Volithur hated his digestive system. The throat and stomach had been annoyingly energy intensive to saturate, but he had not begrudged them that outlay. They were organs in his body, not adversaries intent on blocking his progress.
Then he came to the intestines. Those things drank down buckets of cosmic energy with no apparent change in their saturation level. The digestive organs – intestines, liver, and pancreas – were the final obstacle before he could start transforming his muscles. The stubborn refusal of the intestines to cooperate with his plan to skyrocket his combat capabilities made him irate.
Yet every manual in the library said the same thing. Muscles had to be done after circulatory, respiratory, and digestive. Otherwise the enhanced muscles would starve the rest of the body of blood, oxygen, and nutrients. Volithur wondered how bad a nutrient deficiency could be, but stopped himself from anything drastic. His brain needed fuel, so he couldn’t skip the intestines, liver, and pancreas.
The manuals disagreed on whether things such as the kidneys and spleen should be lumped in with the digestive organs or placed at the end with the catch-all ‘flesh’ category. Volithur would not be energizing one organ more than necessary before moving onto his muscles.
He complained to the Sergeant at one point, who laughed and admitted organs were particularly annoying. Volithur suspected it was worse for him than others. His advantage was precision in locating small anatomical features. His weakness was the efficient and forceful infusion of energy. In some ways, the digestive system was designed to frustrate him. It was big, complex organs that resisted saturation.
The Head Scribe put an end to the evening dance sessions when he insisted on everyone meeting in the evenings to practice for the upcoming academic competition. There he formally met the replacement for Ulysses in the debate event. Lydia, only thirteen years of age, had recently reached the fifth level and was receiving every benefit the household could offer her. That included attending the Evergreen Institute’s competition even when she was woefully unqualified.
Because she carried such favor in the family, the Scribe could not single her out for remedial training but instead had to drag the entire team into the exercise. Volithur tried to feel out the Head Scribe’s willingness to negotiate a deal for more compensation for attending additional training but was informed that their original agreement would remain intact.
So the stress of the evenings changed. Instead of the fluttery tension evoked by Khana’s nearness, he found himself bored and frustrated. The Head Scribe would force Volithur to work through math problems on one half of the board while Hazen spelled the words given to him on the other half. Then when they had been put through their paces sufficiently to appease Lydia’s ego, the Head Scribe would have Khana read a single poem.
Then the three of them would be required to debate Lydia on random topics. They were always assigned the weaker or less popular position and subtle expressions from the Head Scribe let them know when to make obvious mistakes. The game was rigged in Lydia’s favor, which told Volithur two things. First, he had good reason to worry that their group might not win time in the cosmic chamber this year. Second, Lydia had enough favor in the household and enough vindictiveness that no one dared upset her too much.
Volithur began to think that a daily vial of cosmic water may not have been sufficient payment for his part in the upcoming disaster. Lydia’s debate strategy was nonexistent and she had a tendency to fall back on personal attacks instead of building logical arguments. During Volithur’s practice debates with her, she would mention at least once that his opinions were inferior because he lacked noble blood and only had ‘commoner sense’. As if such entitled and lazy insults weren’t bad enough, she didn’t even use them to target claims central to the argumentative structure Volithur constructed. She just pronounced his inferiority in substitution as if that instantly won the debate.
They could not succeed as a team when one of their number displayed such incompetence. Not against the caliber of opponents from the previous year. After a week of these training sessions, Volithur stayed behind to speak with the Head Scribe after the others had left.
“I have no more resources for you, Ward Harridan, and abandoning the team at this juncture would earn the enmity of Master Lydia. She is not one of the more charitable members of the family.”
“I do not intend to back out, Master Scribe. I wanted to express my concerns about the overall team’s performance.”
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The Head Scribe’s weary expression looked like it had been intended as a scowl but ran out of steam before it fully formed. “Focus on calculations, Ward Harridan.”
“I will have no problem with that, Master Scribe. My worry is what would happen if one of our members failed to pass the qualifying examination.”
“Such a thing will not happen to a Shaocheth, Ward Harridan. Have no doubt that the team will make it into the main competition.”
Volithur could understand that well enough. The ‘a Shaocheth’ communicated a lot. The examiners of the Evergreen Institute would give a family member a free pass in the first round, deserved or not. “And what of the overall team’s performance in further rounds?”
“There are high expectations from Master Rowan and Master Lydia. We must strive to meet those. And if we do not for some reason… we must frame the defeat in a palatable manner. I’m certain you understand the need to deflect blame.” The Head Scribe lowered his voice even though there were only the two of them present. “Perhaps the Evergreen Institute’s judges have an unreasonable bias against youths in debates.”
“I understand your meaning, Master Scribe. But I can’t help but worry that a defeat of the team might cause me problems in the future.”
The Head Scribe shrugged. “You are training to be a soldier, Ward Harridan. The rapid progress of your body enhancement is obvious. No doubt the changes to household policy decreed by the third daughter have been kind to you. If you are excluded from classes after this competition, it will not impact your future.”
He wanted to argue that angry nobles could do a lot worse than kick him out of class, but knew that would be criticizing them too directly. So he let the conversation lapse and did not bring up his concerns again.
The Marshal called him into his office at the start of the next week to scrutinize Volithur’s progress. “Your progress has stalled, Ward Harridan.”
“The tissue of my intestines will not saturate, Master Marshal.”
A frown came to the man’s face and he looked Volithur over more closely. “Ah. You are being sloppy, Ward Harridan. The intestine disperses nutrient resources to the rest of the body. The cosmic energy you have fed it has been similarly dispersed to the entirety of your body. You are not following the ‘cold forged method’, you are performing the ‘flood method’ by slowly increasing the energy levels of all tissues at once. Your lack of diligence has resulted in you deviating to an inferior body enhancement method.”
Volithur’s shoulders slumped. This was it. His resources would be cut off due to his incompetence. The meager progress he had been making would grind to a complete halt. His journey into power would end.
“My mother was a lord,” the Marshal said. “She never received a sobriquet, but she had a level ten soul. My family was small and our estate unimpressive. Yet we lived on Tian. There, even imbeciles can cultivate to a level five soul by the time they reach adulthood. Anyone who is competent will make it to level six. With a little talent, you can reach level seven in under a century.”
The Marshal forced a sad smile. “I had little talent, Ward Harridan. Only the good fortune to be born as a noble on Tian. Had my mother not died in conflict with the Jinn, I would have been stuffed full of resources to bring me to the height of my potential. You will never see a true elixir in the fifth household, but they exist. Substances powerful enough that cultivators on Tian fight over them. I reached the sixth level by taking a gold plasma elixir. I would not have managed to advance before the dissolution of my family if not for that resource.
“So I understand what it is to lack cultivation talent, Ward Harridan. The third daughter tasked me with using the resources she acquired to maximize the development of our soldiers. I have kept thorough records of every elixir distributed in preparation of an audit. I need to be able to justify my actions to Master Zara.
“You are a bad bet, Ward Harridan. Just as I was.” The Marshal sighed. “I only received one of these. There are at least ten soldiers who would make better use of it.” He placed a vial on the desk separating them. “Push past your current hurdle, Ward Harridan. I absolutely cannot justify any further investment in you after this.”
Volithur tentatively took the vial in his hand and stared at the clear liquid. It was not a blood boiling elixir. If anything, it looked like cosmic water to his physical sight. His enhanced senses indicated it was something far more profound. “What is this, Master Marshal?”
“Silver plasma elixir. Made from the blood of a creature of Tian. The ones they send here are from cattle, I believe. It is no more potent than a blood boiling elixir in terms of cosmic energy content, but it is compatible with a mammalian body in a way that botanical ingredients are not. Even if you did not actively use it, this elixir would enhance your body.
“Use it well, Ward Harridan. Complete your digestive system using the cold forged method and pave the way for muscle enhancement. This may be a poor investment on my part, but it will ensure your path does not end prematurely.”
As he cradled the glass container to his chest, tears welled up in Volithur’s eyes. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Master Marshal.”