“You’re saying he wants you to head to the wastelands?” Lady Ryka asked, seated in Tunde’s room.
The meeting was somber, Tunde and his closest companions gathered under the dying rays of the sun. Draven sat next to Isolde, the couple seemingly quiet, lost in memories long forgotten. Draven wore a clouded expression, while Giselle's fists were clenched, barely containing her rage.
Miria sat beside Ani, the young Rejuvant twisting her hair nervously, sensing the palpable tension in the air. Tunde nodded softly, eyes on a crude map Elder Wren had brought for the meeting. Elder Wren sat silently; his presence heavy with unspoken concerns. Draven tsked softly, grumbling to himself until Isolde slapped his shoulder.
“If you have something to say, then out with it. No use grumbling like a child,” she said.
“This is suicide,” Draven said audibly.
“It doesn’t have to be. You heard the Highlord’s orders: find the location and get out. No need to fight,” Harun replied, folding his arms, eyes closed as he sat next to Giselle.
“The mission itself is suicidal, Harun,” Elder Wren interjected. “If the rumors are true and the Wasteland King has indeed advanced to Master, he only needs to sense their presence within his dominion to know. Tunde doesn’t have any of the Ethra affinities native to that area; he’d stick out easily.”
“Then I need to come along with you,” Draven said.
“Absolutely not. Black Rock cannot afford to lose its only Forgesmith,” Tunde said immediately, noting the grateful look Isolde shot him. Draven’s clenched fists showed his loyalty to Tunde, but it was clear that accompanying him was the last thing he wanted. Tunde cracked his neck softly.
“Then it’s either Giselle or Harun,” Isolde suggested.
Tunde glanced at the two adepts carefully, seeing the hesitant look they shared. He didn’t blame them. It was one thing to defend the walls with the protection of the Ethra cannons, and quite another to venture deep into the wastelands with no hope of help.
“I’ll go,” Giselle said.
Tunde shook his head. “No. Both of you are needed here at Black Rock. You’re two of the strongest adepts we have. Risking your lives out there is not only meaningless but stupid as well.”
Harun narrowed his eyes.
“Is this because I said we’d prefer you away from the walls?” Harun asked.
“When did that happen?” Draven interrupted.
Lady Ryka frowned at the water affinity user in disapproval while Tunde chuckled, shaking his head. “No, and I understand what the disciples mean now,” Tunde replied.
Harun seemed unsure of what to say, while Giselle rolled her eyes and turned back to Tunde. “Well? If not either of us, then who?” she asked.
Tunde turned his gaze to the other adept ranker in the room. Miria nodded as she understood.
“The lady of Tyrant’s Haven?” Elder Wren asked curiously.
Lady Ryka looked genuinely surprised before understanding dawned on her. She nodded her head. “I approve,” she said with a smile.
“I’m still lost,” Draven admitted as Isolde sighed.
“Her affinity grants the closest thing to stealth. Her ability to merge with the shadows is something I intend to take advantage of,” Tunde explained. He had given it deliberate thought before reaching this conclusion, though not for the reasons he mentioned. It was the only way he could take Miria far from the Highlord’s gaze for what he had planned.
Turning to Harun, he continued, “Like you said, it’s not about fighting. If I need to get in and out of tight spots, she’s my best bet.”
“Well, that settles it,” Lady Ryka said with a sigh.
“The forces of the branch family of the Talahan clan are on their way as well. We might as well discuss that,” Elder Wren said from where he sat.
“Things will change when they arrive. The real question is, how long will they stay here?” Draven asked.
“For as long as this battle lasts, I believe,” Lady Ryka replied. “Black Rock is too isolated from even the closest outskirt cities to be considered valuable.”
“Whatever happens, we must ensure we don’t stand out too much and get them out of our hair,” Tunde said.
“We’ll do our best,” Elder Wren said with a chuckle.
“Might as well get back to the forge. I need to finish up on Midnight,” Draven said, getting up.
“I’ll come along. There’s something I need to do,” Tunde said.
“No, no way,” Draven said as Tunde sighed.
“It’s just one—”
“No.”
“Will you at least—”
“No.”
The two stood in silence, Draven’s arms folded as Tunde shook his head. “Please listen. Can I at least tell you what I intend to do?” Tunde asked slowly.
Draven glanced at Lady Ryka, who nodded with a tugging smile on her face. “Very well, I shall entertain your intentions,” Draven said, as Isolde shook her head and left the room.
“You do realize I’m a lord, right?” Tunde asked.
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll be banned from ever stepping foot in my forge,” Draven replied, exiting the room with Tunde in tow.
They walked in silence until they left the stronghold and entered the streets. The bustling movements at dusk somehow flowed with the cool weather. Draven spoke up again. “We’re about to go through another trying period, aren’t we?”
Tunde nodded softly. “This time we’re better prepared,” Tunde replied.
“Are we though?”
The Forgesmith turned to him, pausing on the road. “Everyone here came to this settlement to escape the memories of what happened at Jade Peak. Few have tasted true freedom, and the reason the disciples are so invested is that it’s their only home.”
He paused, pointing to the walls. “Those walls protect us, more importantly, what they stand for. The moment the branch clan arrives, the shackles close over them once again.”
Tunde stared at the black crystal and stone wall, his lord-rank eyes picking out the disciples on it. Some lounged while others stood close to the large Ethra cannons in vigilance.
“We’re a growing settlement, Draven,” Tunde replied. “I wish my words weren’t true, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Adamath, it’s that everything and everyone will keep being tested simply for their right to live.”
Turning his gaze back to Draven, whose jaw was locked, he continued, “I know it’s too soon to ask of them what we’re about to, but our only hope of survival is to fight.”
“You’re asking adepts, disciples, and initiates to go up against a master, Highlords, and lords. The mere thought of it is suicidal,” Draven replied.
“We went up against impossible odds back then. We can do it again,” Tunde said.
Draven glanced at him. “See why we all want you leading?” he said.
Tunde chuckled, giving no reply as he brought out a piece of paper with a sketch on it, handing it over to the Forgesmith, who stared at it with one eyebrow raised. His future lay far away from Black Rock, but that wasn’t something he would bring up anytime soon, not until Black Rock was as safe as he could make it.
“This is quite the idea. Where did you get it from?” Draven asked.
“Took it from one of Elder Wren’s books. Apparently, it’s a really versatile weapon,” Tunde replied.
“Versatility isn’t the issue. It’s the short time you’re giving me to craft something of this caliber. Adept rank, I presume?” Draven asked again.
“Yes, I also have something for you to add to it,” Tunde said as he opened his void ring.
“Of course, like this wasn’t hard enough as it is,” the Forgesmith grumbled. Yet, the light in his eyes spoke otherwise. Draven loved a good challenge, and his complaints were mostly a facade to hide his eagerness to test his skills.
Tunde produced a vial of black liquid that swirled within it. Draven looked at it with interest. “I showed it to the elder. He said it was a potent mixture of shadow and venom Ethra, used by assassins,” Tunde said softly.
Draven’s face went through a series of expressions: consideration, caution, curiosity, and then understanding. “What are you expecting to meet out there?” he asked softly.
“Anything. Better prepared than lacking,” Tunde replied.
Draven nodded. “You do know you owe me for this, right?” he asked.
Tunde chuckled. “How much?”
What little form of trading had started within the settlement still worked on a barter system. Few people collected lumens, which had no use this far from any city.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Come back alive, both of you,” Draven said, staring at Tunde. “We started all this together. We can’t afford to lose another of our number.”
Tunde said nothing, merely nodding his head as he watched the Forgesmith go.
“Look at you, already blending well into dark places,” he said, glancing to his left.
Nothing was there but an abandoned stall, its shaded corners looking destitute under the worn-out brown canopy that covered it. Abandoned clay pots and broken ceramics filled its surroundings, and yet, from the darkness, a figure stepped out, her Ethra sliding off her as easily as oil on water.
Miria watched Draven in the distance. “They’re all worried,” she said.
“Aren’t you?” he asked her.
Miria glanced at her hand and the Ethra that coated it like a sleek glove, silence filling the air. “I can’t afford to be, not any longer,” she responded.
Tunde turned from her to the stronghold. “Preparations need to be made,” he said softly.
Miria nodded, and the two made their way in comfortable silence to the stronghold.
******************************
Lady Ryka sat within her quarters along with Elder Wren, a large ceramic kettle and small cups in front of them. Together, they watched the sunset in silence, sipping their tea, its pleasant peach and lemon aroma filling the room.
“It’s amazing what you’ve done here,” Wren said after a while.
“We, what we’ve done,” Ryka corrected.
Wren smiled, placing his cup on the table. “No need to be modest,” he started. “I wasn’t in the plan, neither was Ming.”
“And yet, here we are, with arguably the best requisition hall chief in the entire region,” Ryka said. “Along with the keeper of records, we’re truly blessed.”
“Ming will not be retaking her position. She’s made that clear enough,” Wren said.
“Perhaps. We shall see.”
Wren frowned. “She lost more than her library that day, you know. She lost a piece of herself. Asking her to come back is asking her to do the impossible,” he said.
“And we’ll drop it for now. No need to bring up a matter that has no use currently,” Ryka replied.
Wren accepted the answer, letting the issue die down as he nodded. “You called me here to discuss the incoming forces,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Indeed, a branch family of the Talahan clan with all its vassals is no small matter,” she answered.
“Especially if we have no use for them except for war,” Wren said with a wince.
“What’s Tunde’s view?” he asked.
“He only sees things one at a time. Right now, he’s more bothered about getting stronger.”
“And dragging all others with him in this mad dash,” Wren pointed out.
“One might argue we’ve stayed at adept for too long, Elder Wren,” Ryka replied.
“Yes, and it’s for that reason we’ve managed to work from behind the veil, staying out of the gazes of the truly powerful. You do realize he’s strong enough to be taken by the imperial clan?” Wren asked.
“I’d expect nothing less from the Highlord if we’re being frank. At the end of the day, it all depends on the dark Fist,” she replied.
“You don’t want to hedge your chances on him alone,” Wren realized.
Ryka gave a soft smile. “No, I don’t,” she confirmed. “You of all people should have realized that Tunde wouldn’t stay behind for some simple reason like protecting us. He has goals unknown to me that he is working towards. Goals that, quite frankly, I believe would take him far away. I’m simply looking out for the thousands that call this place home,” she added.
“To put it plainly,” Wren started, “you don’t want to tie the fate of the rock to him. Sensible.”
“It’s the first time I’ve heard it called that—the rock. It has a nice touch to it,” Ryka noted.
“Heard it among a few disciples when they came for supplies. Thought it fitting as well,” Wren replied.
“So, what’s your plan?” Wren asked.
Ryka smiled as she brought out a scroll, passing it to Wren.
**************************
Tunde and Miria stood in a large room with obsidian-black walls. Braziers of fire burned all around, illuminating the room well enough for them. Tunde didn’t need it, though; his Ethra sight afforded him the chance to see even in pitch-black darkness. It was more for the benefit of Miria, who was clad in black robes.
“This is my first time here since it was rebuilt,” she said, glancing around.
“I did it in honor of Joran, you know,” Tunde said softly.
She nodded, turning her gaze to him as Tunde spoke. “Before we head out there, I really want to know just what you’re capable of,” he started.
“You intend on fighting out there,” Miria said with a frown.
“I’m much too realistic to think things will go according to plan,” Tunde replied. “I need to know that you can hold your ground and I won’t need to step in unless under the direst of circumstances.”
Miria nodded, tying her white braided hair behind her. Her dark skin, with its tattoos that shimmered under the light of the flames, gently caught the light. “I might be a little rusty, but I can hold my own,” she said.
From her arms peeled away two tattooed short knives, held in her hands as they gleamed. Projected blades, constantly being imbued with her Ethra. Tunde’s Ethra sight glowed under the light like a phantom.
“I’ll try to hold back,” he simply stated.
Miria frowned. “Don’t,” she said before flashing towards him.
Tunde saw her coming a good few seconds before, sidestepping out of the way and delivering a simple palm strike to her midsection, watching as she crashed into the wall and got back to her feet almost immediately. No signs on her face from the bruises she most definitely had. He spoke, “Attempting to catch me off guard is a futile endeavor. I can read your moves like writing on the wall.”
“True, but you didn’t see this,” she said as she flicked her hands down.
Tunde’s instincts screamed at him, dodging and weaving through the projected ink blades that came down on him like rain, pushing his lord rank body to the extreme. Without so much as a second attack, he watched as tentacular inky limbs sprouted from her body, four in number, undulating through the air. He saw her strain to keep them active.
No doubt it placed a heavy strain on her heart. Nevertheless, Tunde gave nothing away, simply coating his arms with aura as he spoke. “You might want to use an Ethra elixir to keep yourself in shape.”
Each limb fashioned itself into a mimicry of a weapon—a blade, a spear, a hammer, and a shield. Still wielding her two blades, Miria moved on the offensive. Tunde matched her every move. His coated arms slapped away the limbs whenever they came close, dodging whenever he deemed fit as he observed.
Realizing the futility of her actions, she switched to another technique that had him chuckling: her dominion. Immediately, they were both enclosed in inky darkness. Tunde calmly assessed her subsequent actions, watching as she prowled around him, her footsteps masked from him as well.
She pushed up close to him, blades flashing. Tunde met them with imbued hands, his Ethra now forming gauntlets on his arms as he fought her, watching and taking advantage of even the slight chances she gave away. Miria was quick and nimble, her fluid movements more than a match for his as Tunde found her matching him blow for blow, even as she strained her body to its limit.
Grabbing one hand, he slammed his palm into her wrist, dislodging one of her ink blades that fell to the ground with a splat, fizzling into Ethra as it dissipated. She was quick, her leg slamming into his chest as she twisted away from his grip, her aura somehow making her arms slippery.
She gave him a wide berth, breathing heavily as she spoke. “Let me feel it,” she said.
“What?” Tunde asked, caught off guard.
“Your aura. Let me feel it. I want to know just how far you’ve come,” she asked again.
Tunde stared her down. “Very well,” he replied.
And then, he unleashed it.
Miria’s legs shook as she crashed into the ground, eyes rolling up to the back of her head as she convulsed. Tunde cut it off with a curse. He had been caught up in the thrill of battle, feeling shame at what he had put an adept through. His void ring was open, taking out a vial of healing elixir and force-feeding her, watching as she swallowed it, her body calming down.
Laying her to rest a little, he sighed, staring at her. His mind trailed to the Shadowstone within his void space, a contemplative thought in his mind. Perhaps the elder was right, and she wasn’t ready just yet to advance to the lord stage. Back when he had been a proper adept, he had been able to weather the aura and presence of the lord stage being the elder had become.
Still, he was simply the exception. Sighing, he made his way to the middle of the room, breathing calmly as he cycled his Ethra, allowing his body to feel the flow before he brought out a series of items from his void space.
An Ethra elixir, a tier 4 fruit to bolster his heart, the iron bone pill to strengthen his body, and the blood pill, found within the ring of the berserker. All these were confirmed by Elder Wren to be items usable for his rank, guaranteed to help his progression along the stage of a lord, a stage he hadn’t fully committed to with the absence of a second affinity and core.
Settling in, he swallowed the blood pill, feeling its power pump through his system, his body readily absorbing it, the ping of his screen drawing him. He ignored it, discarding the updates to whatever progress he had made. The screen and Ifa in turn only served the purpose of keeping him aware of his surroundings and inquiries. Nothing else concerned him any longer.
The iron bone pill went next. He swallowed it as well before taking bites from the fruit, the burst of flavors and Ethra swirling within his body. He cycled it repeatedly, ensuring not a single piece was wasted, aware that he could only do so much without the relic actively stealing Ethra from his foes.
His mind strayed once again to the suggestion Ifa had made about the Ethra affinity crystal also floating within his void space, the affinity of gluttony. Tunde mulled it over, thinking of consequences and benefits. Just the thought of having the same affinity as the baron had. Frowning, he considered bringing it again when he paused, shaking his head as he pushed his hand through the void space, the coolness of its interior soothing to him.
Grabbing what he had in mind, he dragged out the somewhat large vat, placing it next to him as his space closed up with a definite snap. A groan drew his attention to Miria who slowly came back to consciousness, eyes open. He opened the vat, the rich energies of the azure spring water hitting him, filling the room with its power as he drank from it.
The rush of power nearly made him dizzy. This was one of the more potent of the spring waters they had acquired from the cave back in the rift. He had left it there until he got to lord rank, forgotten it really. Cycling the power, his body greedily drinking it, he spoke, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have released it all of a sudden.”
Miria shook her head slowly. “No,” she started with a croak. “I asked for it. This is on me. But more importantly, what is that?” she asked, eyes on the vat.
“Azure spring water, more potent than the one the elder had me give you,” he replied.
Her eyes widened. “That one almost had us bursting at the seams,” she exclaimed.
“This would explode you from the inside,” Tunde said with a frown, slowly coming to the realization.
“And yet you drink it like plain water,” Miria said with a slight shake of her head.
Tunde shrugged. “Apparently my body can take it,” he replied.
She came close to him, sitting next to him as she took out a leather skin from her void ring, drinking heavily before sighing. “One round and I’m a mess,” she said with a chuckle.
“It’ll get better with time and practice,” he said.
Miria released a loud laugh. Tunde turned to her in confusion as she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no, not you,” she said. “Just the mere thought that at some point, I thought we could take down the Highlord, and yet, here I am, unable to stand up to the aura of a lord.”
Tunde chuckled. “Varis isn’t even human. I don’t think Highlords are, as a matter of fact.”
“Then what would you call those above them?” Miria asked.
Tunde drank from the water again, returning the vat to his void space quietly, Miria watching it open with awe and close back. “It’s been bothering me, advancing I mean,” Tunde started. “It feels like the higher we go, we slowly get stripped of what makes us… well, us.”
Turning to her, he continued. “When I was an initiate, all I wanted was to survive. Soon enough, I found myself with friends I call family now.” Grabbing her hands in his, he continued, “Then
I became a disciple, and I found myself slowly getting into the feel of a ranker, the struggle to advance. It was one battle after another.”
“And adept?” Miria asked.
“The urge grew stronger. I placed it under the need to find the root of everything,” he said meaningfully as she nodded.
“You fear you’ll get lost in it, the road to advancement,” she said.
“More like an obsession,” Tunde muttered.
“Elder Wren gave me a piece of advice when I was a disciple becoming an adept,” she said as Tunde listened. “In whatever you do, ensure you have something you live for.”
“The road to advancement is paved with the bodies of the lost and forgotten,” they said in unison as she laughed.
“Glad to see I’m not the only one he’s been giving talks to,” she said.
“Believe me, he beats it into me every single time,” Tunde said with a chuckle.
“The truth is we’re somewhat isolated here, at Black Rock,” Miria said thoughtfully. “To be honest, I doubt anyone would advance past the stage of adept should they even reach it out here.”
“You’d be surprised how many cultivators become rankers out of necessity.”
Tunde folded his arms, crossing his legs as he exhaled, Miria patting his shoulder. “Ambition in itself is never a bad thing. Obsession, as you’ve so rightly pointed out, is what we have to avoid,” she finished.
“What is your ambition?” he asked her.
“To be free,” she said softly. “To not be looked down upon, to live as I want and will, and not fear any pompous brat coming over to either harass me or those with me simply because he has the backing of a powerful entity,” she said with a frown.
Tunde realized he knew little of her past, but he drew her close to him, sighing in the silence as she spoke. “And you? What’s your ambition?” she asked.
Tunde found himself frowning after a few seconds, unsure of his next words.