Chapter 8

> Bloodlines are not the deciding factor in a person’s accomplishments, but they certainly are a huge boon. The main benefits were first and foremost the individual’s position in life and their family. However, even without that, they still have tangible benefits. This mainly refers to a person’s ability with a certain element or compatibility with certain animals. Bloodlines also influenced how effectively a person absorbed energy. Many families also carry more personalized boons; for example, the divine weapons of the Shan family are only usable by those with their blood.

>

> Local territories also influence bloodlines. This was mainly the handiwork of the Crimson Patriarch. On the extreme end would be the Kingdoms controlled by his main descendants, where blood trumped all else. Thankfully, this was not as pervasive outside of that region. However, his influence is still very much visible in other fields.

Those of Noble Blood,

Added to the Archives in 1000 SY

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Elzorath turned up at the doorsteps of his brother’s estate. While it was naturally larger than his own, the estate had far fewer servants. Elzopolk simply preferred more competent helpers, some of whom were capable of calling the winds for mundane work. A waste of talent, had they only been servants. They were also bodyguards – or rather, they were bodyguards who did servant work on the side.

However, the fact they were willing to dishonour themselves performing the work of their lessers was a testament to the immense respect they held for his brother.

Elzorath gave a nod to the man guarding the door, who returned it and let him through. After asking around, Elzorath headed for the courtyard to seek out his brother. As familiar as he was with the place, he found it in no time. After all, this had been their father’s estate, where most of his childhood had been spent. This was home, with all the memories that came with it - mostly good.

The courtyard was large. Like most of its kind, parts of the court were reserved for leisure, outfitted with picturesque ponds and exotic trees. However, this particular court mainly functioned as a training field. Their clan’s martial heritage was a reason, but the main driving force behind such an arrangement was, as always, his brother.

Like a farmer who cultivates crops, Elzopolk loved cultivating talents. Most powerful men and clans sought out and brought up many talents – they would not have been so powerful otherwise. However, few devoted so much of their time to such matters, and even fewer would allow these hopeful commoners into their abodes.

That was not even mentioning the mutual affection his brother held for many of these men. He was certain that a few of these retainers knew Elzopolk better than his own brother. Should Elzopolk have to choose between them and Elzorath, it was uncertain what his choice would be. Elzorath had a feeling he did not want to know the answer.

Most of the trainees here were not the men closest to Elzopolk. Many of them were quite new, either individuals his brother picked up on his journeys or soldiers who had proved their mettle in war. His closest retainers mostly consisted of army officers under his command and his personal bodyguards. Most of them were once deathsworn, who had gone through fire and flames with Elzopolk in those dreaded camps. “Once” because Elzopolk had long bought their freedom.

Part of the precious few that ever escaped the fold. And it was hard to claim that these men truly escaped this sort of life.

Of the few dozen men training here, a few members of his clan could be spotted. There were quite a few who bore the name of Ironwood, mostly due to their long history. Most of these distant cousins were commoners, despite their prestigious family name. Most would either train in the arts of the forge, join roaming mercenary bands or conscript in the border armies on the Eastern Fronts. It was likely Elzopolk picked them up from the frontier.

As for how he could tell they were distant relatives? They were allowed clothing bearing the symbol of the family, a metal tree with a thousand roots and a thousand branches. They did not possess the molten eyes that were the signature of the more significant members of the family: this was because these eyes had only manifested less than three centuries ago. While it was true that clan members began having more children, due to their newfound wealth and the increased number of concubines (as his grandfather put it, the ‘family duty’), most of these would be sent to those camps.

Only the best would survive.

Honestly, the blood connection with these distant cousins was very thin. However, the region they lived in was quite sparsely populated, so not only did they maintain contact but they also retained a lot of shared heritage. More importantly, though, was that the Mokarross ranges were rife with conflict, thus creating hardier people who climbed Heaven’s Floors with great zeal and success. This reinforced their power and, in many cases, revitalized their bloodlines.

The First Patriarch of the Ironwood had only been a step away from ascending to immortality, before faltering over a thousand years prior. His blood was powerful, reinvigorated by the appearance of the many, many Ironwoods who had shaped the history of this continent and that of others. Who would not want to be buried alongside such a mighty figure and his illustrious descendants?

Those who constantly sought to go even further than him, to surpass this pseudo-Immortal. Ironically, it was mainly those people who would end up buried next to the person they had spent their lives trying to overcome.

Naturally, the end goal for most Ironwoods was to Ascend and claim their spot in the Ancestral Shrines.

Elzorath was not going to be one such person, no matter how much he might desire such a noble ending. Maybe such a desire was the problem. Regardless, he dispelled all thoughts before meeting with his brother. The latter had been giving pointers to one of his talents. A boy younger than Elzorath, yet on the same Floor.

To be fair, Elzorath was definitely stronger. At that age, he had also been a Floor higher. Yet did any of that matter, when he had the fortune of a good start and when he no longer possessed what he had once been so, so proud of.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Greetings, big brother. Seems you are having a good time. I’m here for sister-in-law. When I asked about her, your men told me to meet you.”

“Ah yes,” he said as he dismissed the trainee. “I’ll tell you where she’s at. But before then, why don’t we have a spar. Just for fun. For the sake of old times.”

“We both know how this is,” Elzorath jabbed at the face, “going to go!”

His brother took a step back, then another step following a second punch. Elzorath launched a flurry of blows, none hitting. Always close, but not quite there yet. His opponent kept his hands to his back, like some sort of old sage. He even had the audacity to start stroking his beard.

Elzopolk’s could barely be considered a proper beard, he might add.

Elzorath continued to push until they were right beside a weapon racket. He grabbed a spear, a hand on the middle and one on the bottom, and thrust it at the forehead. His opponent used his hand to push the weapon aside whilst also tilting his head. He pulled the spear back, before thrusting once again at the man’s chest. His brother jumped back, and Elzorath followed with a long thrust. Another chase ensued.

They settled into a comfortable rhythm. Just then, Elzorath added a great deal more strength to his thrust. Faster and stronger, intent on capitalizing on an opponent’s newly-built expectations. To conserve energy, many tended to control their movements and actions to only the barest necessity. Thus, by holding back slightly and breaking out in quick bursts, one could catch a person in surprise and draw blood.

Of course, the prerequisite was that a fight would last that long, and rarely was that the case. Moreover, good opponents could tell what was happening fairly easily.

His brother grabbed the spear, stopping it right before it could reach his chest. Before he could release the weapon, Elzorath’s arms were grabbed and he was thrown to the ground.

“I taught you that, you know. Might not be a great idea to use it on your teacher. But anyway, good thrusts,” Elzopolk showed a dissipating black mark on his metallic hand. “At least your physical body did not get affected too much. It’s a relief. But this is the only silver lining. Sit up. We need to talk.”

He dusted his clothes. Very slowly. Maybe he could drag it out.

Elzopolk clicked his tongue. Elzorath gritted his teeth and hurried up. They got to a small oak tree, where his brother had taught him how to write all those years ago.

“You lost your boldness, brother of mine. Once, you were willing to face everything head-on. Your conviction was firm, steadier than the base of a mountain. Now, now what even are you.”

“A shade of a shade.”

“You are not my shadow.”

“Oh, I’m worth less than even that, now that I think about it,” he chuckled.

Elzopolk shook his head. He then said, “We both know you’ve long come to terms with such matters. So don’t let your emotions get the better of you. Now, what happened that made you like this.”

“Nothing much really, and certainly not something you should even concern yourself wit-”

“Continue with this and I’ll knock your teeth out of your mouth.”

He blinked, before doubling down. “Well, honestly, if you do that I might not need to speak. Not a bad deal, all things considered.”

“I have some very, very proficient doctors here,” Elzopolk said without batting an eye. “As I said, you were once bold. Now, you just seek to avoid any and all things unpleasant. That is not acceptable. It is our responsibility to deal with the harsher parts of life, to make the necessary decisions, and to create a better world; regardless of the cost. Whatever it takes, we must do.”

“That is not acceptable, not to me.”

“Is that really it, then? You aren’t willing to deal with the tougher things that guarantee a better life? This isn’t for you, but others. Those under our responsibility. I thought I had taught you better than this.”

“Maybe you did not do a good job after all. Even now, you place your own son in the hands of our brother.”

“Somehow, he is soberer than you are,” Elzopolk said with mild amusement. “But back to the meat of the issue. I assume you are concerned because about the fate of the children in our camps. You feel sorry for them, which I can’t blame you for. However, you do realize it’s a sacrifice worth taking, right? How many are in these camps? The royals number less than one thousand. The commoners and aristocrats number less than ten thousand. And that’s over the last forty years. These camps provide the state and our families with the tools needed to lessen the burden on the rest of the population.”

“How is it necessary…?”

“I’m going to ignore that question – I’d rather not think of you as stupid. I do wonder. Are you concerned about their suffering because they are visible? Because you can clearly see it when the other benefits don’t appear? This is not about YOU! Do not let your emotions, no matter how strong, affect your judgement. That is a recipe for complete disaster. Or have you forgotten one of the first, principal lessons we have all been taught?”

“I sincerely believe that my judgement is proper. How could this ever be the best way to do things? Must we do this to them? Don’t you see, or are you blind!?”

“You only care about your personal feelings then, instead of the benefits. You’d rather not have to see difficult things, and instead, you are willing to let others suffer outside of your view. You’d rather avoid personal responsibility and avoid dirtying your hands. Are you truly so selfish?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth.”

“But that is how you appear. That is what you think deep inside, is it not?”

“No?”

“As I said, right now you’d rather avoid stuff than deal with them. Do you think it’s completely unfeasible that you are ignoring your own thoughts for a more favourable view?”

“No. Maybe. Whatever the case, I simply don’t think we have the right to make such decisions!”

“But we do? We are born, bred, and raised to lead. To deal with problems others are unwilling to face. Men like you. Maybe it was wrong on my part to have let you avoid the camps and let you study elsewhere. Should you have truly suffered, you wouldn’t be so firm in your misguided compassion. Instead, you advocate for things you have no idea about. It’s honestly revolting.”

“So, are you saying what I see is not real?”

“No. I’m merely saying that you can’t see beyond what’s in front of you. That you think ‘values’ are more important than actual lives. Because you think of things in terms of ideals outside this reality instead of what occurs on the ground. Regardless, tell me, what does our family name signify? Have you forgotten even that?”

As he said that, Elzopolk took off his shirt, before turning around. On his back was a tattoo. A metallic grey tree was etched onto the skin, its twisting branches spreading around, covering his entire back. The branches were intertwined, locked in each other as a symbol of unity.

“Never. Iron and wood are the backbones of civilization. Iron represents our history as smiths and metalworkers of old, hardy men and women who created the tools of the harvest, of the home, of the battlefield. Iron needs tempering, and once that is over, it is tough and firm, ready to weather any storm. Wood is a newer addition. It is versatile, it is flexible. It can bend when the need arises. Our family lives for duty and commitment to the good of the Empire. At the same time, we must be flexible, in our values and our methods. We must do apply whatever methods needed to further our interests.” He then stared at his brother, “There, happy?”

“Very, but also not really. You know all that, and yet you still act like a child not past his seventh spring. Anyway, as Ironwoods, we must do what is required, not what is easy. Not what looks pretty. Not what our petty emotions call for. Not what the men beneath us scream and beg for.”

Elzorath said nothing.

“Just think about it, because unless you get your shit together, you aren’t going to live well. And no matter what I say, I still want you to have a good life, with or without me. Here’s the address,” he threw over a small piece of paper, “come and meet Xiuying. Before you go, listen once again. Control yourself. Now, begone from my sight!”

He gladly complied.