57 - Not Alone (Patreon)

Two days passed, and my schedule remained more or less consistent, barring things like bodily upkeep—we would clean our clothes and change into spares that I had packed in my void key, although Mercy had packed her own clothes as well in her own key. Along with that, I had brought with me a whole host of hygiene products that we could avail ourselves of. I had spent far too much time clowning these kids for letting themselves go in the smell department due to excessive training, and I wouldn’t be made a hypocrite by circumstances.

Among all these hygiene products, I had also brought with me a nondescript box containing… necessary equipment in case some people decided to remember that they were in fact teenagers that spent literally every hour of the day together.

I was probably not going to have the talk with anyone, as I doubted the cultures they hailed from were really that shy about talking to kids about sexuality. But I would certainly help them approach whatever urges they might have with necessary preparation.

That being said, I had no earthly idea of the right time to provide them with this help, so I was just going to keep a lookout and track their developing relationship with my eyes. It was an unscientific approach, but it was really all I had. And if I was going to be such a busybody—even if it was for their own good—then I might as well go the extra mile.

Palutin, God bless his soul, was more than happy to accept my offers to share our soap and cleaning products. Even a Wastelander had standards of hygiene.

In terms of advancement, as much as I was making decent headway into growing my power and strength, as well as my mental fortitude, I couldn’t help but lament the opportunity costs of my single-minded dedication.

Namely, the Fucking Deadly Laser. 

Bruno and the nervous system project.

And, of course, the Starseed. 

I was neglecting every tool I had on hand just so I could further add to that set. Still, while it would be nice to focus on things that would have increased my power now, I had to take advantage of the resources that wouldn’t exist once I left this place behind.

The tablet library.

Unfortunately, this tragic place, this glorious library that Northstrider had left rotting for the world’s crows—was a true paradise for advancement in my knowledge of the sacred arts. 

This place was everything I had wished the Imperial College to be, and more. This place contained a multitude of glimpses into the endgame of the sacred arts; limited, and brief glimpses, certainly, but glimpses nonetheless. Every day, every hour—when I wasn’t consulting tablets too great for my advancement at least—I was making incredible headway into my understanding of Cradle’s system of magic. 

In comparison to slowly unearthing the secrets of Sages and Heralds, the Fucking Deadly Laser and Bruno and all my other projects could wait.

I had to use Ghostwater for its unique advantages. Everything else was a waste. And I intended to waste nothing in this amazing place.

But, the nature of Cradle is that riches draw scavengers, without fail. If it hadn’t been for Dross’s ability to monitor and even partially control the local security systems, we would have found ourselves in yet another battle. 

The moments the Tidewalkers and two gold dragons had entered the tablet library habitat, he had raised the alarm. And it had been a matter of pure coincidence that all of us were in the spirit well chamber at the time.

After they had entered the tablet library habitat, the Tidewalkers had ignored the tablets and approached the chamber’s sealed doors. And behind those doors, we had waited with half a dozen different Striker techniques, primed and ready to bombard the beasts the instant they opened the chamber’s doors. 

It had been an absolute relief to us when we realized, through Dross’ spying on the local security scripts, that the Tidewalkers lacked an Eye of the Deep; the chamber’s security doors had stopped them cold. 

After that, I felt it was rather prudent that we talk about it.

“Sky, what are we doing here?”

Lindon looked a little irritated, being taken away from his cycling, and the rest—apart from Mercy and Palutin—looked much the same. They were all assembled in front of me. Dross was next to me, in his spiritual form, acting as my second for this presentation. 

“After the incident yesterday, I figured we would be better off learning more of the opposition,” I shrugged. “To be forewarned is to be forearmed, and one of the greatest advantages we now hold is Dross and his access to what remains of the facility’s security systems.”

The rest of the group hesitated. I could see the gears in their heads turning. “Pardon, but I thought he could only access this habitat’s security. Which… didn’t seem particularly useful.”

“Nope!” I waggled my eyebrows. “But if you insist, this… security briefing… is optional. If you want to go back to advancing, do it. But don’t blame me if you find yourself on the bad side of a fight later on.”

Yerin scoffed. “Not so pressed for time that I can’t take a look at what the factions are doing. I won’t turn down a sharp sword before a fight.”

“Apologies,” Lindon said, but I waved him off idly.

We had relocated ourselves to the secretary’s desk, where Dross was presenting, bringing up displays of the other habitats.

After the others found places to sit on, near, or around the ancient desk–Palutin, for his part, was just leaning against Marigold’s side, looking on curiously–I got on with it.

“So, as you all know, Dross has the ability to tap into the remnants of the facility’s security system. Most–not all, but most–of the Ghostwater’s security systems fell apart generations ago. But the passive security monitoring is still largely intact. That’s what we’re going to use to get ourselves a real edge here.”

Yerin’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying we’ve got a pocket spy on our side.”

“A bit more than that, hopefully,” I said, grinning. Then I nodded to Dross. “You’re up.”

“I’ve always wanted to orate a research presentation!” Dross said happily, whirling in the air. “The lead researchers would give out awards in top scales to the facility’s best orator of the year, I always wanted to compete! This is so exciting I could–ah, darn,” Dross coughed awkwardly. “Don’t mind me. So. The factions of Ghostwater. Starting with a foe you already well know.”

A screen popped up over the ancient secretarial desk–thankfully these low-level scripts still functioned. In a happy discovery of mine, it turned out Dross could tap them into the facility’s backbone security system, which would let us observe as he did.

“She’s back,” Lindon muttered, as we all stared at Ekerinatoth in the projection, moving alone through the pocket world. She was swimming straight down, headed for some unknown location. 

The facility’s surviving security scripts had, as far as I understood, very limited ability to see what was happening outside of the habitats–they had mostly been created to observe the happenings on the insides. Ekeri must have been swimming very near some other habitat for this passive monitoring to pick her up.

“Ekerinatoth of the gold bloodline,” I announced, pointing at her. “Somehow, Ekeri returned,” I suppressed a giggle as we viewed her. She looked far more… ready for business now. She was carrying around a rucksack, and was armed to the literal teeth with a sword on her side, and a shield and spear combo strapped to her back. Rather than wearing her ridiculously showy clothing, she wore construct armor, the good shit most probably. I couldn’t tell from my spiritual perception, since I wasn’t there, but I could see that the craftsmanship was impeccable. Beautiful stuff. Usually, that translated to good functionality. Unless you were Northstrider. 

“If she isn’t a complete idiot,” I said. “She’ll probably not choose to pick a fight with us again. If she is, I can’t imagine that things won’t turn out the same way eventually. That being said, we’d do better to avoid her. No use testing what those sacred instruments are capable of. Any questions? No? Good. I wouldn’t have been able to answer them anyway, honestly. Next, Dross.”

“Before I switch,” Dross said, “It seems that three different parties are now wandering through the Life Well habitat–fitting, because it was perhaps the single most valuable habitat in the facility during its heyday. Redmoon Hall and the Ninecloud Court are both present in force.” 

Next was Yan Shoumei, now flanked by a massive Blood Shadow. She was still in the Life Well habitat, wandering through the corridors of a ruined refinery.

“I recognize this one,” I said, “Yan Shoumei, Truegold of Redmoon Hall. I doubt she’ll go out of her way to aggravate us.”

As we watched, the nightmarish Redmoon cultist strode through the life refinery’s subterranean subject archives, her appearance stained even more red and black than usual by the dull red emergency lights of the dying illumination scripts. The hallways weren’t hallways as one might normally consider; these were massive, dozens of feet wide and tall, with no walls; just an unending wall of scripted glass on either side, behind which lay the refinery’s test subjects. It was less of a refinery than it was a prison out of nightmares, filled with dimly lit, unconscious beasts, floating in their tanks of amniotic fluids.

Many of the beasts contained within had died or escaped over the generations as preservation scripts failed, but the majority remained. Yan Shoumei was pointing out one helpless subject after another for her Blood Shadow to feed on. When she did, her brutish partner would crash through the scripted glass like a hammer of Forged blood, then transform into a sort of leech or lamprey to feed on the weakly struggling victims. She was making her choices deliberately, not engaging in a mass feeding, but rather, appearing to choose certain very specific subjects with specific qualities. She had a tablet of red jade in her hand, which she was regularly consulting.

“What is she doing?” Lindon asked.

“The Monarch stored many unusual beasts in the life refinery!” Dross said brightly. “He especially liked to focus on mutations of madra and spirit. This member of Redmoon Hall has been seeking out specimens associated with physical mutations; strength, vitality, endurance and speed and so on.”

“She’s turning her Blood Shadow into a monster,” Mercy observed, staring at the projection with serious eyes.

I just sighed internally. So this is how Yan Shoumei created Crusher. 

It was every bit as grisly a process as one might have expected.

Yerin, for her part, just remained silent, staring at the Redmoon cultist with a strangely mixed expression. Did they run into each other? Normally, Yerin would have had a lot more to say about Redmoon Hall, and would have had very uncomplicated emotions surrounding the topic.

“Eh,” I shrugged. “If she’s staying there, that just means we don’t need to worry about her. The Ninecloud team is more of a wild card. Why are they staying in the refinery? Yerin already drained the Life Well. Switch to them.”

When the screen switched to the heart of the life refinery, where the Life Well had once been, we all stared blankly for a moment. After a moment, Yerin cursed. “What are they doing?”

The sight was honestly baffling. The Ninecloud team were overseeing an array of constructs that were disassembling the roof of the chamber over where the Life Well had so recently been. Great piles of refinery material had been neatly stacked off to the sides, and a yawning hole was being steadily opened in the roof of the Life Well chamber. Why?

“Ah, that’s not good,” Dross said.

“What are they doing?” I repeated Yerin’s question.

“If I had to hazard a guess,” Dross said brightly, “They’re seeking to harvest the habitat’s foundation treasure.”

A… what?

“A foundation treasure?” Lindon asked.

“Ghostwater’s foundation treasures, of course.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. New information.

Moreover, new information that was bad news. I didn’t like this at all.

Perhaps I really should have just blown up that fucking portal after all.

“Longer answer please, Dross,” I almost snapped.

“Ah, of course.” Dross bobbed up and down twice. “Well then. Longer answer… hmm hmm.” Dross paused for dramatic effect. “About fifty years ago, after the Monarch abandoned the facility, the Akura clan—who had the most ties to western Ashwind and were more closely involved with Ghostwater than other factions, since they collaborated with Northstrider’s projects—aimed to take and occupy the facility. But, of course, the information was leaked; a gathering of world powers prepared to fight for the facility after it finally opened. But it was determined that a battle of higher level forces would endanger the facility’s existence. And so a compromise was struck. The Heralds entered once, and removed nearly all of the treasures that were of interest to them. Nearly all, but not quite all.”

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes even as I felt my heart start beating a little faster. Was Dross really saying what I think he was saying?

“Numerous habitats—but especially the ones where the largest, most important, most valuable projects were conducted—are based on a foundation of high-level natural treasures that cannot be removed, not without destabilizing the habitat, and, well, the entire facility’s dimensional stability. Now that Ghostwater is in its final days, the factions seem to have decided it’s time to harvest those final treasures.”

Yerin rested her chin on her fist. “If I’m tracking this right, you’re saying that this pocket world’s going to come apart even faster, if we let them take these treasures.”

“Yes,” Dross said, bobbing in the direction of the screen. “Sad, isn’t it? If they remove the Life Well’s foundation treasure, it will accelerate the breakdown of this pocket world.”

Even Dross sounded worried by that prospect.

“What is the Life Well’s foundation treasure?” I asked.

“Ah, that’s the interesting thing,” Dross said, blinking several times in excitement. “I don’t know! My access to the facility’s systems is limited to the records of the scholars. The facility’s key systems and projects were all designed by the Monarch personally, though, and those records are quite beyond me.”

“Where are those records?” Lindon asked.

“Ah, they’re all kept within the oracle tree.”

“The what?” Yerin said.

“The fourth well,” I said quietly. I received several questioning looks, but I could guess what they were asking. “There’s no coming back after we approach the fourth well, and no exit but to leave the pocket world. We should take every advantage possible before going. Preferably, we should go once we’re all Truegolds.”

That got me nods from around the table, and in the meantime, the screen displaying the Ninecloud Golds carried on, zooming in to show details. 

As we watched, the three Ninecloud Court Golds were deconstructing the roof over where the Life Well had been. Or, more accurately, they were overseeing a small army of constructs, and managing the process throughout.

“Can’t say I’m eager to cross blades with them again,” Yerin muttered. “But if they are doing something that will make this place come apart faster, shouldn’t we go after them?”

The Soul Oath I had sworn with Sha Dellian had involved an oath of mutual, ongoing noninterference in the other’s affairs. Would this… indirect action taken against us, constitute violating the oath? 

Maybe. I considered it. “Dross, can you speculate as to what the foundation treasure is?”

“Speculation? Oh, speculation’s fun! Well, if I had to–”

“If it’s some supreme life treasure, we’re going,” Yerin interrupted, holding up a hand and brooking no room for argument. I nodded, as did the others around the table–nothing to disagree with there.

“Ah, no, that’s unlikely,” Dross said brightly. “The Life Well’s precursor ingredients were harvested from the lifelines and blood essence of the beasts sealed throughout the refinery’s walls. Life aura wasn’t directly useful to the refiners, really, since it lacks the property of universal compatibility that they sought to concentrate. If I had to speculate, Glassy Sky, I would guess that the refinery’s foundation treasure is more likely to be something with high-level filtration properties. Something that could separate, or at least catalyze the separation of blood and life essence into their component volatiles.”

That stopped me short. That was… an interesting hypothesis. 

It sounded right. That could be… useful. I had a sudden visual of filtering my own blood essence flows, and starving my damn Blood Shadow into submission until it cried for uncle.

“I reckon it might be a destruction treasure instead,” Palutin said idly. 

We all turned to him, staring. He shrugged. “What? Your fancy construct said it be separatin’. I’ve seen destruction treasures that do some mighty weird thangs around life energy in particular, but’ll ignore the other aspects no problem.”

Even I raised my eyebrows. “Just wasn’t expecting you to have insight on this, if I’m being honest.”

“Heh.” Palutin grinned. “That sounds like a challenge there. But really, I’ve seen a lot of weird thangs in the deep wastes, if’n I’m being honest. Happens a lot, being ‘round the Beast King and his folk and the places they cultivate in. Seen sights like you wouldn’t believe. Castles trapped in time, cities lost in space. You think Ghostwater’s the only pocket world on Ashwind? But even seeing all that, I ain’t never heard jack about a natural treasure that can filter like what this here fancy construct’s saying, though I ain’t no expert. Destruction though,” Palutin tapped his fingers on the table, giving me a considering eye. “Yeah, there’s possibilities there I’ve heard of.”

“What does destruction have to do with the Wastes?” Lindon asked him.

“You know why the Wastelands are the Wastelands?” Palutin eyed him skeptically. “It's where the ol’ black dragons from your Blackflame Empire used to fight mankind way back when. Durin’ the Dread War, the Monarchs pushed the fightin’ to the Wasteland, too, wrecking the place even harder. Even after all this time, you still get weird destruction aspect nonsense turning up in the deep wastes, ‘specially as you get closer an’ closer to the graylands. Where some of them Dread War Monarchs died. I done seen places where things of flesh and blood just… evaporate,” he raised a fist and flared out his fingers. “Gone, like the wind. But they ain’t erased. Their flesh and madra break down like a statue made of sand, and then blow away with the wind. Certain critters’n vultures know to feed on the streams of blood and life essence that’ll waft off from those places.”

Huh.

Interesting.

I gave Lindon a look, but he only shook his head. “I’d need an equal fire treasure to balance it, even if Palutin’s right. It’s not worth it, not when I could be focusing on the Spirit Well instead.”

Elsewhere in the same habitat, after Dross switched to the next field of view, we saw a team of six Redmoon cultists, Emissaries all; a Truegold and several lower Golds, but Yan Shoumei seemed to disdain moving with them.

Yerin just stared at the screen with uncommon intensity, saying nothing.

“These Redmoon Emissaries came in a little later than the first flock,” Dross said, “So far, they’ve just been hunting the local wildlife, feeding their Blood Shadows. They might be opportunistic enough to try and hunt humans too, or they might want access to our Spirit Well.”

“Probably,” I said, eyeing Yerin. She still didn’t make any comment about this. “We’ll keep an eye out as always.”

“From the recordings, it seems this Yan Shoumei prefers to spend minimal time around her own sect. Strange.”

As always, whenever the cultists were mentioned, I kept an eye on Yerin. This time, she winced a little. She definitely must have had some kind of run-in with her. And from the looks of it, it must have been quite an illuminating experience.

The next projection showed a stark, almost brutalist scenery; an entire habitat that was one single ‘room’ of mostly vertical aspect, a cylinder several hundreds of meters in width and multiples of that in height. The entirety of the scenery, every single visible inch of interior wall was covered in halfsilver Remnant cages.

There were tens upon tens of thousands of cages, now casting thousands of converging shadows that took on the shapes of monsters from nightmare, and half-formed images like dream madra.

I didn’t need my mathematical senses to see that only half, only a very precise fifty percent of the halfsilver cages were open. The rest were sealed shut.

In the very center of the floor of this almost alien scenery sat an orb of shadow, dozens of meters across, pulsing like the beat of a heart.

“And this habitat was designed to explore the principles of light and shadow. The habitat has a built in night-day cycle, and becomes an environment of intense light aura by day and shadow by night. 

“As you all know, light and shadow madra and aura are characterized by their opposing properties. Shadow madra is fundamentally diffuse, and yet concentrates with energy. Light madra is the opposite; fundamentally unitary, but diffuses over time. Shadows deepen, and light fades. It’s the nature of their madra aspects. These were important for Ghostwater’s mission because of the unique interactions that dream madra has with light and shadow. Among the many different aspects of madra, light and shadow have always been found to be the most compatible with dream madra.”

Lindon nodded and spoke up. “My clan practices a Path of light and dreams, in fact.”

“Oh!” Mercy said, remembering something, “My aunt practices a Path of shadows and dreams!”

“Speaking of Mercy’s family,” Dross said, “This is Akura Harmony.”

The screen showed a closer view of that orb of shadow madra in the center of the cylinder that was this entire habitat. From this close a field of view, the projection screen showed nothing but solid darkness, with corners that only hinted at something other than a pane of pure black. Concerningly, the darkness was periodically punctuated by half-formed ephemera and phantasmagoria that could have come out of a Remnant’s nightmares. Dross continued.

“We can’t actually see him right now due to the massive amounts of shadow aura he is cycling. But my belief is that he is preparing to test himself against the habitat’s monthly Convergence Event, which is when the Remnants of light and shadow are both unsealed at the same time. 

We all fell silent, staring at the image of the magnitude of shadow aura that Harmony was channeling. This was…

Concerning. 

I had heard stories of sacred artists channeling aura on scales like this. But only in stories. The kinds of stories in which the protagonists, or the antagonists, were Lords. 

Mercy just sighed sadly, staring at the recording.

Lindon spoke hesitantly. “Pardon, Mercy, but you said this… Akura Harmony, might want to hurt you? Why?”

“Harmony is… competitive,” Mercy said, hesitating. “He might be the best talent to have come out of his side of the branch families in the last few generations. And his specific side of the clan is…” Mercy hesitated, seeming to weigh her words carefully. “Our reputation, the Akura’s reputation, especially in the vassal states; it’s exaggerated in a lot of ways.” Her eyes flickered from one person to the next, before settling on Orthos. “That’s just how it goes with stories. Things get exaggerated. We’re people too. My uncle Fury is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. Even my aunt Charity has her moments. But Harmony’s side of the clan…” Mercy sighed. “They are not exaggerated, not at all. His parents and grandparents are an example of everything I think is–wrong–with the clan. And he’s too much like them.”

I unpacked those words and grimaced. 

Tyrants, butchers, torturers, Orthos’ worst nightmares. The people all the way at the top of Ashwind’s very, very tall ladder of hierarchical oppression. The protectors of humanity that decent humans never, ever wanted to cross the paths of. That’s what Harmony was, she was saying. Him and his entire bloodline. It explained a lot.

“His side of the clan wanted closer ties to my mother. So they petitioned her to allow a matchmaking between their heir and, well, me. And she agreed.”

“He’s your fiance?” Yerin asked, sitting bolt upright.

“Was,” Mercy replied. “He didn’t take it well when he lost to me in a duel. I think my mother only agreed to the match in order to push me. It worked. I was… never going to let myself be married to someone like him.”

“I don’t mean nothin’ by it,” Palutin said. “But I don’t see how you beat that,” he said, waving lazily at the projection. 

“I used to be much stronger,” Mercy gave a sad smile.

“Ah, I hear ya,” Palutin gave her a sympathetic smile. “You don’t gotta say nu’n.” He must have come to an awkward conclusion, but Mercy gracefully accepted the out. Her depowering had definitely affected her a lot emotionally.

“Alright, Dross,” I prompted.

In the next projection, Dross showed us a panning topside view of six different habitats, all linked via their own underwater tunnel systems to a much larger primary one in the center.

“As far as I can tell, the majority of the other factions in the facility are now converging on one of the larger habitats, more of a habitat array.”

“This habitat array is devoted to the study of the protogenesis of draconic spirituality!” Dross said, as we stared at a vast area, several square miles, really, that looked like a dozen different types of world terrain–jungle, beach, desert, rock–that had all been stitched together in a grid. The entire environment looked absolutely lousy with aura; it was thick enough in the air that we could see traces and contrails of it even through the recording display. The display lacked its own spiritual senses, so this meant that the aura concentrations were so thick they could be seen with the naked eye.

Unbelievable. Only the world’s best cultivation paradises were supposed to get aura that thick. Why hadn’t I heard about this place before?

“The six support habitats are all dragon ponds with different ratios of vital aura. Ones with characteristics of ice, fire, earth and so on. A dragon pond is a spiritual sinkhole filled with the vital aura of dragon bodies, their blood essence, dream aura and life aura, as well as the natural fire aura that their bodies produced. In nature, dragon ponds can serve as cultivation paradises for beings of draconic ancestry, though they would be well advised to, ah, avoid cycling in these ones! As such, they serve as the birthplace of the natural spirits that serve as the basic life form of this habitat array. 

I scratched my head. “What’s wrong with these dragon ponds?”

“Ah, for reasons I am possibly unclear about, every dragon from the outside who has ever tried cycling the vital aura of the dragon ponds has gone insane. Every time, not even one exception.”

Dead silence.

Orthos was shivering with rage, and I could feel him sear my spiritual perception as he cycled his madra, enough to cause me discomfort. “Define insane,” I said, eyeing Orthos.

“It varies! Some become possessed by fear, and suffer symptoms consistent with acute spiritual collapse. Some turn into raving beasts, berserkers, attacking allies and forgetting their sacred arts. They become… animals? Are there any animals that, after they’ve slain their friends, will bash their heads against a rock until they die? That kind of animal. Others will just collapse and lay down screaming until they, ah, expire. Self mutilation is common in those cases. Strange stuff, right?”

Into the stark dead silence of the room, Dross continued, happily carrying on with his explanation.

“Even cycling the vital aura of the habitat is extremely hazardous! After a mishap or two, researchers with even a drop of dragon in their bloodlines had to be banned from entering the habitat, because cycling even a little aura was hazardous. As for humans, the aura tends to be beneficial, but somewhat more toxic than the norm.”

“That being said, the aura is harmless to plants. The researchers liked to spread the seeds and spores of sacred plants in this habitat, because the harvests could be quite profitable. It was one of the facility’s larger income streams, really. Even mundane herbs grown in an environment this rich in aura were considered natural treasures on the outside, to say nothing of more valuable species.

“Hey, fancy construct,” Palutin said idly. “Get me a view of that there pond. Bottom right, near that pile of bones.”

The view switched to a pond that was crawling with multicolored serpentine spirits that took the shape of dragons, but they looked like they had been sketched into reality by some divine brush.

“What are those?”

“Those are Dragonseeds,” Dross said. “They’re much like Sylvan Dreamseeds, but they only naturally occur in regions with extremely heightened amounts of draconic presence; dragon graveyards and so on. The Monarch observed this phenomena, and decided to artificially replicate it here.

“Why?” Orthos asked.

“In nature, dragons only rarely mutate; they are a remarkably resilient form of creature, strong in life. Mutations are rare, but can be very, very powerful. So Northstrider chose to chase quality by using quantity; the Dragonseeds serve as an infinite source of mutable material. And by introducing mutable spirituality into a mutagenic environment, the habitat cultivates, well, mutations. Endlessly.”

Amidst the ensuing silence, Orthos’ beaked jaw hung open. Not even I knew what to say. This was—

A detail grabbed my attention, as Dross was panning from one field of view throughout the habitat to another. In every image—every image—could be seen at least a few strange trees. White-barked like bone, with leaves like shining drops of blood. The ground around them lay strewn with small fruits, like cherries. 

Around them, contrails and wisps of vital aura could be seen. Deep red vital aura, visible to the naked eye. It was with trepidation that I asked:

“What are those trees?”

“Ah, those are Flesh Incarnation trees. They’re a treasure of Emriss Silentborn that Northstrider purchased long ago. Tons of life and blood essence, but only the kind that spirits can process; won’t do any good for a being with its own body. The fruit is famous for inducing, ah, flesh transformations in spirits, give flesh body to spirits and Remnants.” 

I sat up in my chair, jaw hanging open. What the hell. This sounded downright eldritch.

And… wasn’t this the same as how spirits advanced to Herald? Surely, there was no way that Northstrider could have automated this process. Most likely, the bodies those spirits grew were just normal bodies not fused with the spirit, but enveloping the spirit. The same way human and beast bodies enveloped their spirits.

“Seriously?” Yerin said. 

“The fruit of the trees are only effective up to the rank of Jade, though! Which is why I assume they aren’t more famous!”

Ah. I leaned back in my chair, sighing. That was disappointing.

“Then why are there Truegold dragons in the habitat?” Lindon asked.

“Ah,” Dross bobbed from side to side awkwardly. “Right. The habitat’s automatic capture systems fell apart long ago. So now the dragons are just… wild. They can roost for as long as they like, and keep growing in strength.”

“What do they eat?” Yerin asked.

“Each other, mostly,” Dross said.

Yerin snorted. “Sounds like a regular old house of horrors. A worm pit of insane mutant dragons. Orthos, you interested?”

Orthos just shook his head, still staring at the screen in a sort of open-mouthed horror. “Never. This is evil! A desecration of dragonkind.”

That was a rather intense reaction. It certainly put a damper on the mood as well. Lindon reached over and brushed Orthos’ shell soothingly, but he was still standing on edge, madra cycling, looking ready to blow a hole through the projection at any moment.

This couldn’t be Blackflame poisoning. The Dream Well should have taken care of all mental corruption, and the Life Well should have purged the rest.

This was just pure vitriol.

Orthos could detect the maddening effect of this habitat, even from a recording. There was no question about it in my mind at least. We would absolutely, without a doubt, stay the fuck away from there.

We just managed to pull Orthos out of his long-term stint with mental illness. I, for one, had no interest in losing him to it once more, and something told me that whatever madness this draconic hellhole afflicted couldn’t be easily cured with just Well waters.

“Pass, then.” Yerin said. “Dragon girl can go chase whatever shiny thing she’s after, it’s nothing to me. Sound good?”

Nods all around the table at that.

“I contend I’ve got a question of my own, Dross.” Yerin said idly. “On my way back from the Life Well, I saw two peak Truegolds–a man whale of some kind, and another Ninecloud Sha–diving into the deeps. Any idea what’s down there?”

“The sea’s floor? Ah, hmm,” he said, bobbing from side to side. “I’ve got no idea! There are no scripts I can tap into down there, that area was always restricted area during the facility’s heyday. Only the facility’s top leaders and the Monarch could access the security down there, and he forbade all others from venturing down there.”

“What is down there?” I asked. “Speculate, again.”

“Ghostwater’s dimensional anchor and matrix core, I’d assume,” Dross said. 

“Do you have any recordings of these two, before they descended?” Lindon asked.

“Recordings, recordings, ah, right here!” Dross’ form lit up and the projection shifted to show a recording of an enormous orca person wearing an impeccable outfit standing against a pod of Diamondscale Sea Drake, three in number.

He, or they, summoned a bubble of water madra, exactly the technique that the sharks used. This one, however, gave me the impression of a bottomless maelstrom. If only I could use my Jade senses to observe closer. All I could go on was my eyes. 

The first Sea Drake crashed against the shield and glanced right off. The orca deactivated the shield and grabbed the Sea Drake by its tail. Their hand dug straight through the flesh, through bone, and severed the tail in an instant. The Sea Drake roared in agony, but before it could disappear, the orca froze it in the air with one hand.

Then they jumped towards the Drake, their right fist outstretched, readying for a punch, as their form was enveloped in what looked like the same Enforcement technique that had struck Lindon and I.

The ensuing explosion obliterated the Drake entirely. The aftershocks even managed to launch away the Remnant that had formed. It swam into the darkness of the pocket world, away from the monster that had killed its fleshy host.

Palutin whistled. “Knew it.”

Ain’t no way. That had to be some kind of sacred instrument or a—it had to be something! They didn’t just do that with one technique and raw power.

I almost turned to look at Palutin questioningly, but the fight cle-arly wasn’t done. Those Sea Drakes weren’t cowed by the display, foolishly enough.

The orca stretched out their hand towards one Sea Drake, ignoring the other completely. With a Ruler technique, they locked the Sea Drake in place.

Then the orca clenched their hand. The Sea Drake imploded on itself, becoming a spherical core of bones, blood and gore. Through the recording, it was impossible to see any of the auras in place, but that must have included the force aspect.

Force for pressure. And water because it was readily available. This was the Tidewalker Sect’s Path. 

The Remnant that formed easily pushed through the Ruler technique—weaponized vital aura was garbage against spirits of any kind—but it, too, turned and swam away.

The remaining Sea Drake ended up biting the orca’s head.

The orca didn’t stir. Instead, they reached one hand up and quickly jabbed the Sea Drake’s throat, ripping it out in one smooth motion. The blood and gore refused to touch their clothes as they smoothly stepped back and let the Sea Drake fall on the sand.

This time, the Remnant that formed did put up a fight.

It put up as much of a fight as it had in life. That is to say, the orca ripped it apart in mere seconds. 

“All that aside,” Palutin said, and I gave him my full attention as he lounged against his rabbit friend, arms folded, and with an easy grin, “He seemed like an alright sort. Reasonable, ‘s far as Tidewalkers go.”

I gave that a slow nod. “Who is he?” I asked.

“Prince Jingye,” Palutin said, “One of them Tidewalker princes. He ain’t an Abyssal Deepwater Shark, but that don’t matter none. Ya see, this’n hails from a Monarch’s line. The first Tidewalker Monarch. Dead, obviously. But the youngins he left behind ain’t slouches, I’ll tell ya that much. And Prince Jingye got a reputation up in the Wasteland’s northern coast. Rumor says he took down a pair o’ Underlords while he was just a Truegold. Still is, ‘s far as I can tell. He’s probably stronger too. I’d bet my hat on that.”

Jesus Christ.

Fuck me. 

“Stay the fuck away, got it,” I said.

From the looks of it, no one else seemed at all tempted to test this guy’s techniques. Certainly not considering the fact that he had used a Ruler technique to directly kill—no, not just kill, but absolutely annihilate a Sea Drake.

You don’t just kill people your level with one Ruler technique, and if you do, it’s certainly not like that. 

Yerin rubbed her stomach, “Suddenly got a hankering for that Sea Drake meat. Might do me some good if I’m ever up against that kind of monster.”

“Ah, but on the bright side,” Dross said, “His Ruler technique is only this powerful because the Sea Drakes are, well, stupid. They wouldn’t know the first thing about cycling against this sort of technique, especially if Jingye’s attack was designed to deal with this kind of unintelligent sea monster.”

“You said he was reasonable?” Mercy asked Palutin.

“That I did,” Palutin said, “You know, insomuch as you ain’t blockin’ his way or nothin’. Ain’t got a clue what he’d do in that case. But he don’t seem the type to just kill for sport. Nah, this one’s a hunter. Like me.”

I hummed, “On the list of people whose ways we should not block: Akura Harmony, Prince Jingye,” I nodded. “Everyone else, I’m not as worried about.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Lindon said with a nod, eyeing the projection intently. “Not until we finish advancing to Truegold.”

I nodded. “Between the meat and the Well waters, I think we should be ready to stop hiding in three weeks’ time tops.”

No one disagreed with that.

“And the Sha?” I asked Dross.

“Hm, hm, hm, I, uh… I only see three of them.”

I looked at Yerin. “I saw one swimming with the Tidewalker.”

“I seen him too!” Palutin raised his hand, “Sha Parizad. Bigshot, ‘ccordin’ to rumors, but I ain’t heard squat about him, if’n I’m bein’ honest. Ain’t heard much about none o’ them Ninecloud fighters, seein’ as we live on the other side of the world from them. But I say if he’s all chummy with Jingye, he’s probably useful to him. That must mean he’s a powerhouse if’n I’ve ever seen one.”

“Dross, do you have any combat recordings of him?” I asked.

The flying ball of purple light that was Dross’ spiritual form shifted a little from side to side, as if hesitating. His glow was rather dimmer than usual. “Unfortunately, not even one! Sorry if I’m disappointing, Glassy Sky. But this Sha has not shown up in even a single recording. If I didn’t know any better, and didn’t trust the eyewitness accounts, I would conclude that he doesn’t even exist.”

I frowned. “He’s on the Path of Celestial Radiance. He got control over the constructs. He’s erasing himself from the surveillance footage in real time. Why, though?”

Yerin spoke up, “Could be that he contended he’d be watched. Like this. Or maybe what he’s after is shiny enough that he’d stop people from clapping eyes on him while he’s searching.”

I thought the same as well. 

“Ah!” Dross piped up. “This recording might be a clue.”

The orca prince looked up in the air and spoke. “You can stop hiding now.”

From nowhere, he received an answer in the form of a cold, emotionless voice. “Let the children fight over the scraps. We can pursue the real—” that’s when the recording cut off.

I frowned. “Wait, Dross, that recording had sound!”

“It cuts off abruptly,” Dross said, frustration evident in his tone. “But yes, the surveillance system does have a limited ability to pick up on conversations. I’m sorry, Sky, but that’s the only clue I can find.”

Interesting. It would take too much time to analyze that. More importantly, was Dross worried about disappointing me? “It's fine. Discovery is a process. Just keep looking,”  I tapped my fingers on the table, considering what I’d seen from the other Shas. Was I overthinking things, or was there a pattern here?

They were all searching for hidden treasures.

And their treasure-hunting was soon to become our problem.

This time, it was my turn to whistle. “Akura Harmony, Prince Jingye, Sha Parizad. On the list of people to turn around and walk away from. Next.”

The next two projections were unremarkable. The Tidewalkers, five in count, were feeding off a Sea Drake’s corpse under the direction of their peak Truegold humanized shark leader, and the surviving two gold dragons were eating the scraps of the same corpse–it seemed a hierarchy had been established here, and it wasn’t in the dragon’s favor.

The next projection made me laugh.

Just two kids and a campfire, one dancing before the flames, the other grilling a carp and watching raptly. A skinny girl who couldn’t have been older than fourteen was doing some kind of a… shrimp dance, or something; a dance that was all angles and splayed limbs and funny faces, as far as I could tell, for the benefit of another kid, a boy of the same age who was just laughing cheerfully, while he kept flipping the carp around atop a large griddle.

A variety of sacred beasts, half a dozen in count or so, were flying, prowling, jumping, pacing, grazing, or sleeping in the general area around the two kids. Most of them were watching the girl and her… shrimp dance, or whatever it was with as equally rapt attention as the boy. Was she singing? It was hard to tell through the projection.

Palutin snorted. “Lanata and Trask. Glad to see they’re doing all fine and dandy.”

I gave Palutin a questioning look. He grinned. “They’re good kids, both of em. Beast King’s baby apprentices, new Highgolds both. You could call em my junior siblings.”

New highgolds? Sure, but… they look like actual kids. We all looked at Palutin skeptically. “Are you actually chipped in the head?” Yerin asked.

“It’s fine,” Palutin drawled, shrugging. “Risk n’ reward, just how it goes with all them chances for advancement. They were certainly all rarin’ to go. I dropped the kids off in the habitat that a lotta the old researcher’s homes were in, it’s practically right next to the portal. Ain’t no threats near there, and ain’t not much loot left neither, so they’re free to fish and see if they can scrounge up anything left over. Some decent sacred plants in the gardens, last I saw. But I doubt anyone’s going to bother em there, those ruins have been picked over a hundred times by now and everyone on the outside knows it.”

Yerin seemed to have more to say, if the scowl on her face was anything to go by, but I held up a hand her way, then nodded to Palutin. “Let’s hope they stay safe then.” I gave Dross a look. “Next.”

“Finally, there is Ziel of the Wastelands,” Dross said, showing a projection of Ziel dragging his giant hammer through the sand of some habitat.

“He’s looking for the Spirit Well,” Palutin said, but there was a look of concern on his face. “Dolph offered to give him a lift, but he turned us down. No idea why, but I guess he wants to make his way on his own time.”

“So he’s friendly too,” I said, more for the benefit of the others than my own. 

Palutin gave a nod. “Ziel ain’t the type to go rarin’ for a fight. He’s just here for the Well.”

“Fair enough,” I nodded.

“What a relief,” Mercy said with a smile, “Not that I’m worried, but it’s nice that there’s other people in this pocket world that won’t try to kill us. I’m a little worried for Lanata and Trask, though.”

I nodded at her concern. “I feel you. In all honesty, I think they would be in significantly more danger running with us.”

Dross spoke up. “Those are all the factions in Ghostwater. Was there anything else you wanted to look at?”

I looked around the table and was met with shrugs. I shook my head—then paused, reconsidering myself. “Show us where Ekeri was beaten. Where I used her gatestone.”

The display changed to an idyllic vista of white sand beach, bordered by jungle and blue sea. Or what should have been. An instant later, faces all around the table stiffened. 

Palutin whistled into the silence. “Oi, that there’s pretty dang bad.”

I only grimaced. There was now an entire web of cracks in space, darker than black and radiating outwards, stretching across half the width of the beach. 

The cracks, thankfully, weren’t yet expanding rapidly enough for the breakdown of space to be casually visible, but I knew that time would come. Soon.

“I do wish you hadn’t used that gatestone,” Dross said quietly. “I’d, ah, estimate that the facility has one month remaining. In the best case scenario! It will be less if the foundation treasures are harvested in any quantity.”

“She had to be removed, without killing her.” I turned to the others. They were still staring at the cracks in space—the manifestation and symptom of the pocket world’s slowly encroaching breakdown—with a spectrum of expressions, ranging from the worry that Mercy and Yerin expressed, to Lindon’s fascination, to the outright fear that Orthos exuded, though he would never admit it to himself.

“We’ll do this again, Dross. In three weeks or when the majority of us are Truegolds, we’ll take a second look at the factions and pick our targets. In the meantime, keep an eye out for any disasters. As for us,” I let out a breath, met the other’s eyes, and grinned. 

“It’s time to advance.”

000

I had never stopped being bothered by the encounter with the Ninecloud golds; the fact that the Path of Celestial Radiance could reflect—admittedly, incomplete—versions of the technique had greatly bothered me.

Because I did not understand why. Even slightly less completed versions of the technique had proven immensely potent, easily carving through even Truegold-level version of the Tidewalker’s Enforcer technique, which thanks to the library’s archives, I now knew was called the Maelstrom Hide.

Which, as I had suspected, genuinely was a technique that had originated from the natural techniques of deep-diving sacred sharks, only to later be weaponized. But, that had represented only a brief distraction from my research.

It had started off as a miniaturized Solar Flare, but now, after countless iterations of refinements, it was becoming something else entirely. The Solar Flare was a technique along the lines of an incineration blast, with a heavy emphasis on heat and light, and only enough force and sword madra to contain and direct the technique. 

But I was beginning to find that the… FDL… was best executed with a slightly different ratio of madra aspects; a higher emphasis on force and sword, namely; a higher ratio of those aspects was needed to contain the relatively smaller—and massively pressurized—heat and light aspects and direct it towards the target.

But it was because of this that I found myself hitting a bottleneck with improving the technique.

The Striker technique’s penetration factor, or more specifically, its sheer killing ability was by far the best of my sacred arts. But I felt that the technique could be improved over what it was; much, much improved. 

And that was because my tests were showing that the technique more or less fizzled out on its own after a range of only eighty meters; and by the thirty meter mark, the technique was losing somewhere around fourteen percent of its power. The losses up to that point were strictly linear; but afterwards, they became exponential, with a final cascade failure at the eighty-five meter mark. I could not make it go further, no matter what combination of madra aspects I tried.

My Solar Flare, on the other hand, could go for half a mile or more even at Lowgold. I honestly had no idea what the range would be now; I lacked the environment, let alone the space that would allow for proper testing.

In short, massive inefficiencies remained within the technique. And I had a suspicion of why that was.

As I pondered the problem, I realized that the problem was my sword madra.

Out of my madra aspects - fire, light, force, sword - sword had long been the aspect I had most neglected. I needed a way to… refine my ability to project sword madra, a better way to shape and control it.

I found Yerin not long after.

“What do you want, Sky?” Yerin immediately asked once I wandered into her sphere of aggro while she cycled sword aura from a variety of different cycling swords I had brought along for her in my void key. They were planted on the ground around her in a circle, like the world’s sharpest cage. Despite their presence, there was almost no thickness of sword aura in the air. The Spirit Well allowed her to process vast amounts of aura, too fast for it to build up in the environment, even.

“Answer me a problem. If you wanted to give something very, very small the same kind of cutting power as your Endless Sword or your Rippling Sword, how would you do it?”

“How small?”

“Like, a sewing needle, or even smaller.”

“What does the technique look like?”

I showed her the laser by firing it at the ceiling.

Yerin stared at the floor, hand on her chin. “I’d contend my master would have been better for this problem than me. He made his entire Path by cutting the impossible. Me? I just swing my sword as far as it can take me.” 

Yerin held up a hand, scowling, irritation on her face. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help. Just let me think.”

I could almost see the gears in her head churning. Finally, she spoke, “Sword, force, light, fire. You sure know how to pick  ‘em,” Yerin said, “Can’t make things nice and easy. The way I see it, you still gotta charge it, no matter how you slice it. Sword madra wants to move, but all that energy wants to stay in one place and grow. That’s a riddle and a half, true. Charge and move at the same time, then?” she shrugged.

Charge… and move?

“Way I see it, you gotta find a nice round coil of channels and just… push through, over and over again, charging, but also moving. Sword madra wants to move. Force, too. But force builds up the more it moves. Principle of momentum’s what they call it. Light stays still until it shoots out, fast as can be, but you can still add to the power even as it moves. Fire? Well, that’s easy. It grows more powerful the longer you wait and charge, just ask Lindon. But if you want to make it as thin as possible, find a bunch of those coils, charge the technique through those coils together, and when you’re done charging, release it all along one channel. Like you’re popping a tiny hole in a giant bathtub. For more range, you gotta feed it madra. No getting around that one. The technique might be thirstier for madra than your usual Striker technique, but there’s no getting around that either. Not until you master it.”

I could see the sense in her words. Her theory of madra control was spoken quite plainly, but it was no less accurate. What was more, it touched on exactly the problems that I was facing, without any regard for lengthy context or preamble. She just cut right into the heart of the matter.

That’s a Sage’s disciple for you. She was not only knowledgeable, but she knew how to convert that knowledge into instruction, a skill that I hadn’t even begun to master during my time in the College.

“Thank you, Yerin,” I said.

“The spiritual channel’s important,” Yerin continued, “But there’s also the physical channel. Where the technique comes out. You use your spear, and I can see why. Makes sense. Still feels like that long a channel might just be what’s making you waste madra, and is making you lose out on range. Try using your body a little. Start from nothing before you go on involving weapons. Might make things harder for you, but you’ll understand easier how the whole technique hangs together.” I nodded intently as she spoke. Then her pensive expression flattened and she threw her hands to her side. “But burn my ash to soul if I know anything more than just that.”

“That’s more than enough for a start,” I said with a grin. “Thank you, really.”

Yerin’s pensive frown intensified. She didn’t acknowledge my words. Instead, she just kept thinking. “The world doesn’t—bleed me, what was it?”

I turned around. “Yerin?”

She seemed frustrated. Not with me, but with herself. She paced back and forth, dragging her hand down her face, as if trying to remember something. Then she reached her hand out and took a sip of water out of one of my jugs. 

I eyed the thing, one of the few dozen spirit wine containers I’d bought from Naru Tobi and Blackflame’s Gold Wing Bank, with a bit of a snide thought. Did I ever hear a thank you for those, Yerin? Even one? No? You’re welcome.

Not that I had the bravery to say that anywhere near Yerin.

“Right, now I’ve got it. My master sometimes said something, but looking back on it, he mostly said it when working around fine things, small things. Like when he was teaching me how to forge a Hidden Sword, and making it last for an entire night. He said, the world doesn’t want to be cut.

“The time I best remember was six or seven years ago, when some Archlord ‘weald king’—whatever that means—on Everwood hired him to clear out a disaster area, a restricted zone filled with a plague of sacred termites. They were a sort of spiritual collective, a bunch of them in the thousands all gathered up, and they all were supposed to be at least Underlord level. The biggest of the things couldn’t have been a hair bigger than my littlest toenail, but they could strip a Lord-level dragon to the bone in seconds. They moved over the land like the ugliest tide you ever saw, and also gave off a nasty aura of plague, so no one under Lord could get within half a mile of the collective without croaking. My master actually struggled to wipe them out. He tried once, didn’t manage much other than annoy them off and make them start glowing ugly. Then he beat the hastiest retreat you ever saw, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck the entire while, and spent all night thinking before he went back the next day and finished the job.”

Holy shit. The Sword Sage, that madman, was bringing Yerin to spectate something like that as, what, a Jade? This sounded like a plague out of legends. I could only boggle as Yerin continued. 

“The ‘weald king’ gave my master his reward, some ancient thousand year old sword or another, hosted fifty different parades in his honor, named a holiday after him, whatever. But what my master told me after was, he wasn’t having problems with cutting the spirits, but with cutting the world between him and them. Was a mystery and a half for me for a long time after, until I realized he meant the aura they were giving off.”

Ah, shit. I’m an idiot. Of course. I should have seen this coming. 

Vital aura is corrosive, eroding. Like salt in the oceans. It was why scripts failed over time, why long distance communication was next to impossible. 

This property of ambient corrosion was hardly relevant to most Gold-level sacred arts because they tended to be blunt in nature, larger in scale. It was like how air resistance didn’t have a damn bit of effect on the path of a bowling ball, but made all the difference in the path of a hummingbird. 

Of course sacred arts techniques with low volume would have this problem. Techniques that were regularly practiced in the Gold stage with anything approaching this level of fineness tended to have Ruler components, to compensate. It would act as shielding from the corrosive vital aura. But those methods sacrificed power for finesse, which was precisely what I didn’t want. Also, my Path didn’t and effectively couldn’t have any Ruler techniques, not unless I carried around four different aspects of natural treasures.

There were ways around that, of course, but for now all I had to show for those efforts were a paltry trick in the form of manifesting my Starseed, which at the moment could only blind targets with its radiance.

My control over it was nonexistent, and that wouldn’t change until Underlord. There was no way that I would try my hand at manipulating Lord-level madra until then. That sounded like a rather messy way to die.

A lot of things, it seemed, would have to wait until Underlord. And I suspected that this, too, would be one of them.

“How did your master end up killing the termites?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

Yerin shrugged. “He started using soulfire. Lots of it.”

Of course. Constructs and scripts created with a touch of soulfire had a level of permanence that far eclipsed those of the Gold stage. A script empowered by a freshly minted Underlord-level scriptor could last hundreds of times longer than one empowered by a peak Truegold, especially if they used soulfire. This was a known phenomena, and I should have thought of it.

Meaning that madra supply wasn’t necessarily the bottleneck of the Deadly Laser’s range, but the technique’s actual resiliency. There were ways I could partially compensate for this—take my own advice and work on the technique’s textural boundary, for one, which Yerin’s sword aspect advice should be a huge help with—but this meant that my new technique would only start showing its real chops in the Lord stage, especially if I wanted to get fancy with it and start using it at long ranges. 

And that wasn’t even mentioning how I needed a spiritual binding to resolve the problems of efficiency and channeling.

“Thank you, Yerin,” I bowed my head. “One last question. If you train day and night, how long does it take to form a binding around a new technique?”

Yerin gave me a mirthless grin. “A year or two, at least.”

Shit.

“There are treasures that can do it in a blink,” Yerin said idly, giving me a side-eye. “Down to just a few days. They aren’t common, but they’re out there. Certain mushrooms and such, and as I saw it, changeling spirits like to hang around them. Some sects will make bonfires out of the mushrooms and make their core disciples dance in the fumes, then practice their sacred arts until they drop. Or just smoke them. Mushrooms that make the mind and spirit more… flexible. And it seems to me like Northstrider liked to experiment with spirits.”

Was Yerin saying what I thought she was saying? I found myself laughing to meet her grin. “Got it. We’ll just have to keep an eye out. Any more pearls of wisdom?”

She shrugged and pursed her lips. “I contend I’m fresh out.”

“Still, I appreciate your insights. There are times I forget you were a Sage’s disciple, but you really are the real deal, you know. Stand proud.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving her hand, “Heard that line more times than I can count from people stronger than you. Don’t have to butter me up.”

“My acknowledgment doesn’t count for much, then.”

“You mean the acknowledgment of a Highgold raised in a backwater empire where the strongest in the lands is an Overlord?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then I closed it. “You know what—you’re right. I can’t even argue against that. Well, this was a fine chat, but we’ve got work to do. Talk to you later?”

She seemed slightly sullen as she nodded. She couldn’t have been upset that I was leaving, right? Absolutely no chance of that. 

Was it that she wasn’t of more help?

No, that couldn’t be it. She didn’t care that much about my progress. Besides, she gave me the insight of a Sage. Most would consider that enough help for a lifetime.

Couldn’t be the enemies we just discussed either. Maybe it was that Redmoon Hall cultist?

“You see that cultist at the Life Well?” I asked Yerin. She looked up at me with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah… and?”

I folded my arms, feeling a little defensive at her sudden scrutiny. “Nothing. You just seem a little down. You want to talk about it?”

“I want that like a knife in my belly,” she muttered. She hesitated for a moment, but continued, “Met her, fought her. Didn’t need to, though. She… wasn’t my enemy. I decided that for myself, and ended up wasting valuable time.”

“You attacked her first?” I asked, and she nodded. “She might have attacked you first, too,” I said, “If given the chance. She seems to have this obsessive notion that every stranger she meets works under some kind of archnemesis that she has named Anagi. No idea who he is, but she sure does hate him.”

“Caught a mouthful of those accusations, true,” Yerin said with a frown, “She’s chipped in the head, but… seems like an alright sort, despite looking like she haunts Remnants for sport.”

“She’s still alive,” I said, “And so are you. Everything worked out.”

“Didn’t say it didn’t,” Yerin said.

Well, then, if it wasn’t Yan Shoumei, then what could it be?

Ruby, probably.

But I’d rather not get punched in the mouth bringing that up. The only person who could safely bring up that topic was… “You talked to Lindon today?”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “I contend I might have. Or maybe not. Why?”

I just shrugged, but I didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know if I should bother him,” Yerin said with a roll of her eyes as she looked at the ground. “He might be wondering how the weather is like in Ninecloud.”

Um.

Okay.

“Because you actually believe he’d run away with those two psychopaths,” I said with a tilt of my head. “Come on, girl. Are you crazy? He’d never leave us behind.”

“He’d be chipped not to,” Yerin said. “I might have taken that shot. I wouldn’t have married anyone for it, true, but getting a free invite to a Monarch faction is the sort of thing every sacred artist dreams about. Even if it’s the most podunk, distant branch family, that’s still a sackful of diamonds compared to getting stronger in this Blackflame corner of nowhere. Even worse is, bet my soul they’re not just some distant branch house brats. Just can’t see it.”

No, probably not.

But.

I dragged my hand down my face, and tried my best to suppress any laughter. 

This was just too cute.

“Well, even if he does leave, at least you’ll have me,” I said with a sunny grin. For a moment, her expression morphed into a genuinely crestfallen one, but she schooled her expression quite quickly. That made me feel guilty for even making the joke. “But he won’t,” I quickly reassured her, “I’ll kill him myself if he does.”

She raised an eyebrow at me and gave me a half-grin. “You contend you can?”

I shrugged. “Would be fun to try.”

000

On the day that Lindon had reached Highgold, he could, as Sky had termed it, ‘dead lift’ Orthos’ entire form with some difficulty, using only his Iron body.

The next day, he could do it with far less difficulty, and repeatedly. Ten times before he got tired, in fact.

On the fourth day, he could press Orthos’ body over himself with only his arms while he laid supine on the ground.

On the seventh day, he could replicate Yerin’s feat of lifting Orthos’ shell over his shoulders, while all his friends were seated on top.

The Silverfang Carp became less and less difficult for his body to process, until they basically did nothing at all for him. That was when he decided to join Yerin in her Diamondscale Sea Drake diet, the only Ghostwater fish meat that could actually provide Yerin the same numbing effect that everyone else got, as well as some strengthening effects.

Yerin would eat an entire steak of Sea Drake totally raw, and then sit cross-legged, bonelessly, for an hour to process the blood essence.

One mouthful of it had knocked Lindon out for six hours on his back, making him look dead to the world.

“That’s one strong Iron body she’s got,” Dross had said in his head, having observed Yerin’s smoother recovery as he did, “Clearly built for strength. You definitely can’t compete.”

Lindon didn’t need to be told that to accept it for the truth that it was.

Lindon couldn’t compete… as he was.

Orthos had said that this meat would provide him with more benefits at his level of advancement than a Lord would receive, so he didn’t squander this opportunity at all. He remembered when the Silverfang Carp was difficult to process, and with time and effort, he had turned it into a rather trivial exercise. This would be the same.

He said as much to Sky as they passed by each other in the facility, giving each other a rare update on their actions and pursuits.

“I admire the baseless confidence. You and Sky seem to share a lot of that, only his seems far less baseless. Far more based. Is that a word? Based?”

Lindon was beginning to grow rather weary of this sentient construct’s inexplicable fascination with Sky. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to compliment Sky or lament Lindon’s own shortcomings. It was beginning to get quite tiresome.

“I’m probably wasting my time,” Sky said, looking at the ground bashfully. “I could be adding more hours into looking at dream tablets useful in the short term, or maybe just adding more hours into processing Spirit Well water, but…” he chewed on his lips, looking off into some distance. “I think this will help me. At some point. I might be biting off more than I can chew.”

“What is it you’re doing?” Lindon asked.

“Trying my hardest to read Archlord dream tablets,” Sky said with a self-deprecating grin.

Lindon frowned at that. “Why?” Lindon had tried out an Overlord dream tablet once, and it had left him on the floor, insensate. Since then, he only ever went for Underlord tablets and below. He couldn’t imagine going for an Archlord tablet, and even know it boggled his mind that he had been able to handle the Script Lord’s musings. That man had clearly been an exception, however.

“I don’t think my difficulties have as much to do with a low advancement level as it does some other factor. A factor that I’m convinced I can control,” Sky tapped his foot as he looked over Lindon’s shoulder, at some distant tablet shelf. He looked like a man possessed by a demon that hungered for knowledge. “In the end, it all boils down to willpower. I haven’t gotten much out of those tablets, certainly nothing that has helped me improve right now, but I know I’ll find something special if I keep digging.”

Lindon hesitated. “Perhaps it would be better to focus on what can help you improve right now, in that case?”

Sky nodded. “Perhaps. Anyway, have you talked to Yerin?”

“Every day,” Lindon asked, brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Do it again,” Sky said, “And then not just about the sacred arts. You both need a break. Anyway, I’ve gotta catch up on eating some carp. Talk to you later.”

Then Sky just walked off.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t actually said a word to Yerin today. Most days, they would just exchange a couple of sentences as they were each constantly focused on their training. The Dream Well water gave them total concentration for days on end, allowing them to forego all rest and breaks. It was a miraculous training aide, and Lindon thanked the heavens every day for being given this opportunity.

Yerin was in a corner, practicing her sword skills. Ruby was out, a rather rare occasion, and they were both sparring against each other. To no one’s surprise, Ruby was being crushed. Each exchange, Yerin pushed the blood spirit back further and further. Their strength difference was clear to see, but… Ruby wasn’t exactly trailing behind when it came to skill. In fact, if Lindon wasn’t mistaken, Ruby seemed almost exactly as skilled as Yerin was.

It was just harder to tell past their strength difference.

Abruptly, Ruby slammed her blood sword into her hilt and folded her arms, expression sullen. “I’m hungry,” she rasped. She no longer sounded like a nightmarish figment. Just someone that had suffered a rather serious throat injury, someone deserving of pity. “Give me fish.”

“And let you start looking like carp?” Yerin asked incredulously. “That’s what you want to be? A fish woman?”

“Not how it works,” Ruby frowned. “I just want to eat it. Won’t look different.”

“You don’t need to eat,” Yerin insisted, “You have enough Spirit Well water to drown a family, or whatever it is you’re itching to do when my back is turned. And you drank the Life Well water too, even though we’re not exactly bursting with rivers of it. Now you want more?”

Ruby looked down on the ground, drawing circles with her foot as she cradled her stomach with her hand. “It hurts.”

Lindon’s heart clenched at that, and it seemed to stir something in Yerin too. She sighed and tilted her head at where they kept the net of carp. “Step careful around the hunter, and give him respect, or I won’t hold him to it if he cuts you in half.”

Ruby’s expression lit up in glee as she darted away, past Lindon. He did catch the blood spirit give him a delighted grin as she passed by, and away, leaving him with Yerin. 

Lindon picked his words carefully—as always when the matter of her Blood Shadow came up.

That was, by not addressing it at all.

“How is your advancement?” Lindon asked, like he did every day.

“Truegold’s a wider river than I’d first contended,” Yerin admitted, “Won’t see myself knocking on a wall for at least another month.” She looked over his shoulder, to where Ruby likely was. “More strength might be a gem and a half for her. Can’t tell a hair of difference between our skill, but I’m only ahead because she’s weaker.” Mentally, Lindon enjoyed that his deduction had been correct. Everything seemed easier to intuit and understand while he was under the effects of the Dream Well water.

“But you trust her enough to get stronger?” Lindon asked carefully.

Yerin frowned and shrugged. “Don’t contend I have much of a choice at this step. Least the Dream Well water’s keeping my edge sharper than a cycling sword, and I’m not giving myself any hours of sleep so she could stab me in the back. Can’t go on forever, though. At some point, I’ve gotta trust her.”

She closed her eyes with a wince. “Didn’t tell you this before, but… some things went down at the Life Well. I saw a Redmoon Hall cultist.” Yerin then told him about how she seemed not only reasonable, but actively righteous. She had even risked her own life to save the facility from a Lord-level beast, saving the lives of people that she was in active competition with.

And if she was to be believed, then she was the guardian of an entire city.

“I drew swords on her because of her colors,” Yerin said, “Almost let Orthos die because of how angry I was. Now, every turn I take, it’s like the world’s shoving in my face how evil I am for having problems about all this. Problems with that cultist, and now… Ruby, I suppose.” She grimaced.

“You’ll make the right choice,” Lindon said to Yerin with all the faith he had in his heart. Yerin was many things, but evil was not one of them. She might seem a little rough to those who didn’t know her, but Lindon could genuinely not point to any sacred artists as pure of heart as she was. Lindon walked up closer to her, so they were only two feet apart. “You always do.”

Yerin looked up at Lindon with wide eyes, and gave an uneasy chuckle. “You contend I’d ever turn over a new leaf and become a cultist the way I’m getting sweet on that parasite?”

Lindon cracked a grin, “If you did, they’d be turning their leaves over for you soon enough.”

“Might be that I could learn under another Sage,” Yerin said, snorting, though it was clear that the words disgusted even her, “Yeah, there’s not a snowball’s chance in the desert of that.” She folded her arms and looked down at the ground contemplatively. Then she looked unsurely at him. “Seems to me like you’ve got your own pick of options, though. Ninecloud’s not a bad place to learn more sacred arts.”

Lindon immediately looked away, reddening. “What do you mean by that?”

“You could do worse than getting scouted by a Monarch faction,” Yerin said, her voice low. “Most sacred artists would give up a whole pile of limbs for the chance.”

Lindon steeled his voice and returned to look at Yerin. “I have no intention of leaving with them. Or leaving you—and the rest,” he hastily added, “Behind.” 

Yerin blinked. Then she cracked a grin, and punched him on his shoulder. The motion was playful, but the impact was all but. Had she just broken something? That felt like a break. Was she angry? “Just pulling your chain, Lindon. All this hard work just got me itching for a laugh. Hahahah!”

Lindon chuckled a little at that, cycling madra to his shoulder to heal the injury. “Hahah, I see,” Lindon chuckled. She probably just lost control over her newfound strength. Nothing serious.

“Who would want those prissy twins anyway?” Yerin asked with an even harder laugh.

“I mean,” Lindon shrugged with a grin, “They did try to kill us. Pardon, but I would not call that a good first impression.”

Yerin laughed even harder now. Lindon laughed along nervously, hoping he would eventually realize what was so funny. He honestly had not given that ridiculous offer any more thought since it was given to him. Certainly, the idea of going to the Ninecloud Court, getting closer to the home of that child Monarch he had seen in that vision so long ago, had enticed him from time to time. The sheer breadth of opportunities that a Monarch’s faction could offer him was beyond his imagination. 

Some memories could never be forgotten. They were engraved into the bones of his soul. Such as the home of the Ninecloud Court, which Suriel herself had deemed one of the most powerful places in the world. At the time, the heavenly messenger had told him that reaching that place was impossible with the strength he held, by any interpretation of his Fate. And now… he was getting stronger. And if this was an actual path there…

There was some temptation in him, Lindon knew. But if getting there required that he marry those two women, he would say no in a heartbeat. He could not see himself being able to convince them to take all of his group, especially if he turned down their proposal. And if he could not take his group with him, then what was even worth considering in the offer?

The potential for unimaginable power opened a hole in Lindon’s soul that wanted to be filled, like a hunger but for the spiritual. It had something in common with the spiritual impression that his prosthetic arm always gave him.

He wanted power.

But he did not want to leave anyone behind. Even if he felt tempted by the offer of joining a Monarch faction—although definitely not joining the Sha family—, he knew that the price was not something he was ever capable of paying.

And that was not such a bad thing.

Then again, Yerin did say that she had just been joking about this line of questioning. Perhaps he was just overthinking things? It was a strange sort of joke that didn’t at all fit her personality, and was probably more at home with Sky’s twisted sense of humor. Come to think of it, Sky had suggested that he talk to her. Was this just some kind of elaborate prank?

Because she couldn’t honestly have thought that Lindon had been considering the offer, could she?

And why did that thought… bother him so much?

He mentally shook those thoughts out of his head, and felt some sort of unseen barrier between himself and Yerin fall away. The tension of training, most likely. They had been so focused on advancement that they had forgotten to check on each other personally.

Exchange… jokes.

At some point, Lindon's laughs did turn sincere. He was happy. He was advancing with the rest of his friends, now finally back on the same stage as Sky. Orthos was alive and healthy. Yerin was still by his side, and was beginning to master the Blood Shadow after a lifetime of being haunted by it. 

There were more trials ahead, of course. He still had to complete the Grand Work, turn Dross into something truly amazing, and Sky, too, would have to cross the hurdle that was the Blood Shadow he was cultivating.

Lindon had no doubt that they would all come out of this pocket world stronger than ever before. And that thought never ceased to put a smile on his face and a dash of good cheer in his heart.

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As always, special thanks go to the patrons that provided spelling and grammar suggestions, and Coldbringer for multiplying the length of this chapter by two and a half XD I'm happy with how it turned out.