CHAPTER 3 - Cultivators
Desmond stirred, the subtle sway of the carriage gently coaxing him from his slumber. Straightening up, he realized the absence of the rhythmic clatter of hooves; the convoy had stopped.
Soft murmurs from outside reached his ears. Quietly, he leaned toward the carriage window, peering through a sliver in the curtains.
The landscape revealed a dense thicket of towering trees, their silhouettes stretching ominously, interrupted only by occasional beams of moonlight.
Among the hushed voices, one stood out, proclaiming affiliation with the Veridion Kingdom, on a duty to patrol its borders.
As his sight slowly ajusted to the muttled glow of the forest, he discerned a group of about ten mounted men. Their arms ready, and their stance, although feigned as non-threatening, spoke of an obvious underlying tension.
Desmond's thoughts raced. They moved northward, skirting the eastern borders of the hostile Haliron Kingdom, meaning they were staying along the contested borderlands. The men's assertive demeanor conflicted with their proclaimed friendly affiliation. Were they truly allies or hidden foes?
Opposite these men stood his two carriage drivers, John Stallard’s personal guards: an older man with dark, almost black hair, and a younger one with sandy blonde hair. They spun a story about being a simple merchant and his assistants on their way to a market.
Without warning, a sharp order cut through the night, "Open the carriage!" The older, bearded driver gave a reluctant nod, signaling to proceed. As a soldier approached and began to pull the carriage door, a blur of silver flashed.
Before Desmond could process what happened, a sword jutted out, piercing through the soldier's neck, blood splattering the inside of the carriage.
Chaos ensued.
The two drivers, whom Desmond had underestimated, displayed agility and skill that defied human capability. The bearded driver, with a swift pivot, slashed his longsword across another soldier's throat, causing a spray of crimson.
His blond companion leapt, closing the gap between him and two mounted guards, his blade finding its mark through one's armor and into his heart. The other soldier barely had time to raise his weapon before the edge of the blond driver's sword met his neck
Desmond watched in shock, the display of skill and speed overwhelming his senses. These were not ordinary men. Their movements were fluid, each strike precise, leaving no room for error or defense.
Four guards tried to flank the bearded driver, but in a whirlwind of motion, he dispatched three with a series of well-placed thrusts and slashes. The fourth attempted to retreat but was met with the end of the blond driver’s blade.
The final three soldiers, sensing their imminent doom, charged in desperation. But their efforts were in vain. With a synchronized attack, both drivers lunged, blades gleaming under the moonlight, and in a matter of seconds, the last of the soldiers lay motionless on the ground.
Catching his breath, Desmond inquired, ‘ORION, do they possess Essence cores?’
<
The carriage door swung open, revealing the two guards. The elder of the two, bearing a grizzled beard and black hair, locked eyes with Desmond. "Young Master, we already took down those Haliron soldiers," he began, his voice heavy with concern, "are you unharmed?"
Beside him, the younger, blond guard took a guarded stance, scanning the surroundings for any further threats.
"I'm... alright" he responded, his voice quivering slightly, echoing the aftershock of the brutal conflict. While the suddenness of the violent act was jarring, his analytical nature, combined with his previous exposure to human corpses during his studies, and his past traumas, helped him to process the event rapidly.
"J-Just a little shaken…” he added, striving to maintain the guise of a vulnerable youth in front of Lucian and Cedric.
Both guards exchanged a knowing glance. "We'll continue our journey then, note we will stop in a couple hours, the horses need to rest" the elder guard, whom Desmond would come to know as Cedric, reassured them. The younger one, Lucian, nodded in agreement. They returned to their posts, ensuring the carriage resumed its journey.
Feeling a bit restless, Desmond ventured outside after a few minutes, opting to sit in front of the carriage alongside the guards. Lucian immediately bristled. "Young Master, you should be inside. It's dangerous out here."
However, Cedric, who seemed to be the one in charge, shot him a dismissive look. "Let him be, Lucian."
Gazing at the expansive road ahead, Desmond, genuinely impressed, remarked, "The way you two fought back there... it was incredible." After a brief pause, he continued cautiously, "How did you do that?"
Cedric and Lucian exchanged a fleeting look, then turned their attention back to Desmond. Cedric raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean, Young Master?"
Trying to articulate his observation, Desmond said, "Your speed, your strength... It was beyond what I've seen even in well-trained soldiers. It seemed almost... superhuman."
Lucian's eyes narrowed slightly, and he asked, "Has Lord Stallard not told you about the Stallards’ physique cultivation technique?"
Stolen story; please report.
Caught slightly off guard, Desmond feigned familiarity. "Of course, I know about it. I just haven't practiced it. I was curious about its effects in real-life situations, that's all."
Hoping to appeal to the child's innate sense of wonder, he probed, "Tell me, do all the warriors serving my father fight as impressively as you both?"
Cedric and Lucian exchanged amused glances before breaking into a chuckle. "Well, Young Master," Cedric began, his voice filled with pride, "The Stallard's physique cultivation technique is renowned as one of the mightiest in the entire kingdom of Veridion. As such, it's not something that everyone can learn. Only the elite are given the chance to cultivate it."
Lucian nodded in agreement, adding, "And even among those select few, many struggle to grasp it. While our fighting skills might be notable among many, it's our combination of talent and the capacity to cultivate that truly sets us apart. Out of all the soldiers under your father's command, you could probably count the cultivators on your fingers and toes."
Cedric grinned, "And that's what makes us — and the handful like us — part of the strongest force in the kingdom."
Desmond hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I... I understand," he articulated, skillfully injecting his voice with a veneer of amazement.
The truth was, their actions had spoken more clearly than any words could: the swiftness with which they'd dispatched ten seasoned soldiers, combined with the stark astonishment mirrored on their adversaries' faces, had given him ample proof of what he had already deduced. Lucian and Cedric were not just talented —they were extraordinary, even among the elite.
As Desmond made his way back into the carriage, their whispered conversation reached his ears.
Lucian quietly said to Cedric, "Shouldn't Young Master Bale have begun his cultivation by now? Is he not endowed with the talent?"
Cedric shot him a sidelong look, keeping his voice low. "The high-born differ from the likes of us. Their bloodline invariably bears the gift of cultivation. Most start their training by the age of 10. Embarking on it too soon might impede their growth, but a delay could leave them trailing." With a subtle hint of worry he continued, "However, I've overheard that our Young Master might not be an enthusiast of the blade. Perhaps the choice is his own."
Lucian shifted a bit uncomfortably, trying to choose his words carefully. "That's what I've heard. Word is, he feels more at home with parchment and ink than with steel. To think he hasn’t even delved yet into cultivation… Considering the Stallards’ reputation, it must be tough having their eldest deviate from the family’s path."
Cedric's eyes darted around, pressing a finger to his lips. "Quiet down! Are you trying to get us both sacked? Or worse?" He shot a worried glance towards the carriage, hoping Desmond hadn't caught wind of their conversation.
Ignoring their whispers, Desmond settled back into the carriage. The soft padding of the seats somewhat comforting after the intense episode. With a deep breath to steady himself, he mentally called out, 'ORION, about that Stallards’ physique cultivation technique they mentioned. Do you know anything about it?'
ORION deliberated for a split second before replying, <
Desmond leaned back, contemplating. The idea of possessing strength and agility comparable to Cedric and Lucian was extremely appealing. 'Yes,' he confirmed, 'I would like to know more. If it's feasible, how would I go about practicing it?'
ORION took a brief moment, parsing through the tattered remnants of Bale's memories.
<
Absorbing the influx of information, Desmond frowned, ‘Given the complexity of these rituals, I imagine the learning curve to be steep. How long before I can effectively practice this cultivation method?’
ORION responded, <
Seeing the slight crestfallen look on Desmond's face, ORION quickly added, <
Desmond's eyebrows raised in intrigue. ‘Conditions? What are they?’
ORION paused for a brief moment, choosing words carefully. <
Considering ORION's words, Desmond felt a mix of apprehension and excitement. The idea was unnerving – to give control of his body to an entity, albeit one he trusted. Yet he was now in a world populated with superhumans and Magi, with unknown adversaries lurking in the shadows. He needed every possible advantage to defend himself. His recent encounter was a stark reminder of the threats he now faced.
Inhaling deeply, he affirmed, ‘Very well, ORION. I place my trust in you. Begin.’ With that, he reclined into the plush upholstery of the carriage.
As the procedure initiated, Desmond felt a palpable shift. His breathing deepened autonomously, while muscles, some of which he'd never consciously acknowledged—mainly nestled deeper within his torso—began to engage in an unusual synchrony.
The experience was akin to sitting shotgun in a vehicle, perceiving every swerve and surge but devoid of any steering capability.
He became acutely aware of the ambient Essence enveloping him. Like a delicate whirlpool, it was pulled into his form, its warm and tingling presence saturating him before being duly expelled. With each passing moment, surrendering to ORION's cadence became increasingly intuitive.
By the time the carriage began to slow, indicating the time for rest had arrived, Desmond pondered over the experience. While ORION's technique was efficient, it felt peculiar having certain bodily functions controlled by another entity.
He believed there might come a point where he could get used to it, allowing him to move freely while still cultivating. But that balance seemed elusive for now.
‘ORION,’ he voiced his thoughts, grappling with the foreign sensations, ‘can you stop for now? I need to move, and I'm not quite ready yet to juggle both at the same time.’
Regaining his composure, Desmond's thoughts drifted to the guards' recent battle, where their fluid motions and raw power had been on full display. A hint of envy crept in as he reflected on his recent cultivation endeavors. Had he truly advanced? How far was he from attaining their prowess? He yearned for a concrete measure of his progress.
Sensing Desmond's introspection, ORION interjected, <
Desmond's eyes widened slightly, ‘You can do that?’
<
A virtual display materialized within Desmond's mind.