Zelsys would’ve loved to spar with those more her equal, of course — unfortunately, Makhus was utterly consumed in work on the True Dragonheart Bolus, and Jorfr was working with the owners of Scarlet Hill Farm to bolster their security in exchange for the supply of their product to the sect. As for Zefaris, she had been seemingly everywhere all at once since the dragon hunt. Sigmund was able, but not willing, and so, to the baths she went.
After she was done, on her way back to the surface, Zel chanced upon Lydia in the subterranean corridors. The lightning scar that ran down her face and arm also continued down the entire right half of her body, all the way to her foot. She had also become noticeably more muscular since Fort 57, the sect life and diet clearly being a good fit for her. A touch of nerves was evident in the swordswoman’s otherwise serene gaze. The reason was why — Lucian was her disciple, even if Makhus also involved himself quite a bit in the young man’s training. His progress had been explosive since the first dragon hunt, but Lydia obviously wasn’t sure if Zel was satisfied with him.
“About Lucian—” she started, and instantly saw Lydia tense up.
“You’ve done well with him — at this point, he just needs time to grow. Take care not to neglect your own cultivation.”
A second of confused silence passed. Then, two.
“I- Of course, Elder,” Lydia stammered out.
Zelsys found great amusement in this, considering the sword cultivator’s otherwise stoic and gruff demeanor, but she didn’t have the heart to lambast her for it. It was her own fault for creating such a lasting impression by using the Eight-armed Avatar of Destruction Formation. The fact it was that version of Conqueror’s Mantle in itself further added to her amusement, as it didn’t have much going for it beyond acting as a developmental stepping-stone.
She moved to walk past the swordswoman, as to not drag out the interaction, only to be stopped: “Wait. If you would be willing, I wish to exchange pointers. I understand that I ought to have volunteered earlier, but—”
“Sure,” Zel interrupted. “You’re a core disciple, I can find the time. Sooner, or later?”
“In two weeks, if possible. I need some time to fully incorporate new additions into my technique.”
“Two weeks, then,” Zel nodded, and went on her way. She hoped Lydia would get more comfortable around her as soon as possible — she was, despite her newness to the sect, one of the strongest members. Sure, their encounter at the farm and the gift of Vysaga may have had a hand in that, but between their first and second meeting, Lydia had undergone a relative degree of development comparable to Zel’s own between her first emergence and the Blue Moon War. Moreover, she had begun mentoring lesser disciples of her own accord, and to great success thus far. Besides just Lucian, Lydia’s presence had done much for the sect’s specialist melee armament cultivators, few in number though they were. One didn’t just stumble over an asset like that, it was like… Well, stumbling over an advanced cultivation method or a mighty artifact, which, now that Zel thought about it, really happened far more often than one might expect.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
After her bath, Zel took some time to relax in her quarters, continuing to chip away at the enormous stack of truly profound and truly obtuse texts her predecessor had left her. As she read, her hands never once stopped touching a text — her Thundergods did all the work of moving and sorting them. The original sorting system was a good basis, but it failed to make any differentiation between degrees of esotericism. A few hours into the session, Zef returned, and with her arrived a truly strange scent — it was burnt gunpowder, but none Zel had ever smelled. White-glowing silver conduits bulged out from the skin around her left eye, and she heaved a tired sigh as she pulled the skull-mask off of her face. She brought out the Phantom Scripture as she approached the writing desk as if to sit down and read, beginning the small ritual of reading together, which had become ordinary for the pair. Instead, she just collapsed into her seat and closed her left eye as well, gripping the text without even taking it out of its protective sheath.
“New gunpowder?” Zel asked offhandedly. Like blowing open a dam, Zef readily vented what she had been holding in.
“F-38J. Test formulation. Expansion rate, alchemical stability, generalized compatibility… All characteristics, excellent. Not too toxic or corrosive, at least not enough to harm me or Tempesta. Unbelievable pain to load. Incredibly fine, and the grains repel one another. I’d rather drip Black 7 into each and every shell. Hopefully Collier solves it with F-38K. If the granule-pressing solution doesn’t work, we’ll have to resort to a sculptable resin.”
“And? There’s something else. You don’t have Tempesta with you.”
“Yeah. Collier wants to rebuild it again based on recovered knowledge from the field-test Type-Z we brought in. Lots of small improvements on top of modifications to the firing block to let it fire longer shells and improve the chamber seal for higher pressure. I left it with her so she could draw up plans for a prototype of the rebuild, since modifying Tempesta itself will require great care. It’s promising, but…”
With a long sigh, Zefaris deflated into her seat.
“Also a great deal of testing and broken guns. Plus, with your recent breakthrough… I won’t pretend that I don’t feel myself falling behind. At least now I finally have the time to focus on the Phantom Scripture, so I may be able to catch up. Of course, that catching up will entail traveling to battlefields to collect vestiges, on my own, so I’ll be away from the sect a fair bit.”
She finally opened the Phantom Scripture, flipped through several of its bladed pages, and began reading when she reached the point she was looking for. They read in silence for a few hours, simply enjoying one another’s company. This, naturally, led to other activities.