To Major General Lucas Deaton:
It is with a heavy heart that I must report the loss of several key territories and vital supply routes in our ongoing conflict with the Sunstonian forces. As your subordinate and devoted commander, it is my duty to provide you with a candid assessment of the situation on the ground.
Over the past fortnight, our troops have faced relentless assaults from the enemy, resulting in the gradual erosion of our defenses and the subsequent loss of the city of Fortaleza, a strategic position along the western front. Despite our best efforts to repel their advances, our forces were outnumbered and outmaneuvered, ultimately leading to the fall of critical strongholds and the severing of vital supply lines.
From Vernon Blackthorn:
Lieutenant Colonel of the 7th Battalion
Year 2275.
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“Any ideas? Or do we just run?” Daruk whispered as the ship grew closer, and Aodhán thought for a moment before responding.
“I have one, but if it doesn’t work, then we’ll have to run.”
Ever since he’d been awarded the{Create constructs} skill, he’d improved his control and mastery over it, but there was something he was yet to create, and now as he willed the storm to transform into the shape he desired, he prayed for mercy.
The skill resisted for a moment, but he leveraged his immense amount of willpower, and a moment later, the skill gave way, and a long silk scarf made of storm rested in his palms. He let out a sigh of relief even as he wrapped the scarf around his face until only his eyes were exposed.
Daruk stared at him incredulously and asked. “What about me?”
“What? You don’t need it.”
Daruk frowned and touched his face in confusion. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me, no one would recognize you.” Aodhán replied, and turned back to the ship as the gangway was opened and lowered to the shore. Second Lieutenant Tyrus immediately disembarked from the vessel along with a few other soldiers, and they immediately made their way towards them.
“Why are they coming towards us?” Daruk asked in a whisper, and Aodhán replied in the same tone.
“I do not know, but I suspect we’re about to find out.”
Daruk swallowed nervously and whispered again. “Perhaps they recognize us and have come to drag us to the frontlines.”
Aodhán was forced to admit that that was indeed a possibility, but he preferred to remain positive. Besides, he was at the 15th tier and was certain he could escape easily with Daruk in case things went sideways.
He focused on the cores of the approaching soldiers, many of which were slightly dim to indicate the presence of impurities, but none of them had reached their limit.
When the soldiers got close enough, Aodhán gave a small bow and said, “Lieutenant, we cannot thank you enough for stopping to help us. Our ship was destroyed by a very violent storm, and we need your help in getting to the 8th sector.”
The lieutenant ignored him, though, and spoke to Daruk instead. “My lord, we saw your signal, but my men and I were wondering how you and these people ended up on this desolate island.”
Daruk’s eyes widened slightly in shock at the lieutenant’s use of a title, but the training he’d received from Grandma Alderman immediately kicked in, and he responded imperiously.
“My name is Arnold Frostbourne, the son of Baron Frostbourne in the 10th sector, and I was on my way to the 5th academy for the admission trials when a terrible storm struck and destroyed our ship along with the rest of my retainers. Ridwan, here is the only one I have left.”
“My condolences, Lord Frostbourne.” Lieutenant Tyrus replied, and in a slightly hesitant tone, he asked. “My lord, if you would provide us a seal of identification—”
The rest of the sentence died in his throat as Daruk took a threatening step forward, and with a withering glare, he spat. “A mere lieutenant dares to question my identity? Can you not feel the aura of my bloodline? Can you not taste the frost flowing in my blood?”
The soldiers stumbled back as Daruk’s aura flared, coating their armor in tiny flakes of frost, and lieutenant Tyrus bowed. “Apologies, my lord; I only wanted to confirm.”
“There is nothing to confirm, lieutenant; I am Arnold Frostbourne, and my father, the baron, would be very grateful when I informed him that you saved me from this wretched island.”
Lieutenant Tyrus straightened. “You are very kind, Lord Frostbourne, but we cannot afford a detour and can only take you to the nearest port, which is in the 8th sector.”
“Very well, lieutenant, That is acceptable.” Daruk walked forward pompously, and after a few steps, he shouted. “Come, Ridwan, and stop acting like a fool.”
Aodhán raced after him, bowing to keep up the ruse, and without hesitation followed him up the gangway and into the ship. Daruk then turned to the lieutenant and said,
“Have one of your men lead me and my retainer to a suitable room; I need a proper bath after all that mess.” And with an obnoxious sniff, he snapped. “And see to these peasants before they ask Raol to curse my family's name.”
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“Yes, immediately, Lord Frostbourne.” Lieutenant Tyrus replied, and then sighed in the way one did when they were dealing with petulant children.
“Fucking nobles.” One of the soldiers muttered in annoyance, and the lieutenant apologized immediately.
“I’m very sorry for that, my lord. In fact—he nudged the soldier forward—Ollie here will see to all your needs.”
Daruk stared at the nervous soldier with an arrogant sneer before he simply turned to leave but stopped and said, “Lest I forget, Lieutenant, you should write your full name on a piece of paper so I can remember it when next I write to my father.”
Aodhán was unsure where the paper miraculously came from, but only a few seconds later, Tyrus had written his name on it and was handing the note to him. Aodhán stared from the note back to the lieutenant in confusion, but immediately grabbed it when Daruk shouted.
“Take the note, Dimwit. Raol, why am I stuck with this fool?”
Daruk stalked off, and Aodhán rushed after him, intent on keeping up the ruse until they reached a place where he could beat the little lord to a pulp. Ollie nervously led them to a small cabin that was slightly larger and better than the others they’d come across.
“Get us something to eat.” Daruk ordered, and Ollie bowed, but before he left, Daruk asked. “How long before we reach the 8th sector?”
“A day, my lord. I’ll be right back with the food.” Ollie shut the door gently, and Aodhán turned furious eyes to his excited ‘lord’.
Aodhán wasn’t too surprised at the treatment they’d received, although he hadn’t really thought about it at first. But after the way the lieutenant had addressed Daruk, he’d remembered that, except for a few people, only noble families had bloodlines or soul seeds, as a particular book had once called it.
“By Raol! Did you see that?” Daruk whisper-screamed. “They think I’m a noble. I can’t believe they bought the ruse.”
“I can’t believe you called me a fool and a dimwit, all in a single sentence,“ Aodhán hissed.
“It was two sentences, actually.” Daruk replied smugly. “But you’re welcome; I saved our asses.”
Aodhán stared at him for a moment, contemplating whether to punch him or simply strangle him to death. He shook his head a moment later and sighed. “Let’s just take that bath, eat, and rest. We only have a day before we arrive at Sector 8.”
Daruk went into the bathroom first, while Aodhán waited behind to receive their food from Ollie. The meal wasn’t anything special—simple bread and soup—but they hadn’t eaten anything substantial in the last two days, and the meal Ollie delivered was enough to feed half a dozen people.
After eating, they both climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep.
….
It was a little past midnight when Aodhán woke up, and he turned to see Daruk meditating at one edge of the cabin. Honestly, he was a little envious of his progress. Daruk was now an evolved awakened who also had a bloodline, but none of those traits were as amazing as the fact that he was about to tap into a well of willpower that was much more than he could even imagine.
Daruk’s patron was a transmigrant like himself, which meant she’d inherited the willpower of her patron and merged it with her own will. Now Daruk was about to tap into the will of not one but two ascendants and harness it.
Aodhán groaned quietly. It was too much, truly. He moved to the opposite side of the room and took a meditative stance. Since his encounter with the Alpha Kanima, he’d begun to wonder why his willpower caused so much damage when he channeled it through his pathways, so he decided to study his will flame tonight.
As his consciousness fell into his core this time, his senses weren’t quite cut off, but they dimmed. He could still sense his surroundings, but with no real detail or clarity.
He focused on the now massive flame burning in his core, and he wondered why he could harness such a large amount of willpower but was unable to use it in battle. He couldn’t afford to damage his pathways in such a manner every time he used his willpower; there had to be a way to safely harness and channel it.
Aodhán pushed his consciousness deeper into the core until he could feel the flames roaring around him. Tongues of will flames fervently licked against the confines of his consciousness, and although a part of the flames left no damage and was even pleasurable, the other part seared with an intensity that caused him to pull his mind out of the core immediately.
Shuddering, he massaged his temple as pain tore through his mind. It subsided after a minute, and Aodhán was finally able to breathe. After a while, he turned his consciousness back to the flame, but this time he watched it from afar, not daring to repeat the experience he’d just suffered.
As he watched the flames, though, he began to realize that although his will and that of Az had merged into a single ball of flame, they weren’t fully combined. A part of the flame was gentle and mild, while the other part was untamed and violent.
As he watched the flames, Aodhán discovered that he now had a new objective to add to his already long list of tasks. If he ever wanted to employ the full power of his will in a battle, he had to tame the remnant of Az's will and fully integrate it into his own.
Slowly, Aodhán gathered wisps of the untamed will and fully merged it with the mild part of his willpower. The untamed will resisted, but it had no master, so it was fairly easy to dominate and control it.
As uncomplicated as the process seemed, it was still extremely stressful, and after about an hour and a half, his will flame had reduced by a tiny amount, which was a good thing because it now burned brighter to his senses.
After another hour, Aodhán had only managed to tame about 10% of his current will, but it was progress, and all he needed now was time. Daruk was still meditating when his consciousness returned to reality, so he decided to just rest.
He still wasn’t at his peak, and after his near-death experience with the Kanima and the redrawing of his pathways, he needed time to heal, so he returned to the bed and let sleep take him.
…
Aodhán woke to the rays of the setting sun as they flitted across his face and the familiar noise of a sea port as sailors, soldiers, deckhands, and passengers either offloaded their luggage or scrambled about their duties.
Several voices rose above the din, calling out the destinations of their vessels as well as the price of the journey.
Aodhán stood up from the bed and headed for the bathroom. He still wasn’t in peak condition, but he’d gained about 90% of his strength after that sleep. Five minutes later, he’d taken off his tattered clothes and replaced them with a silk black outfit made from storm
Daruk was done with meditation but still maintained the pose and was frowning in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” Aodhán asked, and Daruk’s frown deepened before he replied.
“I don’t get it; my willpower is—something weird is going on with it.”
“Oh, how?” He asked innocently, pretending to be clueless and intrigued by the whole willpower issue.
“My will flame; it’s growing at an alarming rate. It wasn’t like this when we practiced before.”
“That is weird.” Aodhán replied with a confused expression. “But isn’t that a good thing?”
“I guess.” Daruk replied. “But it’s almost like there’s more than one, like I’m harnessing..."
A loud knock cut him off, and Aodhán sighed in relief as Ollie announced that they had arrived at the Norvian port.”
“Thank you, soldier; we’ll be out of your lieutenant’s hair in a few minutes.” Daruk replied with a straight expression before rushing into the bathroom. They didn’t have much except for their money and cores, as they’d lost their bags on the ship.
When Daruk returned from the bathroom, Aodhán slung the pouch of cores across his shoulders, but Daruk insisted that they collect a newer pouch from the lieutenant.
They arrived on deck a few minutes later, and Daruk addressed the lieutenant. “I assure you that neither I nor my father forget to pay our debts; House Frostbourne will reward you for this.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The lieutenant replied with a bow of his head, and after exchanging a few more words, they walked down the gangway and into the bustling port of the 8th sector.