A palpable current of urgency electrified the village. The air itself thrummed with vigor as the students, roused from their awakening, wasted no time. They scattered like a river toward their homes with a shared purpose. They would begin refining, some under the watchful eyes of their wise elders, whose wrinkles bore the evidence of years of experience, while others, braver or perhaps more foolhardy, chose to confront the task alone.
Osric sat in the quiet seclusion of his house. The silence of his home a stark contrast to the buzz outside.
He was in a state of deep meditation, his consciousness turning inward as he expelled the dark tendrils of corruption, slowly seeping from his body like smoke rising from an extinguished flame. Some mist screamed before being expelled, and some attacked, hoping to remain in the nodes.
“Half of the mist is gone. This should be enough. Now, I can tap into the world’s energy and bring it into my nodes."
His eyes remained shut as his mind began to dance with the world. It was like a symphony of subtle vibrations, a network of energy pulsing through reality's very fabric. This previously hidden power now revealed itself to him in elusive whispers.
Osric extended his senses, reaching out into the world around him. He could hear the slight vibration of the world around him. He felt the energy, a soft hum beneath everything. It was an undercurrent of vitality that danced with the wind, mingled with the dirt, and vibrated through the trees. With a deep breath, he began drawing this energy into himself. It spiraled into his body, coursing through his veins like liquid light.
The world’s energy felt a bit different than he was used to. It felt more ancient. However, the will within the energy, once a formidable force that resisted its absorption, now felt diminished, like a once roaring flame reduced to flickering embers. Once vibrant and spirited, this energy seemed to surrender easily, offering little resistance to his draw. The struggle it once posed was now merely a ghost of its former self.
“I’ll take note of this later,”
With his back straight and his legs crossed. The rhythmic sound of his breathing slowed down as he entered a deeper state of meditative trace.
He allowed his body to act like a well-tuned instrument, ensuring it was in perfect harmony to receive the world's energy. His mind was no different. He focused on soothing his thoughts, letting them flow like a gentle river, avoiding any turbulence or disorder. He sought clarity, silencing any noise, and distractions, creating an internal environment of tranquility and focus.
The energy swirled within him, magnetically pulling towards the remnants of corruption in his nodes. As they collided, the corruption fought back, creating a searing sensation that was akin to holding a hot coal. The tendrils of corruption cried as they were banished.
Black veins proud out of his skin, pulsating with animosity. Bring searing pain, his muscles tensed and spasmed uncontrollably, as if responding to the sinister dance of the serpent within. Waves of torment rippled through his limbs, causing their body to convulse with each pulsating throb of pain.
But Osric endured, his resolve unwavering. He continued to pump the pure energy into his nodes, feeding the clash of light and dark within him.
Time became a hazy concept, hours or perhaps even days, passed as he diligently worked on replacing the corruption with the energy of the world. The transformation was slow but steady. Eventually, he managed to fill 58% of his nodes with this refined energy, which took the form of a black mist, ready for him to utilize when needed.
There was a limit to how much energy Osric could store. His aptitude, rated a C-grade, only allowed for 58% of his nodes to be filled. This was his competency. The initial corruption that invaded a person's nodes would define their capacity to store energy. It was a boulder of reality that hindered many.
Some were luckier, their corruption spreading more, allowing for more space to store energy. Others, like Osric, were less fortunate. The number of nodes was irrelevant, it was the expanded space that mattered. The energy of the world could only reside in these expanded spaces. Unless done with specific, complex techniques, any attempt to store it elsewhere would result in it merely dissipating.
His previous body boasting an impressive 82% competency, Osric woke in his current body with a comparatively meager C-grade aptitude.
High competency had its merits. Those blessed with A and B-grade aptitudes could store immense energy in their nodes. A person with 90% competency could store twice as much energy as someone with 45% competency.
Moreover, higher aptitudes also enjoyed a higher recovery rate. Without the aid of an essence stone, an average person would be able to fully replenish their stored energy in the span of 24 hours. A person with 90% competency was akin to a well that held twice the amount of water than one with a mere 45% competency. Even if they started with the same amount of water, the individual with a larger well could draw more before needing to refill. Furthermore, the rapid recovery of a larger percentage of their energy in the same 24 hours meant they could use their abilities more frequently.
Those with larger reserves and faster recovery rates could refine their abilities at a much brisker pace. They were like warriors stepping into battle with a more extensive arsenal, capable of invoking more powerful techniques and manifesting formidable abilities.
The significance of competency extended beyond battle; it defined the limits of one's potential as a practitioner. Those with grade D aptitudes usually found their progress stymied at Rank 1, while grade C’s practitioners were halted at Rank 2, and so forth.
Osric was not disappointed with his aptitude, even if his competency was 30% or he could not awaken. His mind was a calm, undisturbed lake. No ripples are to be found.
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He was confident in his abilities in being able to thrive.
He had plenty of ways to raise aptitudes in the future; however, most of them were not convenient. For now, he just had to focus on the refinement of his body.
***
“Focus, boy,” Elder Markus guided Finn in expelling the mist of corruption from his nodes and replacing it with the world’s energy, “This process is delicate. Patience is paramount. One misstep could cause irreversible damage to your nodes. At worse cause your death.”
Finn sat in silent obedience, his face twisted in concentration and a hint of pain.
Elder Markus watched Finn with a sense of pride that softened his stern demeanor. “This is only the start of your journey, my boy. You're merely taking your first steps on this path, and already, you've surpassed me at your age,” he confessed, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia and a spark of hope. “I want you to outshine me. Venture beyond these Darkhold Mountains we call home. Explore the vast world beyond our humble village's confines."
Finn, amidst his painful gritting, managed to respond with determination, "I understand, Father." The words were more than a simple affirmation. They carried a promise, a vow to explore the world beyond.
***
“How do you feel coming to my faction?” the person with the fiery red hair spoke, desire in his eyes.
Mitrus, taken aback by the offer, could barely contain his shock. The village chief was a stalwart pillar of the community, a figurehead who commanded respect and admiration. His faction was the wealthiest, most resource-laden group within the village. To join such a faction was a great honor. “I would be humbled, village chief,” Mitrus replied, his his eyes conveying his dedication.
The village chief’s hearty laugh echoed throughout the room. “AHAHAH! I’ll offer you double what anyone is willing to invest in you. Well then, let's get to refining.” The chief took Mitrus under his wing, ready to personally guide him through the next stage of his journey.
***
Deep within the confines of a nondescript hut, away from the village’s boundary, near the grassy farmlands, a young girl’s face contorted with anguish as she braced herself for the daunting task ahead. Bathed in the austere glow of a solitary lantern, her face contorted into a grim canvas of raw, unfiltered anguish.
“This is my path. I have to do this. My family's hopes lie within me. I was lucky to awaken, especially with a 70% competency. Now all I have to do is complete his step, and my family will get a house in the outer zones of the village. They will be safe. All I have to do is survive this, and that person from the Farmer’s Association will give my family a safe place to live.”
As the village buzzed with a charged atmosphere, unaware of the pain that awaited Elara, she plunged into the abyss of her own suffering. A symphony of agony unfolded within the four walls, drowned out by the cacophony of anticipation resonating outside.
“For my brother and my two little sisters, I have to survive.”
Elara's trembling hands reached out, her fingers trembling with both fear and resolve. With every breath she drew, searing tendrils of corruption coiled tighter around her nodes, digging deep into her being.
“AAAHHHHH!” she cried, the raw echo of her torment bouncing off the cold, unforgiving walls of her solitude.
The pain was almost unbearable, but she refused to yield.
Her eyes, once pools of youthful exuberance, now welled with the tears of her torment, shut tight as she called forth the vestiges of her dwindling strength. It was an internal conflict, a tug-of-war between her innate survival instinct and the insidious corruption that threatened to engulf her.
Sweat and tears coursed down her furrowed brow, tracing paths down her cheeks, a poignant symbol of her struggle. A network of pulsating, black veins snaked their way across her skin, a visible sign of the corruption that wracked her body.
Yet, she pressed on, her determination a flickering flame in the face of overwhelming torment. Beads of sweat trickled down her furrowed brow, mingling with the tears that streamed down her cheeks. The room became a crucible of suffering.
The corruption, however, was unyielding, relentless in its pursuit. It advanced with a potent, malevolent intensity. She was losing ground in this internal battlefield, her own body gradually succumbing to the encroaching darkness. A tidal wave of panic flooded her senses, drowning her in an ocean of despair.
Elara summoned an unimaginable reservoir of strength in a final, desperate surge. Her slight frame quivered, tremors of desperation and determination rippling through her being as she unleashed a maelstrom of resistance against the oppressive shadows. But the corrosive mist, pulsating with a diabolical will of its own, retaliated with a fury that rivalled the wrath of a tempest, mercilessly assailing her nodes with a ferocious onslaught.
The pain morphed, amplifying with each passing second, threatening to shatter her spirit, fragmenting her resilience like a mirror struck by a hammer. Elara’s breaths became ragged, shallow gasps, her body threatening to crumble under the sheer magnitude of her suffering. The edges of her vision fringed with encroaching darkness, whispering sweet promises of release, tempting her to succumb to the numbing embrace of oblivion. Her hands, once a symbol of her tenacity, clenched into white-knuckled fists, nails biting into her own flesh in silent protest, streaks of crimson blood a stark contrast against her sweat-drenched skin.
Yet, a spark of defiance continued to burn within her, a dying ember refusing to be smothered. With a roar that echoed through the desolate room, she funneled the depths of her anguish into one final, desperate surge of determination.
“NO—"
Her voice trailed off into silence, her final stand cut short as the world around her dissolved into an abyss of nothingness.
Elara's body, now a marionette with its strings cut, collapsed onto the cold, uncaring floor. Her consciousness was swallowed by an enveloping darkness, her body a grotesque canvas overrun by a network of black, pulsating veins. Her eyes transformed into milky white orbs. Her face frozen, a mask of silent protest, a chilling echo of the words she never got to utter.
The pulsating black veins that had marred her once youthful skin fell still, their grotesque dance reaching a macabre climax. The brutal tendrils of corruption reveled in their victory, the last flicker of resistance extinguished in their sinister grasp.
The room, once the stage of her courageous battle, fell into an eerie silence, haunted only by the ghosts of her anguished cries that still echoed in the still air. Another warrior had fallen. Another soul surrendered to the voracious maw of the corruption, another life for the wolf’s kingdom of the beast.
***
“So what’s our total investment for this round?” asked Bagus, studying a report with a furrowed brow.
The assistant, a man of sober demeanor, answered, “Council leader, we’ve invested directly and indirectly in about 100 students. 18 Grade B aptitude and the rest C and D.”
Bagus clicked his tongue in mild frustration. “Tsk, still down from last year. Darn, those beasts. If only we had wiped them out thoroughly three years ago,” he lamented.
The assistant nodded in understanding before adding, “At least compared to the number of students we have, more are awakening within the same group.”
Bagus sighed, leaning back in his chair, his gaze distant. The news from the capital received years ago had not been wrong. More and more individuals were awakening, showing signs of aptitude. This meant that the great era was coming sooner than later.
“Double the investment thoroughly into this and last year’s recruits,” he commanded,
The subordinate nodded in understanding.