“My name is Rasmurnov.” The gray-robed officer said in a flat, monotone voice. He looked completely average, except for one thing: his eyes were pitch black, like two bottomless, devouring pits. He was of an average stature, but his eyes made him seem unnaturally large. If not for his eyes, his face would seem completely forgettable.

“As for all of your names, don’t bother telling us. My men will escort you prisoners to the closest Tornado sect prison camp a thousand kilometers away. The journey should take several months.”

Rasmurnov paced up and down in front of the two hundred or so prisoners he was in charge of. “I am a fair man. If any of you suffer permanent injury or death at the hands of my subordinates, I will give them their due punishment. The same goes for the reverse. Pray to your Gardener that nothing happens.”

He pivoted on his heel to look at the inferno behind him. Tornado sect channelers were torching the tall grass atop the hill. The living, sentient blade of grass which had saved Solera from being shot by the channeler was somewhere in there. Probably wisps of ash now.

RUUUMMMBBBBLLLLL-

An explosion appeared within the inferno as the United Duchies detonated another round of explosives. The second fortress-tree broke apart, its branches falling onto the ground, where they shattered like glass. Though these two fortresses had resembled Fortress Hickory, they could not compare to it at all.

“I do not like the grass and the trees and the ants and the worms around here.” Rasmurnov pivoted back to face them. “You all stuff spirits into the strangest things. So we will start moving now.”

Their guards herded them into one long single-file line before they started moving. Solera was near the front, with Lem right in front of him. At least this way, Lem couldn’t see his injury and babble about it.

“Several thousand kilometers…” Lem muttered, but when Solera didn’t respond, he fell silent. They trudged through the mud for hours, the fortresses and the hill behind them slowly disappearing into the forest. Only faint plumes of smoke could be seen.

Silent. Solera had always been a silent person. Before, it was because he couldn’t talk. Now, it was because he wouldn’t talk. The weight of Guinness’s death, Skadi’s sudden surrender, his worry for his own life and of Chianti’s when the enemy advanced further, they all weighed down on him, like rocks chained to his feet.

But what weighed down on him most was his powerlessness! All his life, he had been training, cultivating, but what did it mean when his enemies had lived for centuries? Compared to them, he was nothing! Chianti had told him to do what he had the power to do, but he had the power to do nothing.

He didn’t have his sword, or his truesight goggles, or even the wings he had worn only once. It was unlikely he would ever see any of them again. Now, the only thing he had was his power crystal, stuck in the middle of his back.

He had begun to feel the pain of his countless injuries, but the crystal was alleviating most of it. The power crystal was an unparalleled item, and the only reason he had not entirely given up on himself. He would live to the end of this war. A century later, two centuries later, when he could become an immortal, he would have his revenge on all these immortals who had screwed him over so badly today.

“Hey, you!” A boot slammed into the back of his legs, sending him kneeling into the mud. Solera looked to his side to see a gray-robed channeler with messy brown hair. The channeler was glaring at him with a gaze that Solera could only describe as crazy.

“I don’t like the look in your eye!” He snarled, some spittle flying out of his mouth and landing onto Solera’s cheek. “You better not be thinking anything vicious!”

Solera got back up, looking away. The prisoners behind him were all staring, and some guards watched with mild interest.

“Sorry.” Solera turned and kept walking, his face devoid of any expression. But inside, he was furious! He could be kicked down because his expression wasn’t good? Just who did this guy think he was? Solera absolutely despised this person, but he would do nothing. He valued his life over his dignity. Because as long as he was alive, he could kill this man, whoever he was. So he held his tongue and kept his head down.

“Picking on prisoners, Jumpy.” Another voice from somewhere behind Solera spoke, followed by several snickers. “That’s a step up from the rats and the birds, at least.”

“My name’s not Jumpy!” The man behind Solera roared angrily.

The voices laughed again, but after that, Solera’s area lapsed back into silence. By the time dusk fell, they had gone approximately twenty kilometers in a southwesterly direction. The hundred or so soldiers set up tents all around the camp for the night, with twenty remaining on guard duty. There were no tents for the captives.

Lem sat next to Solera, his teeth chattering.

“It’s so cold, Solera. Couldn’t they give us blankets or something?” He whined.

Solera eyed him for a moment before looking away again. Lem was talking to the wrong person here. Besides, he didn’t even know what Lem was talking about. Eden was warm year round, and tonight was not any different.

“That guy earlier, though. That was really bullshit.” Lem shook his head, then shivered. He curled up into a ball and pulled his shirt down over his legs.

“Yup.” Solera said, tuning Lem out. He began thinking about his cultivation. With the decidedly bad food they had been served for dinner by the Tornado sect, it would definitely stagnate. The greatest crime when it came to cultivation was not practicing or getting injured. It was not eating food infused with power! This was why immortals almost completely came from wealthy families. Birthing an immortal was an effort built on generations of work, and could be ruined by the smallest setback. Like this one.

But he had the power crystal. Solera was sure that this setback was not fatal to his prospects with it. Though he could not exercise because he was walking all day and though he was disinclined to practicing his sword arts in front of twenty guards in the middle of the night without a sword, he could take measures to ensure he reached immortality.

Practicing his circulation mantra, for one. It gave him a small headache, just like before, but he almost couldn’t feel it at all because it was verdant power he was channeling. The power shot up and down through his body in an endless cycle.

Solera had read from the really dry book about channeling that circulation mantras actually did help cultivation a tiny, tiny bit, when power would leak out of the channels and be absorbed by the body. He couldn’t feel it happening at all, but he doubted the book would lie to him. By continually circulating, Solera would be able to preserve his cultivation so that immortality would still be attainable. After that, then the Sky was the limit. Whoever he wanted to have revenge on for the events today, he could.

“... and I’m going to be going to sleep now. Good night, Solera.” Still shivering, Lem closed his eyes.

Solera blinked, then shrugged to himself. He went back to circulating. He could feel the power thrumming through his channels, the power pouring in from the crystal, his wounds slowly healing. He thought again about Guinness, but quickly refocused on the mantra. For a long time, there was only the mantra. Ethereal liquid shooting through thousands of colorful lines, with a giant node of light at the top and a lesser one in the middle. The hum of something akin to a heartbeat, yet erratic, yet melodic…

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“Come with me, girl.”

Solera’s eyes snapped open. His eyes flickered around, but he could see nothing but the trees and the moon and the stars and the Halo.

“Damn it, she’s a heavy sleeper. You think the Ras will even like her?”

Solera’s head began to turn ever so slowly towards his left.

“Just wake her up, for the Thundergod’s sake. Why the fuck are you trying to lift her?”

It was five channelers, two of them dragging the woman up. Solera could see the gleaming blue light of the Halo reflecting off their gauntlets. A feeling of disgust and anger washed over him, this time even more intense than when he had been kicked earlier that day. Rape! Just how much dignity would these soldiers give them? Solera wished so badly that he had the power to kill them all right now. If only he had been born a century earlier!

Gardener damn it all. Solera found himself cursing in the name of the man turned Sky god his father worshipped. Rape her once. Rape him once. Rape him a hundred times! But as long as he was alive, there would be payback!

“Girl, what’s your name?” One of the channelers, a woman, whispered.

“What do you want?” The female prisoner mumbled, her voice a little panicked.

“Uh…” The channeler laughed nervously. “We were looking for a girl to warm our boss’s bed. Rasmurnov. Army relationships are forbidden, and one of us thought he was looking at you, so we’d thought we’d make the offer. Your life can be made a lot easier, and we’ll really appreciate it.”

Solera’s eyes narrowed. They could be telling the truth. Or they could be luring the woman out to kill her.

He felt the power crystal inside him. Killing was where he drew the line. Death meant that one couldn’t take revenge.

Solera stared at the woman’s face, faintly illuminated by the dual lights of the moon and the Halo. If he did not see her tomorrow, then Solera would exact justice on her behalf. Even though he couldn’t do it now, he could do it later. He looked at the faces, the backs of the channelers. Burned them into his memory. Whatever he did, he could not forget! These prisoners were his comrades, who had protected Eden for him. Who had protected him, in countless battles he would never know about. The world could forget them, but he would not.

“How can I trust you?” The woman asked, still fearful.

Solera blanched. What? She was actually going along with this? Was she trying to weasel her way out? All she needed to do was cause a scene, and then these guards would either have to leave her alone or deal with a riot!

“Uh… you can tell all the guards here, wake up ten of your friends, tell them where you’re going to be.” The channeler responded awkwardly. “We’re not trying to do anything shady here.”

Tell her friends she would be having sex with an enemy officer? Solera almost laughed out loud. It seemed like he had jumped the gun. Nothing was going to happen tonight.

The woman seemed to have shared Solera’s thoughts. “No, I’m going to have to say no. No.”

“Uh, okay then. But when you find yourself too cold to sleep or too tired to walk or some other stupid problem you prisoners always seem to have, just tell us.” There was a note of annoyance in the female channeler’s voice. She and the other four channelers promptly tiptoed their way through the field of sleeping bodies back to their spots next to the other guards.

After a few minutes of silence, Solera closed his eyes again. It seemed he really had jumped to conclusions on this one. The channelers were just… being stupid. Solera didn’t know any other way to say it. Besides, most of the other captives were probably awake as well. Not everyone was as naive as Lem, who just went to sleep the first moment he could without any regard for what the Tornado sect people might try. If those channelers really wanted to rape the woman, then she wouldn’t even need to make a ruckus. Solera was sure even if he refused to do anything, there would be many who would.

He went back to his circulating, trying to reach for that strange state of immersion he had been in. The memory of it was hazy now, but it was really soothing. If he had known about it earlier, he would have channeled more. He felt like he was nearing that point when he was awakened again by some sobbing sounds.

“Ah… haahh…” Lem cried.

Ugggghhhh. Solera groaned inwardly. Perhaps Lem was not older than him after all. He had been on the cusp when the damn kid had started sniffling!

Solera opened his eyes, then blinked in surprise. It was already dawn! Had he drifted off to sleep without even knowing it?

*Sniff* Lem was rubbing his eyes, but saw Solera out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, Solera.”

Solera stared at Lem again, then sighed to himself. Lem reminded him of Guinness, although he couldn’t really understand why. Just like Guinness, Lem didn’t deserve to be in this mess. One of his greatest regrets was not talking to Guinness more. He could at least humor Lem, then.

“Do you ever have dreams, Solera?” Lem asked him.

Solera was taken aback by the sheer weirdness of the question. “Yes.” Not that he remembered any of them.

“Dreams of the people you kill? Do you see the people you kill when you sleep at night?” Lem pressed on.

“... No.” Who on Land did that? Solera never heard of any such thing before. The heroes of legend definitely never experienced that, either.

“I guess I’m just weird, then. I dreamed of the first man I killed, killing my family.” Lem smiled weakly. “But my family’s in the capital. It’s just a dream. So whatever, right?”

“... Right.” Solera nodded slowly. All around them, people were waking up. Soon, they would have to walk again. A thousand kilometers… it was a long, long way to the prison camp.

“You know you can control your dreams.” Solera said, taking his mind off the road ahead. “Maybe next time, keep that in mind.”

Lem seemed incomparably happy that Solera had finally said more than one word at a time. “Yeah, well, it’s a dream, right? I don’t know I’m dreaming until I’m awake! I-”

“Breakfast time.” A woman who had been sleeping near them got up, eyeing them with bleary eyes. “Shut the fuck up already.”

“Sorry, it’s the morning. I talk in the morning.” Lem laughed awkwardly.