After everyone had left the chamber, only Armad and Nusi remained, both having ingested cultivation enhancement pills to boost their cultivation levels. Armad, with a strategic mind and a generous hand, had already dispersed a large share of these potent pills to his twenty commanders. His goal was unambiguous: he sought to bolster the cultivation levels of his commanders to such an extent that they would not only match the formidable commanders of the King’s Legion but potentially outshine them. This was a critical endeavor, for Armad was acutely aware that any future conflict with the King's Legion would demand exceptional strength for his side to have any semblance of victory.
Nusi, on her part, had become a testament to the power of the cultivation pills. Her cultivation level had skyrocketed to over 7,000, a realm of power that Armad had once occupied. The transformation was so pronounced that she became the cynosure of all eyes within the ranks; the foot soldiers watched her with a mixture of awe and confusion, while the upper echelon, like Commander Silaini and the rest of the Devas, watched with a knowing eye. They understood that Nusi's origins as a bondmaid belied her current prowess; she lacked innate bending skills. But association with their leader, Prince Armad, had thrust her into an ascendant trajectory.
The echelon was well aware of the Wilberforce bloodline's unique ability to transfer cultivation levels. Yet, they harbored a quiet perplexity regarding the source of Armad's burgeoning power. Rumors and questions circulated in hushed tones, for while Nusi's growth was astonishing, Armad’s cultivation level, too, was burgeoning. In a mere fortnight, he had surged from a respectable 6,000 years at the Core formation level to an impressive 10,000 years, breaching the threshold of the Pre-Deva level. This concurrent rise in power served as silent testimony that Armad was not depleting his reserves to amplify Nusi's—rather, he was augmenting both their strengths simultaneously.
The commanders were left to speculate on the origins of these mysterious cultivation years that Armad seemed capable of distributing. Their curiosity was piqued, yet they hesitated to voice their inquiries, perhaps out of respect, or due to the undeniable allure of the pills they had received. These commanders were not unfamiliar with the concept of cultivation aids; after all, the King's Legion boasted a myriad of such resources—potions to swallow, herbs to chew, seals, and rituals reserved for their ranks, all integral to the Legion's supremacy. But the exclusivity of these resources was absolute; the Legion would not lightly grant access to outsiders, and certainly not to a rival faction.
This exclusivity was reinforced by the legion's commitment to Prince Ikenga, the crown prince whom they had taken under their wing according to the law. It was Ikenga who was to be imbued with the knowledge and skills to lead the legion, a privilege not extended to others.
Armad was cognizant of the undercurrents of doubt and curiosity among his commanders. He sensed their unspoken questions and their skepticism towards the pills. Yet, he chose to remain detached from their concerns. His confidence in the pills’ effectiveness was unwavering, and he believed that once his commanders experienced the undeniable surge in their cultivation, any doubts would dissipate like mist in the morning sun. He anticipated that, in time, the pills would speak for themselves, and the questions surrounding their origin and his methods would give way to a deeper understanding. For now, Armad focused on the bigger picture, the looming conflict that necessitated every ounce of power they could muster.
Armad had been at the cultivation level of 10,000 years for what felt like an eternity, unable to breach the formidable barrier that separated him from the coveted level 10,001—a milestone that would signify his ascent to the esteemed rank of a Pre-Deva bender. In stark contrast, Nusi’s cultivation had surged unabated, propelled by the aid of the myriad pills generously provided by Armad himself. Under his guidance, Nusi’s mastery had blossomed, her cultivation level now standing at an impressive 8,300 years.
As the first tendrils of dawn painted the sky in hues of amber and gold, serving as an ethereal harbinger of the challenges that lay ahead, Nusi rose from her meditative stance. Mindful not to disturb Armad in his deep meditation, she moved outside silently. Outside she met the vigilant Commander Silaini, who stood sentinel outside the chamber. It was imperative to shield their meditating leader from harm, especially amidst the ever-present threat of enemy incursions on the battlefield.
A silent exchange of understanding passed between Nusi and Silaini as the commander hesitated before finally voicing his concern. “Where do you come from, Nusi?” he inquired, his gaze piercing yet tinged with a hint of wary curiosity.
Nusi furrowed her brow in a well-practiced display of innocence, her countenance a mask of feigned confusion. “I beg your pardon, Commander. I am unsure of your meaning,” she replied, her tone carefully neutral.
Though she discerned the underlying implications of his query, Nusi opted to play the role of the unknowing interlocutor, intrigued by the commander’s unspoken suspicions and motivations.
Silaini’s expression hardened with resolve as he spoke, his words laced with a subtle warning. “The safety of the prince is my paramount concern. Should your intentions prove malevolent, I must insist you depart ere your true motives are laid bare. Your continued presence is a testament to my belief in your benign nature, yet trust is a commodity not easily bestowed,” he cautioned. “Pray, reveal the origin of the pills bestowed upon the prince. The Association of Medicine Producers must not be made aware, lest it ignite a fresh conflagration amid the prince’s already fraught relations with the King’s Legion.”
Nusi hesitated, on the cusp of disavowing any connection to the pills, before a steely resolve settled within her. The prince required a shield, a scapegoat to deflect any repercussions stemming from the mysterious pills, and she was willing to assume that mantle. Her voice rang out with quiet conviction as she spoke, “Commander, our conflict with the King’s Legion persists, regardless of the presence of these pills. Their allegiance has been decided, and this discovery changes naught in their eyes. The Medicine Producers’ Association will undoubtedly investigate, but if you suspect my involvement, perhaps gratitude is for securing an advantage for the prince.”
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Silaini regarded her in thoughtful silence, weighing her words carefully. Were he a less seasoned commander, swayed by emotion and rhetoric, her arguments might have found purchase. Yet, having tested the potent pills himself, he knew their significance surpassed mere trinkets of power. In a realm where alliances were fragile and trust a rare commodity, the true nature of these pills loomed large, their value undeniable in a world defined by intrigue and power struggles.
From 10,000 to 11,000 years marks the Pre-Deva stage, from 11,000 to 20,000 years denotes the first stage of Deva, from 20,000 to 30,000 years signifies the second-of-Deva level, reaching 40,000 years is to attain the third-Deva, and surpassing 40,000 years enters the echelon of Peak-of-Deva. At Peak-of-Deva, a cultivator can augment their years of cultivation but cannot advance to higher echelons without specific ingredients vital for such growth.
Commander Silaini, now stationed at the pinnacle of Peak-of-Deva, has met an unexpected impediment. Despite his diligent efforts, his cultivation has been immovable at 40,001 years for over twelve months, indicating that conventional methods of progression are no longer sufficient. The dilemma he faces is one of scarcity—the necessary ingredients to facilitate even a minor increase in cultivation years are becoming increasingly elusive and substantial in quantity. This is a truth all too familiar to Nusi, who has felt the growing demand for ingredients as her cultivation level rose. Yet, Commander Silaini was left confounded by the circumstances, for the pills he had taken had once successfully accelerated his cultivation by an impressive three years.
Meanwhile, Nusi had experienced an extraordinary surge in her cultivation, amassing an additional 250 years in a single night—a feat that would ordinarily be deemed impossible. This staggering progression casts a shadow of doubt and suspicion over the nature of the pills and their long-term consequences.
Amidst these revelations, Commander Silaini found himself grappling with a myriad of concerns. The potential harm these pills might inflict upon their users loomed large in his mind. What agreement did Nusi strike with their leader that persuaded Nusi to distribute these pills? What was the origin of these mysterious substances? His investigation into Nusi’s background revealed no connections to the medicinal or alchemical arts, leading him to theorize that perhaps another bender, with ulterior motives, had taken residence within her, manipulating her actions from the shadows. Such a phenomenon, though rare in contemporary times, was not entirely beyond the realm of possibility, especially for a seasoned warrior like himself.
With a mixture of wariness and resolve, Commander Silaini vowed to monitor Nusi closely. His protective instincts towards the prince compelled him to act as a silent guardian, ready to intervene at the slightest indication of malevolence. “Her every move shall be under my watchful gaze,” he proclaimed internally. “And should I perceive even the slightest hint of a threat to the prince, I will act without hesitation.” Firm in his commitment, he returned to his military encampment, his thoughts heavy with the burden of leadership and protection.
The commander knew that the prince was not a fool, despite finding himself in a difficult situation orchestrated by his brother. With the blood of King Ayrion running through his veins, he was not one to be easily deceived by such trivial matters. The commander understood that confronting the prince directly about the origins of Nusi might not elicit the truth. However, he was confident that given enough time, the truth would reveal itself.
Armad remained enveloped in the stillness of meditation, his consciousness detached from the strategic discourse exchanged between the two eminent commanders of his. Despite his diligent meditation, his cultivation level had not yet attained the elusive Pre-Deva stage. However, the pills he ingested were far from squandered. Their potency had significantly expanded his world, now increased an astounding additional 50 kilometers, and had similarly augmented its power. As a result, any offensive skill he wielded received a formidable 15% enhancement, while his world’s defensive prowess drew forth an additional 10% strength. Should an adversary attempt to strike him, only 90% of the assault would come against him, and considering the 50% fortification of his skin, the array of attacks potent enough to injure him was exceedingly scarce.
Upon his departure from the Chamber, Armad’s gaze swept over the battlefield where the two battalions stood arrayed under the morning sun, which had climbed to its zenith in the sky. The sight of their leader stepping forward breathed a surge of confidence into his soldiers. They stood taller, their spirits bolstered by the belief that with Armad at the helm, they were impervious to defeat.
Outside the town’s protective embrace, the enemy battalions from yesterday’s conflict were caught in a mire of hesitation. The uncertainty of the number of bombs at Armad’s disposal or the intricacy of the traps he may have laid filled them with a paralyzing fear, deterring them from rashly launching another assault.
Conversely, the town’s defenders harbored their concerns. They harbored no illusions about the severity of their situation: even if they repelled the current threat, intelligence had warned of another, far larger battalion of 40,000 soldiers marching towards them. The shadow of this impending force loomed over their resolve.
Yet in the tactical standstill that ensued, the attackers, not the defenders, were the ones under pressure to make a move. The town’s battalion, fortified within their walls and supplied with sufficient resources, could afford to wait, turning time into an ally.
In response to this waiting game, at the stroke of noon, the besieging forces executed a peculiar maneuver. They began to form a single, drawn-out line that extended across the entire breadth of the town’s front and started to envelop its corners, inching ever closer to the defensive walls.
Armad, observing the unfolding tactics, allowed a sharp, merciless smile to contour his lips. He surmised that the enemy might have resorted to this linear formation to mitigate the impact of his bombs—a clustered group would suffer greater casualties from an explosive blast. Yet, in attempting to solve one problem, they had inadvertently exposed themselves to a new vulnerability.
Unbeknownst to the enemy, Armad had anticipated such a move and had already devised a cunning counter-strategy. The linear formation, while potentially minimizing damage from certain types of attacks, could not anticipate the full spectrum of Armad’s ingenuity and resources. He had prepared for this moment, ready to unleash a stratagem that would not only neutralize their attempt but potentially turn the tide of the battle entirely in his favor.