"Your song is erratic, yet I feel your desire and it makes my heartwood ecstatic. Your challenge, I accept, my word shall be kept!" Frigoniaparuala launched herself at Mayalyn, not giving Jiran time to translate. As her extended spear clashed against sharp claws, the Matron of Conflict’s expression turned to complete shock. She took three stumbling steps back, her spear vibrating from the power behind Mayalyn’s casual swipe. Jiran’s eyes narrowed as Mayalyn bent her knees, moving at less than half the speed and power he knew she could exert.

Mayalyn lunged after the Matron of Conflict, the air groaning in protest as rapid strikes rained down on the woman, one after another. She ducked and weaved, twirling her spear so quickly that the tough, mana-imbued wood bowed before snapping forward with each swing. In only a few short seconds, the weapon connected with Mayalyn’s claws a dozen times, each resulting in a sharp crack that rang across the clearing. Their feet kicked up dirt as they dashed around one another, each seeking an advantage and finding none.

Chokkra whistled appreciatively at the display, his brows rising higher with each clash. The other Forkara had gone silent, watching with keen interest and bated breath as their torturer was put to the test.

Mayalyn’s not using her enhancing. And she's matched her speed to the Matron's. Guess she wants to test her martial ability against someone who’s clearly an expert. I'm glad she's enjoying herself at least.

Both women wore matching, confident smiles as they continued to trade blows. The Matron was no longer being thrown back with each attack as Mayalyn found the correct level of strength to use against her. On the contrary, the older woman was now chasing Mayalyn around, her movements flowing with practiced ease. Each of her blows was perfectly balanced and led directly into a follow-up, counter, or defensive twirl. It was clear she would come out on top eventually if nothing changed.

Despite her clearly superior skill, she couldn't land a single hit. Mayalyn’s grasp on the weapon’s trajectory and how to move her body out of the way at the last second bordered on the supernatural. The tip of the deadly spear was never far from marring her skin as she flipped, spun, and ducked. Certainly, having perception a tier higher than her opponent was a huge factor, but with less than half of her usual speed, it was still impressive she managed to evade every one of the Matron’s complex and perfectly executed attacks.

image [https://i.imgur.com/GBEBPo0.jpg]

Frigoniaparuala extended her spear, transitioning to a one-handed grip for extra range. Mayalyn folded into a backward handspring and the blade passed a centimeter away from cutting her stomach and chest. Her hands sank into the soil and her legs thrashed out in a kick at the matron’s extended arm. Frigoniaparuala was already shifting to the side before Mayalyn’s foot lashed out, she spun, her spear whipping around in a tight circle before the point was thrust toward where Mayalyn would be when she came out of her acrobatic evasion.

Blood was finally drawn as the tip pierced Mayalyn’s shoulder. She howled, the tight control on her strength and speed slipping for a fraction of a second. Her fist flashed forward in an instinctive retaliation, crushing the spear to the side and smashing into the Matron’s extended arm. The lower-tier woman was thrown through the air, spinning chaotically until she crashed into the ground.

Two of the Forkara hunters cheered at Mayalyn’s success before they were smacked upside their heads by their fellow captives. Seeing Mayalyn unmoving and breathing heavily, Jiran approached until he was close enough to send a wisp of his mana into her arm and heal it. She clicked her tongue, wearing a scowl that was directed at the ground. “I lost, tell her,” She mumbled.

“It was a good fight, I’m glad you had some fun. I’ll let her know,” Jiran nodded and made his way to the fallen woman who was unsteadily rising to her feet, nursing a broken arm that was bent backward at the elbow. Her teeth were clenched and her gaze unsteady as she tilted dizzily. Jiran’s mana flowed into her, snapping the arm back into place in one smooth jerk before regenerating the damaged bark and inner layers. She gasped, standing upright as her eyes focused on first him, then Mayalyn. “Mayalyn admits defeat.”

Since his mana was already in her, he blocked her rhyming skill from activating as she opened her mouth to sing, “To think she was holding back so much just to test herself,” The Matron of Conflict leveled her spear at Jiran. A wild, fanatical smile spread across her face as she shook with uncontrollable excitement, “Since your disciple has failed, I have earned the right to challenge you directly!”

“Seriously? Is fighting all you care about? We need to talk about the defenses of the valley…” When the glimmer in her eyes only intensified, Jiran gave up on any chance of a real conversation with the battle junky, “Fine, I hope you’re not expecting me to hold back like Mayalyn did.”

“Yes, yes! That is how it should be! Fight me with your full power, bond your strength into my memory!” She threw her head back and cackled. Her body shook with unbridled desire. The emotions caused blossoming buds to bloom before they quickly fell, sending a torrent of crimson leaves falling from her. She crouched and lunged, her spear extended toward his heart. As suddenly as she lunged, she slammed face-first into the ground when Jiran’s aura crushed her downward. He didn't stop applying pressure until she was buried a meter into the soil.

Mana Omnis confirmed she was only unconscious, if a bit bruised. He turned back to see Mayalyn giving him a ‘really?’ look and he shrugged, “She practically begged me not to go easy on her. I wouldn’t mind sparring once she calms down a bit. The way she was looking at me…” Jiran shivered, “I don’t know, maybe I’m just weak against crazy types. She reminded me of Markhiss. Hmm, guess you haven’t met him, lucky you.”

Mayalyn’s only response was a huff blown from her nose. Her gaze moved back to the matron-shaped hole in the ground. Jiran could tell she was still lost in thoughts about her failed bout so he left her alone, his attention caught by a short, skinny Timberling. The woman was one of the duo that had accompanied the Matron of Conflict. She rushed toward him with a complicated expression and bowed, her hands cupped at her navel as if holding water. The silver-haired Timberling with large eyes sang in a soft, gentle voice, “Is it true the matron is alive? How could she possibly survive?”

“Yeah, she’ll be awake in a few minutes. Despite her wish, I went easy on her.”

“Thank you for sparing her! You are most gracious, and your powers are truly efficacious,” The short woman gushed, leaning toward him with stars in her eyes. Mayalyn grunted, rolled her eyes, and then plopped down next to the Matron’s hole to meditate.

Jiran carefully observed the Timberling. His eyes were instantly drawn to the well-used hilt of a knife at her waste. She wore an easy smile, her earlier concern for her Matron dispelled.. Her eyes were so bright-blue as to appear almost white. The mana in her body and unformed aura danced excitedly with every movement she made, giving him the impression she had an expressive, carefree personality.

She seems nice. Unlike her Matron. Lulu said there were twelve sects and each is led by a Matron. If all of them are this crazy… Yeah that’s way more than I’m willing to put up with. Is this the woman the Matron mentioned, her second in command? She’s got the knife at least. Maybe she can help.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“What’s your name?” Jiran asked with a friendly smile.

“This one is known as Tomaralareene, which means 'to be left between'. Like a knife, wedged and left deep, thirsting to end a life.” With a bright smile and blooming leaves adorning her brow, she clasped her hands together before her chest and blinked up at him through her lashes, “Great Spirit, would you spare me a hiver for my first task? Just one is all I ask. One kill, to sate our thirst, and in their blood bask.”

And it’s gone. Seriously running out of patience with these crazy tree people. Are they all this bad or just the ones I keep meeting?

"No," Jiran responded dryly, "No, you cannot kill any of the Forkara. Until we decide what to do with the lot of them, they're my prisoners and they won't be getting murdered to appease your… knife." Rubbing his temples, he watched the short woman lick her lips while staring longingly at the prisoners. "Hey, Knife, can I call you Knife? These Forkara were both hunting your people and guarding the valley from encroaching beasts. We need to get some scouts out to guard the walls. Is that something you can handle?”

"Please name me Knife. I love it! This name I will covet! Should we not leave the scouting to the Sect of Hunting, their efforts unending as the beast’s fangs they are blunting?”

Jiran’s eye twitched before his mana coiled inside her, wrapping around her skill. She gasped and faltered, clutching at her chest until her breathing calmed. Seeing her recovered, Jiran tried again, “The Forkara were stopping almost all the beasts from entering the valley.Now that they’re gone, your hunters will have to deal with several dozen new beasts every day and some of them will be many times stronger than anything you’ve had to face before. Expecting the sect of hunting to handle it alone is probably too much.”

“Ahh, I see. That is much worse than I thought. I will tell my people to assist the hunters,” She ran to the other woman in her sect who then sang a sharp order at the dozen young men. Together, they dashed from the open field and into the woods. Knife then sprinted back to Jiran and stood before him with her hands behind her back. “Your song has been sung.”

“Uh, thanks,” When she simply stood there looking up at him expectantly for several seconds, Jiran sighed, “Was there something else?”

“No, I am merely awaiting your next song, Great Spirit.”

“That’s all I wanted, you can go. I really don’t need anything else.”

“I will stay. If my presence offends you, I will accept death as punishment. Though, I would ask you to leave my heartwood intact so I may transcend.”

“What?! I’m not going to kill you.”

Knife wiped a leaf from her brow that had stuck to a bead of sweat, “Whew, that’s a relief. If you change your mind, you can use my knife.”

“Why would I… You know what, nevermind. Definitely going to go through Lulu." Jiran mumbled and rubbed his temples, contemplating flying to get away from the insane woman.

"You named another? I was not the first?" Something in her tone set off alarm bells in Jiran’s skull, it could have also been the way she started fingering the hilt of her knife while running her tongue over her teeth.

"Absolutely no hurting Lulu, she’s my guide and under my protection, understood?"

Knife kicked the dirt, her expression turning glum, "I understand, Great Spirit."

"Can you at least call me Jiran?"

"No, you named me, and I have named you," her matter-of-fact tone left no room for negotiation. Jiran sighed again, begging Mayalyn for help with his eyes but she merely laughed at him and returned to her meditations. Knife pointed toward a group of three nearly identical women standing just inside the coverage of the forest, "Ahh, the Matron of Cleansing has arrived."

The three distant Timberlings locked eyes with Jiran for a moment before putting their heads together in a hushed whisper. One of them fearfully pointed out the cage full of Forkara and they immediately scampered deeper into the cover of the forest, peeking from behind tree trunks.

Jiran lifted his chin in their direction, speaking quietly to Knife, "They seem a bit skittish.”

"Yes, they rely on us of conflict and those of hunting to clear regions of the forest before performing their acts of cleansing. They are trained to flee from danger as that is not their path. The Matron of Cleansing is showing great bravery by staying so close to the hive hunters. She must be taking courage from your presence,” Knife’s eyes lit up when she saw that Chokkra was wandering in their direction, “What about this one who is running free, surely you would let me stab him. Only a few times? He will not die, I promise! Probably…"

Chokkra stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the way the short woman was looking at him. It didn’t take a genius to understand the intent behind the madness in her eyes. He sprang into the air, wisely putting some distance between them. Jiran’s aura snatched the knife from her belt and it zipped into his hand. “No! no stabbing! You can have this back when you decide to behave,” Her jaw dropped and a moment later, she deflated, shoulders drooping and face morphing into that of a kicked pet. Jiran ignored her dramatic antics and pushed the conversation toward his next question, “You don’t seem to mind the Forkara. I assumed all of your people would be terrified of them.”

Knife shook her head sadly, “I am of conflict, we live only to fight the hive. I have killed several of them with my knife,” She eyed the weapon clutched in Jiran’s hand.

“Lulu said none had ever managed to kill one before, or at least there were no bodies to prove it.”

Knife nodded, “We always leave the bodies in the open. Their far more powerful leaders come to collect them. They will kill a thousand to retrieve a single corpse. The leaders are truly unstoppable. Only their saplings have we managed to slay, never a leader.”

“That makes sense, the tier four, and especially tier five Forkara would be impossible to stop if you’re all tier three.”

“What are these tiers? Some kind of power? Is that the gift the prophecy mentioned you would bring? I never believed any of their nonsense before I met you. Their anticipation of your arrival makes much more sense to me now. I almost wish I had chosen the Sect of Belief so I could understand why merely standing beside you is so… intoxicating.”

Intoxicating? Is that because of my charisma attribute? Hmm, does that explain some of their strange behavior around me? Is it a more powerful effect on lower tiers? Now that I think about it, the soldiers in Mortan and Lordstone were acting a bit weird around me, too.

Jiran coughed into his hand and changed the subject, “So each sect has a distinct name and purpose? Conflict, hunting, and belief I can guess at. What does the Sect of Cleansing do?"

Knife’s gaze never wavered from the weapon in Jiran’s hand as she answered absentmindedly, "The transcended become clogged if they are not fully drained on occasion. The Sect of Cleansing relieves them of blockages and ensures proper growth can continue. They have other duties, though none so important. The transcended are the lifesap of our people, afterall."

"Oh, so they suck out all the-yeah got it, okay cleansing. What about the other sects? Think they'll all show up?”

“I expected the sects of betterment, raising, creation, and cleansing to be the only ones who would refuse your summons. Since one of them is here already, it is possible all will come. The others would not miss a chance to witness such monumental events unfold.”

The Matron of Belief chose that moment to exit the forest with a group of nearly a hundred young men and adult women behind her. Jiran suppressed the growl that wanted to emerge from his throat upon seeing the woman again. The entire group kneeled submissively and began to hum, none daring to approach him.

Jiran ran his eyes over each one, a frown growing on his face, “Where are the men? All I’ve seen of your adults are women.”

“My apologies, Great Spirit. Your words confuse me greatly. You said: ‘Where are the adults? All you’ve seen of our adults are adults?’ I do not understand.”

“No, not adults, men. Where are the men?”

Knife shook her head, her face scrunched so intensely her eyes closed, “‘Not adults, adults. Where are the adults?’ What are you trying to say?”

“Wait, adults, men, and women all have the same meaning in your language?”

“You are repeating yourself!” Realizing she snapped at him, Knife took a step back with wide eyes, “I-I am sorry, I cannot underst—” She was cut off as a group of nearly fifty silver-haired women stepped up to the forest's edge. They each held a drawn bow. One of them released a sharp, trilling cry, and as one, they released a wave of arrows at the caged Forkara.