great adepts of the clan” Joran completed even as Alaric nodded.
A team of disciples had rescued Isolde and Draven, the one-eyed girl looking away from him in shame, and Draven passed out, Joran frowned. They hadn’t been the companions Tunde had needed, that much was certain, but they could still be useful to their new house. He would discuss with them later, for now though, they had more vital issues to deal with.
*********************************
Tunde dodged and struck nimbly, moving out of the way every time the creature struck, filling the area around them with both rift energy and undeath Ethra. It seemed the utilization of rift energy was not unique to him alone, either way, the creature’s pure speed and strength had almost seen him lose his head more than a couple of times. He was on the defensive, body imbued to the limit of its ability as he struggled to drain what rift energy fused with the undeath Ethra in the air without running sick.
Sweating, the Necroshade roared, eyes glowing as it detached its tail, holding it like a spear before coming at him. Tunde shifted one leg back and stared down the creature as he cocked his hand backward, fist clenched together, raw resonance swirling with its starry black bands wrapped around his arm before releasing the attack, the explosion ringing around them. Dust filled the air, floor shattered, Tunde stumbled backward, flicking his hand gently to relieve the strain of the attack, he stared at the core, stared at what held unimaginable poison and taint to some but a boost to him and all he had to do was grab it before his body was overloaded with undeath Ethra or he was torn to pieces.
Drinking another Ethra elixir as he replenished his store, he prepared himself for what was about to be a suicidal attack. The creature kept healing as fast as he could shatter it, his Ethra not condensed enough to rival the potency of an adept, he had only one choice. Taking a deep breath, he began cycling Ethra as fast as he could, spreading it all over his body just as fast as he could produce it as he shot towards another direction, the creature hot on his trail. Mindless attacks of projected undeath Ethra rampaged through the air as he dodged while ensuring his cycling didn’t break, buying time for the madness or miracle he was about to perform.
******************************
Joran ignored the chuckling of Moros from behind him as he concentrated on Tunde, a frown on his face.
“You might need to go save your student, Joran,” he said.
“a Necroshade is no creature for a disciple to face, alone,” Alaric said as he glanced at Rhyn who nodded.
“Wait,” Joran said.
Alaric turned to him, pursed lips.
“I would not waste a talent you have used considerable resources on, clan resources or not, for mere bragging rights with Lirien, if he wants to die, let him die during the surge, not here,” Alaric said.
“You wanted to see the best of what I could produce, well I don’t believe he’s running away, not entirely,” Joran said, turning to Alaric.
“Explain,” the lord said.
“he’s about to do something completely stupid, so stupid in fact, that even I’m pretty sure it would leave him broken,” he said with a smile.
“And why are you smiling?” Alaric asked, irritated already, no doubt considering ending the fiasco.
“Because now he’s beginning to understand just how much sacrifice a ranker needs to be ready to give if he wants to climb to the next stage” Joran replied.
******************************
Tunde’s body hummed with unspent power, his muscles straining to hold the power within, his bones so dense that they cut his speed in half, yet he pushed on.
“Not yet, soon, not yet,” he thought to himself.
He was close to the limit he could take, his heart pounding with raw Ethra, his sight glowing from his reservoir of power, reaching a precipice, yet he dodged and fought on. Every cut, every bone-scraping gash, every agony he felt, he channeled it into his body, burning with the raw Ethra of a peak disciple that he wasn’t.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Feeling his body shudder for the last time he could take, Tunde twisted in the air, a shout ripping from his lungs, fist cocked. Vengeance burned bright with his starry Ethra, its body glowing, a direct replica of Tunde’s entire form that burned with Ethra, his heart straining again. The Necroshade met him in the air, its form burning bright as well, undeath and rift energy warping together into a ball of trembling power within his form that threatened to explode.
They clashed, Tunde pitting his entire strength, everything he had within him into that blow, he chose to believe, to believe that it wasn’t in fact, a tier 3 creature, but a mere tier 2 raised to a perceived level of tier 3 by false means, that what he chose to face was nothing more than a rabid creature from the depths of whatever unholy place it had come from.
He felt the barrier between their powers attempt to crush him in its vice-like grip, eyes burning bright, Tunde pushed, and pushed even as it burned him, his skin shriveling and healing rapidly, resonance tearing both his and the creature’s form, vengeance squealing as its metal began to warp from the heat of the attack. He raged, allowing his Ethra to drink deep of his anger, there was nothing but he and the creature, green eyes of madness against starry black eyes of pure determination.
What resulted next was an explosion unlike any other, the very area around them caving in, the ground shattering as Tunde grabbed the core, his burnt gauntlet-covered hands passing through the shattering ribs of the Necroshade, its scream of death shrieking through the air.
**************************
“Joran” Alaric called.
The elder nodded, moving forwards as the explosion tore through the air, pushing towards them, with a smile on his face, Joran released his projection technique, a bubble of sound and vibration Ethra, fused at the basest level repelled the waves of power coming from the field. Dust filled the area, the lord, adepts, and disciples staring in rapt silence, even the initiates aboard the ships whispering silently in excitement.
Joran chuckled, all eyes drawn to him, and then back to where the clouds of dust were receding, the lord unfolding his hands as he made his way back to the ship in contemplative silence. The adepts stared at the sight before them, Moros lost for words, Rhyn gripping his blade tight reflexively before realizing what he had done and releasing it with a ‘tsk’.
**************************************************
Tunde gripped the core, raising it as high as he could, his body riddled with bone shards from the explosion of the Necroshade, he staggered on his feet slightly before steadying himself despite the pain. Breathing raggedly, feeling his legs about to give way, sight already dizzy, Tunde let out one last scream of victory, facing the skies as they darkened, winds blowing from the south, the smell of rain in the air. He fell to his knees, void ring swallowing the core as he shuddered, feeling hands under him, he turned his gaze to the blindfolded eyes of Elder Joran.
“Told you, you could do it,” the elder said.
Tunde gave a weak chuckle before nodding off into much-needed sleep.
*****************************
Thalas Verdan, grandson of Lirien Verdan, the merciless spear of clan Verdan, knelt before the doors of the lord’s home in silence, eyes lowered and his father at his side as well. They had been in that position for more than an hour, not daring to move an inch, not when they could feel the presence of the spear herself within her abode, her adept ranked servant seated in silence with his eyes closed and arms folded within his voluminous robes, backing the door.
It was usual for some rankers to remove themselves from the hierarchy of the clan’s cultivators, deciding to cultivate their affinities in peace, watching with an outside view. Old man Bon was one of those rankers, staying comfortably at adept rank for as long as Thalas could remember, he was one of those hidden powers of the clan in that rank, unknown to most but lurking in perpetual silence, his entire life dedicated to the protection of the lady lord Lirien from ‘lesser’ disturbances.
He was one of those people Thalas knew would be afforded the honor to advance whenever he wanted but took it as a sign of dishonor to do so while his mistress was still a lord. The moment she broke through to high lord, then, old man Bo would become a lord of terrible strength, his adept rank already solidified a century ago. Thalas shivered as he felt the old man open his eyes, clearing his throat before speaking.
“She rouses, young Jashed,” he said softly, his voice not betraying his over two centuries of age.
Thalas also found it odd that the rankers of old took their time to climb up the ranks, slowly accumulating resources past what they needed till they felt comfortable enough to advance of their own timing. He had no patience for such, every day he waited, Rhyn widened the gap between them, ensuring his cousin was always a step ahead of him. The coming of the wastelanders hadn’t made things easier, especially the girl, adept rank and with an affinity that boasted of a sub-affinity as well, the metal Ethra user was a force onto herself.
Word was, she was slowly accumulating resources to advance to lord, even now, Thalas wasn’t sure he could take her on squarely without knowing the extent of her abilities, something she had wisely kept hidden. So many factors, at least the other wastelander had been sent on a suicidal mission to the wastelands against Corespawns. He wasn’t one to underestimate opponents, his father having hammered it into his head from little, but he wasn’t too enthusiastic about facing the wastelander.
He fought like a possessed being, lashing out with movements so irregular that it had taken Thalas a few seconds to plot his next moves against an early-tiered disciple. If his father had been in the rift with him, he’d be ashamed, and then, something about the strength of the wastelander’s body was odd. It had felt like that of a peak-tiered disciple, only the force of his blows had convinced Thalas that he wasn’t a peak-tiered disciple.
“She speaks” old man Bo said, dragging Thalas out of his thoughts.
He felt the pressure of the lord’s aura and shivered, it gave off the feeling of bloodshed, countless lives lost to her in battle had permanently stained her aura, Thalas couldn’t help but wonder if this was how all lords’ auras felt like. To have slain so much on their rise to the rank that it reeked within their auras, or was the lady a special case in that view?. Then her voice came softly from behind the doors, where it was rumored that the lady had accumulated countless weapons of her enemies as a trophy to her art of war.
Thalas had no idea if that was true or not, he hadn’t been within the building itself, and whenever his father went into that place, he always came out tired, like his willpower had been stretched and strained to the limit.
“The wastelander succeeded in his mission” the voice of the lord came from behind her doors.
Thalas froze, inhaling deeply but softly before exhaling calmly, letting the news settle within him like a sheet of paper on a pond. He couldn’t say the same for his father though, the cracking of his knuckles as he clenched his fists so loud that Thalas heard it, he sighed internally. Whatever issues his father had with elder Joran and the wastelander were none of his business, he had bigger goals than a single disciple who admittedly was just trying to survive in the harsh world of rankers.
Too bad he had to die.
Thalas was no fool, he might be calm, but he was no idiot as well. It was obvious Rhyn was looking to recruit the disciple to his already growing collection of powers, all for the same goal Thalas was also chasing, to create his own house. It was no news that the tenth house of the higher rankers had been missing, and it had come as a surprise to him that elder Joran had not only taken that highly coveted position but had placed the disciple as the face of the clan.
If that had not been a wake-up call to him, then nothing would be.
The fact that the adepts of the clan, as well as its two lords, had so wordlessly approved, albeit reluctantly, of the bold move was all Thalas needed to know that Tunde had gone from an insignificant existence to one whose presence rivaled his in the clan. Added to the astounding fact that he had succeeded in the wastelands brought a rising caution to his senses that the disciple he had faced within the rift would not be the same returning.
“This means, that I would have to fulfill my oath granting Joran and his new house the right to use my name” she continued.
It was like a ghost had settled within the overtly large compound where they were situated, old man Bo’s face seemed to go through changes like he had eaten something sour. Thalas watched as his father broke protocol for the first time in his entire time of knowing him, standing to his feet in unbridled rage, his aura leaking out of him as Thalas sat up straight, his gaze like cold steel.
“Your name?” Jashed said in a furious whisper.
“Mother, you would let some wasteland swine bear the honor of wielding your name?” he continued.
Old man Bo’s gaze went to Thalas’s father as the aura of the adept spread out, crushing Jashed’s like child’s play, Jashed crashing back to his knees. Thalas for the first time saw the benefit of solidifying one’s advancements for as long as possible, he could have sworn he had faced down the aura of an early lord from what he had just felt despite him not being the object of its target at all.
Swallowing silently, he whispered his mantra of calmness to himself, aware that the lady was still observing them. His father had the luxury of being her son, he could be permitted a few moments of misconduct, he on the other hand, was simply the grandson, more or less a weapon for her to wield, one that was dangerously close to being swapped for Tunde.
“Thalas Verdan” her voice came again as Thalas bowed his head low to the ground.
“I listen with my life to the words of the lord” he replied clearly.
“You have been challenged by a stray beast, one whose will to survive goes beyond the mere thought of advancement” she started.
“Stray beasts know no fear, no consideration of their own lives, but we are clan Verdan, we rose from the madness of the wastelands by taming stray beasts, do you understand my words, Thalas?” she continued.
“As clear as the path of advancement” he replied.
“From this moment to the day to the moment of the duel, you will receive absolutely no help I nor the clan, you will train hard, you carry the name Verdan on your shoulders, should you lose, Thalas Verdan,” she said, pausing.
Thalas shut his eyes tightly as he realized what was coming next, a favorite punishment of Lady Lirien.
“You will serve under the wastelander till I say otherwise, you will forfeit the name Verdan for the duration of that period, but if you win,” she said with a chuckle.
Thalas could imagine the mad glint of excitement in her eyes, the lord lived for such duels like these, where rankers placed everything they had on the line. Thalas raised his head, a smudge of dirt on his forehead as he spoke.
“From the mouth of the lord, to my heart” he responded.
Then her presence and aura were gone, just as quickly as it came, old man Bo speaking.
“You may leave,” he said.
Thalas was on his feet before his father could talk, gathering his robes as he made for the large gates of the compound. He had no time to waste, no words of anger coming from his father, reminding him not to let him down, he couldn't care less, he had just been given another boulder on his path to surpassing Rhyn. Irritation warring with his sense of calmness, he ignored the calls of his father, already preparing a list of things he’d need as he headed into private seclusion till the day of the duel.
Elixirs, pills, food, everything he’d need running through his mind, as he stepped into the waiting metallic vessel that sealed up behind him, leaving him in subtle darkness, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The lord was right about the clan, they had come from the blood and ashes of their enemies within the wastelands to become the wardens of the empire, he was a Scion of that clan, that bloodline.
Tunde might be a boulder, but Thalas had been crushing boulders from when he could remember, stray beasts might be brutal, but even they knew not to go near a predator.