The castle gates closed. Ready for a long siege, they stocked up food and water. Enemies besieged the castle. The banners were held high and mighty. The giant fat yellow dog stood tall.

Lord Malik stilled, looked over the battlefield from his high tower, his men defending against the onslaught. He saw one of his levy trying to hoist up his banner, a giant blue bear, be skewered by a spear. Another punctured by arrows, his screams intertwined with the sound of death everywhere. Enemies rushed the ladder up. His men greeted them with death. A giant stone smashed into the castle wall, breaking some and cracking the foundation. Another rock flew over the wall smashing into his soldiers, transforming them into bloody decorations.

Blood misted the sight of his courtyard, a metallic smell spread.

Behind him neared a chubby person dressed in white pants and a blue shirt, denoting his vassal status. A fat red dragon was drawn on the shirt, showing his lordy title.

"Why didn't you change your hair, George?" Lord Maldrik asked him without turning around. Instead, he surveyed the battlefield.

"My liege -" Before he could utter his answer, Lord Maldrik interrupted him, "Call me Joerg, you are after all a noble now."

"Yes, Mi- Joerg. What is your order?"

"Simple, nothing. We wait. The enemy is foolish enough to assault my castle. It is warded by the spirits of my ancestors. It is suicide," Joerg told him while smirking lightly. He looked around and saw how some soldier continued to fight even as their limbs were cut off. He noticed something. A levy fought several enemy soldiers, yet, in his injured state, he could hold them at bay. The eyes of the levy glowed blueish, unnaturally.

"Focus on your breathing," Lord Maldrik coldly lectured him, his smirk gone, now solemn.

George took the teaching to heart, ignored his surroundings, felt his breath traveling through his lungs. The world dimmed till only vague outlines could be seen. A bluish glow embraced some vague outlines.

"Hold your breath."

He held, pressure built up. It pushed. His body felt heavy. His thoughts cleared.

"Now. Place your Weight. You will instinctively know it."

He couldn't understand, but he tried. Time passed. He didn't know for how long. He heard his heart thumping. Louder. Louder. Louder. Till something exploded. He saw it. It was beautiful. Something far greater. He wanted to-

"Do not push it!"

His inner world collapsed. His thoughts were in disarray. The pain hit him.

"Fool. Never push your Weight. Once pushed, the consequences are far too great. Even then the accords forbid it," He saw the mouth of Lord Maldrik not moving. Unbelievable!

"You are a Cultivator. Nothing is impossible. Now, control your breathing and concentrate on the bluish aura."

After his pain diminished, he eased his breathing to a manageable rhythm. He could see it. Strange blue intangible figures, their armor dusty and rusty. Embracing the levies. Controlling them. Like Puppets. So many...

"Now you see what I mean, George."

He shivered, he didn't know if it was the cold or Lord Maldrik's cold tone.

"You have a daughter?" Maldrik's question took him by surprise. So much that he forgot breath out.

After he stabilized his breathing, he answered a little bit sad, "Yes, Joerg, she was twelve the harvest before," He looked into the distance, far away and continued, "I hope she's alright. She is a little clumsy."

Lord Maldrik smiled at that, remembering something, too, and promised him, "Don't worry. The battle won't be much longer. You need to assume your noble responsibilities, your village must be in the vicinity of Lord Gregory's seat if he levied your personally," Lord Maldrik continued in a somber tone, "He liked his responsibilities, never shirking away. He was too hard on himself. A good man. A dear friend of mine. May he live his next life fully."

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A horn signaled the retreat of the enemy.

Silence hushed over the battlefield. Weary and exhausted, the cheers of his liege's soldiers disturbed it.

On the ground, some soldiers screamed incoherently, fatal wounded, in front of death's gate. He grimaced, his stomach uneasy.

His liege clasped his hands and prayed, "May the spirits of my ancestors guide them."

A troop of light cavalry hunted a wounded fat rider, his horse straining at his reigns. It slowed, exhausted and tired. The fat rider, coughed blood as his injuries acted up. They caught up with him. No choice but to fight, he thought. His grimace said it all. His horse slammed to the ground, an arrow sticking out of it.

His horse useless, he got up. His wobbly knees were weak and heavy.

He breathed deeply in. Oxygen flowed through. His muscles rejuvenated. Fear vanished. He stamped on the ground, heavy. It cracked, dirt was blown away.

The enemy horses fell all to the ground, their legs were broken.

Their riders furious at him got up and rushed him. Warcries and unspoken promises of vengeance.

The first enemy tried to skewer him, but he bashed the spear to the side and punched his face, popping his head. Blood splashed everywhere, his enemies were colored red. They hesitated, but he didn't.

A light slap broke the enemy's arm. A kick slammed his body to a tree, breaking every bone he had.

Another enemy was directly killed by smashing his own head against his.

The last remaining enemy escaped.

He breathed out and coughed. He fell to his knees. His breathing abnormal. Blood seeped out of his mouth.

Unfortunately, before he could recover, he felt a hostile presence behind him. He used his last strength to push himself to the side. The ground he was before, got a deep crater. He cursed. A Cultivator!

His view traveled to a female, slightly attractive even with her heavy sides. Before he could stare longer, he dodged out of a punch, but a followup kick hit him, throwing him to the tree, smashing his insides.

He coughed blood. His fatal injuries impossible to heal without a miracle.

The female glancing down on him, a sneer surfaced on her pretty face, distorting it ugly. He didn't want to die without seeing his wife and daughter again.

No, he couldn't. He won't!

His heart, the seat of his Path, he remembered his liege saying, was throbbing with unimaginable power. Lord Maldrik warned him not to let it out.

But he ignored it. It burst out. A wave of pure power swept through everything. The enemy unprepared, her eyes full of shock, popped. Trees colored red. The metallic smell was unbearable. His body, skinny once again. It seemed he lost his Weight. His Path, confusing to follow. Pain assaulted his every fiber.

Before he blacked out, he saw deep smoke clouds surrounding his liege's castle.

Finally, he reached his village. On his way, he watched some villages and noticed in distance the enemy banner. He hoped he wasn't too late.

Fortunately, the enemy troops didn't pass his village, yet. Without much time, he moved through his pain to home. He saw his wife and daugther working on the farm.

"Mary! Alex!" He shouted, getting their attention. An excited look appeared on his little daugther's face. His wife, however, noticed it, her face fell, yet she tried to hold back her tears.

"Father! Where's Hendrik? And Jeremy?" Alex shot her questions without pausing, a big smile on her face, hugging him to death. He was happy to see them again, but grief overwhelmed him instantly as he couldn't tell her the truth, so instead, he lied, "Jeremy and Hendrik, they will meet up later with us"

"Mary, we must flee. It's not safe. The enemy is on the way," He whispered to his wife after he got away from his little daugther. Her look said it all, but a determined expression appeared. She nodded at him sharply and went back to the shack.