Armad has always been a warrior of few words, his ethos firmly rooted in the belief that true warriors let their combat prowess speak for them. He holds the conviction that the clash of steel and the quiet determination of a focused mind should carve the path to victory, not idle chatter. However, the recent battle has challenged this belief, for Armad finds himself in an unusual predicament. Even though he has regained his cultivation power, the strength of his body has been compromised by significant blood loss—an ailment his cultivation alone cannot rectify. This realization sparked a contemplative state within him, leading to an internal dialogue about the intrinsic link between blood and power Which made him think that it was possible that when the System allowed him to start enhancing the potency of his blood would bolster his strength, despite his cultivation level remaining constant?
These philosophical inquiries linger deep in Armad's thoughts, shadowed by the more immediate concern of survival. In his current weakened state, time is his ally, and he needs to coax it gently into his favor. To facilitate the healing effects of the medicinal pills he has ingested, he now finds himself doing the unthinkable—engaging in conversation during combat. When Nura Bayajidda addresses him, Armad, albeit reluctantly, indulges in dialogue as a tactical maneuver to delay the proceedings and hasten his repossessed.
Armad is quite aware of how people regard him. Since his spirit possessed the body of the prince—his namesake—he has been acutely aware of the prince's innermost thoughts and the complex dynamics within the palace. The prince's mother's death marked the beginning of a subtle shift in the court's demeanor towards him. Respect given freely before now came sparingly, as even the palace gardeners, though uniformly loyal to the king, showed an overt preference for some of Armad's younger siblings. It was a dynamic that could have easily isolated Armad, had it not been for the strict palace decree that ensured his younger siblings accorded him respect due to his status as the second eldest son, under threat of punishment. This decree alone has prevented them from disregarding him, a testament to the fragile nature of his standing in the hierarchy of the palace.
Armad's sense of isolation within the palace walls was somewhat alleviated when his father, the king, granted him governance over a small town in the empire. This gesture of autonomy, while rooted in tradition as articulated by the old decree of King Aldaima, remains at the discretion of the reigning monarch. The decree states that the second eldest son is to be given a town to rule independently, a town that will carry the name of Wilberforce and serve as a subsidiary of the royal lineage. However, the incumbent king retains the prerogative to decide when, or even if, such independence will be granted.
Receiving this town to govern was a clear sign of his father's favor, for without it, Armad might have remained in limbo, bereft of responsibility and purpose until the king's death or his brother Ikenga's ascension to the throne. Armad is keenly aware that Ikenga, once king, would never extend such an opportunity to him, effectively dashing any hopes for autonomy and independence. It was this knowledge that magnified the significance of the king's decision to grant him a town to govern, despite any doubts about his capabilities.
The most recent encounter with his father was telling. Armad could see in the king's eyes the absence of pride that he reserved for his other offspring. The way the king's gaze lingered on Ikenga and the others, laden with confidence and expectation, contrasted sharply with the look he gave Armad.
Armad is already plagued by the notion that his siblings are held in higher regard to their father, favored for their strengths where he has shown none. Despite this, the king’s integrity is unwavering. He recognizes that Armad, though lacking the prowess of a mighty cultivator, remains his progeny and is thus entitled to the freedoms and responsibilities that come with his birthright. Acting upon this paternal obligation, King Wilberforce granted Armad the right to govern a town nestled by the sea and provided a contingent of the king’s legion for his protection in this new domain. He did so with a paternal caveat, advising Armad to be vigilant of the foreign entities that might come ashore.
Yet, no matter the support and trust his father places upon him, Armad is still perceived as the most vulnerable amongst his siblings, unable to awaken the powerful Wilberforce eyes that have become his family’s legacy.
At the council where King Wilberforce’s decision to empower Armad was discussed, opposition arose. One council member, in particular, stood against the king’s proposition, arguing that Armad was better off under the protective wing of his brother in the capital, where imminent threats could be better managed. This council member was skeptical of Armad’s capabilities to stand alone.
This opposition incensed King Ayrion, whose response was swift and unequivocal—a two-month suspension for the dissenting council member.
Yet, the council’s challenges did not end there. Another council member stepped forward with an alternative, questioning the wisdom of bypassing Armad’s younger sisters in favor of him. These sisters had proven themselves by awakening the formidable Wilberforce eyes, a milestone Armad had yet to achieve. The question posed was stark: Why should the second son govern a town when his sisters, younger yet stronger, were overlooked?
The second council member postulated that the initial objector had made a mistake not in challenging King Aldaima’s decree but in the manner of his objection. He suggested that giving Armad such a responsibility could potentially damage the Wilberforce reputation at a time when rival tribes scrutinized them, seeking any sign of weakness to capitalize on and expand their territories.
In the face of this criticism, King Ayrion’s reaction was measured. He exhaled a deep sigh, a sign of the weight of leadership and the challenges of fair governance. He did not punish the second council member, recognizing the individual’s influence and strategic approach, which did not outright reject King Aldaima’s decree. Furthermore, the council member’s family had made significant contributions that could not be ignored.
After contemplation, King Ayrion signaled his disagreement with a shake of his head. He resolved not to take punitive action against the council member. As the reigning monarch, his word was absolute, and he had no intention of being perceived as a ruler who practiced injustice among his children. Regardless of Armad’s perceived shortcomings, King Ayrion was determined to honor the principles of fair succession and equality. Armad, despite his weaknesses, deserved his chance to lead and to prove his worth, just as any of King Wilberforce’s children would. In this, King Ayrion hoped to uphold the honor of his lineage and the integrity of his rule, demonstrating to all that the values of justice and fairness reigned supreme in the Wilberforce dynasty.
In the waning hours of the great council, King Ayrion called forth his son, Prince Armad, with a heavy heart. He had harbored a lingering hope that the prince’s mother, a woman of immense power and cultivated skill, had cheated death and would stand by her son’s side. Alas, fate was not so kind; she lay in eternal rest, leaving the young prince without the maternal guidance that could have fortified him for the trials ahead. In her stead stood only Commander Silaini, once a humble gardener tending to the verdant sanctuaries of the queen, now elevated to the role of protector to the prince.
Shouldering the weight of an uncertain future, King Ayrion resolved to commit Prince Armad to the governance of Tiriba. In a gesture of feigned democracy, he presented the council with the choice to elect a member from the illustrious King’s Legion to safeguard the prince. Yet, beneath this veneer of council empowerment, the king harbored little optimism for his son’s success in ruling the town. The words of one council member echoed ominously, foreshadowing a grim fate that might unfold.
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Beyond the immediate concerns for Armad lay a deeper, more pervasive dread that plagued King Ayrion’s thoughts—his legacy and the bond between his children. His impending death cast a shadow over the royal house, stirring fears of sibling strife and the specter of fratricidal conflict. The king yearned to weave a tapestry of peace that would endure beyond his reign, yet he recognized the naivety of such a wish. The royal bloodline was no stranger to discord; it was a lineage steeped in the iron and blood of succession struggles. The tale of Aldaima, the warrior king, served as a stark reminder. Not the firstborn of King Wilberforce, but the second son, Aldaima had seized the throne through the downfall of his brother, his path to kingship stained by fratricide.
In this acknowledgment of an unalterable pattern, King Ayrion reluctantly chose to embrace the edicts of Aldaima, hoping that in doing so, his descendants would adhere to his decrees when he was but a memory.
For Prince Armad, the farewell with his father was laden with unspoken truths and tacit admissions. The advice imparted by King Ayrion carried with it an air of resignation; the king’s eyes betrayed his skepticism of Armad’s ability to fulfill the daunting task of ruling. Once perceived as the weakest of Ayrion’s progeny, Armad’s reputation was entwined with that of another being—a stranger from a different time who had become one with the prince. This fusion had altered Armad’s essence, and the judgments of old no longer held sway.
Now, with an indomitable spirit, Armad stood on the precipice of change. He harbored no illusions about the perceptions of the council or his father; their doubts and conjectures were immaterial to him. His gaze was fixed firmly on the zenith of his potential, and with quiet confidence, he vowed to surpass all expectations. Even if the whole world rallied behind his rival Ikenga, Armad’s resolve would not falter. The disparagement of his strength was but a transient cloud, soon to be dispersed by the luminescence of his true capabilities. In time, all would be compelled to reconcile with the gravity of their misjudgments.
Armad smiled reassuringly at Nura Bayajidda and spoke with calm certainty, “All the tales and whispers you’ve heard hold truth, yet the sights before us now may be steeped in illusion.”
Nura Bayajidda’s brows knitted together in contemplation. Was Armad implying belief in the rumors that deemed him the weakest scion of the mighty King Ayrion, or was there a deeper, more cryptic message within his words?
On the battlefield, the warrior who had reached the second stage of the deva level was a study in efficiency and urgency. He was acutely aware that every moment squandered was a boon to Armad, granting him precious time to recuperate. Although he had paused earlier, it had been a necessary interlude to tend to his injured hand. Even now, as he lacked a finger, his quick thinking had prevented further blood loss, and the wound was beginning to scab over. Clutching his sword with his uninjured hand, he resumed his advance toward Armad with renewed determination. Observing the scene, Nura Bayajidda gave a resigned shake of his head and followed suit, striding toward the fray. Both warriors called upon the depths of their cultivation, their skills igniting with raw power.
Beside them, Nusi conjured a formidable sight—a colossal mortar and pestle—and with it, a handful of tree seeds. She placed the seeds within the mortar and commenced the rhythmic pounding. In a world where the clash of swords was a common melody of war, Nusi’s choice of armament was unorthodox. Yet, her presence on the battlefield, wielding her unique implements, posed a threat far more ominous than any conventional swordsman.
High above on the town’s ramparts, two-echelon devas, Commanders Kisa and Silaini Wilberforce, found themselves locked in a duel that was as much about wits as it was about brute force. Both commanders approached the confrontation with a gravity befitting their status. Commander Silaini’s hand bore the fresh scarlet of blood, a testament to a lapse in focus when his gaze had momentarily been drawn to Armad’s struggle below. Despite the assault of dirt and the spoil of combat, Commander Kisa’s attire remained resilient, unyielding to the ravages of their grim dance. Their eyes—those unique Wilberforce eyes—gleamed with an inner light as they measured each other’s intent, and after a brief but strategic withdrawal, they lunged forth to resume their fierce battle.
The swords they wielded were aglow with an ethereal brown luminescence, a reflection of the power that blazed within their gaze, casting an aura around the blades that beckoned to the very essence of their being.
Before their blades could cross once more, Commander Silaini spared a moment for a crucial assessment of his adversary’s cultivation power. He discerned a subtle deception; the opponent’s real strength lay not in the hand that wielded the sword, but in the other—the left—which bore the true reservoir of his cultivation energy. It was a clever ruse, intended to surprise with a potent strike from an unexpected quarter.
Yet Commander Silaini did not waver upon discovering this secret. His response was immediate and decisive; he surged the power within his blade, intensifying its glow and strength. The collision of metal was a clarion call, and Commander Silaini’s sword forced his opponent downward, catching Commander Kisa off guard. It was clear now that Commander Kisa had not channeled his cultivation power equally; the energy within his sword paled in comparison to the might that Commander Silaini had summoned into his blade.
As the duel’s tempo escalated, Commander Silaini’s blade relentlessly pursued Commander Kisa’s hand, aiming to disarm and incapacitate. At the same moment, Commander Kisa’s hand, a vessel of untamed power, descended upon Commander Silaini’s abdomen with a crushing force. The impact of flesh and energy reverberated through the air.
The current situation on the battlefield is a testament to the strategic realization among the commanders that continuing the fight as they have been would lead to a protracted and potentially fruitless conflict. Commander Silaini, in particular, is acutely aware that while he might be able to sustain himself with energy booster pills, the prolonged nature of the battle could be detrimental to his soldiers who remain vulnerable on the field. Despite an initial advantage, the momentum has shifted, returning the battle to its starting point. A formidable force of approximately 30,000 enemy soldiers is relentlessly advancing toward the town’s defensive walls, determined to climb and breach them.
In a separate but equally intense part of the battlefield, Armad finds himself locked in combat with two formidable devas. The odds of victory are slim, and even the timely arrival of Nusi to assist does little to guarantee a favorable outcome. The enemy’s devas continue their assault, engaging the captains subordinate to Silaini in fierce combat.
Moreover, the mysterious absence of the nine kings from the battlefield raises questions for Commander Silaini. Unable to discern their motives, he conjectures that perhaps mutual distrust between the kings and the King’s legion is at play. However, Silaini remains oblivious to the true reason behind their inaction: the kings are preoccupied with divvying up the spoils of war, a revelation that would undoubtedly send him into a rage if he were to discover their mercenary intentions.
Of course, Commander Silaini’s sword is not the kind Kisa can withstand without injury. Upon contact, it inflicted a severe wound on his hand. Simultaneously, a powerful blow struck Commander Silaini’s stomach, causing him to recoil as his internal organs churned, leading to blood vomiting due to the injuries sustained. Furthermore, while Commander Silaini didn’t succeed in making Kisa vomit blood, the injury to Kisa’s hand, essential for sword control, renders him unable to wield the weapon temporarily.
This raises the question of who, if anyone, has gained the upper hand in this clash. Silaini is hampered by a critical hand injury, rendering him unable to wield his sword for the foreseeable future. Simultaneously, Kisa’s internal injuries threaten to sap his strength and potentially lead to an even more dire condition.
Amidst this tension, Commander Kisa is unaware of the existence of energy booster pills within Silaini’s arsenal. Without a moment’s hesitation, Silaini boldly ingests three of these pills. He rationalizes that if Armad, who has not reached his level of cultivation, can tolerate as many as fifteen pills, then a mere three should not be harmful to him.
As the pills take effect, they release a wave of healing energy that surges through Silaini’s body. The pain that wracked him subsides in mere seconds, though the vitality lost from his bloodshed remains unrecouped.
Commander Kisa, observing Silaini’s miraculous recovery, casts a suspicious glance toward Armad, understanding that the entire battalion under Silaini’s command has access to such potent pharmaceuticals. This leads to a troubling thought: has the Medicine Producers Association betrayed Prince Ikenga, favoring Prince Armad instead? Or could other unseen forces be influencing the tide of the battle?