My consciousness returns to me, and I find my world one of darkness.

Heavy weights pin my limbs to the ground.

I feel the shackles on my wrists and ankles.

These soul shackles mirror my soul cuffs. But I need help to remove these.

I can move as I would with the soul cuffs on with proper focus.

I become conscious of how the air around me is void of the chi of heaven and earth.

As I walk through my dark cell, I tread upon something.

It shifts as I walk over it.

It is a sword a cheap, unbalanced, blade I pick it up.

I become conscious of the fact that I am not alone.

In this pit, I hear sniffles and coughs. Men and women caught in despair at their captivity.

Time passes, and I open my eyes to the spiritual world.

My eyes show me the powerless—those tread upon by the powerful.

I sense myself to be the only one bound with soul shackles.

"Hello," I say to a woman beside me.

She scrambles away from me and bumps into another prisoner.

Her alarmed squeak cuts through the silence, and she collapses to the ground, sobbing.

I want to soothe her somehow. But, find no way to do so.

Hours pass, and my stomach turns over.

I hear the growling of others' stomachs.

I grow fearful of where this state of affairs is leading us.

Finally, light descends from the over world.

I see two figures standing over the exit to this prison.

Their faces are pitiless as they begin to throw down meat, bread, and fruit.

Despite my hunger, I do not move on the precious food.

I watch as a mad scramble begins.

Men and women claw and scrap their way to food.

I couldn't say who first used one of the many swords on the ground.

But, when the bloodletting began, it could not be stopped.

Through my vision of the spiritual world, I can't help but see the blood soak the food everyone fights over.

The window to the sky closes, and the violence reaches its peak.

I'm not the only one who avoided the frenzy. And many more fled when the battle was engaged.

I observed the victors covetously take up what food they could grasp.

My mind goes back to the Divided Fates sect. It was sink or swim, just as it is here.

I find a stream of water falling from a river overhead. When it's free, I get a drink and wash my face and hands.

With my sharpened sense of hearing, I can overhear some wily acolytes forming alliances to take the food.

Despite the hundred or so captives, they only drop enough food for a handful of people to exist.

I find myself in a precarious position. I have long neglected my nutrition, and now I am truly starving.

Days pass, and I find myself in trouble.

Every time food is dropped, there is a battle to get something to eat.

I've been biding my time. Willing my hunger away.

But, now I must move.

This is truly a life-and-death dilemma.

As the food is dropped, I wait for the roof to close. And, when darkness comes over the dungeon, I move.

My focus cuts through the weight of my soul shackles.

My target is one of the more vicious acolytes. He shows no discretion in the execution of the other prisoners.

With my training in the lower arts, I disarm and choke the man to unconsciousness—his spoils mine.

I can't help but taste the copper flavor of blood on the bread I swallow.

With a few more mouthfuls, I feel my hunger momentarily abate.

Days pass in this fashion, with me claiming the loot of the more aggressive actors in this bloody show.

Those who are most vicious are some of the quickest to go.

More cautious actors form alliances, and so begin the true battles. With death a given, gangs fight over food.

I manage to procure food despite the increased risk.

The melee is engaged time and again. These wars take out an ever greater number of people.

We're at less than half the number of people we started with.

Days become weeks, and it's hard to sneak the food away from the more successful parties.

Finally, I can no longer suffice with the lower arts. I pick up one of the swords. Its balance is even.

I've always needed proper training with the sword. But I have practiced with my flying sword for years.

I steady myself as the hour is upon us. My grip on the sword tightens.

The ceiling opens.

Everyone is ready to fight. The main parties face off. I prepare myself for blood when I see the two guards.

But, instead of food, they drop a rope.

Everyone is puzzled as the two guards leave our vision.

Enthusiastic acolytes drop their swords and run over to the rope

Ecstatic faces are all around as we cheer the first of our comrades in his climb. With release on offer, old hostilities evaporate.

The first man is breathing heavily as he stops at the midway point.

The first man fails and slides back to the ground.

The next one is enthusiastic and still gets some cheers. But, a new air stirs among us.

No food is left to fight over and we're starved from the get-go.

Eventually, I have a turn. I only get a small distance up the rope before falling back down. If not for the soul shackles, it would be an easy matter. But, as it stands...

No one cheers anymore.

Then, an ingenious man figures out how to wrap the rope around his foot as he climbs.

When he reaches daylight, everyone watching cheers.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Now, people return to the task with energy.

A young woman, this time, climbs to freedom. Or, at least, what passes for it here.

My turn comes, and I learned the lesson on the climbing technique.

I'm slow. Slower than the rest. But, I achingly claim every inch until I finally reach out from the earth's bowels.

I turn my attention to the pair of guards who watch over my trial.

"You're a surprising figure, alchemist."

I'm breathing hard as I look at the guard that spoke.

"I had you pegged for a paper pusher. Thought the pit would eat you."

I grow tired of the man quickly.

"Go," the guard motions to a trail through the open tundra.

With a final look at my fellow pit dwellers, I turn to my new path.

The thought of running barely crosses my mind. The soul shackles and ascended immortals are intimidating challenges.

And so, I stick to the path. I walk the path for hours when, at last, a village comes into sight.

A guard addresses me at the gate to the walled village.

"State your affiliation!"

I find myself staring down a sword.

I know what this is.

"Steady Sword."

An aggressive smile takes the man's face as he sheathes his sword.

"Welcome to Apex."

As I enter the territory of Apex, I feel the bounty of heavenly chi in this place. And, all the gravity wells that somehow don't starve one another in the chi-dense village.

A steward comes up to me. "Greetings and congratulations acolyte. You should be proud to have earned your place here."

I assess the young man. His soul well is still young. But his dao seems healthy.

"What now?" I ask.

The steward smiles amicably. "We know of your great skills as an alchemist. This will be your role as you climb in rank."

That's not a surprise.

"But, similar to the pit, all recruits must report to the martial field for mandatory training. I can take you there now."

"My things..."

The man smiles encouragingly, "Will be returned to you when you settle in."

The man escorts me to an open field where people in groups or alone practice with wooden swords. They each wear a uniform.

Depending on the group, an instructor may be barking out commands.

My eyes catch sight of some of the recruits that preceded me.

An instructor is barking at them.

"I will wait for you here," comes the steward's voice as he settles into a cross-legged position.

I sigh to myself as I join the troop of recruits.

We are told to wait on our feet for other conscripts to join us.

Gradually, people flow into our formation. Only some people in the pit made it.

A drill instructor came onto the field before us.

I hold my tongue as the instructor walks up to a man. He takes a long look at the man.

The man's eyes are on the ground.

The instructor punches the man in the gut, "When I'm looking at you, you look back."

The man recovers and, hesitantly, looks up.

The instructor flicks his wrist, and a wooden sword appears in his hand. He hands the sword to the man.

The man accepts the wooden sword and stands momentarily, waiting for the drill instructor's attention to move one.

Instead of moving on, the instructor punches the man once more.

"I give you something; you say, thank you, sir."

"Th- Thank you, sir."

The instructor goes down the line until he comes before me.

"Alchemist." His eyes are on my soul shackles. "You have considerable focus."

There's a hint of respect in his voice as he hands me my wooden sword.

"Thank you, sir."

The man finishes handing out the swords and goes through our orientation.

"These swords are your life. You carry them with you wherever you go."

The man pauses. "You don't want to know what it takes to get another."

My grip on the sword tightens as the rest of the acolytes look at one another.

I feel like I'm the only one who isn't freaking out. Everyone else is entering the world of cultivators for the first time.

My shackles even the playing field. Thus, I enter the Steady Sword sect.

The training is rudimentary. And I practice on my own, having prepared myself for the foundation I'm building in this training.

The instructor's eyes are critical as he looks me over.

"I can tell you have some training with the sword." He pauses, "You'll need to forget what you know. Our style is the only style you'll need."

The instructor is much more respectful than with the other recruits when addressing me.

He barks commands at my fellows as the training continues.

We are kept on the field for a short time. And, soon, I return to my steward.

"Good job out there," the man looks me over. "I don't believe we've been properly acquainted. My name is Renald. I'll be your attendant for the foreseeable future."

I nod my head, "Rook."

"Rook," he smiles. "If you'll follow me."

I follow the man's lead as we depart from the training field.

I'm led to a large building with the strong scent of medicinal herbs.

Renald ushers me inside, and I find myself before a large pill cauldron.

My cauldron I had before was nothing before this mighty construct.

An aged face comes around from behind the cauldron.

"Is this the renowned alchemist I've been hearing whispers of?"

I say nothing, so Renald speaks for me.

"Your excellency, this is indeed him."

"And, here, I thought the it'd eat him. To have clawed your way out of that hellhole in soul shackles is no small feat."

"Tell me," the man stands in front of me. "Who was your master that you should have such talents?"

I hold my tongue as the old man examines me.

His lips twitch.

"No matter. You are a part of Steady Sword from now on.

"Well," he claps his hands and rubs them together. "Show me what you can do."

I'm led to a series of personal-sized cauldrons. Before me are herbs and water.

"You have the afternoon to show me your skills. I wouldn't disappoint if I were you."

I resign myself to my slavery.

I begin by assessing the stock. They're all common herbs as I prepare a batch of Celestial Resonance pills.

The pill attunes the cultivator to the chi of the heavens, aiding one's absorption.

I begin by selecting the herbs that I plan to use. Then, I delicately dissect the components I'll be using.

My dissection needs to be completed as I warm the cauldron. Some components retain their potency if they are kept from being used for too long.

The aged man and my attendant Renald observe me in silence. Their expressions are curious.

Minutes pass as hours. Each stage of the finely tuned recipe requires its protocols.

I pass chi into the plants, and the tools become extensions of my spiritual body.

Time progresses, and in my second hour, I have a dozen pills cooling.

My speed in the preparation is worth it. But it's different from the speed that my critic is looking for.

The pills finish cooling, and I store them in a pill bottle.

The aged man takes the bottle when I offer it.

His expression is impassive as he sniffs the bottle.

As he smells the medicinal aroma, his eyes widen.

Quickly, he pulls out a pill to smell and examine before turning his attention to the next.

Now, his widened eyes give way to a hungry smile.

"Welcome to the Steady Sword, Master Alchemist."

From here, I am taught the etiquette of alchemists in this sect.

"When you're ready, we'll teach you the use of the grandmaster cauldron. Until then, you'll follow directions to the best of your ability. There will be consequences for subpar work."

I can't help but feel that I should never have sought to sell superior-grade pills.

I only wanted to make some coin, and here I am, slave to one of the biggest sects in the land.

Some protocols must be followed, and I am drilled on each procedure.

I find peace at night, and I'm allowed to mind my affairs.

Renald keeps a respectful distance. But, follows me like a shadow.

I find a space to watch the stars pass through the heavens.

I find myself needing help. I thought I was getting to write my fate after parting ways with the ascended immortal of Fire Island.

Instead, I found myself once more snared by the powerful.

I feel the weight of my soul shackles, carrying the sign of my slavery everywhere I go.

It's rare for immortals to be conscripted. Not that it doesn't happen. It's just rare.

Sects are jealous of their human resources when they start paying off.

But, the ascension is a trial for any mortal. And immortals are not above backstabbing.

Still, this is a new opportunity.

I wanted to find a master to teach me the art of the sword. And the Steady Sword sect is reputed to have the finest swordmasters in the land.

Rather than wallowing in the slave's fate, I focus on the knight in the sky.

The knight is prepared when danger arrives.

I resolve always to be prepared in the future. I will grow until I have the true power of an immortal.

The immortal and the knight have a relationship. Martial skill is integral to the eternal's cultivation.

I think about the many years I spent on Fire Island. I did practice the lower arts and my own style of swordplay.

But, since Jack left, there hasn't been a battle that I've faced to keep myself on my toes.

My time on Fire Island built in me a deep soul well. I don't usually run with the full gravitational force of my soul well because I typically am not in a territory with such dense chi.

I will only get a proper gauge of how I stand among immortals when I prove myself to the sect.

I can't help but think that the sect would have no issues with keeping me a slave for a long time.

But, I am not a slave. No matter what others may think.

This time, I failed the test of the knight.

I will not fail again.

The days that follow are taxing.

Before dawn, I am in the martial field. I wait cross legged for my instructor and fellow recruits to arrive.

The drill instructor says nothing about how early I am. But chews out some of the later recruits.

We start our training with several exercise activities and a run around the perimeter of the martial field.

Other groups start at various times and continue until their time ends.

With our bodies warmed up, the true training began.

We begin with the foundations.

"I'm told you hold some skill with a blade, recruit." The burly man looks deep into my eyes.

"Yes, sir."

The drill instructor turns his face from me and spits on the ground.

"Well, forget it all." He eyes me evenly. "You're not learning some minor league art here. You're learning the Steady Sword style. The best art in the land."

I nod and clarify what I have learned in my practice.

I enter this training with a free heart. This is not the training of a slave. It is the training of a knight, of an immortal.

The morning hours pass in rigid training. The sword style is founded upon the basic footwork.

The swords are not used in our first few days of training.

Instead, we hold the swords at our sides and practice advancing, retreating, and side stepping.

I find myself sweating profusely in the training. The soul shackles claim much of my energy.

After morning training, Renald sees me to the apothecary.

He is an odd character. I can't tell if he's a prison guard or a servant. If I need anything, he gets it upon request.

He even got my cosmos ring back for me.

But, much as I want to like the man, he is part of the sect that abducted me.

I spend most of my time away from the training field in the apothecary with the massive cauldron.

I work with the alchemists of Steady Sword. Even the master-class alchemists have a low rate of crafting superior-grade pills.

"Where did you learn your trade?" asks Nigel, the grand master alchemist who gave me my first alchemy test.

"Fire Island," I state.

"Fire island? I'm not familiar with their school."

The aged man seems to be under a misunderstanding. But, I don't seek to enlighten him.

Before long, I find curious eyes reviewing my work.

"I can't believe you're doing all this with soul shackles on," the voice of a master alchemist rings out.

I had momentarily forgotten my captivity. I was caught up in thoughts of herb components, heat, and sequence. But now, my mind turns to my bonds.

I push the useless thoughts aside.

I'm an alchemist before I'm a slave.

The respect of everyone from the acolytes to the grand master eases the toll of my station.

Days become weeks as I develop in my martial form.

And, despite my alchemy skills, I never had proper training.

My time as a student of those who have practiced in different schools is enlightening.

I find myself once more learning the art from scratch.

It's a relief to craft pills that will not torment me.

"You crafted what?" Nigel stands, mouth agape.

I repeat myself, "A perfect Dragon's Scream pill."

My answer does nothing to lessen the grand master shock.

"You must be mistaken." He can't accept my words. "There would be tribulation lightning. I know you have a strong soul. But, the lightning would destroy even an ascended immortal. The heavens will not abide perfection on earth."

I puzzle at his words.

"There was tribulation lightning. I was protected by an ascended immortal."

"You couldn't have..."

The grandmaster's shock is laced with a note of fear.

"What?" I ask.

"No- Nothing. Per- Perhaps you did attain perfection. I can only imagine your number of attempts to perfect such a pill. Tell me, what did you do with all the failures."

I scratch my head, "I used them."

Nigel laughs, "Now I know you're telling tall tales."

I shrug. I don't need him to believe me.

"Well, if you intend to make a perfect pill while you're here, let us know in advance. Tribulation lightning is nothing to joke about."

I take his words to heart. I spent so much time and misery chasing perfection. I'm not eager to resume that hunt.

But then, any pill I craft now would not induce torment in me.

My thoughts are mixed.

The days and weeks pass in routine.

Mornings in the martial field. And, afternoons crafting. Nights can be spent however I choose, so long as I don't leave the walled village.

I can travel with my flying sword. But, it requires considerable focus.

Renald is ever attentive and stalks me wherever I go.

I don't test the pursuit of my captors.

Aside from the shackles, my time in the Steady Sword village is positive.

I'm learning in ways I'd hoped to when I left my prison island.

I have yet to earn a proper sword. My flying sword is extravagant and beautiful. But, its design is not to clash with sword and flesh.

In Steady Sword, one's sword is earned by honoring the rights of the sect.

Only practice swords can be used until one's proficiency is deemed worthy of the name Steady Sword.

I hone my footwork down with muscle memory. Always seeking more efficient movements.

I've become conscious of how frail I am. The drill instructor called me out.

"Eat a dammed sandwich, alchemist!"

I nod my understanding.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes, sir."

"Just because you can sustain yourself on chi, you think yourself above the mundane constraints of mortals.

"You are proof of the fallacy."

"Yes, sir."

Immortality and hunger don't go hand in hand. But I have resolved to put on as much weight as possible at the sect.

I only have enough coin to eat one meal a day and find a good restaurant in the village to serve me. Noodle dishes are their specialty. So, every night, I get myself one of the numerous meals they offer.

As the weeks pass, I see steady growth in my muscles. But I can't get fat with the martial practice keeping me busy.

Weeks become months, and I find myself growing angry. I've been in bonds for months, even as I contribute as a member.

"What's the point of it, Nigel? I'm a member of Steady Sword. But, I'm treated like a slave."

"Patience, lad, patience. These things come in their own time. As an immortal, you should be accustomed to waiting."

I sigh as I let my anger momentarily abate.

Time continues to unfold, and my strain with the soul shackles impedes my growth as a cultivator.

I'm starting to feel like I don't even want to keep my soul cuffs with how sick of the burden I'm becoming.

One day, while I'm crafting, Renald approaches me. He interrupts my flow, and I try to salvage the pill.

"You are summoned."

"Summoned?" I'm still focused on my craft.

"Yes, Rook. Please, we must go."

There's an anxiousness to Renald. What could be so important, I wonder."

I'm close to finishing my pill, so I do not mind the interruption.

"Rook."

"Quiet." I focus on my task.

It isn't long. But, finally, I am finished with a superior-grade pill.

I stand and look expectantly at my steward.

There's sweat on his brow as he turns to leave.

He is moving at a dash, and I struggle to keep up.

He leads me to a regal section of the village.

I start feeling the gravity of the summons as I sense the soul wells of the cultivators in this neighborhood.

Renald escorts me to a palace built of strong wood. Guards patrol on every level of the estate.

We enter the palace through a side door. The inside is illuminated with an abundance of purple light stone.

The inside is a honeycomb of pathways and rooms.

The staff of the building watch as Renald rushes to a room.

"You're late."

Before us stands a severe-looking gentleman.

"Apologies, Director Chambers," Renald says between gasps for air.

"Whatever," the director waves dismissively. "He's waiting."