Vanguard approached the gates of Layowich as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the town’s stone walls. The town bustled with activity, the sound of haggling merchants and the clatter of hooves blending with the distant hum of conversation. The air smelled of roasting meat, fresh bread, and the faint tang of smoke. It was a larger town than Talron's Point, filled with both opportunity and danger for those who knew where to look.
As she entered, one guard took out a pair of prismatic spectacles and glanced at her. He leaned over to the guard next to him. Vanguard enhanced her hearing to catch what he quietly said.
“No guild markings, Copper rank. Wandering cultivator.”
She quickly retracted her Aether as she saw the man was beginning to speak. His voice was gruff.
“Hold up there, traveler. If you’re here to do business in Layowich, you’ll need to register with the guild first. All trade and transactions are to be conducted under the watch of the Steel Crescent Guild.”
Vanguard frowned but nodded in compliance. “Where’s the guild hall?”
The guard pointed towards a large, imposing building further down the main street. “The Steel Crescent Guild Hall is just ahead. You’ll need to check in there before you start selling your wares. No exceptions.”
Vanguard sighed internally but knew better than to argue. “Understood,” she said curtly, guiding her packmule past the guards and towards the guild hall.
It was easy to distinguish the guild hall. It was the tallest building to be seen, stone and thick timbers clad in iron. Shining steel crescents decorating the beams. The door was heavy wood reinforced with iron as well, the handles a pair of identical figures welding sabres with their off-hands raised above their heads.
In a lot next to the hall some lead-rankers were drilling under the bored watch of a copper. He would occasionally call out someone by name to correct their form.
Seeing as she had her mule, Vanguard kept going around until she found the stable. She paid the groom a few coppers. Not trusting that her belongings would be safe, she grabbed her essence satchel and brought it with her. One crystal was worth more than all of her traveling gear put together, and was much easier to steal.
At the groom's instruction, she walked back around to the main entrance. As she entered the room she was surprised by how noisy it was.
Central to the expansive hall was a pit. Packed dirt was surrounded by risers, and there were quite a few spectators to the fight.
She observed keenly as the two bare chested duelists circled. Their stances mirrored the depiction on the door.
The big man attacked relentlessly, infusing his whole body with Aether. His steps left deep imprints in the ground and the stadium shook.
The smaller man defended easily, sidestepping and deflecting blows while conserving energy.
Finally the big man's patience wore out, and he stepped forward into a huge overhead swing. The other man flicked a finger and Vanguard saw the ground sink under where the attacker was about to set his foot.
The smaller man sprang into action, avoiding the powerful blow by stepping to the side. He used his flanking position to sweep the unbalanced leg out, shoving the big man down with his free hand.
The aggressive fighter went down, dropping his saber to catch himself. In a flurry of grappling, the smaller man came out on top, his skill more than enough to surpass the other's superior strength.
“Yield,” the smaller man commanded, his voice calm.
The big man's face was in the dirt, but a muffled voice came out. “I yield!”
Vanguard moved on as the crowd broke up. The smaller man helped the big one up as they shook hands. The big man attempted to crush the other's hand, but to no avail. The smaller man smiled pleasantly, channeling Aether to strengthen his grip.
They were still clasped when she went to a heavy wooden office door labeled “Cultivator Registration”.
A harried looking man with wild white hair full of quill pens and ink stains sat at a desk inside. There was a small waiting room, empty but for a man that looked up at Vanguard when she entered. The man was a cultivator, Copper rank. His gaze lingered on her satchel, which bulged with crystals.
Uncomfortable, she made her way to the desk. When the man didn't look up, she cleared her throat.
“Hello? Is this where I register?” She asked.
The man finished scribbling something and finally looked up. “Name and rank?”
“Vanguard, Copper rank.”
“And the purpose of your visit?”
Eyeing the cultivator uneasiness, she lowered her voice. “I'm here to exchange crystals and get some rest. It's been a long journey.”
The man reached into a burlap sack and pulled out a steel disk. He placed an essence-infused stamping tool on it, handed it to her, and wrote some more on a different paper.
She took the disk. it had the imprint of a mountain with a wandering path ascending it. It was the most common depiction for a wandering cultivator. The stamp was colored copper to indicate her rank. She attached it to her sword belt where it would be visible, as instructed.
Her business done, she departed. She went back to her stable and was glad to see everything was still there. As she went back around the building, the smell of animals faded and was replaced with a mouthwatering scent. Enhancing her nose, she followed it to the source. A man with a food cart had a fire going with a haunch of lamb turning over it, the grease dripping down onto a pan of potatoes and vegetables
Vanguard approached the vendor. He smiled widely. “Welcome to Layowich! Best flatbread in town. My wife makes it.”
“I'll take one, loaded as much as you can. That smells divine.”
The man nodded, “It's my special spice blend. I’d tell you about it but it's a family secret.”
He reached into a box and pulled out a large flatbread. He took a knife and sliced a generous portion of meat onto it. Colorful peppers, onions, and potatoes soon joined it. Then he dipped into a battered metal pot kept warm by the fire and spooned some kind of sauce over it.
Vanguard paid the man his coppers and took a large bite. Sweet and savory, spicy and juicy, it was the best thing she'd had since leaving Talron’s Point. The rations she’d had were decent for what they were, but they couldn't compare.
“Best flatbread I've ever had,” she said when she was able to speak again. Grease was getting on her bracers, but she didn't care.
The man’s grin broadened. “So what brings you to town, traveler?”
“Crystal exchange,” She said, taking another bite. She washed it down with her waterskin.
The man nodded. “You'll be needing Harrick then. He's a right bastard with the prices, but he's the only one in town. He's got guild sponsorship.”
Vanguard sighed inwardly at the mention of the guild. In her experience, guilds usually fell into two categories. They were either insular, focused only on advancement and training, or they were a bunch of busy bodies with their fingers in all the local government. The Steel Crescent Guild was seeming like the latter sort.
“I need an inn as well. Can you recommend one? Or does the guild control all those too?”
The man chuckled, “The Copper Kettle is where I would go. Good prices, good food, and it's on your way to Harrick’s.”
The two made small talk about the state of the roads while she finished her food. She handed him some extra coppers for the directions.
The Copper Kettle was a humble building, but clean and well maintained. It was made entirely of wood. It didn't seem busy.
Vanguard went through the same rigmarole with the stable and stepped inside. It smelled pleasantly of bread and stew, smokey from the hearth that crackled merrily. Large wooden tables gleamed with fresh wax, heavy benches at each one. There were a few patrons already drinking, but it was largely empty.
A rotund woman in an apron bustled up to Vanguard. She glanced at the Steel emblem on Vanguards belt before speaking.
“Welcome to my inn, traveler. We have rooms available if you'd like to stay. Dinner isn't ready yet, but it will be soon.”
Vanguard nodded. “Yes, I'd like a room for a few days. Also a bath and a place to clean my gear.”
The woman nodded back, “Very good. With dinner and breakfast that will come out to 1 silver mark per day. We have a laundry service, but you are on your own with the armor. We'll send up a tub for you to bathe in and clean them.”
Vanguard paid the woman and thanked her, getting directions to her room. Once there she set down her pack and started stripping down. Her clothes were sweaty from being under her armor, which she now wore constantly.
As she was taking it off, there was a knock at the door. An older woman's voice called out, “We've brought your bath, dear. May we bring it in?”
Vanguard, still wearing a long tunic, cracked open the door. Sure enough, there was an older woman dressed as a maid, and a burly man with a large wooden bucket she assumed was her tub. Steam rose off the water, and a fresh scent of lemongrass. She flicked on her Aether vision and found the man was lead rank, but he must have been monstrously strong to be carrying that thing.
She backed into the room and stepped to the side, allowing them in. The man gratefully set the tub down and looked at the woman. She made a shooing motion and he left.
The woman handed her soap and a towel. She offered to scrub Vanguard's back, but was declined. She told Vanguard to leave her clothes in the basket outside when she was done.
The tub was quite deep, and Vanguard luxuriated in the hot water. After a time she scrubbed off and finally rinsed her hair. She dressed in clean clothes and used the water and soap to clean her armor. She set it out to dry on her towel and deposited her soiled clothes in the indicated basket.
Reaching into her bags she pulled out some empty metal vials. Into two of them she placed small life essence crystals, in one a tiny rage essence. She filled all of then from her waterskin, which nearly emptied it.
She spent the next hour infusing the flasks with Aether. The Aether density in Layowich was pretty good, likely due to the river on the south side.
Fortunately, it took just as long to infuse a whole batch of potions as one. The limit wasn't how much Aether she could push out, it was governed by the rate at which the liquid absorbed the energy. It was trickier splitting her focus so many ways, but it gave her something to do while she waited.
The potions finished, she checked to see if her armor was dried. Seeing that it was, she oiled and polished it, then tended to her sword. By the time she was done, a younger maid knocked on the door and deposited her cleaned clothes.
She packed the clothes away and considered her armor. She'd been wearing it constantly for days, and she wanted a break, however she hadn't forgotten her encounter with the bandits. Not to mention the guild’s apparent obsession with dueling. She decided to gear up.
Armed and armored, she set out with her essence satchel. The directions given by the flatbread vendor were good. She found the squat building with Harrick's sign.
As she entered, the musty scent of old parchment and something vaguely medicinal hit her. Crystals of various sizes and colors glinted dully in the dusty cases. Behind the counter, Harrick sat hunched over a ledger, his sharp features twisted into a permanent scowl.
Without looking up, Harrick growled, “If you’re here to waste my time, turn right around. I don’t deal in baubles or entertain chatter.”
Vanguard placed her satchel of crystals on the counter with a solid thunk, meeting his scowl with a calm gaze. “I’m here to do business, not swap stories. These should catch your interest.”
Harrick’s head snapped up, his beady eyes narrowing as he eyed the satchel. He pulled it closer, muttering, “We’ll see about that. Last fool who brought me ‘quality crystals’ might as well have been peddling colored glass…”
He gingerly removed the crystals, his fingers twitching with both greed and suspicion. Harrick examined each one with a loupe, his mutterings growing louder with each inspection.
“Swift essence—bah, might as well sell air. Life essence… don’t make me laugh, I’ve seen better on a sickbed.” He reached the larger crystals, his expression flickering between greed and reluctance. “Well, I’ll be damned. These might actually be worth something… to the right fool.”
He tossed a dismissive glance at Vanguard. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a fair price? Hah! How’s twenty-five crowns for this lot? That’s me doing charity work.”
Vanguard arched an eyebrow, her tone cool. “Do you know how many Malformed I slaughtered to get those crystals?” She leaned forward, conspicuously caressing her sword hilt. “Just me and this blade. I'll take fifty for them.”
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Harrick’s eyes flashed with mock outrage. “Fifty crowns? Why don’t you just take my liver while you’re at it? Thirty-five, and I’m already cutting off my own hand.”
“Forty-five,” Vanguard countered smoothly, “and that’s me being generous. We both know you’ll turn a tidy profit on these.”
Harrick threw his hands up in exasperation. “Forty-five? You’re bleeding me dry, woman! Forty, and if I go hungry tonight, it’s on your conscience.”
Vanguard smirked, not missing a beat. “Forty it is, but if you starve, it’s because you’re too stingy to buy yourself a meal.”
Harrick muttered darkly as he counted out the coins with the reluctant precision of a man parting with his soul. “If I drop dead tomorrow, it’ll be because you’ve taken the very life out of me. A curse on your haggling!”
As Harrick stashed the crystals, Vanguard asked about Mass and Sharpness essence. Harrick’s eyes gleamed with an opportunistic glint, but his voice was pure acid. “The Wedge, eh? You’re looking for the crown jewels, and all I’ve got are pebbles. They’ll cost you—fifty crowns each. And no, I’m not haggling. I’ve got to eat somehow, don’t I?”
Vanguard chuckled, counting out the coins. “You must eat well, Harrick. I’ll take two, and if they don’t live up to the price, I’ll be back to collect your liver after all.”
Harrick’s grin was more of a pained grimace as he pocketed the coins. “Pleasure doing business, if draining a man of his very essence can be called that. Don’t you worry—these crystals will do the job, or my name’s not Harrick the Miserable.”
Vanguard left the shop, her satchel lighter but her spirits lifted. She made her way back to the inn, finding that dinner was ready. It was a venison stew, paired with a full-bodied and malty ale. As she ate, she listened to the conversations around her, picking up bits of gossip about recent attacks on nearby roads and the presence of a mysterious figure in town. The inn’s common room was filled with the laughter and stories of other travelers and cultivators, but Vanguard kept to herself, preferring to stay in the background.
Just as she finished her meal and was about to retire to her room, a loud voice cut through the din. “Well, look what we have here! A wandering cultivator making herself at home in our town.”
Vanguard turned to see a group of three cultivators, led by a tall, broad-shouldered man with a Copper-rank aura. She immediately recognized him as the one who’d sized her up in the guild.
His sneer was unmistakable, and the way the other patrons avoided his gaze told her everything she needed to know—this was trouble.
The man swaggered over, flanked by two lackeys, both wearing the telltale insignia of the Steel Crescent Guild. “You must be new around here,” the leader said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “We don’t take kindly to strangers coming in, selling their wares, and walking away with full pockets without paying the proper respects.”
Vanguard remained seated, her expression calm but alert. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
The man’s sneer widened. “Oh, I’ll say it clear enough. You’ve got some crystals and coin that belong to us now. Either you hand it over, or we’ll take it from you. Simple as that.”
Vanguard’s eyes narrowed, and she rose to her feet, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “I don’t take kindly to threats.”
The leader’s eyes flicked to her sword, then back to her face. “You think you can take me? A lone cultivator against us? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But let’s see how tough you really are.”
The challenge was clear. The innkeeper and patrons quickly made room, knowing what was coming. Vanguard and the leader stepped into the inn’s courtyard, the two lackeys watching from the sidelines with eager grins.
Vanguard didn’t waste any time. As soon as they were in position, she drew her sword and shield and quickly infused them with Aether. Her armor soon followed, denying him any Aether holds.
She waited to see what he would do. She was grateful she'd kept her plate on, as he made no move to remove his - a steel breastplate and bracers with a leather jerkin underneath. He drew his saber and took the stance she was growing familiar with.
Aether surged in his legs, and he lept the distance between them, his sword arm chambered for a devastating blow. The leap looked very impressive, but it gave her a moment to react while he was in the air and unable to change direction.
With a gesture, she hit him with a blast of infused air. It slowed his forward progress enough that his strike came up short.
As his blade cut the air, she lunged forward on enhanced legs. She aimed for the gap where his arm met the breastplate, trying for first blood.
To her surprise, he grabbed the blade with his free hand and pulled it in and off course. His hilt rammed forward for a pommel bash on her head. She ducked at the last minute, trying for a leg sweep.
The man hopped over her blade, which gave her enough time to spin her full body weight into a shield bash. He flew several feet in the direction of the blow, rolling heavily to recover his feet.
She didn't give him time to recover, striking rapidly with her infused blade. When he tried for another sword grab, she sawed the blade in his hand, pulsing her Aether. She cut right through the infused leather and made his palm bleed.
“First blood,” she said casually as he backed away, inspecting the damage.
“You can have it. I prefer last blood,” he said with an ugly expression. He came back in with rage-fueled swings. Each blow Vanguard blocked or parried shivered up through her bones as she defended herself.
Vanguard wasn't sure how he could keep going. His entire body was infused as well as his weapons, armor, and even clothes. He shouldn't be able to keep up this pace at his rank, given the Aether density here.
She took the time to inspect him with her Aether vision, finally realizing what was going on. He had an Aether battery on his belt. It was a cylindrical artifact carved with runes. It blazed in her sight, a stream of energy connecting from it to his chest.
She cut into the arc of his blade, catching it out wide, infusing herself just as much as he had. The change in strength surprised him, and while she had her blade inside his guard she whipped the sword into his waist and sliced the belt off. The weight of the battery dragged it off him and she kicked it away.
Immediately the man seemed to weaken. He’d used all his personal energy and was relying on the artifact to supply him, and could barely keep infusion on his equipment with ambient Aether. Vanguard had been saving hers, and she burned it to end the fight quickly.
Now it was his turn to be on the defensive, and he wasn’t very good at it. Clearly he was used to overwhelming his opponents with superior aggression and Aether throughput.
Soon she was whipping her sword back and forth, attacking from different angles with swift, brutal twists of her wrists. He had to block with all his strength, and then she feinted the next strike and, while his blade was traveling out to catch it, she smashed into him with her sword hilt. His head rocked back at the force, and this time when she swept his legs, he went down.
She stood on his back with her blade to his neck, it's edge coated in a faint sheen of Aether.
“Yield.”
The leader stared up at her, his face red with anger and humiliation. For a moment, it looked like he might refuse, but the look in Vanguard’s eyes told him she wouldn’t hesitate to finish it. Slowly, he nodded.
As he picked himself up, she grabbed the mana battery, throwing the useless belt at him.
“To the victor go the spoils. You were going to take all my belongings if you won - I’ll just take this.”
The man’s face went red. Clearly this artifact was a keystone of his style. The two lackeys stepped forward menacingly.
From out of the crowd, a man stepped. He wore simple brown robes, but when he moved, the whole world hummed. He pulled back his cowl, and the air grew heavy. His brown hair crackled with electricity, dancing in a wild mane. The lackeys skidded to a stop. In the dead silence that followed, a whisper was heard, “Skybreaker…”
“The duel was carried out fairly,” The man stated. “As the Steel Crescent Guild claims dueling law, there will be no interference with the victor. Grimsteel set the terms of the duel - it is only fair he loses in proportion.”
Here he frowned, “If I find out my will has been thwarted, I will take my displeasure out on your entire guild.” Without anyone saying a word, he disappeared in a silent lightning bolt.
Words squirmed in Grimsteel's lips, but he settled for a death-glare. He and his minions slung away without a word.
The innkeeper, who had been watching nervously, finally let out a breath of relief.
“You handled that well,” she said quietly as Vanguard sheathed her sword.
“Just another day,” Vanguard replied, her voice cool. “But keep an eye out. They might cause more trouble.”
Vanguard went into the inn and enjoyed a bowl of stew. She'd worked up an appetite from the battle. Aether usage always made her extra hungry. She didn't participate in the conversations around her, but let them flow over her while she sipped her ale.
Unlike Talron's Point, the inns here largely bought kegs from breweries. The current house ale was an oatmeal stout. Vanguard had never had oatmeal in a beer before, but took an instant liking to the drink. She made sure to only drink one tankard though, as they were fairly stout, as the name implied.
Standing up, she left a tip for the waitress and brought her waterskin over to a barrel of rainwater. Bidding the old maid goodnight in the hallway, she retired to her room.
She stripped off her armor, wishing for another bath. She carefully piled it against her saddlebags. Then she reached into her pouch, retrieving the crystals she’d purchased. Despite Harricks disparagement, they were actually the biggest she’d had. They might just get her to the Essence Binding stage.
The Mass crystal was dense and heavy. It looked like liquid obsidian, cooled lava that flowed nonetheless. The Sharpness crystal was difficult to hold. It was a transparent, reflective material, with countless bladelike growths on it. She couldn't even wear her gloves for this - direct contact with the stones was necessary.
She extended her aura past her hands, around the stones. They repelled, and she had to expend her will to keep them in her aura's embrace.
Time passed. She meditated on the elements she had chosen. Her father had told her that one had to embody the essence before it could truly bond to her.
She thought about when she'd bashed Grimsteel with her shield. She'd put her entire body weight into that blow. What if she could make her shield weigh twice as much? Ten times?
Sharpness was an easy thing to draw on for her. All the times her sharpened blade had cut through Malformed with ease, maintaining its edge due to her infusion. What could she cut through with Sharpness? What couldn't she?
Slowly the resistance of the essence melted. Her Aether washed around it, eroding it slowly. She had to keep in mind the visualizations of the essence and maintain her aura at the same time.
Eventually, her will began to weaken. She came out of her trance and retracted it, her mind feeling sore. The crystals were noticeably smaller afterward, eroded from her aura. Her stomach growled. She drank from her skin, her throat like sandpaper after her long trance.
Maybe someone is still in the kitchen? She thought. She belted on her knife over her tunic and padded out of her room. She locked it with the key she'd been provided.
The common room was dark but for the hearth, which was at low ebb. She went back to the kitchen, where more light came forth.
Inside she found the old maid in a rocking chair, knitting by the heavy iron stove. It blazed cheerfully. An empty chair sat by her.
“Hello, dear. I thought you might be up tonight.”
“You did?” Vanguard asked, puzzled.
“Yes, what with the word of you buying those crystals from Harricks. I said to myself, Mabel, she's going to integrate and be hungry tonight. I had a man who was a cultivator, I know these things,” Mable replied.
“Oh. Uh, is that sandwich for me?”
On the counter next to the stove was a plate. A large slab of ham sat topped with a holed cheese and coarse mustard, brown bread encasing it, a pickle to the side. Vanguard grabbed it and sat in the offered chair.
As she ate, Mabel chattered away, needles clicking to the time of her words.
“Oh my, you showed Grimsteel his place today indeed. His standing in the steel Crescent was already wobbly, I'm sure now it's downright topsy-turvy.” She giggled, and it brought the girl back into her wrinkled eyes. Then she frowned.
“He's just plain awful - he always pinches the girls and never pays for his drinks. Such bother.”
“I hope he doesn't give you any trouble on my account,” Vanguard said.
“Bah!” The old woman said, waving it away. “I don't think they'll try anything after that talking-to by Skybreaker. My word, my heart could barely take it!”
As Vanguard finished her hearty sandwich, Mabel interjected, “Do eat that pickle dear, I grew them myself.” Vanguard needed no encouragement. The pickle was salty and crisp, with a balanced sourness.
“Does Skybreaker show up here often?” She asked.
Mabel shook her head. “Not since I was a little girl. He comes from these parts originally, so he visits every now and then.”
A smile lit up her face, “Maybe he's looking for likely Descendants! He could be here for you.”
Surprised, she asked, “Why would you think that? I'm nobody.”
Mabel cackled. “Grimsteel Bannison bested by a nobody! Well you have a reputation now. I think you have a bright future.”
Vanguard thanked her for the food and the conversation and excused herself. She quietly made her way back to her room. She slipped inside, barely taking off her clothes before she collapsed in the bed.
She slept late that morning. Her headache had eased since the previous night. Rising, she splashed water on her face, and stretched. Her aura felt much better, and different. It had a weight to it, and she could shape it to a razor’s edge. She'd have to experiment with it. But first, breakfast, and more importantly, tea.
She followed the smell of bacon down the hall. A number of people were eating a leisurely breakfast. She sat down and shortly a server brought her a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. She set down a large mug of black tea as well, which Vanguard gulped eagerly. It was strong and hot, just how she liked it.
After she had finished, she left a few coins for the server and went back to her room. She donned her armor and grabbed her shield. It was time to practice.
She grabbed a few sticks of firewood from near the hearth, bringing them out of the inn. She found a beaten patch of dirt with a few rocks scattered around.
She set the wood down and grabbed one out, setting it on the ground upright. She stretched her aura out from her body, wrapping it around a patch of air. She pushed out from her cladding, and her new Sharpness essence threaded into the air.
Shaping the air with her aura, she formed a blade. She pushed it into the wood. The air formation shattered on impact, leaving a mark on the wood and toppling it over.
Next she tried her hand, shaping the edge of her palm into an energy blade. She cut a decent gash into the wood, her hand stopping at the surface. She could sharpen the Aether around her body, but not her flesh. It would still be quite effective in close quarters.
Next she Sharpened the edge of her shield. She punched into the wood, and it split easily. The rim of the shield accepted the edge readily.
Finally she readied her sword in both hands. A powerful chop down as she strengthened and Sharpened her blade. The wood was sliced easily across the grain.
Sharpness would prove a powerful weapon in many situations. Next was Mass.
She moved around the area, enhancing her Mass as she moved. Getting started moving was harder with more Mass, but if something was already in motion Mass amplified its momentum. She infused her legs with Aether and leapt 5 feet straight up. Infusing Mass into her body, she came down with a mighty crash, leaving a small crater in the ground.
She kicked one of the rocks, Mass-infusing her foot right before impact. There was a clap of displaced air and the stone shot right over the town wall.
Finally, she performed her last test. She gripped her sword in two hands and slammed it down into a larger stone, infusing the blade with both elements of the Wedge. It felt like cutting through water - some resistance but not as much as she expected. The stone split in two, the smooth cut edges looking like something from a mason’s workshop.
She felt tired after expending her new energy. She had plenty of Aether left, but infusing the new essence strained her aura. Her Cladding felt weaker without the extra essence.
Fortunately she had reached the beginning of the Essence Binding stage after the previous night. Her aura would slowly convert Aether into Mass and Sharpness energy, and would no longer be expended like before.
Finally, she turned her gaze to the Aether battery. She enveloped it in her aura. Automatically, it turned on. She felt energy surge through her. Her power felt eager to be used, crackling with lethal intent. The ache in her mind eased from using the new essences. She channeled sharpness and extra Aether into her weapon and a solid shimmering blade enveloped her sword.
Slowly she released the battery. The sense of intoxicating power left her. She'd have to be careful with that - it would be easy to grow reliant on it, but she'd seen how that ended.
She went back to her room to continue meditating. If she could fully absorb those crystals, her Cladding would better incorporate the new elements, and her reserves would increase.
It would be a relaxing couple of days.
After two days of resting, eating and drinking, meditating and absorbing, she heard a knock at her door. She opened it.
The innkeeper, looking slightly nervous, handed her a sealed letter. “A man dropped this off for you, insisted it be delivered right away.”
Vanguard’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the seal on the letter. It was from Blaze, the son of one of her father’s old war comrades. She broke the seal and read the letter quickly, her expression growing serious.
The letter was brief but urgent. Blaze mentioned a growing threat from the Malformed near the village of Stonemarch, a place they both knew well from their training days. The Malformed had become unusually aggressive and organized, and Blaze believed their combined strength was needed to deal with the situation. He was already on his way to the village and asked Vanguard to meet him there as soon as possible.
Vanguard felt a surge of responsibility and a twinge of nostalgia. Blaze was older, more experienced, and further along in his cultivation, but she remembered their training days fondly. Their fathers had often spoken of the strength in unity, and now, it seemed, the past was calling on her to uphold that bond.
She quickly gathered her gear, mentally preparing for the battle ahead. The road to Stonemarch was long, but the sense of duty—both to Blaze and to the legacy of her father—compelled her forward. She left the inn just as dawn was breaking, the first rays of sunlight casting a golden hue over Layowich.
As she walked, the weight of the upcoming confrontation settled on her shoulders, but she also felt a renewed sense of purpose. The Malformed were a threat unlike any she had faced recently, and with Blaze by her side, she knew they stood a better chance of overcoming it.
The journey to Stonemarch had begun.