Outside of the home, there was still something that Sarey assumed to be her right choice of thoughts. Zigmund was laying by a tree, with a frown on his face. Although peaceful at first, occasional curses and hitting a tree happened a few times. Rubbing his stomach and shoulders, he felt beaten and tired. That was the right choice of phrase.

He did his best to beat Allan in a play of defense and offense. Meeting his attack head-on and backward with exchanges of strikes, he felt the many memories zip through his mind. A past, which happened a long time ago, but meant a lot to the past him. As for now, it did not.

Knowing where to stop was important in this case. After all, Zigmund was more proficient in the art of killing than training. It went without a question that it was harder for him to leave the right mark on Allan.

It almost felt quite the opposite. Allan never complained or argued all that much, even with a little roughness that he used. Zigmund was taking into consideration his improvement with small doses of advice. They led to a vast improvement in a couple of days, which could mean much more, further down the line.

Like this, he did the whole spar for half an hour before he was unable to continue. Zigmund's years of not touching his sword all that much led much to his disappointment. He always thought he was a great soldier, but it seemed he had to change his mind or mindset. If he won't, he will lose to a kid like this.

Inside the home, Allan felt no specific pain, only tiredness from his very core. It was by no means a mistake to get this over with because it had its pros and cons. This whole spar acted as a stressful thing on his mind, which was always looking for the next course of action. Considering his blindness, it made sense, since his senses got sharpened and improved.

Allan was already getting used to holding his own position against sudden attacks. Hearing, touch, smell, and movement all improved in steady steps. It was already quite obvious that he had a talent for this, and Allan himself was coming into this belief as well.

Unfortunately for him, in any normal situation of life and death, the enemy would take advantage of his blindness. Strike or do anything to achieve the kill was common sense in every battle. Zigmund knew plenty of opportunities to destroy Allan faster than he would notice. But that would be at the cost of some damage, which made Zigmund quite surprised by the efficiency of Allan's defenses.

Allan did not need to rely on sight. That meant every unexpected attack which could come from the blind spot did not matter. Every attack felt the same for him.

Term spar almost lost all meanings or less than it should have for both Allan and Zigmund. To get into his past mood and skill, Zigmund had a small hesitation within himself. It was a long time ago when he was in a life-and-death situation that resulted in him killing his foes.

Allan grunted in the kitchen because Sarey pushed him into his room. It was, once again, time for acupoint treatment.

Laying on his back on his bed, nothing held Sarey back.

She knew when to hurry and be efficient at the same fine. Working in a restaurant with her father was a prime example, although a little strange one.

She noticed nothing weird about his back, apart from bruises and some old scars. Sarey cleaned his back with a towel and started inserting acupoint needles. Her palm felt his back muscles. At this point, she wasn't shy about it. Shoulderblade, round parts of trapeze muscles were most distinct, with a clarity of the muscles across his whole body. It made her surprised how much he changed in so little time. It resembled nothing from the time they found him in the forest.

One by one, Sarey led the acupoint needles into the position according to the scroll she held in her second hand.

It was one, which she did a few times, so there were no issues with it.

A warm feeling spread around Allan's body once more. This was a very comforting feeling, and it was the most relaxing feeling he enjoyed very much. With this kind of therapy, he couldn't find an issue with it even if he wanted to.

Only if there won't be issues.

Seeing his back muscles, Sarey assumed the position of the viewer and a doctor. Muscles are one of the most fundamental and crucial roles in human actions, and acupoint makes some work on them. If someone had a deficit of being unable to have much of them, it would drastically weaken their life. Every day would be a challenge for such people.

There were also a lot more problems that could occur than weakened vitality and everyday life. The heart was a kind of muscle as well. It was constantly working and pumping out blood without a pause until the end of its life. That or a forceful end by someone else.

Dragging and pumping the essential blood into the system was of utmost importance for the human system.

Right now, Allan's heart was incredibly calm, maybe a bit too much. However, it was not something Sarey, nor Allan noticed.

Only the inside of his core heart was not so peaceful. A speck of something that happen to him, and changed his fate was there. The residual force of the Red orb left a speck of droplet of its essence, or perhaps it was a speck of will too.

This was a long time coming, while a forceful insertion of the Red orb was something out of this world. A sort of technique that would any Immortal consider impossible, or going against the universe.

It was unknown why the sheer toughness of this Red orb was achieved. Did it hold a speck of will or something else altogether? It could be a possibility, considering what it went through. It was now left with nothing but its instincts and a small blink of awareness.

The force which was unleashed by inserting into the host of its choice was no issue at first. For it, its essence was the blood itself. Blood of a being which The Above was afraid of.

By its unfortunate, or lack of fate of the universe, its suffering did not stop. Even when "they " attacked, it tried to shake the universe. Yet, right now, even when it was weakened to such a length, it was being devoured instead. Someone or something, right now, it wasn't alone in this body.

In a position where no one should notice it, a fate of inability to change it left it angry and furious.

There was no stopping it, as the speck of the essence of the Red orb was too weak. It knew that failures would become prey, then the victim would become a winner. That was a fundamental truth of the universe it felt from the awareness which was little, yet domineering even at this moment.

This was an effect, and situation, that Allan did not know of. There was nothing or no one who could tell him about it. Even if 36 was alive, standing by his side, the secrets of the heart's core were nothing but mysterious. Almost like a soul, at this point.

A minor friend in Allan's moment of near-death kindly protected him. Be it involuntarily or a simple sympathy could have been the cause. Soul-fire was observing Allan's life from within him ever since the strange day of its fate. The incredible attack of "them" damaged the very core of its being. It felt the freedom from the small crack on the hammer emblem at the Plains beyond, which left the currents of the universe in shambles. Certain rules were broken that day.

Going out or staying meant its demise back then. The call, it felt, was not a bad choice at that time. It was not a time to be lost in the river of obscurity. It was a jolt for its drifting awareness.

As with every soul-fire, this one was as special as their rarity. The elements were their affinity as they came from the natural environment, cores of planets, or heavenly places of Immortal lands.

A very complicated kind of environment and time can give birth to them. In the long past history of the Central region, one researcher of them came to a simple realization. It was a kind of natural that the soul-fires could have elemental form. It could be clever or a little sentient. Their intelligence varied by certain things that were at their core.

Yet, there was also something suspicious that the researcher realized soon enough. Since the cultivation was a path of going with, or against, the nature of the heavens, so was the soul-fire to some extent.

There was one particular stage that shocked him to his core. Taking a core from within yourself and creating a much more profound thing in hundreds of years to a few millennia. It could be called a sun, star, or planet. The words of choice varied since there were countless Immortal paths to go cultivate.

Vitality, talent, experience, techniques, and, most crucial, the richness of energy were necessary to accomplish success. The ones who would do so end up on a stage called the Lord. It was a simple term, which some people paraphrased for their own liking.

Some, would even copy it and called themself it. In truth, very few accomplished it in a vast cosmos. Still a large number, but considering the scale of the living souls, it was a small number indeed.

Such a person was 36's answer to his question by the Wisher a long time ago. Marshell was his name. The first or second who finished Diary's trial and was the Lord of the second stage. One would be able to start the second forging of a second core if the first one was successful and stable enough.

The reason for the researcher's shock was that such made-up cores varied a bit too much. Some could become the planet's heart and were sometimes found on dead or rural planets. It was strange, as it could be a natural or literary fabricated. There was no difference if one would look at both of them. It was as if the age and their lives were long passed, yet the energy still never ceased to exist.

It made the researcher confused as if the secrets of the last stages of the cultivations relied on something... completely beyond common sense. It was a kind of surprise that caused him endless fear and confusion. Others could take some of them to make their own cores. Hunting the cores of dead planets, or living ones, made it quite crazy in comparison to previous stages.

Soul-fires could be a kind of similar to such madness. That was at least his hypothesis in this matter of the Lord stage.

They were, in a fundamental way, a core of a being while being only that. Living from a planet was sort of natural, but it was living off of it. Stealing the planet's energy for its own.

In truth, that was common across all materials of the universe. Such things were common since the energy did not care about rules all that much. When one absorbed it, it made sense that residual energy could be absorbed as well.

The strange thing that the researcher couldn't understand was the path of the Lord. It wasn't something that was not manageable for anyone. One in a Million of talented cultivators could do so, but that was his own guess. It would take hundreds of millennia, while the talent had to be heaven-defining.

Unfortunately, before he became aware of the truth that dig into his heart, time was not on his side. His natural death soon approached his remaining time, which was still counted in dozens of millennia.

It was fortunate, as thousands of years of his research were shared with his disciples. He even spread some of this knowledge out in the wild. It was already a popular belief that the universe itself was wilder than anything else.

As for the truth of the researcher's utmost secrets of the soul-fires, he shared it with no one. Although his answers or guesses would prove to become impressive, in Allan's case.

The stage called Lord became something that countless people marveled at. Reaching that stage, and being called that. It was a core belief of countless cultivators ever since then.

Cultivators would not tremble before the endless path that is their own. Instead, they wanted to encompass everything under their own little heavens.

Since then, the soul-fires were kind of left as tools, which only powerful people could catch. Some would perish, or become lucky enough to use it.

Their properties could be useful for all kinds of things. For example, as a simple weapon, a tool for forging, alchemy, or pill-conduction. Some could even use it as a tool for cultivating affinity. Although, it depended on the fundamental core of each soul-fires. Some could have thunder affinity, while others were blazing hot as their name. They are, after all, very rich in energy by Immortal standards. Some were even a bit too much.

There were a few situations where their explosion of anger or their instability caused the destruction of entire sects. It was generally believed it was a fault of instability of reaching a higher stage of cultivation. It wasn't that surprising that none thought of the soul- fires' involvement. It may as would be faulted by the instability of the soul-fire or the unyielding nature of their souls.

History could repeat itself at any point, or it would come forward by some other means. Sects, schools, clans, and other types of organizations followed a long past of ages. They were a never-ending routine of unchanging times.

Such times, when living day to day to another, were no longer important. The base approach of the Immortal, who could cultivate and meditate for centuries, couldn't be less unimportant for the changes.

Most of such old fellows would cause the recession with their own hands. Causing pointless troubles for the future of his or her disciples. A never-ending cycle of countless years was going by in the universe, while most often than not, never-changing.

This sort of train of thought was of utmost unimportance for mortal realms. Their lives are finite, with barely a century if they are lucky. Allan was unaware of it, as it was pointless as a view of Immortals to mortals. It was a truth that wasn't strange at all.

An unknown and relaxed boy of insignificant age was letting himself be stabbed by a mortal girl. Their time would come, but it would wait for the distant future.

Yet, it was not all that nice and peaceful in other regions of the universe.

Far away, outside of this rural place, wars and battles happen all the time. Sometimes going over the lives of countless mortal generations. Conflicts could even happen with the swing of someone's hands, or a fit of anger by laying a finger on someone's wife, or companion.

Those were the people of power, and even in mortal lands, royalty would end like this in some cases. It was human nature, which caused such a situation, while the universe itself was numb to it all.

However, such examples were not fit this time around.

Within the barren land of the starry sky, a piece of the universe was in this place. Calming to one's mind, it had certain feelings for one man who was as chiseled as the heavens. A sculptured body, with the utmost handsome kind, yet he was drifting in the empty space.

From time to time, he was reaching into the distance with his hand, but most often than not, he was unmoving. Staring toward the cosmos, he marvels at the universe, which is beyond his fingertips.

Drifting into an unspecified location, or a time in this space, wasn't his plan. It could be his habit or something that he was doing in his spare time.

He was alone, after all. The Universe of the stars was his only accompaniment. Though, around him was the radiating aurora of light. It came from a single piece of cloth that barely covered his near-naked body. Like a river of light, it traveled around his private areas.

There was no life around him, apart from himself. Far away from him could be seen clusters of planets, but they were a dot in the distance at this distance.

This was a very beautiful painted picture. His eyes emitted light of importance and immortality, which could lead one to wonder what was in his mind.

He already admired these starry surroundings for long ages. Unbothered by any calls, until one moment, it was different. A talisman that floated in a similar state as himself, attached to the cloth by a chain, emitted a noise of talk. In only a moment, the message, it told, was cast in an instant.

Language or words which were inconceivable to understand floated toward the man's mind.

Unfortunately for him, this was not a call that he could afford to ignore.

Still watching his surroundings even after a long time, it was as if he pondered the content of that message.

“Hmph!” a snort of displeasure echoed throughout the space. It changed to a small nova to appear from his cloth, and a whole being. It all came from his single action.

Being summoned was not his cup of tea, but this time, his master was calling, so there was no way of ignoring it.

His displeasure wasn't that surprising, since this being was once called a demonic kind. Until the trials, he endured changed his structural mind. He would never guess he would cherish such a different life of marvels of the stars. As his name was Marshell. The one who managed to cross the differences and get in touch with The Ones for real. Now, being an official disciple of one of its members, he holds a certain portion of secrets that were one of a kind.

It came at a certain price, but there was one rule which prevailed and made him admire his current life. "They" gave him freedom of any movement, as there were no rules stating anything against anyone. A lawless organization known as The Ones was his home.

No person, be it its members, their official disciples, and not even the "One" who stood in charge. Spoken or unspoken rules prohibited them from changing, or doing anything, to anyone within their ranks.

Promises held the most value to them. That was the core of their beliefs.