Henry—directing the butterfly-swords at the Proximicanist and a Tiger-spec Qi Master who'd stumbled beside them—was having no great difficulty dealing with these cultists. He'd thought it distasteful to toy around in matters of life and death. Therefore, he'd refrained from using the power-limiting poison and employed his full, superhuman capabilities.

On a technical level, the challenge of this fight paled in comparison to his training. The replicas he fought against in The Cap, being emotionless automatons, were unimpeded by fear and harassed him until dead. In contrast, the majority of these cultists had broken in terror immediately, thereby eliminating themselves from the battle until he could hunt them down later.

It was an unexpected blessing.

In the same wave of assailants as the Proximicanist and the Qi Master, a second pair were presently charging him, two Tier-4s.

The first was a Fighter with a double-ended spear. The second was a Crusader bearing a shield and longsword inscribed with runes indicating an allegiance to the God Maitsarki - a tank spec. Both of them were members of The Kulfoldi Guardians, both entering the weapon swarm in search of revenge for their slain comrades.

Unlike the now dead Proximicanist and Qi Master, however, this Tier-4 pair weren't so foolhardy. With their higher-levels, they could survive multiple attacks. And if Henry were a practitioner of Grass Dragon, the correct play would indeed be to close within the kiting-style's effective range ASAP.

"DIE, YOU BEAST!" yelled the Crusader, cocking their arm for a downward chop through his neck, distracting him while the Fighter snuck up behind to stab him through the back.

But Henry wasn't just a practitioner of Grass Dragon and, in fact, this technique he'd been executing wasn't just from Grass Dragon.

Over the decades, he'd begun experimenting with combining different techniques for what would eventually evolve into the supreme martial art.

This current technique had been synthesised from Grass Dragon Plucks Spring Flowers and the elements of three other styles. With the acrobatic footwork of Icedancing Shortspear, he traversed the uneven terrain. From Tunnelling Cowmole Claw, he was echolocating his enemies and dodging their attacks with the stalagmites of The Moving Wall formation. And shoving and tripping the cultists to assist with the weapon swarm was pulled from Hardman Handaxe.

And the name he'd bestowed this upgraded Grass Dragon Plucks Spring Flowers? GD-26-AF-5!

(Well, the supreme martial art was a work in progress. He'd brainstormed thousands of hybrid techniques over the decades, and giving each descriptive names would have been silly since he couldn't predict which would be rendered obsolete by later arts. Fortunately, The Overdream had expanded his memory capacity for tracking such things.)

Speaking of his weapon swarm, one might notice that he'd swapped in the weapons corresponding to the styles he'd been learning. This facilitated a nifty new ability he'd gained after training in Nomad Sabre with its unique, emotion-based stances.

Henry may have been unable to perform the art's specific rapid mode-shifting techniques, but rapid mode-shifting techniques without the weird barbarian emotions? No problem.

As the Crusader's swing fell, Henry caught a shortsword in one hand and a pole-axe in the other.

With the pole-axe, he knocked a spear-thrust from the Fighter behind him off trajectory, diverting it into the chest of a Beast Tamer's panther also ambushing him. Meanwhile, his shortsword parried the Crusader's weapon.

In an instant, he'd switched techniques from GD-26-AF-5 to EB-47-LF-112!

This new amazing technique was based on the Two-On-Three stance from Eternal Brother Blade. The original had been augmented with elements from King's Harem for the pole-axe, Sacred Warrior+Wingless Dragon for the shortsword, and also the same components of Icedancing Shortspear and Tunnelling Cowmole Claw from GD-26-AF-5.

The Crusader—Kardszent Long-Shield, tank for the Kufoldi guardians and Shield of Maitsarki—was caught off guard by the Offworlder's switch. Before he could spell-shield or dodge, their riposting shortsword, which had initiated its attack before landing in their hand, slid between the eyeslit of his helmet and plunged hilt-deep into his brain through the eyeball.

The man's body went stiff.

Like the tallest of the forest's oaks receiving the last hatchet blow, it toppled over. Although there were others to bear witness, its fall would make no sound, for—before its once-mighty shoulders could strike the ground—ten more from the weapon swarm had descended upon it and sawn it into soul-lights.

Henry released his shortsword.

Switching to a two-handed grip of the pole-axe, he assumed a hybrid of Jaeda When Startled from The King's Harem repertoire. The original guard was designed for a light-armour user to fend off a tank who'd broken into a group formation until allies could handle them. With it, he showered the Fighter with a flurry of defensive feints, forcing them back, delaying for the 20-seconds required for the weapon swarm's cooldowns to reset.

This was KH-17-BD-3!

Although these hybrid techniques might've been missing proper names, for what it was worth, he'd finally chosen one for the supreme martial art itself.

Age had given him the sense that his initial choice, The Strategy of The Naked Chameleon Komodo Invincible Heaven-Exploding Crippled Fist, was childish and unsophisticated. It lacked a certain respect, a certain gravitas that things relating to battle should posses.

Thus, he'd settled on a simpler, shorter, sleeker replacement: A Thousand Tools.

A Thousand Tools, it was a name with much meaning.

In part, it referred to The Syncretist's Armament, with its Cap of a Thousand Dreams, its Pendant of a Thousand Minds, etc. In part, it alluded to his youthful insistence that his Legendary items were 'tools' rather than what they'd obviously been: cheats.

And in part, it was an homage to Twenty Tools. This was the multi-weapon style he'd been taught those many years ago by the foul-mouthed monk. That style had ultimately served as the martial foundation for The Strategy of The Resourceful Komodo – which had essentially been Twenty Tools plus cheats.

A Thousand Tools!

Sarok The Peerless, Spearman of The Kufoldi Guardians, was unnerved by the demise of Brother Kardszent.

But feelings, he knew, had to be suppressed in battle, delayed for when the fight was concluded. The distracted die, the composed survive.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Fully concentrating on the Offworlder, he fended off their pole-axe and searched for the crack through which to slip his spear.

There was an opportunity, while the were on cooldown, to discard his spear entirely and close in for the grapple. However, he'd refused to take it yet. An unnatural, disturbing quality in their movements was warning him of this action's peril.

Henry nodded in approval at the Fighter's decision.

KH-17-BD-3 was a hybrid with Forbidden Knife-Boxing. Behind his back, an knife had been hovering that'd been kept in reserve. If the Fighter had advanced, he would have stabbed them in the face, then impaled them on attacks from the Apostle's approaching skeletons.

Usually, a knife had little chance against a spear. Henry, though, felt confident because he was well-acquainted with this Fighter, even if they didn't recognise him.

Like the Proximicanist and many of this cult's frontliners, Sarok Szivvel was also a practitioner of The Herdswoman's Spear. Unlike the others, though, Sarok was a genius. A childhood prodigy, they'd been granted their first epithet 'Nerin-Born' before the age of 8, alluding to a rumour that they were the child of Nerin herself - not true.

When Sarok had been much younger, a trainee in a Herdswoman's sect, Henry had actually interviewed them personally during his search for successors to his guild. They'd made the shortlist for Suchi's candidates but ultimately lost out to Mohon.

That was the first connection. There was a second, creepier one. Henry, who'd trained in Herdswoman's Spear during his first Overdream session, had used a replica of this young man for one of his sparring partners.

Hence, his willingness to go knife against spear. He'd already bested thousands of their attacks.

The Sarok facing him now was older and higher-levelled than the replica. However, in the dry soils of Suchi, even the most promising flowers struggle to blossom. His skill had stagnated.

-Bian Han: Sarok, stall him for me!

The Fighter, who'd been about to disengage and retreat, attuned his ears to the rattling of four skeletons converging upon their position. By his estimation, they would arrive after the had reset and attacked him.

Nevertheless, Sarok chose to stay in, adjusting his tempo to begin The Song of The Old Ram.

This figure was employed in group battles against a much higher-level foe. The practitioner would abandon all defence to deliver the enemy a series of sporadic thrusts that, while weak, opened up the enemy's guard for one's allies to strike.

The technique was typically performed only with the assistance of healers to compensate for its poor defence. Sarok had no such assistance. The Offworlder, in their wicked machinations, had exhausted all the surrounding Divine and Nature energy before the fight to convert this entire formation into a Dead Zone for support spells.

And without assistance...

But he'd observed their foe enough to know that, if he cowered here, his Brothers and Sisters would be lucky to find better opportunities.

To the desert, Sarok thought, accepting his last song and lunging boldly forward.

Henry, familiar with The Old Ram and the Fighter's use of it, pretended to be overwhelmed into a corner while gathering the for the killing blow.

When the skeletons were about to reach him, though, he directed a single shield at the Fighter.

With their suicide lunge blocked, he had his war-axe smash the wall behind him and escaped into another hollow, the weapon swarm pouring in after him.

The Fighter and skeletons slid to a halt, wondering whether to chase.

Inside the tunnel wall, Henry sprinted through a narrow passageway, one of many that he'd carved throughout this formation. They were designed to give him both a moment to think and also to reach the Apostle at the cultists' rear sooner, the main threat and objective.

Hitting the end of the passageway, he pressed his eye to a coin-sized peephole and spotted a squad of cultists who were weighing the risk of running past the hole he'd entered.

Having decided too slowly, they were engulfed by him and the weapon swarm, the spear one-shotting their squad leader, Henry firing his spells.

For these guys, he adopted a slight variation of the previous hybridised Grass Dragon Plucks Spring Flowers, GD-27-CF-2. Compared with GD-26-AF-5, the major difference was substituting a proportion of with from a Spelltome. The 1-syllable inflicted less damage than his 1-charge , but they had the advantage of being castable without having to plant his feet. This increased his mobility, helping with dodging the projectiles from the cultist's backline after he'd shortened the distance.

Tools adjusting their swings for every circumstance, A Thousand Tools!

Back in Saana II, Henry had sought out the teachings of Tael Heavy-Fingers, a.k.a. the foul-mouthed monk, because the man had shared his same unusual profile.

Heavy-Fingers' mind, too, had been trapped within a miserably-sluggish body. Trash reaction speed. Similarly, for reasons never divulged, Heavy-Fingers had obstinately stuck to the martial path despite his affliction.

The man abandoned all possessions to become a monk, voyaged throughout his world, studied twenty different styles for twenty different weapons under twenty different masters, and failed at all of them.

So Heavy-Fingers forged a new style, stitching together what he'd learned from each into one that was less bodily, more cerebral.

Henry's supreme martial was, in some sense, merely the continuation of Heavy-Fingers' struggle. Where the mentor had died on the slopes, the protégé had picked up his rucksack and resumed the climb.

What's superior to 20 styles? 84 styles! To Twenty Tools? A Thousand Tools!

After he switched to GD-27-CF-2, most of the archers and mages shooting at him realised he was unbeatable and broke in terror. They tried to flee back down the tunnel, but they wouldn't get far, their leader having stationed skeletons to block the rear and pressure the cultists to continue attacking. The Apostle was over-fixated on Henry's Legendaries.

No safe opportunity to kill the guy had manifested yet—not with his Infernal Commander glued to his side—so Henry resumed his mid-term objective of eliminating the 6-man squad of Tier-4s.

A short distance from his position, a dozen cultists were huddled around a Shaman channelling a spell that drained the blood from her face while filling the air with sparkling water droplets.

He recognised her as Blue Nora, The Kufoldi Guardian's healer.

Using the Tier-4 , she'd been exchanging her health to restore the Nature Energy that he'd depleted. Elsewhere, lower-level healers without an equivalent to had been fumbling to ignite Alchemy Incenses for a similar rejuvenation purpose. Those items, however, took a minute to complete, which exceeded how long they had to live.

The squad he'd ambushed dead, Henry charged this Shaman, swapping Spelltomes in and out for the next play.

Right when the new ones were finishing their materialisation, he ducked behind a stalagmite to avoid a Bowman's arrow.

While obscured, he cast a single-syllable spell from a tome summoned in front of his chest straps rather than bound by them. This one's cover depicted an unusual execution scene with a jester in the crowd frozen stiff and the criminal being beheaded snickering.

With the spell's completion, a thumb-sized jester phantasm jumped down his leg. It leapt out of the way of the Spelltome that almost dropped on it and squashed it. Then, unnoticed by any of Henry's assailants, it zoomed off with its tiny legs towards a random squad.

Half a second after ducking behind the stalagmite, Henry re-emerged in view of everybody, his off-hand empty, the Spelltome dropped discreetly behind him.

The Shaman had completed two seconds before he could reach her. Replenishing her health with a heal, she stood her ground. Her class was equipped with an array of survivability spells with which she could resist his attacks while her supporters dealt with him. could morph her into stone, would make her skin fluid.

Either of those would have been a fine choice, but, at an order from The Apostle, she chose neither.

"Nora, no!"

A Wind and Fire droplet fading in her irises, the cultists huddling around her shrieked as they were consumed by the three-metre diameter flame ball of .

It ran at Henry to embrace him in its the blaze.

He directed an Enlivened Shortsword to lead the swarm in stabbing into the heart of the flame. Simultaneously, he side-stepped into a small pocket of Divine Energy he'd left for his personal use and shot a Miracleworker at the woman to cancel her before it swallowed him.

But he'd committed a critical miscalculation.

His Magic Power was drastically lower than hers, making his spells much weaker.

When the projectile of his entered the flame, although it did dampen the intensity, the change was insufficient to save him.

"Fuck!" he swore, spinning back around to escape.

But the Tier-4 Fighter had been close behind. The young man, their bullet-time active, was already flashing forward.

Sarok saw mortal fear in the Offworlder's eyes, their trembling lips wanting to beg for him to stop but muted by terror. Ignoring this entreaty, he ducked low and plunged his spear fast and true through their unarmoured groin and into their guts.

Their face twisted in agony.

They slumped over his shoulder and vomited blood down his back.

Sarok exhaled a sigh of relief.

That'd been close.

Agony?

Offworlders were immune to pain.