“Came expecting a bloody grudge match that would end in heroic triumph or brutal tragedy. Ended up getting front-row seats to the birth of a new icon in the Claimed Hells.
Worth every fucking Sin.”
-Review of Night at the Bloodgrounds: Silt v Sage
II-31
Taking a Name (V)
Failed to resist (Flabbergasted) with Aspect of (Ambition)
The Sage begged. The Sage sobbed. The Sage pissed himself while clinging to Wei’s legs. Words flowed out from his babbling mouth as the final facade behind his false bravado was extinguished, showing the pathetic shadow of a cultivator that remained.
He told Wei of his past—or tried to, anyway.
The hyperventilation and constant crying made understanding things difficult. So many parts were unclear, interrupted by breakdowns, the words choking in his throat or lost entirely to his sobs.
And through it all, the young master stared in disbelief, his mind unable to process the absurdity of the scene. His paranoia and nerves were razor-sharp, ready for the Sage to attack him again, anything to bring this absurd moment to an end.
But the end didn’t come.
Instead, the Sage continued whimpering, and through his sobs, his supposed past became known to Wei.
The Sage began with how he was granted a ritual, a means to depart their Evernest as the Drowned Sky Sect sought to sweep away what remained of the Black Wind Sages. He told him of accepting this ritual, of Everblossom roots bursting through the earth and forming a portal before him to a world with a higher Essence threshold.
He fled across the threshold, abandoning his friends as his cowardice overpowered his loyalty. When he crossed to the other side, he felt himself inundated with an overload of essence. Simply becoming an Ascended Elder made one far more powerful, it seemed—it made things easier to cultivate as well.
Or so he thought. Apparently, it wasn’t he who got stronger, but the spiritual environment becoming less restrained. Apparently, Evernest wasn’t just a world where gathering Essence was difficult; it was also constrained, with several varieties of Essence limited and countless Concepts restricted.
The first world the Sage crossed to wasn’t the Claimed Hells, but rather a little-known realm called Istrah. It was a primitive world, even more so than Evernest. A place ruled by crude iron, kingdoms, and warring gods.
For the better part of two years, the Sage stayed there. He even started a family, became something of a local hero among the Lances of Order—a group dedicated to defending the realm against invading demons and necromantic horrors.
But all of that came to an end when the Claimed Hells formally invaded.
Though he and the other Legends put up a fight, they were ultimately overwhelmed. Their cities were surrounded, their people kidnapped and funneled into the anchor cities, the environment stripped bare. Literally for the last part. Apparently, Mepheleon manifested as a large serpent, drank all the water, snorted their sun, started ranting about the taste being too tame, pulled all the natural minerals and ores from the land, hollowed the core of the planet, teleported all the good scenery away—taking enormous chunks out of entire continents—and finally left them with less than nothing.
A dying world.
But unlike Evernest, Istrah was not destroyed outright. Instead, it was preserved, taken over, with the remaining territory sold to the Crossroads to use as a new experimental research domain. The active dungeons on Istrah were given over to the merchants, and soon, unnatural zones began to spread across the ruined expanse, and the husk of a realm was transformed once more.
For a time, these “Experimental Ur-Host Dimensions” offered suitable conditions for living, operating as if dungeons turned outward. But from them came new horrors every day, and as the Crossroads reaped from them spoils, the locals that survived and refused to leave their home suffered.
Suffered unless they submitted to a higher will, be that Mepheleon’s or the Circles.
Despite the Claimed Hells’ initial brutality, they were more than willing to negotiate with the surviving Lance, giving them offers to join the Circles directly after witnessing their displays in battle. Twice shamed by losing his home and haunted by his previous act of cowardice, the Midnight Sage claimed that he stood his ground, that he refused the Circles’ offers, that he remained, as he always was, a Cultivator.
But even so, honor had a limit, and his neighbors were not nearly as resilient as he. One by one, surviving heroes departed. Some signed themselves over to the liches, accepting roles as enforcers for a mission of eternal expansion. Others went into the Claimed Hells under Circle sponsorship. Those who held out started getting spirit-sick—suffering ghostly manifestations that drained their Essence Levels and couldn’t be stabilized unless they underwent a ritual of lichification.
Or so the Crossroads claimed. Those who accepted were fused into new bodies of bone, glass, or alloy. For their stay of death and new-blessed “immortality,” they incurred an astronomical debt that demanded sworn service. No different from slavery.
Despite the disgust the Sage’s words imparted upon Wei, they gave the young master insight into why Rafael hated the Crossroads so much. While Wei’s own early experiences had been positive, it now seemed the merchants were cold devourers barren of ethical virtue.
Eventually, even the Sage and his new family couldn’t endure. The attacks were too much. Too many people were getting spirit-sick. And he had a new child on the way—a young son to join his family of five.
So, honor succumbed. For the second time, he abandoned his home and pride, calling out to old friends to grant him respite and sanctuary.
They opened their arms to him, welcomed him to his new home in Preceptor’s Descent, and though the experience was nightmarish and jarring for him, he adapted quickly, proving himself a novelty as a Classless warrior belonging to no true Circle or faction. As he took to facing foes and overcoming challenges in the Bloodgrounds, he gained a following, managing feats of victory when everyone doubted him.
As he wielded darkness and ash as weapons using his spiritual techniques, he earned the title Midnight Sage from the public, and even laid lasting roots Runner’s Gulley at Cherub’s Corpse.
But easy days were always fleeting. As he cultivated, he grew in power, won more battles, but eventually drew more attention as well. Eventually, he gained the interest of a particularly powerful Prince of Lust—who found him a decent amusement. He offered the Sage a position in his Circle, but was rejected.
The Prince promptly responded by unleashing a nightmarish campaign of deception, seduction, and brutality. First, he targeted the Sage’s wife and grown children—lured them away with offerings of powers and desire. This made the Sage’s drinking get worse—fundamentally destroyed his relations.
But the Prince wasn’t done. Instead, he addicted each of the Sage’s family to substances beyond their Constitutions to resist, to addictions that rendered them hollow of mind and agency. And after that, the Sage received videos of how they paid for their debts. The services they provided on behalf of the Circle.
And after that, it was as if he was a Cultivator no more.
Now, only the Sage and his youngest son were still alive. He didn’t elaborate on the death of his wife—his eldest son and daughter. Only that they were gone. And Wei, for all his scorn, didn’t ask.
“Now you see me,” the Sage said, slumped over on his stool, his eyes red-rimmed, his tear dried. He had taken to drinking in the stead of tea, and Wei didn’t chide him. “This is all that I am. There is no such thing as an ‘Ascended Elder,” Young Master Wei. It is a lie. Our Cultivation—our traditions were pointless. Hopeless! Worth nothing! Our realm caged our potentials, and with every technique, our Essence Level grows lesser, weaker. Our cores can contain more Essence with each ascension but…” He took another swig. “It can be emptied as well. And we must mediate to retain our power. The Classed? The System-hosts? They were imbued with power on a fundamental level. Nothing we could have done matters.”
After all the time he spent in the Claimed Hells, Wei was beginning to suspect there was something off about the limits of Cultivation. That the demons and Classed were more powerful was one thing, but them being that much more powerful was another. With how easy it was for a Classed to advance compared to a cultivator, the young master suspected most of this had to do with the System. Now, he realized the problems were more overwhelming; even worse.
“I see,” Wei finally replied.
His Shell stood over the Sage and let out a rumbling sigh. “Perhaps it might be right for us to simply slay this dog. He has fallen. He has shamed his sect, his companions, his family, and himself. Worse, he has not attempted to avenge himself upon those who harmed him, nor has he resolved his own miserable existence for being so weak. Pitiful. And yet…”
And yet the Sage was still supposedly a Cultivator. One from an enemy sect. A disgrace. But still, the only thing Wei had left of Evernest.
Even beyond the Lawyers and laws, Wei found himself hesitant to actually kill the Sage, to even hurt him further.
Stolen story; please report.
A bitter taste rose within the young master, sharp and difficult to swallow. “I spend Sins. A great many Sins to come and see you. I wished to speak with you. About our realm. To greet you in person to see what kind of man you are.”
The Sage eyed Wei and had the gall to snort. “You’re a fool, then. Just like the rest of them. My life isn’t worth a single Sin. Truth be told, if not for my son, I would have been fine to waste away. But Jian Tian… he has the potential to live another life. He creates these art pieces—beautiful drawings. They make people happy.” He paused. “They made the wrong person happy. As with so many times in this Diaspora.”
“What do you mean?” Wei asked. His mind worked, and he put things together before the Sage could continue. “Is this why you are fighting the Many-Wed’s champion. To stop her from marrying your son?”
“That was another failing of mine,” the Sage said. “After my family… I retreated into myself. Into the bottle. He was left to fend for himself as I wasted away. During this time, he wandered many Grooves. Showcased his works at the Theaters. And ultimately, encountered Selv Many-Wed—the Whoremaster of Aklon. He was desperate for approval, and she offered it with appreciation toward his talents. But she was no good soul, and being a creature of rank envy, she despised any art he created that wasn’t meant solely for her. She hurt my son. Abused him. I knew it was desperation when he came to me those months ago… he would have nothing to do with me otherwise. And he is right. But I… I am not the man I was. And even if I was, I do not think I could match the Many-Wed’s champion.”
“Are they truly that potent?” Wei asked, curious. He knew Silt of Storms had some kind of Lightning Esssence Class, but he wasn’t sure about their exact capabilities.
“Because they’re a damned Trespasser,” the Sage groaned. “If you do not know of their kind—”
“I understand. You speak of their soulessness. Their ability to assume any Class at will without harm to themselves.”
The Sage was left wordless for a moment. “Yes. Another way the heavens mock us.”
We’re not quite mocked the same way, Wei wanted to say. Through his Omniscience, he found the Sage’s son slowly walking to the cave after spending hours down amongst the green. A new Arena Attendant had also teleported into to replace its slain counterpart at some point.
Wei hadn’t known what to expect when he came to meet the Sage, but he certainly hadn’t expected such an impotent creature or such a horrid tale.
“If your intent was to stay my hand from violence, you have succeeded,” Wei scoffed. “I would not strike you with my glaive. Your dog-blood would stain its edge; render it incapable of cutting right.”
The Sage took the insult without a wince, simply taking another drink.
“But what of your son?” Wei continued.
“What of him,” the Sage said. “I will do all I can once more. It will not be enough. And then he will languish. Suffer. Perhaps he will learn to find smaller joys. It is not the first time someone has been taken as a concubine. This is a fate known to Cultivators.”
“If you taught him proper honor, he would be prepared to take his own life.”
This made the Sage bark with a derisive snort. “You truly are newly escaped. It has been years since I heard a declaration so backward. Thank you for offering me a reminder of home. And why I was right to flee.”
This, of all things, ignited Wei’s ire once more. “Yes. Do you ever wonder what the final moments of the Blackwind Sages were like? If their spirits linger and spit upon your family—find joy in your cursed fate.”
His rage was like a forest fire. It lit the Sage’s anger as well. The man flung his bottle at Wei, but the young master simply dissolved it with a glare, channeling a gust of wind.
Just then, the Sage’s son arrived—the poor fool’s footsteps loud and lumbering. Just hearing it made Wei want to beat the boy. “You haven’t even trained him.”
“He didn’t have the talent,” the Sage said. “Or interest.”
“That is not his decision to make,” Wei growled. “You are the patriarch. It is your role to—” He stopped talking as Jian Tian appeared before him for the first time. He looked slightly like the Sage in terms of its rounded facial structure, but his ears were wider, his nose was narrower, and his hair was an odd color of blonde. The suit he wore was also not of Evernest, and he regarded the young master with an apprehensive stare
The thing Wei found most displeasing about him, though, was his height. He was practically a giant. Even taller than Agnesia. How was he supposed to be talentless and built like a small house? The young master swung his gaze back to the Sage and sneered. He then offered a salute to the boy—who clearly didn’t know what the gesture meant or how to respond. “Young Master Wei An Wei of the Drowned Sky Sect greets a host of this house.”
“I—” Jian Tian swallowed, fear naked in his eyes. “Who… are you with the Circle of Envy.”
Somehow, that immediately made Wei hate him: what worth was someone who couldn’t protect themselves in this place?
“Weakness is not a sin,” the Shell declared. “Choosing to remain weak, however, is unforgivable.”
“I am with no Circle. I am the Patriarch of the Drowned Sky Sect, come to regard an Ascended Elder.” Wei watched as the Sage walked away, stumbling toward the bottles. Wretch.
As he got halfway across, however, the new Arena Attendant spoke aloud: “Attention, Midnight Sage. For unlawful destruction of arena property, you will be fined after your match. However, I have come bearing a message. The opposition of Countess Many-wed and her champion would like to speak with you directly. Would you like me to confer their message?”
The Sage sniffled, eyes wide, as he looked at Wei. He quickly started scrubbing at his face, forcing himself into a semblance of composure.
“I... uh...” He cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, relay the message.”
“Of course,” the Attendant said. It straightened itself, and as the golden hook that it had for a head began to glow, Wei heard a hissing, sibilant, shrill voice come singing through. “Oh, my dear Sage,” the voice began. Wei assumed it belonged to Many-wed. “Are you truly committed to going through with this farce? Do you really wish to throw your life away in hopelessness and despair against me and my champion? I have watched you. I know who you are now. We both know you cannot win—not against my Trespasser.
“So, I’m going to give you an option. One final show of mercy on my part. I will allow you to forfeit. I will even make an excuse for you, saying that you were poisoned by one of my rivals. It can be a noble exit. Grant you the excuse of preserving your pride. That is still worth something, is it not?”
Many-wed laughed.
“I will even prepare a proper poison for you. All you need to do is ingest it, and this can all be over. Your torment can end. All I want is your boy, after all. And besides, being as weak as you are, you cannot take care of him. Not like I can. No one, like I can.”
Wei watched as the Sage’s face contorted into a snarl. For all the man’s failures, for his current weakness, he was still a father. And what he was being forced to endure was—
“I despise this place,” Wei said through ground teeth. “I despise the fact that just hearing the Countess speak has made me hate her more than I hate you.”
“Welcome to the Claimed Hells,” the Sage murmured. “A place where bastards, scoundrels, and monsters reign.”
Oh, Wei was going to show them a monster.
“Wait,” the Shell said. It shifted slightly, thinking. “We have an opportunity before us.”
What do you mean?
“We came here to gauge the power of the Sage and of his adversary. He is wanting, but perhaps this Silt of Storms can offer something of interest… and should there be the opportunity, we can cleave our name into the Claimed Hells on this very day.”
And how shall I manage that? This fight has already been sold as a duel between the Sage and Silt.
“Meet with them first if you can. And see if they can resist a formal challenge if they make for good killing: 10 billion Sins is no small amount in terms of a gambit. And the weakness of envy… is self-evident.”
“Would you like for me to offer a reply?” the attendant asked.
The Sage shook his head. “There’s no point. What reply could I give?”
“Ask them to come,” Wei said. “I wish to see this… Many-Wed. And her champion.”
A pair of choked sounds came from both the Sage and his son.
“No,” the boy cried. His heart accelerated, he began to shake. “I can’t… I can’t… don’t—”
“Flee if you want,” Wei said to him, annoyed by his cowardice. “This no longer concerns you.”
Somehow, Wei got the feeling that Rafael might not like what he just said. Jian Tian’s face flashed with disbelief and pain.
“I’m sorry, but who the fuck—”
“Sage,” Wei said, cutting him off. “You might not discipline your child. But I will. I still follow the old ways. It is wrong of a lesser to speak to their better out of order.”
The Sage went still. He met Wei with a stare of his own. “Don’t threaten my son.”
“It is not a threat. I will not hurt him. I do not need to. But you also cannot protect him. Not from the Many-wed. And not from me. Fortunately, perhaps he might find salvation in me.”
The Sage’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”
“Call the Many-wed over,” Wei repeated. “I wish to meet with them. Afterward… I will decide what happens afterward.”
For a second, nothing happened. The Sage just stared. “You’re mad.”
“No. I just intend to defile the heavens in retribution. As a cultivator should. Call them. Do it now.”
The Sage swallowed, and he turned to his son. “Jian Tian. Go. Go back down.”
“But—” Jian Tian said, his heart beating at a rapid pace. This boy was beyond terrified. It was… pathetic.
“Jian Tian. I am doing what I can. All that I can. Any hope I have. Please.”
The young artist’s expression became a canvas of shifting horror, grief, and despair. Wordless, he ran from the cave—though not beyond Wei’s Omniscience. Then, he started weeping. It was all the young master could do not to kill him.
“Such open weakness,” the Shell hissed. “No spirit in him at all. Unbefitting of a practitioner. Or even a man.”
Indeed.
The Sage hesitated, his body trembling slightly. Then, with a visible effort and another glare from Wei, he lifted his chin and gave a curt nod. “Let them across,” he said hoarsely, commanding the Attendant. “Tell the Many-wed I wish to parley.”
The golden hook of the attendant’s head flared once more, and Wei watched as a thread of essence traveled outward, like a shimmering tendril weaving through the fabric of reality.
Wei expected some time to pass before the Countess responded.
But the answer came almost immediately.
“Message received, acknowledged,” the attendant declared in its smooth, even tone. “Creating spatial rift to Countess Many-wed’s platform.”
With those words, a new expanse of swirling black opened behind the demonic attendant. The spatial rift pulsed with energy, a swirling vortex of raw essence that buzzed against Wei’s senses.
From the other side, Wei felt it—the crackle of power, the suffocating weight of a Count-tier adversary’s presence pressing against his soul. High Count-Tier judging from the discomfort he felt.
The Sage tensed visibly, his hands clenching into fists. His entire body seemed to shrink under the oppressive aura leaking from the rift.
Wei, on the other hand, remained perfectly still, his face a mask of calm. Internally, however, his System hummed as his spirit braced instinctively against the incoming force
From the swirling blackness, two figures emerged, and to Wei’s surprise, both—not just one of them—were Count-Tier Classed.