Tunde spent the night within the training chamber, first to help Miria get accustomed to his aura and presence, both he tried his best to tone down. The other reason was for his meditation, allowing himself to sink deep into his previous battles, shutting out all external noise, even Miria as she trained within the chamber.
Time meant nothing to him in those moments, his train of thought geared towards his goals. The question had caught him off guard: what did he really want?
Returning back to his homeland was a goal that was far out of reach currently, which was the same as the secrets Ifa had, withholding it from him simply for not being strong enough yet. His only viable goal right now was to get stronger, advance, see himself break free of the shackles of the Highlord on him.
After that, then, he could consider what next monumental step he wanted to take, assuming he wasn’t dragged into another problem, that is. His Ethra lines flowing smoothly, Tunde maintained the position till daybreak, rousing himself as he caught sight of Miria, ink Ethra wrapped around her like a cloak.
Unwilling to disturb her, he got to his feet, quietly making his way to the fountain that spewed only water now, washing his face with a sigh. He heard movements, turning to see her on her feet, her Ethra vanished.
“I feel… different,” she said.
“You’re filled with as many items as I could stuff you with, of course you’d feel different,” Tunde replied softly.
Feeding her some of his tier 4 items from fruits to elixirs and Ethra crystals had seen Miria go from a strong adept to one that could somewhat match his blows overnight. Even then, he could see the tiredness in her body; meditation was one thing, sleeping was another.
“Grab some rest, we move in the evening,” Tunde said.
She came close, a kiss on his lips as she turned and ascended the steps that led to the exit, Tunde staring into the water. Shaking his head to clear his thought, he waited till he could see her receding form go before he began.
[Ifa]
[Yes, young lord?] it replied.
[Do you have any manuals on hand-to-hand combat?] he asked.
[Yes, young lord, however, they do not suit your combat style,] it replied.
[Show me]
His surroundings took on a bright glow as Tunde found himself standing in front of another dark-skinned man. The figure, garbed in a blue and black robe, took a stance, knees crouched as Tunde watched lightning dance around his hands.
[The battle art of the Roaring Lightning King,] it said.
The figure faced a large stone creature that roared at him, attacking with raw force. The man moved, his reflexes as fast as the lightning that adorned his body, a fist crashing into that of the creature as it convulsed.
[It applies Ethra-generated lightning to scour the Ethra lines of whatever foe its user faces, killing off any Ethra technique the opponent has while leaving lasting damage to their bodies as well,] Ifa explained.
The figure vanished, revealing another one, a man in a blood-red robe, grey hair, and fingertips that looked like they had been dipped in blood, staining them permanently. He was surrounded by three other figures, each of them wielding weapons that brimmed with raw Ethra. They attacked as one: glaive, spear, and hammer, all coming down on the cultivator.
He moved with what Tunde could only describe as a slippery form, getting past the swing of the hammer, his fingers puncturing through the body of the swinger. With disgust, Tunde watched the hammer swinger’s body dry up as the weapons of his companions pierced his desiccated form.
The cultivator withdrew his hand, gripping the dried-up heart of the dead hammer wielder, tearing it apart as his hands became sheathed in sharp serrated gloves of blood. From then on, it was light work of the rest, draining their blood as well.
[The art of the Blood Ripper,] Ifa said.
[A battle art that draws from the vitality of your foes, allowing you to break through imbuement techniques easily.]
The gory sight vanished, revealing a woman in a white robe, a straw cone hat on her head as she stood at the base of a mountain. Her arms began to move, whistling through the air as the winds began to pick up, her white aura flowing along with her. A high screeching sound tore through the air, rising in tempo before she slammed a fist into the mountain, the entire structure exploding in a flash of power.
[The Wailing Maiden Fist Art, uses the pressure of air to destroy opponents from within, also getting past imbuement techniques as well.]
[Why aren’t they techniques I could use?] Tunde queried the sentience.
Apart from the lightning and blood user, he could see himself using the wailing fist technique; his void touch followed the same principles.
[You cannot implement the Roaring Lightning King and Blood Ripper arts due to their elemental affinities. The Wailing Maiden Fist requires a high mastery of aura and wind techniques, something impossible for a lord,] it replied.
[When will it be possible?] Tunde asked.
[At the stage of a paragon,] it replied.
Tunde froze.
[Those were paragons?] he asked, astonished.
[They looked nothing like what he had been expecting of those figures.]
[Indeed,] Ifa replied.
Shocked, Tunde ran a hand over his smooth head. "[Show me lord stage fist techniques,]" he requested.
[I do not have any within my storage,] Ifa responded.
Sighing, Tunde took off his robes, leaving only his loose pants on as he walked to a corner of the room. [Then we’ll build a fighting art from the ground up,] he said resolutely.
[Your fledgling Art of the Dark Fist is incomplete. It could be worked upon with fundamental principles of Ethra, and aura,] Ifa suggested.
Tunde took a deep breath, steeling himself before clenching his fists and allowing his Ethra to flow through him. "[What is the main use of cosmic Ethra?]" he asked.
[It is the opener of ways and the cleanser,] Ifa replied cryptically.
Tunde swallowed the reply mentally, unsure of what he was doing but determined to continue. [What is its strength?]
[To take from others and create something new,] Ifa responded.
Drawing one fist back, Tunde took a step forward. His aura boiled around his form, a dim voice reminding him that it hadn’t taken a true form yet. He ignored it, pushing on. [It also erases things,] Tunde noted.
[Yes, the cleanser,] Ifa repeated.
Tunde paused. [Can you conjure up an image of a lord? The strongest you can imagine,] he asked.
The form of a featureless human took shape in front of him.
[What concept and affinities?] Ifa asked.
[Sound and vibration,] Tunde replied.
The figure took a stance as Tunde calmed his heart, memories flooding back—memories he wanted gone. He pushed them aside as he moved. [Begin,] he commanded Ifa.
The figure flashed to his front in the blink of an eye, Tunde barely raising his hands before a punch pushed him backward, pain radiating through his arms. Was Ifa capable of even that?
[Is the pain response perfect, or do I reduce it?] Ifa asked.
The knowledge that whatever this being was had come from his relic made Tunde suddenly dubious of its existence. Something this powerful, that could do this, was one he had to be careful with.
[No, maintain it,] he ordered.
The figure came at him again, Tunde refraining from using Ethra sight as they traded blows, lord against lord. His swings carried raw aura that crashed into the figure, his movements soon flowing with speed behind them. They went at it for minutes, just trading raw blows, and Tunde began to realize he was slowly overpowering the figure.
His opponent’s raw use of sound and vibration had caused him no small amount of pain, along with blows that felt almost akin to resonance. In a real fight, he was sure he’d be handicapped already, struggling even as his superior healing helped him manage.
He dodged a blow to his midsection, bringing his hand down on the elbow of the figure before a reverse kick sent the projection rolling through the air. Gathering void touch, he slammed it into the head of the disoriented figure, causing its head to explode and the figure to vanish.
Panting slightly, he calmed himself. [Analysis of Art: Dark Fist has been completed,] Ifa said.
Tunde sat on the ground, lying down as Ifa began its explanation. [The affinity of cosmic Ethra allows a cultivator to erase the opponent’s Ethra along with stealing its power to add to its own. It is therefore an affinity that is as destructive as destruction Ethra when wielded in the right form.]
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[The Art of the Dark Fist simply bluntly uses that, attempting to crush its opponents with raw aura, not with the efficiency of the affinity,] Ifa continued.
Tunde blinked, trying to stay awake. [What are you saying?]
[The affinity does not suit a fist technique. Or rather, to attain full use of it, it will need either a weapon art style or another affinity that complements the fist style,] Ifa clarified.
Tunde sighed, closing his eyes. [A concept,] he wrote.
[Precisely.]
Calling off the sentience, he lay there for a while, allowing himself to feel the coolness of the floor before getting up. He made his way to the exit and back to his room, discarded his robes, cleaned up, and put on a fresh one, preparing himself for the journey. Staring out of the window, his gaze was drawn to the walls where he noticed its defenders fending off what looked to be a rift that had opened up directly above them.
He could see Harun, Giselle, and even Miria leading the lines, the latter now taking an active role in the defense of the settlement to hone her skills. A frown formed on his face as he watched in silence, realizing no one had deemed it fit to notify him of the attack.
To the disciples and initiates, he was sure their answer would be that they didn’t want to ‘disturb the venerable lord’ with something as little as a tier 3 rift, judging by the Ethra coming out of it. And to be honest, why should they? It wasn’t like there was any advantage for him facing a rift he could clear at this point with one hand tied behind his back.
Still, Tunde couldn’t deny that he felt something akin to hurt within his chest, but he buried the thought, turning away from the flashy sight and facing the void space he had opened up. He could see the items physically with Ethra sight from outside the space, something impossible to do with normal sight.
The method void rings used was to harness the will of the user, allowing them to pick items from within its depths. The same principles applied to void space, except in this case, he could actually see what was within the space. Ethra sight didn’t work on rings. He proceeded to test something, moving closer to the space that he could see was big enough to accommodate a human.
The moment he tried passing through, a sharp pain ran through his body, spearing down from the top of his head to his very toes as he stumbled back, eyes wide.
[Warning, space is unstable enough to handle human accommodation!] Ifa wrote.
“Could have warned me about that earlier,” Tunde said through gritted teeth.
Rubbing his chest as he felt the physical pain, he canceled the space, the technique snapping away from existence as a knock came just in time. Turning to the door, he opened it to see a disgruntled Draven standing there.
“Are you ever happy?” Tunde asked the sulking Forgesmith.
“I am when I’m left alone and not sent on errands to deliver items to lords,” Draven replied.
“So, Isolde forced you then,” Tunde said.
Draven handed him a neatly wrapped container. “You do not open that till you’re hungry on the journey,” he ordered. “Something about keeping the meal with its concocted mixtures in it,” Draven added, swallowing nervously.
Tunde's expression blanched. “She cooked it?” he asked.
“Even worse, she just learned it, to provide vitality she says,” Draven said, nodding his head.
Tunde stored it away in his void ring, making a mental note to find a use for it later, before turning his attention to the objects strapped to the back of the Forgesmith. Excitement gleamed in his eyes. Draven noticed, clearing his throat before speaking.
“Before I show them to you, I just want you to know how much sacrifice has gone into them,” he began as Tunde sighed. “I spent an entire night working on them—sweat, blood, effort. They are my masterpieces yet.”
Tunde wanted to point out that he had been the one to forge the blade himself but said nothing, merely nodding along.
“Also, you might want to be careful with the blade. It cut right through the hand of a forgehand,” Draven added.
Tunde frowned in alarm, but Draven waved it away. “We were able to reattach it soon enough. It was an enlightening experience, if you ask me.”
Tunde nodded, still taking out a pouch of lumens and handing them over to Draven. “For the forgehand. A little something for his effort,” he said.
Draven grunted, laying the wrapped weapon on the ground before speaking. “Its hilt was made from the body of one of those flame creatures we killed a few months back. The skin of the serpent creatures was used for a good grip. The sheath was forged from the remains of the dust wolf rift creatures—strong, durable, and somehow able to hold the blade within it,” he explained.
The first thing that drew Tunde’s eyes was the black-painted sheath, its firm grip holding something powerful within it. He felt an unexplainable draw to the blade, an urge to unsheathe it, to wield it in battle, let it loose. Gripping its hilt, he drew the blade silently, its black metal gleaming in the sunlight.
It swung soundlessly through the air, as if absorbing the noise in its surroundings. Tunde found it as light as it was flexible to use. Sheathing it back, he nodded. “It is fine work, thank you,” he said softly.
Draven nodded, turning to the other weapon he had with him. “This though, I’m not sure why you would ask me to create something this… terrible,” he said.
Draven meticulously inspected the weapon before him—a masterpiece of craftsmanship born from the fires of creation and tempered with the sweat of his brow. With a practiced eye, he turned to Tunde, the man who had commissioned the weapon, and began to explain its intricacies.
“This, my friend, was no ordinary weapon you commissioned me to forge,” Draven began, his voice carrying the weight of years spent honing his craft. “It is a whip-blade, forged from the essence of the very creatures whose rifts we have plundered.”
Tunde's gaze lingered on the weapon, his expression a mixture of awe and anticipation. “And what makes it so special?” he inquired; his curiosity piqued by Draven's words.
“The whip-blade is a weapon of versatility and power,” Draven continued, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. “Each segment of its blade is crafted from the essence of rift creatures—beings of otherworldly might and magic. When wielded, it can extend to great lengths, allowing its user to strike from a distance with deadly precision.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. “But that's not all. With a simple adjustment of the grip, the blade can lock into place, transforming into a conventional sword. It is a weapon of two forms, each as deadly as the other.”
Tunde nodded; his eyes fixed on the weapon with newfound appreciation. “And what of its potency?”
A knowing smile tugged at Draven's lips as he replied. “Ah, that is where its true power lies. The whip-blade has been coated with the venom you provided me, so potent that I had to use tongs just to hold it in place, allowing the metal to absorb it. Each strike delivers a dose of this potent toxin, capable of incapacitating even the strongest of foes up to lord rank, I believe.”
As he spoke, Draven handed the weapon to Tunde, who accepted it with reverence. “It is a weapon forged in the fires of my forge, tempered with the essence of the rifts,” Draven declared, his voice tinged with pride. “May it serve you well, Miria, and bring honor to your name on the battlefield.”
“Oh, it will,” Tunde whispered gently, Draven eyeing him.
“Just don’t take any unnecessary risks out there,” he warned. “Enough battles to fight back here, I’d reckon.”
“I don’t intend on throwing my life away,” Tunde replied.
***************************************
Dusk saw Tunde and Miria ready to depart, with Midnight kept safely within his void space, along with the other weapon. Vari hadn’t seen it fit to send them off, and to be honest, Tunde preferred it that way. Dealing with the Highlord was stressful, and right now, all he wanted was to focus on the mission.
Ryka, Wren, Draven, and Isolde stood along with them. Miria was conversing with Isolde, while Tunde stood to the side with Ryka, who was staring into the distance.
“You never really realize how blessed you are till you see people living within the wasteland itself,” she said.
Tunde glanced at her, Ryka turning to him with a smile.
“I feel like you have a speech coming,” he said.
She gave a soft laugh. “You and I both know that you have bigger plans than what this place has for you,” she said.
Tunde gave no reply, Ryka continuing. “I hate to repeat it, but don’t risk your life out there. If this threat is as serious as you’ve made it out to be, we need you here,” she finished.
“Everyone thinks I’m going to start swinging my blade the moment I see the slightest signs of our enemies,” he said.
Lady Ryka stared at him, hiding a smile. “Don’t tell me you believe that too,” he added.
She patted his shoulder, turning away from him. Tunde watched her head towards the large metal gates of the wall that swung open. Draven nodded at him, Isolde as well, as Miria trudged up to his side.
“Well, let’s get going,” she said.
Tunde stared into the distance, Miria as well. “Last time I was in those lands, I was an initiate,” he said.
“Now you return as a lord, sort of,” she replied as they began their journey.
********************
The outer regions of the wastelands were sparse, as if picked clean by the countless rifts and the invasion that had happened a few months back. It was easy for Tunde and Miria to push all through the day, what few creatures remained giving them a wide berth, knowing better than to attack them.
Whatever creature did come for them was always tier 3 and below, something Tunde left for Miria to hone her skills on. He always watched calmly as she danced around the creatures, first with her ink affinity to either blind them or restrict them with her ink limbs.
Over the day, they pushed until Tunde began to feel the build-up of Ethra in the air, pausing along with Miria.
“The middle regions?” she asked softly.
Tunde nodded, staring at the dusty skies in the distance where Ethra roiled in the air. “Didn’t go this deep, landed at the shores a good distance that way,” he said, pointing towards the east.
“What lies that way?” she asked curiously.
“Nothing but savages and dead bandit strongholds,” he said.
Her two daggers sheathed at her side, she nodded. “No use wasting time,” she said softly.
Tunde paused, picking his words carefully before continuing.
“Before we head in there, I want to give you two options,” Tunde said calmly, Miria staring at him curiously. “I have been working on something, for you, to help.”
“You say it like it’s a death sentence,” Miria said.
Tunde shook his head. “No, but it could significantly change things.”
“Lord stage, I can get you to that rank if you want, if you feel you are ready.”
Miria paused, confused, before her eyes widened. “You have an affinity crystal?” she asked, shocked.
“A bit of luck and preparation, but it depends on you, to be honest,” he said.
“Yes,” Miria said without hesitation.
Tunde paused. “You’re sure?” he asked again.
She snapped her fingers. “If you think I’m going to head into that,” she said, pointing at the distance, “when I have the chance to become stronger, then you must have lost your mind.”
Tunde chuckled. “We’ll need to find shelter first.”
Their entry into the midlands was met with denser Ethra and a sandstorm blowing. Tunde’s Ethra sight revealed the landscape, along with the tier 4 creatures that slumbered beneath the ground—Sandshards coiled with reptiles that attacked black rock.
Scattered all around, Tunde paused, grabbing Miria before shooting towards a cave in the distance, aware of the creatures rousing around them. An Ethra sphere manifested behind him, blasting downwards towards the Sandshard that shot out of the ground in a flash, tearing into it. He landed a few meters from it, Miria at his side, one hand guiding her face from the blowing wind.
“Where to?” she shouted over the blowing wind.
Watching his surroundings with his Ethra, he retreated backward towards the entrance of the cave as more and more creatures of the wastelands began to pull themselves from beneath the sparse sands, drawing themselves to their full height.
Close to a dozen, Tunde opened his void space, grabbing Midnight as he unsheathed it, running his Ethra through it. It hummed with power, and Tunde swung it at the first Sandshard that came at him. It sliced cleanly through the creature, leaving it in two equal parts as he pushed forward, Ethra sight coming into its full might.
Every move of the creatures was accounted for, every swing of his blade cut through them, his movements fluid even without the aid of his imbuement technique or his aura. Soon enough, it was over—the strewn bodies of the creatures lay on the ground. Cleaning the blade that gleamed, he sheathed it, sending it back into his void space before making his way to the cave.
Miria stood at its entrance, staring at him and then back at the ruins of the creatures. “It would be a shame to leave their cores behind,” she said.
“In a moment, the rest know we’re here, we’ll need to act quickly,” he replied.
Calmly bringing out items from his void space, he motioned for her to sit on the ground. “One of the lords I killed during the journey somehow had an affinity crystal within his void ring,” he started. “As fate would have it, it was shadow affinity, the same affinity you’ve been looking for.”
Miria shook her head. “What are the odds?”
“I was as astonished as you were, to be honest, but it is a chance we will take full advantage of,” he replied.
Crossing her legs, she took the first elixir. “Heaven’s crucible,” she murmured.
Tunde nodded with a calm face, watching as she drank the tier 4 Ethra elixir in one swing, sweat beading her forehead as she shut her eyes tight, beginning to cycle the power. The Ethra around her grew denser by the second. Watching as she seemed to sink deeper into the cycling technique, Tunde saw her ink Ethra begin to exude from her form, pooling around her as if preparing to cocoon her.
“The crystal,” she said faintly, her voice coming from behind the hazy veil of ink Ethra.
The moment he brought it out, the entire cave was cocooned in a cloak of darkness, the crystal floating towards her as if sensing the moment. Tunde felt the space around them push inwards, a pressure from somewhere pressing in on them. Eyes wide, he watched the crystal pierce the inky veil, and then reality shattered around him.