“Have you heard anything about disciples dying to explosions anywhere in the kingdom?”

  “Explosions? Have you not heard about Davenhold?”

  He didn’t know the city, let alone its situation. He shook his head.

  “Huh, most people have heard about that. Really big hit to the kingdom, it was.”

  “So it fell to the sect?”

  The man nodded. “They say that at least a hundred and fifty thousand people died, but knowing how those animals act, it’s probably much more.”

  “There were explosions there?”

  “A few dozen people from that area managed to make it this far up. Some of them took part in the city’s defence. Word is that before it fell, one of the defenders was able to kill hundreds of disciples with strange explosive barrels. Some swear that he killed thousands.”

  “When was this?”

  “Had to be a couple months ago.” The man knelt out of view and popped up with two flagons of warm ale, which he placed atop the bar in front of Jason and Brud. “Go on, help yourselves. Not much point in leaving it for them bastards to enjoy.”

  “Thanks.” Jason took a sip and motioned for Brud to grab the other drink, since the boy looked confused for some reason.

  “Any chance you heard what happened to the guy that used those barrels?”

  “Interested in that fellow, huh? I can’t blame you. It’s not many people that can fight back against the sect like that, least not in our lands.” The man poured himself a drink as well, and took a long, steady pull. “I don’t know if it’s the same person, but word is that those barrels have popped up in quite a few places throughout the southern territory. Or should I say,” he sighed, “what used to be the southern territory.”

  “If you know where, would you mind telling me?”

  “Oh, a battle here, a siege there. I can’t say for certain, since most of The Split was a battlefield at the time, but it’s refugees from the south that started spreading the stories.”

  “Then how did you hear about the places these barrels showed up at?”

  “Every time they made an appearance, they left disciples’ corpses behind in the hundreds. If it was the same person that used them, then they must have killed thousands of disciples with those barrels alone. Those are the types of stories people want to hear right now.”

  “Where’s this guy right now?”

  The man snorted. “How should I know?”

  Jason shrugged and took a sip of his ale. He asked a few more questions while he worked on his drink, about local alchemy shops, trending rumours, and where in the kingdom it was still safe to go.

  “Your friend’s a quiet one,” said the tavern owner after a while.

  “He’s…been through some stuff. We all have.”

  “Aye, we have.”

  “Well,” he said, “we’re gonna get going. You were a great help, I appreciate it.”

  “Want another one for the road?” The man set about refilling their flagons before they could answer. “You keep the cups, ain’t no sweat off my back.”

  They accepted his offer and left the store after thanking the man, sipping at their drinks as they walked back out onto the empty streets of Bremst. Jason had only ever had two beers in his life, but he was still able to tell that this ale was nothing compared what he’d tried on his home world. Even so, he savoured the bitter taste as he drank it down. He hadn’t had anything but water since he’d escaped from the independent space that the Neomen had created, where he’d mostly drank blood to satiate himself. It was a welcome change.

  “Why did he just give these to us?”

  “Because he’s a nice guy, probably.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “I still don’t see why I had to thank the man.” Brud gulped the rest down rather quickly. “He’s lucky I didn’t just take it.”

  “What are you, five? People don’t do nice things all the time, so you should thank them if they do. What am I saying? I forgot you were brainwashed since birth to be psychopath.”

  Apparently Brud had never met either of his parents. He claimed that his mother had been a surrogate, something that he’d said with displeasure and even a hint of self-depreciation. Among his peers, those that weren’t descended from an elder or otherwise prominent member of the sect had a rough time finding a place for themselves in their society.

  If he was to believe Brud’s words, the boy’s first memory was living on a bleak estate with thousands of other children, where they were supervised by full-fledged disciples and low-ranking elders. He was educated about the sect and the world outside of it, and schooled in martial arts and cultivation. The disappearance of other children from their simple sleeping quarters was a regular occurrence, and it was only after he was admitted to the outer court that he learned that these kids were sacrificed as cultivation resources for the rest of the organization. In his domain alone, he encountered tens of thousands of similar kids throughout his time on the estate, most of which ended up being refined by their seniors. Once he reached a certain age, he and his surviving peers were pitted against one another until only the strong remained, all of whom were admitted to the outer court once the dust of their life-and-death battles had settled.

  “Psychopath? Humph, you speak as if you’re one of the lessers. Don’t act like you’re any different than me. If anything, you’re the insane one. Who in their right mind would harass the sect like you are?”

  “Listen up.” Jason fixed the boy with a steady stare. “I’m not and never have been a disciple of your sect. The reason why I know these techniques is—well, it’s none of your business.”

  “So you’re one of the lesser peoples?”

  Jason could tell that the question wasn’t meant to scorn. As far as the other boy was concerned, everyone outside of the sect was subhuman.

  “Think what you want.”

  Bremst had three alchemy shops, though only one was still operating. The other two buildings were completely empty, the shelves and tables blanketed in dust, the owners nowhere in sight. The owner of the final shop accepted his money without much enthusiasm, his face pale and gaunt as he led them to the nearest lab room.

  Just as Nolan had done to him, Jason forced Brud to help him grind up and mix the large supplies of sun powder, cave dust, and charcoal, until they had a healthy supply of explosives. He gave Brud five barrels, forbade him from telling anybody how to make them, and ordered him incapable of pulling them from his spatial bag without permission.

  He’d never have guessed that he would have to give the green light so soon, but it was just his luck that they were ambushed less than ten minutes after they left the city. Although he’d nearly died at least a dozen times, he managed to emerge from the skirmish in good health. This was fortunate, since he’d noticed that people were watching him from a distance, two girls around his age.

  How do they keep finding me? Anger seeped into his actions as he took out his frustration on those that had attacked him, since enemies always seemed to find him at the worst of times. His curved, azure sword slit throats and severed limbs as he darted from one youth to another like a rampant pinball, though he put the weapon away once several of his enemies activated their snake-armed martial skills.

  Brud, the rat, had thrown on his old robes and pretended that he was a part of the attacking group. He didn’t take an active role and kept off to the side, as inconspicuous as possible.

  The fight led them to a hilltop encampment where another group of disciples quickly joined the first, though he wasn’t too worried since he was a good deal faster than any of his opponents. As long as he maintained a certain distance, then he wouldn’t run the risk of getting mobbed.

  Distance attacks are what I’m best at.

  Jason ran a specific frequency of energy through his inner essence channels and a dark, devious spear appeared in his right hand. He was quick to launch it at a young girl, whose torso almost immediately exploded into a mess of mangled gore. He threw dozens of these deadly projectiles at his enemies, though the drain on his dantian was immense. He was forced to rely on his secondary cultivation method to supplement the excessive use of the martial skill. He refined each of his victims with his free hand as he continued to launch accurate attacks at those around him, stabbing out with his essence-based weapons or hurling them at unsuspecting attackers.

  Even if his martial skill didn’t manage to kill a disciple, so long as it simply grazed them then it would cause temporary, full-body paralysis, in which case he’d just appear in front of them and stab his hand directly into their chest. He’d become adept at activating the Blood Burning Heart Technique during combat, and was able to refine people even as he dashed, dodged, and launched devastating offensives.

  The battle had spilled into another of the sect’s many encampments that filled the region, this one within the borders of a large forest. The countryside was so congested with camps that it seemed as if he could run in any direction and stumble into one.

  While Jason was confident that he could defeat everyone in this camp on his own, his mind state had grown unstable after refining so many people, and his judgement was impaired. He was scared that he’d black out and lose control of his bloodlust if things continued on as they were.

  He signalled his permission for Brud to use the explosive barrels, but was forced to snap out a direct order when the boy ignored him and opted to cower in the treetops as Jason fought for his life.

  The sudden explosions left the enemies flustered, and it wasn’t long before the last of the most recent group of ambushers lay dead atop dirt and detritus. The last four opponents had fled in different directions, but distance didn’t matter when Jason’s martial skill could kill a target from hundreds of metres away.