It was a fortress—but not the kind they were expecting. At least, not in the literal sense. The structure before them was the base of sand bandits, likely the same ones that Tunde and his companions had slain and robbed of their resources. The trio lay flat on the sands, watching from a distance. Elyria broke the silence as Thorne stared ahead, lost in thought.
“Didn’t you say we should be coming up to a fortress?” she asked quietly.
“Well, that’s a city… technically,” Thorne muttered under his breath.
Elyria turned to him; her gaze sharp as she sat back on the sand. Thorne glanced at her, sensing her frustration.
“What?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just contradicted himself.
“That’s a fortress of sand bandits, a fortress,” she repeated, emphasizing the last word.
Tunde glanced between the two of them, unsure of how to interpret the situation. He turned his gaze back to the fortress in the distance.
“Perhaps we could go around it?” he suggested hesitantly.
“No. That would take us miles off our journey—too far and too much wasted time,” Thorne replied, dismissing the idea.
“You can’t seriously expect us to go up against an entire fortress of bandits,” Elyria whispered furiously, her disbelief evident.
Thorne sighed and met her gaze. “First of all, it’s not a fortress of bandits. At best, it qualifies as a town or settlement,” he stated flatly.
“Does that look like a town to you?” Elyria retorted; her voice thick with sarcasm.
“Are you saying I’m lying?” Thorne asked, his tone growing defensive.
“Yes!” Elyria growled.
“True,” Thorne conceded, and Elyria sighed in exasperation.
“Besides, there can’t be more than a hundred of them,” Thorne added, as if that number was insignificant.
Elyria scoffed. “Just a hundred? That’s a hundred mercenaries or bandits—or whatever you want to call them. Who knows how many Disciples or, even worse, adepts are within that fortress?”
Tunde turned back to the fortress, studying it thoughtfully. Its walls were made of perfectly cut stone, arranged in a circular formation. Strangely, sand clung to the walls as if held there by some force—perhaps the work of a sand Ethra user. He wasn’t sure, but he could see tiny figures manning the walls, their movements purposeful. If Thorne was right, and there were fewer than a hundred bandits, maybe they could wait until nightfall and sneak in. But the entire area around the fortress was barren—any approach would be visible from a distance.
He turned back to Elyria and Thorne, seeing the tension in Elyria’s eyes as she stared at Thorne.
“This wasn’t a mistake, was it?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
“What wasn’t?” Tunde asked, confused.
“This place. He brought us here on purpose,” she replied, her gaze never leaving Thorne.
Tunde looked at Thorne, confusion deepening. Why would Thorne bring them here? Was he working for the bandits? He quickly dismissed that thought—if Thorne had been working with the bandits, why would he kill them? Was there something within the fortress that Thorne needed? Thorne finally spoke, his voice cold and detached.
“I told you repeatedly during our journey that you could go your own ways. I need to meet someone within the fortress,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
“You could have told us,” Tunde replied, feeling a surge of irritation.
Thorne raised an eyebrow at Tunde. “Since when do I owe an initiate an explanation? We aren’t comrades or brothers,” he responded curtly.
Tunde couldn’t deny that those words stung, but they were the truth. Sooner or later, he would have to forge his own path in this vast, unforgiving world. Elyria, however, simmered with anger.
“And you expect us to just accept that? We killed bandits with you. If you go in there and get captured, they’ll come after us next,” she retorted.
“I won’t get captured,” Thorne replied simply, his confidence unshaken.
“Says the revenant who was stuck in a bone cage until Tunde came along and set us free,” she snorted.
Tunde suddenly felt a crushing pressure building around him. His eyes widened as he turned to Thorne, whose body was now exuding an adept-level pressure. Gasping for breath, Tunde struggled to stay on his feet, while Elyria fared only slightly better, wincing as Thorne finally cut off the oppressive aura.
“I was a junior captain of the Heralds. I was on my way to becoming a full captain, a position exalted in these forsaken parts of the empire,” Thorne said softly, his voice heavy with a mix of pride and bitterness.
“Somehow, someway, the Sand Prince found us. It was an undercover mission, the details were unclear, but we were sent into the wastelands to report back if we saw anything amiss,” he continued, his eyes distant as if reliving the events.
Tunde held his breath, hanging onto every word.
“Somehow, someway, the Prince knew where to wait for us—and he wasn’t alone. He had a revenant with him,” Thorne added, his tone darkening.
Elyria frowned; her expression puzzled. “Why would a sand bandit work with a revenant? The Undeath Cult doesn’t even operate on this continent,” she said.
“I lost my entire team. We came prepared to fight bandits, not a lord of undeath,” Thorne continued, ignoring her question.
Tunde’s curiosity got the better of him. “How strong is a lord?” he asked softly, wondering just how powerful someone had to be to wipe out an entire team, especially someone as strong as Thorne.
Thorne let out a weak chuckle. “The gap between adept and lord is like the earth to the sky. True cultivation starts at the rank of lord,” he replied.
“My team was wiped out, including the lord with us. I was left battered, left for dead, while the Bandit Prince looted everything we had. I was ready to die a warrior’s death… except that bastard didn’t let me die,” Thorne growled, his voice thick with anger.
“The Prince?” Tunde asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No, the lord,” Elyria answered softly, her gaze softening as she looked at Thorne.
“He came back, watching me as I lay there, unable to move. He said I was worthy, and if I reached the rank of lord, I should come find him if I wanted revenge,” Thorne said, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and despair.
“I wished I had died. I wished to the Hegemons above that I had perished. And now, I walk the surface of this world, a revenant… an abomination without a home,” Thorne finished with a bitter laugh.
Tunde wanted to tell him that he wasn’t alone—that he had them—but the truth was undeniable. Thorne was an adept, capable of holding his own in this vast world. Tunde, on the other hand, was just starting out, struggling to find his place in a life filled with uncertainty. Associating with Thorne, no matter how much he had helped him, would eventually lead to his demise. And yet, Tunde grimaced, berating himself for thinking like a Ranker. He turned to Thorne, determination in his eyes.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
Thorne raised an eyebrow, surprised by Tunde’s resolve. “You kill a couple of bandits, and suddenly you think you can storm a place filled with Rankers of sheer quantity and power?” Thorne asked.
Tunde shrugged carefully. “We can’t go back—only forward. Besides, I can’t survive on my own out here for long,” he replied.
Elyria tsked, her frustration evident. “You’re fine with him using us for his own ends?” she asked, her voice sharp.
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Tunde turned to her, meeting her gaze evenly. “If you have any better ideas, I’m all ears. But I do need the experience, and I need whatever loot they have in their buildings to get stronger,” Tunde countered.
Thorne chuckled, clearly amused. “You’d go moderately far in this world,” he said.
“Moderately?” Tunde asked, curious.
“Yes, to go further, you must become ruthless. That includes being cold when it comes to resources,” Thorne said, his tone growing serious.
“The higher you go, the scarcer the resources. That’s why you don’t see adepts or, Hegemons forbid, lords just floating around everywhere. It’s every man for himself when it comes to advancing on your Ethra path,” Thorne explained.
Tunde absorbed the lesson, understanding the harsh reality of the world he was stepping into.
“Meaning I need to gather as many resources as possible when I get the chance, no matter the cost,” Tunde said, a steely resolve in his voice.
Thorne patted his shoulder, a rare gesture of approval. “You learn quickly. Just be careful not to kill someone with a powerful backer, like a sect or clan kid. Otherwise, you might find yourself dead before you even enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
“Or better still, find your own resources and avoid trouble altogether,” Elyria snorted.
“So, you’re coming with us?” Thorne asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t mistake me for Tunde. I’m not beholden to you. I’m in it for whatever loot I can find, especially metals. My Ethra supply is running low,” she replied with a touch of defiance.
Thorne snorted in amusement. “Spoken like a true Ranker.”
Elyria huffed, while Tunde smiled at her, feeling a surge of gratitude. Though unspoken, both he and Elyria were foreigners in this land, and they needed Thorne’s guidance—at least until they reached a true city. If helping him with his goals was the price, then so be it. Thorne stared in silence for a few more minutes before sighing.
“Well, there’s only one plan, and your Sylveran friend over there isn’t going to like it one bit,” Thorne said with a sly smile.
********************
Ugtal was an initiate, an early Ranker at that, and since joining the Golden Sand Bandits, he had been relegated to the post of a watchman under the scorching sun of the wastelands. He really shouldn’t complain, though—the bandits had helped him develop his sand affinity, and despite still being at the initiate rank, he had already earned a void ring due to his scouting accomplishments.
With no siblings or parents to worry about, Ugtal was sure he would shoot up the ranks to peak apprentice, eventually becoming one of the fabled elders of the mercenary group. While others might grumble about watchman duty, Ugtal loved it. Nothing much happened this far north. Caravans passed through with their goods mid-summer, but by the end of the season, there was little to see besides the occasional Sandshard or other wild creatures of the wasteland. That’s why, when he saw a pale figure walking toward their fortress, Ugtal wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating.
The wasteland was unforgiving—nothing survived out there under the burning midday sun, especially not a man with no resources or protection from the creatures that roamed the desert. Ugtal strained his initiate eyes to focus through the heat haze. The man was pale, holding what looked like a bleached bone knife, and he was calmly making his way toward them. The Talahan Empire lay thousands of miles ahead, which meant this man had come from even farther away—across the unknown lands where bands of his fellow bandits had gone in search of loot and Ethra resources.
Suspicious, Ugtal turned to alert his fellow watchman but froze, staring at the headless body of a bandit whose name he could barely remember. His brain was slow to catch up, but he understood the meaning—dominion. It meant that the man approaching was an adept or stronger, and terror coursed through Ugtal’s body. He was about to shout the alarm when his legs gave out, and his body pitched forward, slamming into the ground. His arms were gone, severed cleanly from his torso. Confusion filled his mind as it dawned on him that he was already dead. His brain, sluggishly processing the reality, registered the dimming light as life faded from his eyes.
**********************
Thorne was on the wall in the blink of an eye, his aura wrapped tightly around him as he surveyed the stone houses of the bandits within the fortress walls. He moved like a shadow, dropping from the walls into the corners of the buildings, cutting down one bandit after another with ruthless efficiency. He made his way toward the inner buildings, which he had correctly guessed to be part of a small town. The unpaved roads, the dust floating in the air, and the haphazardly built houses gave the place the appearance of a glorified hideout for the bandits.
It was a bit of a letdown, knowing that the strongest adept in these parts of the wasteland resided here—likely deep within the walls of the large stone building in front of him. If he was right, the peak Disciples and the Bandit Prince would be inside, busy cultivating and assimilating the rewards they had gained from the revenant lord. It had been only a week, and at worst, they would be early adepts, with the prince possibly a new lord. That’s why his plan needed to create a significant commotion—and commotion it did.
Loud shouts of alarm echoed throughout the settlement as bandits rushed out, sand and dust Ethra filling the air from innumerable initiates and early Disciples, all searching for their assailant. Thorne could have killed them all before they even blinked, but slaughtering lower Rankers beneath his rank was beneath him—only necessary when achieving a specific goal. He would leave them for Elyria and Tunde. They needed the training, especially Tunde. Elyria had the look of someone from old blood—likely a strong family or clan with deep pockets. Whatever she was doing a continent away, using a nexus key no less, was something Thorne didn’t want to involve himself in. Nothing good ever came from meddling in the affairs of powerful clans or families.
He stood in front of the sorry excuse for a palace, early-ranked Disciples attacking him with sand drills and hastily cast Ethra imbuements on their blades. Thorne almost felt insulted as he slapped away their blades and twisted their necks, killing them instantly. With one swing of his blade, he shattered the metal door, hearing the roar of the bandits behind him. He stepped into the palace and cast dominion at the entrance. It would drain his heart significantly, but with the near-excess supply of bodies strewn around, he could easily absorb enough Ethra to remain in peak form.
Thorne, who had once followed the path of strength Ethra, was now corrupted by the affinity of undeath, all because someone within his cult group had betrayed him and his squad. He cared little for the ramifications of what path or concept his future might hold. If word reached the Herald command that someone was working with the revenants, and they sent a master or high lord, no one in these wastelands would survive the cult’s wrath. That’s why he needed to extract the truth from the Bandit Prince—and loot the living daylights out of this place as evidence, just in case the cult got involved.
He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the three adepts who had just summoned their dominion around him. He smiled, recognizing their inexperience. They were early adepts, fresh out of their advancement, and way over their heads. Thorne was now a mid-adept, a fact he was certain of. He intended to savor this fight as he watched them appear in a gust of sand wind, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. They stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Revenant!” the first one said, a salty-bearded elder who looked to be in his late sixties.
Advancing to adept at such an age ensured he would live for at least another hundred years, but Thorne doubted he would advance to lord during that time. The vassal clans of the empire bordering these parts of the wastelands would never permit it. Such an elevation would raise the bandit group—or mercenaries, as they liked to call themselves—to the status of a sect, on par with the minor sects or clans of the kingdom itself. The other two adepts held curved blades, blasting their adept aura out for all to see as more initiates and Disciples poured into the palace, its cracked yellow walls and barely standing pillars looking ready to collapse after the fight.
“We have no quarrel with you—perhaps even an alliance. What is the meaning of this?” another adept asked, a bald man with a muscular frame and kohl lining the underside of his eyes.
Thorne mentally filed away that piece of information—an alliance with the revenants? This situation had just become even worse. If the Heralds heard about this and sent a master or high lord, the Talahan Empire might censure whatever city governed these parts to avoid the cult’s wrath. The royal family would be furious beyond measure. Thorne’s voice echoed through the room as he spoke.
“I’ll ask only once: where is Khusen, the Bandit Prince?”
“You dare!” the salty-bearded adept growled, swinging his blade with imbuement.
Sand Ethra shot at Thorne, brimming with sharp, adept-rank Ethra. Thorne snorted, swinging his blade in return. Rookie mistake—new adepts often assumed their Ethra was endless and believed their hearts could cultivate more in an instant. In most cases, it could, but only when they had allowed their rank to stabilize—not these idiots, throwing around attacks as if they had a never-ending supply of Ethra. It made him wonder how they had survived in the wastelands at all. Their attack clashed with his, creating an explosion that blew both parties aside as the bodies of Disciples and initiates littered the ground. Thorne absorbed their Ethra.
Every moment he performed that despicable act stained his heart further, but he was practical. He had accepted his fate, and when the time came,
he would accept his judgment as well—from his lord. But right now, he had a meeting with the Bandit Prince.
*********************
The moment explosions broke out within the walls of the fortress, Elyria and Tunde moved, practically skipping across the sands before reaching the wooden gates of the fortress. With one swing of her blade, Elyria sliced apart the gates, stepping through into pure carnage. Tundes' sight becoming woozy as the smell of blood and gore destabilized him, but he held himself in check, glancing around as they snuck towards the main building, picking up void rings along the way. It made Tunde wonder how a bunch of initiates and Disciples had access to such judging by how rare Thorne had made them out to be, but then he remembered they were bandits, they looted from merchants.
Seeing a short sword he liked, he picked it up as he came across a bandit, initiate rank, the both of them pausing before the bandit attacked. Ethra sight activated in an instant as he flooded his body with Ethra, picking up the weakest spots on the bandits’ body. He dodged a sand spike, already used to their bland modes of attacking before slicing the throat of the bandit, relieving him of his void ring. His Battle instincts warned him as he rolled away from a sand attack, one made of sharp discs that floated in the air, controlled by a Disciple who gestured around. The distance between them quite large, he could only dodge with speed, hissing as it cut him in one or two places. The attacks stopped as a flying blade sliced the hands of the Disciple before relieving him of his head the moment he opened his mouth to scream, Tunde nodding in thanks to Elyria who had five floating blades behind her and a large chunk of metal ball in hand that glowed silver.
“can’t believe my luck, concentrated metal Ethra,” she said with a chuckle,
An explosion came from the direction of the palace as Tunde and Elyria separated, more bandits coming from them as they threw techniques about, Tunde going for the initiates with brutal efficiency, taking cuts and healing himself as fast as he could while his short sword went to work, Elyria clashing with the Disciples above as they hoped to Thorne to hastily finish up or they were dead.