Elyria woke up an hour later to find Thorne and Tunde busy at work, having sorted through most of the carapace piles. She stretched and joined them, eyeing Tunde, who was meticulously arranging the stack of carapaces.
“You look better,” she remarked, noticing the difference in his demeanor.
“And feel better too,” he replied with a brief smile.
She glanced at Thorne, who was watching her expectantly. “What?” she asked, sensing his impatience.
“The carapaces are dry and firm,” Thorne stated.
“And?” Elyria asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Plus, the beast cores are dry and primed,” Thorne added.
Elyria sighed. “If those things mess up my valuables within my void ring, you’re paying me back,” she said pointedly.
Thorne rolled his eyes, while Tunde pointed to the gradually desiccating bodies of the Sandshard centipedes.
“Aren’t they of any use?” Tunde asked.
“They are. The fat is used to oil the sky cycles of the wastelands and probably to cook. But I’m not familiar with the ways of the wastelanders,” Thorne replied. “Then again, Miss Prim and Proper here wouldn’t want those soiling up her void ring, even though a sack of their bodily fluids and flesh could sell for as much as fifty lumens.”
“Not while I draw breath,” Elyria muttered, unwilling to compromise.
She walked over to the carapaces, extending her hand with the void ring. As soon as she touched the piles of carapaces, they vanished in the blink of an eye. Tunde stared in awe at the ring.
“How big is it on the inside?” he asked, curiosity piqued.
“Void rings are one of the more spacious types of storage devices available. The capacity depends on its type and the skill of the crafter,” Elyria explained.
Thorne sighed as they began walking toward the entrance of the cave, sunlight streaming in.
“We’re still nowhere near any form of civilization,” Elyria noted.
“And the sun is out. We’ll probably have to worry about sand bandits,” Thorne pointed out.
“Sand bandits?” Elyria repeated with a wince.
Tunde looked between them, concern growing. “What can we do?” he asked.
Thorne stepped out into the sunlight, shrugging. “Nothing. We see them, we fight them, or we die. Welcome to the wastelands.”
Elyria followed, and the trio pushed forward, leaping across the wasteland as sand and dust swirled around them. Adept, Disciple, and Initiate moved through the vast expanse at breakneck speed.
Tunde’s Ethra sight caught something at the edge of his vision—a cluster of bright yellow motes of light moving together.
“Thorne!” Tunde shouted; his voice laced with urgency.
Thorne immediately came to a crashing halt as over ten figures burst from the sand, spraying dust everywhere. Elyria instantly went on the defensive, her three metal blades spinning behind her as her serrated metal hand glowed ominously.
The figures were dressed in yellow garbs, their faces obscured by strips of yellow cloth, leaving only their eyes visible. The leader, identifiable by the yellow cloth wrapped around his head while the others wore white, stepped forward with a curved silver blade in hand.
“Greetings, weary travelers!” the leader called out, his voice dripping with false camaraderie. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re crossing the wasteland alone, with no protections whatsoever.”
“Because we don’t need any,” Thorne replied coolly.
The man turned to him, his eyes narrowing. “A Revenant, a Disciple, and a new Initiate? Is that a joke?” he asked, eliciting laughter from his men.
Elyria summoned one of her floating blades to her other hand, gripping it tightly. The leader chuckled at her, then began to pulse with power. Tunde’s eyes watered, and he found it hard to breathe as pressure built in his chest.
“Remove your aura, or it’ll be taken as a sign of aggression,” Thorne warned.
“Follow the cultivation method Thorne taught you,” Elyria hissed at Tunde.
Tunde nodded, taking deep breaths as Ethra began to enter his body. The manacle on his wrist went to work, filtering the Ethra as best it could. The leader laughed and lunged at Thorne. The clash between the two adepts sent shockwaves through the sand, throwing everyone off balance. Tunde tumbled across the dunes, his Ethra sight flashing.
One of the sand bandits, an Initiate with a curved blade, came for him. Tunde’s Ethra sight highlighted the bandit’s weak points—shoulders and knees, where the bandit had failed to fully empower with Ethra. Without a word, Tunde raised his manacle blade to meet the bandit’s strike. They clashed, both relying on raw strength, their weapons locked in a battle of wills.
Thorne’s earlier explanation about the Initiate stage being a mere increase in strength proved accurate. Both combatants were evenly matched. Tunde dodged a blow and reeled backward, only to feel the sand shift beneath him. His Ethra sight warned him of Ethra pooling beneath the surface. He pushed away just in time as a spike of sand shot up where he had stood.
The bandit grinned and charged; his blade raised high. The Ethra within him had dimmed, a sign that he had expended much of his power. Tunde knew this was his chance. The manacle transformed into a blade in a flash as Tunde dodged the bandit’s swing, piercing the bandit’s chest cleanly. The bandit’s eyes widened in shock, unable to comprehend where the blade had come from.
Tunde gasped for breath, feeling his Ethra heart drain almost completely. The manacle’s blade form was powerful but taxing. As he prepared to dump the body, he watched in horror as the blade sucked the remaining Ethra from the bandit’s body, purifying it before sending small amounts back into his heart. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Tunde stumbled back, disoriented by the experience. Another bandit appeared, furious at the sight of his fallen comrade.
“He was but a child. You’ll pay for that,” the bandit growled, attacking with renewed fury.
Tunde barely dodged the bandit’s strikes, taking a painful kick to the side that sent him rolling across the sand. He struggled to his feet, his vision swimming as the bandit raised his blade, now glowing with yellow energy. Sand began to accumulate around the weapon, extending it into a rough, jagged form. Imbuement, just like Thorne had described, though it looked unstable.
The bandit swung the sand-imbued blade, sending a wave of sand slicing through the air toward Tunde. He stumbled backward; his own blade raised in a desperate attempt to block. Elyria intervened, slamming into the sand from the side, pushing Tunde out of harm’s way. She counterattacked, swinging both her blade and her serrated metal claw hand in unison. The sand exploded around them, and the bandit was torn to ribbons, his head flying off in a spray of blood.
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“Keep your head in this fight!” Elyria snapped; her voice sharp.
Tunde nodded, breathing heavily as Elyria went on the offensive. The remaining bandits came for them—five in total, three Initiates and two Disciples. Thorne continued to battle the bandit leader, their clash echoing across the dunes.
“Leave the Disciples to me. You handle the Initiates, and don’t die,” Elyria ordered.
Tunde felt overwhelmed, but he knew he had no choice. He had barely killed one bandit, and only because the bandit had been unaware of his hidden blade. These three wouldn’t be so easily fooled. As Elyria engaged the Disciples, her blades flashing and dancing in deadly patterns, Tunde steeled himself for the fight ahead.
The first Initiate charged, swinging his blade down. Tunde caught it with his own, then slammed his head into the bandit’s face. The pain from the impact rocked him, but he managed to destabilize the bandit, who stumbled back. Tunde seized the opportunity, stabbing his blade into the bandit’s chest and feeling the manacle drain the bandit’s Ethra.
He jumped away as a series of sand spikes erupted from the ground, grazing his body. The moment the attacks stopped, Tunde went on the offensive, sure the bandits had exhausted their Ethra reserves. They raised their blades to defend themselves, but Tunde gripped his weapon tighter, screaming as he swung it with all his might. His heart shuddered as nearly all his remaining Ethra was siphoned by the blade.
The blade extended, slicing cleanly through the bandits' weapons and heads, spilling brain matter onto the sand. The blade drank its fill before Tunde willed it back into its manacle form. Bile rose in his throat, the sight and smell of fresh blood making him dry heave. He crawled away from the carnage, sitting down and crossing his legs as he began to cultivate Ethra from the air. The manacle deposited a small amount into his heart before going dormant.
He opened his eyes to see Thorne gripping the bandit leader by the neck, the body slowly desiccating as Thorne absorbed the remaining Ethra. Tunde dry heaved again, the reality of what he had just done sinking in.
“Post-battle clarity. Let it run its course,” Elyria murmured, her voice calm as she approached Tunde.
Tunde wondered how they could be so composed after so much bloodshed. How could they kill without hesitation and still look so unaffected? He struggled to reconcile this new reality with the life he had known before. Thorne watched him for a few moments, his expression unreadable.
“This is your reality now,” Thorne began, his tone firm but not unkind. “People will trample over you in their quest for strength. These bandits were nothing—weak rankers who decided to waylay travelers and unsuspecting people. They preyed on the helpless because it was easier than facing real challenges.”
Tunde watched as the bandit leader’s body slowly shriveled, his life force consumed by Thorne’s Ethra. It was a grotesque sight, one that made Tunde’s stomach churn.
“He was an embarrassment of an Adept,” Thorne continued, his voice tinged with disgust. “His heart was barely strong enough to be called one.”
Elyria reached out and helped Tunde to his feet, her grip firm but gentle. He winced from the bruise on his ribs but managed to stand.
“Wherever bandits like these are, there’s bound to be loot,” Thorne said, his gaze shifting to the horizon. With a pulse of aura, he pointed to a small rock outcropping in the distance. “There.”
They walked in silence toward the location Thorne had indicated, Tunde lost in thought as he tried to cultivate Ethra. The manacle on his wrist lazily purified the Ethra he absorbed from the air, and he could feel his heart gradually strengthening. But something was nagging at him, a question he couldn’t shake.
“What’s wrong?” Elyria asked, noticing his troubled expression.
Tunde blinked, gathering his thoughts. “You said my Ethra is that of light, right?”
Thorne nodded, curious about where this was going. “Or at least, we assumed so. Why?”
Tunde raised his manacled wrist. “Remember how I said the relic helps filter Ethra, somehow making it better? It does that even when there’s plenty of light Ethra around, like now with the sun shining. So why does it keep filtering?”
Thorne actually paused at this; his expression thoughtful. “Good question.”
Elyria seemed to realize something as well. “Your relic filters Ethra? Of course, it does. It’s more than just a weapon.”
Thorne, however, wasn’t inclined to dwell on the mystery. “We don’t have much time. These bandits could be just one group out of many around this part of the wastelands,” he said, urging them to move on.
“Tunde, does the relic feel full of Ethra?” Elyria asked as they continued walking.
Tunde shrugged, unsure how to answer. “I can’t really tell.”
“The types of relics I know are either defensive or offensive. Some are crafted to protect the user, while others aid in battle,” Elyria explained. “And then there are the versatile ones, like the trunk used by the Regent of Forests. It’s said to serve as both an offensive and defensive weapon, as well as a support tool.”
Thorne snorted, amused. “I’d like to see what that trunk would do against the blade of the Regent of Blades.”
“Typical of a member of the Heralds— all blades and no art,” Elyria shot back.
“Dead men don’t care about art,” Thorne replied, unfazed.
They bickered as Tunde tuned them out, his mind returning to the manacle. Its behavior had been erratic since it had bonded to him. Did it rely on his Ethra heart, or was it using it to activate itself? He had thought of it as an offensive weapon, but its ability to protect him made it seem more versatile. Lost in thought, he shook his head and refocused on the task at hand as they approached the cave. Thorne signaled them to be quiet as they crept inside, where torches burned softly in the dim light.
The cave was empty except for a single Disciple, fast asleep with a cup of spilled drink beside him. The Disciple was clearly unconscious, but Thorne didn’t hesitate. With one fluid movement, he sliced the man’s head off, ensuring there would be no alarm raised.
They walked further into the cave and stopped; eyes wide in surprise. Before them lay piles of riches—sacks of golden lumen coins, heaps of herbs, fruits, golden jewelry, and small glass containers filled with liquids that Elyria identified as elixirs.
“We’ve hit the jackpot,” Thorne said with a grin.
“How long have they been at this?” Elyria asked, clearly shocked by the sheer volume of wealth.
Tunde wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but the sheer amount of treasure was staggering. Moving with Thorne, he examined the piles, marveling at the riches these bandits had accumulated. Thorne pointed to the sacks of lumens.
“Take it all—every last bit,” he ordered, and Elyria didn’t hesitate. She touched each sack, and they disappeared into her void ring, the wealth hidden away in an instant.
Thorne turned to the other items, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Thank your luck, Tunde. We’re about to turn you into a real ranker.”
They spent the next few minutes sorting the items into piles according to rank. The pile of Initiate-grade essence fruits, herbs, and elixirs was by far the largest, dwarfing the medium and small piles of Disciple and Adept items. They even found weapons, some of which were of decent quality, while others were less impressive. Thorne instructed Elyria to take them all, save for one ordinary-looking sword. It was sharp on both edges and a bit heavy, but Thorne handed it to Tunde.
“From now on, this is your weapon. No more relying on that overpowered relic that’s likely to drain the life out of you,” Thorne said.
Tunde examined the sword, wondering if it could slice through enemies as easily as the relic had. “Will it be strong enough to cut through both blade and head at once?” he asked, almost innocently.
“Sure,” Thorne replied with a smirk. “Just as soon as you develop the strength of either a Disciple or an Adept while still being an Initiate. Simple, right?”
Tunde wisely dropped the question, and Elyria brought out a large cauldron from her void ring. Thorne nodded approvingly.
“This will do nicely,” he said, inspecting the cauldron.
“What are you going to do with that?” Tunde asked, eyeing the cauldron warily.
“Cook you,” Thorne replied with a straight face.
Tunde laughed, thinking it was a joke, but his smile faded as he realized Thorne wasn’t kidding. “Wait, what?”
“We’re about to temper your body,” Thorne said cheerily.
“Why?” Tunde asked, now fully alarmed.
“What part of tempering your body don’t you understand?” Thorne sighed in mock exasperation.
Elyria shook her head, tired of Thorne’s antics. “Rankers temper their bodies to make them stronger. Since you’re an Initiate, your foundation is crucial.”
“That’s why we’re dumping an absurd number of resources into this cauldron, boiling it, and then dumping you inside in the hopes that you get some form of body tempering,” Thorne added with a grin.
“Hope?” Tunde echoed, his terror mounting.
“Thorne, stop talking,” Elyria said with a sigh. She turned to Tunde and explained, “Every Ranker has a tempering art or style. Some temper their bones to be stronger, others temper their bodies to absorb Ethra more efficiently, and some become poison-resistant—though that’s mostly for assassins and the like.”
“Even the cults have their own tempering styles,” Thorne interjected. “For example, the Legion will throw you into a pit filled with essences, potions, and other aspirants and have you beat each other to unconsciousness—sometimes to death.”
“Is that what you’re going to do to me?” Tunde asked, his voice shaky.
“A bastardized version of it, yes,” Thorne replied nonchalantly.
Tunde began creeping backward, hoping to avoid whatever this “tempering” entailed. “Perhaps we could find another style when we reach our destination?”
Thorne snorted. “And pay a thousand lumens for some shoddy body-tempering art? Never.”
In a flash, Thorne was beside Tunde, grabbing him and unceremoniously dumping him into the cauldron.
“He’s supposed to take his clothes off first,” Elyria sighed, rolling her eyes at Thorne’s impatience.
“Really?” both Tunde and Thorne asked in unison.
“How do they temper you all at the cult?” Elyria asked, raising an eyebrow.
Thorne scratched his head, realizing his mistake. “Huh, makes sense.”
Tunde took a shuddering breath and began removing his clothes, resigning himself to whatever lay ahead. The path to strength, it seemed, was paved with trials—some stranger than others.