The sun slipped into the ocean behind the tower, its fading glow casting eerie shadows around Hunter as he awaited Claude's grand revelation. The roar of the ocean resonated in his ears, drowning out his impatience.
With a soft flick of his sleeve, Claude tapped his temple. "Knowledge, Hunter. Knowledge, power, and a delightful tea set. The gods do adore their tea, you know."
Hunter blinked. "Tea?"
Claude nodded sagely. "Yes, you know, a hot liquid served in those delightful little tea sets. My personal favorite is chai tea. Boil some water, grab some tea leaves—"
"I know what tea is," Hunter interrupted. He couldn't help but feel deflated by Claude's cryptic response. With a determined stride, he approached the tower and ran his hand over its coarse surface again. "This thing practically reeks of power. 'Knowledge' is about as clear as mud. How about you spill some real secrets about the tower? Something not in the bedtime stories I used to hear or the local gossip."
Claude tilted his head, wearing an amused grin. "Oh well, never mind, I thought my reveal was rather intriguing. But if you desire more specifics..." He glanced at the tower, and a ghostly arch materialized. "You'll have to venture inside."
Hunter flung his hands up and rolled his eyes. "That’s such a bloody cop-out!" The legends he'd devoured as a child were riddled with tales of trickster gods. He'd been duped too many times by those older and more powerful than him to be gullible enough to trust a god he barely knew.
What he craved, more than anything, was to unravel the tower's mysteries. But he knew better than to race head first into the unknown.
Taking a breath, Hunter looked past the tower, where the sun resembled a colossal orange sinking into the sea. High above, the first stars twinkled, pale white dots destined to form the constellations of the gods come nightfall. "I haven’t got all night, and if you don’t spill the beans about what's really in that tower, I’m out!"
Claude clasped his hands together and regarded Hunter with the patience of a parent weathering a child's tantrum. "Most young cultivators would eagerly rush in, no questions asked, thrilled at the opportunity to explore such a treasure."
Hunter frowned, suspicion gnawing at him. Was Claude testing him?
"Well, excuse me if I don't buy into your divine sales pitch. I've been burned before. In this world, powerful people regard folks like me as disposable pawns. Why should I believe you're any different?"
"Ah, my dear Hunter," Claude mused, his eyes glinting, "you truly are a fascinating mortal, aren't you?"
Arms crossed, Hunter shot him a flat, unyielding stare.
Claude moved away from the tower, his gaze fixed on the sea. "That's precisely why I like you, my young friend. You've a healthy dose of skepticism. Blind faith is the province of fools! But I'm not like those fickle gods. I don't play games for my amusement. I have a proposition, a deal, if you will…" Claude’s voice trailed off, his eyes turning into molten gold, reflecting the fading light like twin sunsets. With a sweeping motion, he invited Hunter to join him.
Hunter stepped out of the shadow cast by the tower and embraced the fading warmth of the day as he stood beside Claude. The warm breeze carried the tang of the sea, mingled with the earthy scent of the land. The mention of a deal hadn’t escaped him, but Hunter didn’t want to appear overly eager. He let the silence stretch between them.
“There’s something profound about sunsets, don’t you think?” Claude mused.
Hunter arched his brow. “Profound, huh? Sure, I suppose. I didn’t know gods got sentimental about sunsets.”
Claude sighed wistfully. “I told you, Hunter, I am not like other gods. I’m the only one willing to offer you a deal rather than let you languish in the mire of the broken system that afflicts this world.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes.
Claude’s tone hinted he was holding something back. Gods could be sneaky like that. Still, whether Claude played games or not, Hunter found himself at a disadvantage. He had dreamt about this tower since childhood; something instinctual told him to stay despite his suspicions that Claude wasn’t being entirely truthful. It didn’t feel malicious, so for now, he would remain.
“Yeah, you mentioned a deal, but not what it involves. Are you going to quit being cryptic and tell me what it entails, or do you have to wait for a poetic sunrise?” Hunter challenged, his impatience growing.
Claude turned to Hunter, threw his head back, and laughed. “Great to see all the years of strife and Death Island haven’t robbed you of your sense of humor. You'll need it. You mentioned before that you wanted to defy the broken system. Do you truly know what that involves now that you didn’t pass the Trial of Worth?”
Hunter scowled, not eager to be reminded of the uphill struggle he faced in cultivating and growing stronger without the benefits of joining a cultivation academy.
His uncle had been right.
Without the Trial of Worth award scroll, no academy would consider him. He could still cultivate, striving for a breakthrough into the Refiner Stage, but without resources and mentors, his progress would be painfully slow. Odds were he’d be an old man before breaking through to the Founder Stage.
“It involves me taking charge of my destiny, using my cultivation medallion to train hard and grow stronger,” Hunter said.
Claude shook his head sadly. “It shouldn’t have to be like that. The powers that be in this world pretend that everyone has the same chance. They distribute the Sun Emperor’s Scroll to everyone, knowing not everyone learns the same way. Take the visualization of your core like the sun; it's better suited to Fire and Wind cultivators. No mention of Earth and Water. You're practically ostracized if you only have an affinity for Water, at least that’s what the rich scions of this world believe…”
“And what do you believe?” Hunter interrupted.
“I believe every single cultivator has the potential to ascend to immortality; they just need the right conditions for growth. A rose will not grow in barren soil any more than a cactus will flourish in a marsh. One is not weaker than the other simply because they fail to thrive in an environment unsuited to their needs.”
A grim smile crossed Hunter’s lips. Claude’s conviction was clear.
“You're right. The system is unfair. Those who have access to the best resources and live in or near this city have the best chance of awakening their affinity, passing the Trial of Worth, and entering a cultivation academy when they turn eighteen.” Hunter’s shoulders sagged. “But even when everything favors them, many become stuck in the Founder Stage. Those who make it to the Core Former Stage, if they don’t bottleneck there, either waste away after years in seclusion, chasing the dream of becoming a Soul Stabilizer or die trying.”
Claude wore a pinched expression, as if he shared Hunter’s deep-rooted frustrations. “It’s a failing of the gods whose existence stretches infinitely, while mortal lives are fleeting in this era. If I recall, life expectancy here is shockingly low, sixty years if you’re extremely fortunate.”
Hunter bowed his head. Many were not that lucky. But for the few who did thrive as cultivators, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. He looked up, meeting Claude’s gaze as his expression darkened.
“There are exceptions like your parents,” Claude said, as if privy to Hunter’s thoughts, “but the system has a knack for producing overpowered edgelords like your Uncle Eratos and that vile magistratus Vassilus. They plunder cultivation resources and cheat the system to escape the bottleneck, but it always comes at a high cost.”
Hunter knew exactly what he meant. “Yeah, besides my parents, they are the only two in Delphare known to have passed through the Core Former Stage and broken into the Soul Stabilizer Stage. I’ve heard rumors from infected nobles on Death Island that they used some shady cultivation enhancers that tainted their souls, but no one believed them.”
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“It’s true; they aligned themselves with practices the death cultists use. They make an attractive offer, and all it costs is your ability to care about anyone but yourself, driven by the singular goal to defy the heavens and attain immortality.”
That meant dire consequences for those around them. Hunter was haunted by memories of when he realized his uncle’s true nature, how many had been killed in his wake as he took one more step toward immortality.
On the horizon, the sun disappeared, leaving them in the gray twilight. A golden aura emanated from Claude, enveloping his flagstaff until it was almost blinding for Hunter. He raised a hand to shield his eyes but had to look away.
“As powerful as your uncle and Vassilus are, even at the fourth stage of cultivation, they still don’t have control of their aura senses to identify items, something we gods take for granted.” Claude nodded toward his staff.
“Aura senses?” Hunter asked, confused by the use of the term with item identification. “Using the Sun Emperor’s Scroll, cultivators can learn to expand their awareness of their aura and control it, either suppressing it to protect those weaker than them or to hide their cultivation affinities.”
“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly aware of that. Men like your uncle use it to suppress the auras of those weaker than them, striking fear and commanding compliance. Aura senses are a level beyond that. Let me show you.” He laid a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Look at my flagstaff and tell me what you see.”
Hunter felt like he was plunged into an icy lake. His nerve endings buzzed, his eyes bulging. The blinding glow surrounding the staff faded, and words appeared above it as if formed by golden fireflies.
Mythical Item: Flagstaff of the god Claudeonaros, the Illuminated Sage of Spacio-Temporal Tides.
Hunter’s mouth fell open, tears streamed from his eyes, his sanity teetering on the edge. It was almost too much for his mortal mind to comprehend, but he couldn’t look away, no matter how much he tried.
As if realizing his error, Claude broke contact, and Hunter fell to his knees.
Warm light enveloped him, and he felt the healing energy flow into him, unscrambling the mess in his mind.
“I’m so sorry, Hunter. I overlooked the fragility of the mortal mind. I thought I had enough protection in place, but... are you okay?” Claude helped Hunter to stand as the shakiness left him.
Hunter knew Claude didn’t just mean physically.
“It felt like my brain was going to explode, but whatever that healing light did, it helped. Before, my mind threatened to turn to mush. I saw words, ‘Mythical Item,’ and then some long-winded name befitting a god. What I really want to know is, what is a mythical item, and can you teach me to identify items without my head exploding?”
Claude chuckled. “Yes, I can teach you,” he said, glancing at the tower where the ghostly entrance arch awaited, “but you’ll find out soon enough that I won’t need to teach you. There is a much better way.” Claude nodded to his staff. “A mythical item is any item that possesses godlike power capable of reshaping the world itself. At the other end of the power scale are common items. They’re basic everyday items with no special properties.”
Hunter pulled out his rusty dagger. “Is this a common item?”
Claude nodded. “Yes, it is. There are twelve tiers of items available to those who train inside the tower. But they won’t fall into your lap, you have to earn them.”
“What, there are no cheats?”
“Of course, there are, but use them sparingly if you want to grow strong enough and surpass your peers who live outside the tower.”
Hunter looked to the entrance. “So it’s true what the legends say: those who enter training towers like this emerge as powerful warriors who can challenge the gods?”
“Not quite, and this particular tower is different from all the others. I’ve reclaimed it and made some alterations on the inside. It’s a work in progress, but you will understand once you agree to my pact and enter the tower to train.”
Hunter held up his hands. “Whoa, back up a bit. I’m all for training hard, but entering a tower right now when I have a sister I need to take care of. I can’t abandon her, and then there’s Big Nic; he’s responsible for me… and my actions… Dimus will…”
Claude scoffed. “Dimus is a relic of the broken system. Next time I see Hadad, I really should remind him that one scroll does not suit the cultivation needs of an entire world. He wanted uniformity and unquestioning servants who never reached the true peak of cultivation. Dimus is a prime example: weak-minded but living out a power trip on Death Island.”
All the talk of weak versus strong got Hunter thinking.
“Why choose me? There are other cultivators my age who are stronger, smarter, and more experienced, and better practiced with cultivation. Charis is at least a Peak Star Refiner, if not already broken through into the first stage of the Founder stage. And she’s not an asshole like Pheres, as far as I can tell.”
“Everything you say tells me I’ve made the right choice. You question everything and offer logical alternatives, even at a cost to yourself. But your selflessness is not the main reason I wish to choose you as my first initiate. You are a rare specimen. A clean slate, if you will—a Pre-Refiner with an affinity awakened. Earth affinity, to be exact. The corrupting of your medallion may have stunted your cultivation for years, but consider your misfortune as an actual blessing.”
Hunter pressed his lips together; Claude was going all cryptic again. “You mentioned I’d be your first initiate…”
“Ah, you were paying attention. Good. You will not be entering the tower to do something as mundane as training hard and leveling up fast. I have a more enticing offer. Do you like traveling? Space and Time. Business and pleasure, if you like, a harem of jade beauties, I can arrange it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Hunter said, stifling his growing curiosity in favor of looking unimpressed.
A scroll appeared in Claude’s hand. “This is a Non-Disclosure Agreement. It contains a lot of legal jargon, which you can read if you have time.” The scroll unfurled and flowed to the ground in what looked like endless reams.
Hunter examined it closely and skimmed the contents. Claude was right; it was full of fancy terms written in gold filigree. “Just give me the basics,” Hunter said, eyeing Claude’s expression for any signs of deceit.
“I am, for want of a better term, starting a brand new system, a cultivation system, and I want you to be the first initiate. Unlike the broken system with only one path to power that you are at the mercy of, I have used my divine knowledge to create a thirteen-path system. If you want to know more, you need to sign the NDA. This is as much for your protection as mine. Once you sign it, no one, no matter how powerful they are, can compel you to divulge anything about our new cultivation system.”
“Our? Interesting word choice. What happens if I tell anyone of my own free will?”
Claude laughed. “How human. Don’t worry; I won’t make your blood boil or liquefy your brain so it leaks through your nose and ears. That’s not my style. You simply won’t be able to. It will leave an unpleasant aftertaste in your mouth if you try, among other things.” An ink feather appeared in Claude’s hand, and he offered it to Hunter.
Looking at the endless scroll folds piled high on the ground, he gave Claude a questioning look as he took the quill. “Where do I sign?”
In a blur, the end of the scroll was spread out in Claude’s hand. He stretched it smooth and placed an ‘x’ on the scroll using his finger.
Hunter allowed the quill to hover before signing his name.
“Anything else you need me to sign?”
“No, we can shake hands if you agree to the terms of my pact to become my first initiate. Then you will be granted entry to the tower and begin your training.” Claude tipped his flagstaff toward the stone wall behind him.
Hunter took a step back, taking in the full height of the tower. He rubbed the back of his neck. It had the look of a once-grand structure that had fallen into disrepair. On the ground level, on either side of the silvery outline of the ghostly entrance arch, were decorations of mythical and demon beasts entwined around pillars stretching the whole way around. Some were so age-worn and weathered their limbs and faces were nothing but smooth nubs like the clay creations of a small child.
Hunter sighed heavily. “If I take one step inside, that tower will crumble.”
Claude looked at the tower, eyes sparkling with adoration. Clearly, he saw something that Hunter did not. “Looks can be deceiving. Didn’t Mistress Arista ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover? Yes, it might need a bit of renovation inside and out, but like you, it oozes potential. It’s not falling apart; it’s got rustic charm, if you ask me.”
This time Hunter laughed. “What are you, a divine aristocrat, trying to sell me a plot of bad land?”
“Oh, this is not for sale, but if you care to have a look at the details of the pact I have in mind, you will be the first initiate of what I like to call the Tridecagon.”
Hunter chewed his lip. Trideca-tower or whatever fancy name he calls, it still doesn’t change the fact it looks ready to fall apart.
“You keep talking about me being your initiate without telling me what it means. Is that just a fancy way of saying I’ll be the caretaker for this… tower?”
Claude hesitated before answering. “Not in the sense that you’re thinking. Don’t let your skepticism cloud your better judgment; don’t ignore your intuition. If you think about it, you know deep down you and the tower have a connection.”
If he signed, he could still walk away, forget he’d ever seen the tower, and let the ‘powers that be’ in the city research it all day long. But he had always dreamt of this tower; he told Nic about it once, and the big man dismissed it as nothing more than his childish imagination.
Hunter didn’t blame Nic. Life was hard on the island, daydreamers didn't last long. But now, here the tower stood before him. He had touched it; it was real, as real as the god he was talking to. A divine god who was offering him a chance to make a real difference.
Hunter signed the NDA without further delay. “Lay it on me, Claude. I want to know everything there is to know about the pact you have in mind.”
A heavenly chorus erupted, startling Hunter, and a blinding light filled his vision. A faded glowing scroll that looked wafer-thin, almost translucent, appeared before him. It read:
Status Screen initializing…
The music faded, and Claude cleared his throat.
“Please Display the Divine Order Pact.”