《Bleed To The Very End - [Grimdark Blood Power Progression Fantasy]》


 Chapter 1 - Red Sky, Black Cloud

    "Leader! Kiran and Osias escaped the net. They left the range of my Blood Hunt¡­ they made it safely and unnoticed."


    "Good, good. I''ll finish the inheritance ritual now.¡± A solemn old voice sounded.


    It was difficult. Difficult, but necessary, he thought. At the very least, the Band won''t be completely wiped out.


    Garm was the leader of the Red Sky, a band of blood-born. He found himself addressing the band in its entirety, barring the strongest of his Blood Warriors ¡ª they manned the walls outside of their Great Mountain.


    Such an unfamiliar feeling it was¡­ he felt weak. Once proud and unyielding, he was now wearied by the duties of leadership and the relentless onslaught of their foes upon his rise. But he could not allow himself to appear as so ¡ª those born of blood did not feel weakness so easily.


    Every eye in the grand open hall was fixed on him, waiting. Old seniors, shrunken and wrinkled, too weak to climb stairs, with only a few wisps of white hair left. Frail mothers clutched and embraced their young children, some infants, tightly against the safety of their bosoms. Everyone, all collected and rounded from the outer reaches of their lands together into their Great Mountain.


    Slowly, Garm struggled to his feet, pushing himself up from his seat with the remaining strength left in his arms. He did his best to ignore the pain and agony; it was no moment to let them see his weakness. He couldn''t allow it as the leader of these people in their final moments.


    "You all know of it ¡ª our choice. The Three Factions, the lot of them banded together. We tried, but we faced a dead end, front and back." He addressed them all, his voice tinged with regret.


    ¡°... I¡¯ll get on with it.¡± He added and the air suddenly shifted.


    An ominous wind howled and resonated throughout the grand hall, reaching as far as the ends of the walls that enclosed the Great Mountain.


    "I¡¯m sorry, everyone. I was conceited¡­ impatient." Garm continued.


    The bulk of the Red Sky were the families of the Blood Warriors, the same people before him. It was a choice born of desperation, a final gambit to stave off complete annihilation ¨C they chose to save their successors.


    The choice of their successors led to a pair of brothers. The older brother was already named the heir to inherit Garm¡¯s mantle long before the band¡¯s anticipated demise ¡ª a young man who was knowledgeable, strong, and indomitable beyond his years. The younger one¡­ Garm and the other elders were against saving him, but the true heir was adamant about his younger kin¡¯s survival.


    ¡®They don¡¯t know if the band will live but¡­¡¯ Garm thought as his eyes scoured the tens of thousands before him and his council of elders, eventually landing his eyes on the extensive and vast crimson-red array that lined the hall.


    It was a ritual, an inheritance that he developed. It bespoke of cruelty, made to forcibly obtain blood essence from all these people.


    ¡­It was grueling to prepare and form. Upon being informed of the approaching armies headed for the band¡¯s Great Mountain, Garm abandoned all pretenses of the band¡¯s survival, throwing all his efforts into this grand inheritance. An unfathomable amount of resources were poured into this endeavor.


    The Blood Warriors of the Band sacrificed vast amounts of their blood essence to create the necessary components for the great ritual. Using this, Garm along with fitting elders, engraved upon the walls that surrounded their Great Mountain.


    Red sigils and markings¡­


    The band will be sacrificed to these red markings. He refused for their lives to be wasted, to be trampled upon by an army too strong to fight.


    His people''s strength, wills, dreams, desires, and their very lives will be wrested.


    The elders, women, children, and infants were all included. None was to be spared in this inheritance.


    It was a cruel ritual, a slaughter in a different light.


    But if they were to either die or live a life worse than death, then the choice to sacrifice themselves was clear. He will not allow his people to be slaughtered by steel, or enslaved by the masses.


    Every little bit of blood essence they can scrape from the band will be collected, Garm himself included.


    "I''ll begin now," Garm rasped out, the markings activated and primed¡­ they pulsed with hunger. He gestured to a trusted elder to his right, and without warning, the land beneath their feet quaked.


    The entirety of the Red Sky was amassed within this array. But he wasn¡¯t satisfied, his seething spite for the Three Factions cannot end even with this.


    The trusted elder sent a message to the Blood Warriors who mounted the wall, fighting as they delayed the armies from approaching their Great Mountain ¡ª to open the gates, and let the cowardly rabble flood into their walls.


    As Garm looked over the tens of thousands before him, he accepted the finality of everything, as he too was on the cusp of his long life.


    He took notice of it. The Three Faction army was flooding in. His Blood Warriors fell one by one, slaughtered as the army slowly advanced toward the grand hall in the center of the Great Mountain.


    ''It''ll be a painful end. Blood essence will be forcefully extracted from their vessels while they¡¯re still alive ¡ª essence that has seeped into their very skin, muscles, and bones... Perhaps it is fitting for us. For all we¡¯ve done.'' Garm thought to himself.


    Begrudgingly, he salvaged his remaining vigor as his wispy grey hair blew in the winds of their demise:


    "Life? Death? We will live through the two brothers! Kiran and Osias will carry our will!" Garm bellowed out dauntlessly with a proud cadence as if he too was swayed by his own words.


    With each labored breath, tendrils of exhaustion wrapped taut around his heart, squeezing out the fragments of peace he desperately sought. His shoulders slumped under the crushing pressure of the mass ritual. His fierce will was etched into every line on his aged face.


    A pool of lamentation swirled in his eyes, along with madness.


    And in one final breath, Garm loudly bellowed out his last words:


    "Death is not the end for us! Your lives are not wasted! Kiran! Osias! Live and prove our Path!" The coarse words escaped his lips like a whispered confession to the unforgiving heavens.


    At once, the wails of tens of thousands of his people amassed within the great array sounded. Beyond the grand hall¡¯s reach, the remaining Blood Warriors and even the enemies who have breached their gates joined them in agony and death.


    The wretched cries of the Red Sky and their enemies alike filled the Great Mountain in a cacophony of anguish¡­


    What was remembered as a great victory for the Three Factions ending the Century of Blood was prologued by a tragedy.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Quiet,¡± A hoarse voice said.


    In the black of night, a pair swiftly traversed through the pool of shadow cast by the wet crowns of trees. Steep rains sounded, softly broken by light strides.


    They made an unusual pairing. A hulking stalwart figure, twice the size of any other man, roughly carried the smaller of the pair.


    Fashioned in loose black garments, a weathered cloak that draped from shoulders to feet. The stars dimly lit their surroundings, revealing a rugged face that might have been chipped from flint and was adorned with two deeply set eyes. His eyes could be said the same as well, both black and sharp as it painfully edged into a harsh scowl.


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    He was armed with a massive spear in one hand and a boy in another as they arrived at an obscure location, hidden within the stony embraces of the foothills below an unnamed mountain.


    It was the few mountains on the outer reaches of the land conquered by the Red Sky ¡ª one that held little to no use in their hapless conquest.


    Kiran, the elder brother, the Band of the Red Sky¡¯s blood-born heir routed and made it to this hidden outpost after wearily scouting out for possible pursuers.


    Resting against a low fire, a narrow and high chute directed the short smokes outside this small cavernous outpost. Osias, his younger brother, joined him. Asleep, perhaps languished by the fall of the band.


    Kiran sighed wistfully as he knelt beside the small flickering fire. The relief, fury, and sorrow lingered in the air as he loosely clutched his wet cloak and spear ¡ª his last remembrances of the Red Sky.


    The flames danced before him, warming his sleeping brother as he gazed into it.


    Kiran had escaped relentlessly on foot under the clouded skies. He followed an arranged trail as instructed by both Garm and the elders. He understood well¡­ it was futile for them to fight against such an army. It¡¯ll be nothing more than an unavailing final stand as their families were slaughtered, perhaps even enslaved by the Three Factions.


    Tailed Brothers.


    The Band of the Crest.


    And the Northern Wind Union.


    ¡®Hegemons of the Wailing Chain.¡¯ He thought to himself¡­


    His gaze was pulled into the small sleeping figure of his brother, Osias, and pondered silently.


    ¡®He must want nothing so much as to go back the way they had come, to get revenge.¡¯


    His brother was quite green after all, he probably couldn¡¯t see past what was important ¡ª to survive.


    He grumbled and sighed lowly as he stoked the fire, but suddenly, a deafening voice thundered in his mind:


    "Kiran! Osias! Live and prove our path!"


    "Band leader?" Kiran uttered as he raised his eyebrows in surprise.


    It was abrupt and booming¡­ even Osias exploded out of his sleep onto his feet, nearly tumbling on the fire. With his mouth agape and trembling with shock Osias asked:


    ¡°Brothe-¡±


    But Kiran cut him off immediately with dire haste as he realized why he heard Garm in his head:


    ¡°Osias! Brace yourself!¡±


    He knew¡­ Garm''s final message will come along with something else. Garm¡¯s ¡ª no, the entire Red Sky''s final ¡®gift¡¯ to the brothers.


    The collected blood essence of tens of thousands of both the Red Sky and their enemies alike flooded into the bodies of Kiran and Osias.


    He braced himself immediately and cursed, steeling himself as he basked in the violent surge.


    He bit down hard, gritted teeth seemingly cracked under pressure.


    But his brother wailed and screamed in pain as he gasped for air.


    It was as though he was watching his brother get stabbed and tortured with steel before his eyes, unable to do anything to help.


    Thankfully the cavern contained his brother¡¯s pained screeches¡­ He pitied him, the boy couldn¡¯t have braced himself as he was just asleep.


    The violent torrent continued.


    The forceful nature of Garm''s ritual was cruel but effective, he could feel it. Releasing blood essence into the body was a chaotic, yet common ability to those of the Path of Blood.


    It was never a steady process. While most of the blood essence was usually wasted, Garm achieved a miracle with the time he had to explore his late acquisition of power.


    After all, how can Garm waste his people''s and even his own blood essence?


    Garm''s final gift to them was an immense source of essence that continued to feed into their bodies until they took in every last drop.


    ¡­As the blood essence poured into the pair''s bodies, it eventually reached their limits. Their body¡¯s essence reservoirs were too small and couldn''t contain anymore. Osias especially due to his age and status as a mere Ordinary.


    Then disgusting red blemishes rapidly appeared throughout their bodies. Bubbled up and ruptured them bloody.


    These pockets of essence arose from this instinctive rejection, their bodies desperately redirecting the excess essence elsewhere.


    However, right before their bodies would violently burst and rupture to death, the essence collected elsewhere, saving both brothers from a dreadful death.


    Underneath Kiran''s tattered cloak, the sinewy canvas of his flesh bore tattoos that whispered of malevolence.


    Dark, intricate symbols and markings coiled around his limbs and stretched to his backside, neck, and torso, each etched with an ominous precision.


    Thin lines, sharp as blades, hinted at a history steeped in battle. Each inked marking seemed to resonate with the echoes of cruel depictions, a tapestry of their people¡¯s story woven into his very skin.


    The tattoos crawled across his chest, invoking Garm''s talents as one of the Blood Path ¡ª a leader, no less.


    The tattoos were initially a dull black lacking any luster, but now?


    The ink shone with a brilliant, but dark crimson hue.


    But Kiran wasn''t alone.


    Osias, too, had similar tattoos.


    Even more ink etched onto his skin than Kiran.


    But heedless of the new housing for the essence, the tortuous process of assimilation continued, blood essence seeping into their tattoos¡­


    ¡ª


    Within the outpost, the brothers were in perpetual agony.


    Instantaneously flooding their bodies with essence was deadly, an amount that vastly overwhelmed them ¡ª it was unnatural. Even though it was brief, quickly directed into the tattoos, they had to endure the tormenting wave¡¯s brunt.


    But even so, they too had to endure the tattoo¡¯s true assimilation with their bodies.


    The body rejected the tattoos, something so unnatural.


    Kiran lay sprawled on the ground, unable to bear the pain.


    His large frame squirmed on the earthen floor.


    It had only been a few dozen seconds since the assimilation began, yet Osias was already a half-dead husk.


    And the tattoo still needed more time to assimilate together with both the essence and body.


    He and Osias only needed to persevere until it balanced itself.


    But until then, the process cannot be stopped, Garm made sure of it. It was cruel but necessary ¡ª there was to be no waste of something so precious.


    Kiran well understood why, but Osias was just a boy. He could die from this agony!


    They can only push through it and hope they won''t die. Yet Kiran still felt a heavy knot in his throat of the guilt of living, the feeling only surpassed by the pain being inflicted on him. Kiran gritted his teeth, unable to do a thing.


    ''Band Leader... That man used dozens of talented youth throughout generations to filter through who could withstand just the etching of the tattoo. In the end, it''s just me and Osias left other than the few established warriors of the Band who got it as well¡­ but they met the same end in the inheritance.¡¯


    ¡®It was tolerable for me but Osias... I thought that if he can withstand the etching he can also withstand the assimilation, but even I can barely hold.''


    Suddenly once a minute passed, and Osias couldn''t take it anymore. His mind froze and he fainted.


    Five minutes then passed. Kiran held, barely tolerable. But Osias had begun to shake violently.


    ''No!'' Kiran''s eyes widened.


    Osias''s limbs and torso flailed wildly. His small body flailed and sounds echoed as he thrashed around.


    "Osais!" Kiran called out grudgingly.


    But Kiran couldn''t move, the essence was already running rampant and needed to settle with time.


    Time that neither the brothers had the luxury of.


    Besides, the only way to finish the assimilation process was to wait it out.


    To let the essence-seeped tattoos properly quell the body embraces it.


    "Osias! Hold on! It''ll be over soon, you just have to hold on!" Kiran shouted out to no avail.


    About thirty minutes through, the tattoo continued to be assimilated with their bodies.


    Osias stopped convulsing, but he was a bloody unmoving mess.


    Bloodied orifices coupled with bursts of ruptured flesh. The only movements his body made were the pulses of essence from the tattoo, yet each of these pulses only risked creating more ruptures.


    At the very least, Osias is still unconscious, unable to feel the torture anymore.


    ''Osias... Garm said it''ll be a slight risk for myself, but as for Osias, it''ll be a gamble if he''ll live.¡¯ Kiran darkly recalled.


    ''There wasn''t enough time. If Osias had just a few more years to grow. If Garm had enough time to perfect his skill then this wouldn''t happen¡­''


    But then, Kiran felt his essence and the tattoo finally settled. Accepted into his being ¡ª something beyond simply needling ink onto flesh, something more. Something deeper¡­


    The inheritance ritual came to an end. And Kiran''s abilities returned along with being able to use his essence.


    And in a final show, the tattoos on Kiran''s body flared brilliantly. With it, shadowy pulses traveled throughout, and with each pulse, Kiran was visibly healing. His burst vessels, his bloodied orifices, and the many ruptured pockets of flesh and blood all regenerated rapidly.


    Kiran used his First Ordeal''s ability, Blood Mend.


    ¡­Just seconds later, Kiran stood up, his body supported by his spear as he used it to weakly wobble towards Osias.


    As he made his way towards Osias, Kiran''s wounds were almost entirely healed.


    Walking closer, he whispered, a hint of solemness in his usually cold voice:


    "No..."


    Osias was alive.


    But that was it, he was just alive.


    And Kiran''s Blood Mend only heals his own wounds...

 Chapter 2 - Recovery With Closed Eyes

    The tight-quartered outposts smelt of old soot, herbs, and spoiled blood. Kiran worked tirelessly, tending to his brother¡¯s wounds.


    Cleaning and bandaging them, stopping them from festering. The outpost was barren in supplies, only holding aged rations and rusted Ordinary blades, which once again reminded him of how remote of a mountain this was¡­


    It was on the northeastern boundaries of their land, nearly sharing a border with the Outer Valleys, but far from where the wars were fought against the Tailed Brothers.


    There were thick outgrowths of forestry, and a treeline rich in Ordinary herbs. Tonight, his yields concocted a familiar blend, easing his brother¡¯s pain.


    He had a vast selection to choose and pick from, but it seemed this particular mix eased the pained face of Osias the most, so he¡¯ll continue to make it.


    But he had problems, many pressing problems.


    First was that there was a limit in treating Osias with such methods. Ordinary herbs cannot completely heal him. Osias needed a proper healer, a Path Finder of the First Ordeal would suffice.


    The second problem he had to solve was the matter of their escape. He had a choice. He was told to head far North and seek refuge in the lands under the Northern Wind Union. That was what Garm imparted him with before their embarkment. They had no place here, the Tailed Brothers wouldn¡¯t allow that. Even if the Tailed Brothers had no information about them, it only took one mistake to reveal themselves.


    They cannot live their entire lives scouring the south for refuge.


    So he had a choice ¡ª to traverse north through the inlands¡­ or the Outer Valleys, the land beyond the reach of the Three Factions.


    Kiran just frowned at the plights that lay ahead.


    Through the inland, he¡¯ll have to find a healer ¡ª also disguising themselves, something difficult with their outstanding appearances. Then they¡¯ll travel north through many borders and fortresses, undoubtedly manned by Path Finders, many of whom were much stronger than him.


    Vexing, it was¡­


    ¡®There¡¯s also that story of a time¡¯s past¡­¡¯ He thought as he considered the latter option.


    The flickering flames from an oil lantern cast dancing shadows upon Kiran''s weathered face ¡ª he was opposed to an open fire tonight.


    Against this dim light, both the scars of battle and the rugged wear etched by his time spent groomed as a successor were revealed, an aged look beyond his years plastered on his body.


    His rough-hewn hands moved with an unexpected grace as he unwound the previous day¡¯s bandages around Osias''s forearm ¡ª the limb he was least worried about as he lowered his gaze to his brother¡¯s legs.


    "Stay still, Osias," Kiran murmured, his voice a low rumble.


    Three days have passed since their¡­ assimilation. Osias was still unresponsive. Yet the pain emanating from his wounds caused his body to occasionally grimace and writhe, jolts that misled Kiran into believing he was to awake soon.


    He¡¯ll come around though, Kiran stubbornly convinced himself as he recalled the assimilation.


    For the body and mind to so earnestly reject something etched into their skin ¡ª something so foul and profane¡­ It was only natural for the mind to fall.


    Even more so, it was the Garm himself who performed both the tattoo and the ritual. His methods were cruel as they were effective. The Red Sky was a band of mercenaries, after all. Bringers of war and death in the wastelands they call home. The land demanded conflict. There were only so many resources and land to share. Engrossed in strife, the Red Sky fought many battles to claim their mountains.


    Their valleys.


    Their home.


    Men support their families and the rest of the band through violence and death. The love and attachment in their hearts only hold true for their own, anyone else is only worth as much as the fuel for their Path. And Kiran was hailed as a talent within such a band.


    So much so that the boy infront of him was still alive because of Kiran¡¯s behest.


    It was amusing in a way ¡ª the very reason that Osias was in this state was a great part of why he still lived even after the inheritance.


    Osias¡¯s essence reservoir was greater than most at his age as well as his body in more ways than just strength. Kiran has yet to feed him, nor provide water, yet he still lives¡­ Such was the Path of Blood.


    Suddenly a little somber, Kiran slowly looked around the outpost as he worked.


    It was underdeveloped and tight in its confines. Though it was reasonable in its scarceness, the Red Sky has expanded hastily in recent years. What use would it be to arm a remote outpost? They fought tirelessly, enough to carve their own seat atop the Wailing Chain, mounting everything upon this expansion. Another blade in the hands of a warrior was more fruitful than arming this place. Even as everything descended into chaos, they took advantage of it.


    However, it didn¡¯t matter anymore ¡ª the band had fallen.


    But it made him think¡­ just what if an alliance between the Three Factions hadn¡¯t formed?


    Would the band still live? He wouldn¡¯t concern himself with it, only resuming his secluded training. Though¡­ with the war for conquest, perhaps even he will be called upon, heedless of his wishes for isolation.


    Kiran sighed, more of a low groan rather. It was a useless thought, nothing but a fleeting fantasy of ¡®what if¡¯.


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    Finishing the delicate poultice pressed against the worst of the wounds, Kiran wore a scornful look as he planned ahead. They couldn¡¯t remain here for long. Soon, they¡¯ll have to depart. Head for another land, away from their enemies. He lacked information, yet he did not dare to test their luck.


    Such was reality ¡ª they were stragglers, remnants of a fallen Path.


    He had seen comrades fall, felt the precipice of life and death, and emerged from the crucible of conflict that stemmed from the Red Sky. And beneath the veneer of care, there lingered a subtle hint of malice¡ªa brooding presence in the glint of Kiran''s eyes.


    ----


    "Brother, what now?" Arslan asked.


    A heavy silence enveloped the air, broken only by the breath of the group of four.


    The two brothers, Arslan and Altan stood as the illustrious rulers of the most dominant faction, The Tailed Brothers.


    Heavy presence radiated off each of the brothers, and both were immensely powerful.


    The eldest of the two, Altan looked to be in deep thought, then peered to the figure on his right.


    Beside the pair was Borte, Matriarch of the Northern Wind Union. A composed and dignified woman she was, starkly contrasting the scenery before them.


    She too was perplexed, her deeply furrowed brow and contemplative eyes revealed her troubled thoughts with the weight of the the scene before her. The surroundings mirrored her turmoil within as she silently absorbed their findings.


    Completing the four was a meek man named Bo, anxiously pacing around. Clad in simple attire that belies his presence, Bo moves with a quiet, contemplative demeanor, his gaze reflecting the weight of the scenes that surround him.


    Bo was the representative of his absent leader, hailing from the Band of the Crest. Sent to handle their faction''s proceedings with the destruction of the Red Sky.


    "Disgusting," Altan muttered, breaking the eerie absence of both sound and life.


    "To think he''d go this to avoid destroying his legacy. A sly monster." His brother added.


    "Garm''s willingness to sacrifice everything, reeks of desperation and deceit. A warrior''s strength lies not just in martial skill but in the integrity of their path. To spare not even their own young." Borte continued, her beautiful face twisted to a scowl. She felt revolted as her eyes glazed upon the decayed body of a child clutching a larger one. ¡®A child and their mother¡­¡¯


    Arslan rose from the ground, his hand letting go of a lifeless and shriveled hand.


    ''All paths lead to snuffing the life of others, it is inevitable for someone to grow with taking from others. Such is the way of the world.'' Arslan looked over his and his brother''s temporary allies.


    ''Hypocrites. Long before we reached our strength ¡ª no, the very moment we began our Paths, we were fated to take, destroy, kill. That is set in stone. That wench and her union of scoundrels act as though they weren¡¯t headed to battle. For honor and principle to matter now¡­ when affairs are at an end?'' Arslan thought to himself. He loathed sharing the very air of his enemies. Had his elder brother not been so adamant about allying with the two other Great Factions, he¡¯d have slaughtered the wench and the representative.


    "Why would this be a problem?" He irritatedly asked out loud as he arose to his feet before adding:


    "Garm himself solved our most pressing problem ¡ª any surviving blood fiends. There was a chance that if they all resolved to break through our net with their strongest warriors on many fronts then many would have escaped."


    "Now we must only deal with the recipients of this ritual. But this leads to other problems. We lack any grasp of this grand ritual''s purpose. Who are the recipients? How many?" Arslan carried on, already thinking ahead.


    Bo raised his head for the first time and meekly objected, "Isn''t it already over? Like you said wasn''t there always a chance of people surviving this¡­ this slaughter?"


    Shaking his head, Arslan glared at the representative. Out of the four, he abhorred Bo the most, ''Out of place. A weak complacent man only of the Second Ordeal. And now a grand fool who speaks a web of stupidity.''


    "Merely your own ignorant opini¨C"


    "I second Bo''s judgment, too much innocent life has been taken, I, for one intended to spare the women and children who have yet to even begin their Path. Aside, our alliance ended with the death of Garm, " Borte interrupted him abruptly.


    "What?" He bellowed loudly, and a spasm of disdain rippled across his sharp face. For a moment, he was so angry he could not speak. He stepped across the swathe of withered corpses, towards the wench, his face dark. He snatched up a perished and sunken child from the ground and threw it at Borte in a wordless fury.


    She simply stepped to her side and dodged the flung corpse.


    "Are you blind?" he asked then, coldly threatened, "Or should I truly make you so, if the alliance has ended as you¡¯ve said?"


    But she said nothing in return, only reciprocating a cold sneer once her eyes met his own.


    ''Northern Wind Union and The Band of the Crest... worthless mongrels.'' Arslan thought as he whipped his head to his elder brother. Both other factions contributed the least in battle, fearful for their own forces after their first clash. Like fools, they underestimate a band of blood-born.


    Lucky they were ¡ª so fortunate not to share borders with these blood fiends! Even as their own forces marched beyond the red gates, only to fall victim to a mass ritual¡­ how could they not comprehend the dangers of such people strengthening whoever benefitted from this mass ritual?


    "Elder brother, it is foolish to not persist in pursuing the stragglers!" He snarled, anger edged his words.


    Silence befell the chamber as the three looked expectantly to Atlan, the eldest of the Tailed Brothers.


    His elder brother looked aloof and distant, clutching an intricate, tall carved staff ¡ª Garm¡¯s, they all recalled from the once distant view of the old blood coot.


    But then, Atlan spoke, regarding them all coldly, more specifically the two from the other factions:


    "Hatred planted in those you leave alive will pass from one generation to the next, you don¡¯t understand how fast these blood-born rose to power. I cannot risk our people''s lives in a battle for revenge.¡±


    Silence arose as he came to a decision. He didn''t say much, even during the long battle outside. Periodically casting an incredulous glance upon the remnants of the Great Mountain, he thought it was too empty, all devoid of life. No matter how he looked, death covered all corners.


    And yet, he was not foolish to leave a few seeds alive. Worse still, ones that have inherited a monstrous amount of blood essence. That amount of essence was bound to nurture dreadful foe given time, without a doubt.


    "Bo, relay to your reclusive master ¡ª the alliance has ended. The Tailed Brothers will continue the search ourselves.¡± Atlan commanded.


    Letting go of the grand crimson staff, he faced Bo with glaring eyes:


    ¡°Now, retreat your foul Crested from my lands."


    "V-very well, I will report back and detail the findings then return to my camp and sound the order to return," Bo replied with a slight bow.


    "No," Atlan dismissed curtly.


    "Do you take my brother and I for fools? The ignorant boast of their own cleverness. Do not mistake my strength as an absence of mind¡­ Your master is nothing but a sly hermit, stagnant as water rotting in a well.¡± He berated Bo, before adding:


    ¡°The rising disappearances of my people the moment the alliance was set? The moment the rags that you call warriors entered my lands?"


    Bo began to sweat profusely. He groped for words that did not come. It was not possible. Perhaps, if he was lucky he¡¯d leave alive. His eyes swept back and forth over the desolate grand hall, eager to find something to use.


    But with the pressure being emitted onto Bo, he threw away all sense of pride and prostrated deeply before the three powerhouses before him. A wise man values his neck rather than dignity ¡ª the lower the head the wiser the man¡­


    "I-I will immediately return to camp and retreat with the rest of the Crested with haste," he exclaimed, flustered as he respectfully withdrew towards his servants posted outside the Great Mountain.


    Atlan couldn¡¯t help but think of the insolent fool as a rat, scurrying away in a flurry.


    The chamber seemed to respond with an eerie stillness as the sound of Bo''s clumsy steps waned, amplifying Altan''s disdain. The flickering candles cast long shadows on the floor, accentuating the moral chasm that now yawned between the three remaining hegemons.


    "As for the Northern Wind Union..."

 Chapter 3 - Enter, Osias

    The boy''s eyes snapped open.


    He was greeted by a deep darkness that swallowed him whole. A shiver of fear coursed through his body, and his heart pounded in his chest like a frantic drumbeat.


    Panic welled up inside him as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.


    His mind raced erratically as all he could see was just black.


    He closed his eyes and reopened them, but there was no difference.


    It was just black.


    ''Where?''


    He slowly traced his memory.


    Eager to jog his memories, his head ached and throbbed.


    But it was a fruitless attempt like using a flask of water to put out a cartload of firewood.


    The boy''s initial shock began to fade. And all that was left was to find out what was happening, and where he was.


    He tried to move his limbs to feel his surroundings, but they were bound to something.


    Not only were they bound, but as the shock and confusion passed, pain welled up. He was hurt. He didn''t know how severe was his wounds, but it hurt.


    He forcefully swallowed a knot in his throat. It was painful and tears began to flow.


    His senses slowly returned aswell, and he took it all in.


    The absence of light.


    The cold bindings against his limbs and neck.


    The quiet rattles of these chains as he writhed in place.


    The metallic taste and smell that coated his mouth and nose.


    ''No... am I underground? This smell!'' an impressionable foreboding arrived as he slowly unraveled where he was.


    Suddenly a deep red light enveloped his surroundings for just a moment.


    The light was projected off the walls of this... chamber. Shape in wild and feral contours engraved upon the walls, they pulsed just once.


    As if in reciprocation, the boy''s skin scored with similar imagery and returned another pulse of light.


    The boy with his limited mobility could turn his head slightly to see his arm glow with a deep crimson light. The pain surged again as he cried out.


    And in the midst of his cries, he laid his eyes upon his lit surroundings.


    The boy understood. How couldn''t he?


    It was an unmistakably recognizable chamber the boy knew well.


    Upon his realization, no regard for his well-being remained as his legs kicked and violently thrashed. His arms viciously flailed in and heavy heaves of breath escaped his mouth as fast as they entered.


    ''It hurts. I have to go!''


    ''Why am I here?''


    ''I thought it was all over!''


    ''No!''


    ''When¡ªwhen is he going to come again?''


    ''I''m sorry. Please, please, please!''


    Why? Why was he here again?


    The boy begged to himself and whoever could be listening. Unknown to the boy, the only company in this room was the air, the ground, the workbench, and the numerous assortments of needles that adorned the walls.


    The tenebrous and obscured walls, however, were hardened and etched with a plethora of unfamiliar symbols and depictions for the boy.


    This cycle of the between pulsing walls and his own skin returning another continued endlessly.


    "Osias." an old voice suddenly cackled out as the entrance to the room was opened, light flooding in.


    The boy, Osias stammered, his voice made inaudible sounds, a cross between groans of pain and slurred speech.


    The man walked in and sealed the hatch behind him. With him, the pulsing of light upon the walls halted.


    Osias turned his neck ¡ª as much as the chained brace around it allowed him to, and glared dreadfully at the man.


    Long wispy grey hair that fell to his shoulders coupled with a loose black robe that dragged along the floor behind his slow steps towards the center of the chamber.


    The man was old ¡ª frayed and frail. But he knew that image was but an illusion.


    Wrinkled skin and his thin fingers outlined the man¡¯s bones. But they held delicate precision as if his shriveled fingers were made into meticulous knives to perform delicate tasks


    ''Band Leader!'' Osias thought, as both his body and mind were plagued with dread.


    "Now, just your feet remain. Let us begin." Garm coldly rasped out, his voice hoarse and sharp.


    Thats right. This was where Osias found himself. This familiar feeling ¡ª his last session with the Band Leader. The last of the inking. The last of the tattoos.


    He didn¡¯t say anything in response to Garm, only the rattling of his binds answered the old leader. But Garm was never concerned himself with his reservedness, it didn¡¯t matter to him.


    It only mattered that he survived, long enough to reap the fruits of his arrangements.


    Garm¡¯s leathery hands scoured atop his selection of scattered needles, old and new. Yet all were laced with the impossibly dark red, almost black ink that was etched onto his body.


    Each time Osias saw Garm take up his needle, he was sick with fright. Beads of sweat rolled off his head. An unceasing tremble of his toes and fingers, something that time alone couldn¡¯t stop even after years of repetition.


    The needles.


    The needles made Osias feel like he was to die.


    It felt like each hit of the needle pierced something beyond his skin, something that shouldn¡¯t be pierced as it left behind the dark ink.


    His mind screams at him to leave, to run, to hide, but it''s useless. He couldn¡¯t do a thing as Garm made his way to the workbench at his leisure.


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    A familiar scene, yet it was one of many. As Osias drifted through his subconscious, memories flowed and repeated themselves.


    The dark and cold room. Hidden away as the world outside moved without him¡­


    Just how much of his short life has been spent inside this chamber?


    After living through what had taken place in the darkness once again, the world seemed to collapse as Osias blinked just before the dark crimson-tipped needle punctured him.


    And then he awakened.


    Truly so this time¡­ as the enamored embrace of sunlight blinds him. Cool, fresh winds, unlike the cold drafts that made his barren and bounded body shiver alone in the dark. A pleasant natural air tinged with vigor touched his senses.


    The natural scents of the outside seemed so calming, that he simply welcomed them as he took it all in.


    As his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in environment, Osias attempted to move his limbs only to find himself tightly fastened against a¡­ chair?


    "Osias! You''re awake." Said a slightly familiar voice, tinged with indifference and inexpressiveness.


    ''Who?¡¯


    The wind drastically slowed, as his carrier stopped moving. And then he stopped seeing the world so high up as he was let down, though he couldn¡¯t see the face of the voice¡¯s source.


    But then as he turned his neck as much as he could, he found familiar wisps of long grey hair, though not as pale and light as he expected.


    His eyes peered past and into the face¡­


    ¡®Ah, it¡¯s¡­ elder brother.¡¯


    Though the surroundings still confused him, his thoughts were still slow and muddled. But he quickly responded, "Yes, I am.¡±


    And with a moment of hesitation to shake off the haze, he continued, ¡°Brother, where are we? Did we¡­ move again?"


    His brother didn¡¯t respond immediately, eventually just reaching for the bindings that fixed him against his chair.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a little more than four days since we arrived at the outpost. We couldn¡¯t stay there anymore though.¡±


    ¡®Four¡­ four days,¡¯ Osias thought, trying to recall what happened.


    "Your wounds. Ordinary care wouldn''t suffice. We need a healer, just one from the First Ordeal is enough." Kiran said as he finally set Osias free.


    "I bandaged what I could and used Ordinary medicine. But your legs..." Kiran''s words drifted as they both looked downwards.


    His legs¡­. they were covered in his dried blood. Many splotches of missing flesh, visible even past the dirtied bandages, ran down to his feet more than anywhere else on his body. Osias was like a bundle of fragile porcelain, swathed in protective cloth.


    But it was a little confusing and he responded, "It doesn''t hurt though, broth-."


    "It''s because I used herb that deadened feeling after I washed you." Kiran cut him off before adding:


    "Osias, we are in a bad area right now. But we are headed to the outskirts of the Tailed Brother''s domain, near their border. We''ll rest for a moment now that you''ve come to." explained Kiran.


    Silence hung in the air as neither one continued. He was still trying to make sense of everything as Kiran began to make camp.


    It was a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees.


    Peering above, he found it was about mid-day. Piercing blades of sunlight beamed through the thickened canopy above.


    But it felt as though he had been ruthlessly dragged across time.


    Osias sighed and began to try something.


    Loosening his grip against the bleak and plain wooden chair... carrier, he threw himself over the seat. Feeling true freedom ¡ª albeit this freedom was bootless as he was almost too weak to move.


    Weak, groggy, hungry and thirsty.


    But nevertheless, he tried.


    Unbounded and determined, Osias tried to assess his limitations.


    Pushing himself up with his hands, he hoists his legs off the wet forest floor.


    Osias cautiously attempted to move his wounded legs, testing if he could bear his own weight as he stumbled to his feet. But he was too hard as he nearly fell, clutching the thick coarse trunk of a nearby tree. This time, he supported himself, leaning against the trunk.


    Wearily bringing himself atop his feet, he tried to walk, to circle around the tree.


    But each step turned into a disappointment as he understood the boundaries of his wounds. His ruptured leg began to scream in agony, even more so than the moment he brought himself to a stand ¡ª the numbing herb had its limits he thought.


    But he reluctantly tried to push through, even if it was foolish.


    He pushed his right leg forward, feeling the skin stretch painfully around the mangled wounds, the raw flesh beneath protesting fiercely.


    A sharp intake of breath was his only concession to the pain.


    The ground beneath him was uneven, and he stumbled slightly atop a thick root, barely catching himself as a fresh wave of pain surged through him. He forced himself to take another step, then another, each one a perilous exploration of his limits.


    The tendons in his legs felt like taut rope, ready to snap at any moment, yet he continued, driven by a need to understand just how restricted his movements were.


    Osias knew that testing his leg was foolish and that pushing too hard would cause further pain, but he had no choice, he needed to find out. The brief moments since opening his eyes were almost enough to put together his situation


    The unforgiving landscape around them offered no respite, and he had to be sure of his state of body. As he made the final steps, a grim realization settled over him as he slumped to his side. It was just one circle around the tree¡­


    He would be a burden to Kiran.


    He was sure of it.


    ¡ª


    Kiran watched, appearing impassive as his mind worked. It was foolish, but he wasn¡¯t going to stop his brother from being foolhardy. He too wanted to know how Osias would fare if need be.


    ''Troublesome'' Kiran thought tersely, his neutral lips pulled into a frown.


    "Osias, enough. The first step was enough to see the extent of your wounds. Rest." He berated lowly before returning to his thoughts.


    ''The forces of the Three Factions must still be looking for remnants of the Red Sky. Although I came upon just one stray unit on the frontier, there''s bound to be more.'' He thought silently.


    ''And that''s not even including the dire need to heal Osias...''


    Glancing at Osias, Kiran contemplated his actions. The child was battered with wounds. Worst of all was his lower half, but the surge of essence from the inheritance ruptured all across his body. Open gashes stretched and loomed all over. Wounds that even a grizzled soldier would sway from.


    A morbid sight, to see a child with such wounds.


    Kiran sighed lowly.


    ''The elders warned me never to trust one of the Crested, so finding a stray Path Finder with healing capabilities in their lands isn''t plausible. The same goes for the many vassals under the Tailed Brother, much less than their main clan.¡¯


    ¡®It''ll be impossible to find a healer among them that won''t question our origins. There are many other ways to make them heal regardless, but it''ll only draw suspicion.¡¯ He thought sparingly.


    He continued to watch as Osias began to struggle back to his chair. He took occasional glances at the crawling boy, suddenly noticing something off with his brother¡¯s demeanor.


    He slightly raised his eyebrows but continued to perform maintenance on his great spear before he faced the ingenious boy who finally settled atop the creaking wooden chair.


    "Osias, what do we do?" He said quietly before adding:


    "A pair of stray vagrants. Enemies simply surround us. We know nothing. Where they are, how many of them, if they know of us, all the while we are walking atop the fingertips of the clan that caused the fall of our people. Osias, how would you proceed?" his voice was low and somber.


    He continued to serve his spear, his hands moving slowly as he awaited a response.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Osias, what do we do?" his brother¡¯s voice sounded, seemingly to care for the long silence that hung thick in his wait for a response.


    Osias paused, the ever-growing pain that stemmed all around his body increasingly numbed his mind from thinking of anything else. The herb¡¯s effects are running thin, and the searing torment replaces the absence of feeling.


    But his brother¡¯s question irked him, rightfully so. He understood his brother¡¯s meaning as he reared his head a little, right against the back of his chair.


    Why did he almost forget?


    How can he forget?


    His memories recurred, as the days past began to flow within his head. And then something inside stirred¡­


    Osias was ripped from their parents¡¯ last embrace as Kiran practically tore their mother¡¯s fingers from tightly clutching him.


    It was too fast. He knew nothing of the looming end. Right up until his father pried his hands open to entrust him with something.


    How could he forget?


    How can Osias almost forget?


    They were gone.


    Slowly anger welled up from within, scorching and deep, just like the pain that resounded from his wounds.


    It all washed down on his mind the moment Kiran opened his mouth to ask the question.


    It was just Osias and his elder brother now.


    No one was coming to save them, they were alone.


    They were only a pair of two in an entire world of enemies.


    This is their life now.


    Home is just a word, nothing more.


    His feelings were erratic. Too sudden, everything was. Then it all just boiled into disarray.


    All Osias could think was ''Why?''


    At this point, what has Osias done with his life?


    The first years of his life were a distant time, a blurry haze that lacked memories as with any toddler.


    The subsequent years were deprived. So much time was spent within the room.


    The dark room...


    Every waking moment felt impossibly long, each thought inside his mind was his only company. It was as though he grew up bounded by chains in that room. The only thing he could recall was the chamber itself like his life started in that place.


    How old was he back then? It was as if his mind was forced to learn ¡ª perceive his surroundings, to make sense of why his body was tortured.


    Osias didn''t know.


    Yet all the time spent inside the room made the time he was let outside just that much more meaningful. For it all to be stripped away from him, along with the band itself so quickly after he finally could be free of the dark chamber¡­


    Osias''s head began to ache.


    Trying to think deeply in his weakened state consumed a great deal of strength


    And to have all of this happen suddenly, and once again be tormented by the Band Leader''s actions with a final inheritance¡­


    Osias sealed his eyes tightly with a grimace.


    His chest ached and shuddered. A deep well sprouted in his throat.


    ''Why?''


    With his mind in turmoil, Kiran''s question remained unanswered for a long while as silence eclipsed their surroundings.


    All of Osias''s feelings, thoughts, and questions all blended into one word.


    ''Why?''

 Chapter 4 - To What Was and To What Will Be

    When the sun sets and darkness blankets the Wailing Chain, an almost magical transformation takes place. The moonlight and starlight cast an enchanting glow over the landscape, making it a truly captivating sight.


    Bathed under this brilliant radiance from the specks of light, Osias''s lithe body rested against his roughly fashioned chair.


    He was plastered in wounds so grim it seemed unsettling how serene and unconcerned he looked as if his wounds calmed him rather than inflicted him pain.


    His eyes wandered, and his mind pondered again and again.


    ''I want to help elder brother. Whatever he plans¡­ because I don¡¯t know what else to do.''


    When Osias came to this conclusion, the sky was bathed in this brilliant luminesce.


    That''s right, his brother. What can Osias do to help his brother?


    That was the only goal that surfaced from the blend of many emotions¡­ in the present, Osias is nothing but a weak burden.


    ¡­Night befell their camp as the hours passed, and as he sat in silence, Kiran was busy with his arrangements.


    Calm, and indomitable, Kiran turned taciturn as he worked, having hung his dark rough-spun cloak atop thick branches outside of camp earlier.


    Kiran''s upper half laid bare, and the small glimmering campfire revealed their shared past, woven into their very skin.


    He too had the same tattoos. The brothers had similar patterns traced all over.


    The style was of course the same, as Garm wielded the needles for both brothers.


    They both had the same ominous clouds of The Red Sky against their left rib that stretched to their hip along with a blend of other markings.


    Scars are traced practically everywhere on Kirans''s body, but the tattoos mask them slightly.


    Such scars could only mean that the wounds were naturally healed. Not being privy to a Path Finder who can heal, or being one themselves. But if he could recall, most among their Path didn¡¯t have scars unless they sustained them before the First Ordeal¡­


    Kiran was portioning the last of their rations. The outpost was practically barren, so it was already surprising enough to feed them their first night. It seems that starting tomorrow they¡¯ll sustain themselves with other means.


    As Kiran stoked the small fire to make Osias''s meal slightly more appetizing, Osias finally broke his long silence and responded:


    "I can undergo my First Ordeal, brother. I can get my own Blood Mend, so we won''t have to risk revealing ourselves to a healer. I¡¯ll heal myself. Then we can hide back in the outpost again for a while. They may or may not know of our survival, but if we don''t bother anyone and hide ourselves, will we be found?" Osias suggested, but he was still unsure of his answer.


    "Out of the question. It''s too early. You will die trying, but on the off chance you live, your Ordeal Ability will be weak. Do not rush your Ordeal for momentary power. I need you to be strong.¡± Kiran replied, before adding:


    ¡°We will always be one mistake from exposing ourselves if we remain. Besides, what happens when the Tailed Brothers return to expanding south? If I¡¯m forced to fight, our Path and our blood essence will be revealed.¡±


    Kiran paused once more, then continued:


    "But you''re not wrong. To have you healed requires to expose ourselves. Fortunately, any healer would do, so we¡¯ll take a gamble." Kiran continued, pouring the contents of the small pot into an improvised bowl.


    Walking over to Osias, he continued, "Osias, we have few advantages. For one, our paths can only be sensed by the scarce, but powerful Third Ordeal Path Finders. However, that is only possible under some conditions. Another is that our enemies should not know the details of the escape, none of the Crested got hold of anyone in the band ¡ª in a way, the deaths of the entire band will help us."


    Kiran spoke coldly, seemingly already past the deaths of his family and everyone else.


    "Think again, Osias. They will ponder over how many, who, and where. Their search spans the entire southern region with the fall of the band." He said placing the bowl into the cusps of Osias''s hands.


    "Careful, I left it atop the fire too long."


    "Mm."


    Then, Kiran tapped Osias''s forearm and pointed to his torso. "They also do not know of our tattoos."


    "How do the tattoos help, brother?" Osias asked between breaths as he blew air into his food.


    "They know of the flaw of our Blood Path. We cannot regain lost essence without taking from another."


    Osias was a little confused as he pondered what his brother was trying to say, "Sorry brother, I don''t understand..."


    But Kiran didn¡¯t respond, he walked away to retrieve his cloak leaving an odd silence broken by the crackles of the fire.


    The brother''s conversation felt awkward at times, especially when there wasn''t anything to distract them. After all, there was quite a disparity in their ages. He was only on his Thirteenth Moon¡­


    But most importantly, Kiran was only present in Osias''s life before he could even form thoughts.


    Once Kiran underwent his First Ordeal, Osias sparsely saw him again after that. Each time Kiran appeared before Osias and their parents, all Osias could notice was how drastically different he looked each time.


    Then Kiran underwent his Second Ordeal, eventually never showing his face again. However the same could be likened to Osias and the amount of time he spent within the dark chamber¡­


    But it was still years since the last Osias saw him before he was dragged away from the band days ago.


    What was his brother doing all that time?


    Where did he go?


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    Why did he leave?


    Who was his brother was as a... person.


    ''Ah... this is hard.'' Osias thought.


    Following the silence, Kiran began to pack their belongings in advance. After checking his spear, Kiran responded:


    "We will pick up the pace tomorrow. We will make it to a village on the outskirts of one of The Tailed Brothers'' border mountains. One of the many points of conflict between the Band and the Tailed Brothers."


    Osias, still disappointed Kiran didn''t continue on his point about their tattoos, kept listening.


    "They have to consolidate their forces in the South and stabilize their immense gain of land from our Band''s fall. I don''t know if the Three Factions will return to their feuds and battle amongst themselves, but it is likely." Kiran said, draping the once dirtied roughspun cloak over his body.


    "So the Crested and the North Wind Union are already returning to their territory?" Osias asked, thinking ahead.


    "Mm, their feuds are not so easily settled. Without an adversary like our Band, those scoundrels are mired in an unending conflict, striking at each other''s shadows." Kiran spat out.


    The forestry surrounding the duo seemed to echo his sentiments, the rustling leaves whispered with the cold wind. Even the Ordinary creatures fell silent as if reveling in reverence to something dangerous.


    ''Fighting and killing. They''re all caught in a struggle, squabbling over crumbs ¡ª while the Outer Valleys surround them. What more can you expect of the lot¡­'' Kiran darkly murmured to himself.


    The thickets surrounding this small encampment of the brothers suddenly seemed to grow even darker that night, his elder brother¡¯s hulking form silhouetted against the flickering light of their small, but dying campfire.


    Turning to him, Kiran said in a low voice, "Sleep, Osias. We''ll continue tomorrow."


    "Mm."


    ¡ª


    "Osias, our abundance in essence will make our bodies progressively stronger. Our bones, muscles, and organs are strengthened as our bodies continuously break through our essence limits. Slowly, with more essence in our reservoir, the more it¡¯ll passively seep in. This is our Blood Path, Osias. Now think of how we can use this to our advantage as we make our way North."


    ''His point from yesterday?'' Osias wondered. Though he already knew this, this was something instilled among all the youth. He saw no connection, but there had to be one.


    But Osias quickly noticed Kiran¡¯s last remark, ''Wait, north?''


    Shocked, Osias tried turning his head to talk with Kiran, "North? To the Tailed Brothers'' lands? Or the Land of the Crest?"


    Reaching behind his head, Kiran nudged Osias to keep him from overextending his neck and replied, "No. We are headed for the Northern Wind Union ¡ª the far north. No matter how long it will take. There is no place we can survive if we remain within the domain of the Tailed Brothers nor the Crested."


    "It''ll depend on what emerges from our travels, but I believe the Union would accept even people like us at that time." Kiran continued with a sly sneer.


    But a troubling thought arose in Kiran, ''If we even make it to their lands...'' but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind.


    Fully rested from a full night, the pair moves on towards the recluse inland border¡­


    The Wailing Chain is a vast cordillera, Garm who traveled most of his youth used to call it ¡®a chain of chains of mountain ranges¡¯. It extends more than nine thousand miles from the southernmost to the northernmost mountain. And this is only the ¡®inlands¡¯ of the Wailing Chain, that housed people.


    These two furthest points were connected on the Red Sky¡¯s incomplete map as if a Path Finder drew a blade from their right hip and slashed upwards to their left.


    Between these two points held tens of thousands of individual peaks resulting in the monstrously vast mountain range, each ranging from small risings to mountain peaks that pierce into the heavens themselves.


    ¡­The expansive valleys below and between the many peaks contained the bulk of the people residing in this turbulent land, the factions of powerful Path Finders claim the peaks for their own and expand below and then to other peaks. Millions upon millions called these lands their home.


    And the claims on this mountain range were disproportionately split between four factions.


    The South, The Tailed Brothers.


    The North, The Northern Wind Union.


    Pincered between the two, The Band of the Crest.


    Yet, there exist many small factions spread thinly across and within the three centers of power.


    From bandit clans, rouge mercenary bands, reclusive clans, outlawed and banished members of the Three Factions, criminal factions, swordsmen families, and many more.


    Some were independent, but most were under the Three Factions ¡ª vassals of the greater power.


    The Red Sky was once one of these small independent powers, a nomadic mercenary band that rose to prominence with the emergence of a Fourth Ordeal Path Finder. It must¡¯ve been more than a century ago if Kiran recalled correctly.


    It¡¯s been said that the first of the band underwent the most bloodshed and that today¡¯s battles are nothing in comparison¡­ of course before they all died.


    It was still hard to swallow, even for Kiran¡­


    The mountains that were previously claimed under the Red Sky were on the southernmost border of the entire Wailing Chain, forcibly usurped by the Band of the Red Sky from the Tailed Brothers, and were further expanded upon through conquering the Outer Valleys.


    A once powerful force of thousands of Blood Path Finders, headed by a mystifying patriarch with unknown powers was a dire threat. The Tailed Brothers who once pincered the Band of the Crest along with the union in the North found themselves at risk of a two-headed battle for once.


    As he recalled their brief history, Kiran found himself lamenting the decisions made by the elders and the Garm, sighing heavily at the outcome.


    ¡­But even so, who could have thought that the dread emanating from a band of blood fiends would lead to the Three Factions setting aside their feud and joining arms? Even the Northern Wind Union crossed over vast lands to aid in their demise.


    But that was a trifling matter, they needed to reach for the first border first ¡ª they themselves could not brazenly cross over such distances freely as the alliance had done so.


    Taking into account the distance, need for rests, terrain, and pace, he estimates the time it''ll take to reach the border between the Land of the Crest and the Tailed Brothers will be a month. That is if they traveled in and out of the Outer Valleys...


    The large pockets of land people have made into their own constantly expand. Factions take from others, but they also conquer unclaimed peaks and valleys amongst the vast weaves of land outside of their territories. All this unclaimed land was simply deemed the Outer Valleys.


    Land outside and unpopulated by their own.


    And these Outer Valleys surround all occupied land.


    ''The Band was too engrossed in the conflicts North. Had we expanded into the Outer Valleys...'' Kiran mused.


    Records, maps, and knowledge are all obscured and kept hidden among the Three Factions.


    As for the lesser factions, little is known about them, even the prominent ones. Even the Red Sky was an unknown faction until a few generations prior.


    Despite being bordered by the Tailed Brothers to their North and nothing but Outer Valleys to their South, the Red Sky possessed pitiful amounts of knowledge regarding the Outer Valleys. All of which came from the experiences of the band¡¯s early days with the elders and Garm in their youth. And even then, Kiran didn¡¯t know if Garm taught him all they knew.


    Suddenly he heard a muffled cough from behind him, where Osias was fastened against his back


    ''The essence in Osias''s body has subsided. His natural recovery is already leagues above an Ordinary and is only going to continue improving as his essence limits are constantly being strained and broken through, albeit slowly.¡¯ He mused to himself.


    Balling his hand into a fist, he frowned, ¡®But, natural recovery has limits, and an Ordinary is still a mortal. He can''t heal those ruptures scattered over his legs. His health will only decline as the days pass.''


    ''Anything could happen, but at least before we attempt to cross the Tailed Brother''s borders I will get him healed. Anything after that will be decided when it comes.'' He determined, before asking out loud:


    "Osias, how are your wounds? This will be the last place we can rest freely."


    "I''m fine. It''ll be better the faster we move, right? I''m fine." Osias assured curtly.


    "...Very well,"


    Emerging from the forestry with Osias in tow, Kiran sets his sights on the mountain he needs to cross. This one mountain was the furthest extent the Red Sky reached with their expansion northward before the bloodshed against the Tailed Brothers escalated.


    The mountain posed no difficulty, it was previously one of the many frontier mountains of the Red Sky. It was desolate¡­


    But Kiran was troubled with what lay beyond this frontier.


    Beyond this mountain laid the Outer Valleys.


    Untrekked land.


    Untouched from the boots of Path Finders and warriors.


    Meager amounts of knowledge of the land beyond...


    Kiran held a complicated look on his face.


    ''Fools. The lot of them. Decrepit and senile fools. The Wailing Chain was ours to claim, yet they threw it all away. Those deplorable elders...'' Kiran mused with disdain as he peered towards the mountain before him and the misty expanse beyond it.

 Chapter 5 - The Cerise Azaleas Bloom Twice

    It was too treacherous ¡ª a lone Second Ordeal no matter how strong can traverse these lands without peril. Even more so with a hindrance attached to their back.


    Kiran simply sighed as he drew his spear. Whatever was approaching was doing so quickly, an innumerable amount of steps barreling towards them, echoing off the rocks as they got closer.


    ¡­Path Beasts were Ordinary creatures that miraculously began to step upon a Path. It seemed unbelievable as they too begin as Ordinary.


    How could beasts survive an Ordeal?


    The Ordeals must be facile and effortless if mere beasts can surpass them.


    But the resulting Path Beasts were strong. Powerful beyond the measures of human Path Finders or the same level.


    So their Ordeals must be strong in turn to provide such strength, the world demands balance. It wouldn¡¯t be plausible otherwise.


    It was an old question, perhaps as old as the Wailing Chain itself. The answers to the origins of a Path Beast''s Ordeals and source of strength still remain vague.


    But regardless of their origins, the monstrous pack of Path Beasts continued to rage towards Kiran.


    Kiran''s own gaze never wavered, darting between the now revealed creatures, finally appearing in his line of sight¡ª


    Suddenly Kiran lost the grip of his spear, swifting bringing his hands to his eyes in an attempt to cover.


    They were scalding, as if the very appearance of the creatures burned them.


    "Osias, close your eyes!" Kiran bellowed, his voice echoing through the cacophony of trampling creatures.


    But just as he said so, his leg felt a scalding claw rip into his skin. He adjusted, noting where the creature attacked and he clutched his shaft tightly before viciously thrusting.


    All the while his mind raced, putting together all he knew from the brief encounter as his spear waved and moved. They all seemed to possess a harrowing ability related to sight ¡ª specifically taking the light from the eyes of their adversaries.


    It seemed the moment Kiran laid his eyes upon the appearance of one such of these Path Beasts it happened. Sight was a condition to take it away, he thought.


    But Kiran didn''t know the extent of their ability, so he was wary to open them again.


    He used Blood Mend, healing what had just ripped at his leg as he swung his massive spear in a ghastly arc.


    ''Odd. They rob my sight but do not damage the eyes, otherwise, Blood Mend would heal them. Pain without damage? ''


    Relying on his essence sense he prepared for the onslaught of the rest of the pack. Fortunately, only a straggler met him alone¡­


    Kiran''s Blood Path and its relationship with essence together with his elevated senses due to his being of the Second Ordeal allowed him to lessen the disadvantage of losing sight.


    From what Kiran was able to make up before closing his eyes, the figures of these abominable creatures were small and deformed.


    Four squat and short burly legs rushed forward carrying a bulky and stout torso.


    Each one barely reached to his knees.


    Their torso almost blended into his disproportionate head leaving no sign of a neck.


    Grotesque beasts molded by their Path, their origins of an Ordinary made unrecognizable.


    Daringly, he opened his deep-set eyes, his face twisted into a strained scowl as he waved his spear into the first of the wave.


    He ripped into their bodies and avoided their short claws with a vicious snarl that rivaled that of the very beasts he was facing before dashing to his side.


    ''First Ordeal...'' He thought as he continued keeping his distance.


    Slaying the brunt of the frenzied wave, Kiran found that the beasts'' ability to influence the vision of their enemies was abnormally strong. The pain was straining, and even if one decided to brave it, they¡¯d undeniably be distraught and distracted.


    Such abilities - even for human Path Finders usually had limits when utilized against an enemy of a higher level of Ordeal, for him to be affected¡­


    Suddenly, a handful pounced over their fallen counterparts and lashed at Kiran''s torso.


    Then several deep gashes riddled the area by his ribs, his bones exposed under his flesh.


    ''Strong!'' Kiran thought in exasperation.


    Kiran was privy to a lavish amount of essence from a young age. Partly the customary amount aided to the youth, but the rest was of him proving his strength, enough to be groomed to a successor.


    His reservoir was constantly being tested and increased slowly from his youth. His vast essence-saturated body was much more resilient and unyielding compared to the average Second Ordeal Path Finder''s body.


    Kiran was sure that amongst all Second Ordeal Path Finder''s, he alone possessed the most naturally resilient body except for those with physically augmenting Ordeal Abilities.


    For the claws of an entire pack of Path Beast, an entire level below to pierce and cut the body of Kiran was astounding, yet alarming.


    Perhaps the first one he slew could be an exception, an outlier of the pack, but for the all?


    ¡­But Kiran too possessed a harrowing ability. Each cut from his spear pulled an abnormal amount of blood. Blood followed up the shaft; to his wrists where they met his tattoos.


    Luckily this pack only possessed First Ordeal path beasts.


    Although such a pack would decimate average Path Finders of the same level in certain circumstances, Kiran was an anomaly in battle strength.


    Taking a vicious swipe from one of these beast''s claws, Kiran welcomed the blatant opening and punctured the foul creature in the center of its head.


    All this time, unbeknownst to the foul-minded beasts, each strike from their adversary''s spear viciously drew more blood than normal attacks.


    At this point, the pack was riddled with losses, and less than two dozen remained.


    They were beginning to falter and retreat, even in their frenzied state of mind they held wisps of conscious fear.


    Osias was fine, he prevented any strikes from landing on the frail child latched on his back.


    Swiping his spear in the air, Kiran began to advance.


    No longer on his backfoot and bearing the brunt of their momentum, the many bloodied slashes that littered his lower half were already closed.


    ''Although the tattoos have provided an almost boundless amount of essence, I should limit essence usage to just Blood Mend. Beasts of this level do not warrant anything more.''


    Sinking his spearhead deeply into the hind of the unfortunate beast at the pack¡¯s rear, the others began to run with more fervor.


    With the rest dispersing, Kiran was free from the battle but decided against pursuing.


    His spear was still embedded deeply into the shrieking creature, but with a quick stomp, he planted his foot atop its head and pulled out his spear.


    But with the spearhead came along an immense amount of blood, all flowing as it swirled atop the spear¡¯s shaft and into his hand.


    Within seconds the corpse was turned decrepit and shriveled into an almost grey mess.


    ¡­Without a conscious will, blood essence is more easily taken. If you don''t lock the door, the thief won''t need to break it open.


    ''This''ll make up for later¡­ is it a shame or a blessing I didn''t find a Second Ordeal beast...?''


    Quicking blinking his eyes Kiran staggered slightly as he rested.


    The effects of their ability still lingered, it seemed that the pain wouldn¡¯t wash away along with their escape.


    Even the brief moment he laid his eyes upon their bodies was enough to startle him and almost blind him.


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    Looking back on the brief battle, Kiran recalled the moment they appeared.


    Dozens of small imp-like creatures, all in a frenzied rush towards Kiran and Osias. Climbing over each other as they snarl and howl, only for the


    ''Eye contact then...''


    ''Now was it because they looked into my eyes, or did I look into one of their eyes?''


    ''If it was the former, then individually, they are less formidable than I thought. Although their ability is strong, the power of it was from the sheer number that looked into my eyes. But if it was the latter, then they are a frightening foe. Just one of such beasts is enough to force my eyes shut.''


    ''A whole Ordeal level below myself...''


    Walking over the many dead Path Beasts, Kiran stretched his bloodied hand into the gaping hole.


    A small portion of blood essence began feeding into Kiran''s hands, traveling into the tattoo that stretched to his wrists.


    The tattoo almost gave a crimson glow, as if it was beaming with glee at the absorbed blood essence.


    Suddenly Kiran strained himself, giving the slightest grimace, and a much larger stream instead traveled under Kiran''s garments, obscured from view.


    ''Are they under a pack leader of sorts? A Second¡­ or Third Ordeal Path Beast?''


    Unfortunately, although Kiran could pursue them to prevent them from possibly relaying to a stronger Path Beast, Kiran decided otherwise.


    He could only imagine the toll of testing his limits with a particularly strong Path Beast of the same Ordeal level. Especially one that possessed such an ability even stronger than that of the rabble he just fought.


    Had the site of battle changed or if the beasts were stronger than he thought, Kiran did not wish to fight in such an unfavorable state with his sight stolen.


    And if he plunged down the cliff into the misty gorge below...


    "Osias, you can open your eyes now." He said quietly as he began to continue their pace.


    "Brother! Those Path Beasts, did you finish them all?"


    "Mm."


    "I''m sorry. I can''t help."


    "You will after we reach the Heron. Think nothing of it."


    ''The Heron...'' Osias recalled.


    "Is it true that the Heron can heal me, elder brother?"


    "I don''t know. But it is the only option unless we risk making contact with people to find a Path Finder who possesses a healing ability."


    Slouching down slightly with a sigh, Osias nodded.


    Osias thought back to the story of the Path Beast.


    ''Band Leader Garm, before the forming of the Red Sky, escaped from a wild war between two small factions that no longer exist, each trying to claim more land beyond the reaches of the Tailed Brothers.''


    ''In the Outer Valleys...''


    Turning his head and weakly grasping the makeshift carrier, Osias watched the ''path'' ahead.


    The mountain had no path, road, or trail. Rugged stones and jagged risings littered everywhere they moved. This mountain didn¡¯t even have a treeline. It was desolate and barren, perhaps the thickets of forestry were below them, enveloped by the mist.


    ''The mist...'' Osias thought as he peered over the ledge to his side, gazing into the sunless mist that covered the gorge below.


    Danger loomed below and above. If a powerful Second Ordeal or even Third Ordeal Path Beast claimed the mountain peak, they were at risk of it descending upon them.


    The same goes for whatever is in the mist below, whatever was in its obscure embraces.


    ''I don''t even know how elder brother is moving forward¡­'' He thought with a sigh.


    Kiran must tread atop the rough ground below their feet and at times scale the sides of almost verticle cliffs. All the while wary of everything in all directions.


    They were alone in this mess. Creatures the likes he hadn¡¯t even seen before nor could imagine appeared.


    It has only been three days since they entered the Outer Valleys. The pack of Path Beasts was one of many they¡¯ve encountered in this time.


    And every night since then has been nearly sleepless.


    Returning to his memories of the story, ''There, Garm deserted his unit, killing them all. It was nothing more than a hastily established group of other contracted mercenaries whom he had no ties to. Garm sought to evade the two factions and head north, to start anew.''


    ''But one of the Path Finders of the unit had a powerful ability. A poison of sorts. Garm suffered for days from the coated blade. And unlike many of the Path of Blood, Garm did not have Blood Mend.''


    ''Garm gambled his odds to make it into the Heartlands of the Tailed Brothers. But he unexpectedly ran into more obstacles than he thought. And upon the brink of death, he crawled to an opening on an obscured mountain.¡¯


    ''A large pool of water seemed so out of place, but the water was clear as blue. Blinded by thirst, Garm drank from the heaven-sent pool unaware of the still heron in the center, simply resting atop the water.''


    ''The solitary heron spread its wings and straightened its neck. It was three times the height of a man and its presence demanded majesty. White feathers make up a heavenly plumage, rid of any impurities. And its golden crown invited awe. Garm said that it was as if it was untouched by the strife and violence in the world. That the opening in the mountainside was the gates to the world¡¯s sanctuary.''


    ''The Heron glanced at the young Garm. He was too weak to contest or even display suspicion, Garm accepted what was coming and closed his eyes to death¡¯s cold embrace. But then in a slight burn throughout his body, he opened his eyes only to find himself healed. A Path Beast healed him...''


    ''After resting and singing his respect for the Path Beast, Garm left the opening, never appearing before the beast again¡­''


    "Osias, the mountain we are on stretches far towards where we need to go, connecting to a small range. The end of the range is the mountain we must reach to find the Heron. There you will be healed I hope." Kiran said, returning him to reality.


    "Mm, It''ll take about another five days right elder brother?"


    Raising his eyebrows slightly in surprise at the quick reply, Kiran responded, "More or less... Did you take into account our pace?"


    "Yes, and I still remember what the Band Leader has told me of the Heron."


    "Good, well done."


    Turning back, Osias once again returned to watching their rear.


    Looking up, the sky was barren tonight. Boundless and endless, the black of night eclipsed them all, eerily so.


    But Osias had to get used to such sights. No longer was he sheltered in the confines of his home.


    Suddenly as Kiran crossed a fissure and prepared to scale the sides of a cliff, a brisk wind cut the air.


    ''Cold.'' Osias thought with a shiver.


    It was the middle of summer, yet the mountains were always cold, especially at night.


    Although he is an Ordinary, Osias''s body is much stronger than average.


    The Path of Blood is the reason for this.


    All of those born of blood were gifted with the Innate Ability of Blood Reave, even the Ordinary can absorb the blood essence of other living beings.


    ¡­However, this comes at the cost of each child born under the Path of Blood without any essence. Each infant on this Path inherits an immensely small essence reservoir. It was found in a mother who felt no drain within her womb throughout her pregnancy ¡ª the babe was stillborn, but the elders found only a faint trickle of essence within the husk.


    But it was only natural to begin with such. Had the infant been born with essence reservoirs the same size as even the most lacking child of another Path then more premature deaths would occur.


    More mothers would be unable to sustain the drain of the essence, killing both the infant and themselves.


    Weak mothers may have their own children within the womb and kill them before they are even born. Hence, most mothers are provided with an excess of essence when expecting¡­


    Once birthed, these blood-born children vary greatly in skill and connection. Some have yet to utilize their innate ability. Some cannot control it ¡ª constantly draining their own mothers to the brink of death.


    Those who have yet to use their innate ability or have used little are born weak, small, sickly, and ill. Most notable was a small reservoir.


    The same goes for children who do not have access to sources of blood essence in their adolescence, they grow skinny and ghastly.


    But Osias was blessed to be born at such a time that the Red Sky was experiencing immense growth, no longer troubled with a lack of essence, and was born stronger. His mother was provided with sources of the essence, even more than others¡­ He was told that he came out of the womb with a larger reservoir and that he was greedy with his mother. Even in his adolescence, he was provided abundantly for.


    As a result, the possibilities for growth are boundless.


    As they mature and grow, this pool increases over time as long as the child constantly feeds it to absorb blood essence.


    The constant influx of blood essence erodes the walls of this reservoir and increases the amount of essence contained within the body.


    The essence saturates and seeps into the body, increasing its strength. You become faster and stronger, and even senses are improved.


    However, surpassing Ordeals remains the most absolute method of obtaining these advantages, the yields of the Blood Path require time and patience¡­


    As Kiran slowly scaled the rugged cliffs, careful to not misplace his limbs on a false hold, Osias''s hands traced his own chest.


    Covered in tattoos, just like Kiran, the pair of brothers looked out of place in the desolate mountain and the bleak sky. It didn¡¯t feel right for humans to walk this land.


    ''Did we deserve this?'' Osias thought to himself.


    Again and again, Osias''s thoughts strayed to this question. Perhaps it was punishment.


    They were wandering through the dreaded Outer Valleys, tired and injured. Their home was destroyed and their people were lost.


    "Brother?" Osias called out. His words were stifled and the wind washed the volume.


    "What is it?" Kiran replied curtly between breaths.


    "Do you... Do you think mother and father are still alive? Do you think some of the Band could run and escape like us?"


    Kiran paused his climb, and only the whistle of wind sounded from the expanse.


    For what could be minutes, Kiran finally responded, "No. It''s impossible. They too were part of the inheritance, if anything they live inside us."


    Driving essence to the fingers on his left hand, Kiran dug into the rocks with his bare hands and let go of his other hand.


    Hanging off with one hand, he reached behind his back to Osias, "Their blood essence was given to us. All we can do is keep moving.¡±


    ''It will take him a while until he can come to terms with everything, but time will tell...'' Kiran silently thought.


    Continuing forward, Kiran sped up the pace and began using slight amounts of essence to move faster.


    Eventually, Kiran''s feet connected with the ground again, and Osias was no longer dangling from his back.


    But before they continued the march north, the rest called their names, and the pair of brothers strained themselves to find a suitable camp, remote and obscure.


    Finding a slight opening within the stone, spacious enough to encompass both of them, even considering Kiran''s immensely large frame, they entered their night''s reprieve.


    Safe from roaming Path Beasts and still elevated above the mist, Kiran unfastened the latched Osias and set him down gently atop the smooth, almost concave groove in the stone below.


    "How do you fare?"


    "I''m fine, brother."


    "Mm. No fire tonight, forgive me, little brother."


    Shaking his head, Osias dismissed Kiran in understanding.


    ''It''s already fortunate enough to rest undeterred.'' Osias thought.


    The week they entered and traversed the Outer Valleys, they discarded any possible means of detection wherever they could.


    He never allowed his eyes to wander afar in case an old and powerful Path Beast could sense his gaze. Withdrawing open flames was obviously included.


    They were alone.


    An army or even powerful battalions of Path Finders leading a campaign in the wish to conquer the Outer Valleys could disregard such actions, but Kiran and Osias cannot afford the risks here.


    Draping a spare roughspun cloak over Osias, Kiran said quietly, "Are your legs getting any worse?"


    "I''m losing feeling, brother. But it''ll be over soon, right?"


    "We can only wish¡­ Now sleep."


    Rolling over to his side, Osias tucked himself deeper into the warm cloak coupled with the thick garments above.


    Soft and pleasant, and eventually his eyes grew tired. It became difficult to keep them open.


    But a certain thought crept into his mind and edged towards his mouth.


    Still facing away from Kiran, Osias asked, "Brother...? Where did you go for so long?"


    A long pause followed.


    Long enough for Osias''s eyes to droop and welcome the cold embrace of sleep.


    But just as he did, Kiran responded quietly, "Do you mean my First Ordeal, Osias? Can you even remember that far long ago?"


    A quiet and short chuckle left his lips, and with a somber huff, Kiran dropped the conversation.


    "Sleep Osias. Be ready for tomorrow."


    ''My First Ordeal... huh.'' Kiran wistfully thought as he rubbed his rugged wrists.

 Chapter 6 - The Gracious Heron

    A rustle, followed by a gentle morning breeze caressed Osias. He awoke slowly and ached in pain.


    His leg grows more numb with each day. The pain comes in waves, oddly enough.


    It subsides briefly, then a vivid throbbing screams from within.


    But what else can Osias do but brave the aching?


    ''If only we still had more of that medicine...'' He thought grudgingly.


    After a while, he painfully groaned and opened his eyes, alert and aware. If anything, the wave of throbbing only made him wake faster¡­


    Pushing his body up with his arms, wary of further worsening the wounds on his lower half, Osias lurched and looked in the direction of the noise he had been hearing in the brief time he was awake.


    There he found his elder brother dismantling a slain Path Beast.


    Osias found this one wasn''t too deformed in its rise to its Path... It still held a clear resemblance to the beast it once was.


    A plump boar covered in a thick coat. Long, coarse bristles underlaid with short brown fur. Perhaps its feral tusks were the only thing warped in its ascension¡­


    ''A bush pig, maybe?''


    Kiran was beginning to bleed the beast, hung atop a large branch of a hardy tree.


    Bleeding a beast could spell trouble, the sensitive senses of others may be attracted to the alluring fallen boar.


    But it was a needless worry for them.


    Kiran was there, right below the massive boar with his hands stuck deep within its neck, Blood Reave in full swing as he drew the blood down.


    "Osias, you''re awake! I killed this one just before you awoke. You''ll need to learn to procure your own meals in the future." Kiran said as his hand was still below the open neck.


    Just as the beast was drained of its blood essence, he called once more to him, "Osias, throw me your sword."


    "Here-" He said, drawing and throwing his short sword from its sheath fastened near his thigh.


    Catching the sword his elder brother continued the abrupt lesson, "When you skin a four-legged beast, it''s easier when you hang it beforehand. Open a cut by its hooves and move along the insides of its lower legs. Then, move to it''s neck. Work it on both sides." He said lowly before adding:


    "Thankfully it was weak ¡ª a First Ordeal. Well-made Ordinary blades can still cut and cleave its body, but you won¡¯t have that problem with this blade.''


    Finished with peeling its skin, Kiran moved on.


    With a delicate grace, Kiran made a deep incision from the boar''s breastbone to its pelvis.


    One stroke was all it took for him.


    ¡®He wields my sword like a knife¡­¡¯ Osias somberly thought. He even used to grip it with both hands sometimes, its weight was unwieldy¡­


    But Kiran continued unknowing of his thoughts:


    "Be careful not to pierce it''s intestines. The meat would taste foul if you do."


    Reaching inwards, Kiran pulled the tract of organs from within. It was clean, not nearly making a bloody mess that Osias thought it would¡­


    As Kiran continued to work, he began to look outside the rigid mountainside they made camp the night before, Osias found that the sun had yet to rise.


    The twin moons, however, were faint and dimmed in the sky. Laria and Dirus he recalled in a daze.


    ''Daybreak. Laria and Dirus''s play-time is over...'' Osias thought wistfully as his brother continued, his words muffled into the background.


    A week had passed since they''d entered the Outer Valleys.


    Hiding and running...


    Both day and night were harrowing. Path Beasts of all sorts roamed this untouched land.


    For Osias to rest leisurely like this was nothing short of a blessing descended upon him by the heavens.


    On their Fourth day of traversing the Outer Valleys North, Kiran suddenly froze in his tracks. He stopped as if he graced an indiscernible barrier. His teeth clenched tightly, and his fingers wrapped around the shaft of his spear with enough force to shatter Ordinary weapons.


    Osias knew in that moment that he too was at the mercy of whatever Kiran was sensing.


    Osias wrapped his head around his carrier and looked at what was in front, only to find Kiran using his free hand to reach within his robes.


    But he paid no heed to what his elder brother was doing. Osias was busily faltering under the very air itself.


    His mind grew heavy and breathing was made to an arduous task.


    Death. Dread. Reverence.


    It must be a Path Beast of the Third Ordeal, a strong one at that.


    Nothing could be done to elude this Path Beast.


    Abasing themselves, the pair simply stood still.


    The mere whims of this beast dictated their lives.


    But then the dreadful air dispersed, fleeting as fast as it arrived.


    Unbeknownst to Osias and Kiran, the beast simply left.


    Perhaps it didn''t, but regardless it did not feel that their lives were threatened and so they begrudgingly marched forth.


    He recalled their conversation after that:


    "Brother..." He said quietly, still weary of the possibility of the Third Ordeal still lingering.


    But Kiran only nodded, then replied to him somberly, "Take it to heart, Osias. There are no guarantees that I can harbor you from danger. Not here."


    Then Kiran returned his free hand to his side and continued the cold march...


    Thinking back to that ''encounter'', Osias still felt as though he graced against death by simply being in the vicinity of such a being. Returning his view to Kiran still gutting the boar he still wondered how close they were to death back then, ''Did it not bother to contact us? We didn''t even see its appearance...''


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    Kiran began to portion the fallen boar with his sword, its blade moving seamlessly through the thickened flesh, even cleaving bones when needed. Osias didn¡¯t think he could do the same thing so easily.


    ''Kiran is strong, without a doubt.''


    Powerful he was. More so than the many Blood Warriors of the same level under the Red Sky that Osias have come to know ¡ª The Second Bloods they were called accordingly. Kiran might¡¯ve been stronger than even some of the elders and the Third Bloods in some way perhaps¡­


    Of course, Osias hasn''t witnessed the full extent of their powers. And he rarely made contact with the handful of Third Ordeals under the Band, so he couldn¡¯t be certain.


    But Kiran was different, and also puzzling.


    ''How did he become like this?¡¯


    Osias''s mind wandered back, far far back.


    He recalled the time when he first started having his ''sessions'' with the Band Leader.


    It was difficult to narrow down the exact age he was since it was so early in his life, but the Band Leader must''ve just finished Kiran''s own tattoos at the time.


    ''It''s hard to know. Too far long ago, but was brother always so... distant?''


    Osias watched as Kiran finished preparing the boar-like Path Beast, already packing their belongings and discarding the beast''s waste.


    He gathered what was left of the hunt and grabbed Osias''s wooden carrier. Kiran approached him and fastened him in once again.


    "Here-" Kiran said, grabbing Osias and throwing him across his back.


    "Secure the latches and we''ll be off."


    "Mm."


    Just as they began to embark on the final day before approaching the Gracious Heron from Garm''s old tales, the sun began to crack the horizon. The brilliant sky blushed with hues of pink and gold, officially heralding the new day.


    ''Laria and Dirus, they dance with the stars.


    Weave clouds in their play and flight.


    Spill silver and gold, spreading soft light.


    But Dawn gently whispers, that their playtime must end,


    The Sun sweeps the sky, their dear father and friend.


    "Good morning," they murmur, as they fade from the view,


    "Rest well," he says, "I''ll see you both soon."


    The sun warms the day, the moons dream away,


    In the cycle of night, and the brightness of day.


    Laria and Dirus, with their father''s warm ray,


    Forever they dance, in a sky''s endless play.''


    Kiran and Osias stood side by side on the rugged mountainside, their breath visible in the crisp morning air. The world beneath them was still slightly cloaked in the shadows of night, but from their lofty vantage point, they could see the sun slowly waking from its slumber.


    "A gold morning, brother," Osias said with a stifled and weak laugh recalling the children¡¯s story.


    "Mm," Kiran replied curtly before marching ahead. He weaved through the jagged terrain, never seeming to lose his footing.


    Seeing as Kiran began to move briskly, invigorated by how close their meeting with the Heron draws, Osias reluctantly asked as he whipped his neck around:


    "Brother... I never asked you, but what is your Second Ordeal Ability?"


    Kiran didn¡¯t respond immediately, but Osias added more without pause:


    "Did you use it at all yet?"


    With a little pause, Kiran simply nodded and let out a sigh.


    "I guess it is only natural for you to wonder."


    With a slight pause, he continued:


    "True Extraction. That is the name I awoke to upon completing the Second Ordeal. It is different but also complements the Innate Ability we share ¡ª Blood Reave. The main difference is that it requires me to expend essence to activate, a heavy amount as well." Kiran lingered for a while, then answered again:


    "I also must make direct contact, unlike Blood Reave. But I am sure it will change in the future¡­ Returning to its use, I use the true extracted blood essence differently from the blood absorbed from our Innate Ability."


    "Here-" He said reaching into his chest.


    Osias whipped his head around and saw - what followed Kiran''s hands was a small stick.


    "It is difficult to control and keep at bay consciously if its shape is complex. I also constantly have to expend my essence this whole time to keep it... conjured. A negligent amount though."


    Kiran said, deeply considering his words.


    Suddenly the small handle exploded into a monstrous-looking spear. Shaped and modeled drastically similar to the one Kiran wielded this whole time.


    "The strain on my essence is tolerable. But I still allocated a small amount of blood essence from the fallen Path Beast to be fed into this spear with True Extraction. Meanwhile, I have a significant portion absorbed with our Innate Ability to offset the cost of using True Extraction along with maintaining it."


    "I believe the true strength of our Blood Path is balance. Constant battle. Persistent and ceaseless death. Fuel to feed into our strength. Perhaps this ability is a representation of that."


    Osias simply nodded. He too concluded that in an elongated battle was where their Path truly revealed its prowess.


    "However, we are not without our strengths if faced with few or a single overwhelming opponent."


    Lingering for a while, he returned to his explanation:


    "Going back to True Extraction, I call the blood essence extracted with this Ordeal Ability ''external blood essence''. Although the condition for physical contact remains... I can change, manipulate, and harden this essence. Perfect for augmenting or creating weapons and armor."


    Osias nodded again. It truly was an ability fit for someone so grounded in combat like Kiran.


    "But this essence can hardly leave my touch. My connection wanes, and I must focus. Though I have achieved immensely crude constructs¡­ At first, I have only been able to crudely make my spear. But to keep two or three constructs is difficult, the external blood essence begins to flow, returning to the object most centered in my mind, almost always my spear."


    "To keep the forms, it''s as if I require a second mind. But I continue to grow my connection. I still train, all so I can truly push this ability to its limit."


    "I see."


    Osias wondered though:


    "But Brother, why do you continue to add more blood essence into this... weapon?"


    "Mm. That is another facet of this ability. It grows, Osias¡­ It fiendishly devours and demands more blood essence. It grows harder, more durable, and even sharper. Its weight is perfect, balanced, and fit to wear. Like a devilish extension stronger than that of my body."


    Kiran smiled, but Osias could not see from where he was situated and recollected his memories:


    "When I first used True Extraction, it was on a captured First Tail from the forces of the Tailed Brothers. Captured and to be used as a blood source for the pregnant women of the band. But I pushed the elders to allow usage of my newfound True Extraction on them. Vicious¡­ it is much more malicious than simple absorption. It truly extracted much more than was capable of simple absorption. I found it best fit on those who died, similar to Blood Reave, as theirs no will imposed on their blood. But the others in the band tortured this captive, his will was already broken. It ripped the broken man of his blood essence, and in my hand was the makings of a handle."


    Kiran stifled a chuckle and continued:


    "It was like a trick I''ve seen from an entertainer from a caravan, and I pulled a lengthy blade from the withered body of the First Tail. It was stronger than an Ordinary blade, albeit only slightly. Its modeled counterpart was better, as it was forged from one of the elder''s Ordeal Abilities. But then, I extracted from another. It slowly grew in its capabilities."


    "Now, just two years of feeding this weapon, it is almost equivalent to a blade worthy of a Third Ordeal Path Finder. It has nothing special - not like the blades imbued with certain traits. But it''s simplicity is enough.¡±


    Unbeknownst to him though, Kiran silently thought to himself, ¡®It was unfortunate though, I couldn¡¯t come across foes in my isolation¡­¡¯


    As Kiran continued to explain his ability, Osias grew increasingly impressed.


    True Extraction seemed so fitting for his brother. It made him wonder if he could obtain such a fitting ability¡­


    Kiran then turned his head to face the side of Osias¡¯s stretched and lurched face, and Kiran''s face suddenly turned serious:


    "But Osias, heed this warning. Never ask another Path Finder about their Ordeal Abilities. And never reveal more than you have to. It is always best to have your adversaries underestimate your capabilities. Even your allies at times."


    "Does that mean you held back some details?"


    "Of course I did. You haven''t seen them yet, but some Paths leads into the mind of others. Monstrous mental abilities. Vile abilities that¡¯ll enthrall you. I have some secrets I cannot tell, even for you."


    "I see," Osias said with a slight frown before asking hesitantly:


    "Brother, do you¡­ think I will get something normal? For my First Ordeal?"


    Kiran let out a small laugh:


    "You''re getting ahead of yourself, Osias. The Ordeals are not such a thing to trivialize. Worry first of your preparations before. But even before that, you must be healed."


    Hearing that Osias frowned slightly wanting to hear more:


    "But even so... Is there no way to know what we can get from our Ordeals?"


    "Mm. There is no way. But the Ordeals always have a way of granting something... befitting. It''s hard to describe, but you''ll never be disappointed, in a way."


    Osias expected as much. It seemed like he¡¯d have to undergo his First Ordeal to tell.


    But over Kiran¡¯s explanation, he found that his elder brother was talkative today. In a good mood, maybe?


    So he decided to ask something that still bewildered him. Something that had been bothering him ever since Kiran took him away.


    ''Why... Why was I chosen to go along with Kiran? The Band wasn''t as large as Three Factions, not even close. But among the other youth - not even the much more powerful Third Ordeals... Why were they not sent along?''


    "Brother," Osias said, pausing to find the right words:


    "Do you know why I brought along with you? I mean to escape. I haven''t even completed my First Ordeal, and you said that there was no guarantee I would even survive it. I haven¡¯t proven myself to the band back then. They even split the inheritance into two for me when you would¡¯ve used to better."


    Kiran found the abrupt change in question quite amusing, albeit a little foolish to ask.


    Looking infront of him, and away from Osias¡¯s view, his lips were pulled into a slight smile for once.


    "My relation to you, of course."

 Chapter 7 - Bitter Medicine

    "Of course, it wasn''t an impulsive and abrupt decision though," Kiran said.


    "The elders first tried to pierce through the lines of the Three Faction alliance with vast amounts of small detachments. Some even headed with a strong Third Blood to escape. But none of them even managed to leave the scouting range of Zevir, our elder with the powerful Blood Hunt ability."


    Osias recalled the haggard elder... A chronically ill-tempered old man, with an appalling appearance that almost matched his demeanor.


    But his most notable aspect was his lack of eyes. A pair of hollow cavities made it disturbing to be in his presence. Yet his head always finds its way to the right target, nothing escaping his sight.


    Blood Hunt was an ability that consumed grand amounts of blood essence, and Osias vividly remembered the vast lines of captured Path Beasts and fallen enemies brought to his chambers to constantly replenish Zevir''s essence pool.


    Yet his presence in the Red Sky proved to be invaluable.


    Above the Red Sky''s Great Valley was a large grisly crimson eye. Ghastly bloodied tissue covered it, laced in countess blood vessels as if it was focusing on something... someone. It never seemed to truly reveal itself unless Zevir focused intently.


    Yet the feeling of being watched never waned. It could oversee almost twenty kilometers, piercing through even some of the strongest concealment abilities of his level.


    Osias could only imagine the pressure on any encroaching enemies...


    "The Third Ordeal Blood Warriors must''ve been detected or recognized ¡ª the people they led as well. After all, their faces are recognizable from their time amidst ongoing war. Aside from that, Zevir relayed what he saw within his range to Garm and the other elders¡­ he saw them get slaughtered." Kiran explained.


    "Another reason I suspect for their failures is that they all lacked the diversion that we came upon. It was too early for the Three Factions to encircle our Great Valley tightly, but a much wider encirclement was already forming. We were fortunate enough to have the rest of our Blood Warriors stay within our Great Valleys, valiantly fighting along with and garnering the Three Faction''s attention."


    Osias listened intently and asked:


    "But that doesn''t explain why I was chosen aside from my relation to you... It couldn''t have been the only reason. Otherwise, you could¡¯ve saved mother and father."


    Kiran let out a small chuckle as his hands worked and climbed through a small cliff.


    "Well, you''re one of the few who managed to survive the tattoos from Garm. You know how he sought only the youngest to maximize the benefits of it¡­ and we are to continue and prove our Path, Osias. There will come a time when we will spread it as well." Kiran said with an odd tone at the end, before adding:


    "...As for why not anyone else? There''s not much of the Third Ordeal to begin with. All of whom are elders or dignified warriors. Constantly fighting and obtaining essence in return to continue their progression. There are no hidden faces among them to the Three Factions ¡ª they have less of a chance to disguise themselves when we¡¯ll inevitably travel the inlands."


    "The same goes for most of the Second Ordeal as well... I''m the only exception though."


    "Are you talking about your leave during your First Ordeal, brother?"


    Kiran lingered for a moment, and in a slightly cold tone:


    "No, it was after my First Ordeal. I used my position to seclude myself, training deep within the heart of the Great Mountain''s interior."


    Osias tried to wrap his head around to no avail, and silently looked at their rear view for a while, his expression unreadable.


    ''Again...''


    Eventually, Osias connected some dots to Kiran''s information


    ''Because I am the younger brother of the Band''s heir... I also survived the tattoos like Kiran, and due to our ties, the elders must''ve conceded to Kiran''s plea. But there should be more, the elders and even Garm wouldn''t bend to Kiran so meekly, right? The Band does not offer sympathies that easily.''


    ''Elder brother is hiding something, something related to his Ordeals. But it doesn''t really matter. I''m still here¡­ living regardless.''


    Eventually, they reached the shoulder of the Heron''s mountain.


    The Heron mentioned in Garm''s past was supposedly higher, almost toward the mountain''s summit. There, they''ll have to circle the span to find a small crevice, barely able to fit a full-fledged man.


    "Are you sure you can fit through the opening once we find it, brother?"


    Kiran didn''t reply, but he scoffed at the question, hidden from Osias''s sight¡­


    They would have to cover and search a large swath of land. But first, they''d have to continue their ascent to near the summit, from there they can only search without direction. Garm''s tales can only go so far¡­ Osias began to wonder if the Heron was even alive.


    "Osias, just a little more, ready?"


    "Mm."


    Osias still dealt with the constant throbbing that attacked him. But he no longer reacted and grew as accustomed as he could be to it.


    He recalled the initial days after awakening ¡ª he would repeatedly clutch his wounded lower half in pain.


    His vision blurred from the agony that wouldn''t disappear.


    It was just like his days in the... room. But maybe because of his time inside there, he was accustomed faster.


    So he pushed away his suffering with gritted and clutched teeth, wholeheartedly opposed to showing weakness. Osias along with Kiran hailed from a vicious band of mercenaries after all. Such was the way they were disciplined.


    But being reminded of the room, Osias thought of Garm. He was strict and unyielding... Rigorous in his teachings to him in their days shared inside as Garm inked into him.


    Osias was only shown the cruel, yet domineering side of Garm, even when he was first brought into the chamber. He knew nothing of the man aside from this drastic side to him ¡ª the earnest resolution to stop at nothing to benefit the band. To Osias, Garm was a person to be avoided. Dangerous even. There were no limits to his insane desire to strengthen the Red Sky.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Osias remembered his friends, the other talented children of the band who showed potential just like him. Hounded together deep in the confines of their Great Mountain, hidden from even light itself.


    They were all tested upon, housing the profane ink of unknown origin. Many survived, but not everyone could maneuver themselves as they used to. With spasms, sickness, and intense shaking, these children were¡­ unfit to continue taking more ink.


    Wasted failures for the band as Garm would say.


    The vile ink was limited in its amount after all.


    Kiran too was once tested upon.


    But much earlier than Osias, years before Garm improved upon his technique. It was said that Kiran survived after a much larger selection of youth than Osias had, but less ¡®talented¡¯. He didn¡¯t know what talent meant, but he assumed it was children who grew larger reservoirs before birth¡­


    As Kiran marched through the rugged swath surveying for anything of note, Osias''s mind shifted to Kiran.


    Of course, Osias knew that Kiran wasn''t the same as Garm, someone who was so intent on the Red Sky, but even so, Kiran was akin to a stranger who happened to share blood ties for the latter half of Osias''s life.


    A person who he didn''t truly know.


    He only possessed mere glimpses of memories of his elder brother, but it was clear that the Kiran from his memories was entirely different from the one he was being carried behind on today.


    So much time has passed, both separated and apart. Osias in the dark chambers ¡ª Kiran in isolation.


    Yet, unknown to both at the time, they spent their time apart in the vicinity of each other. Within the Red Sky¡¯s hollow crypts of their Great Mountain.


    Osias inhaled slowly, dismissing the stray thoughts of Kiran¡¯s past.


    Thinking was hard as always for him.


    His head relentlessly ached and pounded down on his psyche as if it was punishing him for focusing on anything aside from recovery¡­


    Looking in front of him, he noticed the stark change in view and the drastic elevation Kiran was heading up towards.


    And he grew a little apprehensive.


    ¡­The past week or so, they have grimly avoided any regions remotely near the summit of mountains. Any swaths of elevation were ventured direly and cautiously.


    After all, where else could be the truly deadly Path Beasts nestle?


    Looking past the low ridge they crossed earlier, Osias shivered slightly in agitation.


    ''Well... obviously there''s that aswell.''


    Of course, there was still the impossibly dense grey mist that devoured the basin and valleys below, but the same apprehension remained...


    Kiran couldn''t perceive anything within the mist nor the land amidst the top of the mountains. Each too far away, potentially housing dreadful creatures.


    They wouldn''t dare test which peril they would brave, whether it was death from above or below.


    But there was simply no other way to find the opening that supposedly led to a gracious Path Beast. The way to the Heron was said to be somewhere in the wide jagged summit.


    As Osias tried to lessen his unease watching the mesmerizing view of the mist below, he noticed a bulging mass almost erupting and bending the thick mist beyond its... main body.


    Such sights were startling at first, but Kiran eased Osias''s worry early on.


    He assured him that whatever was attempting to break out beyond the mist, or if it was the very mist itself, wouldn''t ever ascend beyond its depths. It always faltered and retreated as it reached the lowest of the mountain cols.


    ''Still... what could be above that could stop such a thing? Or is something below, even deeper than the mist pulling it back in?''


    Osias speculations continued on and on as Kiran began circling the radius of the mountain peak. Starting from the Southern face they were currently on, he began to his left after leaving a pronounced sign of their location with his spear.


    It was difficult to breathe, even for Osias. Although he was raised on a mountain steppe that housed the core of the Red Sky, the heights they were at trumped his natural acclimation.


    Osias was still just an Ordinary after all.


    Regardless, he did as he always did - watch in silence.


    Long ago have they passed the level where trees and other vegetation grew, and only irregular rock-strewn stone lay before them.


    Occasionally there were oddly shaped risings found ground, but upon investigation, Kiran found nothing of note and attributed it to natural formations.


    They continued until they searched the entire Western face of the mountain but to no avail.


    Osias''s expectancy slowly waned, but there was still much land to cover.


    "Brother, if we don''t find the Heron here, what then?"


    Kiran opened his mouth to answer but paused briefly to think and said:


    "No other option, we force our way North through the Outer Valleys as we planned. Then we detour into the Great Valleys of the Tailed Brothers."


    Osias''s posture dipped and he sighed, ¡®If I¡¯m still alive by then¡­¡¯


    He was sure that Kiran noticed it. Well before Osias did.


    The current mountain they were on was among the last amongst the range leading North that connected through high ridges. All this time they traveled atop the main crests of the ridges that connect this range.


    But this wouldn''t last.


    Osias couldn''t see past Kiran''s back at the time, but as Kiran searched the edge of the Western face, Osias found that the mist seemed a little higher than before.


    Or they were slowly going lower.


    Perhaps that was all Osias could see, but he was reluctant to hope for the best. They were lucky enough to survive all this time.


    After a brief rest, Kiran continued to search the rugged Northern face.


    The sun was hidden on this side, making the Osias feel more useless than ever. His senses were practically that of the blind compared to someone like Kiran.


    ''As if I can notice something he misses...'' He thought, yet he still tried to help.


    They pursued every rift, crevice, chink Kiran could find.


    He lifted stones, some can even be called boulders as he broke them down with his strength.


    Yet nothing comes to light.


    The Northern face didn''t unveil the Heron.


    But just as they connected with a leveled cliff that led to the Eastern face, Kiran halted with a slight tremor.


    "Osias, be ready. Path Beasts already approaching - a small herd."


    Osias nodded in Kiran''s shadow.


    "A lot?"


    "No, just four."


    Kiran raised his hand, and a graceful spear, an almost identical copy of his usual spear appeared. But it lacked the sheen of metal ¡ª instead, a menacing glare of flushed blood-red took its place.


    ''Not his usual spear?'' Osias recalled his brother''s explanation as a slow shiver crept its way to his core.


    "He-Hey brother... how strong are they?"


    Suddenly the air around the pair grew thick and heavy.


    Kiran grew silent, readying himself for battle.


    Noticing that Kiran hadn''t warned him to close his eyes, Osias quickly deduced that the Path Beasts before them wouldn''t blind him like the ones they encountered much earlier on their journey. Although he couldn''t be absolutely sure it wouldn''t do something else, Osias could fight against the surging concern he felt.


    So he whipped his head around quickly before Kiran and the approaching herd battled.


    And what his eyes met made his skin crawl in response.


    Horrid beasts, like many that they have encountered in the mere week or so they entered the Outer Valleys, Osias couldn''t make out what Ordinary beasts they were derived from.


    They were too¡­ disfigured.


    If there was something Osias oversight the moment they set foot atop the Heron''s supposed region was the odd lack of Path Beasts along with the Ordinary.


    Osias didn''t consult Kiran about it, attributing it to the powerful presence of the Heron - similar to the Path Beasts of the Third Ordeal they came close to.


    Osias''s essence sense was too weak and dull as an Ordinary to truly perceive the level of his enemies.


    But he could make a rough guess based on arbitrary signs.


    The five beasts before the pair of brothers dwarfed even Kiran in size. Hulking beasts they were¡­ Almost twice the size of Kiran despite his own towering height.


    Supported by four lengthy limbs, their lithe monstrous bodies were thin and ghastly. Sunken skin practically pitted deep into their bones, they looked as fragile as they were lengthy.


    But Osias knew that was a guise:


    "Second Ordeal, right brother?"


    Kiran''s voice returned from silence to his usual unexpressive cadence:


    "Second, indeed. But the one at the back, it''s...different. Unusual so. Likely at the upper-limit of battle strength for a Path Beast in the Second Ordeal. It also looks a little different from the others..."


    "Turn your head back, and make sure your latches are secured but hold on regardless."


    Osias nodded, complying immediately. This feeling of futility... Osias dreaded it. All this time he was attached to Kiran''s shadow, not doing a thing.


    Kiran couldn''t risk hiding Osias away and abandoning him in case a stray Path Beast discovers him. So all fights were done as a pair unless the situation called for it.


    Suddenly the herd, all shriveled and hunched, opened their mouths slick with slobber and produced a litany of menacing howls.


    They then rushed forward without any semblance of intelligence like the abominable beasts they were, brimming with nothing but chilling malice.


    Kiran abandoned his usual spear to the ground. Donned with his blood-red long spear, accented with three wicked spiraled tips, and countless hooks to invoke awful lacerations, he readied himself.


    Then, the herd was upon him...

 Chapter 8 - Secluded Demon of The Band

    A Second Ordeal Path Beast¡­


    Slaying such a creature could pose slight trouble or be quite difficult for Kiran. Although all beings of the Paths have a baseline level of power that is by no means weak, Kiran felt that these creatures in particular are above it. Not of the absolute strongest amongst those of the Second Ordeal, but still able to hold their weight.


    But then Kiran¡¯s eyes narrowed and flicked to the Leader at the rear.


    Some beings possessed outstanding traits surpassing what many could see as the ceiling for their corresponding Ordeal level, stretching beyond what their level could be capable of. Unrivaled within their Ordeal level, and even capable of opposing those above themselves.


    ¡­That was the strength and uncertainty that Kiran sensed radiating off this pack¡¯s Leader.


    Exhaling sharply, Kiran poised himself.


    ¡®As long as they bleed¡­ I can win.¡¯


    He was most concerned about the Path Beasts¡¯ two Ordeal Abilities. Fearsome and as plentiful as there are mountains in the Wailing Chain, Ordeal Abilities were one of the main facets of strength for a being of the Paths.


    Regardless, he¡¯ll uncover them in battle.


    ¡­Kiran ignited his essence and met the first of the herd with his full strength. From the balls of his feet stretching to the tips of the fingers wrapped around the shaft of his spear, he gracefully manipulated his essence to enhance his body¡¯s already monstrous strength.


    Dodging a flailing claw that moved with enough speed to pierce Kiran''s chest, he returned an equally swift thrust to its body and sprang back. A subtle frown appeared on his face.


    ¡®Just the four are approaching. The Leader is¡­ wary of me?¡¯


    As cautious as Kiran was about the Leader, it seemed the beast shared the same sentiments.


    But it wasn¡¯t without reason ¡ª Kiran was unusually strong for a Second Ordeal despite his simple abilities. He displayed battle strength unparalleled compared to the other monsters of the Red Sky in the Second Ordeal.


    Nurtured from his youth with bountiful amounts of blood essence, and possessing an unusually potent Blood Mend, he is the epitome of a warrior made for battle. Had the war against the Tailed Brothers been delayed just a decade later when he left his prolonged seclusion deep within the confines of their Great Mountain, Kiran was to be the Red Sky¡¯s future of battle and violence.


    Suddenly, the terrifying, terrible beast in front of him lashed out a sharp claw, releasing a deafening roar at the same time.


    With nothing more than a small grunt, Kiran allowed the blade-like claw to cut alongside his ribs as he turned into it. Using this brief opportune moment, he cruelly pulled the extended limb of the beast, staggering it behind him.


    Kiran¡¯s bestial eyes shone with malice as he dragged his spear, cutting a long laceration against its side. His spear left one deep cut that stretched from its shoulder to its flank while shallower cuts ran parallel as the many smaller hooked-shaped prongs bled the Path Beast even more.


    And without another breath to pass, his spear absorbed a vast amount of blood, inflicting more damage on the beast.


    The beast bellowed wildly in response, throwing a crazed slash that just barely missed another beast of the herd that came crashing in. A welcome reaction¡­ It was already difficult enough for Path Finders to coordinate with others, so how can wild Path Beast grasp such a skill?


    And Kiran threw himself into the fray because of this.


    Though¡­ it was unusual for Kiran to face foes that outsized him, even before entering his long seclusion. All his life he found himself towering over many, even most Path Beasts he encountered. He often utilized his grand reach, further increased by his choice of arms, and fought at a distance. But this only held true before he and Osias entered the outer Valleys. Too many times have the pair found themselves facing lofty beasts.


    Swiftly pulling his spear, an incredible amount of blood streamed out of another beast¡¯s body, some spewed out and littered the ground as his Blood Reave couldn¡¯t absorb it in time.


    Grounding himself again and regaining his balance, Kiran decided to circle the others of the herd, still wary of their leader at their rear, careful to not let Osias within reach fo their claws and maws before meeting his body and great spear first.


    Keeping distance and never allowing his back to be shown, he continued to deliver powerful strikes of his own, one after the other.


    ¡®...Strong, I wouldn''t be surprised if one of their abilities was a simple, but constant augment to their skin.¡¯ He quickly noted their resilience after the first few exchanges.


    Dodging a wild thrash, Kiran lashed out in return, severing the front two limbs of one of these abominable creatures. But just as he moved to finish the beast, a thundering impact sounded from behind the three others rapidly approaching.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡®The Lea¨C¡¯


    Kiran immediately strained himself to stop his strike midway and dropped to the ground in reaction and Osias yelped in response. An impossibly fast projectile was launched at him, the wind whistled past his hair and left him with a slight shiver.


    Unwavered by the sudden but missed attack, Kiran upped the pace and slashed as he lunged across, taking advantage of the momentary pause of his adversaries.


    Just a single limb was severed this time from below its knee, but it was enough.


    With two beasts crippled, another blast howled through the air. Its speed and size are greater than the last.


    But Kiran already prepared accordingly.


    Kiran leaped to his side and spun, weaving away from a desperate slash from one of the crippled beasts¡¯ unmaimed limbs. The outside edge of its claw simply met the bare shaft of Kiran¡¯s immensely hardened and resilient spear, and only a vibrating tremor was sent in return.


    This sequence was done seamlessly as Kiran threw himself using the force of the blow, his feet sliding back to a moment of reprieve as the two uninjured Path Beasts came rushing towards him.


    Quickly glancing behind where he just was, he found two unbelievably dark spires deeply lodged into the rugged cliffside.


    ¡®This can''t just be it¡­ It couldn''t have felt so dangerous if this was the extent of its capabilities. Not to mention, there is a lack of any definitive Ordeal Abilities for these four. They seem¡­ weaker than I thought despite possessing the same cold danger of their leader, albeit fainter. Should I see what a true attack from them can do?¡¯


    The herd also wasn''t as coordinated as Kiran thought, it seemed that the strongest of the herd was just that ¡ª the strongest. It didn¡¯t lead these wild beasts, which is clearly evident as they wildly thrashed, some attacks even hitting their own.


    A muffled groan escaped his lips as he once again entered the fray of battle, his vigor unrelenting.


    Quickly meeting the two crazed monsters that were practically frothing at the mouth, Kiran took another read at their appearance.


    ¡®Four long longs and a lithe body. Dark as the shadows cast by a mountain¡­ Their physical strength isn¡¯t quite as astounding as a Path Beast of the Second Ordeal should be either. A unit led by an average Second Blood with a few First Bloods of the band could¡¯ve slain a few of these with ease¡­¡¯


    ¡°So why do they feel¡­ dangerous?¡± He uttered under his breath.


    The first of the pair threw a claw strike from below, dragging upturned stones and dust along with it, but Kiran evaded effortlessly.


    Just as the other almost pounded into Kiran at a tremendous speed, Kiran nimbly moved below carefully as Osias was now exposed.


    But just then, he ignored the two invigorated beasts¡¯ and exploded forth to the two who were crippled so he could finish them off.


    With a wicked thurst, Kiran punctured the lowered head of the first crippled beast, his spear that seemed to be tinged with dark crimson then hungrily pulled an absurd amount of blood, all of it feeding the spear itself rather than going to Kiran''s tattoos.


    ¡°Wha¡ª¡±


    Suddenly True Etraction halted, but not of Kiran''s accord.


    Unbeknownst to Kiran, the moment he finished off the foul beast, their leader in the rear began to¡­ change.


    Kiran hadn''t noticed before since it was standing atop all fours, but after throwing a glance he saw it was standing on its hind legs, exposing its underside.


    There were four¡­ cavities. Deep, dark, and irregular.


    Then, right below Kiran''s spearhead, the fallen beast rapidly reduced into a black liquid-like state, streaming back to the Leader''s body, and into its cavity. Flesh, bone, and blood alike all turned into a black sludge.


    Nevertheless, he quickly killed the other crawling beast, watching it too turn into a black sludge just before the other two beasts left behind caught up to Kiran and continued their ferocious assault.


    Between defending Osias, and throwing strikes of his own, Kiran found it difficult to spare attention to whatever was happening to the herd Leader and the liquid.


    After all, these were Second Ordeal Path Beasts, and most Second Ordeal Path Finders needed a proper unit alongside to simply slay one¡­


    But what was happening to the Leader was too eye-catching to not notice.


    Even the dark liquid was too ominous itself. It flowed unnaturally, controlled and manipulated with conscious will ¡ª eerily similar to the manner blood was reaved from those of the Blood Path.


    He didn¡¯t know of its properties, but he had to do something about it.


    With a hoarse grunt, he raced towards the liquid as it flowed back to the Leader, but before he could do anything, a cold shiver ran through his back as he prepared for another spire that was forming in front of the Leader.


    As expected, another flurry was shot at him, this time the Leader disregarded the presence of the two chasing behind Kiran, some of the massive spires even grazing them as they missed Kiran.


    Sparing another look at where he killed the beast and the black sludge it turned into¡­ he felt as though he had discovered something.


    Perhaps¡­ The dreadful feeling coming off of these four isn¡¯t because of themselves but the liquid made from them.


    ¡­All stemming from the Leader.


    The black sludge made its way into the exposed cavity of the Leader, and Kiran could almost see a demented grin stretching off its maw. And just as he suspected that these four weren¡¯t simply beasts following a leader, but rather ferocious creations made from the Leader from the four cavities on its underbelly, the two beasts chasing him suddenly burst with power and speed.


    They came too close for his liking, and so he decided to move to the side to prevent Osias from being exposed to the two of them. So before the dark liquid could move any closer to its source, Kiran decided to fight as he always did to finish the two remaining.


    Brutal, cruel, and domineering ¡ª fitting as the heir of a band of blood-born.


    Taking a swipe at his arm, Kiran allowed the beast to follow through and lose balance. Using this moment he let one hand free from his spear thrust his injured hand forward and wrapped it around the limb of the attacking beast.


    Redirecting and using its motion, Kiran viciously tackled it to the ground and moved in for the kill.


    Unfortunately, its partner didn¡¯t allow him to do so freely.


    ¡°Throw, Osias!¡± Kiran suddenly yelled out.


    And with what meager strength an injured, seated, Ordinary child could muster, Osias threw his short sword at the foul beast¡¯s head.


    It was slow.


    Weak.


    Something so predictable that it was almost disrespectful to the capabilities of a being in the Second Ordeal.


    But it was enough to warrant the slightest hesitation of such a being. Perhaps it was due to its wariness of Kiran rather than Osias, but regardless it hesitated.


    And in this slight moment, not even stretching a second, Kiran slashed at the grounded beast¡¯s neck and beheaded it. Sickly black blood flowed into his spear, but not for long as Kiran lunged away from the final creature¡¯s sickly maw.


    In the next moment, the Leader let out a crude, deafening roar that almost shook the entire summit.


    ¡®That black liquid¡­ it all returned to the cavities.¡¯ Kiran found.


    Suddenly the remaining beast scrambled away from Kiran with a dire pace and returned beside its Leader¡¯s side as Kiran witnessed what he assumed was the Path Beast¡¯s true appearance.

 Chapter 9 - True Lord of the Summit

    The Leader¡­ It did not look like it was of this world. Violent shudders pulsed through its body once the black sludge returned to its source. It grew with each tremor, and its once sickly and sunken skin puffed outwards to compensate for the added bulk.


    Beside the Leader was its own thrall, sprawled and prostrating before it. It was as if the offshoot was kneeling and offering its head as a sign of submission


    With a snarl, it thrashed madly, and the last of the four beasts made by the black sludge was beheaded by its Leader and returned to its remaining cavity.


    ¡®So it was the correct decision to hastily slay the three.¡¯ Kiran quickly noted at how much more of the black liquid returned inside the final cavity compared to the three he killed.


    ¡°Osias¡­ how do you fare?¡±


    ¡°...I wish I still had my sword, brother.¡±


    ¡°Once I¡¯m done we¡¯ll go find it.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    Looking ahead as the Leader absorbed and filled its last cavity, Kiran started to wonder if he should leave Osias¡­ throw him off to the side as he fought.


    The four offshoots of the Leader hadn¡¯t thrown a single strike to Osias despite him briefly exposing his back several times.


    But he couldn¡¯t risk it ¡ª this wasn¡¯t a battle he could be hindered in.


    Though¡­ the Leader has shown that it could fire great spires, and even if Kiran set Osias behind cover, the spires would simply destroy the land along with him¡­


    Kiran¡¯s mouth was suddenly dry.


    ¡®Troublesome¡­¡¯


    He struck his spear on the ground and began to unlatch Osias:


    ¡°Osias, I¡¯ll let you off for a moment. Crawl back, far away, and make distance behind me. It¡¯ll be hard on your body but I can¡¯t fight this beast with you on my back. Don¡¯t be sparing with your essence, flood your body if need be ¡ª keep your eyes open, yell the moment you find any stray Path Beasts.¡±


    ¡°Alright, brother.¡±


    In the next moment, the Leader seemed to undergo a full transformation. It once towered Kiran by one-half of himself, but it now was almost twice the height of a giant like Kiran.


    Four ominous bone-like protrusions slick with black sludge now appeared on its underside.


    Patches of mismatched mottled outgroths littered its dark skin. And it¡¯s head¡­


    It was appalling to look at. Its slick maw was permanently pulled into a vicious snarl as it faced Kiran. As if it was basking in Kiran¡¯s apprehension towards its new form.


    This was the epitome of one¡¯s Path distorting the physical figure in their Path to strength.


    The Leader had an eerie air around it that matched its appearance. It possessed little more than a smidgen reminiscent of its origins as an Ordinary beast.


    It was truly difficult to call such disfigurement a strength or weakness. It was all fickle.


    For some, it was a disfigurement, an unsightly twisting of appearance in exchange for strength.


    For others, it was a natural progression of their path, and if it grants strength, so be it.


    Kiran has seen many human Path Finders show changes of appearance upon their Path. However, it was rarely seen amidst the lower Ordeals. As for Path Beasts¡­ it seemed they were more susceptible for such drastic change.


    It was seen as a sign of¡­ desperation, greed, and trauma. Desperation for power. Intense greed, yearning for more than you can take.


    But the result was always varied. From mindless, and abhorrent Path Finders fueled by nothing but their desires the moment they take their first steps upon completing their Ordeal¡­ to radiant figures capable of transforming themselves for greater strength.


    The Ordeals were¡­ mystifying, beyond what Kiran could understand.


    After all, he too has seen his share of its powers.


    Nevertheless, Kiran prepared himself.


    There was enough distance between the Leader, Kiran, and Osias.


    Brandishing his great spear, he entered the fray of battle to test this new foe.


    ¡®It can conjure spires from the black sludge within its body. But I¡¯m sure that¡¯s not the only thing it can do. The reservoir of this liquid is misleading - it comes from within its body yet it launched two spires almost the size of myself. It''s also not blood, something else entirely.¡¯


    Kiran¡¯s thoughts raced, putting together all he knew of this abominable creature. He knew the next few seconds dictated how the battle would go.


    So he abandoned his almost brisk and relaxed pace, lowered his spear, and exploded forward.


    The Leader responded by gaining ground and retreated as it dispelled more liquid from its foul mouth.


    The liquid hovered and hardened in front of it as it began to take shape¡­


    ¡®Another spire!¡¯


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    Suddenly the Leader turned its head and launched it at the rushing dark figure of Kiran. But not without Kiran noticing something peculiar:


    ¡®The bone-like structures on its underside¡­ it¡¯s feeding the spire made from the liquid of its mouth with something different. It¡¯s like the difference between the special difference from my Blood Reave and the blood taken from True Extraction. Probably strengthens the spire?¡¯


    Kiran dismissed his thoughts as the spire was before him.


    ¡®Fast!¡¯ He reacted as it grazed his shoulder.


    ¡®It¡¯s faster, but I can do it. If I close in on it I can slay a beast reliant on ranged attacks.¡¯


    But there was a slight mistake he should have noticed¡­ As the Leader dispelled the black liquid from its mouth as if it was frothing in madness, stray droplets riddled the trail behind it in its retreat.


    And unbeknownst to Kiran, the four protrusions added a bit of its special augmentation to it as well.


    ¡®Da-¡¯


    For a split second everything became dark, as if the night sky was borrowed and spat out in front of Kiran.


    A wall of stalwart black pikes appeared from below him, shattering a section of the mountain summit.


    The earth below split, and Kiran¡¯s foot was pierced along with his right knee. Fortunately, Blood Mend was already beginning to heal the dreadful wounds, but his movements were still compromised.


    Kiran bounced off to his side and found that the stretch of darkness disappeared as quickly as it came.


    But there was no moment of reprieve to collect himself as he tumbled and rolled again to dodge another spire launched at him.


    ¡°Bastard¡­¡± Kiran growled behind gritted teeth.


    Kiran pushed forth, eager to close the distance.


    ¡®Is its First Ordeal Ability the one to dispel and shape that black liquid? And does its Second provide the four bones? There must be a cost to such an ability¡­ do the bones help concentrate and provide those droplets?¡¯


    The Leader increased its onslaught and fired away at the rapidly approaching Kiran. At first, it seemed to fall into glee at the successful ploy, showing its beastly cunning. But its mischievous snarl grew smaller the moment Kiran continued his chase.


    And Kiran was mere seconds away from striking distance against the Leader.


    Kiran¡¯s wound no longer bled, and his sense of disorientation waned as he launched himself at the Leader.


    With a vicious bellow unbefitting a person, Kiran slashed his spear in a vicious arc at the Leader, cutting a deep fissure from its thigh to its flank.


    The beast cried out in pain and once again tried to use the trail of black liquid to ward Kiran off in a wave of pikes, but it only accomplished in slowing Kiran slightly as it punctured and ripped a heap of flesh from his left arm.


    But the pikes dispersed quickly once again.


    And Kiran continued chasing.


    He was relentless in his hunt.


    Blood Mend was continuously activated, and his wounds were of no concern.


    Even while missing a large piece from himself, he paid no heed to it, as if it was a trifling nick.


    This was the monstrosity that resulted from a Blood Path Finder who had almost inexhaustible essence at his disposal.


    Kiran radiated the madness of a blood-born required to spurn away pain and agony as he cut down his foes.


    This destructive, elusive, ferocious War Art of the Red Sky was deeply ingrained into him. He fought straightforwardly with the singular focus of killing his foe by any means necessary. Every cut of his enemy brought him closer to victory as he drained them. It was the insidious resolve of those capable of forcefully taking the blood of those facing them to fuel themselves.


    Pulling a great amount of blood from the Leader with Blood Reave, Kiran sought to dampen its vitality as he prepared another strike.


    Drawing his spear back he exploded forward and stabbed into the hock of its right leg.


    ¡®Shallow, but it''s enough.¡¯


    Once more a great deal of blood was reaved from the deep gash.


    The Leader couldn¡¯t keep up its pace, and it couldn''t heal itself from the many wounds that were burdening its movement.


    So it grounded itself in desperation and zealously sought to rip into the staunch figure that brought it to its current miserable state.


    Suddenly Kiran jumped back hastily in retreat and gained an immense amount of distance in anticipation.


    The Leader turned as it grounded itself and shot a curved swirl of liquid, hardening right before Kiran''s eyes.


    ¡®Weaker. Is it coming?¡¯ Kiran thought as he parried the blow, brushing it aside.


    But its purpose was to delay Kiran slightly.


    Suddenly a bitter coldness ran down Kiran¡¯s spine.


    The Leader sat on its hind legs and regurgitated a vast amount of liquid along with all four of its bones feeding it the concentrated droplets into a titanic attack. And in this moment a cold wind blew right before a furious bellow shook the mountain.


    It looked like a dark wave of sheer mass and destruction was headed to Kiran. It eclipsed his entire view, a truly violent force was approaching.


    But Kiran prepared himself accordingly.


    His spear was no longer in his hands, and a great intricate tower shield of the same crimson color replaced it.


    Planting it into the ground and readying himself for the wave of darkness, he braced himself.


    ¡®The shield is weaker than the spear, its size dispersed much of the true extracted essence. Though it should be on par with the strongest of Second Ordeal weapons.¡¯


    In the next moment, this titanic wave of darkness swallowed Kiran. A blend of solid and liquid arrived and devoured his surroundings.


    ¡®Stron-¡¯


    ¡­Then Kiran found himself rolling down the mountain summit and off a small cliff. A large earthy swath exploded and boulders followed as they rolled along with him.


    It seemed like the entire Eastern face was ruptured along with Kiran.


    ¡°Pah.¡± Kiran spat out a mouthful of blood.


    Looking down, he found that his shield was half destroyed.


    ¡­As well as his body.


    Shield fragments were broken and dispersed elsewhere, broken and unable to be used. Such was the nature of True Extraction.


    ¡®It¡¯ll be years before I can don a set of Third Ordeal armor¡­¡¯


    Waving his limbs slightly to understand the extent of damage, his right forearm was completely shattered as bones were splitting into odd areas.


    His torso was pierced with many odd stone fragments from where the shield broke. The sheer impact shattered his internals, something that threatened even Kiran¡¯s Blood Mend.


    And his neck was bleeding slightly as Blood Mend was already sealing the wound.


    His feet surprisingly avoided much of the blow. Was it because he was launched by the impact?


    He shook his head and continued upwards. His thoughts were slow and astray but he forced himself to climb as he was already regaining his senses.


    ¡®Several hours of healing¡­ But after a few minutes, I can continue to fight.¡¯


    Climbing above the ruined eastern side of the summit, he returned to the site of the battle.


    There he found the Leader sprawled in exhaustion.


    Still alive, but it seemed that the final blow consumed all its resources. Essence, willpower, black liquid, and whatever the bones provided.


    It was to be expected though. This scene of destruction was reminiscent of the battles between Third Ordeals. Both parties were beyond the measures of usual Second Ordeals. Truly befitting the battle strength of the upper limit.


    ¡®No use waiting before it¡¯ll recover¡­¡¯


    Walking over to the crawling half-corpse Kiran brandished his spear. His right arm was useless, and his left was still recovering from a massive missing hole from the dark pikes from earlier, but he could still exert enough strength to finish the weakened beast.


    He altered the decadent tower shield to return its form to the former great spear.


    Still the same size as it was, but considerably weaker than it was prior to the fight. Before the battle, it was a lower-limit Third Ordeal weapon, but now he expected it to be about a mid-tier Second Ordeal weapon.


    ¡®... A shame.¡¯ Kiran thought as he brushed his spearhead right against its head.


    Igniting his essence within and with a stiff thrust, he punctured through its head, finishing the beast.


    Recovered from his dazed disorientation, Kiran took in the vast view from atop the rubble that besmirched the desolate mountaintop.


    Kiran staggered slightly and raised his bloodied spear weakly:


    ¡®So in the end¡­ was this the true lord of this mountain summit?¡¯

 Chapter 10 - Blessings Are Where Calamity Lurks

    ¡®Run!¡¯ Osias crawled, scrambled, and did all he could to escape the destruction that unfolded.


    He felt as though he was a rat caught between mountain lions. For the moment he was as safe as he could, away from battle.


    But just a moment later¡­


    A mighty roar resounded in the entire mountaintop.


    And the very earth itself felt like it was to collapse and cascade.


    His soul seemed to squirm under the earthshaking impact.


    Feeling a cold dread grasp his heart, he took in a shaky breath and steeled himself for what was to come.


    The trees on the spur below creaked and snapped.


    The stones roared as it was upturned.


    It was as if the very mountain itself was crying, howling in pain as it shook violently.


    ¡®That brother of mine¡­ is he a fool? How fast does he think I can crawl?¡¯ Osias shouted in his head.


    Usually, his temperament towards his elder brother was docile and calm, tolerating the alienated feeling he felt to him.


    But now all he felt was indignation and ire.


    Struggling to control his body, he tried to collect himself and stop himself from rolling downwards. Alas, the steepness of the summit¡¯s terrain won against this struggle and Osias rolled at the last moment.


    Using his abdomen along with what feeling was left in his lower half, Osias directed his numbed legs to endure the impact of his small descent¡­ into a tree.


    Crashing into a tree and colliding into the stone earth beneath him, Osias made sure to avoid any injuries to his head and neck. He quickly reasoned that his legs were already useless anyway, so what else should he use to brace the collision?


    Osias endured the pain like always, even though his legs refused to move. Fortunately, his arms could still move as he pulled himself upright.


    He didn¡¯t roll down far, and thankfully it wasn¡¯t a cliff. But¡­ what replaced the sound of violence was an eerie silence:


    ¡®Is¡­ is it over?¡¯


    The rumbling stopped and only meager vibrations could be felt throughout the summit. The dust thinned and no signs of battle sounded in the air.


    ¡®Is brother alive?¡¯ He thought with shock.


    If Kiran was dead then¡­ Osias was too. He couldn¡¯t do a thing alone. Let alone survive, he couldn¡¯t think he could descend the mountain alone.


    Contemplating his actions with a slight grimace, Osias bent slightly and prepared to move to the site of battle.


    Traversing and weaving between giant stones and rubble, he can only relish how fortunate he was to not be in the direct vicinity. It felt as though he was crawling between the aftermath of titans fueding.


    It was difficult to¡­ understand that it was the product of a person fighting a beast. And that person was his elder brother.


    Invigorated by the very reason his body was in such a state, he used his rudimentary level of essence manipulation to push his weak body to climb atop a steep but elevated pillar.


    He forced himself up. The climb was something out of a nightmare; every clutch of his hand was a struggle as if he were pulling her hand out of elbow-deep mud.


    It took a lengthy while¡­ but he surmised that if the beast was still alive then it would¡¯ve pounced on him the moment Kiran fell in battle.


    So in the best-case scenario¡­ Kiran died alongside the Path Beast.


    As his hands reached atop the rugged stone, his forearms burned with scalding effort. Red and purple colored his hands, deep breaths escaped his mouth but all it led to a life-changing sight.


    A great section of the summit¡¯s eastern face was fractured. Stone the size of a small manor was sundered and split. That was ignoring the many signs of conflict on the way here.


    Osias could only think that something ungodly had taken place. A show of violent force was exacted upon the area.


    Osias shuddered deeply¡­


    ¡®Brother shouldn¡¯t have any destructive technique¡­ is he truly dead?¡¯


    But just as Osias wallowed in his fear, a gaunt lumbering figure descended to the small clearing he was atop, despite its elevation. And amidst the billowed dust, a deep and relieved sigh escaped from his lips:


    ¡°Brother¡­ are you alright?¡±


    The haggard figure of Kiran reached a hand out to him and replied with his usual indifference and calmness:


    ¡°Finally found you¡­ It is dead. We¡¯re safe for now.¡±


    His elder brother ignored his question. But then again, it was almost amusing how indifferent his elder brother was when behind him tattered in ruins.


    But¡­ peering into the distance, Osias spotted an area where the rubble didn¡¯t reach. It was noteworthy despite its far distance.


    Reaching past Kiran, he lifted a hand and pointed to it:


    ¡°Brother, there!¡±


    Kiran turned in response and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Quickly he grabbed Osias, neglecting his little brother¡¯s wounded body as he dashed forward.


    Amidst the rubble, there was a large crevice. The stone wreckage that surrounded it fortunately revealed such an opening.


    ¡®It¡¯s deep.¡¯ Kiran thought as his mind raced.


    It was a great sign. The only sign they came upon.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Setting Osias aside, Kiran began to dig out the rubble covering the entrance of this mountain crevice.


    Pulling immense amounts of stone, it was eventually cleared.


    Osias slowly crawled to the opening as his elder brother stood before it in shock and awe.


    An impossibly deep, but stable-looking tunnel leads within the mountain summit¡­ No even deeper.


    ¡°Brother¡­ is this it?¡±


    ¡°...It has to. It is far too much of a coincidence for it not to be the Heron.¡±


    Unbeknownst to both brothers, they followed up thinking the same thing to themselves, too hesitant to say out loud:


    ¡®I can get healed!¡¯


    ¡®Osias can get healed!¡¯


    ¡ª


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°As best as I can be, brother.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Kiran and Osias stood at the edge of the crevice, peering into the dark maw of the tunnel that delved deep into the mountain.


    The air was heavy with a sense of expectancy, and the glimmers of hope. Kiran tightened the latches that fastened Osias to his back and brandished his crimson spear, his eyes scanning the entrance with a practiced wariness.


    His usual spear was unfit for the rest of the journey, yet, as the last of Kiran¡¯s sentiment from the Band other than Osias himself¡­ he felt obliged to keep the remembrance.


    After all, the crimson spear made from True Extraction was modeled after it.


    Yet it was a heavy thing, unsuited for Osias¡¯s frail body and modest size to wield. Hefty and strong, most Second Ordeals cannot wield such a spear unless they possess a grand essence reservoir ¡ª their body being seeped and strengthened by. It was ultimately made with a mighty Blood Path Finder in mind.


    ¡­ And so Kiran threw it aside in the tunnel, hopeful that a stray Path Beast wouldn¡¯t treat it as a stick to throw.


    While Osias was armed with his short blade, retrieved by Kiran as promised.


    ¡°Let us start,¡± Kiran instructed, his voice low but firm.


    Osias nodded, his face set with determination, and tightened his blade¡¯s handle clutch.


    Kiran began the descent, moving with the cautious grace of a tested warrior.


    He tested each foothold carefully before committing his weight, ensuring that the rocks were stable. His eyes constantly darted around, searching for any signs of danger or instability in the tunnel walls.


    Although the crevice and following tunnel weren¡¯t exactly as mentioned in Garm¡¯s story, there wasn¡¯t any other choice. Besides, it must¡¯ve been decades since Garm encountered the Gracious Heron in his youth - his memory along with the terrain must¡¯ve been subject to the ravages of time.


    However¡­ the Ordeal level of this Path Beast was unknown. Even Garm couldn¡¯t ascertain it during his youth.


    So Kiran needed to be close to discern it, but it may be too late.


    Although the dire need to heal Osias washed the brothers in promise, Kiran knew better than to expect an unknown Path Beast to be gracious and forbearing. It was beyond belief, but the brothers could only trust Garm¡¯s words.


    Osias was in Kiran¡¯s shadow, so close to their immediate goal, but his heart pounded in his chest in anticipation.


    As they descended deeper, the light from the crevice above faded, and the brothers turned blind in the darkness. But these didn¡¯t make them waver, it was all or nothing. Besides, Kiran could sense most approaching Path Beasts. Osias could only trust his elder brother like always.


    The tunnel was narrow and uneven, carved by natural forces over countless years it seemed. The walls were jagged, and the ground was strewn with loose stones and debris.


    Kiran¡¯s vigilance was unwavering, his senses attuned to every sound and movement. He knew the dangers of such places¡ªhidden pitfalls, unstable rocks, the tunnel caving in¡­


    The tunnel twisted and turned, descending deeper into the mountain¡¯s heart.


    The air grew colder and more oppressive, and the distant sound of dripping water echoed through the passage.


    Kiran paused occasionally, listening intently, and continued his pace.


    Finally, at last, the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern.


    The walls glistened with moisture, and the air was filled with the sound of water dripping into unseen pools.


    And the sight before them¡­ was ethereal.


    A beautiful expanse covered by a vast and mesmerizing field of white flowers. Clusters of heavenly life grew here and there among the emerald-tinged grass.


    The walls of the expanse contrasted with velvety darkness, with a scattering of radiant star-like stones shining in between.


    Osias turned and watched all around, taking in the enthralling view.


    But most eye-catching¡­ was the clear lake in the center of the expanse, with streams of water flowing into it from the walls.


    Illuminated by countless of those beaming stones, it seemed as though the entire surface of the lake was shining with pure brilliant golden radiance. And the deep cerulean water itself¡­ clear, clearer than any waters Osias has seen before. Nothing has ever been as ravishing as the need to sink into the water.


    But as his eyes traced the body of water, his view slowly found in the center of the water was a titanic white figure.


    Solitary, yet brilliant. As if it was cut from white stone, it was the Gracious Heron told by Garm¡­


    To use words to describe the Heron was a disservice to its majesty. It looked ethereal as it lay still atop the luminous water wreathed in light. The feathers themselves glimmered, as they reflected the many colors of light made possible by the elegant gems that adorned the expanse. Its large white bill was sharp and menacing, bathed in the splendor reminiscent of a deity¡¯s blade


    All alone¡­ the Heron was so misplaced as the brothers recalled the land above. The pristine expanse and the Heron seemed so beautiful and pure, as though untouched by the imperfections of the mundane world above.


    Like a solitary God, embraced by the heavens in bliss as the ugly world continued without them.


    ¡°Brother¡­ that¡¯s it, right?¡±


    ¡°Not too fast, Osias. It''s¡­ strong. A Third Ordeal.¡± Kiran replied, a little trace of doubt staining his words.


    ¡®It¡¯s strong. Stronger than the dark beast above¡­¡¯


    ¡®Can I¡­ defeat it?¡¯


    But just as Kiran wagered and measured his chances against such a¡­ beast, it began to move.


    Its wings began to slowly unravel, revealing the body within. Its neck began to slowly stretch fully, displaying its radiant figure.


    With its head at full mast, they can finally see the black feather crest that adorned the back of its head. It was atop a similar darkly colored crown.


    The brothers were motionless, uneager to provoke the Path Beast.


    If there was any doubt that the mountain was without its lord, it was cleared full.


    And then¡­ Its eyes opened unhurried.


    It leisurely scanned its surroundings, as if it had yet to awake in centuries, reveling in the visual accounts of lost time.


    Then its large quizzical eyes laid upon the brothers¡­


    Kiran¡¯s grip tightened greatly and his breath withheld.


    Osias too clutched his blade with hesitancy.


    Should a fight break out¡­ Osias knew he was but an insignificant wounded ant.


    But¡­ the Gracious Heron did nothing.


    Not a thing.


    It simply acknowledged the pair and returned to its rest, curling its wings inward, its majestic figure returned to as it was.


    As if it was unconcerned with¡­ everything.


    Was this how it lived?


    Slumbering with its own paradise, living deep within the confines of a mountain. Absent and liberated from the carnal world, it rested its remaining days in peace and solitude.


    But Kiran¡¯s mind wandered to scornful disbelieve¡­


    ¡®Impossible. You cannot simply reach such a level of strength without taking the lives of others. I do not truly know if Path Beasts undergo the same Ordeals as man, but the lives of others fuel your Path.¡¯ He thought behind a hidden, but vicious snarl.


    ¡®Otherwise, for what reason did I¡­¡¯


    ¡°Osias, we cannot trust the Heron so quickly. But because of our lack of choices, you must be healed. Let us go.¡±


    They cautiously walked towards the lake and its master.


    He did not know the specifics of what was to occur to heal Osias. Garm¡¯s tale was brief and short, a fleeting memory of his youth that could¡¯ve been a lifetime ago considering his age.


    So how does the Heron heal others?


    ¡®Do I¡­ ask it?¡¯


    Closer and closer to the edge of the luminous lake, Kiran sighed as he unlatched Osias and presented him:


    ¡°Great Beast, I implore you to heal my brother, I have heard of your capabilities from a respected senior of ours¡­ you healed that man in his youth many years ago. Please grant this same request.¡±


    A long pause followed Kiran''s earnest request to the Heron.


    His breaths came in raved, as the anticipation gnawed at his mind.


    It was bizarre, for a man to communicate to a beast, even placing himself below such a being arbitrarily.


    But Kiran was aware that some beasts, enigmas of their kind, slowly gain intelligence through their Path.


    Yet this intelligence has always led to feed their carnal, cruel cunning. Tricking Path Finders into their schemes. Setting ruthless ambushes and banding together a pack of beasts all to destroy more. Feed their desires as beasts.


    He had seen it before¡ªunfavored villages upon the outskirts decimated by the brutal ploys of these monstrous, but intelligent beasts. Corpses laid strewn, dismembered parts decorating the dwellings of such creatures, playing at the virtues of a Path Finder. Perhaps taking an Ordinary and keeping them as a lure for others to come¡­ Be it Path Beast or Path Finder, the weak are played at the whims of powerful beings.


    ¡­Was the Heron the same?

 Chapter 11 - Calamity Is Where Blessings Lean

    Osias eagerly watched as Kiran respectfully implored the Heron to heal him.


    For a brief moment, he was unsure of his brother''s actions¡­ Osias might¡¯ve been mistaken but his brother looked like he was preparing for battle, as if he was seething in anger before abruptly pouncing on the Heron.


    So he was slightly confused about his brother¡¯s decision to talk to the Path Beast, but he couldn¡¯t figure out another option.


    So Osias lowered his head along with his brother and waited.


    Seconds passed and slowly the hairs of his body raised in a blend of fear, worry, and anticipation.


    A minute passed and nothing happened. The water was still, and so was the Heron¡¯s body. He couldn¡¯t see past its wings with his lowered head, but he decided against directly looking at the Heron¡¯s face.


    And then¡­ the water rippled gently. Hesitant, and anxiously curious, Osias slightly raised his gaze.


    There, he found that the Heron didn¡¯t unravel its wings like earlier, but simply lifted its head and raised its eyelids.


    ¡®Powerful¡­¡¯


    Recalling the battle above ground, Osias was once again reminded of how weak and helpless he was. The Outer Valleys were no such place for an Ordinary like him. It was only because of Kiran''s overbearing strength that he could survive. The moment he was disconnected from his lifeline he could only scurry off to extend his life for just a few fleeting moments.


    ¡®Strong¡­ Strong enough to pull my weight. That alone is enough.¡¯


    Osias nodded, he didn¡¯t need any elaborate reason to obtain strength. Tightly spent time only brought him closer to understanding that in this entire world, he only had Kiran.


    To fight and survive together, that was all he needed to focus on for now¡­


    But just a moment later after being observed by the Heron, it finally did something. In its drowsy-like bearing, the Heron nodded gently at them and directed its head to the water, only for its eyes to close again. Tucking its neck, its face was hidden once more in slumber.


    As if it told them to heal themselves.


    Both Osias and Kiran returned a puzzled look to each other. This was far from an expected response. A sudden attack would have been more anticipated.


    ¡°Brother¡­ what now?¡± Osias whispered under his breath.


    Kiran scratched the back of his head and a small sigh escaped:


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    The Heron dismissed them despite being aware of their presence. Should Kiran gain its attention once more? But that may only provoke the beast.


    It was mentioned that the Heron simply healed Garm, after he¡­


    ¡°Osias, stay here. I¡¯m going to try drinking the water.¡±


    ¡°Hu- What!?¡±


    ¡°The Heron isn¡¯t healing us like Garm told so. But Garm also said he drank from the water before he was healed. So I will follow first.¡±


    ¡°... Be careful then, brother¡±


    Osias observed as Kiran inched closer to the edge of the lake. Careful not to provoke the Heron, he tried to move non-threateningly.


    If they weren¡¯t in the presence of such a powerful and stalwart beast, Osias could have found the scene amusing because of Kiran¡¯s usual gaunt bearing attempting to make himself small.


    Luckily the Heron continued to rest despite the approaching Kiran.


    As Kiran brought himself aside the water¡¯s edge, he dipped a finger into the clear azure water.


    Thinly coating his finger, he brought it to his mouth and tasted just a drop. Osias was practically trembling in keen anticipation.


    For a long time he had suffered in silence as he had been thrown into these circumstances, and the first solution to a string of hardship was potentially in front of him. Even his elder brother as well¡­ he desperately fought harrowing creatures in the desire to fulfill just one goal for Osias. The first stretch of their road was here.


    And yet¡­ Kiran showed no reaction as he consumed the drop. Just before Osias was to ask if a drop was enough, a slight raise in Kiran¡¯s face stopped him from doing so.


    Retrieving his spear, Kiran abandoned the pretense of appearing non-threatening to the Heron and cut a small slit on the tip of his finger.


    Then, he set his spear aside and dipped his bare hand into the gleaming water:


    ¡°I see¡­ It¡¯s the water, Osias,¡± Kiran said in a low voice.


    ¡°You don¡¯t consume the water ¡ª you simply immerse yourself in it.¡±


    In the next moment, a few bubbles floated above and within a few eerily quiet seconds, Kiran pulled up his hand ¡ª unharmed and healed. Inspecting the recovered cut Kiran continued:


    ¡°I felt no odd ploy with essence, but there was a slight burn. But it¡¯s part of the healing I assume...Although I don¡¯t know if there are any long-term effects, we have no other choice. Go ahead and bathe.¡±


    Osias nodded and followed his brother to the edge of the water. Considering their lack of options, he can only take the plunge and hope for the best.


    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll help.¡±


    Kiran began to help strip Osias down, preparing to submerge him in the water. After all, his legs along with the rest of his body were tortured and battered for weeks without relief.


    Undressed, Osias¡¯s body was laid bare. It was thrashed and damaged, littered with sickly wounds. Most were still open under their worn bandages, radiating both pallid and dark colors in turn. Despite Kiran¡¯s cleaning of his wounds¡­ Osias was a rotting mess.


    Yet gliding away from his wounds, tattoos covered most of the surface of his legs, torso, arms, and even from his back stretched to his neck.


    Skin that was unharmed and untouched by Garm¡¯s needle was scarce and few.


    It once again reminded Kiran of how inapt a body it was for a child so young.


    Carrying Osias into the water, Kiran gently set him in, starting with his legs.


    Almost immediately the water poppled and bubbled.


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    ¡®Is it because of the extent of his wounds?¡¯ Kiran wondered.


    Further submerging him deeper, but not enough to cover his head, Osias was visibly healing beneath the clear luminescent surface of the water.


    It truly seemed like a blissful sanctuary of rapture away from the rest of the world.


    Osias felt scalding burns, but an equally powerful sense of reprieve as though he escaped death. This was true to an extent, both brothers were aware that he couldn¡¯t last any longer.


    The body of an Ordinary¡­ no matter how much the essence flows through, it has limits.


    From the Ordinary to the First Ordeal, one works their essence manipulation regardless of how small or large their reservoir is. Endless practice is needed, you can always conserve and be more efficient with essence usage. This is the foundation that Path Finders must build upon.


    Minutes pass, and Osias begins to have feeling return to his legs. The blistering wounds that tortured him began to close and heal.


    And yet, Osias found the properties of cerulean water increasingly perplexing as time passed and the bubbling gradually slowed.


    Unbeknownst to Osias, his brother was pondering the same thing behind his shrouded thoughts:


    ¡®Is this the Heron¡¯s Ordeal Ability? Or was it an extension of one?¡¯


    ¡°Osias, how much more? Best we leave immediately.¡±


    ¡°A little more brother, I''m close. I¡­ I think I can move my legs now¡± Osias said.


    He started with his toes, getting past the odd feeling of regaining his senses on a limb so deprived of sensation for more than a week.


    Then he tried bending his knee.


    It was a little dull and weak, but that was to be expected. Lifting himself above the water, Osias felt¡­ rejuvenated.


    With strength, speed, and resilience, Osias felt his return to health once more.


    This entire time, Kiran has prepared for the worst. But seeing the joyous smiling boy in front of him, he can only be pleased by this development. His usually pruned lips curved slightly and showed his rarely-seen teeth.


    ¡°I see¡­ that¡¯s good. Now come. We mustn¡¯t linger here.¡±


    Osias stood up, his feet still touching the earthy basin below the water. The cool, healing waters cascaded off his skin in rivulets that sparkled from the dappled gemstones. As he stepped onto the grassy shore, he returned to the still vigilant and ever-watchful Kiran who extended a hand.


    Firmly grabbing onto Kiran, Osias realized he still felt¡­ infirm. Although his health has returned, he cannot rush his recovery. After an extended period time of stagnation, he required a moment of acclimation.


    "Feeling better?" Kiran asked, his voice a deep rumble.


    "Much so, brother," Osias replied, a grin spreading across his face. He reached for his pile of clothes, still rugged, dirty, and bloodied. He began dressing, and soft laughter bubbled up as he struggled into his tattered garments.


    Kiran raised an eyebrow:


    "What''s so funny?"


    Osias chuckled, fastening his rag-like robes:


    "I¡¯m dirty again. All that effort to heal, and I''ll look just as ragged as before."


    Kiran shook his head, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth:


    "I see. Do you want to wash them in the Heron''s water?"


    Osias just stood motionlessly in fright at his brother''s poor joke. He quickly glanced back at the Heron and whispered to Kiran:


    ¡°The hell?¡±


    Kiran only gave a small laugh in return, a show of condolences to Osias for humoring him.


    Working off the sudden stress, Osias finished dressing. Squatting down and rolling his shoulders, it felt wonderful to have autonomy over his own body once more. The relief from the water''s healing properties was profound, but the reality of their harsh journey remained.


    ¡­After all, there was still the mist they must navigate through. It would be foolish to disregard the mist as a meager venture, but celebrating this small triumph is a fulfilling start.


    A start that may lead to Osias finally undergoing his First Ordeal.


    He came aside to his brother, and they gave a slight bow in gratitude to the Heron.


    Osias and Kiran slowly retreated to where they entered the vast expanse. Comfortable, and uneventful they reached the opening that led outside the expanse.


    Perhaps Kiran saw that past Osias¡¯s bravado and noticed his nuanced clumsiness revealing itself in the short walk, but Kiran stopped and began to prepare a slight rest before they continued.


    Seated, Osias rummaged through his barren belongings.


    A well-made, yet aged First Ordeal short sword. It was small for adults, and practically a knife for someone of Kiran¡¯s stature, but it fit Osias.


    Despite his inaction throughout their travels, its hilt, once finely crafted, was worn down, the intricate carvings and designs smoothed by years of use and his relentless grip. The leather wrapping was frayed, with patches that had been hastily rewrapped in places where the original material had completely worn away, revealing the cold steel underneath. It was a sign of Osias¡¯s rigorous training in the Band, although not as extensive as the others his age because of the time spent being tattooed by Garm...


    And the blade¡­ like many of the band¡¯s weapons, it was ruthlessly fashioned. A marvel of insidious craftsmanship, the blade spiraled. A unique serpentine design that twists from the hilt to the tip.


    Tearing through flesh and bone with a vicious efficiency, it yearned for its foes to bleed.


    Nicks and scratches marred its surface, each one a silent witness to the countless days it was used.


    Next of course was the dark cloak he donned. It wasn¡¯t special, simply an Ordinary dark grey draping cloak fit to traverse the mountains.


    But most important was its obscure pouch that lay aside Osias¡¯s ribcage.


    There, it held something dear to him, the only object of endearment he had left.


    A carefully protected porcelain vial sat within its cushioned surroundings. Although the vial was abnormally resilient, Osias couldn¡¯t help adding more care to the vial.


    After all¡­ It contained a blend of blood from his mother and father.


    It was tradition for fallen members of a family to have their blood essence absorbed by their kin before discarding the body. But Osias who has already in a way taken in his parent along with the rest of the band¡¯s blood essence from the grand ritual, was given this precious vial by Kiran before they disembarked from the band.


    So he¡¯ll have a much more special part of their parents alongside them in their travels.


    Nodding to himself and closing the pouch he thought that it was a great time to ask Kiran something that had been burdening his head:


    ¡°Hey brother¡­ Do you think you could defeat the Heron?¡±


    Opening his eyes, Kiran remained motionless in thought as he sat against a wall of stone:


    ¡°Depends. I only have clues of its abilities, but even so, I wouldn''t like to test them. Besides, had we fought you were sure to die.¡±


    ¡°Would you die?¡±


    ¡°I''m hard to kill.¡±


    Osias shared a small laugh, that reply was just like Kiran. Throughout their journey, they have only fought for their lives a handful of times, each time Kiran. Of course, some things were beyond his capabilities, but they were scouted in advance or they ran.


    Yet, not once have they entertained the idea of fighting a Third Ordeal Path Beast. Such beings were¡­ strong as they were rare.


    ¡°Is the Heron a Third Ordeal Path Beast?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Kiran peered back, towards the center of the expanse still deep in thought:


    ¡®Though there''s something¡­ different about this one.¡¯


    The great Heron remained atop the water, motionless and still as it did the moment Kiran and Osias appeared before it.


    Resting as if it sought to slumber through the end of the world.


    Suddenly, like a spark that threatened to ignite a grand forest, Kiran shot up from his rest. A cynical and insidiously sickening thought followed him:


    ¡®Solitary and isolated. It allowed Osias to be healed from its waters¡­¡¯


    ¡®It wants nothing to do with the outside, yet how - how does it sustain itself? Third Ordeal¡¯s are still on the cusps of mortals, they too need sustenance.¡¯


    Kiran¡¯s sudden movement startled Osias. Knowing that Kiran does not move without reason, and certainly at this level of urgency, Osias immediately understood that something was amiss even before Kiran said anything.


    ¡°Osias. Circle and stay by the walls of this expanse. I¡¯m going to test something out right now. Ready?¡± Kiran said with a low glare.


    ¡°A-Alright.¡± He stammered out.


    The pair broke apart promptly, Osias clutched the hilt of his blade, reveling in his ability to move. Following the brief, yet clear instructions of his elder brother, he ran right to the rugged dark walls of the cavernous expanse.


    Between left and right, Kiran didn¡¯t mention which side mattered so he arbitrarily chose left.


    ¡®This entire expanse makes a round circular shape if my eyes don¡¯t lie. What happened for Kiran to tell me to go against the edge? Is there something I need to find?¡¯


    Looking back to the tunnel they arrived in, he found Kiran preparing himself for battle. And with a deep breath, Kiran slowly lifted his foot and tipped towards the tunnel.


    But he stopped just as his foot touched the ground.


    And the air¡­ something ruinous seeped into the air, something Osias recognized immediately.


    ¡®Murderous and violent intent.¡¯


    This feeling engulfed his surroundings and Osias knew that only a single being could give rise to such intense dread.


    Turning his head to the center of the lake, he found the Heron¡­


    The Heron''s eyes snapped open, revealing a fierce, predatory gaze that belied its angelic appearance. The once serene and beautiful feathers seemed to shimmer with a sinister light, and its aura transformed into one of deadly malice.


    Osias could feel the immense power radiating from the Heron, a power that promised swift and brutal retribution should he move. Fear grasped his heart, recalling his earlier conversation.


    Returning his attention to his elder brother in the distance:


    ¡®So is this why he told me to get near the edge? To hide away?¡¯


    Once again, although he knows that there''s almost nothing he can do, he is cast off to the side.


    And just as Osias came to this realization¡­


    The battle began.

 Chapter 12 - Decisive Move

    The glimmering cavern quaked, its frames of stone shuddered and the air was billowed with dust. The once ethereal landscape was tarnished in the wake of two beings.


    A hulking man with long wild grey hair and raven black eyes faced his foe amidst rubble and upturned earth, holding a massive dark crimson spear that matched his figure.


    His foe, a stark contrast to the ferocious appearance of the man, was an almost angelic being that had descended from the heavens to grace the earth, a white Heron¡­ But its demeanor lacked the same grace as its appearance as if the man before it had tarnished its honor.


    The Heron was surrounded by a haze of flowing dust, circling it in many rings.


    The howling wind was reminiscent of the lamenting cries of demons in hell, engulfing the cavern in its rousing.


    Kiran''s heart pounded in his chest as he stared down the stationary source of this wind.


    ¡®A treacherous method of battle.¡¯


    Alarmed, he evaded to his left, just as a spree of slicing gale exploded where he once was.


    ¡®It¡¯s like a watch tower. Tall, in the distance, and uses long-reaching attacks.¡¯


    Then a violent stream of water circled Kiran and displaced the earth around him as a boulder eclipsed his point of view, rapidly approaching him.


    ¡°Ar¨C¡±


    The brutal force suppressed Kiran¡¯s ability to engage with the towering Heron, still practically motionless atop the lake''s center. It bombarded Kiran with countless attacks, all of varying sources. Water, wind, earth, and its capabilities were unmatched in each.


    ¡®It¡¯s Path doesn¡¯t matter. There¡¯s nothing clear¡­ I don¡¯t even know if it has used a second or even third Ordeal Ability ¡ª if everything up to this point had been just one Ordeal Ability¡­¡¯


    The onslaught continued Kiran neither losing nor gaining ground.


    Fortunately, his essence reservoir was near limitless, constantly drawing from the tattoos.


    He barely dodged another storm of dust and earth, each swipe of dust threatened to saw off his limbs, and grimaced.


    This battle was going nowhere, a stalemate.


    Had Kiran fought this beast without the tattoos¡­ it was needless even to entertain the outcome.


    Kiran continued to dodge, retreat, and advance in a perpetual cycle. His mind and body endured as time passed.


    Ordeal Abiltieis were fickle and as vast as the mountains of the Wailing Chain. It is an understatement to say it is important to deduce the capabilities of an otherwise unknown enemy.


    But it was a fool''s game to continue.


    The cutting wind, flowing water, and ruptured earth. The Heron had countless blends of abilities, each cascading and leading into another.


    Then there was that¡­ ability ¡ª a barrier of sorts. It was impossible to notice until he had already entered and found something amiss. Not with the entrance or the expanse itself, but the Heron''s behavior led Kiran to assume a barrier even existed.


    But eventually¡­ Kiran began to falter.


    A titanic slab of stone slammed into Kiran, and despite putting up a guard to brace the attack, the force shattered his arms and ribs.


    Launched back, Kiran drifted as he used his spear to slow himself.


    But he was undeterred. Although he was injured, Kiran could use this as an opportunity.


    The Heron¡­ was intelligent, much more so than it initially lets on. Perhaps this was because it still retained much of its Ordinary form, but the reason why was unimportant.


    Smiling, Kiran regained his balance, raised his spear with his already healing arm, and yelled:


    ¡°Osias, wait by the tunnel¡¯s edge!¡±


    Then he exploded forward.


    Bombardments fired.


    The vicious wind once again shot at Kiran, only the dust and obscured traces of essence hinted at its direction, each cut threatening to sever his limbs.


    Once again barely dodging, Kiran continued forth, even suppressing a groan as his hip was cut.


    ¡®It¡¯s solitary. There''s no reason for it to be hostile to us other than to feed.¡¯


    Kiran smiled as he continued forward, almost stifling a grim laugh.


    ¡®Can I even call it a vile beast? It reminds me of humans.¡¯


    Cutting off his thoughts, the ground split below Kiran¡¯s feet ¡ª an attempt to swallow him when he changed his strategy.


    But Kiran was undeterred, it was too shallow for someone as large as Kiran, and as if he expected such a ploy just mere moments prior, he lept and jammed his spear into the solid earth in front and climbed.


    ¡®Like caring for the livestock in a herd, it heals the weak and the sick.¡¯


    The glimmering water from the lake was brought forth, and spikes of water rained onto Kiran he waved his spear to parry the oncoming spikes.


    ¡®It wants its livestock to be healthy and whole, just before it butchers them for meat.¡¯


    These spikes punctured and littered Kiran in holes, but he continued as always.


    Kiran''s heart pounded in his chest as he charged forward, the ground beneath him a blur of motion. The Heron, now fully awake and emanating a deadly aura, let out a piercing screech. From its wings, a storm of crescent-shaped rings of the lake water flew towards him, cutting through the air with lethal precision.


    Kiran didn''t flinch. He pushed aside the pain as the attack rend and slashed at his skin, even drawing blood and leaving deep gashes across his arms and chest. His muscles strained, but he pushed onward, each step fueled by a surge of essence that bolstered his strength.


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    The water''s edge drew nearer, and the Heron''s attacks grew more frenzied. Kiran felt a slice through his thigh, and another nick on his shoulder, but he pressed on, using Blood Mend to heal the surface wounds almost as quickly as they were inflicted.


    Then a tremendous gale honed onto Kiran, something he could not wave off ¡ª so he gave his offered his limb in return.


    His right arm severed from past his shoulder. The blow carried it off, landing far away from his sight.


    But Kiran was just a few steps away from his goal, his face a fierce scowl directed at the audacious Heron.


    His vision narrowed, focusing solely on his target.


    Kiran reached the water''s edge with a final, desperate lunge across the raised earth ¡ª another of the Heron¡¯s ploys to bar his approach.


    The Heron reared back, finally moving its massive body. Kiran felt the earth beginning to take hold of his feet as if its claws were projected to the ground below him.


    But Kiran''s grip tightened around his spear, the essence within him blaring in preparation. Every ounce of his strength, every bit of his essence in his reservoir was emptied into this throw.


    He reared back and, with a thundering roar, he hurled the spear with all his might. The weapon cut through the air like a flash, leaving a crimson blur in its wake. The Heron''s eyes widened in shock as the spear struck true, sinking deep into its chest. A fountain of blood erupted from the wound as the heron let out an anguished cry.


    ¡®Not done!¡¯


    Kiran willed his spear with what little control remained over the construct to inflict more damage, anything to ravage its insides.


    He extended an arm and within the Heron, his spear turned to a bulging mass of crimson spikes.


    The killing intent in the air dissipated greatly, replaced by the Heron''s pained wails. In the next moment, the Heron''s earthen claws that crawled up to Kiran''s knees loosened due to its agony.


    ...Kiran could only imagine when was the last time the Heron was tested, to feel such immense pain. To fight a battle to live. To claw for life, for survival. How many years has it huddled in solitude, using its healing water to lure in easy meals?


    Kiran watched as the majestic beast staggered slightly, its wings showing a faint sign of faltering.


    Breathing heavily, Kiran stood at the water''s edge, blood dripping from his wounds. Blood mend temporarily halted.


    His essence flickered, the immense exertion leaving him momentarily drained. But he had succeeded. His reservoir was already drawing from the almost endless amount stored within the tattoos and in moments he will be full again.


    Taking this moment of reprieve, Kiran bent down and began viciously hammering into the hardened stone.


    His legs¡­ the stone caved in, exerting immense pressure as the Heron sought to simply crush Kiran and compromise his movements.


    Kiran was without a weapon. The construct was lost as it embedded within the Heron¡­ something he couldn¡¯t do a thing about. Such was the nature of his True Extraction.


    He was dangerously close to the lake¡¯s edge, and the many rings of dust that scattered around the Heron began to collect into a fierce whirlwind once more as it recollected itself.


    If the Heron is entirely keen on killing Kiran¡­ then Kiran would likely meet his end here.


    With enough capacity to use Blood Mend, Kiran focused the ability on his legs, as he hobbled and circled the edge of the lake, welcoming continued battle as he solemnly spoke once again to the Path Beast:


    ¡°We¡­ We wish to leave.¡±


    The Heron began to hurl more of the lake''s water at Kiran as he evaded.


    ¡°How much longer can you put out this atta¨C¡±


    A thunderous crash sounded as a glaring gemstone was lifted from the water and propelled into Kiran¡¯s side by the Heron''s control of the wind. The stone was hurled into the side unprotected by his missing arm, crumpling his flesh and bone alike. Launched back, Kiran bit down on his teeth and swallowed a mouthful of blood that threatened to spill out.


    ¡°You must be wondering how the body of a human is as resilient as a beast¡­ others would have their torso torn off from that.¡±


    Kiran¡¯s missing arm and parts of his shoulder had begun to stop bleeding, and the very beginnings of a stump were forming.


    Regrowing limbs didn''t take long for Kiran... perhaps for others it might, but certainly not an enigma of the Blood Path like him.


    ¡°How is it? Your essence I mean. How much more do you have left?¡±


    A wave ruptured the ground below as it upheaved everything in its approach. Kiran lunged and rolled to the side.


    ¡°You have nothing that can kill me in a single blow. You can¡¯t even reach the end of the cavern. You are¡­ quite weak for a Third Ordeal. At first, I thought my senses said otherwise.¡±


    ¡®High amounts of essence, and a myriad of different attacks. A slightly weaker body in exchange perhaps. It thrives in prolonged battles at a distance but within its territory. It is intelligent, but both arrogant and cowardly. Did it allow Osias to be healed because a meager Second Ordeal and Ordinary couldn¡¯t be capable of matching it?¡¯


    ¡®No, it was before that. The very act of allowing entry into its territory. Most of its strength lies in concealment then. I didn¡¯t even realize something was amiss as we entered the expanse. So it¡¯s that barrier of sorts¡­¡¯


    Kiran¡¯s legs have recovered, and he sped forward to the edge again. It was perplexing to Kiran as he continued to circle the lake. The water that healed Osias no longer contains the same property. Instead, it was embosomed with murderous intent as it was shaped into flowing instruments of battle.


    Glancing at the large gaping wound where he threw his spear Kiran snarled at the Heron:


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you heal that hole of yours with the water?¡±


    Slowly as he regained his recovered stride, Kiran continued to move while unarmed.


    Another part of the Heron¡¯s abilities was unraveled ¡ª the water no longer possessed its healing properties. Like a lure, it must have drained a significant amount of essence to infuse and sustain such a lake capable of healing.


    Perhaps it¡¯s trying to save its essence, cautious of my recovery.


    Kiran also had an inkling that if it wasn¡¯t for the inherent difference in how those of the Path of Blood obtain essence then the lake also either provided or sped the replenishment of essence for every other Path. A sizable bait must be set to interest prey, after all, merely healing alone cannot attract things into such a murderous den.


    ¡°Once you deplete your reservoir¡­ what then?¡±


    Kiran was sadly mismatched this time if he wanted to slay the Heron. He lacked any evasive moves to close the distance atop water nor did he have any reliable range attacks. It was a single enemy as well. Without the tattoos, the first time he depleted his own reservoir would be the moment he died ¡ª no sources of blood to replenish from.


    Perhaps the Heron¡¯s natural essence reservoir was its strength. But it was bound to deplete before his own. Just how many lives were taken in the inheritance?


    But Kiran didn''t think he needed to kill the abominable beast, nor did he want to.


    It allowed the brothers to heal and didn''t move until Kiran stepped outside the cavern.


    It had some sort of control over this expanse, but Kiran did not want to test this control by crossing its domain without its permission. It welcomed them in, but he was sure it wouldn''t allow them out so easily. Kiran was sure that was one of its Ordeal Abilities, if not an application of one ¡ª a sort of domain it lords over.


    Normally, Kiran would never approach a figure cloaked with many untold capabilities¡­ and yet, it showed glimpses of intelligence, something he could use.


    ¡°We wish to leave. Cease that ability that closes us within the expanse. Don''t think I needed to touch it to know of its existence.¡±


    Perhaps it wasn¡¯t the Heron¡¯s intelligence that Kiran could take advantage of, but it was cowardice and reclusiveness.


    And just as Kiran thought¡­ the hovering and poised barrage of the elements halted. The wind died, and the lake slowly became still once again.


    The Heron looked distraught. Ruffled feathers, a ragged breath, and a gaping hole in its feathered chest.


    Then Kiran felt a gentle ripple through the air as his eyes cast upon where he presumed the invisible barrier bordered the expanse.


    It was a lamentable decision for the Heron. Distasteful and humiliating, an act that angered it so much.


    An easy meal, a rare opportunity as very few would ever venture towards the inkling of danger that it exuded.


    And yet, neither party wished to continue in a worthless battle to the death. Both had their own goals, and either dying in an immediate battle was ill-advised for each of them.


    Still wary of turning his back on his foe, Kiran¡¯s eyes never left the Path Beast as he walked back to Osias and to the entrance.


    He kept quiet and wary, his disdain only growing as the giant white figure grew smaller and smaller with each step.


    Looking at Osias, he let out a sigh and lowered his head.


    ¡°Grab a hold of me, and I¡¯ll step through first. You¡¯ll follow immediately.¡±


    As they made their way out of the cavernous expanse, Kiran looked behind, grasping the last fleeting glimpse of the distant Heron tending its wounds, and callously said:


    ¡°One day¡­ we¡¯ll come back. If the Heron doesn¡¯t catch something too large for its appetite in the coming years, we¡¯ll return. Return its hospitality back in blood.¡±

 Chapter 13 - Bathed in Light

    Kiran retrieved his original spear as they made their way through the tunnel and Osias ¡ª now on foot, sought to be of use at last.


    They needed to pass through the ever-encompassing mist that they so warily avoided until now, but there was still a grand slope to descend that connected to another vast mountain with a ridge.


    Most importantly, Kiran needed to replenish his lack of a strong weapon. And so, every being made of blood they¡¯ll encounter will be entirely drained with True Extraction, and if it isn¡¯t enough to bring up a weapon equal to a weak Third Ordeal Path Beast, they¡¯ll thoroughly cleanse the mountain until they can.


    ¡­Unless there was a Path Beast even stronger than the Heron, of course.


    They walked in silence for a while, but Osias quickly grew bored.


    Eventually, he spoke:


    ¡°Brother, why do you use a spear?¡±


    Silence hung in the air for a few seconds before a reply was callously returned:


    ¡°It¡¯s what''s given to the youth of the Band, had you been born a few years prior you¡¯d understand better. As an Ordinary, we are thrown into skirmishes. Mainly against other Ordinary, but there are times you must face a First Ordeal¡­ It is said that there is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a spear and send him forth to battle, the beast stirs. The taste of blood is all it takes to wake it ¡ª either their own or their enemies. But for us who were born from blood, the beast is born awake.¡±


    He paused and added with a low shrug:


    ¡°It was the easier weapon to wield and to teach with. Until you achieve merit and prove yourself you are given more privilege. Most turn away from the spear and turn to blades, but I kept my polearms.¡±


    Osias nodded to himself. It certainly made more sense to use blades and shorter-distance weapons than those of the Band. You could be more reckless since Blood Mend was so common amongst the Path of Blood.


    ¡°Many would find trouble with my reach with a blade, but with a spear almost the length of two and a half men¡­ the distance is vast. Besides, it¡¯s not always that I use just the spearhead ¡ª see this?¡±


    Pointing to the sharp hook and prongs that branched off the shaft, Kiran brought the great spear closer to Osias.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do it with this spear, but using True Extraction I can change the shape. I¡¯ve always kept you away from battle so you couldn¡¯t have seen it from afar, but there are times I change the head into a great blade. Like the glaives used by the few Blood Riders of the Band.¡±


    Osias recalled the Blood Riders¡­ the few men who wielded great weapons, mostly curved blades as they rode atop the war mounts of the Band. From horses to enthralled Path Beasts, they were so few yet always seemed to be present.


    Kiran cut off Osias¡¯s thoughts as he continued with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips:


    ¡°But I can see where you are going with your thoughts ¡ª how about the Blood Path Finders who fiendishly fight amidst the fray, those that do not care for their body as they cut their enemies down? I think we are alike. I too have learned the same War Art. I too have Blood Mend and can ignore most blows. But that only means I can stay afar without fear.¡±


    Cutting, stabbing, bleeding the enemy ¡ª all at a vast distance¡­ It made sense for Osias. If Kiran¡¯s style revolved around keeping his enemies at bay from afar, they¡¯d be forced to close in on him.


    But Kiran is likely just as dangerous in close quarters. Besides, what¡¯s stopping him from sustaining damage with Blood Mend to render their attempts futile as he creates distance again?


    ¡°Brother, will I grow as big as you?¡±


    Osias¡¯s abrupt question took Kiran a little off guard as he let out a small chuckle:


    ¡°Maybe. Those of our Path are either the smallest of men or the largest. Depends if they were privy or not to Blood Essence as they matured ¡ª so you¡¯ll grow large and strong. Of the Band, I was a little different so it wouldn¡¯t be fair to compare yourself to me.¡±


    Nodding, and stepping through the tunnel¡¯s entrance, Osias found himself warped in the beautiful night sky. The stars and moons were beautiful and brilliant, and it was difficult not to be enamored by the scene.


    Heading out first, Kiran reached for Osias he helped him climb out of the dark tunnel and into the full brilliance of starlight.:


    ¡°The War Art of our Band, the ironclad principle of to kill no matter the cost. Take it as you will, Osias. To sacrifice an arm is nothing compared to sacrificing something truly precious.¡±


    With his feet planted amidst the rubble that surrounded the tunnel, Osias took in the pure sky, crisp with the scent of pine and wet earth ¡ª brought up from the treeline and upturned earth of Kiran¡¯s battle by the wind.


    ¡°I see ¡ª something precious, huh.¡±


    ¡®Something precious¡­¡¯


    ¡ª


    The coming morning was rejuvenating for the pair, as uplifting as a journey through the hellish Outer Valleys can allow.


    A night of uninterrupted rest, perhaps due to the presence of a Third Ordeal beast deep within the mountain, but nevertheless it was much needed.


    When Osias came to, Kiran was already awake, resting as he sat against a towering tree. His spear was leaning against his shoulder. An impossibly hard blackened wood shaft and a warped stone-like spiraled spearhead.


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    Osias raised his arms and extended his legs in a stretch. All he could think of was how great it was to move once again. To feel once again.


    Just then, his stomach rumbled.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry, brother.¡±


    ¡°I know, we still have parts of the boar I took apart a few days ago. I took it upon myself to search through where I fought those dark Path Beasts. Our other belongings perished, but I found the wrapped meat untouched.¡±


    Turning to his side, Osias found a dimmed fire burning below an impaled flank of meat. Fat glistened, and its surface was slightly charred. Last night, he was too tired to think of anything but rest, so this cut of meat looked delectable.


    Practically jumping to his feet, Osias walked to the small fire and grabbed the skewered meal, and began to hastily devour the blessing.


    ¡®Hehe, Kiran knows exactly what I need.¡¯


    Wiping his lips with his arm as he finished, Osias checked his clothes and brandished his short blade. His eyes found Kiran and asked:


    ¡°To the next mountain?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    Well rested and well fed, nothing else could give a better start to the pair.


    Throwing a glance at Kiran, Osias noted how little belongings they had in possession. Clothes, weapons, and grit, nothing else. Having gone through all their rations and the spare boar, they needed to find an Ordinary or Path Beast to butcher.


    After checking and securing the small vial of blood from their parents, Osias and Kiran set off ¡ª first for the ridge they must cross.


    The ridge looked narrow and long, descending from where they were currently. Yet it fortunately did not descend deep enough for the mist to envelop it.


    Although¡­ they must eventually cross that obstacle. This mountain range was coming to an end, and the deep obscured valleys replaced it.


    Peering over the edge, Osias couldn''t help but think that there weren¡¯t any valleys within the mist. That there wasn¡¯t any land at all.


    Perhaps it was just¡­ an endless gorge that sunk straight to hell.


    Hiking downwards they made for the northern face of the mountain to enter the ridge.


    And from where they were standing they could see what lay ahead of them in its entirety.


    The lonesome ridge.


    A bulky mountain connected to it, the last of its kind for the probable future.


    And the ever-encompassing mist that refused to reveal what lay within...


    Swallowing a thick lump of fear down his throat, Osias and Kiran continued along the barren ridge. Fortunately, no abominations of the Path laid before them. God knew what would happen had a battle arose and Osias was sent over the edge.


    Falling to death seemed more tranquil than braving the whispers of the mist alone.


    Glancing at his short blade, Osias felt¡­ out of place.


    It was an average First Ordeal weapon. Since all weapons, tools, and armor pertained to the strength of Path Beasts rather than humans, it was almost too strong for someone like Osias, an Ordinary.


    A little too heavy for him, but it was made with the knowledge that hell slowly grows into it as his reservoir increases and his body grows stronger with time.


    And yet, just how many Second Ordeals have they come across in such a short period?


    Too many to count. Some were too strong to deal with without dire repercussions and so they were avoided or they ran from them. Kiran was wary, never risking a fight in case they alarmed other, more powerful, Path Beasts to a fight.


    ¡°Brot-¡±


    ¡°Osias, I¡¯ll find Ordinarys and First Ordeals for you. I won¡¯t lift a finger to help unless a Second Ordeal arrives, but only then will we run, not fight.


    Osias frowned a little as Kiran cut Osias off as if Kiran was almost expecting a question of what his purpose was as they traveled. But it was a welcome answer. Osias was practically itching to be of use.


    They traveled the ridge uninterrupted and stepped foot at where the ridge met the final peak of this nameless chain in the Outer Valleys.


    ¡°Hey brother, how far North are we now?¡±


    With a thoughtful pause, Kiran replied:


    ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure, but going by the mainland''s measures, we are a little past the Southern Border of the Tailed Brothers¡­ at least the borders before they swallowed the Band.¡±


    Ruffled leaves from the distant treeline and the far roars of beasts sounded off as the mountain¡¯s air hung quiet at Kiran¡¯s words.


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving, Osias.¡±


    As Osias recalled at the once distant mountain, he knew that it was quite wide and irregularly shaped. The southern face they were was adorned with many trees, natural paths, and cliffs as it seamlessly blended with the northern face.


    Suddenly, Kiran threw his spear without warning, and a wet thud sounded along with the last caws of a bird-like creature.


    Falling from a thick branch by the crown of this tree fell a massive bird, yet not so large enough to tell at a glance it was a Path Beast.


    ¡°Get used to the feeling of Blood Reave, don¡¯t lose to the bloodlust. It''s best to feel it and acclimate away from battle first¡­ it''s been too long since you used it after all.¡±


    Nodding at his brother¡¯s words, Osias ran ahead after doing a small scan of the clearing before he arrived at the bird. With his free hand, he tried to pull out the hefty spear of his brother, but alas it was too heavy for someone like him.


    Nevertheless, his fingers traced the outer edge of the gaping wound and he dipped his fingers in and used his Innate Ability.


    Blood Reave¡­. It was difficult to describe how he could use it. It was as natural as moving his hand. If he had to say, it was like drinking from his fingers the moment they touched blood, it felt belonging and right.


    And then the blood itself ¡ª an ecstasy so easy to fall into depravity for. As if the act of Blood Reave demanded his mind and body to continue to drink.


    This feeling never went away, even at the later Ordeals, hence why it was so important to instill discipline in the youth like Osias.


    Although the feeling invigorates one during battle, it is important to think. To will yourself into a thoughtful action. Otherwise, you were bound to fall for deceit amidst battle.


    Quickly, the bird was drained of its blood essence, and as Osias pulled his fingers away from the beast, it was already a withered husk of its former self. Small and grey-like.


    As he got up, Kiran came beside him and pried his spear from the corpse, and motioned to continue forward.


    After that, they circled a small tract as Kiran conversed some knowledge he couldn¡¯t do so before. With Osias lively, Kiran took it upon himself to berate Osias the moment his control over his essence waned. Hammering the essence of the Band¡¯s War Art, Osias slowly began to recover his lost progress.


    And to Osias¡¯s dismay¡­ he was clumsy. Very much so. The long period of inaction took a large toll, more so than Osias thought.


    Before, he was only beginning to understand the indomitable and insidious way of fighting that those of the Band did so well.


    It was to go against one''s instinctive sense of self-preservation, that was what the Blood Warriors of the Band used to say.


    Only then would they teach how to use essence best with this way of fighting in mind.


    Osias has yet to learn this method of using essence, only using his most rudimentary knowledge and sense of his own essence to manipulate it.


    So he was compensating skill for the sheer amount of blood essence at his disposal.


    ¡°Osias, far ahead.¡±


    Honing in on where Kiran pointed, Osias took a moment to find what Kiran wanted him to see. His senses just weren''t as sensitive as Kiran''s.


    And there it was, a mountain boar. It wasn''t amongst the largest of their kind, but it was most definitely an adult. It outsized Osias many times over.


    An Ordinary beast, capable of mauling grown men. Multiple, even.


    Glancing to his side, Kiran then said:


    ¡°I won''t lift a hand, even if you were to die. Sharpen yourself, Osias.¡±


    Silence hung in the air as Osiaz steeled himself.


    And with a small swallow of fear, he replied:


    ¡°I wasn''t expecting you to.¡±


    Kiran smiled slightly at his response.


    ¡°I''ll make sure nothing interrupts you.¡±


    Nodding at his brother''s reaffirmation, Osias began his hunt.

 Chapter 14 - Cast a Shadow

    ¡°I''ll make sure nothing interrupts you.¡±


    With those final words, Kiran disappeared from sight, leaving Osias alone in the clearing. The silence was deafening, the weight of his brother''s absence heavy on his shoulders. But as he gripped his blade tighter, Osias felt a spark of resolve ignite within him. He would face the challenges ahead, and he would emerge stronger.


    No elaborate tricks or schemes¡ªthis was a boar, driven by wild instincts and keen senses. At this distance, it could already smell Osias.


    And just as Osias thought of this, the boar suddenly lifted its head, its sharp ears and fat snout twitched. Osias froze, his breath catching.


    ''It¡¯s coming.¡¯


    He recalled the Band¡¯s teaching. To display intricate levels of essence control, to make full use of the essence you reave from the death of others. To precisely strengthen the proper parts of one''s body at the right time in a beautiful blend of violence and skill. To not waste essence in case one finds himself amidst a battle without replenishment.


    However, this was the only premise of the War Art that Osias was aware of. He lacked the knowledge to use and control his essence in such a way, and much of his time within the Band was busy with Garm and the tattoos. He wasn¡¯t taught the methods of utilizing his essence in this way.


    So he will supplement this lack of knowledge with his endless amount of essence and rudimentary, yet wasteful control of essence.


    He was sure that Kiran would teach him as they traveled, though.


    Bringing his attention to the rushing figure, Osias immediately thought to use the many trees that littered the space between them to avoid the charge.


    With a snort, the boar turned, its small, beady eyes locking onto Osias. For a heartbeat, time seemed to stretch thin. Then, the beast charged, a blur of muscle and fury. Osias stood his ground, waiting until the last moment before dashing to his side and slashing at the boar''s flank.


    Blood sprayed, and the boar let out a pained squeal, but it wasn''t done yet. It wheeled around, tusks slashing through the air.


    The struggle was fierce, and the boar was relentless in its attacks.


    Osias danced around it, landing blows where he could, his movements growing more confident with each passing moment.


    ¡®Keep moving!¡¯


    He couldn¡¯t remain stagnant, it was his death if he let the hulking mass crash into him. Still, in this brief exchange, Osias came to know how agile this creature was.


    Yet, Osias continued to weave between obstacles and lashed his short blade to its sides and flank.


    Blood spilled from the boar''s many wounds, it began to show its growing weakness. But fighting amidst the undergrowth was tedious. Stray roots, saplings, and wet earth scattered the ground. And the moment Osias moved in for a deeper blow the boar jerked awkwardly, against its usual course of movement ¡ª it began to turn away to run.


    This was all that was needed for Osias to lose his balance just slightly, and as he brought his foot forward to poise himself, his rear foot caught a stray root.


    An opportunist, the boar was ¡ª it almost immediately abandoned its daring escape as it dashed towards the bold, yet small human child.


    At once, Osias brought forth his blade, a pitiful attempt to deflect a charging mountain, something that outweighed him miserably.


    Yet he should¡¯ve been able to inflict a wound at least¡­


    And then the bristled and furious head of the boar came upon him.


    The awkward angle knocked his blade away, his arms too weak against the force.


    A terrible impact resounded through his bones as the boar carried him off his feet and slammed him against a great trunk, curling Osias at his torso in a violent boom.


    The bark contorted and split, a shallow human-shaped impression was impossibly stamped into the rigid tree.


    His bones, stronger than many of the Ordinary, tempered and saturated by his ever-growing reservoir of essence held.


    But the dreadful blow takes the wind from his lungs. His mind froze from the impact, needing moments to register.


    Osias gritted his teeth and groaned, feeling his entire body being crushed against a mere boar against a tree. It wasn¡¯t even a Path Beast. And yet he felt as though he was being crushed to death, unable to draw in a breath despite the agony.


    Anger flowed along with hatred. Not at the boar, but at himself. He should be defeating Path Beasts, not Ordinary!


    Something like this was for other Ordinaries, not him.


    The boar''s snout was tightly pressed against his body. One of Osias¡¯s arms was pressed tightly against his own body, and the other was wedged between himself and the tree¡­ but just barely he could wrestle it out.


    He just needed to free it.


    He just needed to wait until its heavy head tipped more onto his left, easing the pressure on the other side just enough to free his arm.


    ¡°Agh!¡±


    Until then, the boar ruthlessly dug deeper into the ground as it sought to drive its entire head into him. And then it audaciously gnawed at Osias, with its tusk-like teeth.


    Osias¡¯s body was more resilient than other children of his age, and yet the suffocating pressure of the boar threatened to cave in his torso.


    But it happened.


    The moment he needed.


    His right arm was wedged behind his back, bare against the splintering sharp bark of the tree. Bloodied and mangled, he heaved his arm back to its rightful place at his side and brought it the the lowered head of the boar.


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    He viciously stuck his thumb into the boar¡¯s eye.


    A tremoring squeal was sounded in response, but Osias paid no heed to it. All he knew was that it stopped trying to devour him.


    He wriggled his thumb within its socket as he hooked and pulled what was left of the disfigured eye.


    And yet the boar¡¯s pressure remained. It intended to crush him first and eat his lifeless corpse after.


    Osias quickly moved to its ear and ignited his essence from the muscles and bones of his shoulder stretching to the very tips of his finger as he sought to rip apart its ear.


    A revolting sound of flesh being torn blared in unison with the heavy grunts of the boar as it began to almost reconsider its choices, eager to save its own life.


    Osias had blood running down his lips, but he earnestly tore apart and separated its ears from its body.


    Dipping his hand into the open canal, he greedily absorbed the blood essence of the Ordinary boar.


    Delighting in the senseless thrill of the weakening beast, Osias managed to pull his other arm as the boar tried to pull back just slightly to batter him again.


    Clutching down on the ear within his palm, he made a fist as he hammered downwards against the skull of the boar, shaking its already waned will. His other, now free, hand wrapped against the head of the boar to continue to thrive its blood.


    Each blow loosened the pressure that pushed Osias against the tree, and just then after an uncountable amount of hammering strikes, the boar valued its own life more than taking Osias¡¯s.


    It turned around the moment Osias dropped to his feet.


    Yet like a beast himself, Osias frothed at the mouth as he lept forward on all fours to catch the hind leg of the boar. He wouldn¡¯t let the audacious boar escape.


    He pulled the weakened boar¡¯s leg with his battered hand to his mouth as he bit and ripped apart the bristled fur that covered its ankle.


    With both hands he absorbed more of its blood, draining it of its vitality until the leg felt weak and useless.


    It was then that Osias let go, and hobbled to where his short blade landed amidst the chaos as the boar tried to scamper and crawl away as it bled out. Yet its hollow leg betrayed it.


    As Osias bent over to grab the blade, he wondered what Kiran might have done if Osias died here instead of the damned boar. Would he just¡­ accept it?


    He did not bear to think of it. Osias pushed those needless thoughts aside as the pain throbbed, deep in his fingers as he clutched his blade¡¯s hilt. Osias welcomed the pain to wash away his doubts.


    Having retrieved his blade, Osias came before the weak boar. It was desperate running through the lasting embers of its life as its hooves kicked and struggled against the earth. It¡¯s sickly tongue lolling from its mouth and heavy grunts sounded as if it was begging, begging for mercy.


    Looking down on the labored boar, Osias haughtily brought the blade above his shoulders between deep breaths, winding up a powerful strike, essence flowing and all.


    Osias himself would not like to die like this.


    Osias feared death. Very much so that he clung to life direly¡­ so he much preferably wouldn¡¯t like to die at all. All the time within Garm¡¯s chambers only tempered his will to live. He very well knew that the other kids died, but he didn''t. He prided himself on this triumph, even when it felt as though he was dishonoring the others by surviving.


    But¡­ if he must die one day, then Osias would like to perish peacefully, perhaps from age. Something like that was rare, yet Osias recalled that it meant you lived life to its fullest.


    And so seeing the boar wailing in pain and as rooted in place as though it was trussed and bounded¡­ Osias could only steel himself in response to the execution. He fought through his weariness with his disdain as he sought to snuff the life out of the boar.


    And then he swung.


    The boar¡¯s head separated from its inordinately stout neck, through the bristled fur and its bones.


    It would¡¯ve been a dirty cut had his blade been a touch shorter and not well within the First Ordeal.


    But even then, it didn¡¯t matter, for why would a boar care for a dirty death if all its life it had lived dirty?


    As the boar died, Osias let out an exhausted heave. But it was only natural. Just how many of his age could fight and kill something that can maul multiple Ordinary men?


    He spat out the foul blood that rose to his mouth and he hobbled his way towards where he thought Kiran was headed, not before draining the boar of all its blood essence.


    Osias noted his brother¡¯s absence, true to his word, Kiran wasn¡¯t going to help him. Even if he died.


    But Kiran didn¡¯t say he needed to kill the boar.


    ¡®I could¡¯ve run away if I deemed it necessary.¡¯


    ¡°Hehe.¡±


    Osias morbidly laughed. He was bloodied, and hurting all over, yet he laughed. It was too funny to him.


    Despite the condition of his body, he felt¡­ good. As if the rust was washed away despite the damage.


    Looking up to the sky, he found the sun was at its peak, shining down on Osias despite being canopied by overhanging trees.


    And as he looked at the fallen boar once more, his eyes slowly trailed to his own shadow.


    His shadow was his own, and not within Kiran¡¯s.


    ¡ª


    Kiran''s eyes narrowed as he stood over the fallen beast, the metallic tang of blood ran thick in the air. He raised his spear, its blade head glistening with the crimson allure of battle.


    He swung in a swift, sweeping arc, and his spear sounded a sharp hiss as it sliced through the air. But he halted the spear abruptly, causing the blood to fling off the blade in a spray that arced wildly through the air before splattering onto the ground.


    Yet it couldn¡¯t wash the spear of its aged stains of blacked blood and chipped metal.


    He sighed deeply, it was time to leave it behind. It wouldn¡¯t last any longer¡­


    And so he pointed it down and stabbed through the earth, wedging it deeply.


    He then dipped his hand into the perished beast at its side and he slowly pulled a ghastly spear, made in the same image as the one that was just in hand.


    Crimson, and solid, it was as though it was made from piles of ancient, dried blood all coagulated into the shape of his spear.


    It was an odd commemoration for an old tool. Corpses lay strewn across the rubble, and his spear was embedded in the center amidst its fallen foes. But it seemed fitting.


    Just then, a piercing squeal sounded off in the distance, something that Kiran¡¯s senses as a Second Ordeal couldn¡¯t miss.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    And with a single word in acknowledgment, Kiran continued to clear this face of the mountain of its abominations, all adding to his crimson spear.


    ¡ª


    Osias returned to Kiran¡¯s side, following the stench of metal in the air, only to find trees and undergrowth splattered in a mess of blood.


    A pack, and from what Osias understood, it was a mixture of Ordinary beasts along with their ascended partners of the First Ordeal.


    Looking at the disfigured and drained corpses, Osias turned the thick-furred beast over to see more of its changes as it went through an Ordeal.


    They derived from a¡­ small four-legged Ordinary beast, Osias didn¡¯t know of its name. Brown short fur lined its small lithe body, mottled with patches of dark black tones. It couldn¡¯t have been larger than Osias¡¯s forearm.


    But as a First Ordeal, they grew as large as mutts. Skinny a hollow-like, and their bodies were contorted with a haunting grace, their once dainty limbs now elongated and twisted grotesquely.


    Lifting his head, Osias found the pack to number in the dozens:


    ¡°Brother, why did they have the Ordinary follow them? Just one of them could slaughter the rest.¡±


    Kiran pointed to the Ordinary beast¡¯s corpse, his spearhead pushed right against its leg.


    ¡°Bait.¡±


    Tracing Kiran¡¯s spear, Osias found a small¡­ cut right above their heel. On both hindlegs.


    ¡®So they can¡¯t run away?¡¯


    It was a little cruel, Osias thought. For the Path Beasts to reduce their Ordinary counterparts to mere bait.


    ¡°They left these little ones to distract me as they ran away, eager for their survival,¡± Kiran said as he extracted the last of the corpses and added:


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, I¡¯ll take the front. Your wounds are still within the limits of natural recovery so we¡¯ll rest atop this mountain before braving the mist.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    Although Kiran said that he¡¯d be taking care of the front, Osias was sure that some beasts¡¯ would come his way ¡®coincidentally¡¯.


    They continued their march, following the tree line.


    It seemed that this mountain in particular was just¡­ empty. As empty as a mountain within the Outer Valleys could be.


    Of course, the Heron¡¯s mountain was more than empty ¡ª desolate even. Omitting the ¡®pack¡¯ of those large dark abominations atop the summit and the Heron itself there was nothing, not even Ordinary creatures dwelled there.


    That was a one-off case.


    But this last mountain in the range was considerably weaker in both quality and quantity of Path Beasts.


    They have yet to encounter a single Second Ordeal, much less a Third Ordeal.


    ¡®Then what about that loud roar from befor-¡¯


    A crash resounded through the air, and a guttural bellow followed it.

 Chapter 15 - Sprouting Stem

    Osias had loved nothing better than to be of use, slowly becoming stronger. Even back in the Band in his time away from Garm¡¯s chambers, he had loved to sit and listen to the warriors of the Band talk, from the common Blood Warrior boasting their strength to the old grizzled ones of the Second Ordeal rattle on of their exploits North.


    And yet that was back in the Band. Barred from battle in case of delaying the continuation of the tattoos, Osias was held away from the only thing he was made for.


    ¡°You stay back ¡ª a Second Ordeal.¡±


    Then, a deep creaking and ripping sounded as far along their line of sight.


    The trees were felled as if they were opening up a clearing for the Path Beast''s wicked majesty.


    And from the new clearing, a great behemoth of a beast was revealed. Black stripes slashed its thick grey fur.


    A maw permanently stretched in a wicked glee, as though it was overwhelmed in delight at the appearance of the two brothers.


    But most importantly¡­ was the handful of beasts that it towered over. Each of them was too contorted and warped in their appearance to be natural, yet didn''t radiate the same dread as their master.


    ¡°They''ll focus their efforts on me. I''ll force the large one away so they won''t pounce at the weak link of our chain.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know! So I have to deal with the ¡®fodder¡¯?¡±


    Kiran pondered at the remark. The boy has already done much. He studied Osias from head to toe, ¡°Injured¡­¡±


    Then he looked at their enemies.


    Small one-eyed bastardly creatures jumped and danced as they huddled around the feet of the large one.


    It was hard to imagine these little ones as First Ordeal beasts, it seems that even the essence within them was barely above the threshold of an Ordinary. With a heavy sigh, Kiran came to a conclusion for the boy:


    ¡°Osias I''ll leave you an injured one. But if any other stragglers escape me to pounce on you, I won''t be able to help you.¡±


    With a slight pause, he added one last thing as he came close to Osias:


    ¡°The boar took a toll on you.¡±


    Reaching for his short blade, Osias saw a small splinter break off Kiran''s spear, only to be filled again by the rest of the crimson mass.


    The fragment¡­ it touched the edge of his blade, and slowly coated all over.


    No more did his short blade possess the glint of steel, but now the wicked glare of dark crimson.


    ¡°It''ll depend on yourself, but it may take only a single blow.¡±


    And then Kiran was off, meeting the titan in battle, great spear in hand.


    And just as his brother said, almost all of the small ones raced after the rushing human.


    But Kiran met them first. He easily cut down a tree, toppling it over the titan and dispersing the little ones.


    Only for the titan to swipe the falling tree aside, only grazing one of its followers.


    Regardless, Kiran¡¯s first goal was done. The followers of this Second Ordeal beast rushed ahead to Kiran¡¯s feet, rabid for blood. Vicious snarls unbefitting their size sounded as they sawed through Kiran¡¯s black cloak and into his legs.


    Yet their bodies seemed especially weak, not even penetrating the battle-hardened Kiran who now circled the group of beasts.


    Kiran violently whipped his spear, bringing it to a swift thrust from afar, piercing the hide of the titan.


    ¡®There it is!¡¯ Osias thought.


    Kiran began to lead the large one away along with the horde of First Ordeals.


    Rushing ahead, Osias urged himself to finish the staggered one Kiran left behind. It was supposed to be an easy affair, finishing off an injured Path Beast ¡ª Osias had a weapon he suspected to be of the limit of the First Ordeal, just a step away from the Second.


    ¡®Just one swing he said.¡¯


    Taking his short sword with one hand to his side, Osias swung his sword in a killing arc at the teeth-bared beast, his edge tipped to sever its ugly single-eyed face in half.


    But the beast pivoted in a bestial fury, with such speed it outpaced the boar earlier. Perhaps not, had the boar run up a charge, but such a small beast maneuvered well in this small distance.


    Osias knew that if Kiran was willing to leave it injured, then it being whole of flesh would maul him.


    Moving with his blade, Osias was undeterred, his blade¡¯s edge still hunting for heads. He caught a vicious claw as he turned his blade and in the next moment, hammered down at the desperate beast.


    His blade caught the edge of its nape, flinging a small cut of its flesh and blood along with the swing. But it only increased the fervor of his foe.


    ¡®My blade¡­ seamless, the beast¡¯s flesh has no give.¡¯


    Osias kept in his mind, that the need for one well-timed strike was all it took to kill the bastard was all it took for him to fall as well.


    But just then as he prepared another swing, his arms¡­ waivered slightly.


    Weakness attacked his muscles and joints, even spreading to his mind as his thoughts grew heavy.


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    ¡®Venom?¡¯ He thought, almost immediately adjusting himself as he halted his attack.


    ¡®Even so, it is weak!¡¯


    Rearing his blade back, he chose to engage with more fervor, matching the vigor of the beast. Weaker and slower, Osias knew full well that in terms of strength and speed he was already at a disadvantage before being introduced to the venom. Such was the way of beasts and humans.


    With a blade in hand and a mind at work, he¡¯ll slay the audacious beast. Rushing ahead, he chased down the scammering beast. Yet just as he chased it for a few paces, the beast abruptly planted itself and turned to pounce at the approaching Osias, eager to claw off his arm.


    But just as it did so, Osias brought his blade forward, blocking most of the barred teeth and claws. He angled it gracefully as he was side-by-side with a great tree, intuitively using it as protection in the split moment.


    The force of its leap staggered him, and the pain made him grit his teeth. It was perplexing, how an injured beast the size of a mutt could lurch the emboldened Osias, but he pushed the needless thoughts aside.


    Miming a smile, Osias pushed off the beast and put more of his arm, braced with a show of essence, into a vicious swing.


    Osias¡¯s short sword sliced at its large eye, and beyond as it cracked its skull instead of slicing through ¨C his inexperience showing. The sword followed into the exposed roots of the tree as the battered body of the beast was crushed against it in a bloody mess.


    Clutching his bleeding forearm, Osias grimaced in pain. As he blocked its wild jump, it reached around the short sword, after all, it wasn¡¯t too broad.


    Its venom was a different pain than he was accustomed to. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t too strong, something that couldn¡¯t even topple an Ordinary.


    So it was odd that the Second Ordeal beast even kept these little ones alongside it. Their venom was too weak for the Second Ordeals to benefit from. Anything that could be affected by such weak venom was bound to be slaughtered by the Second Ordeal beast anyway.


    Osias thought to relay this information to Kiran but found it to no avail. Kiran was sure to know of this. And besides, he¡¯ll only be in the way if he revealed himself amidst Kiran¡¯s battle. It simply wasn¡¯t his place.


    But even so, all Osias could only wonder as he wiped down his blade using the fallen beast¡¯s fur.


    ¡®Was that it?¡¯


    Suddenly, a chorus of roars bellowed in the distance ¡ª the same roars he recognized even across the Heron''s mountain.


    ¡®Brother¡­¡¯


    ¡ª


    ¡°Bastards!¡± Kiran swung his glaive ¡ª a change made prior to the battle. A savage two-handled blow that threatened to split the beast in two just barely missed. The fleeing First Ordeal mutt whisked away as Kiran clicked his tongue.


    Before Kiran was a morbid scene, dozens upon dozens of fallen beasts lay in his wake. Second Ordeals included.


    Kiran thought he led them far away from Osias, a pack of only a measly Second Ordeal and its followers. The bunch weren¡¯t strong for their level, their capabilities were an illusion to their weakness. The Second Ordeal beasts¡¯ battle strength was a little below average. All it took was a trifling swipe of his blade to tell.


    But it seemed that the entire Northern face of the mountain was infested, swamped with these dog-like beasts. They propagated and sowed like dogs.


    Kiran wished nothing more than to escape and reunite with Osias. He knew nothing of his brother¡¯s condition as he left to the Northern face.


    ¡®No¡­ I didn¡¯t leave for this place. They led me here.¡¯


    The dogs slyly pointed his direction North despite the chaos as he slaughtered them. Even the Second Ordeal contributed to the sly scheme.


    But even so, Kiran did not expect a grand horde to appear and rapidly approach.


    Such a horde would decimate any village ¡ª no, even besiege and annihilate a fortress.


    Kiran immediately circled around in retreat. A horde that consisted of what could have been a hundred dreaded hounds could butcher Kiran ¡ª Blood Mend would only help sate their hunger had he fought.


    The First Ordeals couldn¡¯t even pierce his skin, but the Second Ordeals numbered in the dozens. They would hound him in their madness within seconds. Black-frothed mouths and vicious maws lined with piercing teeth ¡ª there was a limit to how well Kiran could keep his distance against an army of equally sized foes.


    So he fought through the encirclement. Even if it brought them chasing in a frenzy toward where Osias was, Kiran needed to find out how he fared.


    ¡®It was supposed to take¡­ a few minutes at most.¡¯ He thought as many bite wounds closed abruptly, Blood Mend activated.


    Peeling his broad-headed glaive off the countless sticky corpses of the smaller ones he continued to fight through.


    ¡®The smaller ones. They strengthen this pack¡­ horde. They were bred in some way to be nothing more than tools of the those above. The venom was pitiful, almost worthless on its own. It only serves to increase the output of the type the Second Ordeals has.¡¯


    Poisons and venoms were insidiously effective against Kiran. He couldn''t just erase it. The moment his flesh blackened and bled, he healed. Teeth clenched tightly, he bore the pain just like always.


    Every thought was bought with pain, but that was the way of the world; a man must fight to live.


    Beheading a frenzied beast, he bolted through the opening just as a Second Ordeal sought to cleave his rear foot with its teeth.


    But it simply met the butt of his glaive¡¯s shaft, now firmly strengthened to the Second Ordeal¡¯s limit. Kiran was diligent in his True Extraction.


    If there was anything worth losing his hand for in this battle, then it was him raising his weapon to this level ¡ª it was rare to be privy to such plentiful resources. Path Beasts of this caliber and number were rare outside the Outer Valleys.


    However, the mutt opened wide, biting down with enough force that threatened to shatter the shaft¡¯s end. But it held, only wet cracks seeped in black dribble were left as its jaw let go.


    Despite the weapon bearing a higher strength than the beast, the difference wasn¡¯t absolute, far from it.


    Finally breaking through the clearing with several Second Ordeal hounds cackling and howling from behind, Kiran dashed forward, never stopping.


    He lost a large patch of his shoulder as well as a hand, severed at the wrist. Splotches of blood and the slashes of claws littered his hulking figure. But none of these dreaded wounds bled out, already beginning to close and regrow anew.


    ¡®Damned Outer Valleys. We''re not even beyond the Reach and we came upon mountains full of these monsters.¡¯


    Weaving through trees and thick undergrowth, finally found traces of a small battle. Blood splattered and marked the ground. A withered Path Beast with its head caved in was left, but Osias was nowhere to be found. Kiran surveyed the scene finding the foul black blood and thought:


    ¡®Poisoned.¡±


    With the Second Ordeals mere moments behind his trail, Kiran¡¯s mind raced as he guessed where his brother was.


    ¡®He couldn''t have missed the bellows and cackles of these hound-like beasts, much less the felled trees and quaking ground.¡¯


    ¡®The ridge. The ground we cleared. It¡¯d be foolish beyond compare for him to wander ahead towards the danger.¡¯


    Kiran¡¯s eyes followed South, there he discovered the shallow footprints headed for the ridge. He could only praise the child for his wits. Despite his age, he wasn''t making this journey North difficult, even growing and maturing quickly as they moved.


    Slowly Kiran¡¯s face twisted into a half-scowl as he tried to recall something important:


    ¡®How old was he again?¡¯


    He¡¯ll ask him later, pushing the thought aside as a group of three Second Ordeals caught up to him. Brandishing his crimson broad-headed glaive, his long grey hair streaked with black danced in the forest¡¯s flowing air of the approaching hounds.


    A violent series of slashing, cutting, and piercing and the small group of rabble were slaughtered, Kiran¡¯s glaive a silent witness to the final cackles of the gleeful hounds. Another heap of flesh was bitten off his thigh, left blackened and bubbled, but time was all that was needed for the poison to disperse.


    ¡®Even still¡­ There''s still that sow.¡¯ He thought with a full scowl as he wiped the smeared blood off his blade.


    Far, far North of this mountain, just before it begins to descend and slope to the mist, was a Third Ordeal.


    Kiran caught a fleeting glimpse of her, these cackling mutts¡¯ broodmother.


    Large. Larger than anything Kiran has seen. She towered above the canopy of trees despite her sitting atop a lowered slope. Like a queen protected by her warriors, they lorded over this mountain.


    Dozens of Second Ordeals and what could''ve been hundreds of the First Ordeal¡­


    ¡®Back to Osias first.¡¯ Kiran thought, already headed back for the ridge.

 Chapter 16 - Brief Respite

    ¡°I see. So they are strong in that way.¡±


    Osias was being briefed upon Kiran¡¯s discoveries to the North and the traits of the brood of hounds. They reunited as Osias saw Kiran arriving at where the ridge met the Southern face. Hidden atop a tree, Osias came down slightly confused after seeing how battered his brother was upon return.


    ¡°But if the venom works to make the one¡¯s an Ordeal above more effective, then won¡¯t the same work for the Brood Mother?¡±


    ¡°That''s right. But there is no way of telling unless I face the broodmother. The Ordeals are fickle, there is a chance.¡±


    It was night, and although Kiran set up some weak defenses for a pseudo perimeter out of habit, Osias was fearful of a possible onslaught of hundreds of hounds in the night.


    ¡°Hey brother, they won¡¯t come on this side of the mountain, right?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    With a frown, he laid down and tried to sleep but he just couldn¡¯t stray away from the thought, ¡®Am I going to die in my sleep?¡¯


    Wrestling his thoughts, he tossed and turned and eventually relented to simply staring past the canopy of trees and into the sky. With an unamused huff, he rubbed his bandaged arm, ¡°Still hurts.¡±


    Tonight he couldn¡¯t sleep on his side¡­


    With a heavy sigh, he shifted away from putting pressure on his arms and chest. So it left him laying on his back.


    Bringing his attention away from his aching wounds, he gazed upon the stars. The speckled lights illuminated the night sky. Something so unchanging, even as years passed. The night always came along with its stars ¡ª a certain darkness is needed to see the stars after all.


    ¡­Though boundless and beautiful, Osias couldn¡¯t help but feel small from the mesmerizing sight.


    He wasn¡¯t privy to such sights when he was at the Band, too much time was spent deep underground within the chambers of their Great Mountain. From the selection to the testing and to the completion of the tattoos, to gaze upon sights like this so freely¡­ Osias didn¡¯t know how to feel.


    But if all of this was possible at the expense of everything left behind, then Osias would¡¯ve liked to stay within the mountain chambers.


    ¡®Mother¡­¡¯


    He heard from Kiran, that after this mountain, the journey North would only be harder. From the mist and everything beyond.


    They will encounter Third Ordeals regularly.


    That they have no other option but to fight¡­


    Although they were still in the ¡®Outer Valleys¡¯ they were still within the reach of the Great Factions. Not only could Osias and Kiran be caught by human Path Finders if the Great Three Factions resumed expanding their borders, but they also had yet to face the true horrors of the Outer Valleys.


    The truly ancient ones. Old demons that never dwelled so close to the land claimed by the Path Finders of man.


    Some were known, but it was difficult to ascertain the legitimacy of their findings. But it was a fact that they exist.


    The only reason why the Band was called usurpers wasn¡¯t because they claimed the Southern tail of land from the Tailed Brothers, but because they slain the creature of the Fourth Ordeal that occupied it.


    Garm, together with the Third Ordeal elders of the band¡­. All of whom possessed unnatural battle strength cut down the beast that tormented the Tailed Brother¡¯s Southern border for so long.


    He heard it from Garm himself, one of the stories he told in his leisure after putting down the needle that inked him.


    ¡®A white titan covered in ivory,¡¯ Garm detailed.


    ¡®As large as the walls that the Tailed Brothers cowered behind.¡¯


    ¡®Deep scars covered the beast, plastered in blackened blood.¡¯


    ¡®Each of its ivory spikes, sharp and large enough to gut a Blood Path Finder whole.¡¯


    ¡®And it spoke. It spoke their names.¡¯


    ¡®As it spoke, my friend sprouted a bony spike, cleaving his chest open, blood spilled as it split him in half. A good man he was before the bone jutted from him.¡¯


    He shook slightly, fear gripping his tired body. If he was to have nightmares tonight, then it¡¯ll be of a speaking beast.


    Long years have passed since Garm¡¯s retelling, but the words still lingered. What were fantastical japes told from an old life¡¯s past were torturing him now.


    It makes him wonder if they should''ve taken their chances disguising themselves somehow and travel the road.


    But very soon¡­ his eyes closed in exhaustion, the pain could only hold back his slumber for so long as he drifted into the calm embrace of his dreams.


    ¡ª


    Osias slept peacefully, pushed and prodded at by Kiran until he was awake.


    He opened his eyes, find himself in the presence of a bleak, cold morning, and the mountain forest was as leaden as the sky.


    Blood seeped the earth, even spreading to their modest encampment by the ridge.


    Today was to be different than any other since the day their feet met the tops of the Outer Valleys.


    Osias was to formally begin his training ¡ª the essence of training he has yet to learn from the Band.


    ¡°Before you start¡­ how old were you again, Osias?¡±


    An annoyingly long silence hung between the brothers before Osias replied:


    ¡°Thirteen Moons. The Fourteenth arises soon though.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Kiran replied curtly before adding:


    ¡°What do you know of esse ¡ª no, blood essence itself?¡±


    ¡°... It strengthens our body, both passively and actively. Like any other essence from other Paths.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°We can''t replenish it naturally. We take. We steal. We reave. Unlike the others.¡±


    ¡°How about the blood essence of others?¡±


    ¡°Like how essence seeps into our bodies passively and strengthens it, the same goes for blood. As Path Beast and Path Finders grow in power and essence, the more essence gets immersed into their blood, and we take it forcefully through our Innate Ability.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Kiran simply said in reply before finally adding something of use:


    ¡°Because of how in tune we are with how our blood flows, thereby our essence, our skill with manipulating our essence is naturally better than others. There are exceptions though, good and bad.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re nothing special compared to the others on our path, behind even. But you''ll personally train with a Second Blood. Sing your praise.¡±


    ¡°A Second Blood of a Fallen Band.¡± Osias snapped back.


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    Kiran couldn¡¯t deny it and his quiet sigh hadn''t gone unnoticed by Osias. Such titles weren''t of importance anymore. Especially out here, in a land unclaimed by any.


    ¡°In the Band, the standard way to be more aware and more in tune with your body was to start with simple training with a weapon. There was another technique, but I¡¯ll teach you the standard way because your teacher is only me ¡ª grab your sword.¡±


    Osias brandished his short sword, poised and all, yet it looked so small and harmless compared to Kiran.


    It wasn¡¯t anything special. Slightly broad-headed and single-edged, but was reliant as it was resilient. It lasted him all this long.


    Though¡­ it was called a ¡®short sword¡¯, it was quite long for his arms. It was made to fit him as he grew rapidly into a full-fledged blood-born.


    He wielded it with two hands, though he could strain himself to use it with one hand if needed.


    ¡°Swing down, no essence.¡± Kiran¡¯s voice sounded.


    Obliged, Osias brought the sword above his head with both hands. Toes dug into his boots, he shifted weight subtly to his rear. A hand below and a hand above, he pushed down with one and pulled with the other as his hips belted fluidly. Swift and decisive, he bent slightly and his upper arm followed the descended sword.


    ¡°Good, good. I want you to cut me down. Sever an arm or a leg. Try to behead me.¡±


    Osias froze from the remark.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Osias asked meekly.


    ¡°You cannot kill me. Your sword cannot even pierce my body without my help. Now go on.¡± Kiran barked as he brandished his own weapon ¡ª his titanically-sized spear.


    Osias breathed in deeply. He hasn¡¯t wielded his sword against another¡­ person before, much less his brother. But Kiran was right, it was impossible to kill him. Osias simply didn¡¯t have an answer to Kiran¡¯s almost arrogant assertion. Seeing Kiran die was impossible, it was implausible.


    And then he rushed forward.


    ¡°Use all the essence you want. It¡¯ll be faster this way.¡± Kiran said as kept the swift Osias at bay.


    Heeding his words, Osias ignited his blood essence. He was faster, his feet pounded against the forest floor as he approached Kiran.


    Turning around trees and making his way closer he jumped over a wild large root of a tr-


    ¡°Agh!¡±


    Osias staggered back on his ass. Kiran just thrust the butt of his spear shaft against him. Heavy and gaunt it cracked against his head. Wet with grass, his roughspun cloak made dirtier than it already was. He shook his head wildly, bringing himself out of his daze with a brief moment of rest, and continued.


    ¡°Where is it¡­ that edge? I¡¯m asking you to kill me, Osias.¡±


    And then just as he crossed another tree closer to Kiran, he brought his lead foot outwards for another step and then an impossibly fast thrust barreled to this foot.


    ¡°Ah-¡± He let out, the sudden jarring pain was cut short as another thrust pounded against his rear foot this time.


    ¡°Focus your flow on the pain. Bring your essence there as you take each step. It¡¯s not perfect, work out the rest on your own.¡± Kiran berated him harshly.


    Tightening his already firm grip, Osias raced out towards Kiran, heeding his advice. Now, he wielded his sword with one hand, brought out against his side. His essence raged and flowed harshly.


    With a furrowed face he crossed the false distance made by Kiran ¡ª something only possible with Kiran''s permission, and brought his sword hand up to attack his elder brother¡¯s front.


    But Kiran brought his leg forward and kicked him in response.


    Osias was launched back and tumbled against the ground, feeling as though his entire chest caved in against his ribs ¡ª a familiar feeling just a mere day ago.


    ¡°Do you feel a little angry? You¡¯re sloppy. Hone yourself, you have no right to be angry. Keep moving.¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t say anything in reply, perhaps a little ashamed of having his frustration called out. He focused, not allowing his flow of essence to sway as he focused on the parts Kiran pointed to.


    It all points to his lower half. Everything begins with your feet, Osias knew this despite his lack of strength.


    Exploding forward from the ground, he once again brought his sword to his side as he came close to Kiran.


    With a hook-like swing, he aimed for Kiran¡¯s lead thigh. It was the only thing he could reach on the mountainous person before him.


    His swing missed, just barely, but he used this miss to flow into his next attack, only for Kiran to slam the butt of his spear directly onto the back of his non-sword hand.


    ¡°Good. Use everything to survive. That side of yours is invaluable¡­ Fear cuts deeper than swords.¡± Kiran said as the handful of dirt was released from his hand¡¯s grasp.


    Osias only spat back in response. He was on all fours on the ground and rushed forward, his first few steps were on all fours like a rabid and feral dog.


    Grasping the hilt of his blade with two hands he brought it to heel and violently swung from his side towards Kiran¡¯s leg again. He was once more taking note of where to focus his essence.


    With another miss of his sword, he was met with a thrust to his abdomen, knocking the wind together with spit and blood out of his mouth. His hand clutched where he was hit, and gasped heavily as he heaved in for air.


    ¡°Be mindful of your abdomen as you go for a swing. Your shoulders too.¡± Kiran said.


    Letting go of his gut, Osias once more came at his elder brother with a growl.


    It was debilitating. With every step, Osias was met with a wicked and heavy blow.


    ¡°Can you even reach my head, Osias?¡± Kiran snapped at his weak attempts to kill.


    In the next moment as Osias crossed a weave of trees, he threw his blade at Kiran, its tip pointed for his elder brother''s neck.


    ¡°Throws are good. But to throw away the only thing capable of piercing my skin?¡± Kiran chided with a huff as he knocked the sword out of the way.


    ¡°Use what you have and do what you can. Pick your sword up, and keep going. Focus on controlling your essence.¡±


    And hours pass like this.


    Osias swung his sword.


    He missed.


    He got berated and got hit.


    He comes again and cracks his sword at his brother.


    Over and over until suddenly, Kiran withheld his spear and told him it was enough for the day.


    Hearing this, Osias dropped down, his entire body was battered. His mind was tired after countless beatings. It felt like each part of his mind clawed for every speck of focus and concentration to use his essence more efficiently.


    He sprawled against the ground and lifted his eyes towards Kiran. And sure enough, Kiran was already preparing to scout the boundless horde and its Brood Mother.


    ¡°All¡­ already going, brother?¡±


    ¡°Mm. They should know where we reside and yet they don¡¯t send any hounds to us. It¡¯s odd¡­ and I don¡¯t like sitting in wait. I need more information.¡± Kiran said, and added:


    ¡°You can stay. If they haven¡¯t sent any hounds over last night and the many hours past dawn, then they won¡¯t send any.¡±


    ¡°Mm,¡± He said, not bothering to waste what little energy he had left to think of a reply.


    ¡°Want me to throw you atop a tree?¡± Kiran asked as he slowly walked outside of their small camp.


    ¡°Th-Throw me off the ridge instead.¡± He stammered and huffed out between heavy breaths.


    ¡°Nothing weak arises from fortitude.¡±


    The words trailed off and Kiran was already off. Osias squinted at the faint figure who left without humoring him.


    With Kiran gone, Osias let out a deep sigh in reprieve.


    ¡®Exhausting.¡¯


    It was crude but efficient teaching. Each mistake was hammered out of him.


    He knew though, that the Band used real combat the most throughout their teachings. It was natural for Kiran, a man born of blood to follow teach the same as he was taught.


    If anything this training was tame. Most of his age, those from the tenth moon to the sixteenth moon are brought along in small skirmishes outside the Band. Embroiled in combat, they were forced to learn to survive.


    Born of blood, the youth of the band mustn¡¯t be weak.


    He recalled, once he was speaking with another his age ¡ª someone who was unlike him, and couldn¡¯t house Garm¡¯s tattoo. The youth was returning from a raid amongst the villages North¡­


    A unit of Tailed Brothers came to face them as they slaughtered the village. The youth was fast, faster than the others who came along with him. The unit of Tailed Brothers cut down and gutted those who could not run. The First Blood that overlooked them paid no mind to the fallen and continued their march to the lands of the Band, far enough that the Tailed Brothers could not pursue. They scaled mountains. Fled along wartorn valleys. Swam across lakes in the black of night. The First Blood was left with just three of the youth, including the one that Osias spoke to. The First Blood was aloof, yet pleased with the culling as they reported back to the Band.


    Osias sometimes thought of this culling as cruel and grueling. Throwing a child, no more than their Ninth Moon against grizzled Ordinary warriors, sometimes even First Ordeals.


    But Osias himself could not waver. Although the Band did not exist aside from him and his brother, he must still prove useful.


    Even if the culling of the youth only included himself.


    Even if the culling would eventually turn into madness.

 Chapter 17 - Growth in Blood

    ¡°Bark-skinned scoundrels!¡± A booming voice bellowed followed by a loud crash.


    ¡°You''re my council! Go on then! Counsel me, you useless bunch!¡±


    A squared table, headed by a grizzled grey-haired man with a well-endowed figure, was angered at the flushed men he was joined by at the table.


    They were a Great Vassal Clan of the Tailed Brothers, the frontier force against the Land of the Crest, responsible for being both the vanguard of the attacks and manning the defenses against the Crested.


    They had a long history with the Tailed Brothers, spanning centuries of loyally serving them, oft sharing blood ties, bounded through marriage.


    ¡°Perhaps request aid from the main clan?¡± One said unworriedly.


    ¡°I second that, our forces are spread too thin to deal with their looming expansion South.¡± Another agreed.


    ¡°Winters approaching, the Ordinary under us will turn feeble and labored. The Heartlands reported a low harvest this season, it¡¯ll be too hard to sustain ourselves fighting the Crested. We didn¡¯t anticipate their fervor the moment our alliance disbanded. Now we¡¯re left alone to deal with the consequences of Atlan and Arslan¡¯s decisions.¡± Another voice uttered, this one carrying himself soundly, unbothered by his Clan Head¡¯s outburst.


    ¡°I see, I see. So you all wish to grovel at the heels of the main clan?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best, Lord Isin.¡± One responded.


    With a heavy groan, Lord Isin¡¯s displeasure slowly receded, returning to his usual haughty demeanor.


    ¡°So be it, send a messenger forthwith. I want it done! Done by three nights. I want to see Third Tails of the main clan sprawling at every tower of the wall.¡± He said as he rubbed his thick fingers against his temples


    A steady silence hung in the air as Lord Isin bellowed his orders to the small council. Until the prideful voice replied:


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t expect much. The reason why the usual circle of Third and Second Tails have yet to return to their posts alongside our men is because of the main clan¡¯s edict.¡±


    ¡°Bah! Are they still chasing the ghosts of those blood-born? Thae! Fetch me that northern brewer¡¯s finest wine!¡± Lord Isin bellowed, his anger rising up again at his council¡¯s words.


    He was a crude and irritable older man, past middle age and half bald. But he was far from weak, exuding an air of wildness. Instead of the silks and cottons of a Lord, he wore thick leather. His tunic was a deep grey, embroidered with the sigil of their clan, a curled iron-clad salamander.


    Between deep sips of his wine, as his council watched in an odd sense of normalcy, he gurgled out:


    ¡°Oh, how have the main clan fallen! Ran by a pair of brothers so green they still smell of the cradle!¡±


    He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Send the messenger at once, I refuse to believe ghosts are more important than the enemies beyond our walls! And if they refuse, and the walls come crumbling down, don¡¯t think for a moment I¡¯ll be there to ¡ª to¡­ Go! At once!¡±


    His small council warily glanced at each other before obliging, and with a bow, they were dismissed, returning to their duties.


    ¡°What could be more important than killing all those bark-skins¡­ Hell, the alliance should¡¯ve been made to pincer them instead of the blood fiends south¡­¡± Irin uttered to himself alone.


    ¡ª


    Osias was sprawled against the mud. It stuck and made his black cloak look brown and weathered. He looked at the sky in exhaustion. It was another day of grueling training and fighting. It has been close to a month since they have marched to the mountain.


    And yet they never broke past their encampment by the southern ridge.


    After the first day, the hounds never left their own dwelling in the north. Kiran tried to pick the Brood Mother¡¯s spawn but the mutts stayed in their territory.


    It frustrated his brother, very much so. The foul creatures both cared for their own and disregarded their own.


    They cared for each other as strength for the brood, not as individuals. This revelation was brought to his knowledge upon Kiran¡¯s return one day.


    Kiran stormed into the hound¡¯s dwelling quickly without a weapon that day. He braved bites, claws, and venom as he wrestled with a Second Ordeal hound. He then wrapped his stone-like grip over its neck wrangled it half to death and dragged it out of their dwelling, all for its mother to see.


    Kiran returned with a hound that day, and severed its legs too, leaving a trail of putrid blood in his wake to their camp. Osias was taken aback at the sight of the mangled beast being dragged but reasoned that Kiran had a great purpose.


    But Osias couldn¡¯t forget the wails of the beast through that sleepless night.


    The next morning, Kiran brought the near-lifeless hound, muted of its gleeful cackling for once, towards a cliff that faced where the rest of the pack was.


    There, Kiran slowly dismembered the hound, and Osias could recall the resounding cries even though Kiran was both far away and facing the entire other side of the mountain.


    Eventually, the whining howls echoed down, and yet nothing approached. The Brood Mother never left its confines on the northern edge.


    And so a stalemate dragging on for days followed.


    ¡­Today, Osias found a stray First Ordeal hound, ascending a slope on the eastern side, probably returning to the rest of the brood.


    While Kiran was busy plotting against the horde itself, Osias was lucky enough to find this stray one.


    Both the hound and Osias were uninjured and full of health ¡ª and immediately Osias pounced on the lone hound and a dreadful battle ensued.


    Black blood, torn forestry, and a withered husk of a deformed hound remained.


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    Osias himself was slightly injured, but exhaustion was more of a dire worry than the pain. The training with Kiran opened up many things, and his awareness of his inefficiency was made apparent.


    The repeated beatings he withstood from his brother were needful and effective.


    Pulling up his garments, his body was littered with thick circular bruises. It looked incoherent, nothing more than whimsical beatings of Kiran. But there was purpose.


    Closing his eyes, he focused on his flow of essence. He wanted it to be smooth, just as how blood moved with each pump of the heart. His habit of flooding his entire body as he infused it with essence was slowly being erased ¡ª replaced by an intricate and methodical technique.


    Each aching throb of pain only reminded him of where to direct and infuse his essence. It made it easier to keep those areas in mind, even in the fervor of combat.


    But it was still crude. He still had a faraway place to reach.


    Every movement, from the mere lifting of a finger, took an innumerable amount of steps. To pick and choose each and every part of that ¡®simple¡¯ movement and apply the essence to the right ones¡­ his small triumphs seem so minute to this goal.


    And this was for such a small movement, how about throwing in the ways he fights? How did he swing a sword? How did he take a step?


    He was too far away from using these foundational skills to tailor them to his own.


    Afterall his ¡®technique¡¯ is still currently worse than the instinctive essence control of a beast.


    But it was admirable in a way ¡ª for beasts to instinctively infuse themselves for great bursts of strength to turn the tides in battle. It made him think, ¡®Do they too train?¡¯


    ¡®Slowly. A little more slowly next time and I¡¯ll be even better.¡¯ He thought.


    Looking at his left, he found the withered husk of a hound. The mighty beast perished after he caught it with a clean cut, dismembering its leg. After that, it is an execution, left with but a single swing for the killing blow.


    With a sigh, he got back to his feet. Feeling slightly dismayed for his choice of laying on the wild grounds of the mountain forest in case of being pounced on by a stray beast, he began to disembark. Not before he went on to grab the withered corps¡ª


    ¡­He paused and stopped himself from grabbing the corpse in a show of habit.


    Perhaps it was because of his time atop a forested mountain, but he couldn¡¯t help but think of his parents and the others in the Band. He frowned to himself as he recalled them.


    The other youth were outside of the Band¡¯s reach, they followed the First and Second Bloods into battle while he was left within the confines of their Great Mountain after passing the selection.


    In his brief time between sessions from the chambers within, he followed his father into the small forests of the foothills that led down to the valleys. Nothing of note appeared there, cleared of its strongest dwellers long ago during the Band¡¯s forming, but the occasional hare and stag wandered about.


    ¡­ He once slew a small hare and brought it to his father in excitement, grabbing it from its long ears in a bundle. His father was proud and surprised that he managed to catch one despite his weakened body constantly under distress from Garm¡¯s needles


    The thought of home brought a wan smile to his face.


    Then a familiar pain stabbed him in remembrance, his smile twisted into a deep frown. He pushed his thoughts aside to think about what was important:


    ¡®Stronger. Strong enough to be of use to brother.¡¯


    That was the way of this cold world, those born of blood were brought forth as short-lived children from beds of blood and pain. To be of use to those who sired you. To those who have fought for you. Repayment¡­


    Instead of taking the hound¡¯s corpse as a token, he reached for its fur with his short sword and cleaned the grease off with it, eventually leaving the dirtied corpse as he left.


    His legs ached and burned, only noticeable on his return to their small encampment.


    His sword felt heavier than usual, a burden he bore with a grim sense of satisfaction. Each step was a reminder of his continuous effort, but he had no qualms about returning from his outing. He needed rest.


    Looking up from his walk, he found the setting sun, and the tops of Laria and Dyrus revealing themselves in their father¡¯s absence. He gently smiled to himself, he seemed to be in a mood for reminiscing today.


    And as Osias drudgingly returned to camp, he found Kiran already present. He was busy stoking a small fire with thick cuts of a felled boar skewered above. His enormously large cloak was draped over branches, probably drying.


    ¡®I have to wash mine as well.¡¯ Osias thought as he looked down on himself.


    ¡°How was it, find anything?¡± Kiran asked.


    Osias nodded as he set down his scabbard against a stocky tree¡¯s stump before adding:


    ¡°A few hares and birds. But I found a stray First Ordeal hound earlier. I think it was headed north, to the brood.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    The pair didn¡¯t speak, both silently stared into the small fire as the boar meat cooked above, dripping grease onto the fire, feeding it.


    This continued for a few minutes before Osias spoke once more:


    ¡°How much longer, brother?¡±


    Kiran continued to gaze into the dancing fire along with the swaying light it emitted. Then finally, he looked at Osias and remained silent for a little longer.


    Osias felt a little nervous under his brother¡¯s gaze. He was bound by blood with him, yet that didn¡¯t take away from Kiran¡¯s deep-set eyes and the permanent scowl strewn on them. Anyone else would be terrified of him, just look at the damned size of him.


    ¡°They''ve huddled down. Their numbers patrolling outside have remained the same, but I think they''ve lost a few within. The Brood Mother¡­ she''s sending her kin into the mist.¡±


    Osias just stared at him. He wasn''t too shocked at this conjecture, but it was surprising to hear his speculations out loud.


    ¡®The mist¡­¡¯


    A shared silence hung, only broken by the popping grease and crackling of the fire.


    ¡°It''s ready. Eat.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    Taking a grand slab of meat skewered by a stick, Osias could only wish it was slathered in Hosen ¡ª a sweet sauce his mother and other women of the Band frequently made from the crushed bloodwort stems that grew in their Great Mountain


    Between bites, Osias lacked his fingers and asked:


    ¡°Do you think they''ll kill themselves without us lifting a finger?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But I don''t know why they would. I can''t see past the Brood Mother, anything beyond that is the mist.¡±


    Osias nodded. Unfortunately, this was beyond him. All he could do was train atop this mountain, leaving the rest to Kiran. Begrudgingly, he then uttered something that bothered him so:


    ¡°We¡­ We are going to have to enter it too ¡ª eventually, right?¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Kiran nodded.


    Finishing their meal, they each attended to their own matters. Kiran disembarked, once again scouting out the north.


    Osias meanwhile checked his gear and washed his worn-down cloak.


    It was an Ordinary cloak, roughspun and weathered. Its once splendor as a well-crafted garment was gone. It was beginning to break apart, soiled by grime, blood, and mud.


    ¡®Could''ve left with a better one, I¡¯m the Red Sky¡¯s successor!¡¯ He mused to himself.


    Alas, the band had few Path Finders capable of crafting and molding such materials.


    Such precious resources were made specifically for those who already deserved them ¡ª first, Second, and Third Bloods, all of renown within the Band. There was too little time to prepare something for Osias near the fall of the Band.


    Besides, it was only a matter of time for Kiran to find a fitting Path Beast to butcher. A crude, makeshift cloak could be made from a First Ordeal''s pelt.


    Finished with cleaning and maintaining his belongings, Osias returned to the camp.


    It was a long day of training followed by fighting. He greedily absorbed everything to be stronger than the day before.


    Laying on his back, he found himself wondering just how much longer can they stay like this. Continuing to live at leisure. Even though this net of safety could be overrun in moments, it hasn¡¯t happened. He was sure, that if the Brood Mother deemed it necessary, he and Kiran would be run down by the horde. Clawed at their heels as they ran beyond the mountain, the ridge even.


    This peace wouldn''t last ¡ª not out here.


    Before long they''ll hunt down the rest of the already scarce Ordinary animals. They''ll forced to feed upon the grass eventually. But what then?


    The hounds must eat as well.


    It was an uncomfortable thought, something that set him unease despite the need for rest.


    Alas, that was for later to worry.


    And so he¡¯ll sleep, wake up the next day, and do all he can to prepare for the inevitable.


    Closing his eyes from the dark of night for the darkness of rest, he ignored the aching pain and soreness that resonated throughout his battered body. If it was for the calm embrace of sleep, then his body and mind could only comply as he fell asleep.


    ¡­ But suddenly he whipped his eyes open and shot to his feet. A piercing howl sounded through the night, louder than anything he had heard before. As if the mountain itself cried as it was torn asunder.

 Chapter 18 - Rising Change

    Osias¡¯s head jerked around towards the ferocious roar. It echoed off his surroundings, and he felt the mountain quake. All of a sudden, he scrambled in confusion. He knew nothing. Was it the horde? His stomach lurched, and he ran for his scabbard and quickly draped himself in his cloak. It was dark out, and the fire they had smoldering had already died, but Dyrus¡¯s and Laria¡¯s light would suffic¡ª


    A tremendous crash sounded, followed by thundering steps in the distance.


    He raised his eyebrows in alarm, and his mind raced to decide what to do. Too little information he thought sourly, and the approaching presence already kicked up a storm of dirt and dust before he could distinguish its appearance.


    He already deemed that whatever was approaching was something he couldn¡¯t outrun, so he planted and steeled himself in the black of night and raised his sword.


    But as the figure fired past between the clearing of trees¡­ it was just Kiran ¡ª full of earnest alarm.


    ¡°We have to go!¡± Kiran boomed, already grabbing a hold of him, dragging him from the crutch of his cloak.


    He gave a small yelp in surprise but quickly got over it and asked:


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    Between large strides and swift barrels toward the mountain¡¯s summit, Kiran uttered:


    ¡°The Brood Mother and the mist. Something¡­ something¡¯s changed, the mist is rising.¡±


    Osias quickly snapped his head down, trying his absolute best to see past the darkness. But there were too many obstacles obscuring the view, even if the night sky illuminated the familiar speckling mist, he could only take his brother¡¯s word for it.


    Quickly they approached the mountain summit, but as they did he heard thundering charges like their own in the vast distance. It seemed as though the closer they approached the summit, the more that mountain quaked in response.


    ¡®The hounds!¡¯ He immediately thought.


    They weaved between trees and forestry until they bolted past the treeline ¡ª now steep cliffs and tumbling stones riddled the steps ahead.


    But Kiran was as nimble as he was strong. A delicate blend of leaps, springs, and scaling brought them ever closer to the summit. He traversed the mountain with ease as though he was an experienced mountain brigand.


    Osias continued to look at their rear, and now he could see it ¡ª the mist too had broken past the treeline, rapidly approaching them. The same dreadful mist they had so direly avoided all this time was rising!


    Such a thing didn¡¯t seem possible. For months they have wearily avoided it¡­


    The trees cracked and creaked, possibly even the ground below it as well, the mist devoured everything it came across. It was thick and ever-encompassing, the air laden full of it.


    He wished he could see what was happening within its tightly sealed veil, perhaps it was a telling of their coming fates.


    The pair continued upwards, grueling scaling the rocky swathes of the mountain, and slowly as the summit narrowed, the barreling sounds of the hounds came closer and closer, just as the mist did from below.


    Then, with a growl, Kiran hurled him up ¡ª it seemed that they had scaled high enough as now they shared common quarters with the hounds.


    And then his face paled. Before them was uprisen land, speckled with hounds. It didn¡¯t seem like it was the brood in its entirety as Osias brandished his short sword, far from it. But it was more than enough.


    But their brood mother was nowhere to be found.


    Glancing behind him, Kiran¡¯s worn face was grim, already wielding his great crimson glaive.


    ¡®We can¡¯t run from this one,¡¯ He realized as he peered past Kiran, below the steep slopes that led to their position.


    ¡®Can I do it? He thought. His sword arm trembled slightly, before firmly tightening his grip.


    ¡°Osias,¡± Kiran bellowed.


    He then felt the rough touch of his brother on his back. Then something¡­ changed. Something sprouted on his back, stretching and growing from that point as it tightly pressed down his cloak against his skin.


    Looking downwards, he saw it ¡ª a dark crimson leathery-like armor cladded his body. It was oddly fitted, some parts awkwardly large or tight against his body. Its appearance was strange as well, it was unlike the armor made by the crafters of the Band. Uncanny, yet intricate details were embroidered all over the surface, and Osias recalled his brother¡¯s words on True Extraction.


    How he must be familiar with the forms he makes, otherwise they¡¯ll be crude and rough.


    ¡°It¡¯s not perfect. I¡¯m unfamiliar with your size and it takes a great deal of concentration. Though it is of the Second Ordeal, my glaive lost most of its strength. Don¡¯t reave from your kills, I need them for my glaive.¡±


    Kiran looked grim, they were going to need every bit of strength to survive for him to decide to adorn him in such valuable armor, albeit temporarily.


    Osias will have to fight as well.


    He looked at the great deal of deadly hounds in front of them, tens of First Ordeal hounds and more than a dozen Second Ordeals.


    All of them were overwhelmed by bloodlust at the sight of the brothers despite appearing slightly weary from the climb to the summit. It seemed that despite climbing on all fours, it was still a treacherous labor.


    And without warning, they began to dash toward him and Kiran.


    The summit was rugged, with odd risings and jagged stones that littered the ground. A cutting cold wind penetrated his ill-fitted armor.


    Nevertheless, Osias braced himself. His eyes darted from one hound to another, quickly gauging their speed and approach.


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    "Steady," Kiran barked out, his voice a low growl as he hefted his glaive. The long, curved blade gleamed menacingly in the waning light. He planted his feet firmly, knees poised, ready to spring into battle.


    The first wave of First Ordeal hounds reached them, their snarls filling the air. Osias moved swiftly, his short sword slicing through the air in a precise, downward arc. His feet pivoted smoothly on the rocky ground, essence fueling his strike. The blade connected with a First Ordeal hound''s neck, the impact reverberating up his arm as the creature fell, blood spraying from the wound.


    Beside him, Kiran swung his glaive in a wide, sweeping motion. The weapon cut through the air with a deadly whistle, cleaving through two hounds in a single, powerful strike. And then he bolted forward as he quickly extracted the blood from its corpse


    Kiran was indomitable, his weight shifting effortlessly from one foot to the other as withstood the brunt of the attack. His hulking body dug deeply into an impression into the ground from the force.


    Claws and cackling maws then took countless pieces of his flesh, but Kiran punished them direly for it in return.


    Osias dodged to the side as another hound lunged at him, its fangs bared. He twisted his shoulders, bringing his sword up in a swift slash that opened a deep gash along the beast''s side. It yelped in pain, and collapsed at his feet. He quickly rushed ahead behind Kiran, mindful to be close to Kiran and away from the rising mist.


    Kiran''s movements were fluid and controlled, his glaive a bloody extension of his own body. He spun, using the momentum to drive the blade into the chest of a Second Ordeal hound. The creature let out a guttural howl before crumpling to the ground, its essence whisked away immediately.


    "Keep your focus!" Kiran barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. Osias nodded, his breath coming in quick, controlled bursts as he fended off another as they advanced higher. But he was pincered, Two weak mutts clawed at him while finally a Second Ordeal shifted its target to him.


    It pounced from behind its weaker counterpart and crashed into Osias, sending him into a violent tumble. Fortunately, it wasn''t far and downwards.


    It wrestled with Osias¡¯s free arm, threatening to pull it apart from his body, but the crimson armor held. Osias quickly berated the frenzied hound with his sword, hacking into its head crudely despite the crushing pressure pressing into his arm.


    But it was enough, his sword cut the muscles used to close its jaw into a bloody mess, and it loosened with a howl of pain. More First Ordeals stormed at his feet, but they could do nothing against his gaunt armor.


    Suddenly, a sharp whistle sounded in the air behind the Second Ordeal, and it was quickly bisected as a monstrous glaive passed through in a sea of red. Kiran seemed thoroughly attentive despite being in the heart of the chaos.


    Osias shook off his daze and shot to his feet, following Kiran.


    The brothers fought with a deadly synergy, despite the great differences between them. Osias''s short sword was quick and precise, and although the Second Ordeals outclassed him dearly, he could hold them off just until Kiran hammered down the killing blow.


    Kiran''s glaive provided a broader range of attack, its great sweeping arcs creating an area of death for the hounds, and if they used numbers to cross this area, he¡¯d punch and stomp on them until their heads caved in. He didn''t care if they traded flesh as long as the hounds died.


    Osias could''ve sworn he saw Kiran bite at a hound''s throat whilst it was gnawing away at his forearm.


    Even through the advance, Kiran grounded himself. Despite multiple Second Ordeals wrestling against him, he¡¯d quickly redirect them and keep Osias in the best possible area away from the brunt.


    As the hounds'' numbers began to dwindle, the air grew thick with the stench of blood and sweat. Osias''s muscles burned with exertion, but he pushed through the fatigue as his essence blazed. The world dissolved into a red mist. He stabbed slashed and cut. A hound was gutted and immediately Kiran extended forth to extract from it¡­.


    With Kiran leading them Osias could survive.


    Even if he lost his footing amidst the rugged ground.


    Even if a hound¡¯s maw tightened around him.


    Even if he was growing weak from the bits of venom from the penetrating blows¡­


    Kiran was indomitable, with time his glaive passed through them increasingly easier. But he lost a hand at some point, forgotten along with the large chunks of flesh missing from the countless swipes of claws.


    Blood Mend furiously sought to close the wounds and regrow anew, simultaneously fighting off the venom that attacked him from within.


    It was in moments like these that one could see how fearsome a Blood Path Finder was.


    ¡®This is but a fraction of the horde¡­ did they fall from the mist? That cry earlier, it was the brood mother, what happened?¡¯ Kiran thought as his broad-headed glaive passed through the necks of multiple First Ordeal hounds gnawing at Osias.


    Rapidly, Kiran bolted towards a steep rising from the earth after directing Osias to it, finally finding something to fight with their backs against.


    He narrowly avoided the wall of abominations, leaving a wicked trail of corpses in his wake.


    He made sure to never allow his concentration to falter, retaining the form of True Extraction in both his glaive and Osias¡¯s makeshift armor. He could feel it. It was as though he had to keep the image of the structures constantly flowing as though they were made of water. So many times it has happened ¡ª the armor dripping as it came apart and his glaive losing its edge.


    His mind was languid from how many things he had to keep track of. From Osias, True Extraction, the terrain and being mindful of the rising mist.


    ¡®Though¡­ it¡¯s slowing down, it won¡¯t reach us.¡¯


    Bracing a daunting attack from a Second Ordeal, he let it gnaw against the stump of an arm as he saved Osias from having his neck snapped beneath the heavy foot of a hound. His younger brother had lost his footing and staggered to his knees amidst the rubble and corpses.


    ¡°Lower your head!¡± He barked out to him, as his glaive swiped at the feverish drooling hound that sought to bite Osias¡¯s head off.


    He then slammed down on the gnawing hound with his bloodied stump and furiously stabbed it through its head. Reaching down he used True Extraction as it fiendishly fed into his glaive.


    It was about the First Ordeal as they started fighting, but the vast swathe of corpses brought it back to just below the limits of the Second Ordeal.


    The glaive ferociously snuffed the vigorous lives of the hounds with growing ease, taking their strength to feed its own.


    At this point of the slaughter, only a few Second Ordeals remained. Kiran was badly maimed, and Osias was battered. It was unfortunate, but Kiran¡¯s focus faltered briefly as a trio of hounds miraculously displayed a show of unexpected coordination. And although he extinguished the product that their twisted minds scrabbled together, Osias¡¯s arm was crumpled beneath another¡¯s ruthless canines.


    He didn¡¯t realize how severe of a wound it was until he saw Osias oddly favoring one hand as he swung his sword later. The boy didn¡¯t cry or scream even as his arm got mangled¡­


    And so they fought on. Both having an arm rendered useless, continued to fight against the now sparse crowd. Eventually chasing after the pack through the steep rocky summits. Kiran¡¯s vigor never waned, and Osias followed despite his hobbled and limped steps ¡ª sword in hand.


    The rabble began to disperse, some even plunged into the mist choosing death from the unknown over steel.


    ¡­.Though, the very mist in question has miraculously halted its ascent, now eerily suspended at such a stark elevation compared to just moments before the battle. Yet there was still enough land to house both brothers and a few hounds.


    Although neither Kiran nor Osias wished to share house with such foul creatures.


    And with a dreary stab piercing through the withers of the final First Ordeal hound, Osias left it gasping and whimpering for breath in its final moments, only for Kiran to slam the butt of his glaive upon its head.


    It strewn the rocks with blood, but Kiran¡¯s True Extraction eagerly took its fill.


    With the onslaught over, Osias wobbled and dropped to his back. Between heavy breaths, he looked up only to find himself awash with wet clouds.


    ¡®Right¡­ we are ¡ª are this high after all.¡¯


    Despite fighting through a dreadful battle he has yet to see the likes of before, Osias found that the view atop the peak was bracing.


    Meanwhile, Kiran began to slowly descend the lowered land, leaving Osias atop the jagged steps of the summit.


    Slow steps, steady and careful as he made his way, right above where the mist suspended itself.


    With a harsh scowl, he curiously dipped a hand into the mist. He let it sit in the mist for a few seconds. And a few seconds stretched into minutes.


    And as he pulled his hand, he slightly raised his eyebrows.


    ¡®Nothing.¡¯


    ¡®Nothing at all¡­¡¯

 Chapter 19 - The Mist

    ¡°Another request for Third Tails?¡± A low and heavy voice rumbled.


    ¡°You should respect his pleadings, brother.¡± Another voice said in reply before adding:


    ¡°The Crested, you know how well I was against allowing them entry upon our lan-¡±


    ¡°It was needed! We couldn¡¯t have done it on our own.¡± The low voice fired back, adamant in his disposition.


    ¡°...My mistake, brother.¡±


    Silence hung in the air between the pair that led the Tailed Brothers. Atlan, both the eldest and the more powerful of the two, led the path as they ventured through the dark crypts ¡ª once belonging to the Red Sky.


    Arslan followed wordlessly, thoroughly surveying the complicated system of many tunnels. By now, the two have explored much of the desolate expanse built within the Red Sky¡¯s Great Mountain.


    Weeks have passed since the Three Factions disbanded and returned to their quarrels. But here, the Atlan have remained indifferent to the conflict North of their lands.


    The forsaken hollowed-out Great Mountain of the Red Sky took precedence.


    Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the eerie remembrance of such a dreaded foe. Everything they encounter only reminds them of how monstrous they were, both in strength and in their practices.


    Dirtied chains and broken shackles that bound creatures and people alike.


    Openings that led to vast, intricate makings that uncannily resembled the keeps belonging to their land.


    Earthen chambers that were lined endlessly with tables fastened with braces and bonds. Many odd and mystifying instruments and symbols lay strewn everywhere.


    It seemed that aside from their zealous bloodthirst on the battlefield, their strength began here ¡ª within these dark crypts. Both brothers couldn¡¯t picture many of them surviving, their brutal methods of instruction were beyond what they were willing to impose onto their own youth.


    And yet, despite the culling of their young, the blood fiends seemed endless in numbers until the alliance of Three Factions was made.


    It was as though these youthful ghosts of the Red Sky watched them pass. Their likenesses were probably sealed in these tombs, never seeing the light come to pass.


    They then lept into a vast opening, one of the few made to resemble a fortress and its defenses. It was an odd to see. The didn¡¯t look as though it belonged in this¡­ cavern. No ¡ª it didn¡¯t belong to the Red Sky at all.


    It was as though the Red Sky pillaged an entire stone keep from their lands and folded it into this opening within a mountain.


    But it was crude, a rough imitation of the skilled artisans that served them. Most likely, the Red Sky kidnapped some Ordinary craftsmen from their lands and forced them into servitude ¡ª to build these makeshift fortresses. The Red Sky¡¯s crafters were more privy to blades and armor ¡ª attuned to war rather than the roofs atop their heads and the walls that house them.


    Both Atlan and Arslan traced their hands along the building as they pondered if it served the same purpose as the countless other openings that housed a faulty fortress:


    To teach their young blood born of the very structures they¡¯ll attack, conquer, and hold.


    ¡­This one appeared old, though, the brothers thought in unison. It seemed like the oldest of the others. The metal bracings of this one¡¯s crude gate already rusted away, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. It was made of Ordinary materials like the others.


    Arslan¡¯s face turned grim as he couldn¡¯t help but think of the Red Sky. So meticulous as they latched onto every shred of strength. Tenacious and fiendish they were.


    Both he and his brother understood the dire need to root them out, otherwise they¡¯ll rise as plentiful as the coming Spring grass.


    ¡®Garm¡­ that old bat, still restless in death.¡¯


    To thwart the rising blood-born usurpers of the South, their foolish Lord Father was forced to undergo an Ordeal, running himself to the ground. They, in turn, rose up to their calling as the Tailed Brothers were left without even a single ruler.


    The Tailed Brothers were always lorded by two. If one falls, then it is of priority for the remaining Tailed Brother to raise two successors in due time.


    But bloodshed ensued. Countless so-called ¡®successors¡¯ arose at this time. Their cities were razed, and fortresses ransacked of their posts. A bloody succession war developed despite the rise of blood fiends.


    Both he and his elder brother decisively slain the others, but this decimated their reach and power as a Great Faction. But even then they were still regarded as the hegemons of the Wailing Chain, not even a succession war could take that away.


    They could''ve erased the Red Sky in its entirety if they were the rulers back then¡­


    As they left the opening that housed the old fortress, they skipped through other familiar ruins and returned to the main passage of tunnels.


    Time passed on, and more chambers, openings, and rooms were traversed and explored. Yet there was little to note.


    Until Atlan suddenly stopped at last and lifted his oil lantern.


    He stopped behind his elder brother, even though the crypts continued on into darkness ahead of them.


    "Here," Atlan sounded, handing their lone lantern to him.


    Their shifting shadows continued to follow them as their exploration came to an end ¡ª a grand chamber enclosed by two titanic hatches of crimson metal was left before them. Sealed shut, it was only natural for them to force it open.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do this one,¡± Atlan said curtly, and suddenly from beneath his mottled robes of deep grey, a thickly scaled deep green and lamprey-like outgrowth ¡ª a tail, extended from his lower back. It slammed against the gates as they ruched and warped under the crushing blow, and rocky dust billowed.


    But it held against his brother¡¯s blow.


    Atlan frowned, drawing back his tail for another strike. The force of his blow should have shattered any ordinary gate, or at the very least, cracked the surroundings no matter the material.


    Yet, this gate stood firm, unmarred except for the slight warping where his tail had impacted.


    "It''s odd," Atlan muttered, more to himself than to him.


    "Everything else was made of Ordinary stone aside from the odd crimson chamber of First or Second materials ¡ª probably made or conjured from one of their crafters."


    Atlan paused, examining the chamber with a keen eye, and tapped against it with his tail. "Fourth Ordeal," he continued. "The entire chamber thick and full of it."


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    Arslan stepped closer alongside, the lantern in his hand cast long shadows across the crimson gates. "Need help?"


    Atlan came closer and ran his hand over the smooth, unyielding surface, and said, "Go for it, I can¡¯t fit in here."


    Arslan''s eyes narrowed, a ravening glint in them. He took a step back, mindful to wait until his elder brother was beyond the clearing, deep behind the crypts.


    The crimson gates loomed ominously, a barrier between them and whatever lay beyond. But Arslan was undeterred, as his own tail emerged. His jet-black scales dimly basked in the fallen lantern¡¯s light. But it continued to stretch and lengthen, and slowly his figure altered, transformed into a colossal stygian serpent that could barely fit in the already massive and spacious tunnel.


    He was so large, that it was as though the entire web of the Red Sky¡¯s inner mountain was of his own making ¡ª his burrow.


    Away from Atlan¡¯s view, he opened his mighty and sickly maw, revealing onyx fangs that protruded much beyond what could be contained inside. He violently sunk his fangs with a guttural hiss into the incredibly hard crimson gates and twisted his neck despite the constraints of the tunnel, tearing them apart.


    As he did so, Atlan flew through the air, carefully fluttering his leathery wings above the titanic serpent below.


    Past the surge of dust, debris, and rubble, the pair returned to their original forms, to inspect the exposed chamber.


    What they found was a dark, but dimly lit room. A single platform was fashioned and raised at its center. It looked reminiscent of the altars of the numerous different zealots amongst the independent factions. They were an unruly bunch, so many differing churches, sects, and cults¡­


    He wished nothing more but to hound them all together into submission a single banner beneath the Tails.


    Surveying the rest of the chamber, their eyes traced towards the many streams engraved into the stone, all flowing from the walls as they fed the altar.


    Each of these streams was stained with dark red despite being of stone. And the walls¡­


    They inhibit their own mystifying symbols and engravings.


    ¡°Rituals upon rituals, we were right to kill them all, elder brother. But still, this only adds to their secrets.¡±


    ¡°Aye. And our seers?¡±


    ¡°They, along with the Third Tails beneath me require more time. The seers can''t see anything about the dissidents, an incapable lot they are. There''s no one of great promise amongst them¡­ we shouldn''t have invested in that rabble. All them were nothing but false promises¡±


    ¡°Time will tell, it''s too early¡­ have your Third Tails caught wind of anything?¡±


    ¡°None. We can''t find the recipients of the ritual ¡ª rituals. Not a trace. There were a few Blood Path Finders we discovered though. We¡¯ll finish scouring our lands soon, and if we find nothing by then we¡¯ll expand to the Outer Valleys.¡±


    Atlan raised an eyebrow at the news before asking:


    ¡°Of the Band?¡±


    ¡°Some, but most were outlaws and vagrants in hiding, independent. Those of the Band were ousted members or those who fled long ago before our alliance was formed.¡±


    Arslan paused briefly and added:


    ¡°We took them in, as well as anyone related. Rounded them up and questioned them. A loud bunch they were, but none were anything special, they couldn¡¯t have been the ritual target.¡±


    ¡°Did you kill them yet?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Set fire to their villages or outposts as well as wherever they hid. No stragglers, my men were thorough.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    After confirming the destruction of the Band, Arslan briefed the Tailed Ones he commanded of their findings before returning to his elder brother¡¯s side. The other Third Tails were overseeing that both forces of the Union and the Crested had withdrawn from their lands¡­


    They both paused in thought as they wandered the vast, yet baleful chamber. They still needed more information. Even as they ventured deep into the Red Sky¡¯s Great Mountain they grew more and more puzzled.


    This chamber they were in ¡ª what was it used for, and how long ago had the ritual taken place? Were the recipients different or the same as the other?


    It only added to their frustration that the Crested have increased their fervor against them despite the mere weeks of the alliance between them being disbanded.


    ¡°Do you think either the Union or the Crested are housing them?¡± Atlan asked.


    ¡°Unlikely. But I wouldn''t put it past them, especially the Crest Master, he wasn''t present after all.¡±


    The pair stared at the morbid ritual site as they threw their conjectures everywhere. They both felt the dire need to snuff the buds of revenge now. It was never wise to allow such possibilities to live, no matter how small they were.


    Hatred was a strong fuel for great ambition. Ambition that the Ordeals dearly rewarded in power.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Nothing?¡±


    The brothers were puzzled. Osias watched wearily as Kiran dipped his hand into the mist¡¯s depths. Seconds felt like an eternity, as he wondered just what could the mist they''d avoided for so long be capable of.


    And yet, as Kiran spouted just a single word, his expectations were shunted. He scrounged up the last of his energy to stay awake until he knew what awaited them below the summit only for it to be¡­ nothing.


    ¡®Nothing¡­¡¯ He thought as he collapsed entirely. His eyes turned oddly flat and lifeless.


    Even Kiran was taken aback. He slumped over behind and sat whimsically before the steep slope. He simply stared at his hand, deep in thought.


    As Osias lay sprawled, heavy breaths escaped from his tired lips as his chest rose and sunk. This period of respite was spent in silence, both pondering upon this discovery.


    For what could have been minutes, Osias¡¯s armor suddenly softened, then turned to liquid as it streamed towards Kiran¡¯s glaive.


    Kiran, who had gotten over his brooding, came over to him.


    ¡°What of your arm?¡±


    Osias turned his head to the left and tried lifting the mangled limb off the ground. The searing pain had only risen as he rested, but he still tried.


    It seemed as though he lost all feeling below his elbow; the fervor of battle had worn off.


    With a curt frown, he tried to rear back his shoulder to test the extent of the damage. It was only bruised and battered, and it didn¡¯t seem like his bones up there were shattered.


    ¡°I can¡¯t move it. But it¡¯s not my sword arm, so I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Kiran paused in response, only to reply:


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°How about yours?¡± Osias asked, nodding toward Kiran¡¯s bloodied stump.


    ¡°It¡¯ll heal ¡ª the venom slows it, though.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Kiran shifted his gaze back to the mist. ¡°This is¡­ troublesome.¡± He said, before adding:


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, without a doubt. But I don¡¯t know why. Even the instincts of the mutts were to scamper away.¡±


    And with a heavy pause, he left a lasting remark:


    ¡°I might¡­ be too weak to tell.¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t say a word in reply. It already dawned on him much earlier, that some things were beyond Kiran. But to hear it out of Kiran¡¯s mouth was heavy. He shifted on the ground and hesitated a bit. He turned his head to directly face Kiran and sighed inwardly.


    Kiran was strong, undoubtedly so. Although he himself never said it outright, Osias believed that Kiran was at the absolute pinnacle of the Second Ordeals after all their time together. As the thick smell of waste and blood blended with the wintry mountain air, he couldn¡¯t name any other Second Blood of the Band able to slaughter this many Second Ordeal Beasts, no matter how weak they were.


    Perhaps they could kill one with ease, perhaps another, but dozens? The Band already possessed an unnatural battle strength amidst their Path Finders, but Kiran was an outlier even compared to those monsters¡­


    ¡°Water?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He stammered out as he lightly scowled at Kiran¡¯s words.


    ¡°Do you want water?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ Let me sit up first,¡± He replied as he came over the his confusion. It seemed like the hounds knocked more than just the wind out of him.


    He braced himself and crawled up to a seat and Kiran handed over the water skin fastened to his hip. Silently humoring to himself, he still hasn¡¯t gotten over how curt his elder brother was, despite the months together.


    The time they spent together over the past months has felt much longer than they seem. And yet, Kiran hasn¡¯t changed in the slightest, immovable over time it seemed. Was this because of how long-lived they will turn as they progress through Ordeals?


    Between shallow sips of water, he asked, ¡°Brother, how old are you?¡±


    Kiran dropped down aside from him with a heavy thud and slowly replied:


    ¡°Twenty-four moons.¡± He huffed out as he extended an arm to retrieve the water skin.


    Osias obliged and tiredly returned it, and Kiran took a deep swig and then set the water skin aside.


    Kiran¡¯s cloak hung in rags. Tattered all over, and his barren chest was revealed. Long gouges left by blades, thick scabs from grievous wounds, and similar tattoos riddled his body. He thought that his body would soon be identical to his elder brothers ¡ª especially after today¡¯s battle.


    ¡°How was it, Osias? To fight for your life?¡±


    ¡°The boar was easier, truly,¡± He lied, his face quivering as his lips curled into a sly smile.


    That remark earned a quiet chuckle from Kiran before speaking again.


    ¡°Your arm ¡ª your body. It would be years until it returns to old. Perhaps a year as your essence reservoir continues to grow. Too difficult to tell, but it¡¯ll be a great deal of time.¡±


    ¡°But you mustn¡¯t stop. You must continue to train. This is no place for the weak.¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t speak, but he understood the message. Looking at the morbid summit, he knew this was something he had to grow accustomed to. It was revolting. The smells of battle churned his stomach ¡ª he was simply astounded at how much his mind and body could disregard in the quest to survive.


    No¡­ it also frightened him, how far, how much he can do in order to live. What he can do.


    He recalled his killing of the boar. The feeling of its eye crushed beneath his fingers. How it squirmed and writhed as it sought to live, just as he did. His own blood that coated his mouth and throat tasted bitterly similar to the boar¡¯s when he sunk his teeth into it.


    Once again, his eyes wandered below the tattered cloak of Kiran, focusing on the countless wounds as he wondered, ¡®What has he done to live?¡¯


    His eyes were fixed on Kiran¡¯s side, waiting.


    Slowly, Kiran got to his feet, pulling himself up with his glaive¡¯s shaft, and said:


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem like the rest of the mutts will wander up here. Perhaps they truly did fall to the mist¡­ In a few hour''s time, I¡¯ll descend from the summit. You¡¯ll remain here, rest, recover, eat.¡±


    Kiran paused briefly, before lastly adding:


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you then,¡±

 Chapter 20 - Inkling

    Kiran exchanged his glaive for a spear, perhaps it was because of its familiarity or him trying to offset the rising feeling of disorientation by grounding himself with its familiar feeling.


    But it barely helped the dread he felt as if he was walking into a slaughter ¡ª one of the likes that he carried out just prior.


    Wandering lost upon the uneven ground, it seemed endless. The mist flowed everywhere, never ceasing or relenting. He waved his spearhead, wafting and cleaving apart the mist before him only for it to immediately cover his vision once more.


    Above the clouds¡­ as of now, it should be the break of dawn. A velvet orange sky with the faint lingerings of two moons and a rising sun was missing, replaced by the all-encompassing mist that absorbed it all for its own.


    Though he was careful of leaving a deep trail below his feet to make his way back to the summit, he began to fear once more that he¡¯d truly become lost amidst this mist.


    So much so that he distrusted even himself, he repeatedly backtracked the trail he left behind in case something came along it, but nothing ever did. And then he¡¯d continue again.


    Constantly he expected something ¡ª anything to appear. Yet he couldn¡¯t find a soul.


    It was too distressing.


    For him not able to perceive the makings of the mist and how it can affect him¡­ it reminded him once more that he was insignificant.


    And then that feeling would dampen him even further. He¡¯d close his eyes and try to sense any comings of essence, yet he found nothing amiss. Despite that, the mist continued to press down on him, ever oppressive.


    Desolate silence hung as thick as the mist itself, only broken by his steps and the rustle of his tattered garments.


    ¡°When was it¡­ the last time something bewildered me,¡± he whispered, almost to himself. It was as though he tried to prove that he still existed as he spoke.


    But then he froze, his head perked up like a mountain hawk expectantly. His spear raised and he braced himself accordingly.


    The ground shook, and what few parts of the surrounding trees he could see tremored softly in response. Behind him, rocks lightly stumbled and rolled distantly.


    And then it returned to the usual eerie silence once more.


    But he kept still. He waved his head around, searching for any signs of something approaching, perhaps a hound, or the brood mother herself, or something else entirely.


    Yet nothing came before him.


    He kept marching down. It is hard to say whether he wishes to come upon something or not¡­


    Earlier, he made sure to descend on the northern side of the summit, so that eventually, he may discover what occurred with the brood mother, along with the rest of her kin.


    It was a little foolish. To so fervently head into the fray of what he believed to be the source reason of the risen mist.


    ¡®But even so, what could¡¯ve made the brood mother wail so direly?¡¯ he thought morbidly.


    It felt too sudden. He was just returning from a long scout on the horde, back to camp where Osias was. Yet as he approached the other side of the mountain, the piercing cry echoed about and everything turned chaotic.


    Perhaps his curiosity will best him here, Kiran smiled crookedly. It was his perverse decision that led him down here after all¡­


    But his travels carried on for minutes, then stretching onto hours. Endless marching as he descended the northern face of the mountain. He could feel it ¡ª nothing was amiss nor astray, as far as his memory served. He ventured this face many times before, although less wearily, as he scouted the brood mother and her kin.


    So as he came upon familiar sights and scenes, he became increasingly convinced that his directions were proper. To be sure of his way back he continued to backtrack on his trail, even going as far back to the summit itself to check upon Osias.


    And after his backtracking, he marched again. Until he came upon the true dwellings of the brood mother, at least where she should''ve been.


    A vast open clearing, though enveloped by the dense mist.


    A wide and deep impression where her titanic abundant body lay and sat idly. He remembered his first sight of her ¡ª a massive head right above this spot, peaking through the thick crowns of the surrounding trees.


    Even the evidence of her hounds was left behind as his spear pointed down and traced the many fresh steps, but none of their makers were left.


    Nothing approached.


    And he approached nothing.


    So he returned once more to Osias.


    ¡®What could it be¡­¡¯ He thought as his arm carried him over a steep step. At last, he returned to the jagged summit. Shriveled grey corpses of the many hounds lay strewn all over, and his eyes traced them until he found his brother.


    Osias wasn¡¯t lying carelessly but was standing guard wearily and alert with his sword drawn. He was seated atop a steep rising of the ground, keen on being able to oversee the entire summit.


    He called out to him lowly, ¡°Tired, Osias?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± That was all Osias said in reply.


    He joined Osias at his post and sat alongside him. Setting down his spear, he pulled out the water skin fastened against his waist.


    Earlier, he made sure to fill it once more during his descent into the mist, even testing to see if the mist affected it but it was normal¡­ at least as far as he could tell.


    Taking a large drink he broke the silence that hung between them:


    ¡°I found nothing. I haven¡¯t found whatever makes the mist feel so dangerous.¡±


    They just sat there, both unable to find the words to say ¡ª letting the piercing wind cut into them as they watched Laria and Dirus fade away as their father slowly grew to full mast above the horizon.


    ¡°Did you sleep earlier?¡± Kiran grumbled out.


    ¡°I tried, but I wasn¡¯t able to,¡± Osias said in response, before quietly adding:


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know if something was going to climb up above the mist.¡±


    Osias reached for the water skin and Kiran obliged.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go down and bring some fuel for a fire. Somewhere in these jaggs of stone should be deep enough ¡ª away from the wind and cold. You must be cold.¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Osias raised his head slowly before nodding. He didn¡¯t even realize how numb his fingertips were as they clutched the cold hilt of his blade until his brother mentioned it.


    ¡­It was hard to describe how he felt. His thoughts were slowed and jarred after the fight. Something the few minutes of sleep obviously couldn¡¯t resolve.


    The pain of his wounds too was blurred into this¡­ dejection. He didn¡¯t feel joyful, far from it.


    He was relieved though ¡ª he survived. But it also disheartened him as it didn¡¯t change the fact that it seemed that everywhere he could see was covered in mist.


    Just one death to the next it felt like.


    Perhaps one day¡ªone day the very earth wouldn¡¯t feel so suffocating to live in.


    He let out a deep sigh, only to cough horridly. His chest and insides as well probably haven¡¯t recovered in the slightest.


    Between his ragged coughs, Kiran jumped off the small ledge and headed down once more, descending into the mist.


    As Kiran disembarked from the summit, all he could think about was how Kiran could continue to labor himself. He continued to work towards something¡­ As if the dreary red and corpse-lined summit was but a trifling drudgery as he marched on to the next.


    Osias can¡¯t remain disheartened. It would disrespect his brother, himself, and even those of the inheritance. He can¡¯t.


    So as he sat there, he began to hone into his control over the flow of essence. As he focused and honed in on the areas Kiran once battered into both his body and mind to take heed of, he imagined himself taking a swing of his sword.


    Going through slowly each and every point of the movement, just as he clumsily did in the fight atop the summit.


    It was hard. He thought he remembered and deeply ingrained Kiran''s lessons and his teachings of the Red Sky¡¯s War Art¡­ yet the moment he took the brunt of a fierce blow, he regressed into wildly flooding his body in essence, violently filling himself in vigor as he became too engrossed in the heat of battle. He was still inexperienced.


    It empowered him of course, how wouldn¡¯t igniting his entire body not? But it then resulted in him moving not as well as he could have, leaving him open to getting pounced on or losing his footing.


    Inefficient¡ªhe mistook the Red Sky¡¯s ferocity for crudeness.


    He needed more time. Focus. Patience. Discipline.


    So the next time, even in the fervor of battle, he could fight as best as he could. Just as Kiran did.


    ¡­But even so, he felt like he got closer to what he thought was the ideal method of battle. It was still far away, so far from where he currently was. But today was a grand step closer, without a doubt.


    He survived as well, he thought with a grim smile, that must account for something.


    Returning his attention to his flow of essence, he found it difficult to read and direct as he normally did.


    As if there were rocks scattered within a once free-flowing stream.


    ¡®Injuries?¡¯ He immediately deduced.


    Perhaps the other Paths didn¡¯t experience this, but he had a slight inkling that since his, as well as other Blood Path Finders like Kiran said, heightened awareness of the flow of essence stems from the nature of blood and blood essence.


    So it wouldn¡¯t be far-fetched that injuries affecting this flow took an actual toll on his usual keenness to control. But that only meant he needed to improve, to not allow something like this to disrupt him.


    To truly control himself with a precise mastery. Surpass his natural awareness with skill built on expeirance.


    So that his expeirance shaped the knowledge instilled by Kiran.


    ¡­He observed his flow by these injured areas. Faster and slower, it turned unwieldy at times and in different places of his body. Not so much so that he would be well aware of it in the heat of battle, but if he focused intently, he could tell it affected him.


    Though¡­ in a way, these ¡®stones¡¯ allowed him to be keenly aware of where he is hurt, at least in the sense of his blood rather than simply feeling pain there.


    ¡®Is this how I would use Blood Mend? I still don¡¯t know how an Ordeal Ability would work¡­¡¯


    He wondered if First Bloods with Blood Mend needed to focus on an area, or if simply exhausting essence to use it would heal him. It was puzzling to figure out as an Ordinary¡­. perhaps they inherently knew how to use Blood Mend upon their completion of their Ordeal.


    He did recall the Path Finders saying that once they return from an Ordeal, it felt as though a fog has been lifted, as if something once obscured is revealed, bringing forth a name of their newfound Ordeal Ability and some basic knowledge of it.


    But it seems that it isn¡¯t complete ¡ª Kiran mentioned that he needed to experiment with True Extraction to explore its capabilities.


    No¡­ the best example of this lack of knowledge would be Garm. It¡¯s said that he honed his skills with his elusive rituals through countless successes and failures.


    He shuddered slightly as he recalled just how many died upon the tattoo in his generation alone ¡ª the latest generation subject to Garm¡¯s rituals, which also meant the most perfected.


    Even Garm himself would wantonly mention such things as he etched the ink onto him. A stray comment on how he once almost succeeded in somehow inscribing a certain marking onto a mother¡¯s womb, only for all births to be stillborn¡­


    As Osias began to work through the ¡®stones¡¯ in his flow of essence, thoroughly directing, changing, and observing the flow to improve his own control, Kiran had already returned.


    Unbeknownst to Osias, a great deal of time passed as sweat rolled down his head despite the cold air.


    ¡°Done?¡± Kiran asked from below.


    ¡°For now.¡± He replied curtly.


    As he lurched over to see Kiran, it seemed he had to dig out a deep crevice into the stone ¡ª once again reminding him to get used to such peculiar sights¡­


    Small embers of a fire were made, sheltered from the cold drafts that threatened to kill them off.


    Within moments of Kiran¡¯s nurturing, the flames grew enough to radiate a soft heat as he climbed down.


    Osias brought himself right against the flame, eventually deciding to strip himself from the grimy cloak he donned.


    Maybe because of the heat, or through time his nose became less accustomed to his own scent, but he realized that they needed to be washed.


    Blood, sweat, and mud caked all over, blending it all into black and brown tatters. And as his hair fell against his skin, it seemed that it too suffered the same fate.


    ¡°Put up with it. You can¡¯t descend the summit to wash yourself. Still too much of a risk.¡± Kiran commented.


    ¡°Mm.¡± He relented.


    But then he threw a curious glance at Kiran, who was sitting cross-legged, an odd sight due to his size.


    But most peculiar was what surrounded Kiran as he sat quietly. Encircling him was a large, intricate crimson ring. It looked to be made of the same metal-like material as his assortment of weapons


    Even more surprisingly, were the etched lines that covered the outside. As if a trellis of flowering vines threw intricate patterns all around it, so small they Osias had to take another, but closer look.


    ¡®Training?¡¯ He wondered with a slightly raised eyebrow.


    Suddenly, the ring dispersed into liquid, then collected into something he had seen countless times now ¡ª a great menacing spear.


    A thick crimson shaft befitting Kiran¡¯s hands and stature. Accented with prongs, and a spiraled head.


    Then it broke apart into three almost equally sized fragments. Each headed away from Kiran making a triangle with him as the center¡ª the three fragments faced upwards like the poles of a banner.


    All three fragments then pooled into a smooth flat circle and stretched into a long rectangle ¡ª earning a slight grimace on Kiran¡¯s scowled face that didn¡¯t unnoticed.


    In the next moment, the face of this rectangle slowly formed a familiar marking, the sigils of the Red Sky along with other markings that he recognized, all three constructs formed into identical tower shields of immense size and thickness.


    Then the shield to his left slowed dispersed and was made into a different construct, a great glaive.


    Carved swirls traced the shaft as it headed up to its broad, but sharp blade head that gleamed a crimson hue against the lit fire.


    The shield to his right then turned into something new that Osias had yet to see ¡ª an immense curved sword of sorts. Thick and broad, just like the head of the glaive, but much longer as it ran down into a hilt and pommel.


    ¡®Another of his collection?¡¯ He silently wondered.


    However, just as he thought the spectacle was over, the three constructs dispersed one by one. Only for the next construct to be reformed anew as Kiran cycled between them. He watched as this cycling continued for minutes, each time getting faintly faster and more graceful. The constructs weren¡¯t as intricate as they were before, but they vaguely became so as time passed.


    It was something that seemed impossible by what he could recall¡­ Kiran mentioned his ineptness when Osias inquired about the extent of Kiran¡¯s control over True Extraction all that time ago.


    Matter fact, Osias began to recall the miserable battle this morning¡­ Kiran never provided him with a set of armor made by True Extraction before then.


    ¡­It seemed that despite the armor¡¯s crudeness, the fact that Kiran retained the shape of the construct for so long despite being engulfed in battle meant that Kiran had trained immensely all this time.


    Leaps and bounds so it seemed¡­ despite both of them having the same amount of time in a day.


    Perhaps he had less than Kiran due to his brother¡¯s disposition as a Second Ordeal, but even so.


    Kiran only continues to grow stronger.


    ¡®Can¡¯t waste time myself¡­¡¯ He thought begrudgingly, his curious face twisted into a small frown.


    His elder brother''s repetition of cycles changed and continued many times, but Osias didn¡¯t bother to count ¡ª too busy as he returned to his own stationary training.


    Slowly time passed and the sun moved and crossed the sky. Their own warm light within the crevices of jagged stones never once threatened to die in this time, restless as the dancing flames were.


    Suddenly Kiran opened his eyes, and all three of his constructs dispersed and collected once more. It flowed towards Kiran¡¯s bare torso and crept up, slithering into a coil like a snake around the thickest of his right arm.


    ¡­Coiled into a dark crimson ring tight against his inked arm.


    Osias returned his attention too as the bleak sun began to dwindle and die. Dusk began to seep into their rugged mishappened dwelling, the gathering darkness fended off by their small flame.


    He tried to ignore his empty belly.


    ¡°Today¡­ felt long.¡± He said quietly, before adding:


    ¡°Hey brother, how long ago did you begin training?¡±


    KKiran paused as he thought and tried to recall as if it was difficult to say:


    ¡°Long ago, must¡¯ve been as young as my Sixth Moon. I was bigger¡ªstronger than the other kids. The caretakers must¡¯ve seen fit for a large stick and handle to belong in my hand rather than having me pummel the other kids barehanded. At least then I¡¯ll learn better at the same cost of the others wailing.¡±


    Osias stifled a small laugh and asked once more:


    ¡°How about the tattoos then? I never asked about them.¡±


    ¡°Should be the same as yourself, by the Eighth Moon. The initial selection wasn¡¯t as strict to pass as yours, so many more youths were included. But you know of Garm¡¯s methods ¡ª it meant just that many more had to die before a handful were left.¡± Kiran said and continued:


    ¡°He was faster though, back then¡­ took nearly half the time as your own took. He relied heavily on the child¡¯s natural disposition more than refining his own technique. But that doesn¡¯t mean it was easier for you though.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡­Nightfall was in full swing, and the moons arose in the distance. But all he could think was how long his day was.


    Long enough that the battle with the hounds seemed so distant.


    ¡°I think that¡¯ll be it. Wake me if something happens.¡± He said quietly as he slumped down on his back. Once again, another night he couldn¡¯t sleep on his worn side.


    ¡°Mm,¡± Kiran replied lowly with a grunt.


    Perhaps tonight he would be privy to a full night of rest ¡ª no sudden awakenings to a battle against tides of hounds.

 Chapter 21 - A World Flooded in Red

    ¡°Quicker.¡±


    ¡°You lost sight of your control again, don''t waste the blessing you were handed with.¡±


    ¡°Strike to kill, you must open your enemies first before you can reave.¡±


    Osias was a battered mess, and in some areas, he was injured more so than he would against beasts.


    Kiran was thorough, taking advantage of his stronger, yet Ordinary body. Even more so than ever before. Perhaps his elder brother¡¯s frustration and restlessness from the hidden secrets within the mist were being taken out on him.


    He tiredly leaned against his blade he was gasping for breath with this thought in mind ¡ª his weary and muddled head was barely able even to muster this thought. His muscles were scalding in exhaustion and a sharp pain attacked his insides. Through these aches, he wondered just how much longer must he remain in this¡­ pathetic body of his.


    Weak, no matter how much his reservoir grows¡­. it was just too slow. His essence reservoir constantly draws upon the tattoo, keeping it at full capacity. As it greedily seeks to draw in more from the boundless amount in the tattoo, the limit is stressed and grows slowly.


    But he needed it to be faster. The more essence in his reservoir, the more can his body be saturated and strengthened as a result. Day in and day out, constantly being berated, battered, and broken, he needs strength.


    His brother, now atop a sharp jagged stone, was about to come at him once more. So with a heavy grunt, he pulled his wedged sword from the stones to block a thunderous strike.


    A heavy blow toppled him from above as he staggered down to his worn-down knees ¡ª both hands tremored and shook as they held his sword flat against the strike.


    But he blocked it, his head was safe.


    However, Kiran obviously wouldn¡¯t allow him such reprieve as he pulled back and slammed the butt of his spear onto his collar, making him tumble back reeling in pain.


    Osias was still too weak ¡ª still too slow as another blow barreled and struck deep into his shoulder unrelentingly.


    ¡°It¡¯s been two months you¡¯ve been atop the summit. Show something of it. Show me your time wasn¡¯t a waste.¡± Kiran harshly chided between his flurry.


    Osias desperately put up a guard, a block, anything to stop the onslaught that battered him.


    ¡°Show me!¡±


    He¡¯ll guard his torso only for a barrage to topple him at his thigh, bringing him down.


    He¡¯ll use his arms to block his head but have a stiff jab knock the wind from under him as he brings his free hand to clutch his chest to make sure it is still whole.


    But then a sweep of the spear¡¯s shaft hooked onto his ankle despite the distance and swept him off the snowy stones with a heavy impact onto his back.


    Kiran wanted to break him.


    Osias¡¯s arms gave out and he dropped his blade as he staggered to try and hastily get up ¡ª another swing from above was coming fast.


    But Kiran stopped the monstrous blow right before it would slam into his head.


    Kiran paused for a moment, his face remained a harsh scowl as he then lowered his spear and turned around.


    ¡°Rest. Then continue to hone your essence control. I¡¯ll be back.¡± Kiran growled out.


    Kiran¡¯s usual aloof and indifferent demeanor seemed to extend into everything. But this aspect of Kiran changed both in battle and in teaching¡­ Osias noticed this long ago, but even so, the fruitless weeks under the mist must¡¯ve taken a rough toll. Weeks upon weeks, Osias could only think that his brother¡¯s ventures were in vain. His brother always seemed to have a subdued resentment, under a thick cloak of control. But this guise is more broken than ever.


    However, the weeks have ploddingly passed for him as well. As though he has been stuck atop the summit in an endless drudgery.


    He¡¯d wake up from sleepless nights, both his body and mind were so guarded against the mist, that he couldn¡¯t close his eyes for too long without waking in a cold sweat. He¡¯d draw his sword at an empty expanse, shivering until Kiran hand¡¯s broke past the boundary of mist.


    Atop such heights, the air was thin and cold, biting at his bare skin ¡ª his ignorant disregard for the elements on his first day was taken for granted. The wind howled ceaselessly, carrying with it a chill that cut to the bone. Each breath was a labor made shallow and fragile. His head felt light and his thoughts sluggish despite his complaints.


    He was raised and fostered atop a Great Mountain¡­ but even so, he felt out of place here.


    And then he¡¯ll endure increasingly more brutal training. He tried to be understanding, and patient even with his brother. He was aware, that the brooding feeling that welled up was perverse and went against what was needed for him to improve. Perhaps this was a trait he inherited from the band¡­ an unconscious anger that must be subdued below the surface.


    So he continued to be more mindful of himself.


    ¡­Begrudgingly he abided Kiran¡¯s fleeting words without quarrel and wearily sat up and began to reflect over his spar.


    Over this period he has increasingly become more familiar with his own body as well as how he moves. He became more frugal and efficient with using his essence, obtaining either the same or better movements as he did with flooding his entire body as he ignited as much essence as he could.


    He envisaged where the fight would go, and moved accordingly as he adapted.


    At times he would even suddenly burst himself with strength and speed to fit how he envisions himself so he could meet and find his way of battle.


    He¡¯ll remain docile and patient, biding his time before he becomes intense and violent. Always thinking as he scoured Kiran¡¯s movements. It felt as though he had finally taken steps to overcome this habit of losing himself amidst the battle, always paying heed to not be crude and careless. He needs to acquire the same readiness to act decisively when the moment is right


    Composed.


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    Controlled.


    But he has yet to land a single strike on Kiran. Not even a swipe of the rags that covered his elder brother¡¯s waist and legs.


    Perhaps when he does, he¡¯ll be allowed to venture into the mist below¡­


    Though speaking of the mist, if he peered below the descent, the mist has slowly receded in this time. However, it is only enough to reveal the highest edge of the treeline¡­ The trees themselves hadn¡¯t changed in the slightest, standing still like silent sentinels against the bleak landscape. Gatekeepers of the mist from his point of view.


    The dread radiating off the mist hasn¡¯t waned, but Kiran¡¯s repeated entrance and exit made him curious if he could brave the mist. It was foolish, but it seemed that his time atop the summit as affected him too.


    Returning his attention to his control over essence, he recalled something Kiran said. A fleeting set of words before he parted over a spar:


    ¡°To live is to devour others.¡± He whispered to himself.


    Whatever that meant¡­ Morbid as it was, the words stuck with him.


    ¡ª


    The mist billowed as a titanic hound bolted forward, titanic steps left in her wake. Her size cleaved through the mist only for it to fill what was cleared in moments.


    Her vast body must¡¯ve been as lengthy as even the tallest of trees turned on its size. Kiran didn¡¯t want to think of the strength that came along with it.


    But her vigor now must¡¯ve been but a fraction of what it once was¡­


    Kiran came upon her presence a few days ago, the furthest he descended from the summit. His progress was slow as it was stressful. He focused all he could on his senses. Scouring anything to detect whatever lay within the cold embraces of the sunless mist.


    And then the ground echoed a quiet tremor.


    Having grown accustomed to the eerie silence of the mist, having the ground tremble lightly was alarming. However, he felt something similar a few times prior, so he wasn¡¯t too worried.


    Then the tremors became increasingly louder and more violent.


    However, he was daring that day. After long periods of idle findings, that day he was inclined to brave whatever was coming.


    So he remained absolutely still and grounded himself as he studied his surroundings somberly. The small pebbles at his feet became violently fitful and he heard the low groans of a tree being uprooted in the distance. Steps¡­ It was fast steps that were approaching.


    And then his first reuniting with the brood mother happened, as brief as it was.


    At first, the brood mother brushed sides with him, not even acknowledging his presence as she quickly ran across him. But he decided against pursuing her that day, as from her rear he saw something unexpected¡­


    Vast flowing trails of putrid blood ¡ª she was running from something.


    That day he was taken aback and he ran through the mist, following his trail left in the ground with all his strength. Away from his sight, an indescribable wail sharply cut through the sound of the brood mother¡¯s running. Then almost immediately, just mere moments after he decided to run he smelt blood in the air. The brood mother gained quite the distance, yet he still tasted it as he ascended the mountain¡­


    Yet he returned safely that day. After that, his daily ventures into the mist returned to as it was before, fruitless and uneventful.


    Until today.


    Today he came to upon the same wounded brood mother, maimed and bleeding out as she lay amidst a clearing of her own making ¡ª her escort of kin nowhere to be found.


    He froze as he came upon her presence at first. Both because of the possible presence of whatever reduced the brood mother to her miserable state, but also because of her strength itself. Though wounded, she was a Third Ordeal, most likely of average battle strength or perhaps just above it.


    However, she was most definitely below the strongest of the Third Ordeal. Otherwise, he¡¯d retreat immediately despite realizing she was both alone and wounded. Those who displayed a kind of outrageous strength belonging to the Ordeal above¡­ were not to be tested so carelessly.


    Together with the fact that Path Beasts naturally possessed more powerful dispositions than their human counterparts, he would have no chance unless he was together with others like him.


    Alas¡­ she wasn¡¯t at that level.


    The brood mother used what was left of her remaining strength, she lowered her maw and dispelled a sickly black drool. It decayed the earth and blackened its surroundings.


    Even the air was tainted to his dismay. As he mistakingly breathed in, his throat lit aflame, scorching in pain. The air burned within, filling his chest with a white-hot agony.


    But he endured and bolted into the darkened fray surrounding her ¡ª armed with a long crimson spear he slashed and dragged at her side, targeting her already open wounds as he ripped a river of blood that flowed into his tattoos.


    Blood Reave took her densely saturated blood for his own, invigorating him despite his rotting wounds.


    The brood mother quickly rolled and turned in a desperate scramble, dispelling even more of her venom. Kiran staggered back, clutching his side where she had struck him earlier. The profane creature''s venom had already begun to work its way through his body, a cold, creeping sensation spreading from the wound. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and his vision blurred as it took hold from within.


    He glanced down at his side and saw the skin darkening, turning an unnatural shade of black. The veins stood out starkly against the discolored flesh, pulsing with a sickly hue.


    But he was fortunate enough to come upon her alone¡­ if he was right, then the weaker hounds would enhance her own venom.


    Stepping aside a vast black river he pushed through the agony and lept to her side, viciously thrusting his spearhead deep inside a lengthy open gash.


    Suddenly, with a baleful smile, he altered the shape of his spear as it was embedded inside, bursting the blade into a cruel web of spikes before shrinking its form and jumping off her side.


    It was a new ploy, the result of the endless practice of honing his control into each construct of True Extraction. But he found it difficult to manipulate within the body of such powerful creatures¡­ something affected his control. However, it was enough as he remembered to pull another horrendous amount of blood out of the splintered wound.


    Putting on distance between the brood mother it seemed that the lingering embers of her life were distinguished as she staggered and fell, her legs giving out to weakness.


    She was in a horrible and miserable state. The wounds scattered all over her body were hideous and grievous enough to cripple her. Even her swelled underside wasn¡¯t spared. He wasn¡¯t going to allow more foul pests to populate the mountain.


    It would be beyond dreams to even think of escaping the approaching end, her luck ended here. The corners of his mouth raised slightly as looked at the countless slits that rend and torn her hind legs ¡ª the work of whatever she was running from¡­


    Although he¡¯ll most likely have to come to face with the creature capable of doing such a deed, he silently expressed his gratitude as he walked towards the fallen hound before him.


    She did not whimper, wail, or cry out like her kin¡­ perhaps it was pride he wondered. The arrogance and self-regard of the strong.


    Though it didn¡¯t matter, death came all the same. There were no final rites to provide, only the end of his spear as he brought it against her hulking head.


    With a stiff thrust, he ended her life.


    But he was not going to leave without a reward, and he reached deep into the gaping hole left behind as he pulled his spear out.


    True Extraction viciously pulled a river of blood essence into his spear, greedily feeding its boundless thirst.


    ¡®Third Ordeal.¡¯ He thought as he tested it against the tough leathery hide that covered her corpse.


    Cutting a large section off, his mind seemed to naturally recall his brother¡¯s need for garments. It was the first thing on his mind as he slew the brood mother oddly enough.


    He¡¯ll prepare it later as he curls the large roughly cut piece. Thankfully it was light¡­ as light as a material stripped off a Third Ordeal beast could be.


    Perhaps after Osias completes his First Ordeal could be don the crude piece. Until then, he¡¯ll carry the hide, its weight was nothing to him. But as he thought this, a deep frown plastered his face:


    ¡®Too slow.¡¯ He thought vexingly.


    He needed Osias to be stronger quickly. Time¡­ he needed time.


    Just how much longer will the summit remain safe?


    What if the mist arises once more, but this time fully covering the summit?


    No¡­ he should stop thinking of the summit. There was still an entirely unknown amount of land they had to cross. For all he knew, the entire Outer Valleys could be enveloped by this fog.


    He has barely begun to travel beyond the foothills of the mountain they occupied, yet this week alone his discoveries were enough to kill Osias tenfold.


    ¡®Should we turn back? Try our luck inland?¡¯ He thought grimly.


    Though he had an inkling that whatever hunted down the brood mother could perhaps only traverse within the mist, he couldn¡¯t prove it. If there was another reason it hadn¡¯t revealed itself near the summit, he didn¡¯t know of it.


    More than that, he still has yet to discover the reason for its rising in the first place. There was a deeply unsettling fear that whatever mangled the brood mother so badly wasn¡¯t the cause of it.


    Shaking his head, he searched for the trail he left behind and began his return, swallowing the deep agitation that welled up within.

 Chapter 22 - Steel Crow

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll recede to as it was before it¡¯s rise soon. We¡¯ll descend by then.¡±


    Osias was but a touch above the mist. One dip of his feet and he¡¯ll touch it. Kiran was by his side in case anything happened¡­ but if he suddenly dropped dead that¡¯ll be his end.


    The reason he has begrudgingly yet to attempt to brave the mist directly is because of Kiran. More specifically, the lack of First Ordeal hounds they so fervently populated the mountain before the milky wisps raised above the unknown depths of the valleys and gorges.


    Not even their corpses were found.


    But it would be foolish to think the mist wouldn¡¯t rise once more. Besides, they have no more elevated land to travel with.


    If nothing happens, then they¡¯ll begin their preparations to descend its obscured depths¡­


    It''s been a few minutes since Kiran told him to try. But he couldn¡¯t wave the fear away so easily. For so long he has been told to avoid it, as if his life depended on not even touching it. He knew he had to though. There was still an entire journey ahead. A life to live! He cannot hold back his brother any longer.


    So he reluctantly lowered his left leg into the mist as the tight unease wrung his chest whole.


    ¡®Damn it. Just do it!¡¯ He silently reproached himself.


    Then he madly sunk it below, welcoming its cold embrace.


    ¡­Only to find nothing happened ¡ª just as Kiran found for himself all that time ago.


    ¡®That¡¯s it? All this time¡­ I could¡¯ve entered it?¡¯


    In the next moment, Kiran cut through his thoughts and said:


    ¡°Good. Get up, gather together all we have. We go today.¡±


    Osias nodded, his brother left no room for tolerance. It was time.


    Lifting his foot, he began the short trek upwards.


    It was a great distance now, only reminding him of how much time he spent on the land untouched by the mist.


    After the mist receded enough for him to leave the summit he began training his movements differently. He did realize it then, as Kiran carried him most of the way, but scaling such a steep and jagged mountain was difficult¡­ treacherous even.


    To thoughtfully use essence together with the awkward and cumbrous actions tested his control even further. As he used essence to strengthen himself, mindful to be both frugal and sparse in its uses, he finally began just thinking of how to implement this control of essence to fit the Red Sky¡¯s War Art.


    Essence control was but the most rudimentary part of his war art¡­ and even then, his control was most likely lacking as he could only compare himself to Kiran.


    It was simply wishful thinking at this point, nothing more than feeding into his delusions. He hasn¡¯t even undergone his first Ordeal!


    But as he once again recalled first first climb to the summit alone, he truly felt like a child as he scaled the first cliffs, clumsy and dull as he was. So many times had he lost a hold and fell from a great height atop stone¡­


    But as days and weeks went by, he improved, moving with the rough grace of mountain brigands.


    He heard tales of the Red Sky coming upon such mountain clans occasionally on their raids. Some were bold and some dwelled in the recluse of mountains. But all of them possessed people capable to traveling the rugged landscape with an outrageous ease apparently.


    Even he can learn from such people¡­


    His control over essence has been getting better. No longer does he overflow his body to compensate for the lack of skill.


    He became much more aware and thoughtful of himself both during battle and casual movements.


    With another leap, he caught a familiar crevice within the stones and climbed himself up once more.


    There he met jagged stones and signs of a barren encampment, his dwelling over quite some time.


    Fortunately or not, there weren¡¯t many things he had. He hadn¡¯t acquired anything new aside from the crude weathered cloak that was a little too heavy for him. Kiran prepared the hide of the fallen brood mother one day. The material itself was familiar ¡ª his blade cut through a similar hide countless times after all.


    The cloak itself was thick and rugged, with a texture that felt both rough and strangely supple. The color was a deep, mottled black, just like the more familiar hounds he was accustomed to.


    He wondered why wouldn''t the Second Ordeal hounds suffice, but not enough to inquire to Kiran¡­


    Kiran held most of their other items, but he was already waiting for him by the mist. So that only left him his dirty rags for a cloak, a secured vial of blood, and his personal short sword.


    He began to clean away their signs of encampment ¡ª luckily most of the work was done in advance. Though it did make him stop and think¡­ this was his last sight of their camp. One of many.


    He sighed deeply, remembering that this was the nature of their life until they reached the north.


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    Hiding.


    Running.


    Perhaps even pursued. This was the reason why he had to clear their camp bare anyway.


    Until they reach the Northern Wind Union, this will only continue. Who knows when the next extended moment of reprieve will come and last?


    His face slowly turned somber and grave as he descended the mountain for the last time.


    He ran and jumped and rolled his way down until he found the dark looming figure of Kiran. He abandoned his old cloak, instead donning another crude segment of the brood mother to cover his top half.


    He couldn¡¯t see past, but he knew that his own improvised cloak was somewhere fastened against Kiran¡¯s waist ¡ª he¡¯d only be slowed down if he draped himself in its tough embrace as he is now.


    Kiran motioned him to come along and he obliged with a stiff inhale of air¡­ perhaps his last breath of air outside the mist. Both he and Kiran couldn¡¯t ascertain how far the mist reached. All they knew was that from the moment they arrived at the borders of land claimed by Path Finders, they found the mist below them.


    Days upon days, the sunless grey mist never ended. Even as they looked down upon the highest of summits they could reach.


    Kiran said they were still right against the Tailed Brothers, a little past the once mighty Red Cliff Stronghold. Its iron-crowned battlements, massive towers, and thick dark red walls gave it the aspect of a ferocious beast hunched between two narrow ridges. It is said that both the spilled blood of the Path Finders under the Tailed Brothers and the Red Sky stained the great walls giving them their color.


    Although it no longer serves a purpose with the fall of the band, it was still a near-impenetrable fortress that barred them from passing north had they instead traveled inland.


    So the Outer Valleys did indeed help them travel candidly at a cost.


    Shaking his head slightly, he followed Kiran as they walked into the mist.


    He hesitantly closed his eyes, a little wary because of their history with harrowing creatures able to detect such things, but as he opened them he simply immersed himself in the obscurity of it all.


    It was far from what he thought, even though he already dipped a toe in it. The way his mind and body rejected the idea of entering, it wouldn¡¯t be far from calling it the precipice of hell.


    It was impossibly murky and he could barely even see his own arms, even feeling a little heavy and sluggish. But that was it.


    Lifting his leg and stomping down, perhaps in a pitiful attempt to make sure it was still attached to himself, he began to follow the dark figure in front of him warily.


    They weaved between what should have been trees, and he could feel the descending slope of stones and earth. The rest of the way toward where he once adamantly avoided because of the Kiran¡¯s unusually long hunt did not take a lot of time.


    It seemed that the mist thinned out slightly in some areas as his eyes fervently glazed upon the shadowy collapsed trees and odd impressions of footsteps.


    They continued the descent, at times pausing briefly as Kiran perhaps sensed something he could not, but nothing occurred. But each time it happened, the welling desire to prove to be of use only made his heart heavier.


    ¡®Still a hindrance.¡¯ Osias thought with sunken eyes.


    Perhaps it was morbid, but he thought of his chances if he was alone. Mistake after mistake, he was too green to know right from wrong. Too weak to travel alone. It was a cruel thought that ruminated within, but he was dead weight.


    ¡°We¡¯re on the foothills, the northern base of the mountain.¡±  Kiran abruptly said, cutting through the dense mist.


    Osias didn¡¯t say anything in reply, continuing to follow the giant wafting through the mist. As they continued a series of careful steps the mist thin a little once more, enough for him to faintly see a few paces around him.


    But what he saw made him freeze and pale in shock. A few steps to his side and he would''ve brushed against something horrendous. It was but a fragment, a severed piece of something appalling of an immense creature.


    It looked like an old bloodied limb, too large to see the end of it. Whatever lay past what could¡¯ve been its wrist was shrouded in mist, the ends of which he could not find. He silently gasped, stifling any sounds as if the fallen creature itself or whatever abhorrent beast capable of severing its limb like this was still in the area.


    However, Kiran continued to move, disregarding the fallen limb.


    ¡®Large. Much larger than what Kiran said the brood mother was.¡¯ Osias quickly recalled and determined.


    It made him aware that despite the quiet emptiness of the ocean of the vile mist, they were not alone. Far from it.


    Quickly chasing the already faint figure of Kiran ahead of him, he tightened his grip as his heart turned a sickly cold. His alertness seemed to swell upon his brief findings.


    ¡®If only Zevir was alongside us, or at least guiding us from afar.¡¯  He thought wistfully, yearning for the presence of the all-seeing elder.


    Perhaps the giant bloody eye of the elder could peer past the mist. Osias wondered how Zevir came upon his abilities. He lost his usual eyesight in return for a powerful but stationary eye let loose atop the Great Mountain¡ª no, was it truly stationary?


    Osias himself rarely left the Great Mountain, it had everything he needed after all. There were thousands upon thousands living within its once mighty walls, and although most of his time was spent inside the narrow confines of the hollow mountain, he was well aware of how much land the Red Sky took for their own.


    And the elders were not inept and idle. It took grand amounts of time for them all to convene once more along with Garm atop their Great Mountain ¡ª many of the elders were leading the raids and conquest of the band. What if Zevir had multiple eyes, atop multiple mountains?


    Osias grimly smiled as he relished in the thought of the ease of travel if they had Zevir with them¡­


    However, Kiran seemed to thoroughly explore and memorize much of the land as he remained atop the summit. There was no need to backtrack and they took well-thought turns, not even encountering the creature of the mist Kiran once mentioned.


    Though it did seem a little darker than it was earlier. Osias¡¯s chin lifted as he waved his gaze side to side, trying to find the sun, but the dark tendrils of the fog were unrelenting. As they continued to travel within, its eerie emptiness eclipsed all else.


    He focused on his footing, while also keeping Kiran in his sight. The uneven paths of the turned-grey forested hill were not ideal for the blind.


    Kiran didn¡¯t say much, even as time passed, but he didn¡¯t care. He grew accustomed to the dead silence despite his tenseness.


    It must¡¯ve been an hour since they had begun their travel, most likely crossing an insignificant amount of lan-


    ¡°Run!¡± Kiran said in a hushed whisper as an iron-clawed grip dragged him by his non-sword hand.


    Osias quickly raised his eyes in alarm and tried to stay calm. Suddenly Kiran cut a tight corner to the left and changed directions.


    His heart felt as though it dropped, it was unlikely that upon Kiran¡¯s travels, he plan such a maneuver.


    Their quick continued on for hundreds of paces, and Kiran erratically led him between swathes of trees and risings, even grabbing hold of him for a steep hillside.


    Deeper and deeper they continued on until Kiran abruptly slowed down as they reached what seemed to be a narrow ledge before a clearing. Osias was sure that beyond where his own senses could see, they must¡¯ve avoided something dire.


    Bringing himself to Kiran¡¯s side, he turned his head to face his brother between slightly strained breaths.


    But he found plastered on Kiran¡¯s face was a silent scowl more twisted than ever before.


    ¡°Did we-¡±


    In the next moment, a near unutterable sound bellowed, something he couldn¡¯t imagine a living creature could make, and he clutched his ears and sprawled on his back.


    Shattering pain that pounded his head to bits wailed on and on.


    And then a realization surfaced through his broken mind.


    ¡­His brother wasn¡¯t looking at him. Kiran¡¯s flinty face was glaring at something in front of them.

 Chapter 23 - The Tomb Of Both Giants and Man

    The mist seemed to open as they looked ahead. As if it was once folded and collapsed upon itself, used as a shroud by this¡­ hideous creature.


    If the Heron looked as close to heaven, then this profane Maggot of the mist was the closest to the underworld they¡¯d came upon.


    Squirming as it wrapped around what seemed like a towering tree ¡ª the heights of which were beyond anything he had seen before. The rest of its slithering body was burrowed below the ground at the tree¡¯s base.


    Enormous, its ashen head has a flower-like mouth of three bulbs with small, thin teeth around its maw.


    Osias couldn¡¯t even tell if the beast had eyes. But despite that, its head faced them.


    However, Kiran was already moving, he grabbed Osias and bolted north. This wasn¡¯t something they could face. Together with whatever pursued them, they cannot remain here.


    Perhaps they were too weak and insignificant, but the Maggot of the mist continued to face the direction they once were, disregarding both him and Kiran as if they were small as ants. Because they simply were.


    But suddenly, the same indescribable sound once again tore through the mist from behind them over a vast distance. It seemed whatever was pursuing them had entered the territory of this Ashen Maggot.


    ¡®Is it¡­ is it looking at what was chasing us instead?¡¯ He thought between heavy breaths as he ran for his life.


    In the next moment, the Maggot halted its eerie stillness. It began to unravel itself slowly from the lofty tree through wave-like squirms. Even the way it moved, it was disgusting to look at. As if his mind and body refused to think such a thing could belong in this world.


    But then through the fleeting glimpses from behind Kiran¡¯s lead, he saw it.


    What he thought was a towering tree was revealed through the moving segments of the Maggot.


    It couldn¡¯t possibly be natural he thought. It couldn¡¯t be something that had simply risen above the very earth, no matter how corrupted the land seemed by the mist. No ¡ª it was constructed, like a foul creation of the Maggot¡¯s doing.


    Carcasses, grey and withered, but not like the remains of Blood Reave. They looked hard as stone. All of them were hardened husks, all their vitality turned to stone upon death.


    These felled beasts were all different in size. Some were titanic beings who formed much of the base of the tower whilst some were smaller and were smothered atop. All stacked in a mismatched web into a towering spire fit for the Ashen Maggot.


    But most harrowing was what perfectly fit the odd gaps between the fallen titanic beasts.


    People. An innumerable amount of them, their faces permanently warped in torment as they bent and contorted their bodies to fit the staggeringly tall structure. Scattered between the disfigured carcasses of Path Beasts.


    Forsaken to forever linger in a foul structure made in the land of the mist.


    ¡®Was¡­ was there such an expedition done by the Tailed Brothers?¡¯


    Agonizing deaths, they suffered, Osias was sure of it. Just his fleeting glimpse was enough to tell him that.


    ¡­If he had but a single wish at this moment, it would be for Kiran to run just a little faster.


    The ground below them quaked and tremored as the Path Beasts fought. Roars that trebled the world sounded, yet Osias never caught a glimpse of what chased them as the all-encompassing mist devoured his view and hid the clashing horrors.


    Kiran let go, but they continued to run.


    Run, and cover as much land as they can in the time they had. Perhaps the victor of the battle will pursue, they didn¡¯t know what demented thoughts lay behind the minds of beasts, much less than beasts so warped and disfigured from their Path.


    It was a blood-curdling thought. For those twisted and depraved beings to possess intelligence, perhaps even better than humans as Kiran once said fleetingly.


    ¡°Halt!¡± Kiran whispered.


    Osias immediately drew his sword as soon as the word escaped Kiran¡¯s lips. No matter how weak he was in the face of all they encountered so far, he¡¯ll continue to try, futile as it is.


    They studied their surroundings for a few seconds before Kiran turned his head and hurriedly ushered him to the side.


    The mist here was dense and thick, unlike the odd patches they came across before ¡ª Osias was practically blind. But they came across an outcropping of raised stones surrounded by ashen trees and crudely hid.


    They remained absolutely still in the wake of whatever Kiran sensed. Yet Osias couldn¡¯t hear a thing aside from his short ragged breaths and pounding heart, and even then he tried his best to quiet them.


    He stretched his breaths longer and tried to calm his head. His arms felt weak and his feet felt as though he had been wading through muddied battlefields for days. But he was alert as he warily joined his brother in peering at their surroundings from behind a large cover of a fallen ashen tree¡¯s trunk.


    His eyes followed where Kiran was wearily looking, though he couldn¡¯t find anything.


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    But then a small part through the mist¡­ he saw it too. A figure darkened its surroundings as it got bigger as it approached ¡ª not directly at them. It slowly paced and wandered, weaving between what he thought were the tall obscured shadows of more ashen trees.


    It looked like a deformed cross of a myriad of creatures that came together and formed into a beetle of sorts, the likes he found in the forested foothills of the Red Sky¡¯s Great Mountain. The mist clung to the beast like a blurry cloak, heavy with the scent of decay, and the silence of its steps was unsettling.


    Though it was smaller than the other creatures of the mist, it was as larger than Kiran. It was a bulbous mass crawling slowly across from them. It¡¯ll pass them if it continues on its way.


    And it did, ever so slowly.


    But as its side came upon their sights, Osias saw a pronounced wound that struck its thick chitin. A humongous bite of sorts, something titanic took a large piece of its body, exposing what was inside.


    Once more the ghastly sight reminded Osias how fearsome those of the mist were as he clutched the crimson armor ¡ª his lifeline in this shrouded hell.


    As they waited for the beetle-like vagrant to pass, his gaze inadvertently turned to Kiran.


    But what he found was a blood-thirsty glare smothered across Kiran¡¯s face, his flint eyes locked in onto the gaping, bloody impression where a beast helped itself to the beetle''s flesh.


    ¡®No way¡­¡¯ Osias realized as his eyes raised alarmingly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill it. Third Ordeal blood¡­ I¡¯ll take it for my own.¡± Kiran darkly whispered as if he already knew that Osias was looking at him.


    And before Osias could react, his crimson armor faded quickly as it pooled into Kiran¡¯s gleaming spear that appeared in his hand.


    Kiran firmly reared his arm back beside Osias who was still crouched below the fallen trunk.


    Then, Kiran narrowed his eyes and hurled his spear with a heavy step forward with enough force Osias could feel a cold wind blow from Kiran¡¯s gaunt figure.


    It was a clear shot, close enough for even Osias to see past into the mist. The beetle practically displayed its wounded side towards them, like a stroke of fortune that finally came after a series of escapes and flees.


    And Kiran¡¯s spear struck true.


    With a wet thud it sunk in deeply piercing through the other side of its thick black chitin, and dark blood splattered out.


    Flung on his side, the Osias can see its limbs flail in desperation, and even the mist seemed to warp and shift, gathering densely on the tips of its claws, its final attempts to fight for its life.


    But to the beetle¡¯s apparent appall, Kiran already dashed ahead towards it, and suddenly a dull crunching sound exploded.


    Kiran¡¯s spear changed forms in the already half-dead beetle.


    More black blood smeared the surroundings in a vast puddle, fragments of its broken carapace and chitin scattered amongst it.


    Whatever it was attempting to do, it failed as it died. Its mandibles stopped clicking and its legs drooped, the dense mist dispersed.


    For a moment, the mist-covered forest was silent, the beetle''s death throes halted.


    Osias exhaled again, slower this time, feeling the tension leave his body as he observed his brother¡¯s kill.


    ¡®A little¡­ reckless than he usually was. But I guess it¡¯s needed in a place like this.¡¯


    Kiran already burrowed his arm elbow-deep into the beetle and extracted all the sickly black blood with a baleful sneer.


    Then the beetle, along with its surroundings was cleared of its blood and Kiran returned to his side.


    ¡°We can¡¯t eat it. We¡¯ll try the next one.¡± Kiran curtly dismissed, motioning for Osias to get up.


    Shaking his head, Osias mused with a grim smile, ¡®So killing a creature of the mist isn¡¯t impossible.¡¯


    Returning to Kiran¡¯s side they walked, relying on Kiran¡¯s sense of direction towards the north. They navigated cautiously despite the vast distance they put behind them in their chaotic escape from the behemoths¡¯ clash.


    Although Kiran didn¡¯t say it outright, Osias surmised that many of the harrowing creatures they encountered used the mist in odd ways.


    Many used it to further mask themselves, perhaps hiding themselves from other feral beasts. But what the beetle did¡­ it wasn¡¯t looking like it was planning on hiding itself.


    The blurry cloak that covered it might¡¯ve been another one of its Ordeal Abilities, but the growingly dense and dark mist that gathered at the tips of its claws? It must¡¯ve been a means of attack or the like.


    It might sound a little morbid and perverse, but Osias wanted to see what it could do. The mist itself still didn¡¯t have any clear purpose aside from obscuring their surroundings.


    Why does the mist permeate so deep into the Paths of those born of the mist¡­


    They were strong, stronger than most they had seen in the Outer Valleys. Especially the Maggot. From the disturbed look of Kiran¡¯s face, it must¡¯ve been the strongest of the Third.


    Perhaps even the Fourth.


    But even so, Osias thought back to the many people it had slain and added to its tower of corpses. How did it come across so many people?


    His only thoughts were that it was an old expedition formed by the forces under the Tailed Brothers. Yet, it must¡¯ve been long ago.


    Ever since the forming of the Red Sky, the Tailed Brothers halted all their ventures to the Outer Valleys. They couldn¡¯t spare precious Path Finders to such duties ¡ª they were fighting a war on both ends of their lands.


    ¡®What was it again¡­¡¯ Osias tried to find the words.


    A little more than a century and a half. That was how long ago Garm formed the Red Sky with the other elders.


    ¡­Osias was privy to such information due to Kiran¡¯s position and knowledge despite his age.


    So the human corpses have been supporting the tower of the Ashen Maggot for at least a century.


    Osias shivered a little as he followed Kiran.


    To die in such a way, and have their bodies used¡­ as nothing but stones of a gruesome tower under the tight wreathe of the Ashen Maggot that killed them. It was dreadful to think about.


    However, that led to another question:


    ¡®How ancient was this... Ashen Maggot?¡¯


    Osias knew that as you undergo and succeed in Ordeals, the longer you live. He once heard from Kiran that the Ordeals were how a mortal proves their existence, their Path.


    To force themselves on the world, the Heavens itself.


    It sounded like a whimsical children''s tale, those the likes of Heroes and Demons. But Osias reluctantly took it for the truth if it came out of Kiran¡¯s mouth.


    ¡®Gods¡­ how many are there?¡¯


    God and the Heavens. He too heard the story of God.


    The Exalted Great Blood Ancestor who ascended above the skies themselves. But they were grievously wounded upon their ascension, wounds that even becoming a God cannot heal. The Blood Ancestor was doomed to die in the heavens. However, as they bled out atop the sky, they rained down blood. And from this rain of blood that stained the sky red, the Path of Blood came about.


    As for why almost all Blood Path Finders possess an Ordeal Ability to heal? The Great Blood Ancestor guided them upon the Path of Blood, free from their old mistakes. So that we can heal ourselves unlike them. And eventually, a Champion of Blood will arise, ascending above the skies themselves, and use  Blood Mend to heal the Ancestor before they die.


    But Osias wasn¡¯t naive. It must¡¯ve been a tale spun from the elders and perhaps even Garm himself. Or at least by the people of the band.


    Through time, the story eventually made it to the hearts of the people, even as fanciful as it sounded.


    Such tales of God were spun everywhere. As numerous as the mountains atop the Wailing Chain. He recalled listening to a few First Bloods that they slew a mountain of zealots worshipping a mountain upon a raid.


    People would worship anything.


    The heavens¡­


    God¡­


    It all seemed foolish to him. The Gods were the strong. That was all it was.


    If you couldn¡¯t run. If you couldn¡¯t hide. If you couldn¡¯t fight.


    All one can do is pray.


    After all¡­ how many times did he pray when he was alone in that dark chamber? God didn¡¯t exist to him.

 Chapter 24 - Swarm

    They had just left from another brief skirmish against the horrors of the mist, fortunately, a weak one compared to the others they had come across earlier. It looked as though it was an odd net of twigs too unnatural to be formed by the fallings of trees.


    It weaved an entire swathe of forest floor ¡ª or at least as far as someone like he can see. It waited until they trampled atop it before its outer reaches raised and closed in, and vast nets of tangled branches threatened to cut them into hundreds of pieces.


    But Kiran quickly strengthened his armor and encased him entirely in a hardy construct while he remained still.


    Kiran endured the blow only to for the vast net of branches to realize it couldn¡¯t pierce Kiran unless it focused all its might into him. And so it did, burrowing deeply into Kiran¡¯s leg, releasing a flood of budding tendrils.


    The moment those tendrils entire his leg, Kiran said he heard whispers. The will of the net of branches vying for control over his mind and body.


    So they ran.


    But as they did, an entire swarm of human-like creatures made from rotted droppings of trees, a blend of bark, branches, and leaves sprouted forth from the net and chased them endlessly. They were weak, probably the average of First Ordeal in physical strength ¡ª Osias fiercely slaughtered them as Kiran handled his own worries. But the spores they released upon touch threatened both Kiran and Osias alike, fortunately only hitting Kiran.


    Osias struggled as he alone held the rear for once as they ran. The swarm of these rotted underwood creatures pounced on him relentlessly, and those who made it past him piled onto Kiran ardently. They cut close many times, especially when Kiran¡¯s concentration waned and the crimson armor that protected Osias so dearly began to slightly disperse.


    But as Osias saw the brief signs of this, he knew he¡¯d die ¡ª made into a mindless thrall as his body rotted atop the mass net of underwood. Trampled upon as he died.


    So he fought with a terrible zeal, ripping off the swarm as he rushed to Kiran, slaughtering the ones that gathered around his elder brother.


    They killed and they ran, yet the creatures never relented in their chase.


    ¡­Until Kiran severed his corrupted leg, and suddenly the whispers that tainted his mind were erased, leaving behind a leg covered in a myriad of branches that flailed widely in the throes of its death.


    Together, they massacred the swarm, just enough so the foul underwood beast relented and willed what was left of the swarm to retreat.


    Osias sighed deeply, relieving just a fragment of the stress that burdened him as they continued to march. He felt terribly weak after overcoming another brush with death.


    The swarm¡­ they tested a facet of harrowing strength and power that both he and Kiran were lacking against.


    Those that affected the mind. Powers that sought to corrupt and control them, rendering their entire beings into slaves and thralls.


    It was a dreadful power. An even more dreadful death ¡ª no, perhaps they wouldn¡¯t die.


    Perhaps they¡¯ll forever be damned as a rotted tool for a creature that lingers under the sunless embrace of the mist, gathering the next pair of fools who dared travel such forsaken lands.


    Osias sighed once more, as he wearily lifted his gaze.


    To his dismay, the darkened mist seemed to reach its absolute darkest, the black nadir of the sunless mist.


    ¡®Night¡¯ befell the land below the mist unbeknownst to Osias in the time that they escaped from the swarm. Somehow their surroundings miraculously grew even darker, rendering Osias even more helpless than he already was.


    Adding to the deep blindness that overwhelmed his being was exhaustion. He was tired, thoroughly so. They did not rejoice in a moment of rest even as they escaped from countless creatures that lay here.


    Hours have passed, and Osias must¡¯ve been sleepless for more than an entire day. Long ago had his mind and body grown tired. He was an Ordinary. Despite his evergrowing reservoir and the strength that came along with that growth, he was still an Ordinary¡­ Endless marching as he wearily tensed at everything they came across, even his own shadow wasn¡¯t safe from his distrust.


    Osias would catch himself looking behind him thinking that his own shadow would suddenly turn into a sickly wraith that¡¯ll drive the shadow of his short sword deep into his back.


    ¡­The land had taken a heavy toll on him it seemed. Exhaustion clouded his mind and coiled tightly against his heart.


    Rest, how nice it would be?


    Through his drooping eyelids, Osias stared at the back of Kiran who marched as usual¡­ his elder brother was still as stalwart and indomitable as ever, perhaps even more as his leg seemed to grow back in its entirety.


    Though¡­ it was almost unsettling how composed Kiran remained. Unwavered at everything, even waving off severing his own leg. All it took was a slight grimace before he lopped it off. And instead of a pained groan or face, Kiran showed a silent sign of relief.


    After countless hours of being tortured by the harrowing whispers net of forest fallings, resisting its control and enthrallment as he fought and ran. Kiran also did this all the while retaining concentration upon the armor that covered Osias as he endured a battering from the creatures who broke past Osias¡¯s rearguard.


    Kiran couldn¡¯t hide the countless clawing rasps against his arm to keep himself from succumbing to the whispers of the underwood.


    Osias knew, of course, that his brother disparaged his words, belittling the effect of the underwood¡¯s enthrallment despite saying long afterward that it was among the most powerful he had experienced thus far.


    And yet after all that, Kiran marched as he healed from his wounds. Both what lay ahead and what has passed didn¡¯t matter, as he continued to keep moving.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Osias sighed as he watched Kiran¡¯s back, ¡®Survive. Survive and live.¡¯


    ¡°Here,¡± Kiran said, breaking their wearisome pace.


    Osias lifted his gaze to meet Kiran¡¯s face. But Kiran was looking towards a vast silhouette close enough to where even Osias could see despite the blanket of sunless mist covering it.


    ¡­A rising of earth and stone too big to be a mere hill, but too small to call it a mountain.


    ¡°A crag, a wall of uprisen stone. We¡¯ll rest briefly here at the bottom after I scout around.¡± Kiran added wearily.


    Osias¡¯s knees buckled, the word ¡®rest¡¯ was enough to knock the embers of strength that kept him moving.


    ¡°Stay against the stone, I won¡¯t be far.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    So Osias brought himself against the stone as Kiran disembarked.


    But he couldn¡¯t leisurely rest, not until Kiran returned.


    His hollow gaze followed the outlines of his surroundings. The grip on his short sword never weakened. It was the last stretch before he could relish the sweet clasps of respite.


    He waited, ready to pounce on anything that dared to ruin the reward he so direly deserved, and needed.


    But as he eagerly waited, his ears perked up from within the crimson helm.


    Tumbling rocks from above the¡­ crag of stone. Far above from where his measly eyes could pierce through the dark cloak of mist.


    ¡®From above?¡¯ He quickly thought as he dashed away being directly below the crag.


    Small rocks continued to roll noisily down the steep wall, breaking the eerie silence as it echoed in the mist close to where he once stood. Turning around he poised himself to the source of the noise, but it turned out to be Kiran¡­ scaling downwards from beyond where he could see.


    It seemed that Kiran routed far away and climbed from there before descending to where he stood guard.


    ¡°Rest. Tomorrow will be long.¡± Kiran said as he reached the ground.


    Osias¡¯s mouth twitched and curled upwards. That was all he needed to hear.


    So he brought himself right against the wall of rugged stones once more and collapsed in exhaustion. He paid no heed to how disgusting he smelt and how painful his wounds were, such things paled to the overarching exhaustion that plagued him.


    And without more words, he welcomed sleep and entered the embrace of slumber.


    ¡®What dreams will I find this time?¡¯ He fleetingly thought¡­


    ¡ª


    ¡°Up, we need to go,¡± Kiran said as he kicked up awake.


    Alarmed, he shot to his feet, a habit that has been thoroughly hammered into his being after so long in the Outer Valleys.


    Osias grudgingly rubbed his eyes through the familiar small slits through his helm¡­ it seemed Kiran maintained the armor as he slept.


    The sunless expanse was a little brighter compared to before he slept. But regardless of his surroundings, Osias was invigorated ¡ª sleep did wonders to his mind.


    He quickly examined the flow of his essence as he closed his hands into a fist repeatedly and lifted his legs.


    And within moments he was ready as Kiran had already begun to lead him away from the rugged crag that guarded his back.


    In his head, he silently sung his praises to the stones for providing a crude, but much-needed shelter as they began their march north.


    ¡°Brother, how much land have we put past us?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The mist throws my senses into disarray.¡± Kiran dismissed coldly.


    Osias paused briefly before asking:


    ¡°Are you sure we¡¯re headed north?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    Osias shook his head to himself in response to the dire hopes they had of leaving the mist alive.


    ¡°Hey brother, when can I undergo my First Ordeal?¡± He asked, changing the subject.


    The question itched his head. It was almost his Fourteenth moon ¡ª a period when a third moon joined Laria and Dirus in the night sky. It was their pale blue mother, Carmine.


    Carmine only appeared for a brief period, sometimes for a week whenever a year passed before leaving her children once more. The tradition of moon ages was counted upon the next appearance of Carmine after they were born. However, Osias was born in this brief period, so Carmine¡¯s appearance was more accurate of his true age than others¡­


    He remembered that many of the other youth would undergo an Ordeal around this age, either their Fifteenth or Fourteenth moon. And if they lived, they¡¯d awake and return valiantly as First Bloods for the Band.


    ¡°Until you could kill Second Ordeal Path Beast on your own,¡± Kiran said between careful steps through a small clearing.


    Osias frowned deeply at those words. A Second Ordeal Path Beast¡­ as an Ordinary human? Is his brother mad? Did all this time in the mist take away from his judgment?


    Also, all alone. Without the crimson armor that saved his life multiple times ¡ª his lifeline. A mere swipe from among the weakest physically among them was enough to kill him.


    It seemed so far above himself to even face a Path Beast that needed a Second Blood commanding a unit to kill comfortably.


    Or perhaps a unit of strong First Bloods.


    But then again¡­ if Osias thought back to the time atop the summit, he was able to wound such beasts with his blade. The difference in strength wasn¡¯t absolute.


    Despite his weaker body and weapon, it was enough to hold them back until Kiran finished them off for him. So if he had to face a Second Ordeal beast, the weakest of their kind, than he could see himself slaying it.


    Osias silently laughed to himself. It sounded like he was a rash fool, among the likes to overestimate themselves in battle. But he genuinely thought he had a chance.


    Perhaps he could ambush it, or catch one while it feasted upon a carcass. Osias could even scheme against it and lay a trap powerful enough to kill it.


    The weakest beast of the Second Ordeal¡­ it would probably be something that barely had an edge in physical strength compared to a strong First Ordeal beast. It may have two abilities, but if Osias came upon one that had something weak or something he could counter, than he could kill it.


    All he had to do was kill one without Kiran¡¯s help. And then he would finally be in a position to undergo his First Ordeal.


    But cutting through his wandering thoughts, Kiran added in a low voice:


    ¡°Or when you could land a clean blow against me.¡±


    Osias glanced at his brother¡¯s back in disbelief as he said that.


    It seemed arrogant and haughty with how aloof his brother sounded as he said it. But it seemed more impossible than killing a Second Ordeal beast.


    To fight Kiran as an enemy, it was impossible. Osias knew he shouldn¡¯t call it as such so promptly, but Kiran¡­ Kiran was someone he couldn¡¯t fight.


    Osias has never seen Kiran fight another person, but he himself experienced and caught faint glimpses of how his brother fought against people. All those weeks, battered and pummeled on the mountainside and then on top of the summit, Osias knew he couldn¡¯t contest Kiran.


    Not once has the edge of his sword come close to touching the frays of Kiran¡¯s cloak.


    Although many times they have come across foes that injured Kiran, that was only because they were beasts. Faster, stronger, more in numbers, beings that other Second Ordeal Path Finders had no reason to face against ¡ª Third Ordeals and multiple Second Ordeals at once.


    It was unheard of. Kiran was experienced beyond his age, and Osias had a frightening suspicion that he had yet to see Kiran¡¯s full strength.


    He recalled what Kiran said a long time ago, ¡®Even I have secrets I cannot tell you¡­¡¯


    Osias shuddered a little at the thought have fighting his brother in order to land just a single blow.


    Osias would need time. An impossible amount of time that he didn¡¯t have to spare.


    Enough time to further refine his use of essence.


    Enough time to hone his sword techniques.


    Enough time for his reservoir to draw upon the abundance of essence housed in his tattoos to push his Ordinary body to the limit.


    All those pieces together¡­ only then can he then at least put up a fight. Settling on improving just one aspect wasn¡¯t enough.


    Both his essence control and sword techniques were years upon years away from matching Kiran. And if he relied on his body¡¯s slow increase in physical strength it was nothing but digging himself into a hole, after all, Kiran was far ahead with that same advantage.


    However, that leads to another question¡­ how strong was Kiran¡¯s body?


    Middle of the Second?


    At the peak, nearing the Third?


    Above that?


    If so, how far above the Second Ordeal was Kiran¡¯s body?


    ¡­Regardless, no matter what he thought of, he couldn¡¯t see himself landing a clean blow against Kiran.


    And so he wistfully thought as he watched Kiran¡¯s back, ¡®How would I kill Kiran if I had to¡­¡¯

 Chapter 25 - Just One Day

    ¡°How strong is your body, brother?¡± Osias simply asked. If Kiran wasn¡¯t going to tell him, he wouldn¡¯t push for it. Though¡­ it didn¡¯t seem like it was such a secret.


    ¡°On par with most Third Ordeal beasts,¡± Kiran responded indifferently.


    ¡°I-I see,¡± Osias replied, half surprised and half intrigued.


    ¡°Do you need another lesson as to why?¡± Kiran said, noticing the hint of confusion in Osias¡¯s tone.


    ¡°A little.¡±


    Kiran huffed and sighed before explaining as they marched slowly:


    ¡°All human Path Finders are roughly the same physically ¡ª though there are a few outliers. The most overarching reason for this is because of essence reservoirs. Not their Paths, essence itself, or any other reason. This holds holds true even in the later Ordeals.¡±


    ¡°The more essence in one¡¯s reservoirs, the more the body is strengthened as a result. If we ever enter the inlands or encounter people rather than live our lives in the Outer Valleys, you will find their standards and measures confusing. Especially since you never ventured out the Great Mountain.¡±


    That was right, Osias still lacked a lot of knowledge that the other youth of the Band were privy to upon their travels and raids against the Tailed Brothers.


    ¡°Everywhere else measures it from about the average physical strength of Path Finders of the same level. But the Red Sky measures it from what was regularly seen amongst Path Beasts of the same level. That is only because of how ridiculous the strength is of the elders of the band who lavishly enjoyed several lifetimes worth of their bodies being seeped in potent essence, constantly breaking and reforming their reservoir limits.¡±


    ¡°Which do you prefer?¡± Kiran then asked.


    Osias thought as they marched. It was still a little confusing how they measured the strength of physical strength of beasts, it felt¡­ fickle.


    ¡°I think¡­ I think the people outside of the band make it easier. At least for me.¡± He then responded meekly.


    But his hesitation turned out to be pointless:


    ¡°Good. It wasnt made with the youth or those at the lower Ordeals in mind.¡±


    ¡°They assumed that all beasts originated from the same kind. That battle strength meant the same as physical strength. As if all Path Beasts came from¡­ boars or the like. What of birds? Small rodents? They were all overpowered by humans as Ordinarys. Their methods only made sense upon the later Ordeals, not for Ordinarys like yourself.¡±


    Osias listened intently, he always assumed that his nescient was because he spent most of his time under the chambers with Garm, but it seemed a lot of the knowledge was flawed regardless. Though¡­ it did make him wonder how Kiran knew or came upon this.


    ¡°Now, because all Path Beasts vary greatly, much more than humans in their Ordinary forms, their essence strengthens their body relative to what strength it was. A rodent that happens to have the same sized reservoir as a boar will not have the same physical strength. Remember ¡ª physical strength, not how strong they are in battle. Weak First Ordeal Path Beasts may be more durable than a more dangerous First Ordeal Path Beast, although such cases are extremely rare.¡±


    Osias agreed. He recalled the Third Ordeal beetle of the mist, the massive Ashen Worm, and the Second Ordeal hounds atop the mountain. Regardless of their battle strength relative to their Ordeal level, they were all beings who seemed hard to kill.


    ¡°Path Beasts as they progress all become resilient, tough, heavy, and strong. Eventually, no matter what beast they have originated from, a base or minimal strength of these beasts becomes apparent. That was why the Red Sky measured off Path Beasts, it was easier later. Think of the beast you called the Ashen Maggot.¡±


    The Ashen Maggot¡­ rugged stony surface covered its vast body, its size alone could probably wrap around a fortress depending on how much of its length was burrowed below its tower. Such a creature was the furthest thing from weak. But¡­ if it had truly originated from a maggot, then Ordinary humans could¡¯ve stomped the thing to death before it underwent its Ordeals. Size and its physical might simply came along as it progressed.


    Then Kiran continued:


    ¡°Compared to other Ordinarys humans¡­ you are about three times stronger. This will carry on as you proceed into the First Ordeal when the time comes. That''s because the reservoir isn¡¯t increased through Ordeals, but the essence itself is refined. It can be said it becomes denser, concentrated if that''s easier.¡±


    That¡­ made things easier to understand. Osias recalled his brutish wrestle with the boar as he stepped foot onto the mountain of hounds. He wasn¡¯t entirely overpowered by it, but he held his own. That was about three Ordinary men¡¯s strength.


    ¡®Three times¡­¡¯


    Osias deduced that about every five years was sufficient to multiply his base strength¡­ if he counted the time he reaved essence within his mother''s womb. But this rise was only possible due to his constant supply of blood essence, even before the tattoos.


    ¡°But the reservoir¡¯s limit can be destroyed and reformed minutely faster from this refined essence ¡ª another reason why you shouldn¡¯t linger too long as an Ordinary together with the longer lifespan. Though you mustn¡¯t foolishly belittle Ordeals.¡±


    Osias quickly thought of what Kiran mentioned earlier ¡ª of the elders. Their physical might alone was monstrous. Given how old they were¡­ it made sense that eventually such things blended and were called battle strength for ease. Such great physical strength aided in how strong they were within their level, the range was simply too large to think of.


    Together with a myriad of other factors like essence techniques, build, Ordeal Abilities, sword techniques or weapon arts, equipment¡­


    ¡°Were the elders all of the upper limit in battle strength, brother?¡± Osias suddenly asked.


    ¡°Aye, for some¡­ even greater. This was the reason why our Red Sky was able to rival the Tailed Brothers for so long despite them possessing more true Fourth Ordeals than us.¡±


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    ¡°A large reason for their battle strength being of the upper limit was because of their physical might. That is guaranteed among those of the Blood Path if they live long enough and have reaved enough. All of them were many times physically stronger than other Third Ordeals ¡ª even someone like Zevir, our once all-seeing elder. Most could match Fourth Ordeal Path Beasts in purely physical strength, much less humans. ¡±


    ¡°Though not all their years were spent indulging in enough blood essence to push their reservoir''s limits, Garm as well¡­ much of their youth was before the blood-born flourished to what it was before the fall of the band.¡±


    But Kiran paused a bit before he slowed his pace and added:


    ¡°Also¡­ congratulations, Osias, on the new moon. Fourteen Moons. It is about that time.¡±


    Osias nodded and quietly thanked Kiran. It was odd, ever since Kiran entered the mist, maybe even before that, he was more detached and cold. But Kiran remembered, after all, and that was worthy of praise.


    Fourteen Moons¡­ he himself knew it was almost that time, but hearing Kiran mention it was enough to be true.


    Soon. Soon enough he¡¯ll undergo his First Ordeal. Perhaps even cut down his brother, he thought as he silently laughed to himself.


    Lifting his gaze, Osias sighed deeply as he digested the information he obtained. Truly, Kiran possessed an entire wealth of knowledge beyond his years.


    Battle strength.


    If a War Art was the complete weave and blend of everything that made him strong, then battle strength was the measure of his War Art.


    Thinking back to the battle against the swarm of underwood, the soldiers possessed no Ordeal Abilities, they were nothing but the creations of the main body.


    All they had were their physical strength and hardiness befitting the middle tier of First Ordeal beasts. But they moved mindlessly, puppets of wood, entirely relying on spreading the corrupted spores into their flesh. Their battle strength was just that.


    Techniques, equipment, skill, and his mind. That was what he used to slaughter them, closing the gap.


    Osias fought like a human, not like an animal. Physical strength alone was something that aided him, just one large facet of his battle strength. Something that he¡¯ll use to his full advantage as someone of the Path of Blood¡­


    ¡ª


    In the end, they only came upon a single creature of the mist that day. But it was already dead, nothing more than a rotting carcass that looked like a stalwart and curved boulder. Massive as it was, they didn¡¯t think it was a Path Beast at first, but upon Kiran¡¯s climb atop the round rugged grey body, he found a faced that was as large as himself.


    However, other than that encounter, the day was idle as they marched undisturbed. Was it their luck, or were they walking toward the ends of a creature that no other dared to come close to?


    But that dark thought was only his fear speaking. No matter how long they walked, nothing approached.


    Tens of kilometers passed and left behind just like that. Yet the mist never waned, even impossibly darkening once again as night arrived.


    Fortunately, they came upon a clearing beneath a small stone overhang before Osias turned completely blind in the blackened mist.


    ¡­Osias wistfully stared into the dying embers of their small fire smoldering, the smoke joining the all-encompassing mist around them. As if the mist devoured everything within its embrace, perhaps even Osias himself if he stayed long enough.


    Earlier, Kiran cut a piece of the boulder-like corpse to cook. It was disgustingly tough though. On the verge of rot as it lay spoiled in a valley of mist. Whatever killed it had done the deed long ago.


    But it was enough to sate his hunger, Osias couldn¡¯t complain about a fill of meat already sitting in his stomach.


    Even when the smoke died out he continued to stare vacantly. He didn¡¯t feel in the mood to sleep tonight. Perhaps because today wasn¡¯t as stressful as the last. A lingering sense of expectancy if you will.


    With a sigh, Osias finally shifted his long gaze to Kiran.


    Kiran was currently resting against the steep wall of stone, eyes closed with his crimson spear leaning against his shoulder.


    ¡®Resting?¡¯ Osias wondered.


    With closed eyes and a neutral face, Kiran still seemed¡­ alert. As though if Osias so willed his arm to lift his sword in Kiran¡¯s direction, he¡¯d know.


    More than simply know ¡ª Kiran would probably taunt him about it as well and then drive the butt of his spear deep into Osias¡¯s ribcage.


    Silently shivering against the possibility, Osias found himself clutching his sides which still hadn¡¯t recovered completely, his armored hand brushed against the many bruises that littered his body.


    ¡®Land a clean blow onto me. As if¡­¡¯


    However, he has constantly been tested and continues tIf there was one thing the land below the mist had a lack of, it was enemies. He was bound to either survive and get stronger or die a horrific death¡­ or perhaps live a life worse than death.


    o emerge stronger than he was. It wasn¡¯t like the endless days atop the summit though.


    The swarm of underwood earlier was one of such outcomes¡­He''d rather be damned to constantly relive the days that Kiran had beaten him bloody than be enthralled by such a creature.


    Asides from that, . The many human-like thralls of underwood battered him and in many places, even more than Kiran did.


    Osias began to think of all the facets that add to his battle strength¡­His essence reservoir was coming along. But its limit''s speed of breaking and increasing was something he had no control over. All he could do was ensure he had an abundance of blood essence within the tattoos¡­ which he couldn''t see emptying.That follows into his physical strength as well.


    As for weapon arts¡­ well, for him it would be more specifically his sword art.


    He couldn''t see himself wielding a plethora of different weapons like Kiran. Another suspicion Osias had was that he has yet to see the extent of Kirans arsenal and skills. It was baffling, how Kiran could weild what he has shown to such a degree of skill.sword techniques He was constantly honing his sword. Polishing his technique as he fought. If there was one thing the Outer Valleys had no lack of, it was enemies. Perhaps some were so far beyond himself that he could only vainly die in their presence, but there were some even he could kill¡­


    Should Osias try and follow too?


    Reaching for his scabbard, he set it his sword its sheathatop his lap and drew the sword¡­ He was careful not to point it toward Kiran¡¯s direction, in case the crimson shaft of a spear met his jaw.


    Osias lifted it up and studied his worn-down blade. The hilt wrap was a completely different color than it once was. It was frayed and stained with aged blood, sweat, and grime.


    The blade edge itself was nicked and battered. Osias didn¡¯t know how much life there was left within it. He cared for it too, always wiping it down and avoiding the bones and parts of creatures that he knew in advance was too hard to cut.


    But there were limits. Perhaps in the next few days, Kiran would conjure another construct for him, an imitation of his familiar short sword.


    Yet, that led to another problem that throbbed in his head.


    Osias sighed, as he thought of how hard it would be for Kiran to constantly concentrate on at least three different constructs at a time.


    Kiran¡¯s own weapon.


    Osias¡¯s armor and sword.


    The constant thought that gnaws at his mind¡­ he couldn¡¯t continue like this. Faster, he needed to close the vast chasm between himself and Kiran ¡ª even for just one day sooner. It felt as though this desire had been eating away at him, more than ever since they entered the mist. How much longer can Kiran continue with him in tow?


    However, as he thought about Kiran, an uncanny question arose¡­ how did Kiran maintain the shape of his spear and even the crimson armor while asleep?


    Osias paused briefly, lost in thought. Did he ever see Kiran sleep? Even once?


    Turning his view to Kiran, he wondered if Kiran was truly asleep. He had to have been, right? Second Ordeals are still mortals.


    Should he point his sword at Kiran?


    Shaking his head, Osias turned away from Kiran¡¯s dark figure, obscured by the deep shadows they were sheltered under.


    ¡®That¡¯s a death wish¡­ am I so eager to die?¡¯


    However, just as Osias turned to look outside of the overhanging stone, he could¡¯ve sworn he saw Kiran crack a small sneer that curled his lips ever so slightly.


    But Osias quickly convinced himself that it must¡¯ve been the shadow above playing tricks with his tired eyes.


    ¡®Sleep.¡¯ He thought.


    ¡®I need sleep.¡¯


    Osias plopped down heavily and rolled over to his back, wedged between a comfortable impression in the ground.


    The ground of the hearth was still warm. Tinged with smoke and ash, but it was calming enough to soothe him into deep sleep¡­

 Chapter 26 - Over Then Under

    ¡°Are you sure you want to spend your time outside with me?¡±


    ¡°My father doesn¡¯t have better stories to tell than you do.¡±


    A hoarse laugh sounded. An old croaky man with long frail wispy hair that fell to his shoulders patted a child on the head.


    ¡°Aye, your father¡­ he was just a boy when I met him first. I think he was under one of the Second Bloods beneath me at that time. Green he was! Alas, he met the end of his Path so soon. I don¡¯t know how he sired you and your elder brother¡­¡± The same voice sounded, his voice raspy and stern.


    ¡°Well boy, what would you like to hear?¡±


    The child paused, seemingly lost in thought at the old man¡¯s question. He didn¡¯t spend much time outside, so he used much of it to learn and listen.


    But he arrived at a decision and asked:


    ¡°How did you lose your eyes, elder?


    The old man brought a slow hand to reach for the bandages that wrapped around his head, over his eyes. It was once white, but the cloth-like material aged with time, turning into a soft pale yellow as it frayed along its edges.


    ¡°Long, long ago boy. Why must you ask something so long ago?¡± The elder croaked out.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know!¡±


    The elder laughed, and when he stopped, he obliged to the boy''s curiosity. Slowly he unraveled the knot at the back of his head, just enough to pull down the cover. As he did, the cloth revealed two impossibly dark and hollow pockets where his eyes should be.


    The old man''s weathered hands brushed against them and asked:


    ¡°Scary, isn¡¯t it? The Band Leader always asked why do I bother hiding them.¡±


    ¡°It is you old coot! Cover them up, I didn¡¯t want to see them!¡± The boy quickly snapped back.


    Instead of harshly scolding the boy, the elder coughed and howled in laughter. But as he stopped, his face turned grave erratically.


    ¡°The Ordeals, boy. Even from the very first one. The others in the Band don¡¯t show it, but they change you. Both within and after. For if the change is for better or for worse, I don¡¯t know. Such are the Paths. You¡¯ll understand this better when you come of age. Or perhaps not understand at all, and that is fine.¡± The elder said coldly.


    ¡°Something you don¡¯t know?¡± The boy pointed out.


    ¡°Aye. In my youth, I sought to understand, and I thought I came closer and closer to doing so. But it led to nothing. Maybe it was a trade, a trade for greater power. But both inside and outside the Band, you¡¯ll find true monsters ¡ª some that¡¯ll lead you to think there are no flaws, no trade for such strength, and all of the sudden you stop thinking about such things.¡±


    The boy took in a deep breath of air as he listened. He didn¡¯t understand much, so he¡¯ll try to remember as much as he can. Sometimes the old man who seemed senile had his moments as well.


    ¡°Anything else, boy? I¡¯ll have to leave the Great Mountain soon, the northern front awaits me. Besides, you must return to the hollow chambers soon as well¡­


    The boy shook his head, he already knew his time outside was almost gone, as well as what the old man was trying to say. But, with a long pause, the boy came to another question:


    ¡°What will you do north?¡±


    ¡°Bah! You¡¯re asking for secrets!¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°Not a secret for you though. The only one you¡¯ll talk to as you return is the Band Leader, the very one who ordered me to keep such a secret. I¡¯ll give¡­¡±


    ¡°Myself and the other old ones will slay the Tailed Brothers. Save the Band in glory!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Indeed! You know how strong I am, boy? The brothers born from fire¡­ they¡¯re nothing compared to me. The next you¡¯ll see me, I¡¯ll be riding back to the Great Mountain, the scaled brother¡¯s heads in tow.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯ll be that easy?¡±


    ¡°Ho? Of course! And if I can¡¯t, then come with me in a few more years, boy. You¡¯ll pay back for the stories I¡¯ve told you by then.¡±


    The boy shook his head at the gloating old man. He was truly senile it seems ¡ª he¡¯ll throw his back out if he laughs any harder. The boy won¡¯t make it in time to help the old man if he croaks right now¡­


    Alas, their time together came to an end as the elder snapped his head forward and stood to his feet. Finally stopping his laughter, he began to say his goodbyes.


    ¡°A few years, Osias. You and the entire Band will thank me!¡± The elder said as he began to tighten the knot behind his head, covering his hollow sockets.


    The boy began to wave the elder off and turned around to return to the hollowed mountain once more.


    But away from his sights¡­ the elder walked drearily, deprived of his once high spirits and beaming face.


    A somber, but grave face replaced it as he left the boy.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Zevir¡­¡± A muted whisper sounded from beneath the crimson helm that covered Osias¡¯s head.


    Within a few blinks he was awak-


    Suddenly a deafening crash sounded right atop of him.


    He turned and whipped his head as he shot to his feet in alarm.


    There, he found within a few steps away Kiran¡¯s spear was embedded deep inside an odd creature.


    Black all over, but it was all made of a dark wispy fog, there wasn¡¯t any solid to it except where Kiran pierced. By its center, there was a round dull gold-colored object. Surrounded by a mass of the dark fog.


    It was incredibly difficult to see the outline of the creature, perfectly molded and blended into the very mist itself. Without Kiran¡¯s spear penetrating the center, Osias could easily find himself wondering why a small floating object was wandering the obscured forest.


    ¡°It¡¯s body is weak. One of those mind-corrupting Path Beasts. But this one is only of the First Ordeal. Doesn¡¯t feel too dangerous. Perhaps it thought it could make quick work of a sleeping Ordinary¡­ did anything happen in your sleep, Osias?¡±


    ¡°Mm. I had a dream, but that was it. A little odd how I remember it vividly.¡±


    Kiran viciously pulled his spear out as the fog-like creatures dispersed as the dull-gold orb shattered.


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    ¡®Probably dead.¡¯ Osias thought.


    But then Kiran responded:


    ¡°It is not certain that it gave you that dream, but it is likely¡­¡±


    ¡°Grab your sword, we¡¯re going.¡±


    Osias agreed, still a little dazed from the sudden awakening, but grabbed his sheath and walked outside the overhang they slept under. Waking up abruptly seemed to come in hand with the mist¡­


    Once again, another dark grey sky and a boundless mist that shrouded everything appeared before him.


    ¡®Will the day turn even darker?¡¯ Osias frowned.


    While there have been hills and risings, Kiran told him that much of the land they put behind them was descending.


    Osias himself couldn¡¯t have noticed the gradual change, but Kiran did. It was worrying, the vast land below the mist still had no end in sight.


    Kiran took the lead embracing the familiar sights.


    Looking behind, Osias sighed, and glanced at the shattered remains of the beast and shook his head. Another death he evaded with the help of his brother. Who knew just how many more times he must be saved before he could help his brother?


    Nevertheless, they marched.


    They continued to where Kiran felt was north, traveling through the endless forests. Silence hung the air between them, neither was eager to talk amidst travel unless either one of them felt so ¡ª though it was usually Osias.


    This continued for hours until what should¡¯ve been the evening approached, as the dark expanse faintly became even darker.


    Kiran stopped, stayed silent for a moment as he slowly waved his head and then added:


    ¡°Stay, I¡¯ll take a look.¡±


    Osias quickly threw a nod and dashed to the nearest area that had a semblance of ability to hide him, leading him to a small and curved rising of the earth. Just enough to cover his back.


    Kiran switched directions away from the supposed north and headed east, at least until as far as Osias could see. He couldn¡¯t see much of anything, so the few times Kiran told him to stay was frightening.


    So he stood guard like the many times before this¡­


    Nothing seemed so out of place or peculiar as they traveled today. Though there were fewer trees and forestry in the last stretches of land they crossed, it wasn¡¯t enough to throw Osias into a loop. They were probably headed for a rolling open plain soon.


    As he warily stood guard, minutes passed and Osias began to feel a little shaken. Must¡¯ve been five or so.


    But then ten minutes passed, and Osias began to adamantly look at his surroundings as if doing so would calm his mind and make Kiran appear faster.


    ¡°Osias, come with me.¡± A voice cut through the mist. Then a giant figure appeared and loomed in the distance, approaching him.


    Fortunately, it was Kiran.


    Kiran''s sudden voice took Osias out of his reverie. As his elder brother approached, he looked at where Kiran pointed, squinting his eyes, but he couldn''t see anything other than veiled trees.


    ¡°Anything?¡± Osias asked. ¡°You took a while.¡±


    ¡°Aye. Come, we¡¯ll continue north.¡± Kiran replied.


    They came upon the direction where Kiran pointed, and what was uncovered from the thick mist took Osias aback. A large ivory-white structure was jutted through the ground and seemed to endlessly stretch beyond his sight. This area wasn¡¯t like the Ashen Maggot¡¯s, the mist was thick and he couldn¡¯t see much of anything.


    ¡°It¡¯s a bone, part of a vast skeleton that stretches hundreds of meters. These should be the fingers, the others are missing, but they connect to an arm I traveled up to.¡±


    It was blood-curdling. For such a large creature to exist in the same world they live in. A colossal beast, it must¡¯ve been at the very least, a Fourth Ordeal. A titan of its kind. Even the Ashen Maggot seemed to be dwarfed by this skeleton¡­ at least what he could see of the Ashen Maggot above ground.


    Osias felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Such an ancient beast must¡¯ve lived for centuries considering the lifespan of the higher Ordeals.


    ¡°We¡¯ll stay here for a while, no more traveling north,¡± Kiran said. ¡°Come, make camp.¡±


    Osias scrunched his face into a frown, ¡°Making camp beside this?¡±


    ¡°Mm. The skeleton does not surprise me. Such creatures are bound to exist upon the Outer Valleys. We are simply fortunate enough to not come upon it while it was alive. Sing your praises, Osias.¡± Kiran said, waving Osias past the titanic finger.


    ¡°The ribcage, most of it is embedded into the ground, perhaps the beast died as it was burrowed. Or it is so ancient that it died above ground and its corpse sunk deeper, the earth devouring it. I traveled up the bones of its arm to its spiked spine above ground. ¡± Kiran added.


    Kiran led him under the bones of the colossal creature¡¯s arm towards its ribcage. As they walked, Osias looked above as the bone loomed beyond where the mist allowed him to see. He thought It seemed impossible to think such a large creature was once alive, and he wondered if the presence of this skeleton was the reason for their uninterrupted march somehow.


    Making their way to the center, Kiran¡¯s words proved true. They came upon the ribcage, each bone wrapped and embedded deep into the earth. They even came close to each one, close enough for Osais to see what Kiran said.


    Dirt, stone, and whatever was below the ground filled the empty cavity of its decrepit chest.


    ¡°The bones themselves¡­ I can only make scratches with my spear.¡±


    ¡°Have you tried collecting all the external blood essence you gathered into a small knife?¡± Osias asked.


    ¡°I already tried¡­ The difference between focusing all that True Extraction blood into a small blade or something larger like a spear isn¡¯t all that much. It won¡¯t suddenly bring it all the way to the Fourth. I still need a vast amount of powerful blood.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Kiran remained silent for a while as they walked, but then asked:


    ¡°Osias, do you recall the feeling when you use Blood Reave?¡±


    ¡°I do¡­ I try to keep it under control when I reave blood. It''s been taught and hammered into us from young to keep the blood lust as well as Blood Reave in control.¡±


    ¡°Tell me, do you feel anything right now?¡± Kiran asked.


    But Osias just frowned at the question. Of course, he wouldn¡¯t feel it. Aside from keeping it tamed, he sensed it well enough for his blade to feel the same connection. But it all came the same, hand or blade ¡ª he needed to use Blood Reave to feel that rapture of blood.


    ¡°No, not now. What are you trying to ask?¡± Osias responded curiously. ¡°Should I be?¡±


    Osias ran ahead a little to face Kiran who abruptly stopped. Kiran didn¡¯t return a look, simply staring into the ground below their feet.


    ¡°I feel it. Strongly. Not the rapture itself¡­ but more as though my spear was right behind a bleeding neck.¡± Kiran said coldly.


    Kiran had a cold gleam off his flinty black eyes.


    Suddenly, Kiran crouched down and brought his hand deep into the ground. He closed his eyes before saying:


    ¡°As children, we were taught to sense our control over Blood Reave¡­ even before we were taught to manipulate our own essence. It made sense though, all the children varied greatly. Our Innate Ability was that¡ª Innate. Some children in the womb took too much, too fast, and killed their mothers. Some were too weak and upon birth, they were half dead. From the moment we were birthed our control over Blood Reave was honed, our fathers cut open a wound below their wrists.¡±


    With a cold shiver, Osias felt the ground below him shift slightly.


    ¡°As our father¡¯s wrists bled, drop by drop we were guided slowly. Then as a reward for weening for this control, they¡¯d let a flow of blood spill right atop of our faces, a tradition, but also to test if we could take in an abundance. To test how vast were our reservoirs.¡±


    Osias¡¯s face grimaced slightly at his brother¡¯s words.


    ¡°Those who were greedy took in a lot of blood, enough to fill their slightly larger reservoirs. Some who were weak were still unable to leave the few drops earlier.¡±


    The ground below them twisted and churned, increasingly becoming more violent.


    ¡°You were almost never born, Osias. I almost killed our mother ¡ª brought her half to death despite the constant provisions given to her whilst she carried me. As I was born, and upon tradition, our father bled his wrists atop me. Again, he was brought half to death as well despite the midwives urgently bringing in more blood mules ¡ª captives of the band.¡±


    It felt as though the earth itself shook, the skeleton shifted slightly from the change in the ground that supported its immense weight.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t like you nor the greedy children who took mindlessly. I had control from birth. My reservoir was near empty at birth like the others as we naturally dispelled and exhausted while being carried. I almost killed our parents consciously.¡±


    A loud groan sounded, and more bones were shifting, after what could¡¯ve been a millennia of being motionless.


    ¡°But my essence reservoir was vast, impossibly so. I drained several blood mules to death before it was full. My connection to blood is close and deeply rooted in my mind and body ¡ª stronger than others at the same level. Perhaps True Extraction was granted to me because of this. Truly innate¡­¡±


    The ground stopped swirling and churning below, and Kiran lifted his hand from the earth.


    With it, was a spear, the same as all his others, but the color¡­ it was nigh black all over. The deepest shade of crimson Osias has ever seen before.


    In the next moment, another spear appeared, the one he always held as they traveled. It then dispersed, flowing right into the almost black spear and added to it, yet Osias could barely see any change as the two merged.


    He remained silent, just as their surroundings were. It was eerily quiet once more as they stood under the spine of the colossal creature.


    Kiran too, remained silent as he leisurely walked to the nearest curved rib that stabbed into the ground. Osias followed quietly and looked at the bone.


    It was thicker than the largest of trees, ivory and pale. But then Kiran brought his spearhead behind and swung fiercely into the bone with a groan.


    And the rib¡­ it was cleaved through. Not entirely, but enough so easily that Osias was taken aback. He recalled that Kiran tried earlier, barely leaving a scratch.


    But then Kiran broke the heavy silence between them:


    ¡°It could¡¯ve done more ¡ª been more. So much of the blood essence has dispersed over time. Even True Extraction cannot compensate for something that has returned to the world¡­¡±


    ¡°Yet there is myself as well. For a day where my strength wasn¡¯t enough to wield a weapon at its best.¡± Kiran let out a rare chuckle to himself.


    Tonight, Kiran obtained a weapon formidable enough to slay a titan of the mist.

 Chapter 27 - Suspicion

    Osias awoke the next day properly ¡ª without any abominations threatening to kill him.


    Yet, Osias awoke feeling grim and uneasy. The memory of being chased was haunting him relentlessly. How many times has he dreamt of his own shadow pursuing him? He scowled sullenly.


    Sleeping under a skeleton didn¡¯t help either¡­ Last night, they made camp right where Kiran pulled the ancient blood of the titanic skeleton, directly below what should be the center of its spine, looming far above where his sight allowed him to see.


    He yawned and stretched out his arms and legs before he rose to his feet and found Kiran beside him, stoking a small fire.


    Above it, were slabs of pinkish-white meat. But Kiran noticed him and called out:


    ¡°Come. I killed it before you awoke. A small beast it was, scurrying around the head and jaws bones of the titan.¡±


    Shaking off the daze in his head, Osias asked:


    ¡°Inspecting the bones again?¡±


    ¡°Mm,¡± Kiran huffed out before adding, ¡°You cannot do the same.¡±


    Osias¡¯s ears perked in curiosity and then he plopped down heavily beside the low fire and joined Kiran as he avidly waited for the fresh and delectable-looking meat to cook. It¡¯s been a while since he had a meal that wasn¡¯t rotten¡­ or a meal to eat at all.


    ¡°If you spill the blood from your enemies, much of it is lost given time. I haven¡¯t figured out why¡­ but we cannot simply reach onto the ground and absorb blood essence from the ancients.¡±


    ¡°I already know this¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why the blood of this titan is so plentiful even after so much time has passed.¡± Kiran cut him off.


    Osias nodded slowly, yet he had nothing to add or ask.


    So he stared uncannily still at the fire and the cooking meat.


    The calming sounds of the crackling fire were almost enough to soothe himself into a morning nap¡­ if he was so eager for his own rib to be shattered by a black spear instead of the titan¡¯s. He silently laughed to himself under his crimson helm.


    But his quiet wait was broken, and Kiran asked:


    ¡°Osias¡­. Did Garm ever tell you of the beginnings of the Blood Path? Or the other elders?¡±


    ¡°Like the tale of the Great Blood Ancestor?¡± Osias replied meekly. He didn¡¯t really know anything of the sort aside from the children''s tale.


    ¡°No. I meant who came before Garm.¡± Kiran curtly said, turning the large cut of skewered meat around.


    ¡°Then I don¡¯t know. That was before he and the other elders wandered the Wailing Chain then, right?¡± Osias said as he brought a hand to his temple in thought. ¡°No, even before that I guess, the story of Garm¡¯s birth then?¡±


    ¡°Mm. I¡¯ll tell you then¡­ it was a guarded truth only known by a few elders and myself, but we are all that¡¯s left so it no longer matters.¡±


    That¡¯s right, such customs were decided by the Kiran now. So Osias shifted a little closer toward Kiran and the fire, full of eagerness and expectancy. He was almost jumpy ¡ª who wouldn¡¯t want to know of Garm¡¯s secrets?


    ¡°The origins of our blood path is not entirely known. Garm is centuries old, but despite this, his father was the only known Blood Path Finder before him.¡±


    ¡®Only Garm¡¯s father?¡¯ Osias pondered, but Kiran continued:


    ¡°But Garm¡¯s father was what you would expect a lone Blood Path Finder would be ¡ª a lawless brigand. He ruthlessly killed without reason and fed into his greed and desires. He took many women forcefully as he pillaged and wandered the Wailing Chain, raiding and pillaging. Garm was the eldest of these children born from defiled women. All the elders descended from this man. One of which was a half-brother, whilst others were a mix of half-kin. ¡±


    Osias¡­ never heard of this. He didn¡¯t know of a genuine blood connection between the elders and Garm. Even Zevir didn¡¯t mention anything of the like ¡ª the elder with whom Osias talked the most.


    ¡°This was centuries ago, and almost all the broken families that were formed from that man¡¯s spree of pillaging and raiding have all died out. Age, strife, anything an Ordinary is subject to. A few dispersed lines here and there were under the Red Sky, but this spread of bloodline was nothing special.¡±


    It made sense. If the only survivors from that time were the elders, then all their families back then have died. All of them were centuries old, decrepit as they were. Only the strong could survive after all that time. Though Osias had many questions he wanted to ask, Kiran continued:


    ¡°Garm is a ruthless man, perhaps a trait picked up from his father. Even from his birth¡­ Garm killed his mother within the womb, a common tale from those of that time. But upon her death, small movements were seen on her stomach. Bewildered, they tore apart the mother¡¯s corpse, only to find a frail infant. Too soon to be birthed, yet still oddly vigorous and strong enough to live. The villagers took pity on the mother who was so unfortunate to have been defiled and died not so long after. So they raised him.¡±


    ¡°Garm was troubled, but he was smart. He knew that he was different. So hid his Innate Ability well enough as he came upon his First Ordeal. Upon his acquisition of power, he left his home village to find the man who ravaged his mother and sired him, in the search for answers. And Garm¡¯s connection with blood essence was strong ¡ª I¡¯ll tell you more of this later.


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    Garm quickly formed a trail and found his kin. Upon his findings, most died before their birth ¡ª the mothers couldn¡¯t provide enough essence of course. But Garm managed to find those who lived. Trained them up as the eldest and strongest of their Path aside from his father¡­ Most who lived from then were the elders or a few Second Bloods of the Band.¡±


    ¡°But late upon this trail, Garm found his father. His father was evading a particular clan he angered upon his raids, stepping on a mountain tiger¡¯s tail. There, Garm slayed his father upon obtaining the truth. The truth is that Garm¡¯s father is not a blood-born despite being of the Path of Blood.¡±


    Kiran paused, allowing Osias to digest the immense amount of information Kiran laid upon. But Osias had no complaints¡­ it was a lot. Most important was what Kiran ended with ¡ª that a person who wasn¡¯t a blood-born sired children of the Blood Path and was of the same Path as well.


    Of course, Osias knew that through the raids of the band, children would spawn from the pillaging. The mothers were not blood-born ¡ª simply regular women who unfortunately suffered at the hands of their raiders. However, some would birth blood-born children if they were lucky enough to not die from having these monsters growing in their wombs¡­ but this was a father that Kiran was teaching him about.


    ¡°Garm¡¯s father was a Second Ordeal Path Finder. He was treading a Path of Blades of sorts upon his First Ordeal. But then he came upon something that altered his Path into that of Blood. An inheritance, a relic.¡±


    ¡°Garm didn¡¯t obtain information upon this relic, or its whereabouts, or if there were others before his father sought to kill him. Garm was no fool, why would a wounded beast with its back against the cage not pounce at its pursuer? Even if it was his son¡­ So Garm cut him down and reaved the corpse of its blood. He killed his mother, some of the village folk who raised him, and many more. To kill the one who sired him was of no concern.¡±


    Osias listened keenly and asked, ¡°I see. Why did Garm or the other elders tell you this?¡±


    ¡°Because they named me heir of the Red Sky. Nothing more. Even upon my seclusion after my Ordeals, they pulled me out to teach me of this and many more.¡±


    Osias paused briefly in thought. He didn¡¯t know what to make of this lesson on the Band¡¯s history¡­ so he asked:


    ¡°What is the reason you¡¯re telling me then?¡±


    Kiran pulled the skewered meat away from the fire and handed it to him before replying:


    ¡°Both Garm and the elders scoured the Wailing Chain before the Band settled south. After settling down, they were just a mercenary band in name ¡ª by that time the Red Sky was a true faction. As nomads, the Band traveled from the Snowy Verge of the Northern Wind Union to our Great Mountain that was once in the Outer Valleys, unclaimed by the Tailed Brothers. The absolute north, the desolate south, and all the inlands between. The reason for there travels was both to find the remnants of Garm¡¯s father ¡ª their fellow blood-born, but also in search for these relics of the Path.¡±


    ¡°Yet they only found a scare few of their kin and not a single relic was found¡­ until they came upon the Great Mountain that we are familiar with. Deep within the hollow mountain held a relic of our Blood Path. Many elders fell that day in the battle against the Path Beast. And that is also the day that the Red Sky was called usurpers, damned into centuries of conflict with the Tailed Brothers. It is the entire reason why the Band settled along with safeguarding the relic.¡±


    Kiran paused once more, and in a quieter tone he added:


    ¡°Even I don¡¯t know what it is. None has reached the Fifth Ordeal ¡ª the qualifications to retrieve it from within the heart of the mountain.¡±


    Osias took a small bite of the fallen beast¡¯s meat as he listened. Feelings of entertainment, allurement, wonder, and curiosity flowed through him. He listened attentively to his elder brother.


    He was always interested in the history and experiences of their people¡­ that was why he frequently talked with the elders and the others even when he had little time away from the dark chamber. There was power behind knowledge after all.


    But just when Osias thought Kiran was finished, he once more continued:


    ¡°Upon discovering the relic and slaying the monstrous beast that made the Great Mountain its dwelling, they made the hasty decision to settle the Red Sky there. All for one day when Garm or another Fifth Ordeal arose and claimed the relic. But when I heard this¡­ I questioned why didn¡¯t they continue the search. Years upon years they remained on the Great Mountain, rarely venturing into the Outer Valleys once more.¡±


    ¡°Osias¡­ They believed there are more ¡ª a Second, Third, and Fourth Ordeal relic. The First Ordeal relic must¡¯ve been the inheritance to the Blood Path that Garm¡¯s father came upon centuries ago.¡±


    That¡­ that was plausible, Osias thought as he listened. It seemed that Kiran wasn¡¯t pleased with simply fighting a war against the Tailed Brothers, probably adamant about finding and retrieving the relics of the Path. But Osias didn¡¯t say anything in response as his mind raced onto the relics themselves.


    If a First Ordeal relic was enough to create and propagate an entire Path, a Path strong enough that the entire Wailing Chain banded together to kill off¡­ Osias began to entertain the possibility that he and Kiran came upon such a relic. Even the Second Ordeal relic would be an invaluable boon, they would be ascendingly more powerful.


    Eventually, Osias¡¯s lips slowly curled into a smile, lost in his fantasies. So much so that the glistening fat of the meat that glazed his lips dripped, bringing him back to reality with a wipe of his hand.


    ¡°Brother, are we headed north because of this? Do you know where these relics are?¡± Osias asked excitedly. It¡¯s been ages since he has retrieved such pleasant news, perhaps the first ever since they came upon the Heron.


    But Kiran washed his eagerness down curtly, ¡°No.¡± However, between a bite of the skewered meat, Kiran continued:


    ¡°Though, they must be in the Outer Valleys. As I came upon this colossal skeleton, I felt the same feeling that Garm and the other elders described as they came near the Great Mountain for the first time. But as I claimed the blood from the earth, the feeling disappeared. But even so, it was a fortuitous yield.¡±


    Osias sighed, a little disappointed. He was expecting Kiran to announce that they had come upon a relic. But like Kiran said, it was still a great yield.


    ¡°The Fifth relic was a secret of the Band, as well as the others. The First relic was only able to have been claimed by someone not of the Blood Path because it needed someone to alter. But because the Fifth required someone of the Blood Path, and of the Fifth Ordeal¡­ we can only assume that the others are the same. A person of the Blood Path, and being at least the same Ordeal as the relic itself.¡±


    ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t risk telling me some secrets?¡± Osias quickly asked.


    Kiran shook his head slowly before responding sternly:


    ¡°Because I alone can only do so much¡­ If you ever feel as though you¡¯re on the verge of delighting in Blood Reave despite not doing so, tell me or investigate it yourself because it may not be the same.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Osias said quietly noticing the slight change in tone.


    They ate in silence after the lesson on history was over. But they were quick to finish and began to leave the camp they made below the colossal spine.


    However, just before disembarked from the grim shelter above them, Kiran willed his almost black True Extracted essence to split from his spear as he donned a familiar set of armor.


    It was the same that covered Osias. But it was far larger and looked much more imposing in its dark red shade, fully covering Kiran¡¯s large figure.


    Fortunately, Kiran even spared enough to strengthen Osias¡¯s own set.


    With that, for the first time, Osias felt ready to brave the sunless expanse.

 Chapter 28 - Scarlet Petal

    Osias wrenched his blade free from a lifeless carcass, his breath ragged and heavy. The effort pulled a low groan from his throat, a sound that echoed the weight of the battle fought.


    As Osias did so, a massive hand, shrouded in deep crimson armor that seemed almost black in the dim light, reached into the gaping wound.


    And within a second, the fallen beast was extracted of its blood.


    ¡°It¡¯s like the rotting underwood almost a week ago, right brother?¡± Osias called out.


    ¡°Mm,¡± Kiran responded as he crouched over and inspected the lifeless beast. It was a ghastily skinny beast ¡ª perhaps a cross between a stag and a creature with claws. Its head was hefty, weighed down by giant antlers jutting out into a wicked crown of ash.


    But what made Osias tremble slightly was the many scarlet petals that infested the beast¡¯s underside, spreading deep within as well.


    Osias breathed in deeply, relieved that the beast was dead. It was about a mid-tier First Ordeal beast, but it was¡­ awkward to fight. From the erratic way it moved and its many uncanny pauses.


    Osias reaved whatever was left on his blade and then wiped it clean.


    ¡®More nicks.¡¯ He thought with a frown.


    He lifted his gaze and looked around the clearing, wondering if it was good fortune that the mist was thin enough for him to see most of what lay here.


    It just wasn''t pleasant to look at.


    Corpses, an entire herd of malformed stags, littered his sight. All of them lay sprawled against the ground in death, but they all also had an uncanny look of delight and pleasure stretched on their faces ¡ª as much pleasure a beast could show, Osias thought. As though the stags came upon a vast forest rich in the most delectable grass.


    ¡°Scarlet flower petals¡­¡±


    This was the fourth time they¡¯d encountered Path Beasts of the mist that were infected with these petals, each of them starkly different from each other.


    The first was a solitary four-legged giant that looked to be made of stone. When they came upon it, it was eerily digging its feet into the ground as he drifted head-first into a tree absentmindedly. As though it was damned into an eternal routine. But as Kiran approached just a step closer, it released a shattering bellow and turned to rage at Kiran.


    ¡­It was among the weakest of the Third Ordeal, Kiran said, after he cut the beast down, cleaving it from head to chest. But upon its death, a storm of scarlet petals burst from the corpse, freely flowing in the wind. Alarmed, Kiran quickly dashed to pick him up away from the storm of petals.


    That led them to today.


    Glancing at the rotting corpse of a doe, he could see the familiar face of delight permanently stretched even in death. Scarlet flowers, a kind Osias didn''t know of, sprouted from within, separating the flesh and hide of the doe¡¯s corpse as it bloomed toward the sky.


    A blooming scarlet flower smeared with blood¡­


    Almost the entire herd was dead when they came upon them. Aside from a few weak stragglers suffering from the spread of petals, it was easy work. They were much weaker than they should¡¯ve been, all showing signs of control. The most difficult part of killing them was how they did not react.


    They fought like hardened Blood Warriors ¡ª the same ones that Osias finds himself following the steps of.


    Those that fight with cruelty, both to their enemies, but also to themselves. To fight and move as though you¡¯re already expecting to be wounded.


    The lingering stags already inflicted with the petals fought like so. Osias would sever a leg and they wouldn¡¯t even flinch or grimace before aiming to batter him flat with their crown of antlers.


    But after many times of crossing blades with such thralls of the scarlet petals, Osias knew well before that they didn¡¯t move with the same ferocity they could display with such a way of battle. And fortunately, they couldn¡¯t heal themselves.


    Osias sighed deeply, thinking to himself that even here, in this endless expanse, he could learn from such beasts. He wanted to make that unshakable commitment to kill the enemy for his own. Despite how the beasts only display that because of their enthrallment¡­


    Though, thinking of the endless expanse.


    It must¡¯ve been about two weeks, perhaps a little more since they¡¯ve entered the mist.


    The mist might very well be endless.


    ¡°Brother, did you find anything?¡± Osias asked, noticing Kiran was still crouched over the corpse.


    ¡°No,¡± Kiran responded curtly.


    ¡°How about you try touching the petals?¡± Osias asked jokingly, walking towards a dead stag.


    Those who were already dead before they arrived didn¡¯t burst into a storm of petals, only the ones who were alive and infected did. Yet it was odd, the flowers didn¡¯t do anything, not even spreading. They were just¡­ bloomed flowers.


    ¡®Should we grind them into a tea?¡¯


    Shaking his head at the thought, Osias turned around and looked at Kiran. They considered it ever since the first sighting of the petals ¡ª for Kiran to touch the petals himself, probing its effects.


    But it seemed their last run-in with the swarm¡¯s spores had taken a heavier toll on Kiran than Osias thought¡­ besides, they¡¯d already seen many Third Ordeal Path Beasts who had fallen to the scarlet petals.


    ¡°Are you going to do it?¡± Osias asked Kiran.


    He turned around and found Kiran coming towards him. In Kiran¡¯s almost black gauntlet was a small, but lively creature ¡ª an odd First Ordeal beast who they¡¯ve come upon a few days ago.


    Kiran vastly overwhelmed such a creature, crippling its four legs and breaking off the misty tusks that extended from within its mouth. It was an ugly thing, grey all over. Weak, reliant on hiding and scrounging for scraps.


    It seemed to know of its coming fate though¡­


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    ¡°Back away, I¡¯ll also open the doe¡¯s underside a little,¡± Kiran said, his spear in one hand.


    Obliging his brother, he stepped back a little, but enough so he could see what will happen.


    Then in the next moment, Kiran used his spear¡¯s tip to open the base of the sprouted flower a little more, exposing more scarlet roots and fallen petals.


    And he threw the wailing beast towards the flower and roots, right atop the gutted doe.


    Now they waited. Oasis eagerly watched, but suddenly the roots seemed to be drawn towards the living creature, eerily extending and wrapping around the small beast. Alas with its shattered legs, it couldn¡¯t crawl out of the large doe¡¯s body.


    Next, petals from within the body surrounded the root-swaddled beast, enough to suffocate it as they entered its open mouth.


    Then the feral desperation of the beast waned, and slowly its mouth was pulled back as though it relaxed.


    ¡®Enthralled now?¡¯


    The roots unwrapped the beast, and it used its head to push and crawl its way outside the open-bellied doe, towards Kiran.


    ¡®So flowers only sprout after death?¡¯


    The beast rolled out and landed atop the ground in a wet smack against the earth. Its limp legs twitched and attempted to move at its base, but Kiran was thorough.


    It crawled using its neck and head against the ground miserably towards Kiran.


    Kiran continued to watch before turning to talk:


    ¡°If we left the clearing it¡¯ll probably be stumbling circles until something alive wanders near it.¡±


    ¡°Like that big stone one from before?¡±


    ¡°Mm, we¡¯ve seen enough¡±


    Then Kiran beheaded the slowly crawling beast in a quick arc of his spear.


    And sure enough, roots began to spread and extend from its open neck, forming the base of what was soon to be another scarlet flower¡­


    Osias shook his head and sighed. It was time to leave this clearing and continue north. Although the scarlet petals have infected many of the wandering creatures of the mist, not many have been inflicted by its control. Kiran mentioned that they were probably headed away from its spread and territory, merely brushing sides with what could be the border of its source.


    ¡®Scarlet¡­¡¯


    Because of the color of the petals, and the cruel nature of whatever it does to what creatures it touches, Osias thought it might have originated from what he talked about with Kiran under the colossal spine.


    Perhaps the source of the scarlet petals was a relic or something influenced by the Path of Blood.


    But Kiran quickly shot him down, something about the lack of connection with blood and blood essence. However Kiran did mention that it wasn''t impossible, so they''ll have to be wary of the source if they ever returned.


    Though thinking of the relics¡­ Osias hasn''t had a single day where his mind didn¡¯t fixate on them. How couldn''t he?


    The chance that they may come upon such powerful objects. Perhaps even learn the truth of their Path''s ancestor.


    Osias watched Kiran extract the blood, careful to not touch the petals while his spear cut the risen roots:


    ¡°Brother, what is more important? The destination north, or the relics?¡±


    Kiran stood to his feet and paused before replying:


    ¡°To make it there alive. We¡¯re too weak to explore the Outer Valleys in its entirety¡­ the source of the scarlet petals, the Ashen Maggot, and all the other creatures too strong for us to even hide from have all made a dwelling towards the west ¡ª further beyond the inlands that lay east.¡±


    Then he continued in a lower voice:


    ¡°Yet we¡¯re still brushing sides with death, even where the Outer Valleys are at its supposed weakest.¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t pry anything further, following Kiran as he had already begun to leave the thin clearing.


    ¡®Northern Wind Union¡­¡¯ He thought wistfully.


    A long way away. How many years would it take to get there? The last he asked Kiran, they were almost a quarter of the way through the lands of the Tailed Brothers if they went in a straight line east.


    It still gnawed at his mind¡­ how different it would¡¯ve been had they chosen to venture north through the inlands rather than the Outer Valleys. How many fortresses, strongholds, and cities they¡¯d have to pass? Each crawling with the Path Finders under the Tailed Brothers. All the while hiding their appearance and abilities despite the Path Finder''s being able to sense Kiran as a Second Ordeal.


    An impossible task, they were bound to stand out. Two unaffiliated vagrants coming from the south¡­ suspicions would arise immediately. Even their appearances were unusual. Both are covered in eerie tattoos, while Kiran is a giant amongst men.


    Osias himself would grow a head larger than many others in a few years time.


    It was almost laughable how out of place they would seem¡­ In another way, it seemed even more impossible compared to the Outer Valleys despite all they¡¯ve gone through.


    Worried about their future, Osias asked:


    ¡°Brother, when we arrive at the union, do you think that they¡¯ll¡­ accept us?¡±


    Kiran didn¡¯t stop his pace as he answered:


    ¡°That is years from now. By then, the tensions between the Three Factions would only rise. The Tailed Brothers can at last focus their efforts on the Crested instead of being worried by the blood-born to their south. They have more land, and more resources to sustain themselves whilst the Crested has returned to being pincered with the full force of both factions for the first time in centuries. Unless there is an unknown covenant between them, I foresee a grand war coming. The union would take anyone by then, long forgotten the woes from us blood-born.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Osias said.


    A grand war¡­ the fall of the Red Sky seems to be the spark to engulf the Wailing Chain in a battle for dominion once again.


    Osias once heard that long before the Red Sky was formed from Garm and the elders the Wailing Chain was split into many Great Factions. Some were fallen and destroyed, some were assimilated into the Three Factions today.


    ¡°What was the war called, brother? The one that formed the Three Factions.¡±


    ¡°The Tailed Rebellion. The reason why they are the strongest among the three.¡±


    That¡¯s right ¡ª the Tailed Rebellion. The first pair of heads of the Tailed Brothers, three successions ago. A rebellion that shaped the Wailing Chain hundreds of years ago. Almost a thousand years ago¡­


    But Kiran suddenly asked in an odd tone:


    ¡°Do you like them? The stories of old.¡±


    ¡°There was a library within one of the chambers besides the one Garm tattooed me in. If the lingering pain wasn¡¯t too bad and Garm was away, I was allowed access to it. There were a lot of records on whatever history the Red Sky collected from the raids.¡± Osias responded.


    He paused as he recalled the small library and added:


    ¡°A lot of information was missing, you could tell. Especially much of the north. Most of the information on the land where the Crested rule and above them is through Garm¡¯s travels. The origins of both the Crested and the Northern Wind Union is patchy.¡±


    ¡°Mm. That is why we¡¯ll be cautious as we approach their lands. Much of the reason why I believe we¡¯ll be accepted is conjecture. But anywhere is safer than residing within the lands of the very people who so fervently sought to kill those of our Path.¡± Kiran affirmed.


    Then Kiran rebuked him, ¡°Think of the present rather than then. We have to leave the Outer Valleys alive.¡±


    In the next moment, Kiran abruptly stopped. Osias peered over to see what lay in front of them.


    ¡®Ah, more scarlet petals¡­¡¯ He thought as he saw a single beast lying still. It was facing directly at them, and an uncanny deadpan stare. A mindless thing it was, hideous as well.


    It looked like a plump salamander crossed with a giant. Deformed horns sprouted out of its neck, wrapping around its head. Many more odd protrusions jutted out of its malformed thighs as well.


    Two stout and hefty legs, it''s hard to believe this was the result of its Path¡­ Osias¡¯s eyes were attracted to the rolls of fat on its midsection.


    ¡®What kind of beast did it hail from to appear like this¡­¡¯


    Oddly enough as well, it wielded a weapon. A crude ashen tree made into a cudgel or sorts. Blood and grime caked its weapon, staining it black. It looked a little laughable too, its short arms didn¡¯t fit such a long weapon and fat body.


    ¡°Do we go around it like the others or do you want to face it?¡± Osias asked, returning his attention to the pool of scarlet petals infesting where its groin should be.


    The last few times they¡¯ve encountered beasts afflicted with scarlet petals they¡¯ve simply veered around them and continued on, unwilling to fight something they could avoid.


    They decided to face the stags because they were both weak and the large clearing housed an abundance of sprouted scarlet flowers¡­ something they¡¯d been waiting to test its effects.


    ¡°Go around. We gain nothing this time if we fight.¡± Kiran said. ¡°Unless you wish to prove yourself here.¡±


    ¡°Against a Third Ordeal?¡± Osias hissed.


    But Kiran didn¡¯t say anything, only shaking his head slightly. Then, Osias recalled what Kiran said he needed to prove himself again and raised his eyebrows in shock.


    ¡°I refuse to believe this behemoth is a Second Ordeal. Are you sure?¡± Osias cut back.


    ¡°It is ¡ª though it could likely kill the weakest among Third Ordeals. That''s why the presence around it is as pronounced and dangerous as a Third Ordeal, but not quite so¡­ refined. With more experience, you¡¯ll understand.¡± Kiran said indifferently.


    Osias took another quick glace at the motionless tree-wielding giant and shook his head. Not today. He¡¯ll prove himself, but not against this thing.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go around it.¡± He quickly said.


    ¡°Mm.¡±

 Chapter 29 - Consume The World

    ¡°A measly ten Third Tails? Bastards!¡± A coarse and boorish yell ripped through a grand hall.


    The many wood adornments mounted against the high stone walls shook and trembled in response to the pronounced voice.


    ¡°I asked for enough Third Tails to man every stronghold atop our wall! How are we supposed to defend, much less attack?¡± The same voice continued.


    ¡°Lord Isin, Grand Warden of the frontier¡­ Arslan and Atlan have granted your request for Third Tails under the main clan. To ask for more despite receiving ten is preposterous. The hunt for the blood-born is beginning to stretch into the Outer Valleys.¡± An equally coarse voice responded.


    ¡°Bah! I¡¯ve heard enough from you, send word to your master.¡± Irin grumbled.


    The face of the man twitched at Irin¡¯s words. He lifted his posture away from the slight bow, something too valuable for the reprehensible Grand Warden he was addressing.


    Levin, a Third Tail under the direct command of Arslan was responsible for Isin¡¯s outburst despite this being their first meeting. Glancing behind himself, there was another ten fellow Third Tails who were under Arslan.


    Each was personally hand-picked and raised by Arslan to slaughter the blood-born, but now they found themselves on the other end of their lands, bickering with a loud uncouth man.


    He deeply exhaled, releasing some of the pent-up vexings from Lord Isin.


    As they first arrived at the northern frontier of their land, they came upon Isin¡¯s councilmen first. Though they were expecting the welcoming personally from the Grand Warden himself, they understood that Isin must¡¯ve been too busy to appear.


    So they ignored the forgotten decorum.


    But the company of the four councilmen¡­ Levin¡¯s patience ran dangerously thin as they conversed. Each of them was vulgar and bearish. Not a single trait was worthy of the esteem belonging to the leaders who defended the frontier. Even the odd abundance of wooden trinkets and decorations that littered the fortress spoke of their crass kind. Nothing like the cities and fortress within the Heart Lands.


    Levin, together with the other Third Tails arrived expecting to be deployed amidst the Frontier Wall. They were ready to battle another formidable, but old foe, the Crested.


    They were to fight valiantly, but what they found was a deplorable Grand Warden and his followers. It was hard to believe the drunkard before them was to be called a lord, despite being of the Fourth Ordeal.


    ¡°Get those lesser vassals factions to delve to out there! That¡¯s what most of them did before, didn¡¯t they? Hound them up and throw them out there, the unruly lot!¡± Lord Isin continued to berate Levin.


    But Levin could only handle so much from the rash exchange of the old drunkard:


    ¡°That ¡®before¡¯ you call was centuries ago, before the rise of the Red Sky. They won¡¯t agree to such things easily. Everyone has grown meek when it comes to the Outer Valleys, rightfully so. And besides, they aren¡¯t that unruly as yourself, you old drunk.¡± Levin scoffed.


    Isin¡¯s flushed face was dark with anger. ¡°Hold your tongue, boy.¡±


    Throwing a bottle of fine wine at Levin, but hitting one of the Third Tails posted behind him, Isin followed with sulky words:


    ¡°You know nothing of the Crested. Whilst you were battling the blood-born in the south, who do you think slaughtered enough of those bark-skins to hold them from swallowing our land? Leave them alone and they¡¯ll consume us all.¡±


    Though, Levin did not relent:


    ¡°And you know nothing of the blood-born. The frontier south has seen enough blood to flood the Crested to death. We owe a drunkard nothing.¡±


    But Isin continued, ¡°Do you think eleven Third Tails could force me to placate my demands?¡±


    ¡°Demands?¡± Levin tauntingly asked.


    ¡°Aye. Demands, boy. I¡¯ll cave your chest in, even as you transform. Your ribs will meet the scales on your back.¡± Isin said darkly, suddenly possessing the bearing befitting a lord.


    ¡°Even a Fourth Ordeal would perish under this many.¡± Levin hissed back.


    Thick tension hung in the air between them as well as an eerie silence. Levin was in front of ten Third Tails, whilst Isin was heading a table of four other councilmen.


    ¡°Now, now, we mustn''t bicker and fight here, Lord Isin, they are our comrades!¡± One of Isin¡¯s small councilmen suddenly interjected.


    ¡°Shut your mouth, Baidar. Even the Tailed Brothers ¡ª Arslan and Atlan themselves wouldn¡¯t disrespect me as much as this mere Third Tail mongrel would.¡± Isin dismissed.


    Baider grimaced and silently sulked at the retort of his Lord¡­ he wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°But my lord, what use is a dead Third Tail? Let them man what stronghold they could. They¡¯ll request for more help themselves.¡± Baidar snarkily said as he sneered towards the row of Third Tails across the hall.


    In the next moment, Isin howled with laughter, as though he came upon the secrets of the world.


    ¡°Aye! Baidar you¡¯re right! Drink! You counsel me well at last!¡± Isin bellowed, undisturbed by his lonely laughter.


    ¡°I was waiting for the command. A lord cannot drink by his lonesome!¡± Baidar flippantly quipped.


    He quickly obliged his dear lord¡¯s words, taking a tight hold of the neck of a large wine bottle from the many scattered atop their council table


    He downed a flowing swig, joining his lord, disregarding the spill onto his fur-lined cloak and rugged armor. Loud laughter followed, his howl blending with Isin¡¯s.


    Even the other two councilmen joined, both sharing the same bearing as their lord. Loud, tasteless, and hearty.


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    Altogether, their howls filled the grand decadent hall. As they did so, Levin threw a puzzled look at the group of lord and councilmen drinking rigorously.


    ¡®We must fight alongside these brigands?¡¯ He scowled.


    He was just about to reproach them until Isin addressed him with an odd tone:


    ¡°Boy, you don¡¯t need to spread your Third Tails. Come along with me to the foremost stronghold of the wall, The Woodsbane Stronghold, I¡¯m sure even you green lot has heard of it. We¡¯ll head out tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Not tonight, ¡®my lord¡¯?¡± Levin scoffed.


    ¡°Aye. This wine will knock the scales off your shaft!¡± Isin snapped back boisterously.


    ¡®Old drunkard.¡¯ Levin thought as he dismissed himself and his fellow Third Tails. Another bottle barreled towards them, but his men dodged it as they bit down on their patience. They didn¡¯t know where their dwellings were, something he couldn¡¯t rely on the rulers of the fortress to know.


    Levin and the others stormed out of the grand hall. But as he did so, he threw another glare at the bellowing table behind him.


    ¡®Even the table is of wood¡­¡¯ He mused with a frown.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Come!¡± Kiran suddenly grabbed Osias and slung him over his back.


    Osias turned to try and see what was chasing them, but he couldn¡¯t see past the dense mist. Besides, the distant rumbling was all he needed to know. Something titanic was approaching.


    It was only a mere day after they came upon the tree-wielding giant. After that, they didn¡¯t encounter much of anything aside from finally breaking away from the forests.


    Yet as they traversed the rolling plains under the mist, Kiran perked his head in alarm.


    It was too sudden, but also familiar.


    ¡®Is it the same thing from back then?¡¯ Osias warily thought.


    Once again, Osias remembered the chilling encounter with the creature that had come from behind the mist on their first day. They only came to survive that encounter by latching onto Kiran as they entered the domain of the Ashen Maggot ¡ª both an ill-fated encounter, but fortuitous as they escaped.


    Back then¡­ he couldn¡¯t even catch a glimpse of what made Kiran run so direly.


    So for Kiran to run at his full speed with Osias grabbing hold of his back¡­ it was uncannily similar.


    Despite all they¡¯ve grown, it was humbling, like a bucket of water washing over Osias¡¯s head. He knew, deep within his head that running was something natural. It¡¯d be foolish to fight needless battles for pride or anything else for the matter. But even so, he had just one wish to continued to gnaw at him.


    To not feel as though he was merely drifting along powerlessly from one death to the next.


    It was revolting, leaving a horrid taste in his mouth. To simply swallow down this powerlessness.


    Enough with relics, whimsical dreams, and plans for the future. They may die in the next moment.


    All Osias could do was curse it all as he survived. But then, the familiar welling feeling swelled, the desire to be of use. It overwhelmed him from his thoughts to the very grip of his hilt.


    ¡®Can I help fight?¡¯ He wondered. But he shook his head in contempt. What kind of thought was that?


    Is he so eager to die? Every time that feeling to be of use arose, he became thoughtless and rash, overcome to be purposeful with all he had been given.


    But a thunderous tremor took him out of his rumination. He cracked his head towards the source, anxiously waving his head to try and see anything¡­ something.


    Yet he couldn¡¯t find any signs of their pursuer despite the increasingly loud tremors.


    And so they continued to run, unknowing of how close the unknown creature came upon them.


    ¡ª


    Was it hours? A day? Osias didn¡¯t know. It grew impossibly dark at some point with his knowing. Night grew longer and longer, quickly approaching winter. He couldn¡¯t tell apart black from black. All that blinded him was the same.


    It was frightening, no matter how many times the dark of night had come for him. They were traveling through an already obscured land where he could barely see past a few steps in front of him. So for what measly awareness he had to be completely snuffed for almost half a day¡­ it was suffocating no matter how much he tried to push it aside in his mind.


    He knows. He knows very well that he will rely on Kiran¡¯s senses regardless if it is day or night, but even so, the darkness made his blood run cold as they fled.


    Every second passed miserably slowly as they ran from the unknown beast. Until the approaching tremors died off, Kiran finally slowed to a stop and abruptly left to scout their new surroundings, wary of both their pursuer and new enemies.


    As they ran, Osias became increasingly more anxious and perplexed, the constant flow of familiar land felt as though they were traversing into a circle. But Kiran shot down his ceaseless worries, such was the result of an Ordinary who couldn¡¯t see past the mist to discover the changes atop the land at such a height atop his brother¡¯s back.


    He deeply breathed in, still deathly rattled on their escape.


    Twice. Twice has a creature, perhaps even the same one pursued them over vast distances, yet never revealed itself.


    Osias turned over to Kiran, seemingly unaffected by their flee. His walking figure was all Osias could see with the thick darkness that surrounded them, and even then he could barely make out Kiran¡¯s figure. It was still unsettling how calm and indifferent Kiran looked to be¡­ something Osias could never become used to.


    As though Kiran was detached from the world itself, untethered from the very world below his feet.


    ¡°How?¡± Osias unexpectedly asked.


    Kiran simply raised an eyebrow in response.


    But Osias continued, ¡°How do you feel nothing after that? To wave it off. We were chased for over a day, yet we don¡¯t even know what chased us. We don¡¯t know why it withdrew. We don¡¯t know anything!¡±


    Kiran didn¡¯t say anything for a while. Each step forward was the only sound that prevented absolute silence from hanging between them. Soft crunches of the grass and dirt below sounded repeatedly.


    ¡°What good will worrying do?¡± Kiran then asked.


    ¡°Nothing. I know worrying will do nothing. But isn¡¯t it normal?¡±


    ¡°Normal¡­¡± Kiran quietly echoed back.


    ¡°Yes, normal. There is so much I still don¡¯t know of you. Is it because of your First and Second Ordeal?¡± Osias probed.


    ¡°Enough. I¡¯ll tell you of the Ordeals when it''s time for you to hear.¡± Kiran dismissed, continuing to march.


    Osias took a deep breath and swallowed down everything he wished to ask. It was always such a taboo to talk about Kiran¡¯s Ordeals.


    At least Osias was given a rough time where he¡¯ll know.


    ¡®When it''s time for me to hear.¡¯ He thought between weary steps. Kiran was likely waiting until it was just before he¡¯d undergo his First Ordeal¡ª


    ¡°Hm?¡± Osias uttered as he almost wandered into Kiran.


    In the next moment, Kiran turned to look at him and said:


    ¡°Osias. Walk back slowly. A fift¡ªno, a hundred paces at least then turn east for another hundred and wait.¡±


    Osias needed no further instruction.


    ¡®He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s not coming with me?¡¯ A slow realization dawned on him.


    Slowly, Osias turned and walked the straightest line he could possibly make. One step turned to two and then three. He counted each step silently as a cold sweat began to run down his back.


    It was still dark, impossibly so. And his breath turned heavy as though the black of night wrapped around his neck.


    Between thirty paces he brushed a hand around his neck, a pitiful attempt to make sure it was still there.


    ¡®What. What is it?¡¯


    His steps became slow as though he was wading through a thick mud, and the crimson armor he donned turned as heavy as stones.


    ¡®Fifty. Fifty-one.¡¯


    He breathed in and out deeply, trying to rid of the suffocating feeling that swelled in the back of his throat.


    ¡®I¡¯ll die.¡¯ He thought.


    He clung to the numbers Kiran gave him dearly.


    ¡®Eighty-three. Eighty-four.¡¯


    His helm felt tight. He wanted to rip it off of him so he could breathe properly.


    ¡®One¡­ One hundred. East. Now east. Where?¡¯


    He shook his skittish head and lifted his wobbly legs.


    ¡®There. One. Two. Three. Four.¡¯


    It felt as though the sky pressed down on him. He wanted to collapse despite walking a mere hundred or so steps.


    ¡®Twenty-three.¡¯


    Why? Why did it feel as though he was being strangled?


    ¡®Fourty-one. Fourty-two¡­¡¯


    ¡®Seventy-six. Seventy-seven.¡¯


    ¡®Nine-nine. One hundred.¡¯


    Then he collapsed, and his body gave in as he reached a hundred. The tension that had gripped his throat for so long vanished, leaving him gasping desperately for breath, free at last from the suffocating force that had dragged him down.


    He coughed and hacked. His heart felt cold while his legs burned with exhaustion.


    But through his throes, a sickening realization slowly dawned on him.


    ¡®It''s just like before. It is just lik¡ª¡¯


    Suddenly, the world trembled. It quaked and roared. It felt as though the titan of bone they came upon had returned from death.


    The ground below groaned as though it was in agony, the source of its woes was coming from¡­


    Where Kiran was.

 Chapter 30 - Fettered Bournewood Branch

    Kiran didn¡¯t arrive until an hour later. An entire leg was missing as he hobbled to where Osias sat in wait.


    As for why Osias sat, he came to understand, or at least guess what occurred. If¡­ if the creature of the mist that pursued them for so long happened to retreat then it must¡¯ve sensed something they couldn¡¯t.


    If it was the same beast who dared to test the might of the Ashen Maggot all that time ago, a Fourth Ordeal as Kiran said, then for it to retreat¡­


    Osias didn¡¯t want to think about the cause of his cold dread.


    Kiran must¡¯ve known well before they came upon it. They didn¡¯t encounter a single beast the entire time they fled their pursuer. Eventually, Kiran must have expected something. Perhaps not exactly what it was, but what could they have done?


    Osias didn¡¯t know what happened, nor how Kiran survived, and was able to send him to safety, but they survived.


    They survived and that was it.


    So Osias didn¡¯t ask, uneager to satisfy his morbid curiosity. They marched and marched just like they¡¯ve always done ¡ª despondently and miserably.


    Kiran¡¯s leg regrew in silence as Osias watched from behind, and their pace quickened.


    They didn¡¯t stop until they came upon a small group of Path Beasts, finally able to know that they¡¯d left and put a sizable distance between the horror behind them.


    Osias felt dead on his feet ¡ª exhausted after their long sleepless march.


    But he forced himself to fight. Kiran told him so, that they couldn¡¯t avoid this group.


    Even if he could only barely kill one, he fought desperately to prove he had a little control somewhere under the mist.


    Kiran didn¡¯t seem to care as he delved in to scramble with a First Ordeal beast, a hideous being that looked to be the union of the demons depicted in children¡¯s tales with a foul rodent. An innumerable amount of legs crawled as he wearily brought his sword down on it.


    His blade cleaved through its snout, but it flailed and knocked his blade out of his hand. However, Osias pounced on the beast with a growl and jammed his armored hand through the open wound, and used something he hadn¡¯t had the opportunity to do in such a long time.


    Blood Reave pulled and vast amount of blood out of the screeching rodent as he gleefully took it. His other hand battered the rest of the rodent''s head and snout. Through his hammering blows, he stopped and forced his hand into the beast''s small black eye.


    He fought viciously as if the beast was the source of all his woes.


    But all of a sudden, Osias blinked, and then he found himself thrown on the rugged stones as the mismatched rodent pounced on top, its hefty weight fell in its entirety as he was tightly pinned to the ground. He felt strange, something was amiss. It was too hard to breathe, and he tasted steel against his mouth. It was blood. Blood pooled against his throat as he thought he was drowning.


    He loathed this feeling of suffocation.


    Blood seething through the gaps between his teeth, he spat out what he could, wishing he could spit out the memory of the two hundred paces he took whilst choking under the air.


    And through the small slits that fashioned his helm, he saw the grotesque rodent eager to finish him off.


    He tried to move. Anything. His legs. His free hand. He''ll just ravage its eye. Pull its tongue bloody. Anything! But his body wouldn''t listen, his limbs wouldn''t yield to his will. His thoughts trudge through, striving to force his arms to move. Instead, he found a broad blade cleaving through the air towards the opened maw by his neck.


    He lay there, strewn atop the rugged ground as he breathed heavily.


    The heavy, but headless corpse weighed down on him for a few moments before he saw through the slits of his helm, Kiran kicked and rolled it off.


    ¡°You fight like a fool. Have you forgotten the difference between crude and fierce?¡± Kiran darkly scolded.


    He didn¡¯t say anything in response, his mind unable to pierce through the fog that slowed it.


    Eventually, he closed his eyes. It was too long since he last slept.


    He was battered. Tired. Dirty and covered in grime and blood.


    He wanted to sleep right there ¡ª beside the headless corpse of the large mismatched rodent. With faint light of another day began to break through from above.


    But Kiran kicked his side and picked him up.


    ¡°Get up! Keep moving if you want to live and be of use.¡± Kiran yelled.


    But Kiran quickly grew tired, pulling him over his back, and began running.


    He felt like a corpse as he dangled off the familiar shoulder.


    This continued for a few minutes until Kiran came upon some obstacles ¡ª Path Beasts.


    But it seemed these ones were something Kiran could evade and fight off as he barrelled past them.


    Fleeting glimpses of their maimed bodies flashed through his sights, the work of Kiran¡¯s spear.


    It felt like they left the beasts to be devoured by what they were running from again.


    But their luck ended. And for the first time¡­ he saw something through the slightly illuminated mist. He couldn¡¯t tell exactly, but through drooping eyes, he saw the mist billow from something gigantic approaching.


    In the next moment, a nearly indescribable sound bellowed, ripping through the distance.


    Shattering pain that pounded his head to bits as the sound wailed on and on.


    And then Kiran staggered, dropping him as they both rolled onto the ground¡­


    Collapsed, the pain emanating from his ear spread to his body. He rolled violently as the piercing sound continued to blare. The wretched noise ravaged his hearing as his hands tightly pressed against his temple and his fingers clawed against the skin surrounding his ears.


    Between his reeling throbbing he felt warm blood flowing out his ear, his hands and fingers slicked wet, probably staining the ground as he rolled as well.


    In the next moment, a thundering crash sounded and the vile sound ceased, but he was still direly affected.


    He blinked violently to ground himself in reality and to wave off the haze of pain that clouded his thoughts. But as he opened his eyes, he found that the mist was much thinner than before the harrowing wail sounded.


    He shook his head, and a little blood trickled down from his ruptured ears onto his arm and sword. Raising his head off the ground, he found Kiran on his feet, poised as if he had just thrown something ¡ª likely the source of the impact.


    His brother turned slightly to say something, but he couldn¡¯t understand¡­ no he couldn''t hear him.


    It was too muddled as if the words couldn¡¯t reach his damaged and bloodied ears.


    Then Kiran took an arm to shake him slightly, but he just nodded.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    With a heavy grunt, Osias stood up with Kiran''s support through the dazed struggle.


    Suddenly Kiran shook his own head in fury as he drew his spear and looked ahead once more.


    Kiran quickly motioned for him to follow, and so he did.


    Enough running¡­


    They rushed toward the giant figure, still slightly obscured and shrouded by the cold mist, and he tightened his grip despite the growing weakness and unease.


    Through the now thinned mist, the figure was now mostly revealed as he stifled his disgust at the sight.


    It was as though a handful of weathered trees came together into a wood-like body. Its ghostly figure was surrounded by shimmering haze as though its bark blended with the sunless mist, as it eerily moved like wafting wind. The surroundings seemed to twist as the mist danced with it.


    As the vast figure turned he found more than a dozen dead-looking branches curved and twisted into sickly chains. The wood fettered something familiar ¡ª the dead hounds of a time¡¯s past. But it also bounded many other sickly beasts he didn¡¯t recognize.


    With a slow wind from the lumbering beast¡¯s movements, the nearest decayed corpse twisted on its wooden bindings, ever so slightly. They were all desecrated and partly eaten by something. They¡¯ve been ravaged upon death. Throat and chest had been torn asunder, sickly glistening grey-red entrails and ribbons of ragged flesh dangled from where the belly had been opened. The exposed bones were picked and cracked as they were gnawed upon.


    Some were left with almost nothing but a single leg, still tangled in its wooden chains, swaying with each breeze.


    However, his eyes traced towards a faint spear that pieced a hound''s carcass, penetrating deep into the wooden beast''s side. But as he noticed it, the spear already dispersed and flowed away from the beast, towards Kiran.


    ¡°Above!¡± Kiran bellowed as he threw something at Osias.


    Osias tried to pierce his gaze into the sky, but it was too dark, practically black even though it should¡¯ve been the break of dawn.


    However, this black seemed to get even darker and closer.


    In the next moment, whatever Kiran threw at him crashed against his torso, and dispersed, stretching to his limbs and covering his head as it flowed into his armor, seemingly strengthened more than before as he surmised in a quick wave of his sword.


    The fogged sky seemed to fall onto him and Kiran, dense and heavy as if all the mist collected and collapsed onto them.


    ¡®Birds?¡¯ He immediately noticed as it came into view. He slashed at what he could the moment they eclipsed him, Kiran, as well.


    They came in vast droves, diving and swiping at them in numbers that could¡¯ve been in the hundreds. But together, Osias and Kiran continued to pursue the great beast in bark ¡ª it was slow, and Kiran must¡¯ve had a plan if he chose to attack.


    In unison, they both decided that they had no means of slaughtering the drove of birds and pushed to the lumbering wooden beast.


    As the onslaught of numbers crashed into him again, he got a closer look as he beheaded a few with a swipe of his sword.


    Black-skinned, but featherless birds. Each possesses a sharp beak that cuts through the mist. The number of them battered into his armor and through the small slits of sight, to his horror they picked bits and pieces of it off, already beginning to strip him.


    In front of him, Kiran burst ahead with an inhuman speed and leaped toward the sluggish bark beast. He thrusted deeply into its side and pulled a thick deep-orange liquid out of its body.


    But from behind the corpses of the hounds, they opened up from their decayed flesh, and more birds added to the onslaught, intent on devouring Kiran as he once more pursued the wood beast.


    However, these ones were different. Pale bone white in color, they were larger than the others, and how they fit inside the defiled hounds was a mystery.


    They looked forsaken in appearance, dreadful protrusions stretched from beyond their bodies it was impossible to imagine such beings could fly.


    Yet they did. Barreling towards Kiran, Osias watched despite being battered and sent tumbling by the other black ones ¡ª Kiran¡¯s flesh was ripped apart as merely brushed sides against them.


    But before Kiran could retaliate, two thick branches extended from the wood beast¡¯s side, one reaching for Kiran in a cruel crescent shape, and another towards himself.


    He quickly let the innumerable amount of birds to push him as he used their dreadful dive to pummel him to the side away from the impossibly quick branch that aimed for his neck and ankles.


    Luckily he avoided it as he borrowed their strength. But he was now too far away from Kiran to rest.


    He shot to his feet, not allowing the swathe of birds to hold him down.


    ¡®They have to be of the First Ordeal¡­¡¯ He thought between his hastened chase.


    The birds were probably not natural beasts who had undergone an Ordeal. Probably profane thralls made or corrupted creations of the wood-like beast. Whether they were made, corrupted, or taken, it didn¡¯t matter as their vast numbers threatened even his strengthened armor.


    For the wooden beast to have these birds as thralls for its use, it must be at the very least the Third Ordeal. Perhaps the Fourth, but Osias couldn¡¯t tell¡­ the immense air of death remained all the same.


    Hundreds of First Ordeal minions and perhaps dozens of the Second. It was like a mist-corrupted brood mother as he thought of the hounds that were displayed on the wooden beast''s side.


    ¡­But like the brood mother, his sword could take the lives of the weakest of minions.


    His head was still dazed and damaged, but he still continued to keep moving, he couldn¡¯t allow himself to be pinned down again. Even worse was the risk of the wooden beast trying another attempt to bind him under its branches of chains.


    Cutting through a few black birds that had flown ahead of him, barring his way to their keeper, another drove chipped from behind, eager to raze through the smaller gaps of his crimson armor.


    He didn¡¯t fall, nor did he falter, continuing his way towards Kiran in the distance.


    He dodged uprooted trees from his brother¡¯s battles and ran so direly, that he could not allow Kiran to be fully enveloped in the mist. If he completely loses sight of Kiran and the battle, he¡¯ll left alone¡­


    Shaking his head, he killed another line of audacious birds fluttering in front of him. His blade moved with grace as they met their end by steel.


    He barreled through the trees of the misted forest, from saplings and supple branches, pine boughs dirtied with putrid blood in his and his brother¡¯s wake. It seemed Kiran and the wood beast bent and twisted them around and through each other in a struggle.


    But just as his blade sought the necks of a small batch, they reared back and fluttered ahead of him, collecting towards Kiran¡¯s battle.


    ¡®What is it?¡¯ He immediately wandered, and he picked up the pace, now unhindered by the birds.


    Each step brought him closer to the thundering sounds of battle ahead, as he saw more pits of struggle and cleaved surroundings devoured by the mist.


    There, he found Kiran mangled and disfigured with countless wounds littering his body. But he was accustomed to such a sight, thankful that Kiran¡¯s wounds already seemed to close and heal within moments.


    But then the black birds all headed within the wooden beast¡¯s body ¡ª deep within the crevices opened by Kiran¡¯s spear while the larger and more warped bone-white ones continued to assault Kiran in an attempt to slow him down.


    Kiran suddenly yelled as he fiendishly cut down one of the bone white creatures ¡ª turning his head to look at Osias.


    Osias¡¯s hearing was still weakened and there was still a sizeable distance between them, but he could tell Kiran screamed a warning at him.


    He obliged immediately. But as he did so, the wooden beast continued to move away from him as Kiran continued his assault.


    In the next moment, the same indescribable sound roared, cutting through the blood that flowed out his ears as the earth seemed to quake in response. The mist too seemed to thin oddly enough as well.


    It carried on for a few seconds before it abruptly stopped and Osias dashed ahead to meet his brother.


    But to his dismay, the foothills dropped in the distance into an almost vertical cliff. The lumbering wooden behemoth jumped off the cliff and Kiran jumped as well without hesitation.


    It took a few seconds for him to reach the cliff, but he froze before joining them.


    A harsh cacophony of screeches and wails, something so out of place as he recalled earlier in the mist sounded.


    As if all the silent black birds decided to wail at once.


    ¡®It did something¡­ Do I still go?¡¯ He quickly thought. He didn¡¯t know what happened. Although he presumed the cliff dropped into another vast valley, he could barely see what occurred.


    He shook his head, admonishing the thought. He cannot survive alone in the mist¡­ this desire to survive once more welled within as he quickly descended the drop.


    He even daringly jumped and relied on the hardiness of his armor to withstand some falls he wouldn¡¯t usually take.


    Quickly resuming his free dash, he once more came upon the battle.


    The black birds¡­ they were no more. Instead, a giant hideous amalgamation of white ivory bark now hindered between Kiran and the wooden beast.


    Osias swallowed a heavy apprehension ¡ª It wasn¡¯t even similar to the ivory-white birds from before.


    Jagged and malformed bones of bark twisted and weaved together to form a profane web reminiscent of the very wooden beast they pursued. A twin perhaps.


    Kiran recoiled from the sight and glanced back at him.


    But there wasn¡¯t a moment of rest, not for them¡­


    Together with its ivory bone counterpart, the wooden beast turned its head and released a vast number of chains of bark to Kiran. Bloodied and mangled as it was, it still sought to bind his brother as he watched.


    However, Kiran was no fool. He too quickly turned tail and bolted for Osias while he dodged the barrage of wooden chains aimed at his neck and ankles.


    By now his hearing as more or less been crippled, but he understood the moment Kiran mouthed the words, ¡®Run¡¯.


    He immediately ran to his side, if his sense of direction wasn¡¯t so off then he was treading north. Kiran too ran in the same direction, eventually catching up with him.


    Osias understood as he grabbed hold of Kiran''s free hand, and Kiran slung him over his large frame.


    He tightly clutched the neck of his brother''s cloak ¡ª mostly in tatters now after all this time.


    Fortunately, the wooden beast was slow, lumbering slower than Kiran despite the difference in Ordeal levels. Kiran¡¯s exchanges weakened it, forcing the beast to rely on its other harrowing strengths.


    But the equally sized ivory one didn''t seem to share that weakness. The brief exchange it had with Kiran in the time Osias hesitated to descend the cliff was enough to cause Kiran to retreat.


    Though¡­ the ivory-white beast didn''t pursue them as they quickly cleaved through the mist.


    Despite the encroaching panic of yet another flee, Osias grimly smiled.


    Osias watched the wooden beast hesitate as it violently lurched and staggered. Rich and deep orange blood seemed to flow endlessly from its terrible wounds. Deep cuts and stabs littered its body and neck. The ivory beast came to its side and helped support it upright.


    ¡®Ah¡­ there was that too.¡¯


    It must¡¯ve had the ivory beast remain by its side to protect itself from the other foul creatures of the mist¡­

 Chapter 31 - Like A Scar That Never Disappears (End of Volume 1)

    Osias watched ¡ª almost mesmerized by how fast Kiran''s wounds closed and regrew missing flesh as they returned to their earlier pace.


    They slowed down when Osias said that the two creatures of the mist chose against pursuing them.


    ¡°Third Ordeal ¡ª the ivory one. Not of flesh and blood,¡± Kiran uttered darkly.


    What thoughts were hidden behind his flinty eyes, Osias didn¡¯t know, nor did he want to.


    Osias didn''t say anything in response. He just wondered if he could''ve done anything more than merely survive.


    Perhaps Kiran could''ve killed it had he amassed all his external blood essence into his weapon. Perhaps he could''ve pincered the wooden beast together with Kiran if he was strong enough to fight.


    He laughed a little at how out of place he was. One bellow of the wooden beast was enough to kill him without Kiran¡­


    ¡®Baggage.¡¯ He thought with gritted teeth. Truth was merciless. And although Kiran didn¡¯t show it, he knew his brother shared the same dire incentive for him to get stronger.


    Osias silently loathed himself, but before he could gather his thoughts, Kiran suddenly spoke:


    ¡°We won¡¯t rest again. Not here.¡±


    His brother spoke curtly and quietly, but it was probably because of his ears that it seemed so muffled and quiet.


    Could they even heal naturally?


    They stopped coming across trees for a long while now, and what should¡¯ve been rolling plains of grass as far as their eyes could see was now hidden by the mist. Perhaps if it had been untouched by such an unnatural mist, the valley could¡¯ve been a beautiful stretch of land, ripe for the taking.


    They made quick progress, occasionally turning and switching directions at times for reasons Osias didn¡¯t know. Yet it always seemed they were heading downwards, and if he remembered correctly then the only time this wasn¡¯t the case was the brief ventures of the foothills at the base of the hounds¡¯ mountain that felt so long ago.


    Not once have they stopped, but Kiran did hand him the waterskin when he needed it.


    Occasionally, Kiran made prompt halts and told him to wait before briefly returning within minutes as he scouted ahead. Though, you can hardly call it a rest. A stood guard wearily waving his head as he focused his senses to no avail. If something wanted to ambush him, he was free for the taking.


    But eventually, they came upon something they had yet to see even once. Not in the long weeks below the mist, nor the months in Outer Valleys themselves.


    They came before a river. A river that appeared along the endless valley covered in mist. Freely flowing north through a series of long series of short curves.


    Anything new, strange, and unfamiliar was never to be trusted. But because it flowed north, they couldn¡¯t avoid it.


    So they followed alongside it, but never too close.


    It was strange¡­ The entire time they spent within the Outer Valleys has been atop stone and earth.


    Mountains and raised land.


    Even their water was taken from small streams found along mountainsides.


    Only once have they come upon a large body of water ¡ª guarded and perhaps even made by a treacherous Heron.


    ¡­They were not inclined to brush sides with possibly another pool of poor memories. So they avoided the callous flowing waters and its black sandy bank. They continued to only use it as a sign of direction as it flowed north.


    As they kept their distance from the bank, Osias recalled Kiran¡¯s finding¡­ Kiran¡¯s ears perked up from the increasingly loud flowing water as they approached the thin mist above it, eventually getting close enough for him to hear it.


    Gentle water was poured and swept against the sand. Despite the distance between them and the river bank, they could hear it. Though it might¡¯ve seemed louder than it actually was because of the eerie silence that enveloped the rest of the mist-covered valley¡­


    Regardless, it was hard for Osias to judge truly how loud it was because of his ears, but he welcomed a constant and gentle sound ¡ª a welcome trade compared to before.


    And this continued on for hours upon hours, undeterred from the river¡¯s company and unimpeded by the horrors of the mist.


    Osias felt like a drifting corpse. Exhausted he clawed for life over and over.


    He found himself shaking his head to focus more often as his eyes began to droop again.


    How long was it¡­ the last he slept?


    At the very least, his hearing seemed to improve a little bit. The river flowed and washed downstream, and his ears were increasingly able to pick up the quiet sweeping against the black sand that made the riverbank.


    Swiping his head to his side, he watched the flowing greyish-blue water. It looked like dirtied cobalt, mixed and unrefined by the surrounding grey stones. Except it was the sunless grey mist.


    Though¡­ Thinking of the river, he remembered that the water skin, it needed to be filled. It¡¯s also been quite a while since he both drank and ate something.


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    But they continued following the river, and Osias didn¡¯t find it important enough to bring it to Kiran¡¯s attention. Persevere, he told himself as more time passed.


    He looked upwards, trying to find signs of the sky. The stars and moon were missing tonight it seemed.


    Perhaps it was the last time he was able to gaze at them after all, he morbidly thought.


    Shaking his head away from the thoughts and the fatigue he focused on the path ahead of him made by Kira¡ª


    ¡°Brother?¡±


    Kiran was gone.


    ¡°What¡­¡±


    Without a sound, his brother disappeared.


    He had grown so accustomed to his brother¡¯s presence in front of him all this time ¡ª the only thing that remained constant in this hell of mist. But his armor still remained against his body. He didn¡¯t know the exact range or if there was one for Kiran¡¯s True Extraction, but if there was, it couldn¡¯t be too far. Kiran still needed to control his constructs.


    But it was still shocking. Alarmed, he immediately stopped moving and looked around him. The mist was thin like it was the entire time they came upon the river.


    His gaze waved and lifted as he earnestly observed the obscured world around him somberly.


    His ears tried their absolute best to hone in on everything, but it all blended into the washing of the river.


    Kiran was gone without notice. Too sudden, he was just looking a his brother¡¯s figure before glancing up.


    But he has done this many times now, even earlier against the wooden beast he was separated from his brother briefly.


    Kiran at times left him to scout himself, but he always said something ¡ª anything to let him know. Kiran would stop abruptly, say he¡¯s heading to scout for a few minutes, and then return. Nothing more, nothing less.


    ¡­With all these thoughts racing in his head, Osias remained motionless.


    ¡®Kiran was never gone for more than a few minutes for a scout. The longest was an hour earlier. I¡¯ll wait. It¡¯ll be foolish to move ahead, and besides, there''s nowhere to hide anyways.¡¯ He quickly thought.


    To one side was the blurry riverbank and to the other was a vast rolling plain of a shrouded valley.


    He could not risk running into a creature blended with the mist, he thought as he recalled how the wooden beast was shrouded or was even partially made of the mist. Nor was he going to call out any louder than normal speech.


    So he stood guard. Constantly weary and cautiously watching his surroundings he tightly gripped his sword.


    But eventually, this carried on for a few minutes.


    And those secluded minutes stretched for more than an hour.


    Then hours passed.


    Hours upon hours he fought against sleep.


    It must¡¯ve been days he was awake ¡ª since they ran. How many times had the bleak sunset, and how many times did it come again? Was it the second time?


    ¡®Sleep. Can¡¯t sleep. Sleep. I¡¯ll die.¡¯ He thought, constantly cycling these empty thoughts in his mind.


    And more time passed, so much so that he stopped trying to count. Counting¡­ it reminded of how many steps he took back then.


    So instead, he let the constant flow of water break the monotonous surroundings.


    It must¡¯ve been a few hours ago since his arms felt too tired to hold up his sword in guard. His head began to sway slightly.


    He needed to do something, anything before he¡¯d collapse.


    But he hesitated.


    Then the same dark thought that Kiran may not appear again swelled in his head. That he was alone, and if so he should move.


    This cycle continued on, gnawing at his mind as he grew weak.


    Perhaps it was perverse and against what he thought before¡­ he began to follow the river.


    He walked. Too tired and too fatigued to even care if he encountered something¡­ he would die regardless. He was nothing to the creatures of the mist.


    His crimson-clad figure dragged his feet forward, even if he wanted to welcome the embrace of slumber.


    ¡®I¡¯ll die.¡¯ He convinced himself.


    Over and over, he told himself that he¡¯d die if he slept. If he so close his eyes for longer than a second.


    So he continued.


    The river curved and he followed, just like what he did with Kiran.


    Unknowingly through this long dreaded walk, he dropped his sword somewhere. Yet it didn¡¯t matter, he pushed himself to continue walking.


    Walking and walking. Each step¡­ each step was the only way to know he was alive.


    It felt like he was wading in a sticky puddle of pain and blood below his feet. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in the days atop the summit, and his head was pounding too.


    Hunger clawed at his throat, and his mouth was beyond parched.


    Even so, he continued to plod forward, further and further, and his eyes began to droop even more. But his ears could still hear it, the slow flow of the grey and cerulean river.


    ¡®The river¡­ I¡¯ll die.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll die.¡¯


    ¡®Death.¡¯


    And through his blurred sight, he continued.


    Until the river once more curved slightly around and made a roundish bank. But he continued to drag his feet.


    However, his dreary dull eyes blinked as he turned his head ever so slightly in confusion.


    He blinked once more to make sure it wasn''t a trick playing against his eyes.


    ¡­Through the thinned mist he saw something slowly reveal itself in the distance. A lone tree, large and lengthy dangled over the river. One larger than any other he had seen before. And a deep weathered brown bark encased it. It looked as though it was a lone and battered warrior who escaped from death, bending over as he drank from the lake.


    A drink from the lake¡­ It sounded nice. A cool sip from the icy lake in the company of the wooden warrior.


    ¡®Drink.¡¯ A thought welled from his mouth.


    ¡®I¡¯ll die.¡¯ A fear screamed from his head.


    ¡®Death.¡¯ A truth whispered from his soul.


    He tiredly blinked once more, and from his lowered gaze, a bank of wet soil and stones lay under the tree, bright despite the sunless embrace of the mist. Water was trickling off to form small shallow pools. The small puddles cut the stones and earth below the tree by tiny streams, sparkling and dancing around the glimmering stones.


    He closed his eyes once more, but in the next moment, he found himself already squatted over the river as he brought his hands together, cupping the runoff between his fingers.


    ¡®Drink.¡¯


    The long snowmelt was icy cold like he thought it was. He drank and splashed some on his face until his cheeks tingled.


    ¡®Alive.¡¯


    He was doing the right thing by quenching his thirst. To live and to survive. That''s what he''s always done ¡ª clawed for life despite running between death. The thought resounded through mouthfuls of water.


    Yet why did he feel an unbearable regret that filled his soul, as if he betrayed something so dear to him?


    He didn¡¯t know. Even as he felt something so long forgotten flow down his cold cheek.


    Tears ¡ª he was crying.


    He lowered his chin, looking at the water inside his clasped hands¡­ he looked at himself. Tears flowed down his weathered, filthy face.


    But behind the grime¡­ he jarringly jolted back, and his head slammed against the stones that littered below the tree.


    Indescribable groaning and moans were let out as he wailed and cried.


    Disbelief and horrified sobs as he bawled and wailed. Shrieks unbecoming of¡­ him sounded and all blended into unutterable sounds.


    But then... the sounds were cut short.


    ¡°Urk-¡±


    And a wet thud sounded as he looked down at his chest. Something large punctured him as his body screamed in pain.


    He could feel it searing vividly as he gasped and inhaled for air that wouldn¡¯t come. Pained gasps of an old man desperately struggled to draw in air.


    He clawed at what hit him miserably with his meager strength ¡ª trying anything and everything to pull out the source of his agony as tears and blood seeped below the great tree.


    Sprawled against the tree''s roots, the tiny cutting streams between the stones turned red, stained with blood. His almost limp and weak arm dragged up and down against the stones as he clawed for a miracle.


    His decrepit hair, long and white flew out the old and weathered helm, now wet with red in his flowing blood as he lay atop the watered stones.


    He silently gasped and coughed for life that wouldn¡¯t come. And his last view before his eyes closed for eternity was his wrinkled sunken hands reaching for the decaying tree¡­


    End Of Volume One: The Pitiful Longing Of Azaleas

 Chapter 32 - Pale Body, Gray Memories

    Start Of Volume Two: Lone Blood Born


    He woke gasping, lost in darkness, and saw a vast shadow looming over him.


    "Dead," he whispered, trembling in fear.


    But then the shadow bellowed:


    "You¡¯re alive?"


    Suddenly, Osias was fiercely pulled by a pale white hand. He whipped his head behind him weakly and found a storm of splintered shattered bark following.


    He was being flown through the air, quickly falling at incredible speeds ¡ª with a turned head he found himself in tight clasps.


    Then he landed atop flat land with a resounding crash but was protected from the impact.


    ¡®What? Who¡­ who is this man?¡¯


    His mind raced, but it was all muddled. He just died, didn¡¯t he?


    Where was this?


    Suddenly his eyes focused slightly as he blinked through the heavy daze that clouded over him.


    But when Osias weakly opened his eyes once more¡­ the surroundings filled him with terror and shock.


    Looking behind him was¡­ the giant wooden beast, collapsed and motionless. The Fettered¡­ Bournewood. His head pounded as he pulled the thoughts of its name from his memory, of his dream. The wooden beast was called the Fettered Bournewood. He knew. That¡¯s right, he knew of course. Why wouldn¡¯t he?


    But it was dead. Felled by a massive spire that pierced its neck, reaching the depths of its warped body.


    Like a tree. A big towering tree. An axe, right?


    His view stretched beyond the corpse. What lay scattered behind it was dozens of hideous creatures of the damned ¡ª those shrouded by¡­ mist.


    ¡®Ah, that¡¯s right, the mist. The mist and the river. I was marching down the river edge. The drinking tree too.¡¯


    Each of them were carcasses of titanic size, large as the mightiest of fortresses. Like the stone fortresses, he saw in the hollows of the Great Mountain.


    Stone¡­ it was like wet stones he was laying on top of. Thin lines cut and separated them like water ¡ª water between the stones.


    Osias blinked once more and his distraught eyes caught what was on the Fettered Bournewood¡¯s corpse.


    Chains. Chains of wood clasped around the necks and ankles. Bounded by the cruel bindings of wood even in death¡­ a desecrated death, feasted upon and ripped apart in gruesome ruptures of flesh and whatever else they could be possibly made of.


    However¡­ a grim realization dawned upon him before the feeling of it did.


    He looked down at his hands.


    Torn apart, ripped, and mangled all over. Ghastly and grey, weak and sunken as his skin stuck against bone. Broken bindings of bark clicked and shook along his wrists and ankles. He couldn¡¯t feel it. He couldn¡¯t feel a thing, but something battered in his head¡­ he wanted to scream.


    ¡®This¡­ what is this.¡¯


    He died an old man after all. He died¡­


    No ¡ª He awoke from a dream. An impossibly long dream.


    It was a dream, but it felt as though he had awoken into another. After all, this¡­ this cannot be reality. It can¡¯t be.


    Right, this must be a dream like it was before. He looked around once more and he found something that was in the dream. The mist!


    Himself¡­ All that surrounded him too. Everything was covered in mist.


    All shrouded in mist, just like the river.


    The river bank of black sand.


    Black sand and stones, cut by thin streams of river water.


    Many and plentiful, like the thirsty branches of the warrior. The warrior of the mist, he must¡¯ve been thirsty and in pain after escaping battle, right?


    Pain¡­


    He stared sharply into his shaking hands. Why couldn¡¯t he feel anything? They should hurt and he should be in agony.


    But since they didn¡¯t hurt, this¡­ this had to be a dream.


    That¡¯s right, it must be.


    He couldn¡¯t feel anything at all, but that was fine. That was how all dreams should be.


    He chuckled at first, then the laughter grew.


    Howls spilled from his arid mouth and out his crack lips, stretched bloody in a grin. Dirty dry rasps followed. He was thirsty too now!


    Hollow jeers echoed off the cold jagged stones of this dream as his ¡®savior¡¯ held him.


    He was convinced. He¡¯ll wake up again. He will¡­


    It¡¯ll all be over soon, he just needs to¡­ to drink. That¡¯s right, to drink icy water from a glorious river and close his eyes before a solemn warrior of wood. He will live ¡ª drink with the branches. Lay atop the stone! He¡¯ll awake just like that, he just needs the icy river water.


    So he closed his eyes, as the weakness took over until he¡¯d awake from this sick dream.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Father, how long do you think he¡¯s been¡ª¡± A girl¡¯s voice asked.


    ¡°Chained by the beast?¡± Her father interjected.


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    ¡°Mm.¡± She hummed with a quick nod.


    Elaena looked at the body held in the tight, but caring grasp of her father. She was not a skittish girl, and she prided herself on that¡­ but looking at the dangling body, even she felt frightened.


    Her shoulders buckled a little as she recalled the moment they came upon the Path Beast made of wood. A party of scouts came upon the beast as they were returning to the main company, but a few runners achieved in alerting them. And so a pursuit battle followed for months to recover the clansmen who¡¯ve been enchained.


    That led them to today. Countless hunts and trails led them to the outskirts of the lands covered in the Longing Mist.  All the miserable souls that the wooden beast enchained were here, and perhaps the wooden beast felt pressured under their pursuit and sought to settle it within its territory.


    With a cold shiver, she dismissed the memory of the battle, simply recalling the elites of the clan together with her father prying the man out of his wooden bindings along with the others. They were all corpses by then, the pursuit stretched for too long. The Path Finders of the forward party all perished miserably in chains. The thick weaves of branches that encased them were their last embrace into death¡­ she knew many of the faces and names even them.


    Yet the last enchained¡­ person. Even from the far rear, she didn¡¯t think what her father held was nothing more than the rotted shreds of a Path Beast.


    An open rotting stomach pecked and gnawed upon by black crows as though he was reduced to nothing but meat under his chains. The man was so unrecognizable as a human, that it was only later once he was healed did her father and fellow clansmen tried to distinguish the man if they recognized him. But they quickly found him to be a stranger ¡ª no one of their clansmen possessed such distinct ink markings all over their body.


    He had a sunken and pale face, and his eyes¡­ it reminded her of a rotted corpse. Bleak, flint black, and desolate. His limbs were long and deathly skinny, with sharp dirtied talons for nails. And the smell¡­ just how long was he chained for? She could only imagine what had happened to the man and how he looked so feeble despite being healed.


    Turning an expectant gaze to her father, she waited for an answer.


    But her Lord Father, Aeron Grimm, the head of their clan paused for a long while, deep in thought, until he answered solemnly:


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. We can only ask him¡­ if he wakes up. But I fear he¡¯s gone mad, do you recall those cackles before he fainted? We¡¯ll be lucky to get proper words from him. There is also how long he¡¯s been subject to the Mist of Longing¡­¡±


    Aeron didn¡¯t know what to make of the person he held. It was baffling, to find a person, much less an Ordinary of all people in their expedition to the Outer Valleys. So deep within as well¡­


    His first thought was if the man was ancient, a person who miraculously survived by some stroke of luck from the Paths ever since the previous period of the Tailed Brother¡¯s expansion outwards. But the man was an Ordinary! Besides, although he looked old, he wasn¡¯t too old to be from that period even if his lifespan was miraculously extended far beyond the usual Ordinary¡¯s.


    So as they returned to their forward fortress, he wondered what could¡¯ve happened to this man before they retrieved him¡­


    Aeron exhaled a well of fretted air, then he slowly waved his gaze across the vast unit of Path Finders who, along with himself, made the expedition.


    An entire company of Path Finders. Ten Second Ordeals. More than a hundred of the First. All headed by a himself, a Third Ordeal.


    All of these valiant men and women, yet it took months to recover just corpses. They failed those who died such horrible deaths¡­


    He sighed deeply again, and as his gaze lowered once more to the unconscious men he so carefully held.


    ¡®Could this be a sign of change?¡¯ He thought somberly.


    ¡°Elaena, which carriage should I leave him with?¡± Aeron called out to his daughter.


    ¡°The fifth from the rear. Along with the other wounded. Have you decided what to do with him?¡± Elaena responded as she reached for the unconscious man.


    ¡°Aye. We¡¯ll care for him until he awakes. If not, we¡¯ll bring him along in a few years time as we return to the inlands. There are no boundaries for compassion.¡± Aeron said. It was all Aeron could do for the person who kept his fallen clansmen company to death.


    ¡°Careful,¡± He added, placing the man into the hands of his daughter with enough care as he would handle an infant.


    ¡®Father has such a way with words without knowing.¡¯ Elaena flinched as she stifled a small hopeful laugh.


    With both arms carrying the man, she turned and headed for the carriage of the wounded. Though as she did so, the many pleased faces of the clansman did not go unnoticed as she brushed past them with a small smile.


    The other Path Finders of the clan all seemed to simultaneously throw a glance at their clan head, beaming in high spirits as they silently acknowledged Aeron. He was their cherished leader, both strong and honorable. For those who live in the far northwestern reaches of the inlands only know one true lord, whose name was Grimm. Not the Tailed Brothers, despite being vassals of them by name.


    Aeron Grimm¡¯s words held true weight, and his decisions were rarely questioned. They were a proud folk, isolated as they were from the rest of the inland factions.


    As they marched through the dense mist-covered forest, the towering trees cast long shadows over their ranks. The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, and the distant caws of a night singer echoed through the canopy.


    Elaena returned beside her father as finished delivering the unconscious man to the other healers.


    As they neared the fortress, its massive stone walls rising from the earth like a sentinel, the clansmen quickened their pace. The sight of their stronghold brought a sense of relief, a promise of safety and rest right along the borders of the misty expanse.


    High walls and triangular merlons that look like sharp stone teeth. It has thick stone walls and massive towers. The gates creaked open, and they filed inside, greeted by the warm glow of torches and the familiar smells of home. However, not before they passed the inspection of the Grand Elder who was posted above the main gate ¡ª the only other Third Ordeal that hailed from the clan.


    Elaena turned and looked above. From behind the towers and defenses lay more familiar faces whom she waved at.


    Aeron directed his men to take the unconscious man to the healer¡¯s quarter, ensuring he received the best care they could offer. He watched as they carried the unconscious man away, his thoughts lingering on the stranger¡¯s fate. Compassion had guided his decision, but in his heart, Aeron knew that the man would likely breathe his last as he slept.


    Elaena stayed by her father''s side in the courtyard, her gaze still fixed on the path the healers had taken. "Do you think he''ll wake, father?"


    Aeron sighed, his eyes clouded with concern. "Only time will tell."


    ¡°Go on, join the Ordinaries, and ask them if they need more help to prepare the meals.¡±


    With a nod, Elaena left her father alone.


    Aeron continued to his chambers, unaccompanied by the others. The Path Finders who returned with him are all scattered about, following their own duties and concerns.


    ¡®They¡¯ll be a hungry bunch. This outing was a little longer than the last.¡¯ Aeron thought. Soon he¡¯ll join his clansmen for dinner.


    He sighed heavily as he entered his personal chambers.


    His chambers, despite being an outward fortress meant to station the clan as they ventured into the Outer Valleys were overly extravagant for his liking. The stone walls were etched with intricate details, making even the air within feel elegant. It was beautiful and spacious, the beauty his wife once adored, even though she had never stepped foot in the Outer Valleys.


    Aeron found a faint smile tugging at the ends of his mouth as his memories flowed.


    He peeled off the heavy armor he donned, gently setting it atop a long table made of pale polished wood. Looking at the spotless furnishings, he frowned slightly. He didn¡¯t care for such things. Sadly, it wasn¡¯t up to him to keep up appearances.


    Eventually, he dressed himself in a loose threadbare robe, something regal enough to befit a lord, but old and worn enough to feel comfortable in. From within his chambers, he could already hear the clansman, loud and rowdy upon return to the rest of their comrades.


    Hundreds of Ordinaries trained and helped maintain the fortress, they too will join the returning company for dinner. Aeron could hear them hastily moving, rashly brushing sides with people and walls alike. He smiled to himself as he made his way to the great hall.


    He untroubledly greeted some on his walk there, even halting a few from needless displays of praise. Bows¡­ Aeron always disliked the custom.


    Then, he came upon the hall and met with the thick spirits of his clansmen in the air. It brightened the hall despite it being dim and smoky, with rows of torches grasped by wooden mountings that jutted along the walls. The grand hall was headed with a vaulted ceiling and wooden rafters turned black from years of smoke. Long tables packed to the brim, perhaps even more than they could fit, stand before a dais with a high table ¡ª something Aeron conceded to his clansman after years of raising them calling for the display.


    He sighed with a dampened smile and shook his head. As he came upon his seating he did something familiar with each return from the expeditions ¡ª raising a toast for his valiantly and cherished clan, both for those alive and for those who¡¯ve fallen.

 Chapter 33 - A Fox That Grieves Over A Rabbits Death

    He opened his eyes, expecting to see himself beside a low fire in the wilderness, stoked and fed by Kiran who happened to hunt a beast a few hours prior to his awakening. Months had such a scene been revealed to him in his mornings.


    But this wasn¡¯t such a morning.


    ¡®No¡ªno chains¡­¡¯ He thought as his hands brushed his neck.


    But then he squinted his eyes with a deep frown. He awoke to a bright beam of sunlight shining through a window ¡ª a window from a wall of stone. Atop a padded bed¡­ surrounded by furnishings in a style he wasn¡¯t familiar with.


    ¡®A chamber within a fortress,¡¯ He immediately thought. His experience traversing the imitations within the hollow Great Mountain overtook his thoughts. Although it wasn¡¯t exact, he was slowly pulling together information.


    Lifting his arm, he found that it wasn¡¯t as weak as when he last awoke, the color and flesh regaining its vigor. Perhaps a little too strong. But his eyes traced to his arm¡¯s end.


    His nails had grown dirtied and long. Splotches of aged blood and a sickly black replaced much of the surface.


    Then more of his awareness returned, chasing away the remnants of his sleep as he slowly reached around his body to touch his hair¡­


    His hair that once barely touched the nape of his neck went from tangling down to his lower back to now just below his shoulder blades.


    Once when he was travelling with Kiran.


    Then his immensely long furled hair flung out of his helm before he died under the rotting tree.


    And now, as he awoke from the dream. Like as though he blinked and he was in a third life of some kind. A dream too¡­ vivid. As though he walked against the riverbank¡¯s edge for a lifetime. Thirsty. Weary. Pained. Each impossibly long second.


    He wanted to scream, but he also wanted to live. That¡¯s right, he wanted to live.


    ¡®Longing¡­¡¯


    Something¡­ something happened to him as they ran from the Branch of the Fettered Bournewood.


    But he just couldn¡¯t recall what occurred all that time ago ¡ª no, he didn¡¯t know how long ago it was. His sense of time was shrouded and made muddled. Did Kiran join him along with the other fettered ones?


    He then tried to remember the brief time he was awake, as he was pried from the felled beast. Yet he couldn¡¯t recall something so noticeable. Kiran wasn¡¯t present in the battle, nor was he enchained.


    ¡®How many¡­ how many years have passed as I dreamt?¡¯ Osias frowned, touching his hair.


    A deep pain, deeper than mere blades and needles could reach, cut him. A feeling so intense that made everything he endured in his life feel as though it was a lie.


    He was alone.


    Suddenly, he heard steps falling atop a creaking wood. But then his heart fell and a cold shiver ran down his spine. The steps that approach him from something he can¡¯t see.


    His hands instinctively curled into a tight fist below the sheets. White as they tensed.


    Closer and closer, and he swallowed down his instincts, loosening his fist.


    ¡®What am I doing?¡¯ The fact was that he was being nursed to recover by someone. Probably of someone under the Tailed Brothers if he was right judging the style of the fortress.


    But what appeared before him made him scowl as he thought:


    ¡®Is it really so bad?¡¯


    When she came before him, he tried to raise a hand for her to notice.


    A¡­ maid of sorts, and from what he could sense, she was an Ordinary. But then she yelped dropping a change of bandages, an amount too much for just himself ¡ª if they deemed he needed some, he didn¡¯t notice any open or bandaged wounds on himself.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± He asked calmly, trying to not frighten the young maid anymore. He didn¡¯t want anything unsettling to occur the moment he awoke.


    ¡°Y-You¡¯re awake! Please wait, I¡¯ll call someone to help.¡± She fleetingly said, already storming out of the entrance to his room and running down the hall.


    Osias could barely make the last of her words¡­


    The wood might be rough-hewn planks of some kind, he thought as quick steps approached to where he lay.


    ¡®If they wanted to kill me, they¡¯d do so already. And if they¡¯re all barrelling here to kill me for waking up¡­ I¡¯m dead anyways.¡¯


    Mere seconds passed, and four people greeted him.


    ¡®I might die though.¡¯ Osias thought, silently stifling a morbid laugh.


    Excluding the maid who he had already seen, the rest were Path Finders ¡ª far from weak too.


    Two Third Ordeal Path Finders along with a Second Ordeal.


    Osias didn¡¯t say a word and just inspected the group, as they did to him.


    ¡°You look younger than when we found you.¡± The man in the center said.


    Osias looked at him. He looked to be of middle age, but his true age was likely far from it. He was an older man, tall and well-built despite most of his body being covered in thick layers of garments and armor. Though, not as large as the familiar frames Osias was used to seeing. He had silvery grey hair, a short beard, and a long refined face twisted so somberly.


    ¡°Young¡­ I take that you¡¯re the one who allowed me to recover in this fortress?¡± Osias said, directing his eyes to match the man in the center.


    ¡°Aye. Aeron Grimm. Clan head of Clan Grimm, a lesser vassal clan under the Tailed Brothers. I ordered for your care.¡± Aeron said with a speck of annoyance and a forced tone that Osias found confusing. But Aeron added:


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    ¡°You don¡¯t need to treat me as such, simply clan head is fine.¡±


    Osias noticed the small glance the man named Aeron gave to the other Third Ordeal to his right.


    ¡°Where am I, clan head?¡± Osias asked curtly. Perhaps it was perverse, but he did not take waking up in an unfamiliar place so well.


    Aeron was right about to answer before the other Third Ordeal interrupted:


    ¡°Depends where you¡¯re from. Although Aeron has found you chained by that beast alongside some of ours, you¡¯re a stranger that shouldn¡¯t exist. Tell us what you know.¡±


    ¡°Elder-¡± Aeron said.


    ¡°If what Aeron told me is true, then you¡¯ve been wandering within the Longing Mist attached to the beast for years, how your mind is not shattered as an Ordinary is baffling. ¡± The elder continued.


    ¡°Longing Mist¡­ is that the mist¡¯s name?¡± Osias asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s what we on the far reaches of the western domain of the Tailed Brothers call it,¡± Aeron responded.


    ¡°Why is it called so?¡± Osias added.


    ¡°Starting from there are we?¡± Aeron paused briefly, once again looking at the elder by his side. The elder nodded, and Aeron brought a hand to his beard as he continued:


    ¡°What more is there to say? The Mist of Longing is the mist of the Outer Valleys that surrounds the entire western front of the Tailed Brother¡¯s lands. As for how far west beyond our expeditions the mist lies¡­ we don¡¯t know. Most importantly, if one delves into the mist for too long, one becomes more susceptible to their desires. Their urges. And that comes with months. Longer than that, they¡¯ll slowly turn into mindless animals ¡ª nothing to them aside from feeding their desires.¡±


    Osias listened intently. But an appalling suspicion that if Kiran has remained in the mist unknowing of this for however long he was enchained by the Fettered Bournewood for¡­


    Searching for him as his mind slowly deteriorates into that of an animal.


    ¡®That¡­ that can¡¯t be true. Kiran must¡¯ve known of that and took the risk to head inland.¡¯


    ¡°...So that leads to how you¡¯re sane. No, more than that, you were the furthest from sane when I freed you of your chains.¡± Aeron said.


    Osias shook his head slowly and put on a faint smile.


    ¡°That? I¡­ I think I needed time. To know if I was in another dream or not.¡±


    ¡°Ho?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long I was chained for. I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ve been dreaming, how I came about the mist, how I survived.¡± Osias with a sullen face.


    But he lied, just at the end. He wasn¡¯t going to let being saved from a vassal clan under the Tailed Brothers besmirch his will to survive. If anything it has only gotten stronger after feeling as though he betrayed it.


    They were enemies. Heedless if they personally added to the ranks that surrounded the Red Sky.


    Then Osias added in a low voice:


    ¡°What¡­ what year is it, which moon is it?¡±


    ¡°Thousand and eighty-nine. The next Carmine period is about a month from now.¡±


    ¡°I-I see.¡±


    Hearing that, Osias tried his absolute best not to raise his eyebrows in alarm.


    ¡®The¡­ The Red Sky has fallen seven years ago!¡¯ He screamed in his head.


    Osias was at his twentieth moon! Twenty-first in a month!


    ¡°It seems that I¡¯m almost at my twenty-first moon,¡± Osias said, almost in a whisper. He wore a grim smile upon the realization.


    Now it is time for the four to be slightly surprised. Especially the maid who took care of him for the recent weeks. She found the unconscious man¡¯s hands were soft as old leather. In the first days of his arrival, the smell of sickness and death she was accustomed to from her time caring for the other clansmen clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly odor¡­


    Aeron raised an eyebrow, but it wasn¡¯t too far-fetched. As the man regained his color and vigor, he did look youthful.


    But everything else said otherwise. He was tall and lithe from sickness. Tattoos covered him from head to toe ¡ª an odd practice, but he has seen them many times over his years from mountain brigands to cults.


    ¡°Say, what is your name?¡± Aeron asked.


    ¡°Osias. I¡­ I don¡¯t know of which land I hail from.¡±


    Then the Grand Elder said:


    ¡°You look a mountain brigand, boy. Perhaps a zealot. Henrik, do you know of any vassals under the Tailed Brothers who bear such marks on their skin?¡±


    Just as the Grand Elder finished, the man who stood in the rear stepped forth and inspected Osias, pulling away the sheets that covered his torso.


    The man was unlike the Grand Elder, instead donning a heavy, but odd mixed set of thick metal armor forged out of lusterless, bleak steel that covered almost the entire body. It was black in color, trimmed with a thick coat of some creature. As he lifted Osias¡¯s arm, inspecting the underside, he finally said something:


    ¡°Say, Osias, tell me what you know. All you can recall of your past.¡±


    Osias paused. He didn¡¯t know what to say in such a situation, so he decided on a loose truth.


    ¡°I know of my name ¡ª the names of my brother, mother, and father too. I was raised atop a rugged and high mountain with others. They were the same ones who etched these onto me, a practice of our people.¡± He said, brushing against the tattoos that line his arm.


    ¡°How¡¯d your people get by? Live?¡± Henrik added.


    ¡°They fought. They fought fiercely in raids. Returning the spoils to our mountain, taking what others had for our own.¡±


    Suddenly as he said that, an almost palpable somber tension arose.


    ¡°An honest one you are, boy. I¡¯ll ask you this¡­ have you killed another before?¡±


    Osias met the eyes of the one who asked, the Grand Elder, before responding:


    ¡°No. It was too early for me to join the raiding parties.¡±


    The Grand Elder then had an amused expression as he brought a pale hand to his long beard pensively.


    ¡°It was a needless question. I forgot your age, apologies. Henrik, this is the spelling of a small mountain tribe. The uncouth and boorish kind, unaffiliated with anyone¡ª¡±


    ¡°We ran away. Into the Outer Valleys and into the mist before the Tailed ones came¡­ no, after they¡¯ve already decimated our people and our mountain. After my father and mother had died.¡± Osias interrupted.


    The man named Henrik sighed deeply upon hearing that and threw a glance at the Grand Elder before saying:


    ¡°There are few lesser vassals that fit such customs. But more than likely a straggler from the neutrals. Before the grand attack against the Red Sky was planned, they brought most of the dissidents or neutrals within their borders to heel. Some didn¡¯t even know they were considered underneath the Tailed Brothers until the Third Tails came upon them. Such was how large the land under them stretches.¡±


    ¡°Though, from around the northwestern reach? Close to none. Perhaps if you move further south along the western border you¡¯ll find more, but such vassal factions are difficult to find. If they weren''t culled¡­ then most unruly, weak, and purposeless among these conquered vassals were sent to the vanguard of the most dreadful wars. Either against the Crested or those long fallen blood-born. We¡¯ll find some of the like if we send a messenger to our friend in the walls. Of course, if they haven¡¯t died already¡±


    ¡°Bah, that old bastard doesn¡¯t lift a finger unless it''s for alcohol or the Crested. Don¡¯t bother, I just wanted to know.¡± The Grand Elder retorted.


    Henrik and Aeron eyed the Grand Elder as they thought in unison, ¡®You¡¯re quite old yourself¡­¡¯


    But they kept it to themselves ¡ª they too were approaching that age.


    Henrik coughed before asking Osias:


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, boy to question you as such the moment you awoke¡­ though, your origins aside, it is quite a miracle you¡¯re alive. I was there, along with Aeron when you were pried from the beast¡¯s side. Perhaps it was because you¡¯re an Ordinary you survived? Ah, I should say that it had enchained some clansmen some time ago, and we came upon you while we retrieved the corpses of our fallen.¡±


    Osias¡­ didn¡¯t know this. His vision was hazy and his mind wasn¡¯t proper back then. He greedily absorbed all the information he was given and scrounged together his understanding¡­ He was in the care of a vassal clan under the Tailed Brothers. A guise of being a mountain brigand was most plausible, especially fitting his appearance. Besides, he was but an Ordinary ¡ª one that had been tortured for seven years. Although it was best to shrewd¡­


    He was nothing.


    Suddenly Aeron broke his series of silence:


    ¡°Osias, I had you nursed to health for two weeks after releasing those chains. I¡¯ll only ask you now, but you can take your time to answer ¡ª what do you wish to do? Where do you want to go? Say the word, and I¡¯ll send an escort to the inlands, safe from the lingering beasts that lie between this fortress and the western border¡­ Ah, I forgot to say ¡ª we are on Clan Grimm¡¯s most outward fortress in the Outer Valleys.¡±


    But Osias simply shook his head pensively before responding:


    ¡°Thank you, clanhead. You¡¯ve done much for a stranger, an Ordinary no less. I¡¯ll¡­ think it over. Sorry for this, I need time.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll come again or send one of my clansmen for information¡­ such things are valuable in the Outer Valleys, even from a person such as yourself and all you¡¯ve gone through. I¡¯ll leave you to yourself. Call on your maid, she''s a shy one but is dutiful. An Ordinary like yourself.¡± Aeron said calmly, but then he reached behind and gently pushed the maid that Osias scared earlier ahead. ¡°Go on, introduce yourself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Myra. Myra Grimm.¡± She said with a small smile.

 Chapter 34 - Buds of Winter

    Aeron smiled slightly before leaving with the other two. His maid, Myra left as well, but not before promising to return with something to eat¡­


    ¡®Aeron. A Grand Elder. And a man named Henrik.¡¯ Osias repeated in his head.


    ¡®Are they suspicious of me? But by Henrik¡¯s words¡­ they didn¡¯t seem to be privy to those of the Red Sky.¡¯


    Osias put together what he knew of the Tailed Brothers and what he just learned.


    Seven years ago¡­The Red Sky is slowly becoming history. Nothing more than a forgotten foe, replaced by the looming threat from the north. Kiran all those years ago mentioned that with the Red Sky¡¯s demise, the Three Factions would return to war ¡ª a great war for dominion over the Wailing Chain. One that may span for centuries before one of the factions arises for supremacy.


    ¡®Wait, if this is a lesser vassal¡­¡¯ Osias quickly realized now that he could thoroughly reflect on what Aeron mentioned.


    Osias then shivered in a cold sweat at his realization.


    Two Third Ordeal Path Finders led Clan Grimm. Perhaps not as strong as the elders of the Red Sky, but even so¡­


    ¡®What is a greater vassal?¡¯


    A Fourth Ordeal perhaps? A dozen Third Ordeals? Osias didn¡¯t know.


    ¡­It was a little unbelievable that the quarrels that flooded the South in so much blood had scarcely affected this clan. Then Osias recalled what Henrik said:


    ¡®Northwestern reaches¡¯


    If the lands under the Tailed Brothers were like a warped square then Osias should be at the northwestern corner, perhaps wedged behind the wall between the Crested and the Tailed Brothers. Thinking of how long it took for Osias and Kiran to travel parallel along the Tailed Brother¡¯s lands using the Outer Valleys, it made sense.  Perhaps it wasn¡¯t so far-fetched that they knew little of the blood-born this far away. Much of the Band hasn¡¯t even seen those of the Crest nor the Northern Wind Union until they cross the Wailing Chain.


    Yet, faced with another war of greater scale, rallying greater and lesser vassals alike¡­ will this Clan Grimm be pulled along this storm?


    But Osias had greater problems. Although he cannot be sure whether or not they had a suspicion of his origin, regardless, he was stuck residing with the Grimm Clan.


    He could¡¯ve laughed at how this came to be¡­ one of the last blood-born residing with the vassals of the enemy that brought their fall.


    However, his thoughts were cut short, and his maid returned with a huff and a flushed face. Myra seemed to take her duties seriously as Aeron said, as his eyes traced to what she held in her hands.


    It was a wooden platter, heavy with the smell of roasted meat and¡­ fresh-baked bread. When was the last time he had bread?


    ¡°Quite lavish for feeding a stranger,¡± Osias said quietly, scratching his head awkwardly. He tried to hide his salivating mouth.


    ¡°The clansmen are having a feast in the courtyard. They have one every time they return from an expedition into the mist.¡± Myra babbled quickly as she set down the platter atop a pale wood table.


    ¡°Even the room¡­ what have I done to earn such lodgings?¡± He said pensively.


    ¡°Enough¡­ Osias. If the clan head called for it, just thank him.¡± She dismissed, grabbing a knife and another utensil. Osias found himself a little nervous at the sight, but it was a needless worry, nothing more than his instinctive distrust.


    ¡°Are you well enough to feed yourself?¡±


    ¡°...Yes, I-I should be.¡± He stammered out. Oddly, he felt a little disappointed at his response, but he quickly quieted the voice in his head.


    It was¡­ cumbersome for him to act in such a way. He truly didn¡¯t know what to do in a situation. Let alone with the enemy, even if he was in the same situation in the band, he¡¯d find himself lost for words.


    ¡®She is pretty though.¡¯ Osias thought, his eyes tracing Myra¡¯s figure as she worked. She wore an apron and a weathered dark uniform underneath. There were dashes of flour dust in the faint shape of hands and fingers that dirtied her front. The girl''s long brown hair was messily bundled behind with a dainty hairpin. He thought she had a pretty face, sharp eyes like arrows, and soft eyebrows like fletchings.


    But her eyes were alert and wary.


    Well, why shouldn¡¯t she? Although she said otherwise, he was a stranger to her, someone not of her clan¡­


    She looked to be a little younger than him, perhaps her nineteenth or twentieth moon. Osias hasn¡¯t seen his own reflection yet, but from the words of the three earlier, his appearance was far from normal.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, even after what you said. You¡¯re here caring for me when there''s a feast outside.¡± He said quietly.


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    ¡°Don¡¯t be. You apologize a lot, you know? It''s only been a while since you awoke yet you can¡¯t stop apologizing. Besides, they host one so often¡­ Here,¡± Myra said, pressing the metal utensil into his open palm. She slid the platter of food atop his lap as he sat up.


    ¡°Sorr¡ªthank you.¡± He uttered quietly, noting to correct himself.


    ¡®What are you doing? Is it because of the mist they said? Urges¡­ must be.¡¯


    ¡°Say, do you have to stay with me? If your clansmen have just returned from another expedition, isn¡¯t there more wounded to care for?¡± He asked between large bites.


    But Myra shook her head as she pulled a pale polished wooden chair of her own beside his bed.


    ¡°Very few wounded ever return. Don¡¯t you know this? Or is this part of your memory still muddled? They have healers among the Path Finders. Any wounded are healed by them outside. Or they¡­ die if they couldn¡¯t. My duties here are easy, and I don¡¯t have to care for any other clansmen. You¡¯re the only one in these quarters.¡± She said, rummaging through the pockets in her apron.


    ¡°Though¡­ I couldn¡¯t clean you properly. I couldn¡¯t turn you over even when you¡¯re skinny as a spear.¡±


    ¡®Blood essence refining my body¡­¡¯


    In the next moment, Osias raised a small eyebrow as Myra pulled a block of cheese wrapped in cloth.


    ¡°Stole it?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I ate before I came earlier, but I nabbed it from the kitchen when I came for your food. The baker¡¯s cheese from the inland! I think he said it came from the milk of a Path Beast¡­ I thought he was lying about how rich it was until I took a bite. Do you want some?¡± She boasted proudly at her pilfered cheese.


    Osias chuckled a little. This was¡­ different. Unfamiliar. But it wasn¡¯t bad. He lifted his chin as he took another bite of his lavish meal, and he noticed her wary gaze had lessened slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Speaking of Path Beasts¡­ is this meat from one?¡± He asked, stabbing a cut with his knife.


    ¡°Mm. Earlier today they hunted it. They hunt and bring back the corpses. We keep the meat and some other parts, but most of the valuable materials we send back to the inlands ¡ª to the Tailed Brothers.¡± She hummed as she nibbled at the cheese.


    ¡®Preparations for the coming war?¡¯ He wondered silently with a slight frown.


    ¡°Do you want some of this? It''s great with the bread¡± She said as she motioned with the cheese in her hand.


    He nodded reluctantly, and then she broke off a bit and gently tossed it to him.


    Catching it with his free hand, he was slowly reminded once more of Kiran¡¯s manners, even from the meals they shared.


    ¡­Slowly without his knowing, he stopped frowning. The ends of his lips curled into a faint smile as he pulled apart pieces of the bread and ate it with the Path Beast cheese.


    ¡®It¡¯s good.¡¯


    Noticing his smile, Myra asked:


    ¡°It''s great, right?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± He hummed before adding, ¡°There was this sauce made from the people of my mountain. They crushed bloodworts, taking the red sap from it. Ah-Do you¡­ know of bloodworts?¡±


    Osias stammered as he realized how far away from home he was.


    Bringing a curious and pensive hand to her head, she replied:


    ¡°No, it¡¯s name doesn¡¯t remind me of anything. Is it a fruit¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a flower ¡ª fields of white petals would bloom on the hills below our mountain in season. I thought they looked nice, even though I couldn¡¯t leave and descend the mountain so much. My mother would plant them in a vast bed by our home so I wouldn¡¯t have to travel too far¡­ I think she crafted an excuse as to why she had a bed of a common flower to the others because she wanted to make the sauce fresh.¡± He said with a faintly sad smile.


    ¡°If I ever find the same kind of flower, I¡¯ll show you how to make it as my mother had. I think it¡¯ll make this cheese and bread even better.¡±


    She nodded and her face beamed as she continued to take small pecks at her mishappened block of cheese.


    ¡°...I¡¯ll remember and take you up on that, Osias.¡±


    As he finished his lush meal, making sure to clean off the wooden platter, he thanked Myra as she began to reach for it.


    But once again, she shook her head and said:


    ¡°Thank the clan head instead!¡±


    She took the wooden platter from him, heading to return it to the kitchen ¡ª perhaps help herself to another piece of that Path Beast cheese, though not before pointing out that he needed to rest again as the sun began to set.


    He obliged her commands as his caretaker. He reclined and lay back against his soft bed, but he noticed something he should¡¯ve been aware of earlier.


    ¡®My sides, they don¡¯t hurt anymore.¡¯ He thought with glee. Just how many times has he conceded to sleeping on his back instead?


    Turnt over to rest on his side, he faced the distant setting sun outside his window. The black of night was approaching ¡ª perhaps a little ominous as his mind was reeled towards the thought of war.


    If Clan Grimm was to be pulled into this storm¡­ where would he and Kiran be? They were nothing more than ghosts ¡ª separated ones at that. He needed to reunite with Kiran. However, the scale of the land itself had just opened so much larger than he could think. From Aeron¡¯s and Henrik¡¯s words, Osias suddenly found himself much further north than he thought, and if they were bickering about their ¡®friend¡¯ in the wall.


    It must¡¯ve been the Grand Warden of the Wall ¡ª Isin of Greyscales, a figure in Garm¡¯s tales of the Band¡¯s early nomadic days.


    Kiran could be anywhere below that northern wall¡­ deep into the mist of the Outer Valleys or within the inlands of the Tailed Brothers and its myriad of cities.


    He had to decide and commit to a choice that may take years before he yields any clues. But above all, he needed some weight of his own.


    Strength, he needed strength. He could feel it, the allure of power that he so desperately needed. Though Kiran failed to recount his Ordeals and given his teachings of them, Osias was finished waiting. His circumstances do not allow such as well.


    Perhaps if he just blinks once more, it¡¯ll be too late.


    ¡­If the bud for strength was in front of him, he wouldn¡¯t wait years to grasp it ¡ª just a second more was already unbearable. He¡¯ll recover here with Clan Grimm for as long as he can until he¡¯ll undergo his First Ordeal. Obtain his Ordeal Ability and see where that will take him.


    And if his First Ordeal wasn¡¯t enough he¡¯ll rise through perhaps a second, a third, even a fourth. By that time perhaps Kiran will be at his fifth, and together they¡¯ll be unrivaled below the heavens told in tales and myths.


    ¡®Ah, what am I thinking¡­¡¯ He thought was a grim smile.


    Osias still couldn¡¯t get over his habit of worrying about an unknown future. In over his head¡­ Worrying about such a grand war and his place in it? The Fourth Ordeal?


    He silently laughed to himself at how audacious he was. If Kiran was here he¡¯d beat him with the butt of his spear and tell him to worry about getting stronger than he was yesterday.


    ¡®Kiran¡­¡¯


    That was what Osias needed. He needed to find Kiran, reunite with him, and worry about everything afterward. A blood-born cannot survive alone ¡ª something Garm once said, which made more sense now when Osias knew of Garm¡¯s past¡­


    Tiredly, he simply gazed outside his window, slowly succumbing to rest.


    However, as he watched Laria and Dyrus rise into the boundless sky¡­ despite all his worries and plans, his mind trailed towards something long since been buried.


    He blinked, wearily, but the memories continued to surface.


    ¡®What was her name¡­ back in Garm¡¯s selections?¡¯ He fleetingly thought as his eyes slowly closed and the sweet black bliss of sleep finally embraced him.

 Chapter 35 - Recovery With Open Eyes

    ¡°Say, Myra, do you have a mirror? All this time I don¡¯t know what I look like.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± She hummed, leaving him to rummage through wherever she went¡­


    It was another morning, a few days after he first came to. He awoke with a small push from Myra. She must love lazing around the only wounded in the entire fortress¡­ She brought him another small meal, fresh from the kitchen. Well, not too fresh, after all, she told him it was the leftovers from the rations given to Path Finders as they went on to another expedition two days ago. But he didn¡¯t mind, it was still too generous to him anyway.


    Though¡­ it did remind him of the times Kiran would wake him, and through his yawns and stretches, he¡¯d wipe his eyes from the remnants of his slumber as he¡¯d find a giant slab of meat cooking atop an open flame.


    He smiled a little before Myra returned with a mirror.


    ¡°What¡¯re you smiling about?¡±


    ¡°Memories. They¡¯re coming back a little.¡± He responded, keeping up his loose guise.


    ¡°Of what?¡± She asked as she handed him a small hand-held mirror, probably from her own belongings he thought.


    ¡°My family.¡± He said as he looked at his face. But then he frowned as he saw what was revealed in the small mirror.


    A ghastly pale face, still in need of color and vigor. Aged, yet not as much as¡­ his dream. Far from it.


    His face wasn¡¯t unrecognizable, it just seemed more¡­ worn. It reminded him of how aged and weary Kiran¡¯s face looked. Youthful, yet hidden behind a dark scowl of aged woes. Perhaps they¡¯ve gotten even more similar despite the years apart.


    He let out a quiet, but grim laugh to himself.


    ¡°Say, can I cut your nails and hair? If that¡¯ll stop you laughing so weirdly.¡± Myra asked, recoiling at the sight of him.


    ¡®Ah. She''s still here.¡¯ He sheepishly thought.


    ¡°Please. Sorr¡ª thank you.¡± He corrected himself before earning another scolding from her. It was something he picked up on over the few days.


    Myra ran off to get what she needed, while he continued to lay there, staring outside his window.


    ¡®Kassia¡­¡¯


    The selections for Garm¡¯s tattoos needed the bodies most capable of accommodating the dreadful ink. Even now, Osias only had suspicions of what made the ink ¡ª A profane blend of Garm¡¯s Ordeal Ability along with the blood of countless powerful Path Beasts or Path Finders. Children were all tested with a small etching, yet many failed already by then.


    By the first selection, it had narrowed to simply ten. Ten children who were then locked within the dark chambers deep within the hollow Great Mountain.


    Screams and wails sounded from each room, and then they were let out to eat, drink, and train with what little time they had together before returning to acclimating with the ink once more, further narrowing down the selection.


    Because the Red Sky couldn¡¯t allow all the children to die merely from the very first inking, Garm¡¯s method intensely elevated the moment upon those who passed the first selection, disregarding even their deaths.


    If he couldn¡¯t risk killing thousands, then he¡¯ll concede to the ten who¡¯ve shown themselves capable.


    In the end, only Osias and two others completed their tattoos. The other two he didn¡¯t care much of, besides, they died all the same through the inheritance ritual.


    But there was supposed to be a fourth ¡ª Kassia, the girl Myra reminded him of all that time ago. Bright, keen, and talkative.


    ¡°Here, I got a pair of spring scissors from a handmaid,¡± Myra said, coming inside once more.


    ¡°Can you stand?¡± She asked.


    He nodded, using his hands to lift himself up and toward the end of the bed frame. He stood on his feet and made his way to the pale wooden chair Myra directed him to.


    ¡°You¡¯re tall, you know that? You¡¯ll make for a good shieldman if you weren''t so skinny.¡±


    ¡°A shieldman?¡± He echoed as he plopped himself heavily onto the chair.


    ¡°Mm. Tall and large enough to carry those massive tower shields.¡± She continued, bringing out a bone-like comb from her pockets.


    ¡°Or maybe a skinny mountain brigand.¡± She laughed.


    She brushed his long tangled her down neatly as he sat a little uneasy. He told himself to play a guise until he could leave and find Kiran once more, but this girl was so forward in bringing him into¡­ unfamiliar settings.


    ¡®She''s gentle.¡¯ He noticed, stifling himself from shaking his head as he pushed down his thoughts.


    Then she hummed a question as she parted the hair behind him.


    ¡°You were tattooed here as well?¡± She asked with a small shiver.


    Osias reached over behind his head and sighed a little in remembrance.


    ¡°Mm. My family was thorough in their practices.¡±


    She voiced out loud her opinion as he grimaced at her comments of how peculiar it was to have such practices, from his own family no less.


    ¡°Say, is it alright for me to ask you of your family? You think of them a lot, but I remember what I heard from the clan head those days ago.¡± She said a little sadly as her words trailed off.


    But Osias stifled himself from shaking his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. It feels¡­ distant ¡ª after all that time has passed. Besides, old stories are like old friends, you have to visit them from time to time.¡±


    Her frown slowly curled upwards upon hearing his words. Then she brought her cutting hand and began to work away. But from behind his head, he heard a quiet complaint and a small groan that left her lips.


    His ears perked, but he said nothing.


    This continued for a few seconds, but then he got anxiously tired of hearing her like this and he begrudgingly asked:


    ¡°Are you fine?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ it''s just that it seems the scissors are dull. It¡¯s hard to cut. My arms are already a little sore.¡±


    ¡®Ah¡ª my essence reservoir!¡¯ He quickly recalled.


    He had continuously grown stronger all this time despite being enchained by the Fettered Bournewood. He didn¡¯t even realize it. His body has grown stronger as well. Seven years¡­


    ¡°Here, I¡¯m feeling stronger today, I¡¯ll cut it. Can you hold the mirror?¡± He quickly said, pointing to the mirror he left atop his bed.


    ¡°I¡¯m the one who''s supposed to be caring for you.¡± She protested¡­ but she was already headed for the mirror.


    ¡®Empty words.¡¯ He thought to himself, suppressing a laugh.


    Osias looked down on himself with cold eyes once more. His reflection was ghastly, but really, he was stronger. Taller and growing into his new frame. In time he¡¯ll be quite large, not to the extent of Kiran, but he was already taller than someone like Aeron.


    However, that led to him feeling quite remorseful when he asked the small Myra to cut his hair. It was a little embarrassing as he thought of how the scene looked from another view.


    Shaking his head, he focused on cutting his hair as he carefully studied the reflection Myra held in front of him.


    ¡°That short?¡± She interrupted with a little suprise.


    But he continued to cut away. He disliked his hair. Any longer and he¡¯ll be reminded of¡­ his dream.


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    ¡°Mm. I don¡¯t like seeing myself like this.¡± He said sullenly.


    Myra seemed to sense his brooding as she didn¡¯t ask further¡­ Slowly, Myra intently watched as he cut his hair down tightly against his head, leaving enough to brush back neatly.


    Long greyish hair fell to the rough-hewn floorboards. Strands continued to fall, yet just before he finished, his eyes lifted slightly to catch a part of his reflection but he noticed a smile from the corners of his eyes.


    He raised a small eyebrow and asked:


    ¡°Did I cut too short somewhere?¡±


    He quickly turned his head all over to check if it looked odd, but his hair returned close to how it was when he was traveling with Kiran.


    But Myra shook her head, before responding:


    ¡°You look younger. And lighter. Like you¡¯re cutting away more than hair.¡±


    His face twitched slightly and maybe his ears turned a little red as she said something like that. ¡®Does she not feel any shame?¡¯


    But she wasn¡¯t wrong. He felt¡­ comfortable. Like he was himself once more. As he thought this, he brought the scissors to his nails, cutting them with a stiff cracking sound. He cut them close enough until he could tear them shorter comfortably later.


    When he finished, Myra toured around him as she checked all already and ruffled his head. She took her time as she tousled the hair on the back of his head, tracing to where the tattoo ended. He noticed her gaze focusing on his back, extending past the nape and back of the head, stretching into a curve to his right temple. Through the hair beneath she could see the same etchings.


    ¡°Osias, did you know that the ink isn¡¯t black?¡± She asked him as her hand parted the hair above his ear to see better.


    ¡°It has a touch of red in there, a deep one.¡±


    ¡°Is something off?¡± Osias asked. He didn¡¯t know what face she was making from behind him.


    She paused as she continued to trace them. Then with a small giggle, she answered:


    ¡°No, I was trying to imagine you with a shaved head.¡±


    Osias face twitched. There was that too back then¡­ he forgot about having to keep a shaved head as Garm moved onto his nape and scalp.


    With a nod of approval, she extended her hands to retrieve her tools.


    ¡°Thank you for bringing me these. I feel better.¡± He said, setting the scissors and comb down into her open palm before adding:


    ¡°Do you want me to clean up?¡±


    But Myra simply shook her head and pointed to the bed once more.


    ¡°I¡¯ll clean. Wait on the bed, I¡¯ll take you out to the courtyard later. You need more than just stuffy air.¡±


    He didn¡¯t need to hear anymore as he obliged and quietly waited, watching her brush and clean the mess of hair on the rough-hewn floorboards. But quickly realizing that he shouldn¡¯t be staring so intently, he shook his head and looked out the window until she was finished.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    Then he began to leave the room he¡¯d spent weeks in, finally able to test his unfamiliar body¡­


    He had to grow used to the change. Again¡­ it felt as though he went from his usual self at the age of fourteen moons, then to an old frail man in his dreams, then to now.


    ¡®I wonder what happened to my short sword and the vial¡­¡¯ He thought as his free hand fondled his side where his only two belongings were once fastened against.


    ¡°Myra, how long have you been at this fortress?¡± He said, breaking her melodious humming.


    She paused pensively before responding:


    ¡°I joined the clan head for his call to this outward fortress. That must¡¯ve been three years ago. My father and uncle are warriors of the clan and I wanted to follow them to help.¡±


    ¡°Your father and uncle?¡±


    ¡°Mm. They¡¯re Path Finders. First Ordeals under Henrik¡¯s unit.¡± She said as she guided him down a flight of stone stairs.


    ¡°Strong?¡±


    ¡°Very.¡± She said, twirling to face him with a smile as he stepped out into the fortress¡¯s courtyard.


    He looked around and found many people. Some were forgers. Some were dismantling a particularly powerful-looking remains of a Path Beast. Ordinaries were working and bustling down and through towards different places. Another held dozens of Ordinaries and Path Finders both training for battle ¡ª some sparring whilst others trained in battle forms and other different methods.


    ¡°Well?¡± Myra asked.


    ¡°Well, what?¡±


    ¡°The clan! There is a lot of people here, but many have left for another outing. How do you like it outside?¡±


    Osias paused as he took in the view. It was¡­ warm. It reminded him of the few times he was let outside the dark chamber within the Great Mountain, traveling through the bustling areas below. A smile unknowingly touched his lips before he responded:


    ¡°It''s busy.¡± He said bluntly.


    ¡°Of course it is¡­ it is a fortress after all. We have to take apart many materials from Path Beasts for the inland. Keep ourselves safe and strong too.¡± She said, before pointing to the training clansmen.


    ¡°Do you want to watch closer? You must like to fight.¡±


    The comment caught him off guard, he asked:


    ¡°Do I look like the kind to?¡±


    ¡°Mm. You look like the brigands I hear from the clan warrior¡¯s tales.¡±


    He frowned, but he relented. It was his guise after all. However, it did make him a little glum from how she thought of him.


    ¡°Maybe another day. This is enough for me.¡±


    ¡°Really? Do you know the way up to your room?¡±


    ¡°A little, but are you leaving?¡±


    ¡°The others are going to scold me now that they¡¯ve seen how well you are. Lazing around and leaving the other duties to them¡­ all that.¡± She said as she wandered blithely further away, as though she was waiting for him to follow.  She paced painfully slow¡­ and then he realized.


    Osias sighed deeply before giving in.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tour with you.¡±


    He followed her lead, as he watched her bundle of brown hair bounce, loosening under the hairpin as they headed towards the other side of the courtyard ¡ª towards the training clansmen.


    Closer, he found a mix of men and women straining themselves, honing their weapons and essence techniques. Fiercely sparring with one another, and he watched as he presumed the Path Finders able to heal others were standing aside, ready for bloody blows to result from the spars.


    They all fought slightly differently from one another, but they all had a common¡­ sharpness. Patient, and precise. They were stalwart, despite some being more fierce in their movements.


    Defensive as well, something he wasn¡¯t that accustomed to back in the Red Sky. A wide assortment of weapons too ¡ª spears, polearms, swords, and shields as well.


    ¡®The weapon techniques of¡­ Clan Grimm perhaps? Parts of their War Art?¡¯


    Osias was thankful that he and Myra weren¡¯t the only ones watching them train, many Ordinaries and Path Finders alike intently watched.


    In the next moment, he caught a pair of Path Finders sparring a little too fervently as one of their blades caught the bare side of the other, cutting deep into their ribs.


    ¡°Enough!¡± A commanding voice sounded.  ¡°Darrian, again?¡±


    Then, Osias found the source of the commanding voice ¡ª a man of the Second Ordeal. A steely gaze and dark rugged armor that looked to be a mismatch of different parts of different beasts. But he was armed to the teeth. Daggers lined the outside of his thigh in a thick strap of odd-colored leather. A giant baleful polearm reminiscent of Kiran¡¯s was mounted on his back.


    The man directed a healer to the wounded, and the red flowing wound was stemmed of its bleeding. It didn¡¯t close and looked quite odd to Osias¡¯s eye, but the relieved face of the wounded man was enough to know that it was dealt with.


    ¡®Ordeal Abilities¡­ true enough they are all different in their own ways.¡¯


    ¡°Who is that man over there?¡± Osias asked Myra.


    ¡°Mance. A Second Ordeal. Scary right? But that¡¯s just how he is when he¡¯s training the others.¡±


    ¡®Mance¡­¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough of this. Anywhere else you want to take me?¡±


    ¡°I would take you to where the other Ordinaries work to keep the fortress running. But, I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll like it if I flaunt my way of dodging the work.¡± She said brazenly as she began to walk towards the healer¡¯s quarters.


    He sighed a little and began to follow, keen on remembering the layout of the fortress.


    ¡®It was a little like this too, back then.¡¯


    Osias was amongst the last of the ten who passed the first selection. He was led around the tunnels and chambers of the hollow mountain by Kassia. She was hardheaded, unlike the others who were wary of each other, probably timid from the pain they endured just moments before arriving. The other two who were later able to complete the tattoos from Garm like him were friends before selection even took place. So before Osias came, Kassia was by herself.


    They would explore as far as they could within the hollow mountain together ¡ª as far as they could go with their small and weak bodies until Garm¡¯s attendants would round them up to undergo more needling. Was it because Kassia wanted to travel her woes and pain away? To at least feel as though she was escaping any more of the torture?


    Osias didn¡¯t know. He couldn¡¯t recall asking such things all those years ago. All he knew was that she died miserably almost at the end¡­ her body couldn¡¯t handle any more ink. Garm was especially forceful with her despite her pleas that Osias could hear as he awaited his next session in succession.


    Until one day Osias couldn¡¯t hear her wails.


    And as Garm¡¯s attendant walked out with Kassia¡¯s body, warped and wrung with just the sight of it, Osias knew that his friend died suffering.


    Then, he¡¯ll follow in, brushing sides with the attendant discarding her corpse. He¡¯ll lie down and have limbs and neck bounded by the cold metal ¡ª right atop where Kassia died. That was the last he cried.


    Osias exhaled deeply. It was a painful memory¡­ but it made him think of how long he¡¯d been in chains in his short life¡­


    It took quite an effort to remember such things from so long ago ¡ª deeply burrowed as it was. And it was still hard to believe that everyone he had seen from that time had died. But Osias often found himself longingly reminiscing as he spent his time recovering under Clan Grimm.


    ¡®Vengeance¡­ huh. Enemies¡¯


    It never occurred to him again as he and Kiran traveled. Not after the first day.


    Revenge¡­. vengeance. It felt like they were an entire world away from those who brought the Red Sky to its end. Too far away to care. Besides, they had to focus on surviving rather than anything else.


    Osias looked forward, his eyes following the playful steps of Myra as they continued to return to his room¡­


    He remembered the seething anger he felt, the indignation that was born when he was torn from his mother''s embrace by Kiran ¡ª what led him¡­ here, what felt like an entire world away. But it felt all so fleeting. That anger blended into so many different feelings that day, but it all came down to surviving and being of use to Kiran, what was left of the band.


    Distant was his word it seemed. He would blink and all his time was gone, waking up to a different him.


    He¡¯d blink and he¡¯d wake up to a body of tattoos, finally returning to parents he had so rarely seen.


    He¡¯d blink and the world he knew was taken away before he could immerse himself in it.


    He¡¯d blink and suddenly he must fight for his life in a land he didn¡¯t know, along side with a brother he once thought was estranged.


    He¡¯d blink and he was an old man, miserably dying before a rotting tree.


    He¡¯d blink and he found himself atop the bed of a Tailed Brothers¡¯ vassals, his ¡®enemies¡¯.


    Osias didn¡¯t know what to feel. To do. The first time he was truly alone from everything.


    Maybe¡­ he could let go calling the rest of the Wailing Chain his enemies. He didn¡¯t want to see Clan Grimm fall.


    But even so, many of his people died. His father and mother. Zevir and the other elders. Kassia. Perhaps even Kiran. If they ¡ª as blood-born could just live without the world coming together to back them against the wall, they wouldn¡¯t have died. He wouldn¡¯t have suffered so. Kassia wouldn¡¯t have been forced to endure something she could not handle. He cannot let that go, absolutely not. He¡¯ll just settle for the necks of the Tailed Brothers. Borte of the North. The Crest Master.


    That will appease all those who died. From there¡­ he would live freely as he wished. He would have lived and proved his Path. Strong and free. No longer would he feel as though he was drifting along from one death to another.


    ¡­In the next moment, he smiled to himself.


    ¡®I sound like Zevir back then.¡¯

 Chapter 36 - Strength Of Mind

    ¡°Myra, can you send for one of the clansmen after the feast? I¡¯ve decided what I wanted to do.¡±


    She was busy cleaning the courtyard after the warriors finished their training. Osias was helping her along with other Ordinaries, even a Path Finder who also wanted to pitch in.


    Her ears perked up and she asked:


    ¡°So soon?¡±


    ¡°Mm. I cannot rely on the clan any more than I have already. I don¡¯t want to overstay my welcome.¡± He said.


    ¡°I would¡¯ve leeched off the clan shamelessly longer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not you.¡±


    It''s been almost two months since he first awoke. Since then he''s been eating well and sleeping well. And it feels like the seven years of inaction have worn off. In that time he¡¯s been of help to the other Ordinaries, chatting and immersing himself among them. Though he did it with misleading intentions¡­ it would be a lie to say he didn¡¯t feel the warmth of the clan.


    ¡®I¡¯m a fool.¡¯ He frowned to himself as he looked at Myra¡¯s back.


    It was a common thought that came many times in the past weeks. It felt as though he was deluding himself into thinking he was a part of the clan. However, through his conversations, he could tell that none of the clansmen had even come close to the southern border to aid in the battle against the Red Sky. And slowly¡­ his reservedness towards Clan Grimm lessened.


    Yet through generations of warring against the Tailed Brothers¡­ he couldn¡¯t help but feel as though he was an enemy to them ¡ª regardless that they were not the ones the Red Sky directly fought and killed.


    Perhaps not the other way around.


    Perhaps the fall of the Red Sky left a cold in his soul he so wanted to warm.


    They were good people, better than he could¡¯ve ever imagined nor deserved even. It was just a shame that he was a blood-born and that they were vassals of the Tailed Brothers.


    Aeron was an honorable man. So Osias knew that his identity could not be revealed because of this honor. It was a precious trait ¡ª a boon that saved him, but a curse that separated him as well.


    But he couldn¡¯t disregard Kiran. His elder brother was still out there, perhaps in the mist. He didn¡¯t know. He needed information. This bliss cannot last forever.


    Osias sighed deeply.


    So he came upon a decision, timing it to match just when the company led by Aeron returned once more.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll stay with you for this feast as well,¡± Myra said, dusting her apron, tired of cleaning.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be the last time I can skip work.¡± She added with a smile.


    ¡®She didn¡¯t even ask me what I¡¯m planning to do¡­ does she think it''s my last day here?¡¯


    Osias didn¡¯t say anything, leaving her delusions free in the air as they walked back to the familiar room. He¡¯ll break it to her soon.


    ¡°You can barely fit through the entrance now.¡± She noted abruptly.


    Osias turned and looked at the opening into the hall that led to the many empty rooms for the wounded. These quarters were always used as a shortcut towards the courtyard if someone was in the far rear of the fortress. It was made to be quite large and passable, but he had to be careful with his head and sides if he didn¡¯t want to brush them against the rugged stone.


    ¡°It''s because of the cheese you brought me. It might have powers of the milked Path Beast in them.¡± He responded amusingly.


    That earned a slight smile as they walked. But as they continued down the hall, they came upon a familiar man. He was donned in an odd mix of thick heavy armor, but his head was revealed.


    ¡®Ah, it''s that man¡­ Henrik of the Second Ordeal.¡¯


    ¡°Henrik!¡± Myra rushed ahead, cutting him to the chase.


    ¡°Myra! Still caring for this man?¡± He greeted her with a warm smile.


    ¡°His name is Osias. You¡¯re getting old.¡± She said as Henrik patted her on the shoulder.


    Henrik lifted his chin to face Osias, inspecting him from head to toe.


    ¡°Aye. You don¡¯t look like a zealot¡­ you¡¯d make for a mountain brigand.¡± Henrik exclaimed, laughing to himself.


    ¡°I said the same thing!¡± Myra cut in.


    Osias could only bashly smile and he brought a hand to scratch his head.


    ¡®Is it really that bad?¡¯ He wondered to himself before responding:


    ¡°Hello, Henrik. Did you just return from another outing? I haven¡¯t seen you since that day you came with the Grand Elder and the clanhead.¡±


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    ¡°Mm,¡± Henrik responded with a huff. ¡°A few hours ago¡­ I came with the advance party earlier than Aeron and the others in the company. It''s good to see you¡¯ve recovered wholly.¡±


    Osias quietly thanked Henrik. It was probably odd for him to see that the once lanky bedridden person now standing taller than everyone else, and wider too.


    ¡°Say, do you want to fight for the clan? As a Path Finder?¡±  Henrik abruptly said as he walked closer, once again grabbing his arm and lifting it.


    ¡°The Outer Valleys grow more and more treacherous for our clansmen despite not moving in any deeper. More valuable materials to send for the inland, but it¡¯s getting harder. Though we haven¡¯t seen any deaths since¡­ ¡± Henrik added wistfully.


    Osias didn¡¯t need to push to understand what Henrik meant at the end, simply nodding as Henrik¡¯s hand grasped just a little tighter on his arm.


    ¡°It was hard to believe you were alive back then. Myra, did anyone tell you what he looked like?¡±


    Myra came to his side and shook her head. Alas, it was also something Osias didn¡¯t like to talk about either¡­ but it wasn¡¯t a secret so he didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°He looked like a rotted corpse, blending into a tree with what little flesh remained. As though roots wrapped all over as the critters bit and gnawed even digging deep into his¡ª¡±


    In the next moment, Myra kicked Henrik in the leg before scolding him:


    ¡°Just because no one told me, doesn¡¯t mean you have to! Sorry, Osias, you probably didn¡¯t want to hear this old man babble.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, you do! You rub your side whenever you¡¯re tense.¡± She said, pointing to his¡­ free hand.


    ¡°Sorry boy, I didn¡¯t mean to bring up bad memories.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Henrik, it¡¯s fine.¡±


    Sensing the cumbersome air between them, Henrik quickly apologized to Myra before bidding them off as he continued down the hall towards the courtyard.


    ¡®My sword and vial¡­¡¯ Osias thought wistfully as he looked at where Myra pointed at.


    ¡°That old man!¡± She huffed grumpily.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem that old.¡± He responded with a small laugh.


    ¡°He¡¯s already past his hundredth moon!¡± She cut back.


    Osias raised an eyebrow at that fact, but he didn¡¯t ask further.


    ¡°Careful, he¡¯s a Second Ordeal, he could likely hear you.¡± He said in a whisper.


    But Myra continued to voice her complaints even louder.


    ¡°Let him hear!¡±


    ¡°Your father and uncle might work harder because of you¡­¡± He pointed out as they reached where his room was.


    She quickened her pace to sit atop the bed, but Osias didn¡¯t feel like bickering with her as he pulled the polished wooden chair close.


    ¡°That¡¯s my bed. Am I caring for you now?¡±


    ¡°If you want.¡± She said curtly. Osias looked down at her swinging legs.¡±


    ¡®What does that mean? Is she a little saddened that I¡¯m leaving?¡¯


    He smiled to himself. It was a sweet feeling, but he''ll tell her before the suspense stretches on for any longer.


    ¡°I''m going to ask the clan head if he''ll allow me to train and fight alongside the clan.¡±


    Myra looked up at him and her long face stretched into a small smile.


    ¡°Really? Was it because of Henrik earlier?¡±


    ¡°No, I was planning it for a long while. I wanted¡­ to pay back Clan Grimm. Help the others in a way. Help you too. I''ve been living off the clan for so long. Yet I''ve done nothing in return.¡±


    Myra paused for a while in thought and silence hung in the air.


    ¡°I thought you were leaving.¡± She said quietly.


    Suddenly loud joyous yells sounded through the open window ¡ª the main company seemed to return and the feast was beginning. Another feast they were missing from.


    ¡°I am in a way.¡± He said as he got up and looked at what little of the returning clansmen he could find from his tight view. Path Finders who fought outside the fortress, towing giant carcasses in the dozens to dismantle later¡­


    Myra replied without turning her head:


    ¡°The expeditions! It''ll take years for you to be ready for your First Ordeal! You want to start training now?¡±


    Osias laughed amusingly at her worried tone.


    ¡°I thought you said I would make a good shieldman. Or a mountain brigand. They''re plenty strong aren''t they?¡±


    She finally turned her head and Osias found that her face turned long once more. Was the initial worry of him leaving replaced with his well-being?


    ¡°But you were bedridden for weeks! Didn¡¯t you say that you think you were¡­ taken by that beast seven years ago?¡± She said concerningly.


    ¡°And? I¡¯d still want to try.¡± Osias recalled something fitting that Kiran once said, and he showed a confident smile to her:


    ¡°I¡¯m hard to kill.¡±


    Silence hung between the two. Myra still hasn¡¯t let go of her anxious face. The dampened sounds of the high-spirited crows and jeers outside that filled the room were dismally overtaken by Myra¡¯s dismay.


    ¡°Is something wrong, Myra?¡± He asked reluctantly.


    But all he received in return was a deafening silence. This continued for a long while as Myra looked down. Osias¡­ didn¡¯t know what to say ¡ª it felt as though he never did. What was he supposed to do in this situation?


    ¡°Do you ever wonder why I stay away from the returning clansmen?¡±


    Osias narrowed his eyes slightly but didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like to see them without my father and uncle.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said they are¡ª¡±


    ¡°They died two years ago.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows as he stood there in silence.


    ¡®Two years ago? Wasn¡¯t that when¡­¡¯


    ¡°Were they a part of that scouting party? The ones who got¡­ enchained like me?¡±


    But Myra shook her head sullenly.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t something like that. They died fighting another beast, a few days earlier than that. Too quick for the Path Finders to heal them. Luckily they didn¡¯t have to¡­ sorry, Osias, I don¡¯t mean it like that.¡±


    Osias understood what she was about to say ¡ª that her father and uncle didn¡¯t have to suffer under the Fettered Bournewood as he did.


    He sighed deeply before responding:


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t notice.¡± He paused briefly and added, ¡°Is that another reason why you didn¡¯t stay for the feasts with them?¡±


    She nodded slowly.  It seemed that the dusk had begun to fall as the moonlight melded with the faint lamp mounted in the corner of his room, and an impossibly faint tear sparkled as he looked at her closely.


    ¡°Are you worried about me?¡± He said with a small laugh.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me say it out loud.¡± She replied with her usual brazen tone.


    Her small smile didn¡¯t go unnoticed as well¡­ Osias paused in thought. He didn¡¯t know if what he wanted to say was right, or proper. But he did so anyway.


    ¡°I won¡¯t die. I¡­ promise.¡±  He said earnestly.


    With that, Myra stood to her feet and gently patted down and dusted her apron. Turning around in her familiar little caper she began to leave, seemingly satisfied with his promise. However, just as she was almost out, she said:


    ¡°I¡¯ll go fetch Henrik or someone else. There is not much the clan head does after they return from an outing, so he¡¯ll likely talk to you tomorrow. I¡¯ll be there too.¡± Myra paused a little, before adding:


    ¡°And¡­ thank you, Osias.¡±


    And so she left.


    Osias listened intently to the fading echoes of her steps down the hall, and when they were so quiet that they were flushed out by the noises outside he exhaled deeply ¡ª without his knowing, he was holding his breath as she left.


    He shook his head and crawled to his bed feeling oddly weak.


    While the others are working or enjoying the bustling feast he¡¯ll slip into the blissful embrace of sleep early.


    He closed his eyes, leaving behind the fleeting view of his window to rest¡­ but something took him aback before he truly slept.


    ¡®It¡­ smells like her.¡¯

 Chapter 37 - Plea

    ¡°Why¡¯d you wake me so early¡­¡±


    ¡°He called for you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The clan head.¡±


    With that, Osias shot up, almost hitting Myra who was leaning over to push him awake. Yawning, he stepped out of the bed and rubbed his face to chase away the lingering remnants of slumber. He ran a hand through his short hair, brushing it back.


    ¡°Watch your head you brute!¡± Myra said as she staggered back.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry¡­¡±


    Osias looked out the window, finding the sun had yet to break.


    ¡®Early¡­¡¯


    ¡°Myra, did you get any sleep? Did they make you work once you returned?¡± He asked curiously.


    Wiping his eyes once more, he focused on the dark bags beneath her eyes¡­ She wouldn¡¯t have gotten much sleep if she had to continue helping the feast.


    But Myra shook her head as she helped him clean his room.


    ¡°I went straight to find Henrik, and he told me to rest and make sure you got up earlier to meet the clan head before he got busy.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Osias said, draping a loose plain tunic over himself.


    ¡®Maybe she was brooding over the audience with Aeron¡­¡¯


    ¡°Ready?¡± She asked him, straightening out his clothes.


    He nodded and followed Myra as she guided him to what she called the fortress¡¯s council hall. It was where Aeron frequented most, bringing together the many Second Ordeals, Henrik, The Grand Elder, messengers from the inlands, and anyone of importance. Audiences held there range from slight to dire importance.


    She led him through the grand hall where the clansmen feasted last night, and they passed through a corridor towards the heart of the fortress. Then a flight of stairs that Osias found cumbersome, eventually coming upon an already open entrance where they found Aeron seated.


    ¡°Osias, Myra. Come in.¡± He called out. Osias guessed that the Third Ordeal had long known of their approach.


    ¡°Greetings, clan head,¡± Osias said, earning a curt nod from Aeron.


    ¡°Clan head.¡± Myra addressed, following him.


    The room was vast, with high, vaulted ceilings that gave it a cavernous feel, the stone walls lined with banners of the Grimm Clan, dark and heavy with age. Maps, both looking complete and incomplete decorated the council hall. Messy measurements and landmarks lay strewn in the numbers, along with parchments with odd sketchings and markings littered Osias¡¯s sight.


    At the far end of the hall, a massive stone table dominated the room, its surface scarred with the marks of what Osias assumed was many a heated debate and bickering. The table was surrounded by heavy, ornately carved chairs, each bearing the clan''s crest. Aeron sat at the head, his presence commanding even when seated.


    ¡°Take a seat anywhere. Though I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be long.¡± Aeron said from across the room.


    They obliged and took a seat in one of the hardy chairs¡­ though Osias did wonder why didn¡¯t Myra stay outside.


    He met Aeron¡¯s face across the table from him.


    In the time Osias has remained within the confines of the fortress he has yet to see Aeron other than the day he awoke. And yet Aeron¡¯s solemn face remained as ever, and this time he was donning thick rugged armor. It looked to be more uniform as a set than the odd mismatched pieces he saw the Second Ordeals like Henrik and Mance wore.


    But more than the armor¡­ the air felt heavy. Thick and dense it was difficult to breathe. It wasn¡¯t as such before, so Osias could only assume the aura that radiates off beings of the Third Ordeal can be controlled to an extent. If it wasn¡¯t, then it wouldn¡¯t be so negligible when he first met Aeron and the Grand Elder.


    ¡°So, what of your plans, Osias?¡± Aeron said gently.


    ¡®Right to it then.¡¯ Osias thought, but he didn¡¯t mind. Straightforwardly, he wanted to throw in as much of the truth as possible, because he truly did want to stay with the clan.


    So Osias took a deep inhale of breath, before replying:


    ¡°I wish to be trained as a Path Finder. Fight, eat, sleep, and train under Clan Grimm. I don¡¯t want to leave for the inland cities and waste away as I know nothing.¡±


    A pleased smile rose on the ends of Aerons mouth before he responded:


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to, Osias. You¡¯ll be of Clan Grimm, not in name, but in loyalty.¡±


    Osias closed his mouth before he talked any further and narrowed his eyes in surprise.


    ¡°That¡¯s it¡ª¡±


    ¡°I will not have you swear an oath, wed, nor be inducted in a silly manner. You¡¯ve proven as such with your stay. Thank Myra and the others on your way out.¡±


    ¡®What is this?¡¯ Osias thought¡­ his mind raced throwing away and together different possibilities of how the audience would go, but this wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to be. He even prepared to persuade Aeron to accept him.


    Dumbstruck, he responded:


    ¡°Thank you, clanhead.¡±


    ¡°Go on, boy.¡±


    It felt like a¡­ formality rather than him imploring the clan head to accept him into the clan as he thought. The audience was no more than a minute, and the way to and fro was many times longer.


    He and Myra gave a slight bow as they got to their feet, and Osias threw and serious look at Myra, before turning around to leave the oddly brief audience.


    ¡®She''s¡­ she¡¯s smiling. This girl!¡¯


    Unbeknownst to either of them, as they left for the flight of stairs to lead below the tower, Aeron had a faint smile of amusement plastered on his usual solemn face.


    ¡ª


    ¡°What happened Osias, why¡¯re you sweating?¡± Myra said with an odd way of lengthening certain sounds.


    ¡°Hm?¡± She hummed teasingly.


    ¡°Oh? Were you worried about being rejected by the clan head ¡ª Your clan head now?¡±


    ¡°To think our respected Clan Grimm is taking in frightening mountain brigands!¡±


    Suddenly from behind, Myra ran ahead and stopped him to bring a hand to his face.


    ¡°Are you sick, Osias? Your face is flushed¡­ I think you¡¯re unwell to begin your training!¡±


    In the next moment, he betrayed his vexed silence as he swatted her hand gently and asked:


    ¡°Is this why you look tired? What did you do last night for so long?¡±


    Myra remained silent, even bringing a small finger to her pursed lips. But right before she turned to run away, Osias grabbed and lifted her with both hands.


    Her legs were swinging wildly, perhaps a little embarrassed at how easy it was for him to do so ¡ª especially when it was she who cared for him when he was weak and even before that when he was unconscious.


    ¡°Osias! Let me down!¡± She yelped between laughs.


    ¡°We¡¯ll head back and I¡¯ll throw you off Aeron¡¯s tower.¡± He dismissed.


    ¡°I give! Osias! I give!¡± She said through her howls.


    Setting her down, he continued to walk as she calmed herself and stopped giggling.


    ¡°I went straight for the clan head last night. I told him of your plans ¡ª and I¡¯m sorry about that, telling him before you were ready. I didn¡¯t ask you if I could, but I did it anyway.¡± She then admitted pensively.


    But Osias waved it off before she continued.


    ¡°Then the clan head asked me to bring as many people I know for their opinions on accepting you into the clan.¡± She smiled before recounting, ¡°Henrik, the three old hags you asked to have mercy on me for skipping work, that bald baker, and the other maids. But I think Henrik alone was enough.¡±


    She paused and grabbed his hand tightly from the side.


    ¡°Welcome to Clan Grimm, Osias.¡± She said earnestly and quietly.


    Osias paused before he tightened his clasp and he forced himself to break through his reservedness and uttered in almost a whisper:


    ¡°Thank you¡­ Myra.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± She jeered.


    ¡°Quiet.¡± He snapped back.


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    ¡­The way back was done faster, probably because of his slightly hastened pace, but it didn¡¯t matter.


    As they reached the hall leading to his room, Myra turned towards the corridor that led to the maid''s quarters.


    ¡°Osias, I¡¯ll see you off here. You¡¯re going straight to Mance aren¡¯t you?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you outside then.¡± She smiled.


    With that, they left to their duties. He immediately headed for the courtyard for Mance and those who trained under him ¡ª both the Path Finders and Path Finders in training. It was still early morning, so he¡¯d make it to Mance before they all began.


    ¡®I have one pressing thing to ask. How do I undergo an Ordeal.¡¯ He thought, scratching his head.


    Osias assumed that it was common knowledge, but Kiran didn¡¯t mention a thing on the Ordeals other than he shouldn¡¯t foolishly trade¡­ momentary power for a weak foundation or Path. That the Ordeals were treacherous and not to be belittled.


    Aside from those vague experiences, Kiran was planning on teaching him more before their ill-fated departure.


    ¡­Osias cut past the entrance to the medical quarters and found himself in the courtyard, where the morning air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of dew-soaked earth.


    He continued on until he reached the training field. It was a large, open expanse, surrounded by tall wooden palisades and filled with various training implements¡ªweathered wooden dummies, weapon racks bristling with spears, swords, and axes, and patches of churned earth where clansmen sparred and tested their mettle. Except that he¡¯ll join them instead watch from afar the palisades.


    ¡®There he is¡­ did he just wake the clansmen?¡¯


    Mance, the Second Ordeal Path Finder, was already there, overseeing the clansmen storming out of the barracks, already outside barking out discipline mainly to the Path Finders in training ¡ª Ordinaries like himself. Mance donned the same dark mismatched armor Osias had always seen him wear across the distance. A thick black beard, a weathered face, and stoney grey eyes, all grew more prominent as Osias approached from his side.


    Before Osias could speak, Mance turned to him, a knowing look in his eyes.


    ¡®Senses of a Second Ordeal¡­¡¯


    ¡°Osias, boy.¡± Mance greeted, his voice steady. ¡°The clan head has already told me of yourself. Tell me, how long has those hands held steel?¡±


    Osias raised an eyebrow at the sudden question before responding truthfully, lies would take him nowhere.


    ¡°Months. A year at most if you include pitiful handling on my own.¡±


    ¡°Teacher?¡±


    Osias nodded, ¡°My brother.¡±


    Mance brought a rugged hand to his beard, eyeing Osias from head to toe.


    ¡°You look like a mountain brigand. A big laggard one.¡± Mance scoffed.


    Osias restrained his face from twitching at the comment he heard from many.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told that.¡± He uttered out.


    ¡°The clan head told me that you were a likely from nameless mountain, not knowing of anything. Living from raids and plundering the like. A fearsome people who knew nothing of the world outside until it all came down with the Tailed Brothers'' arrival.¡± Mance continued.


    Osias agreed, it was the truth after all, despite how misleading it was.


    Mance huffed in response, before adding:


    ¡°You fight for the clan now. I have no say in the clan head¡¯s wishes. Wait here, when the others arrive in droves, I¡¯ll have you spar with them and I¡¯ll watch. Do not hold back, it¡¯ll be a waste ¡ª we have healers.¡±


    Obliging Mance, Osias stood by his side and watched as the clansmen waded through the haze of the morning. At times Mance would berate the slow folk, all of them Ordinaries, with enough force to make him grimace at the yells.


    Eventually, they all filed out into the courtyard and began some light drills. But with Osias close enough to watch clearly, he inspected how they moved, how he thinks they moved their essence, and how those of Clan Grimm fought.


    They all fought with a style that was¡­ defensive. Patient and grounded. Being closer to them did not change his initial opinions on how they fought. They fought as they picked apart their opponents, yet all of them had their own individual differences under the overarching style.


    Again, this was the first time Osias had studied or even been exposed to Path Finders outside the Red Sky.


    They all used different weapons, but there was a shared preference for polearms though.


    This studying continued for a few minutes before Mance barked at them to stop and gather.


    ¡®Putting me on the spot now¡­¡¯ Osias thought. It was a little awkward, but it had to be done. It made sense, this was the first they had someone join the training in the time Clan Grimm arrived at this outward fortress and the first that someone had been allowed into the clan in this fortress as well. It was a new sight for many of them it seemed.


    More than a hundred clansmen, a mix of women and men, Path Finders and Ordinaries gathered before Mance and Osias.


    Out of the corner of Osias¡¯s eye, he sensed the keen gazes of those who manned the tops of the wall in the distance, along with some of the workers who he recognized outside in the courtyard who was making runs in the morning.


    ¡®Are my cheeks flushed?¡¯ He wondered worriedly.


    ¡°You all seen him. Talked with him at times. For those who haven¡¯t, this one is called Osias. He¡¯ll will join us, as a Path Finder in training. Treat him well.¡± Mance said curtly.


    Osias scanned the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces he had talked to in the past weeks and many others he hadn¡¯t talked with.


    Someone, a First Ordeal, asked loudly:


    ¡°Is our clan welcoming of¡­ brigands?¡±


    Osias¡¯s mind reared back at that and brought a hand to scratch his head¡­ The question was followed with a few laughs.


    Ah, well, it was to be expected though. Some of the clansmen had crossed paths with stray forces before. Clearing bandits and brigands on their lands and the like. It was fine if some hadn¡¯t accepted him.


    ¡°Enough. The clan head has welcomed him.¡± Mance dismissed before adding, ¡°We¡¯ll begin sparring, Orkos, you¡¯ll take the honors. Everyone else, get on with sparring.¡±


    Then, a figure from the rear of the dispersing crowd broke past to the front to address Mance. He was taller than most. He donned another set of dark bleak steel armor that covered what should be a lean and built body. His face looked kind and welcoming, with lazy brown curls for hair and eyes of liquid gold.


    ¡®First Ordeal?¡¯ Osias quickly surmised.


    ¡°Ah, teacher, why me?¡± The man named Orkos coyly said.


    ¡°I won¡¯t hear it.¡± Mance said before turning to talk with him, ¡°Osias boy, it¡¯ll be too late before our forgers and makers can equip you with some armor, so you¡¯ll make do without. Take up a weapon, your choice.¡±


    Mance pointed to the spare weapons that lined a rack of polished wood near the barrack¡¯s entrance where they all slept. Although it seemed almost everyone possessed a personal weapon, some still took from the rack.


    Osias obliged and ran for the rack, but through some odd glances behind him, he noticed Orkos stripping himself of his armor.


    ¡®Ho¡­ Mance isn¡¯t so unbearing after all.¡¯ Osias grinned to himself, pleased with what he was seeing.


    One would expect that Osias would find himself facing another Ordinary, but perhaps Mance wanted him to be beaten down and disciplined. Osias didn¡¯t know, but it didn¡¯t matter. He was here to be taught, and being battered was how he was used to learning anyway.


    ¡­Quickly reaching the weapons rack, he scanned from side to side to find a fitting weapon. And from the far right end of it, his eyes found a dark and weathered single-edged great sword. It was large and hefty, but with his grown figure, it was fitting.


    ¡®In a way, it looks like my old short sword, but much larger.¡¯


    His hands grasped the thick hilt tightly and brought it up. The leather wrapping was frayed slightly and worn down, turned to a dark almost black hue as it aged. He swung it as he distinguished its weight and balance and nodded.


    It was well made. From Ordinary materials as well, not scavenged or conjured by the powers of the Paths ¡ª a true blue Ordinary weapon from the smiths.


    It felt right in his hands as well, and despite its looks, it was light and almost weightless in his hands.


    With a beaming grin, he headed back towards where Orkus waited for him, with Mance overlooking the others close by.


    However, Osias threw a curious look at the¡­ barren chest of Orkus, wearing nothing but his loose rough-hewn trousers fastened by a thin sash.


    ¡®Am I going to follow this¡­?¡¯


    Orkus called out to him:


    ¡°Ah, I didn¡¯t want to strip down like this, apologies¡­ Osias. Mance told me to. You too, take that tunic off.¡±


    Osias nodded, undressing himself.


    ¡®This is a little¡­ odd.¡¯ He thought. It was unexpected, but theirs nothing he could do if it was what Mance wanted.


    Leaving his loose tunic aside, he came before fighting distance of Orkus, great sword in hand.


    But then he heard a mocking whisper leave Orkus¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°You truly look like a mountain brigand¡­¡±


    Osias noticed the eyes of Orkus tracing the tattoos on his body.


    ¡°Hey¡­ how well experienced are you? I heard from the words of others that you¡¯ve been trapped by that beast the forward company had chased for a dozen years. They say that the beast wandered past the border mountains and slaughtered your family of brigands. ¡±


    Osias raised an eyebrow and he silently poised himself.


    ¡°It was seven years.¡± He said curtly as he narrowed his eyes, focusing on the long sword and round shield of Orkus.


    ¡°Ah, ah, sorry. You can¡¯t trust rumors I see.¡± Orkus said flippantly.


    ¡®Where is he going with this¡­¡¯


    But then Orkus¡¯s tone changed for the worse.


    ¡°Mance told you not to hold back ¡ª same as I. Sorry, Osias.¡±


    The hairs on Osias¡¯s arms stood stiff and his senses screamed at him. The sick realization that they were much further away and isolated from the other sparring clansmen dawned on him at the same time as his instincts flared.


    From Orkus¡¯s mouth, a great line of flames erupted and burst, quickly approaching Osias. It was large enough to engulf him whole.


    ¡®What is this!¡¯ He yelled in his head as he quickly dashed aside, rolling against the wet grounds of the courtyard.


    His leg got caught in the flames, but most dreadful was his mistake of breathing the moment the raging flames quickly shot at him.


    His throat burned and his eyes felt as though they scalded.


    But he pushed down the pain like he always did, and bolted towards Orkus who remained still, though he made sure to grab a handful of dirt, obscured by his wild roll.


    ¡®Bastard. Why did Mance want me to fight this man? Anyone else would¡¯ve died!¡¯


    ¡°Ho, you dodged that? No¡­ I caught you. I was about to withdraw it if you were too slow. I don¡¯t want to kill you.¡± Orkus said.


    ¡°I won¡¯t use my Ordeal Ability anymore, so come.¡±


    ¡®As if I can trust mere words.¡¯ Osias thought.


    He crossed the distance quickly, digging his feet into the ground. Then as he got close, he expected another flow of fire to be expelled at him, but it never came.


    Pushing down his expectations, he adjusted and met the steel of Orkus with a growl.


    Essence was flowing and ignited throughout his whole body with the same intricacy and control as he did before he met the Fettered Bournewood. He continued to hone it as he recovered and this was the first he used it in battle once more.


    Though¡­ this was against a human.


    Suddenly he raised an eyebrow in surprise as he traded an exchange with Orkus.


    ¡®He¡¯s¡­ not that fast.¡¯


    He slashed his great sword with a single arm and the clang of steel resounded. Orkus grunted at the blow unexpectedly.


    ¡®He fights defensively like the others. But not like Kiran¡¯s way.¡¯


    But Osias fought with the fervor of someone who dared brave the Outer Valleys as an Ordinary. The essence of the Red Sky was heavily ingrained in him as he delivered another crushing blow to Orkus.


    This time a shallow cut on Orkus¡¯s torso appeared, and Osias had to force himself to not use Blood Reave.


    ¡®I¡¯m stronger physically. My essence control and blade technique are more skillful. Am I more experienced as well?¡¯ Osias realized as a blaring metal clang resounded from the clash of swords.


    Orkus¡¯s eyebrows raised in alarm and he increased the intensity of the exchange.


    Osias continued the rabid attack against the grounded style of Orkus and the Grimm Clan. He wanted to use Blood Reave badly ¡ª especially after the sly burst of flame to open the spar. It¡¯s been¡­ years since he felt the rapture of blood, but he held back as he settled for his sword to reach Orkus¡¯s neck.


    Orkus¡¯s eyebrows raised in alarm and he increased the intensity of the exchange. However, the same sense of menacing danger screamed within as Osias noticed the change in the glint of Orkus¡¯s eyes.


    But Osias dashed forward, with unfounded strength that Orkus didn¡¯t seem to expect.


    He parried another strike of Orkus¡¯s sword and he quickly threw a handful of dirt against the face of Orkus just before the sparks of a great flame in his open mouth ignited towards him.


    However, he stepped to the side, throwing all his weight into his lead foot, and threw a heavy fist square onto Orkus¡¯s jaw.


    Osias knocked Orkus back with great strength and probably took some teeth out as well, but he didn¡¯t relent. He came upon the rolling muddy body of Orkus. However, a shallow spew of fire was shot awkwardly through Orkus¡¯s rolling head, but it was more easily evaded than before.


    Osias came upon the Orkus, still on the ground gasping. Dirtied and bloodied with many cuts, Orkus brought his shield up to block the sword that was raised above Osias¡¯s head.


    ¡°Enough, Osias!¡±


    But his great sword was already moving, so he quickly shifted to the side, hammering against the round shield and breaking it asunder with a loud crack as it splintered to bits from its metal bracings.


    His blade met the ground beside the torso of Orkus, and he turned his head towards where he heard Mance.


    Heavy heaves of air sounded from both him and Orkus who was still on the ground as he awaited Mance to come closer.


    Mance was silent as he briskly walked towards him, but when he was within a few steps he finally spoke.


    ¡°You even fight like a brigand too boy!¡± Mance suddenly howled with a burst of laughter that didn¡¯t fit his appearance.

 Chapter 38 - Differing Thoughts

    ¡°Orkus, you fool. The difference between a First Ordeal and an Ordinary is not absolute as it is upon later Ordeals¡­ and besides, you¡¯ve only overcome your First Ordeal a few months ago.¡± Mance said, picking up Orkus.


    ¡°Get healed. Swallow your useless pride and go train.¡±


    Orkus bit his lips bloody with a nod and headed away to retrieve his clothing and armor while Osias watched.


    ¡®Serves him right. Bastard using his Ordeal Ability like that¡­¡¯


    Though Osias understood that in the same position, he would do the same as Orkus¡­ he is a foul taste to experience the cunning of the man himself.


    Mance turned to him and inspected his body once more¡­ a familiar sight.


    ¡°You fight well. Fierce and cruel, but well.¡± He said, stroking his beard.


    ¡°It¡¯d be foolish to force you to change the way you fight. Imparting our weapon techniques and style to you would do nothing well.¡±


    ¡°Who taught you to control your essence?¡± Mance inquired, studying his stature once more with a pensive face.


    ¡°My brother.¡± He responded curtly, but proudly.


    ¡°Your brother¡­¡± Mance echoed.


    ¡°Say, answer me truthfully. Have you ventured into the Outer Valleys? Killed Path Beasts?¡± Mance asked.


    Osias nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve slain First Ordeal Path Beasts before. Alone at times too.¡±


    It was time for Mance to raise an eyebrow in surprise.


    ¡°Boy, is that the truth? We need a party of three First Ordeals to take one without losses. Perhaps if the beast was the weakest of the First¡­¡± Mance trailed off.


    ¡°Mm. I know.¡±


    Mance chuckled a bit before replying:


    ¡°Your battle strength as an Ordinary is great, no beyond that. In a sense, you¡¯re practically a First Ordeal without an ability. Though¡­ what do you wish for training like this?¡±


    ¡°I want to undergo the First Ordeal. Also¡­ I need to know if I am ready, so I¡¯m using the clansmen in this way.¡±


    ¡°I see. I see.¡± Mance said, but he looked to be in thought. Osias waited, considering if he should add something more, but Mance responded first.


    ¡°I¡¯ll personally teach you how.¡± Mance declared, but he paused before adding, ¡°But first, continue to spar more. That will prove all you need to know... and I also need these clansmen of ours to change their ways. The other Second Ordeals have voiced their complaints when these green ones have joined them on the outings outside. Sorry, you¡¯ll be hated, but it¡¯ll help the clan. ¡±


    Osias nodded, after all, he was planning to do so anyway. But first, he rushed towards the healers. His throat still burned intensely and his eyes were affected as well, but he was full of vigor. The match lowered his expectations greatly against these Path Finders¡­


    ¡®They are not like our Blood Warriors.¡¯ He quickly surmised.


    Was this the difference between them? The Red Sky threw mere Ordinaries into raids north, against villages and cities. They ravaged and fought fervently, and whoever died was considered weak, and was forgotten. A waste of blood.


    ¡­Was the value of strength so little amongst these people? It couldn¡¯t be, otherwise, Aeron, Henrik, Mance, and the others wouldn¡¯t feel so strong.


    But the standards of these Ordinaries and First Ordeals¡­ Osias couldn¡¯t help but feel a little disappointed.


    In the next moment, Osias found himself in front of a kind-looking older man. Grey grizzled hair and a face lined with age.


    ¡®First Ordeal¡­¡¯


    ¡°Here boy, you fought hard.¡± The old man said, reaching towards Osias.


    The old man motioned Osias to touch his hand, and he obliged. Then the wrinkled hand grasped his arm and Osias felt a cold shiver spread into his body, more specifically his throat and airway.


    ¡°Ah, Thank you¡ª¡± Osias said timidly.


    ¡°Gered Grimm. Though you needn¡¯t thank this old man, this is all I can do for you all.¡±


    ¡®It¡¯s slow, weaker than most Blood Mends I¡¯ve seen, but I have no complaints¡­¡¯ He thought to himself as he studied the process of Gered¡¯s Ordeal Ability.


    He stayed by Gered for what could¡¯ve been an hour until Osias judged that it was enough to spar once more. Though if it was up to him, he didn¡¯t feel as though he needed to be healed to fight again.


    Getting up to his feet, he was about to thank the old man again before a piercing voice cut through the air.


    ¡°Nico! Face Osias in the open field. You¡¯re allowed to use your Ordeal Ability and wear your armor.¡±


    Then Gered pushed him along with a gentle smile. ¡°Go now boy, I wish you luck.¡±


    Osias simply nodded his head in thanks as he thought to himself. ¡®Clan Grimm¡­ it''s like the demeanor of Aeron has spread to all those under him¡­ except that fire mongrel.¡¯


    He turned his head with a small sneer, eyeing the other healer who was taking her time healing the many cuts that littered Orkus¡¯s body.


    Then as he returned to the open field that Mance called, he faced down his next partner.


    It was a dark-haired older man with bronze skin, short and stout. He looked like a heavy barrel with the black armor that encased him. The air around him¡­ was heavier, to say the least. His eyes as well, focused and placid. More experienced and keen on killing Osias. He wielded a great battle axe that fits firmly between the clasps of his menacing gauntlets.


    ¡®Is that blood stained on it?¡¯ Osias noticed as he got closer.


    ¡°Thanks for shutting up that fool earlier.¡± The man named Nico said in a low gruff.


    ¡°Bastard always uses his mouth to reel you in before he torches you. We all knew it was coming, maybe that¡¯s why Mance threw him to you.¡± He continued.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡®Well¡­ this one seems better.¡¯ Osias inwardly thought.


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell you my ability though, sorry. Mance pulled me aside and told me you¡¯re strong despite not undergoing an Ordeal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Osias waved off.


    And then as though they both knew the talk was over, they poised themselves. Osias actually found himself enjoying this¡­ after all, he hadn¡¯t fought with other humans aside from Kiran.


    It was different. They possessed all sorts of Ordeal Abilities, just like beasts do, but it felt more¡­ thoughtful.


    ¡®I¡¯ll need to ask though¡­ why everyone seems to not possess the same Ordeal Ability.¡¯


    Nico approached Osias, a stark difference from what happened earlier with Orkus. But Osias didn¡¯t waver as he met him.


    The distance between them closed, and Osias made the first move as he brought his great sword to the side and swung in a vicious arc to Nico¡¯s head.


    But the heavy sword was caught firmly by Nico¡¯s black spiked gauntlet. With a heavy grunt, Nico engaged Osias and grounded himself before aiming to cleave Osias whole.


    Alarmed, Osias let go of his sword, abandoning it as he evaded the single-armed swing of the axe.


    ¡®He¡¯s serious.¡¯


    Osias retreated a little before Nico threw his great sword far away behind him, almost hitting a poor pair of trainees, earning a pep-angered yell that they both disregarded.


    Now, Osias wished he had Kiran¡¯s True Extraction¡­


    Nico continued to walk him down, forcing Osias to do something against the stalwart and indomitable figure.


    His foe¡¯s steps were steady and confident, still not underestimating Osias despite him being unarmed. Perhaps he caught wind of his unnatural strength despite being an Ordinary.


    Osias didn¡¯t like fighting like this, it was too easy to get enraptured in the fervor of battle.


    ¡®It¡¯s like that time with the boar.¡¯


    ¡®Do I gouge his eyes? Crush his throat?¡¯


    But Osias reconsidered, Nico didn¡¯t seem deserving of such wounds, even if they could be healed. Possibly.


    Osias exhaled deeply, and then he exploded forth, each step kicking up the dirt in a mad dash. He¡¯s steady and patient.


    But he¡¯s a person, so he¡¯ll bite on deception. Just like the ones Osias fell to from Kiran so many times and was punished dearly for it.


    Nico brought his axe close, waiting for the right time to swing in a crushing blow ¡ª one swing is all it would take.


    But Osias lunged to Nico''s left side like a feral dog, his body shifting as if preparing to dive past the axe. Nico reacted instinctively, his axe slicing through the air toward him. But it was a ruse¡ªa split-second misdirection.


    Osias shifted his weight at the last moment, using the force of his dash to push past Nico''s guard, driving himself forward with unexpected speed. Before Nico could recover from the swing, Osias was already within his reach.


    With a fierce grip, Osias grabbed a hold of Nico¡¯s armored arm and pulled heavily, throwing his balance off. As Nico staggered with a grunt, Osias caught hold of Nico¡¯s back and clamped his hand around Nico''s neck, his fingers digging into the tough, sinewy flesh.


    The force behind the grip was surprising, as Nico hacked and gasped¡ªhis unnatural strength surging as he held Nico in place.


    Nico¡¯s eyes widened in shock, his breath caught in his throat from his slight moment of mistake. The great axe fell from Nico''s hand, clattering uselessly to the ground as he reached up to pry Osias''s hand from his neck.


    However, as Nico hunched over, something unsettling washed over Osias.


    But Osias''s grip grew even more unyielding, abandoning his prior mercy for Nico as now instead of stealing the air from him, Osias sought to crush it whole.


    For a moment, everything stood still ¡ª until a deep rumbling exuded off Nico¡¯s body.


    Somewhere in the crevices of Nico¡¯s armor, somewhere Osias didn¡¯t notice was unprotected, exploded forth and Osias felt an immense force grasp him from behind, wrapping around his torso as his body and his hands were thrown off from Nico forcefully. He was flung through the air and at a vicious speed crashed against the ground, his arm bent unnaturally.


    Osias gasped and heaved for breath ¡ª an unwanted reversal of roles from mere moments prior. From the haze that covered his vision, he saw Nico barrel towards him in the distance, different as well.


    From Nico¡¯s rear, a tail, grey and serpentine waved in the air.


    ¡®He has a tail?¡¯


    There it was¡­ the air of danger that radiated off of Nico. His Ordeal Ability in its entirety. Osias was experiencing this raw power within that tail. It could bludgeon him. Constrict him. Throw him.


    A versatile Ordeal Ability. But then Osias felt like laughing to himself.


    ¡®Is this one of those¡­ Tailed ones, but under Clan Grimm?¡¯


    Upon this revelation, Osias¡¯s intensity only increased. To test his strength against someone like this¡­ he wanted so badly.


    He re-engaged once more. If Nico was here instead of inland, or even outside with Aeron and the rest of the company, Osias assumed that Nico didn¡¯t have it.


    Osias doubted if Nico had ever found himself facing a hopeless battle. Clawing for life in a struggle. Nico felt resilient, and experienced, but Osias felt he had just had that fervor inside that Nico didn¡¯t.


    So Osias continued. Aggressive. Domineering. Fierce, all he knew to do. He grabbed another handful of dirt, reminiscing of his training with Kiran as he bolted towards the tailed and armored warrior in front of him. Osias won¡¯t allow Nico to dictate the pace, he¡¯ll engage and put pressure on him instead.


    Violence¡­ was what Osias sought from his style. The very act of battle in and of itself was violent, but he wanted to revolve it around something above violence, like the desperate clawing for life, to survive. Fight to survive.


    Unknowingly, he snarled as he dodged the rapid tail that sought to cave his head in. It turned into a ferocious melee, Osias even battering the gaps and chinks in Nico¡¯s armor, even laying dents into it.


    Osias has boundless essence at his disposal, but even so, he doesn¡¯t let his control and sophistication waver. His movements were sharp, his blows were heavy ¡ª he was bold.


    Blood Mend? He fought as though he already surpassed his First Ordeal¡­ he¡¯ll get healed later! It was the same thing.


    At last, Osias could fight as he always wished, disregarding his body.


    Dodging another crushing blow that almost flattened him into a pan, Osias stomped fiercely onto the tail with a sickening crunch, before leaping and rolling to the side, throwing the dirt into the face of Nico.


    But Nico brought a battered grey tail to block the debris, while Osias closed in once more. It was all Osias needed to throw off Nico¡¯s balance.


    ¡®He needs even more experience¡­ that weight behind him is long is unnatural, he needs time.¡¯ Osias thought as he lowered his stance and wrapped both arms around Nico.


    He lifted Nico off his feet with a feral roar, just enough to bring him to the ground. Osias circled around, avoiding the lashing tail, and brought both his hands together into a great hammer made of fists as his knuckles turned white.


    He swung down and hammered against Nico¡¯s torso, where his armor was already dented from minutes of beating him on his feet.


    A sickening crunch of metal and Osias¡¯s flesh and bone crashed through the air. Osias repeated this until either Nico yielded as his chest caved in, or Osias¡¯s arms gave out.


    Blood splattered, both from his ruptured arms and Nico¡¯s mouth.


    Then out of the corner of his eye, Osias ducked as a fierce wind blew from behind.


    Nico¡¯s tail was wrapped around the shaft of his great axe through the chaos of the scramble, and as he was being pummeled, he was attempting to cleave Osias into two.


    Osias didn¡¯t want to bash Nico¡¯s head in, so he lept off the body of Nico and allowed him to stand before another arc of his axe waved through the air.


    He felt the ground below his feet shift, bearing his weight. He breathed heavy breaths, as did Nico who stood to his feet, supported by his tail. Nico gripped the axe once more and poised himself as he did before.


    ¡®I¡¯m going to lose if¡ª¡¯


    ¡°Enough. That was a fine battle.¡± Mance''s voice sounded right behind Osias.


    Osias quickly turned around in surprise. He didn¡¯t notice the presence of Mance, as he could¡¯ve sworn that he saw Mance guiding the other clansmen in their own battles.


    In the next moment, Nico¡¯s tail retracted, returning to his body as he dragged himself towards Osias and Mance.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ unfoundedly strong as an Ordinary. More than your physical might ¡ª no, you use it better than just a brigand as I heard.¡± Nico said in his gruff voice.


    ¡®Again with the brigand appearance¡­¡¯ Osias thought with a frown.


    But he accepted the praise and a nod before asking:


    ¡°And you, Nico? You¡¯re plenty strong yourself. I can¡¯t see you faltering against that Orkus.¡±


    ¡°Bah, the bastard started close, and the next moment I found myself facing a tongue of fire.¡± Nico huffed out.


    ¡°Nico here is not of Clan Grimm. He was a First Tail under the Tailed Brothers ¡ª the true main clan. He was sent here for experience amongst Path Beasts as punishment.¡± Mance interjected.


    ¡°Punishment?¡± Osias curiously asked as he wiped his sword.


    But instead of Mance, it was Nico who filled him in.


    ¡°I killed another of the main clan along with someone else I shouldn¡¯t have killed.¡± Nico scoffed.


    Osias stifled a laugh at the sudden, but bold confession.


    It was¡­ fun. Osias couldn¡¯t help himself from liking Nico as a person, regardless of who and what he was.

 Chapter 39 - To Learn With an Open Heart

    ¡°You¡¯re at your sixteenth moon?¡± Osias cried in surprise.


    ¡°And?¡± Nico scoffed.


    ¡°No, but¡­ look at you. Even you wouldn¡¯t think that¡¯s the face of a man in his thirties.¡± Osias exclaimed.


    The two were resting side by side atop a pile of discarded training dummies as they watched the dozens of other spars taking place in the vast courtyard. They were sharing a sizable water skin, once filled to the top with cold icy water.


    ¡°Even your body says otherwise,¡± Oasis added, inspecting the bronze body covered in hair and sweat. Muscles rolled off as Nico seemingly had no useless parts to him.


    But Nico simply spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground sullenly.


    ¡­Because of how intense they crossed steel, Mance said it was enough for the rest of the day. At first, they both protested to continue, but as they sat and watched, they understood that they were far from normal.


    Everyone else, even the First Ordeals were¡­ reserved, to say the least. Much less their skin and flesh, even their armor wasn¡¯t even damaged aside from a few trades of dents and scratches.


    Osias brought a hand to scratch his head as he thought perhaps this was why Mance seemed so stern and foul-tempered in his tone all the time ¡ª except when he dealt with him and Nico.


    ¡°Say, you mentioned you were sent here as punishment for killing two people you shouldn¡¯t¡­ what happened?¡±


    Nico looked at him and reached for the water skin before responding as Osias passed it off.


    ¡°A First Tail. Upon completing his First Ordeal he tried to get back at me, an Ordinary at the time. First, he beat me down publicly along with his friend ¡ª another of the main clan. She was his woman I think.¡±


    Osias continued to listen intently. After all, this was his first time interacting with a person directly from the Tailed Brothers¡­ Osias was already learning a lot of their practices and dynamics.


    ¡°They were rich and had a higher position in the clan. Their bloodline was more connected with the head¡¯s family. But he was weaker than me, even with his ascent. It was only because¡­ I was foolish enough to think he wouldn¡¯t attack me so brazenly.¡±


    ¡®Bloodline¡­¡¯ Osias wondered.


    ¡°And this was deep in the Heartlands as well, in the mountain city of Davos¡­ it was unheard of for two of the main clan to fight in public as others watched. Anyway, I recovered and waited. My fifteenth moon¡­ I underwent my First Ordeal. Upon my completion, I snuck into his bedchambers atop his family¡¯s tower and killed him along with the wench that joined him that day.¡± Nico recounted with a murderous grin.


    ¡°But then I was imprisoned. Shackled for months.¡±


    Nico took a mouthful of water as though he washed down his memory.


    ¡°His family caught me as I turned to escape, but the Sixth Elder of our main clan discovered my confinement ¡ª called me a promising elite in the making and overturned my execution, instead sending me here for ten years or until my Second Ordeal where I¡¯ll be named a Second Tail.¡±


    Osias wondered if it was because of the coming war¡­ but he held his tongue.


    He exhaled sharply at the tale of Nico¡¯s past. It was true¡­ Nico was strong and experienced. Probably honed as a child and shaped into a warrior of the Tailed Brothers. However, he lacked the experience of true life and death battles he was sent out here alone¡­ Nico was used to fighting those below him, not above. Probably another reason why his elders sent him here.


    His battle strength was probably just shy of what Osias thought an elite of the First Ordeal was ¡ª sharing the same sentiments as his ¡®Sixth Elder¡¯. Osias was bound to lose if Nico had used all his strength from the start¡­ he needed an Ordeal Ability for himself.


    But it was Nico¡¯s turn to ask him something:


    ¡°You¡­ are you truly a mountain brigand? I haven¡¯t seen your kind myself, but I¡¯ve heard of the rumors amongst the others.¡±


    ¡°Is it because I¡¯m strong as an Ordinary?¡±


    Nico nodded.


    But Osias laughed, both at himself and the guise he put up with.


    ¡°Aye, I am.¡±


    ¡°How do you¡­ fight like that? Even as an Ordinary your strength is unfounded. Even your essence control. More important is your style. You fight violently, both to your foes and yourself. As though you fight already knowing you¡¯ll be wounded. I¡­ I didn¡¯t expect it. ¡±


    Osias paused before responding.


    ¡®He is young¡­ if he is of the sixteenth moon, then he was only a boy in the Heartlands of the Tailed Brothers during the fall of the Red Sky.¡¯ Osias quickly surmised.


    ¡°That¡¯s just how I am. I¡¯ll disregard anything that won¡¯t kill me if it will bring me closer to your neck. Is it strange?¡±


    ¡°It is. I haven¡¯t seen the like before. It¡¯s both reckless but thoughtful. Don¡¯t you feel pain? I already lurched back when you stomped on my tail¡­ even when you battered my ribs in, it took all I had to will my tail to swig the axe.¡±


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Osias stifled a small chuckle.


    ¡°It¡¯s just pain. Rather than dying, I¡¯d rather be in pain. Have you ever seen a cornered beast before? Or perhaps a beggar with nothing to lose?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll fight with that same fervor every time. I¡¯ll live. Survive. Even if it seems backward with how reckless it looks. I¡¯ll sacrifice what''s unneeded without a second thought.¡±


    Nico nodded slowly in understanding as they both turned their attention to the countless spars.


    ¡°I came here almost half a year ago. But with all of these clansmen, you¡¯ll find it difficult to find someone like yourself. Not just strong, but eager to fight and learn. It¡¯s odd. They¡¯re training to fight against monsters, but they can¡¯t bring themselves to hurt their fellow clansmen. They¡¯re so far away from being accepted into the main company outside the walls of the fortress.¡± Nico said.


    ¡°They must hate you,¡± Osias remarked with a small grin.


    ¡°A lot.¡± Nico agreed.


    Osias could almost see it. Nico walks down the clansmen one by one, ruthlessly shattering their armor with the flat of his axe in mercy.


    ¡°Have you been on the ventures outside?¡± Osias then asked.


    ¡°No. Not because of Clan Grimm, but because I needed more time to get used to the tail and incorporate it with my essence control and battle style. Without you, I was about to relent and gain experience among the Path Beasts regardless if I was ready or not, but with you, I¡¯ll stay inside the walls for a little while longer.¡±


    Understanding, Osias nodded to himself. It made sense after all. It was an entirely new limb that needed time to become accustomed to. It was hefty and was able to move unlike any other limb, throwing off the balance of his body.


    ¡°Is that part of the reason why you were sent to Clan Grimm?¡±


    ¡°Mm. Their style fits me better¡­ though it was a trade for the insights of controlling my tail with the main clan. But it was enough for me ¡ª I shouldn¡¯t have killed the First Tail, especially with the coming war. The reason that I was only imprisoned was the same reason I shouldn¡¯t have killed.¡±


    ¡°Because the Tailed Brothers need to be as strong as possible?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    ¡­Then after a long pause as they watched the sparring of others, Nico asked in a quiet tone:


    ¡°Again tomorrow, Osias?¡±


    A faint smile touched Osias¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you tomorrow.¡±


    ¡ª


    Mance called an end for today as the sun began to set. Many of the other clansmen collapsed to their backs, heaving heavily under their equipment. Swords, axes, shields, and spears dropped and rolled along with them despite Mance¡¯s roars telling them not to treat their weapons as such.


    Osias and Nico had already disembarked earlier¡­ they couldn¡¯t gain anything from lingering and watching the others spar so half-heartedly. It was only then that Osias understood the frustration of Mance and why he was willing to have Osias continue training the way he did.


    He also understood why Nico seemed so disheartened before he came upon Osias, perhaps the reason why Mance sent Nico for him too.


    ¡®These people¡­ they¡¯re untested ¡ª even the First Ordeals.¡¯


    Osias reflected upon his odd findings as he wandered through the corridors leading towards the kitchen, finding the bald baker, Umber, for a meal.


    It was the same baker that Myra stole the cheese from¡­ and the only reason why Osias was introduced to the kind bald man was that Myra wanted him to distract the baker as she took a handful of the cheese.


    He shook his head at the thought as he turned the corner towards the kitchen and then he¡ª


    ¡°Ah!¡± A yelp sounded.


    Osias looked down and to his dismay¡­ he found Myra ¡ª with her apron¡¯s pockets full.


    ¡°Come back here, I know it was you, Myra!¡± A deep voice bellowed.


    ¡°Move, Osias!¡± Myra whispered as she barreled past him with her hands securing her bouncing pockets.


    Her quiet, but quick steps reminded him of a scurrying rat.


    ¡°Ah, Osias boy! It¡¯s you¡­ did you see that girl come across the hall anywhere?¡±


    ¡°Who, Myra?¡±


    ¡°Who else would thieve me of my cheese?¡± Umber cut back.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m here for a meal though. But¡­ I saw dashing women that way.¡± Osias pointed to the other end of the corridor.


    Umber turned and bolted after his directions.


    ¡°Thank you, boy! Help yourself with the meals!¡± Umber yelled out, his hefty steps echoing through the stone corridor.


    Osias shook his head in remorse, but his hunger overtook his guilt. He walked into the vast kitchen that handled the meals of hundreds of people, many cooks and bakers alike bustling as they worked.


    Quickly nabbing a platter, he left the kitchen before he was berated himself, and walked to his room with the food in hand¡­ though he did grab an extra portion for the rat in his room.


    Eventually, he came to his darkroom as his lantern wasn¡¯t lit, but he sensed something was nestling inside.


    ¡°Myra, he¡¯s not here.¡± He said.


    But no response sounded.


    A little irked, he called once more, ¡°Myra!¡±


    ¡°Osias!¡± A small squeal sounded.


    Setting down the platter of food onto a familiar table despite the darkness, he walked over to the far corner to light it up.


    Illuminated, he found an odd figure outlined beneath his sheets¡­ and a head of brown hair lying messily.


    ¡°You should stop stealing Umber¡¯s cheese.¡± He scolded her with a small frown. ¡°I don¡¯t like covering for you.¡±


    ¡°But he lays it out there!¡± She complained as she turned to face him.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s a baker! He¡¯s going to use it!¡± He cut back at her, pulling the sheets off her body.


    But she disregarded his scolding as her eyes darted to the food.


    ¡°You got some for me?¡±


    Osias exhaled sharply before relenting:


    ¡°Go for it.¡±


    She shot to her feet in glee as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Myra brought the platter over, setting it on his lap. She sat beside him as they shared the lavish meal of bread, cheese, and roasted Path Beast meat together.


    ¡°So, how was your training? I wasn¡¯t able to make it because those three old bags told me to clean the privys!¡±


    ¡°You smell off.¡± He ignored her question.


    ¡°I washed myself¡­¡± Myra said with a pout.


    He laughed as he finished a bite.


    ¡°I was lying. But it was a great day. You were right about Mance.¡±


    Myra hummed in agreement.


    ¡°Did you get hurt?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡± Osias clutched his chest and where Nico¡¯s tail wrapped.


    He was going to continue on, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Myra¡¯s face turned long and displeased.


    ¡°Myra¡­ it¡¯s normal to be hurt in training.¡± He said quietly.


    ¡°I know.¡± She replied musingly.


    They ate in silence after that. Minutes passed and eventually, the vast platter was cleaned of its contents. Osias stood to return the dirted dish towards the kitchen, but a gentle hand grabbed and pulled his loose tunic from behind.


    ¡°Osias?¡± She asked.


    He turned around to ask if everything was fine, but as he turned, she leaped off the bed and grabbed the wooden platter off his hands to pull him into a warm embrace.


    His face turned a little flush, but the setting sun of red and orange shrouded it from the window.


    ¡°What is it, Myra?¡±


    She paused and continued to hold him tightly, eventually his hand wrapped over her head gently before she quietly said, ¡°Thank you for the meal.¡±


    He stood motionless and dumbstruck as Myra stole the platter from and and left his dimly lit room. Her scent lingered in the air and on himself.


    Inwardly trembling, he silently lowered his gaze to his palms¡­ the same palms that touched her back and head.


    ¡®The¡­ mist. It was the mist that affected her, she must¡¯ve stepped foot outside. ¡¯


    ¡®Sleep. I need to sleep.¡¯


    He dragged his numbed body a few steps to his familiar bed, plopped down heavily, and rolled to his back. He stared absentmindedly out the dark ceiling as he draped the sheets over himself¡­ the same sheets Myra was under.


    Osias sighed heavily, forcing down any stray thoughts other than sleep, and slowly closed his eyes.


    ¡®I¡¯ll¡­ train harder tomorrow.¡¯

 Chapter 40 - Beneath The Veneers Of Dread

    ¡°Blade techniques¡­ it all comes down to your own battle style doesn¡¯t it?¡± Nico answered.


    ¡°How about a War Art?¡± Osias asked.


    ¡°Do you take me for a green fool?¡± Nico harshly cut back.


    It was the next day, and on the brink of dawn, Osias was trying to understand the words and practices of those outside the Red Sky ¡ª something he¡¯d change. It also fits well with his guise as a¡­ brigand from a reclusive mountain clan.


    Nico shook his head and added between dodging Osias¡¯s great sword, ¡°A War Art is everything. Your battle style, essence control, Ordeal Abilities ¡ª or even those rare Innate Abilities, equipment, everything.¡±


    ¡®The same as my own definition I guess¡ª¡¯


    ¡°Osias! Nico!¡± Mance''s voice rippled through the air.


    Nico stopped a wild swing that was headed for his leg midway and they approached Mance.


    ¡°Does he know all our names?¡± Osias asked in a hushed voice.


    ¡°He can hear you, and yes,¡± Nico replied.


    They came before Mance ¡ª Osias once again was bare-chested, wearing his loose grey trousers held by a thin sash, but today he was given a pair of wrist wraps.


    ¡°Go, today you both will take turns sparring the others. Nico, you know this, but Osias don¡¯t hold back. Make them hate you.¡±


    Osias frowned and was about to ask if it was necessary before Nico simply nodded and walked off.


    He followed the brisk Nico and asked:


    ¡°Hey, are we sparring them on the open field?¡±


    ¡°Mm. Some Ordeal Abilities need this space. Do you want to go first?¡± He huffed out, checking his armor and axe.


    ¡°...I¡¯m good.¡± Osias didn¡¯t want to interfere with the dark glint in Nico¡¯s eyes. He¡¯ll settle for watching atop some discarded dummies off to the side, or by the healers.


    He brought himself over to a great spot to watch the open field, and suddenly he heard Nico call for the poor fellow that met his gaze first.


    ¡®At least he isn¡¯t going to bring an Ordinary half to death¡­¡¯ Osias noticed from afar.


    Nico picked out a First Ordeal that donned thin leather armor in a deep green color. But trailing the armor¡­ Osias found out it was a woman. She was thin and lean, but beneath the leather and through the gaps, her muscles were toned. Her short curly black hair was tied tightly behind and her confident face was displayed in front. She also seemed older than Nico and himself, but no more than her thirtieth moon.


    Though it was a woman, it wasn¡¯t so surprising. They were Blood Warriors under the Red Sky who were women as well.


    ¡°Little Nico¡­ had fun with the brigand yesterday?¡± The woman asked, pulling a great bow from off her back.


    Nico didn¡¯t say anything in response, already poising himself. Steady, he waited for the women to make the first move.


    ¡°You¡¯re no fun today.¡± She said, pulling and nocking a large arrow fletched in white feathers from her back.


    ¡°You¡¯re talking a lot today, Vanessa.¡± Nico huffed out, his grey serpentine tail already extended in its entirety as though he was welcoming the attack.


    ¡°Suit yourself, little boy.¡±


    Suddenly, Vanessa''s eyes turned pure white, her pupils vanishing as she drew back the bowstring with an effortless grace. The atmosphere around her seemed to shift, an unsettling calm descending over the area.


    With a sudden release, the arrow shot forth, a blur of white feathers slicing through the air. Nico''s reaction was instantaneous, his tail whipping around to deflect, but Vanessa had already seen it coming. Her arrow found its mark with unerring accuracy as it sank deeply into his thigh.


    A flurry of arrows raced to Nico, and Osias was impressed.


    Despite Nico¡¯s tail and axe, he could only deflect and block a few as his armor turned into a punctured mess.


    ¡®He¡¯s not moving forward. Did they have an agreement of sorts?¡¯


    It was true, Nico showed no signs of engaging, only braving the onslaught of arrows as he protected his most important vitals or parts that being injured wouldn¡¯t hinder his assault too much.


    ¡®What do her eyes do?¡¯ Osias wondered as he stared into those pure white pearls.


    Vanessa¡¯s quiver rapidly diminished and just before she nocked the last arrow, she lowered her bow.


    ¡°Thank you, little Nico.¡± She said as she turned away and headed towards the clan¡¯s armory.


    Osias raised an eyebrow at the odd¡­ spectacle. He waited until Vanessa was away before calling to Nico:


    ¡°What was that about?¡±


    ¡°I like testing how many of her arrows can hit true from a distance.¡± Nico dismissed as he pulled the arrows out with a grimace.


    Nico returned to a healer''s side ¡ª one Osias didn¡¯t know of.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good test to see how far I¡¯ve come with using my tail, not just for attacking.¡±


    ¡°...I see,¡± Osias said, uneager to pry any further.


    ¡®Why does he think how I fight is odd when he seems to do this regularly?¡¯ He wondered inwardly.


    Osias grabbed the great single-edged sword that was leaning against a broken palisade and got ready for the next battle.


    Bringing himself to the open field, he scanned the crowd of clansmen all busy with their own sparring and training until suddenly his eyes found Mance directing a group of Ordinaries in Clan Grimm¡¯s grounded and defensive battle style.


    Noticing his glance, Mance stopped his teachings and though Osias couldn¡¯t hear the words Mance spoke through the cacophony of steel, roars, and chatter, he knew.


    Mance was bringing him an Ordinary to¡­ discipline or preferably train along with.


    Osias watched as a tall pale-faced man with sunken features approached the open field. His facial bones were pronounced and an aged scar stretched from the side of his lip down to his chin.


    ¡°I¡¯m called Raynor.¡± The pale man said plainly.


    Osias nodded, unwilling to share words. From the tone of Mance¡¯s words¡­ it sounded as though he¡¯ll continue running through the clansmen a lot more today.


    ¡®Wait¡­ they don¡¯t know of my abundance in essence. Do they think I have absolute and intricate essence control?¡¯


    The main aspect of essence control is to use it efficiently. It was finite in battle and was to be used preciously. Kiran once mentioned that the reservoirs amongst all others were roughly the same, so to train their control so precisely was vital for endurance. To only use the essence to strengthen only what was needed for each movement instead of crudely flooding yourself.


    So if Osias continued to fight and display not only his passive strength but to continue using his enhanced strength from his essence over many battles¡­ Mance, no, anyone would assume his essence control was abnormal.


    However, before he could plan further, Raynor lunged and raised his curved sword.


    Osias parried the attack and countered deeply at the leather cuirass that covered Raynor¡¯s torso, leaving a bloody gash.


    ¡®He¡¯s inexperienced. He tried adjusting the grounded, firm and defensive style as he pushed for a rash attack.¡¯


    Raynor grimaced heavily and brought a hand to his chest, feeling the warm blood trickle onto his free hand.


    ¡­And then he yielded without another attempt.


    Osias narrowed his eyes at the Ordinary moving towards the few healers.


    ¡®What¡¯s with these clansmen leaving abruptly? Is this what Nico had to deal with for months? No wonder he¡¯s foul-mouthed and grouchy¡¯


    He peered over his shoulder to find Nico, only to find an indifferent face that proved how normal this was. Bewildered, Osias simply waited for Mance to throw as many as he and Nico could handle in turns.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Osias¡­ are you ready for the next?¡± Nico heaved out as he sprawled atop the ground.


    ¡°Y-you can go again, you¡¯re young, aren¡¯t you? Hey! Where are you crawling to?¡± Osias stammered out as he too was sprawled atop the ground.


    Nico was already crawling towards the barracks with his tail. He looked like an odd insect as his tail inched him forward and his face dragged against the mud.


    ¡°Nico! Bastard, you¡¯re a First Ordeal aren¡¯t you?¡± Osias cried out. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Dusk was about to befall onto the outward fortress of the Grimm Clan. Today¡­ he wasn¡¯t in the mood to eat. Or do anything at all, really.


    Together, Osias and Nico mauled through dozens of the clansmen. The first batch was easy. Ordinaries who felt sheltered and only been training half-heartedly. But even then, the sheer numbers alone were enough to tire Osias¡¯s mind, especially the First Ordeals. The endless possibilities for their Ordeal Abilities that he had to be wary of took a heavy toll.


    They didn¡¯t feel as though they were part of a clan of warriors.


    Their weapon techniques¡­ or battle style as Nico said was sloppy. Even though the Grimm Clan¡¯s style was closely connected to the foundational movements of swords and blades¡­ they still didn¡¯t possess what Osias sensed or felt that day when Mance was demonstrating to the lot of them.


    Flawless defense, to the point where armor against a single enemy seemed excessive. Firm and grounded.To exude immense pressure as you marched down your foes, forcing them to make a mistake to take advantage of.


    Fast, thoughtful, and precise with their parries, leaving the opponent open to counters if they were not careful.


    However, if there was something Osias noticed amongst these inexperienced fighters, many possessed the mentality to fit for this battle style despite their differing personalities. They all dreaded pain.


    Of course, it was something natural¡­ even Osias felt it, though not so much anymore. Sometimes Osias wondered when pain became something he could push aside.


    But that only made Clan Grimm¡¯s style not fit for him, something Mance noticed almost immediately that first day.


    Speaking of Mance¡­ a quiet dark figure loomed behind him as he saw a faint shadow that blended with the coming darkness of night.


    ¡°I must give my thanks for today, Osias. Nico as well, but he¡¯s already gone.¡± Mance said, looking at the inching figure in the distance.


    ¡°It¡ªit''s fine, Mance.¡± He stammered out.


    Mance continued to stare holes into him as he struggled to sit up.


    ¡°In the past, we used to be more hard of heart. Many more of the young died, but more emerged strong. That was our generation. Alas, the change of leadership came with a change of belief. More survive, more needn¡¯t fight, but our quality of warriors has suffered. They¡¯ve grown weak.¡± Mance recounted.


    ¡°Do you welcome the change?¡± Osias asked in turn.


    ¡°Aye. But it is a shame that true strength arises from true risk.¡±


    Osias nodded, not prying any further than needed. But there was still something he needed to ask.


    ¡°Mance¡­ when will you teach me of the Ordeals?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡ªsorry, boy. I wanted you to exchange with the clansmen first, after all, I don¡¯t know how long you¡¯ll take¡­¡± Mance trailed off quietly before adding, ¡°Do you feel ready? The Ordeals are no trifling thing, despite the First Ordeals you¡¯ve seen.¡±


    Osias nodded earnestly. How many times did Kiran say the same? It was time. Dealing with dozens of the clansmen was enough to prove he wasn¡¯t out of practice to himself.


    ¡°Tomorrow then. Say your farewells, either tonight or tomorrow morning to those you wish. Myra would be disheartened if you didn¡¯t.¡± Mance said as he turned away.


    He didn¡¯t know if he caught a glimpse of a jeering smile, but Osias turned away and slapped his face twice.


    ¡®Cheeky bastard.¡¯


    Osias pulled himself up from the courtyard and headed for quarters made for the wounded ¡ª towards the baths. Eventually, he passed by his room to grab a clean pair of trousers to change into.


    As he made it to the baths, he came upon a well-lit open chamber specifically made for bathing. He heard that the fortress had been built over a natural hot well head, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like hot blood through a warrior¡¯s body, driving the chill from its stone walls, keeping the Ordinaries safe from the cold of winter.


    There, he met with many familiar faces he found over two days ¡ª the First Ordeals and Ordinaries in training. However, tonight he wasn¡¯t in the mood to conversate with them¡­ he needed to prepare himself for an Ordeal. And bid a brief farewell.


    Other than a few exchanges of pleasantries and offputting looks, he left after washing himself.


    Dressing himself in the new change of trousers he dragged his feet to his room.


    ¡®Nico alone will have to deal with them again starting tomorrow.¡¯ He thought with a small grin.


    He was sure that many didn¡¯t appreciate washing along with someone who battered them bloody with fists. Osias sure didn¡¯t when Kiran beat him. Though some did appreciate him for providing a challenge¡­


    But the most dreadful part of the day has yet to come, something already seated atop the edge of his bed, helping herself to an extravagant platter of food, and Osias even found a rare tray of fruits he has yet to see elsewhere in the fortress.


    ¡°Where did you get the fruits from?¡± He asked as he wandered in.


    She wiped her mouth after darting her head up.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know? The merchant company that the clan escorts came to yesterday in the mornin¡ª Ah, you were busy.¡±


    Osias reached over for a lone fruit that he was unfamiliar with, before asking:


    ¡°What is this one?¡±


    ¡°Your family didn¡¯t raid enough merchants then if you haven¡¯t seen an appa before.¡± She teased him.


    His face twitched, but he wasn¡¯t in the mood to entertain her tonight. Collecting himself, he asked:


    ¡°How do you eat this?¡±


    Bringing himself beside her, he shared a seat and let Myra grab round and reddish yellow fruit from him and pulled a clean kitchen knife she likely set aside for him.


    ¡°If we were inland, than you¡¯d find some people who like to peel the skin before eating because they¡¯re more in abundance and if they¡¯re wealthy¡­ But I always like eating them whole.¡± She said as she split it down the middle before adding:


    ¡°Appas like other fruits are rare in the winter, but the Euna Merchant Troupe likes to give gifts like these to the clansmen. The head of the merchant troupe gives many gifts like these twice a year at the end of their travels from East to West.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow and asked:


    ¡°Did you steal this?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± She exclaimed. ¡°I was helping the kitchen today, and they let me have this when they saw me grabbing our share of food.¡±


    Osias smiled, grabbing his half of the appa. He followed Myra, bringing it to his mouth, and taking a bite with a loud wet crunch.


    ¡°It''s sweet.¡± He uttered between chews.


    ¡°Right?¡± She laughed.


    Their chatters filled his room, spilling out the hall as usual. It was¡­ comforting. Eating with Myra like this. It was their own dwelling in another light. Very rarely has anyone even crossed his room, much less at this hour.


    Even though he has noticed how little he feels from the elements with his body, it was warm. As if both talk and food warmed something he didn¡¯t know was cold.


    ¡­Slowly as the grand platter of food was robbed of its last cut of meat and crumb of baked bread, he decided to steel himself.


    ¡°Myra,¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± She hummed at the sudden change in tone.


    He paused for a while, letting the dampened howls of the wind outside rattle and sing before he finally continued after a few failed attempts to stammer what he wanted to say out.


    ¡®Just, say it, you coward.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯ll undergo my First Ordeal tomorrow. Mance himself will teach me how.¡± He said quietly. The words trailed off before he added, ¡°I don¡¯t know when the next I¡¯ll see you be.¡±


    ¡®Did you have to say that last part? She hails from a warrior clan! She should already know what undergoing an Ordeal should entail, you dejected fool!¡¯ His inward voice screamed.


    Despite the conflict of voices in his head, his face remained awkwardly still, though Myra couldn¡¯t see it.


    The seconds passed impossibly slow¡­ though not as slow as he recalled from his tortured dream.


    He was waiting for something ¡ª anything.


    Until Myra let out a small laugh, standing up to set the empty platter on the table.


    Osias only watched her. It was a familiar motion, something he¡¯d seen from her over many mornings and nights.


    ¡°Then I have to bid you good luck.¡± She said¡­ but her pleasant words betrayed her long face.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡± She said, avidly running outside his room, leaving him both alone and bewildered.


    ¡®Back for what?¡¯ He wondered.


    His mind raced back and forth as he sat still.


    ¡®Did I say something wrong?


    He tapped his foot anxiously against his weathered floorboards. Unease, he considered if he should follow.


    ¡®How long is she going to be gone?¡¯ He wondered.


    But just as he did, quick steps echoed through the desolate halls. Forcing himself to appear confident, he stopped his tapping and sat there staring at the entrance.


    And as Myra appeared before him again, he felt nothing was astray until his eyes traced what she held in her hands ¡ª a familiar pair of worn-down spring scissors, the same that she used to cut his hair.


    ¡°You ran out for¡­ scissors?¡±


    ¡°Of course I did, how else am I going to¡ª¡±


    Suddenly Myra¡¯s face turned flush, something Osias had yet to see oddly enough. Reddish pink, piercing through the darkly lit room with his humble and lone lantern.


    ¡°Osias!¡± She yelped out sheepishly. Her hands were trembling for a reason he didn¡¯t know.


    He held out both his hands in, trying to scare off the approaching girl.


    ¡°Hey¡ªhey, Myra? What are you going to do with those scissors?¡± He tried to dissuade her.


    But his words only seemed to anger and humiliate her more.


    ¡®What¡¯s with her!¡¯


    She was practically glowing in fury!


    However, in the next moment, when he thought she was about to attack him or the like¡­


    Myra brought her free hand to pinch a small section of her hair taut while the other hand cut them long.


    ¡°How much of a brigand are you!¡± She frustratedly cried out. ¡°You tell a girl, alone, that you¡¯ll undergo an Ordeal?¡±


    ¡°A-and?¡± He shyly asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a story, one centuries old. All children were told it!¡±


    Then, she held out her hand expectantly, and he obliged, slowly extending his left hand to her open palm.


    Nabbing it roughly, she stretched out his fourth finger and began to¡­ wrap the small section of her hair that was cut around it gently. He shyly watched and felt her delicate and warm hands work, and when she was done tying the small bundle into a thicker ring around his finger, he heard a sharp exhale.


    ¡°A lowly and humble porter employed by a merchant troupe was trailing at the rear of a line of carriages and men. He was weak, skinny, and frail, and when soldiers of another realm attacked the troupe, chaos followed. The small and modest carriage he was behind toppled because of this, and he heard a small cry. There, to his surprise, he found the gorgeous daughter of the lord from the land he hailed from. Gallantly, he covered her in his cloak and took her by the hand, running away from the battle.¡±


    Osias unwittingly swallowed a heavy stone in his throat, and he felt beads of sweat beginning to wetten his back at Myra¡¯s soft voice.


    ¡°They took refuge in a cave within a forest, but they were deep within the territory of their enemies. But he refused to give up, both for himself and the frightened woman he saved. So he decided ¡ª he was to succeed in his First Ordeal and gain the strength to escape. He wiped the cheeks of the teary-eyed woman, assuring her he would be fine, saving her upon his ascent.¡±


    He watched the meek flickering light of the lantern dance on Myra¡¯s face and saw tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.


    But then he felt as though his heart fell sharply¡­ as he noticed dark tired rings around her eyes. He didn¡¯t realize how exhausted she looked in the dimly lit room.


    ¡®From¡­ yesterday?¡¯ He sadly wondered.


    ¡°But in turn, she took the dull knife from his side and bundled a small pinch of hair and cut it. Through her tears, she wove the bundle into a golden weave ¡ª a ring around the fourth finger of her gallant savior.¡±


    In the next moment, Osias saw her move dangerously close to him. She was slow, impossibly so, but his mind was as well.


    Myra wrapped her slightly shaky arms around his head and pulled him gently as he welcomed it. He closed his eyes and he felt her lips brush against his.


    Osias¡­ didn¡¯t know how long it took before Myra¡¯s lips left his own. Eventually, her hands traced down to his left arm ¡ª tightly clasping the hand that the ring made from her lustrous brown hair wrapped around.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t die, Osias.¡± She said in a hushed whisper.


    ¡®Ah¡­ what are you doing, Osias?¡¯


    He let out a slow breath, gently pulling his free arm around her, and brought her close. He embraced her tightly.


    ¡®Did she lie, about not seeing in the courtyard yesterday? She must hate how I fight¡­ so much so she lost sleep.¡¯


    He swallowed a welling feeling of¡­ guilt. But there were so many other feelings that guilt alone couldn¡¯t describe as he felt her shaky breath against his skin. Even the worried beating of her heart was felt. Was it because of his connection with blood, or was it because of how tight he held her?


    ¡®She feels so small¡­ fragile, even. She worries easily. Who are you to make her worry so?¡¯


    So he chose to say something he so direly wished would come true.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back.¡± He promised her.


    And as he did so, he almost immediately felt her breaths slowly turn steady, and her tight clasps around his chest loosen.


    ¡®She¡­ asleep.¡¯


    He stayed like this for a few minutes, before gently laying her atop his bed. He pulled the sheets over her small exhausted body before it turned cold from the winter night.


    ¡®You¡¯re a fool. She¡­ feels this way, yet you¡¯ve started with lies.¡¯


    Pulling the polished pale wood chair, he took a seat as he watched the bed sheets slowly rise and fall with her quiet breaths.


    ¡®Dodging it all this time. You acknowledged it¡­ but pushed it aside, saving yourself.¡¯


    He sighed deeply, but his gaze never left the delicate sleeping figure.


    ¡®But, you shouldn¡¯t have her cry anymore.¡¯


    That night, Osias didn¡¯t sleep.


    As the first sliver of dawn broke past the ashen clouded sky, he approached Mance with a heavy heart and resolved mind.


    He made sure to leave before Myra awakened¡­. because he had a feeling that if he saw her soft groggy eyes open the next morning, never in a lifetime would he undergo an Ordeal.

 Chapter 41 - An Unfathomable Pull

    ¡°Close your eyes.¡±


    ¡°My teacher, The Grand Elder, said that perhaps it was longing ¡ª a deep yearning for strength that was inherent to everything, beasts and man alike. Perhaps it was greed or something even deeper arose when we lay our eyes upon something that has more than what we have.¡±


    Osias was seated crossed leg on the ground of a decrepit chamber, tucked deep within the rear of the fortress, somewhere he along with Mance had to descend through a set of carved stairs. It wasn¡¯t lavishly vast, but enough for multiple clansmen to reside.


    However, when they arrived it was empty. Mance even had to find and pull aside the Second Ordeal guard that usually manned this deep chamber away from guarding the walls of the fortress.


    ¡°It starts with a will, then you''ll visualize it into actualization. However, only the ambitious, and those strong enough to will and wish for strength can qualify¡­ this is why you''ll find that even the weakest of the Third, or even Fourth are beings who are strong despite that.


    The visual itself isn''t important, I found it best to imagine yourself as a small ember, drifting along to a large flame ¡ª almost pulling you in. Your ambition draws in more of these embers of strength, changing how much more difficult you wish your Ordeal will be¡­ as well as how great the yields will be.¡±


    Osias ruminated deeply as he listened, following how Mance described it. He knew it himself as well¡­ the odd pull as he thought of strength, he felt it before.


    It seemed that not all could feel it¡­ perhaps that is the end of their Path.


    But before that stray thought continued, Osias delved deep into this pull, immersing himself as embers of a blazing fire surrounded by darkness.


    Mance¡¯s quiet, but coarse voice continued to guide him. ¡°I cannot guide your ambition, such is the nature of it. Words cannot change that. But, if you wish to return, whole and alive¡­ do not let that fire of ambition engulf you whole as it pulls you in.¡±


    Osias heard him clearly¡­ but he can no longer remain as he is. It seemed that Mance already knew of the unassailable fire within from the moment Osias asked for guidance from him.


    ¡°You may face people¡­ creatures of the First. Perhaps the Second. That alone is already beyond what many face in their First Ordeal. But all you must do is survive until you slay the one that will allow your return. You¡¯ll know when you see it ¡ª the pull you feel now will be felt then¡­ but also because of how strong your ambition is, I fear that the feeling of death would surmount the pull.¡± Mance continued but trailed off near the end.


    ¡°You will wake up in another place, I can not say for certain where or what you will see, but in a way, it is¡­ belonging. But it will be conjured from the past. As for how ancient or recent you will find yourself, I won¡¯t know.


    Time inside the Ordeal diverges from outside. You may spend a week in there, yet only a day may pass outside. Again, this is varied for all, yet the longest I have seen someone succeed in their Ordeal has been half a year.


    ¡­ You may begin.¡±


    With that, Osias willed the embers to add to his flame, and then, an almost innate feeling, deeply rooted within himself as Mance said, began to appear within the darkness around his flame.


    And Osias knew¡­ if his boundless flame grasped this wisp, he¡¯d begin his Ordeal.


    ¡°I see it.¡± He said.


    ¡°Good, it does not take long¡­ nothing more but the step before a gate.¡± Mance''s words trailed off and he paused before adding:


    ¡°Osias, I have not the chance to know if you like the others. But as the clan head welcomed you to Clan Grimm, I too am responsible for overseeing your training and beyond that¡­


    You''re strong beyond your years, unfounded so as an Ordinary. One brief match was enough to tell. Your War Art is coming along, and I can see the foundations you have strongly built. Although there is much I do not know of your past, I have heard from the other Second Ordeals who were present in your retrieval. Perhaps that event made you seek out even greater strength¡­ but be weary of your limits. Ordeals befitting your ambition are bound to be treacherous.¡±


    ¡°I know, and thank you, Mance¡­ I''ll take over from here.¡± Osias finally said after he considered Mance¡¯s earnest words.


    After that, Osias could hear some shuffling from Mance, and then within seconds, Osias was left alone.


    ¡ª


    Mance threw a quick glance at the boy behind him before he closed the gate that led within the chambers of the aspiring clansmen. He often found himself lingering for a while outside whenever he had guided another of the clan to their Ordeal, either First or Second.


    Because the gate was made to keep those clansmen from breaking free upon their triumph.


    The Ordeals¡­ Path Finders do not always emerge peacefully even if they survive. Their mind is shaped differently depending on what they¡¯ve seen or done. They can do nothing more than strive to return to a semblance of normal life.


    Mance sighed inwardly as he recalled how grave Osias was this morning when he came to. The boy seemed to have a sleepless night judging how early he arrived. That look in his flinty eyes¡­ if Mance hadn¡¯t seen the boy fight, then he would¡¯ve taken him for a brash fool eager to die.


    Outside of the hall, he found the Second Ordeal he fetched for earlier and called to him:


    ¡°Tsor, you know how it¡¯ll be. I¡¯ll have someone cover when you need it along with another for meals. And¡­ careful. If the boy survives his Ordeal, I have an inkling that his emergence will not be peaceful. Aside from that, he may overpower you.¡±


    Tsor nodded solemnly, something Mance was satisfied with. Too many times had they seen broken men and women emerge in a flurry of violence. Although Mance would prefer another Second Ordeal to keep watch because of the possibility of Osias running mad, the clan couldn¡¯t expend another for a possibility. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Leaving the dim corridor, he headed out to find either the Grand Elder or perhaps Aeron or Henrik if they hadn¡¯t gone for another hunt for beasts.


    Alone, he moved fast, unhindered by the necessity to slow his pace by guiding another. The air around him shuddered, and in a billow of black wind, he appeared back in his familiar courtyard. There, he wandered about toward the great tower where the council hall was.


    It was still early, too early for the Path Finders in training as well as the First Ordeals to awake and train, but Second Ordeals rarely slept much less Third Ordeals.


    However, he shook his head to himself as he found the one he was looking for ¡ª also headed for the clan head.


    ¡°Henrik, a word?¡± He called out to the black armored man and before Henrik could even turn to where his voice rang out from, he appeared right beside Henrik with a black gust.


    ¡°You¡¯ll scare one of the young ones to death these days, Mance,¡± Henrik grumbled from Mance¡¯s sudden appearance before asking, ¡°What is it? Ready to send some of yours outside finally?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m reporting on the boy¡¯s undertaking.¡±


    ¡°Osias?¡± Henrik stammered out in surprise. ¡°Mance! He¡¯s only been recovering for almost two months! And you allowed this?¡±


    Mance showed a small grin to his old friend, ¡°Have you been busy pushing scrolls for the clan since you¡¯ve returned? I thought the news would¡¯ve spread to all the Second Ordeals by now. Even the clan head.¡±


    But Henrik continued to look surprised.


    ¡°The boy, he¡¯s bested many of the Ordinaries of our clan. Even First Ordeals.¡±


    Henrik stopped his pace, staring at him puzzledly.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t one to lie¡­ I see. I see.¡± Henrik said, suddenly bringing a hand to the back of his ruffled head amusingly.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t taught him Clan Grimm¡¯s essence control and weapon techniques, it wasn¡¯t fitting for him. He fights¡­ fiercely. Sharp and violent, he reminds me of the brigands we once routed in the south. It was too long ago, but those united tribes and clans¡­ remember them?¡± Mance said pensively as a hand brushed his neck.


    ¡°Aye, how couldn¡¯t I? I¡¯m not that old yet. That uncouth one¡­ Vorin of the Crescent Axe. No, he along with his Half-Moon Clan were horrible to fight.¡±


    ¡°That boy, Osias seemed to fit the image of them. Those tattoos on the boy do seem reminiscent of them.¡±


    ¡°Bah, you think they¡¯re all alike.¡± Henrik dismissed as his words trailed off, adding somberly, ¡°I¡­ sometimes think what Clan Grimm would be if we weren¡¯t given the order that day.¡±


    The mood turned solemn, a mutual understanding between the two old veterans of Clan Grimm of a time they shared long ago.


    ¡°Do you think Aeron saved the boy as a¡­ attempt at making right?¡±


    Henrik inhaled a deep breath before recounting:


    ¡°No, I was there. You couldn¡¯t even tell the boy apart from a dying corpse, much less a brigand of the likes of Vorin and his mountain men. Perhaps afterward when Osias was healed, yes, but it¡¯s been too long to brood over such things anymore. Tens of years had passed since then. Even the previous head of the Tailed Brothers had already perished in that time.¡±


    ¡°...I see,¡± Mance said solemnly.


    Switching both topic and tone Henrik asked:


    ¡°So, did you personally guide him?¡±


    ¡°Mm, I don¡¯t like leaving such a thing to others.¡±


    ¡­They continued to make their way towards the council hall for the clan head as they discussed the outcomes of such a powerful Ordinary. Eventually, Henrik grows more and more interested upon hearing Mance tell of Osias¡¯s strengths, even pleading with Mance to allow Osias to join the hunts outside.


    ¡ª


    In a way, it was familiar. Being left alone in a dark chamber in the pursuit of strength. However, this time it was of his own volition. To undergo the Ordeal because he wanted to be strong, not because it was forced down on him.


    ¡®I wonder¡­ if the porter succeded his Ordeal and saved the princess. Myra didn¡¯t finish the tale.¡¯ He thought wistfully. A small smile curled the ends of his lips as he wondered if the stern-looking Mance knew he would bid farewell to Myra like that.


    But then he steeled himself.


    ¡®...I¡¯m sorry, Kiran. I haven¡¯t proven to you that I¡¯m ready.¡¯


    Pushing aside the stray thought, he began to pull on the luminescent wisp to his fire. He didn¡¯t know what would come before him in this Ordeal, but it was time.


    Suddenly, the air around him felt dense, as though it were pressing down on him, suffocating and oppressive. The world itself had narrowed to this single moment. The luminescent wisp flickered before him, an ethereal glow that pulsed with an otherworldly light in the darkness.


    But then he steeled himself as he began to pull on the luminescent wisp to his fire. He wanted it for his own.


    The fire within him, that ever-present, smoldering ember, flickered in response, as though it was aware of the significance of what was about to happen.


    Osias¡¯s muscles tensed, his mind focused with sharp intensity. The world around him seemed to blur at the edges, fading into an indistinct haze as he centered himself, drawing on every ounce of willpower he possessed. The ground beneath him was solid, unyielding, yet it felt distant as if he were no longer entirely connected to it.


    And almost immediately as he inwardly willed it in, he felt an unfathomable pull on his mind, body, and soul. Something that he could not stop no matter his wishes.


    So all he could do was welcome it.


    He couldn''t see a thing, and nothing but darkness engulfed his senses, as though he was looking from his blazing flame at the abyss that surrounded it. Even time was muddled¡­ he didn''t know how long or short this period of darkness was, time itself was seemingly pulled in and warped.


    But suddenly, the darkness whisked away, however, before he could see he¡­ felt.


    The unmistakable feeling of blood. The heavy metallic tang in the scent clung to his nose and mouth. The sounds of the world itself shattering and crumbling under¡­ battle.


    Osias¡¯s eyes snapped open and blinked many times over, yet the scene bewildered him. His senses were thrown off and his hearing was decimated under the cacophony of bellows and roars.


    ¡®A battle¡­ no, a war.¡¯ he thought, the word barely forming in his mind as he tried to grasp the enormity of what lay before him.


    His vision swam as he forced himself to focus. Soldiers ¡ª an uncountable amount clad in armor, both tattered and bloody, clashed in a brutal melee, their cries of rage and pain mingling with the thunderous clash of steel. There must¡¯ve been tens of thousands of men, perhaps more spanning from beyond his vision. The ground itself seemed to pulse with the violence of it all, quaking under the sheer weight of their boots.


    Osias struggled to move, his body slowed to respond as if the darkness had left a lingering numbness. It seemed he was¡­ resting against something, and then he pushed himself upright, suddenly feeling the sticky warmth of blood beneath his hands.


    It wasn¡¯t his own¡­ he didn¡¯t feel wounded. But then his surroundings were made clear as his eyes traced to what was below his feet.


    The countless fallen surrounded him, their lifeless eyes staring up at a stained sky that was obscured by smoke and ash. The air was thick, and suffocating, and each breath he took felt like it was dragging shards of glass down his throat.


    He tried to orient himself in this¡­ Ordeal.


    A sudden burst of movement to his right jolted him back to the present. A fearful warrior, face smeared with blood and dirt, charged past him, not even noticing Osias in his mad rush towards the fray. Another followed, then another, until Osias found himself caught in a torrent of bodies, all surging forward, driven by some unseen force that he couldn¡¯t fathom.


    ¡®Is¡ªis this how it begins?¡¯ he wondered, the question hanging in his mind like a leaden weight. But there was no time to dwell on it. The battle was all-consuming, and Osias knew, instinctively, that if he didn¡¯t move, he would be trampled, swallowed by the tide of violence that showed no sign of abating.


    With a grunt of effort, he forced himself to stand, swaying as the world spun around him. His limbs did not feel foreign, nor was the rest of his body¡­ but what covered him was. An unfamiliar set of shabby armor ¡ª similar to some of the other soldiers surrounding him.


    But there was no room for doubt now. He awoke in hell, just like he had once before. He had to survive, had to find a way through this Ordeal and return.


    He exhaled heavily as he bent over and picked a bloodied plumed spear from one of the dead that littered the muddy earth below. The war raged on around him, a storm of blood and steel, and Osias, against all reason stepped forward into the maelstrom, the taste of iron heavy on his tongue, the roar of battle in his ears.

 Chapter 42 - Death Warms Steel

    ¡°Kahm¡ª¡±


    Then the pleas of the helpless soldier turned to a wet gurgle as Osias''s spear pierced their throat.


    Two more hands gripped his spear in an attempt to claw for a miracle to save a punctured neck¡­ but all the man grasped was the blood unnaturally flowing upwards as horror overtook the last sights of war.


    In the next moment, the nameless man let go of Osias¡¯s spear and dropped lifelessly as the final embers of life were forcefully taken through Blood Reave.


    Shaking his head¡­ Osias realized the soldiers spoke a different language. But the words were undoubtedly of the man begging for mercy. For their lives.


    If the act of killing was evil¡­ then the battlefield was hell. Osias knew not of the state of this war, nor did he know anything aside from two unimaginably large forces battling in a gruesome melee.


    ¡­That pleading man with untold fear in his eyes was Osias''s first kill. His first time killing a person. But he swallowed down what little remorse he had as he thought of his promise to return. His need to reunite with Kiran.


    Again, he quickly inspected his body as the immediate threat was taken, and he found that it was exactly as it was before he entered the Ordeal, except for the armor he donned.


    His boots, wrist wraps, and tattoos were the same under it though.


    And oddly enough, although his essence reservoir was full as usual¡­ it wasn¡¯t continually being raised and fed through his tattoos.


    ¡®My tattoos¡­ they are empty.¡¯


    Suddenly, his ears perked within his tattered helm and he dodged a thrust of another soldier''s spear ¡ª another Ordinary. Then he used a hand to pull the man''s weapon and he ripped the man''s helm off, exposing the sweaty rugged man.


    He didn''t look like a soldier, a warrior. His eyes¡­ were full of fear and fright. The type he¡¯d hear from the cruel tales of returning Blood Warriors.


    Osias narrowed his eyes in dark contempt and he severed the arm as the stricken fighter cried in agony. Staggered to their knees, Osias stared down the enemy who sensed their looming end.


    ¡°Ma¡­Maria¡ª¡±


    ¡®I don''t¡­ want to hear anymore.¡¯ Osias dismissed as his hand moved with an impossible speed and gripped the man by the throat, silencing another series of pleas and begging before they began.


    Osias was a little more than four times as strong as any other Ordinary his size if Kiran was accurate back then, and his iron-clawed grip was enough to hold the pitiful man at bay, suffocating him.


    More clawing from the lifted dying man ensued, but through the tight vices of Osias¡¯s hands, he used Blood Reave ferociously while the man was suffocating.


    Eventually, the man died in his clasps, their single arm falling limb at their side with the name of someone precious to them coating their last words.


    But the misery of nothing but figments of Osias¡¯s Ordeal couldn¡¯t shake him. Though¡­ the woman¡¯s name did leave a bad taste.


    Shaking his head, he once more buried the useless thoughts.


    ¡®Indeed¡­  the blood-born fight best amidst wars of many.¡¯ He reflected, tossing the husk at a pair of foes who rushed past what should¡¯ve been his fellow¡­ bannerman. Glancing down at his aged leather tunic and the small sigil of a red feather above his heart.


    ¡®Even this armor is odd.¡¯ He inspected.


    It was leather without a doubt, but it looked like the scales. Plates woven together make a crude-looking lizard skin.


    However, he lifted his gaze and poised himself, leaning forward into a lunge with terrible speed. He wasn¡¯t used to a spear, but he stabbed and cut enough to know the basics of a weapon so prevalent among those beginning to step onto the battlefield.


    After all, that was who he was facin¡ª


    In the next moment, something flung above the heads of the approaching soldiers and battered at his chest.


    ¡®Fast!¡¯ He thought as he skidded from the blow.


    He jammed the butt of his spear down against the earth caked in blood and gore, eventually wedging under a sizable litter of armored corpses ¡ª some of the enemy and some of his comrades.


    ¡°A stone?¡± He gruffed, but it was nothing more than a whisper amid the madness around him.


    Then from the small clearing a few meters ahead came a giant the size of Kiran. Soldiers on both sides were pummeled and pushed aside, nothing more than rats hounding below the man almost twice their height and many more in weight. A beaming metal sigil of a Golden Hawk was decorated at its left chest plate.


    ¡®First Ordeal.¡¯


    More soldiers of the same banner surged ahead, the few who chose not to be stricken by the terror. Their blades met the savage armor but bounced off. The few that met the gaps and chink were pummeled into the very earth that birthed them...


    Though the giant man did slow down a little, Osias took the opportunity, grabbing another spare pike off a nameless corpse and throwing it straight for the face hidden between the twisted black crown that donned the giant.


    His mind was cold and full of murderous intent. Nothing more was important than returning with the strength of his ascent.  Even as the giant quickly swatted the pike before it met its face, Osias''s spear flashed through the war-torn air, cutting deep into the gaps of its armor with a spray of blood that was taken into his tattoos.


    ''If they aren''t full when I come to... I''ll fill it up. All this blood is mine for the taking.¡¯ He thought with a baleful sneer.


    The giant staggered, and more soldiers of the opposing banner hindered Osias, but then he warded them off enough to stab deep behind the giant¡¯s knee.


    ¡®If only Blood Reave wasn¡¯t so slow.¡¯ He thought, taking more blood essence from the lumbering hunk of black steel. Stolen story; please report.


    Ducking under another wild swing from another, he slammed the nameless man and pilfered a lusterless knife from a hidden sheath.


    ¡®I¡¯ll take this.¡¯


    Dancing between blades and spears, Osias let some of his bannerman aid in conquering the giant of the First Ordeal. It seemed that his small display was enough to rile up the weak fools to forget the others turning into a paste of blood, flesh, and armor under the force of the giant¡¯s gauntlets.


    But it was enough, the few seconds the large bastard was occupied, Osias mounted him and pried the helmet of crowns from the neckline to no avail. But it was enough to tell where the gap was.


    A sickly lurch of the giant and then his mount was staggering, but before the lumbering hands could even come upwards, Osias took the small knife and stabbed it deeply, embedding it into the neck of the giant before leaping off in a roll. The giant scrambled after him, but he continued to advance through the thicket of soldiers, using the giant as nothing more than a ruinous hammer for those he passed.


    ¡®The Blood Warriors fought fiercely.¡¯


    Picking up another spare curved sword he wasn¡¯t accustomed to, he evaded another onslaught of soldiers before the edge met their throats in a fountain of blood he gleefully took for his own.


    The giant bashed and pounded whoever dared hinder its mad chase as he bled out. Banners didn¡¯t matter to it anymore.


    ¡®The Red Sky''s War Art¡­ the accumulation of all. To be used on a single foe or an uncountable amount of them.¡¯


    The Red Sky fought with the straightforward, yet violently insidious resolve of warriors who bled their enemies. Osias couldn''t fight as they did, making necessary sacrifices to further plunge his blade into his enemies, but he could adopt much of the style ¡ª the barbarously cruel yet efficient path to survival and triumph. Killers, raiders, reavers... their very existence and birth were fraught with taking from others, even from kin.


    So he fought as a mere shell of a true blood-born... until he succeeded this can he advance an enormous step towards that ideal state ¡ª The War Art of the Red Sky. The dance of violent death and brutality.


    ¡­His essence flared and invigorated him, and the rapture of Blood Reave only led to more necks being opened. Limbs are to be severed at the joint. Chest plates to cave in as their ribs poke into their own lungs and hearts.


    Whether it was by sword, axe, spear, or gauntlet, the Ordinaries fell in droves. Each swing sang with a wicked whistle as he continued to fight indefinitely. This was where a blood-born was made for!


    All that mattered was that he passed the Ordeal.


    There was no running, no hiding.


    His life was fraught with moving along the wind of evading death. Always¡­ always moving. Looking forward to the next thing as he allowed it to happen.


    This was not to be one of such times. He refused to waver in his ascent. Whatever happens¡­ as long as he survives and returns, he¡¯ll do anything.


    Another swipe of his sword hit swift and true, and another stream of blood essence fed into his tattoos. He was rapidly draining his stock despite methodically and intricately manipulating his essence as he learned from the beginning to now. All those times he trained and spar and fought¡­ his control and strength was the accumulation of his dreadful experiences.


    His ears perked and then he dodged an unnaturally strong throw unfitting of a mere Ordinary coming from his side. He glanced behind him to find that it was a throwing spear that he narrowly dodged, nevertheless, he made a mad dash towards the thrower.


    He dashed through the battling men, weaving delicately past those individual battles like lightning stained in blood. When he met opposition, he tore right past the storm of steel with his attacks, taking another stream of blood with him as their lives were reaped.


    ¡®He¡¯s running away.¡¯ Osias thought with narrowed eyes, spotting the turn tail who was eagerly pushing through mounds of men.


    But his blade was seeking the audacious spear thrower, as though cursing the man to the ends of the battlefield.


    ¡®Too late.¡¯ He thought, picking a spear from the ground and throwing it with a thunderous might that was practically the same as the one Osias almost got hit with.


    A wet thud sounded, and the spearhead hit true, sinking deep into the man¡¯s torso as it broke through the tattered leather armor.


    ¡®Hmph.¡¯ Osias scoffed, reaching the many men before him ¡ª they hindered the way to make sure the thrower was dead. Osias wanted to make sure that he just killed another First Ordeal or if it was an unnaturally strong Ordinary.


    But then a surge of his fellow bannermen followed, these men were picked up along the way. They probably saw his slaughter with how pronounced the giant was behind him. Morale beaming and vigor flowed through their veins at the blood-stained warrior who never faltered, and never tired.


    Seeing another Ordinary bannermen on his side pinned below one clad in the Golden Hawk attire, Osias cleaved through the neck with his blade. Blood splattered over his fellow bannermen¡¯s older face, but with a grunt, Osias roughly cleaned him up with Blood Reave, earning a reserved thanks and nod in response before continuing forward.


    ¡®I wonder what¡¯s the word for welcoming¡­¡¯


    By now, Osias has figured that both the enemy and his bannerman spoke the same language ¡ª a difficult discovery as cries, roars, and bellows replaced proper words here. It was madness, with no coherent leaders¡­ no orders. Even as the men chanted behind him, he wasn¡¯t sure if they were all sane.


    ¡°Visalros! Visalros!¡± They all clamored, and through Osias¡¯s glances behind, he found the men at times pointing towards him and chanting those words relentlessly with such zeal he¡¯d take them for the cults he had heard of in stories.


    The troop of men rushed ahead in a feral roar, crashing against the small formation that formed in retaliation to his followers. Scoffing to himself, Osias took advantage of it and followed.


    He was already more than a head taller than even the largest of them, yet he still jumped off the shield backs to reach the fray.


    With a resounding boom, he smothered an unfortunate soldier beneath his feet and flailed his sword at the men around in a hazy blur.


    But it was enough to allow his followers to break through the small formation and slaughter the disoriented Ordinaries as they chanted fervently.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± They bellowed as their swords met the necks of the stumbled enemies. But upon closer look, Osias found his followers a little¡­ crazed.


    Their eyes were wild, bloodshot, and wide with a mixture of fury and exhaustion, veins visible against the reddened whites. One man¡¯s face, smeared with grime and blood, bore deep lines of fatigue, yet his movements were frenetic, driven by a madness that gripped him tighter with each passing moment. His chest heaved with labored breaths as he swung his sword, the blade slashing through the air with reckless abandon.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± One howled.


    Each strike was delivered with a desperate force, the weapon connecting with flesh and bone, sending sprays of blood across his worn armor. His face twisted into a grotesque snarl, teeth bared in a silent scream. The exhaustion weighing on his limbs seemed to have given way to a dark frenzy, where pain and weariness no longer held sway over him.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± Another yelled, tackling a maimed soldier from grabbing Osias¡¯s leg in a final struggle.


    Osias didn¡¯t react, only watching the man smother the maimed enemy in a gritty scramble. Eventually, his follower mounted the pitiful soldier and abandoned gripping their throat ¡ª they moved to gouge their eyes in a bloody mess.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± His follower bellowed from atop.


    His follower seemed so adamant in slaying anything that possessed the gold hawk. His vision tunneled, focusing only on the immediate threat in front of him, with no thought given to strategy or survival. The madness in his eyes reflected a mind lost to the chaos of the battlefield, where the line between life and death had blurred into a singular, relentless drive to cut down anything that moved.


    ¡®His head¡­ he¡¯s going to die.¡¯


    Sweat and blood dripped down his face, stinging his eyes, but he did not blink. His fingers tore at the flailing man¡¯s eye sockets below. Until the already maimed soldier died, the chanting man finally collapsed to his side and grabbed Osias¡¯s ankle.


    ¡°Vi-Visalros.¡±


    Bending over, Osias closed the man¡¯s eyes as the chaos continued to unravel around him. A nameless chanting follower¡­ it was odd.


    ¡®Putting his trust in me I wonder?¡¯ Osias thought.


    ¡®Hmph.¡¯ He scoffed, picking up the sword of his fervent, yet dead follower''s side, and he continued to fight.


    He looked back at the hundred or so bannermen following him and wondered what the word meant.


    But this thought couldn''t linger any longer because another wave of men broke past the chaos, led by another First Ordeal it seemed.


    The luxurious Golden Hawk brooch pinned to their left chest plate was larger and more decadent than the gold-colored threads woven into the leather of the Ordinaries.


    ¡®How¡­ how many more do I have to kill? What is the purpose of this war?¡¯

 Chapter 43 - Divulge In Customs

    The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. Yet, Osias took that as an ominous omen. No soft grass blanket was welcomed here, only the hard dusty ground, bare and strewn with stones. Although there was softer land elsewhere, he¡­ didn¡¯t wish to rest closer to the site of the battle. Blood and putrid remains of the living and dead softened the ground into a sludge of eerie mud, but even Osias hadn¡¯t fallen to the sick ploys of exhaustion enough to do so.


    Even then, nightly battles were heard even from where he lay, endless hours fraught with battle. Harsh roars and cries sounded incessantly ¡ª no trees stirred in the wind, and there was no stream to soothe his fears with the gentle music of water.


    He has heard of raids, skirmishes, and wars even.


    But fighting in them himself¡­ he knew not of how mad man can be until today. Even as fear overtook the vast many, they fought with all they had to extinguish the lives of others without remorse. They gladly enjoyed killing another frightful man, ending their worthless pleas of mercy despite doing the same when they themselves were brought a half-step to death.


    Even his¡­ followers did as well.


    Osias looked around at the men around him. Away from trading steel and blood, their previous demeanor was restored. Now they seemed a little too tense to sleep¡­


    He hasn¡¯t talked to them once, nor had Osias lifted the helmet he donned. Even now it was stained and reeked of blood. He didn¡¯t know if he should reveal that he didn¡¯t know the common language they all spoke, so he rendered himself mute as they followed him to the outer ring of battle.


    ¡®Should I try?¡¯ He inwardly asked.


    After all, even after fighting for¡­ hours, he couldn¡¯t find the enemy he needed to slay as Mance said. The pull wasn¡¯t there.


    It shouldn¡¯t feel as daring as it is, but Osias steeled himself and began to unlatch the straps of his helmet. Slowly lifting it, his face was exposed to the small fire among the many they rested by.


    The handful of men turned, their armor creaked and rasped together with the crackling of the fires and chatter.


    It turned silent and many more from the other huddled groups from the rest of the fires joined to watch.


    ¡®This is¡­ embarrassing.¡¯ He thought, scratching his head.


    They seemed¡­ intrigued, but not wary nor threatening.


    Oasis lifted a hand to one of them and pointed to their mouth and then pointed to his own.


    ¡°Vi¡­Visalros.¡± He said, trying to mimic the way they pronounced the word.


    The man he pointed at peeled their own helmet off rested it between their arm and stared at him before echoing ruggedly:


    ¡°Visalros!¡± And then pointed at Osias.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± The others who were awake chimed in.


    ¡®Is it a name? My name? A title? Or simply another word?¡¯ Osias cried in his head with curiosity and frustration. He murmured to himself ¡ª trying to piece together all he knew.


    He heard that some of the cults or the recluses within the Northern Wind Union spoke something other than Vorin, the common tongue.


    The languages of old¡­ the ones spoken by the many different kingdoms formed before the Three Great factions came to be.


    Before the Tailed Rebellion. But Osias didn¡¯t know of their names nor how they sounded, were written, and pronunciations. Such things were lost to time, thousands of years perhaps¡­


    ¡®Is this one of such languages? No¡­ where am I? Who are these people?¡¯


    Without a sword threatening to open his neck, Osias finally asked these important questions that were pushed aside upon his arrival.


    ¡®Mance didn¡¯t mention any such thing other than vague enemies.¡¯ Osias recalled.


    Even Kiran only mentioned that the Ordeals were nothing to belittle, but the setting? Osias wondered if this was from the period before the Tailed Rebellion. Or perhaps even further beyond that.


    Ancient kingdoms?


    He recalled the sky, and what little marks on the land he saw¡­


    ¡®Maybe where the Land of the Crest is?¡¯


    He surmised that he may be in either the center or the southern pits of the Wailing Chain, anywhere from the Lands of the Crest to the Heartlands of the Tailed Brothers.


    It couldn¡¯t be North¡­ this type of weather was far from the warmest of days there ¡ª- at least from what he could put together from Garm¡¯s tales of the past.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Osias then pointed at himself once more and tried to speak Vorin, yet to no avail. These people didn¡¯t understand a thing.


    Until Osias pointed at something familiar to each and every one of them ¡ª his sword. He gave a puzzled look until one of the men said:


    ¡°Qilic.¡±


    Osias repeated after him, ¡°Qi¡­lic.¡±


    ¡®Sword is called a qilic? Or is that word for a weapon?¡¯


    Grabbing the sword, Osias moved it slowly towards the chest of the soldier and motioned a thurst to the heart.


    ¡°Qilic¡­?¡± His words sounded like a question as he continued to make a thrusting motion.


    ¡°Lladd.¡± Another watcher said.


    ¡®Kill? Thrust?¡¯


    Osias then brought the sword against his neck and hesitantly asked, ¡°Qilic¡­ Lladd Visalros?¡± whilst his free hand pointed at his face.


    ¡®Is that how I would say¡­ sword kills me?¡¯


    The others obviously knew that he was a foreigner, someone unlike the rest, yet they didn¡¯t seem to care all that much. Even sacrificing sleep and rest to watch and teach ¡ª at least those who could sleep anyway.


    Some of the men in front of him nodded, and slowly, Osias felt as though he was learning.


    ¡®Qilic means sword or weapon. Then¡­¡¯


    He pointed to a spear that rested against the shoulder of a seated man in front of the fire. One arm was missing below the elbow in a jagged cut wrapped in nothing but cloth, yet he seemed lively. The follower of his perked his head up and turned towards Osias, handing him their spear with his good hand.


    ¡°Qilic?¡± Osias asked to assure once more.


    And then the man he handed the spear shook their head slowly.


    ¡°Albar,¡± The grizzled older man said.


    ¡®Qilic and albar¡­¡¯


    Osias took the spear and made a thrusting motion, but not at a target. He pierced the air repeatedly and asked:


    ¡°Lladd?¡±


    But this time, the many men showed differing gestures. Some nodded and some shook their heads with a huff, which confused Osias.


    ¡®Ah, some may think I¡¯m asking between thrust and kill¡­¡¯


    Suddenly a coarse voice spoke:


    ¡°Sagon.¡±


    Quickly putting together what he knew, Osias brought the spearhead to his neck and gestured a thrust threw it.


    ¡°Albar lladd.¡± He said confidently, earning a few nods.


    Turning around the spear and thrusting aimlessly into the air, he said once more:


    ¡°Albar sagon.¡±


    The others chimed in with slightly pleased faces even earning a few laughs from the apprehensive soldiers.


    Even Osias felt amused at learning this unknown language¡­ Slowly without Osias¡¯s knowing, their downcast faces fraught with tension began to faintly ease through this exchange of language.


    But suddenly, one of the men ¡ª the same one Osias motioned thrusting a sword at came close to his face with slow steps.


    The man brought a hand to himself and said, ¡°Geral.¡±


    ¡®A name?¡¯ Osias wondered.


    Pointing to¡­ Geral, Osias echoed his name.


    ¡°Geral.¡±


    The man nodded and then swung a glace to another man who stepped forth and did the same.


    ¡°Vernon.¡±


    ¡°Ousal.¡±


    ¡°Erdma.¡±


    This continued through the night until even the ones asleep came to introduce themselves to Osias¡­ or Visalros as he echoed back their names.


    Tens of men who survived the battle, and Osias tried to keep track of the number along with their faces and names. After all¡­ these were people who could help him surmount this Ordeal.


    Perhaps this was what Mance said about¡­ belonging.


    Hours passed yet the distant fighting in the forefront hadn¡¯t stopped, although it wasn¡¯t to the same extent as it was in the day¡­ the sun was beginning to rise.


    Daybreak and a new day of battle will follow.


    Osias chose not to rest amongst his followers, and neither did many of them rest as well aside from a few blinks of sleep only to be broken by the sounds of battle. It was deceiving, especially in the black of night. Even if they knew the forefront was quite a distance away¡­ the fact that they were resting atop blood-soaked earth while smaller fights were fought within earshot at times made them suspect that an ambush was to follow.


    Osias sighed heavily, scavenging a sizable tunic made of the same plated leather woven together. His last one was a little too small for his figure, and it took a long while to find something of the same size¡­ it seemed he needed something specially made for his size. Though this one was in a better condition, and it had longer flaps below that covered his groin and thighs well.


    A slight shiver ran down his back as he recalled a man from yesterday bleeding out from a deep cut at the exposed joints over their thigh and groin¡­


    ¡°Hoo¡­¡±


    He, along with his small company of Ordinaries marched forth to where they disembarked yesterday. They waded through many others, all in the same dreary and miserable state. Hands trembling as they awaited the war horns to bellow. Their eyes strained and bloodshot¡­ it seemed they didn¡¯t get any sleep either.


    Osias didn¡¯t notice it yesterday, but they were First Ordeals called¡­ Jentys. They acted like commanders or officers, leading their own infantry companies to the slaughter.


    He realized that himself, along with his stragglers of men were probably from a fallen Jentyses company. Perhaps from multiple considering they were deep into the fray. His battle with the giant First Ordeal of the Golden Hawks seemed to rally the survivors like a spearhead. A beacon for the lost souls who thought only death awaited them as they struggled without a Jentys.


    Osias could almost laugh at how miserable a battle like this was for him to lead men of his own. But there was a terrible thought that followed¡­


    ¡®I will face a Second Ordeal in this Ordeal. Mance suspected it, but I know. Perhaps these men will be my own spearhead into survival and my return¡­¡¯


    Osias continued to march as his followers trailed behind, but as he did so, a decadent Jentys approached on their lonesome.


    The Jentys were donning armor made from a metal of sorts. An unusual black as though it was charred over a roaring flame, accented with shoulder guard that flared with a brilliant, yet unnatural red. The helmet had a grand red flume that came of the back, matching the shoulder guard. But behind the helmet was an ugly face, rugged and grim ¡ª a face that Osias couldn¡¯t imagine any woman would be delighted to see.


    ¡®And an unpleasant voice too¡­¡¯


    Then Osias¡¯s face twitched and grimaced as the Jentys loudly berated him ¡ª it was obvious that the Jentys disproved of him leading his own company¡­ at least that¡¯s what Osias assumed it was about. The only word Osias caught the meaning of was Qilic, and was only because the Jentys pointed at the large sword beside Osias¡¯s waist between the flushed yells.


    ¡®Is he going to¡ª¡¯


    ¡°Amir! Nadresy, ao¡¯ll! Va aoha vali, heigan. Martyr aoha neojot anogar.¡± One of his men¡­ Geral said meekly as he came forth beside Osias.


    ¡®Pleading?¡¯ Osias wondered letting the conversation unfold.


    But it seemed that Geral placated the Jentys as they walked away after collecting themselves. Geral lifted his back and head from the slight bow and reached above to put a hand on Osias¡¯s shoulder and gently shook his head.


    ¡°Lladd,¡± Geral said in his usual coarse voice whilst pointing towards the forefront ¡ª their enemies.


    Osias simply smiled in return and put on his helmet, and continued to march.


    ¡®Kill.¡¯ He echoed while hiding a small laugh beneath his helmet.


    ¡®What else can I do with these hands of mine?¡¯

 Chapter 44 - Madness Prevails

    Osias... or Visalros entered the melee. Leather armor scavenged from the fallen with the ever so faint red feather woven into the rectangular plate over his heart. He was the center of both his bannermen and his enemies'' attention.


    Because he fought savagely. It was violent and domineering. Limbs were dismembered and flashes of blood decorated the earth and air in wicked sprays only to be absorbed through Blood Reave. He moved from one enemy to the next... mere Ordinaries who felt as though they''d only touched steel for a day were nothing, even in numbers.


    As Oasis''s blade reaped the life of another poor Ordinary, many more pounced on him using the death of their comrade to try and kill Osias. But Osias was thriving amidst a battle like this, reaving blood and lives alike with each swipe of his blade.


    He parried a half-hearted thrust from a spear only to find the soldiers of the Golden Hawk dead set on holding him down. Several men abandoned caution in a wild lunge to grab his limbs as a First Ordeal enemy came to finish him. They crowded and piled onto each other¡­ yet Osias could only feel a little pity for them. To reduce themselves to nothing more than chains of flesh to hold him down. Was it fear of their leader or were they so resolved to kill him that they decided on such a wretched and desperate plan?


    Yet Osias didn¡¯t let the desperation of his enemies hold him back, using his unnatural strength to pull one of the Ordinaries close.


    ¡®Fool should¡¯ve worn a helmet¡­¡¯ Osias fleetingly thought as his teeth tore into the man''s throat, silencing his miserable wails.


    From behind Osias, his followers bellowed and chanted as he spat out the foul flesh and used Blood Reave once more.


    His followers fought like demons, following their leader. It was hard to believe that many of them seemed so frightened yesterday¡­ They helped Osias break free from the handful of soldiers grasping at his feet, running through them in a mess of blood and cries.


    ¡°Visalros!¡±


    In the next moment, the First Ordeal that led the suicidal batch of Ordinaries came forth, and he was a wretched-looking warrior. An irritable face that wore a long black beard¡­ but most notable were the four arms that the warrior had. An extra pair protruded from below the two natural ones, each wielding a blade.


    It seemed that the four arms were a product of their First Ordeal¡­


    Osias cleaved through a pitiful Ordinary that seemed so small and underwhelming, and then he emerged from the carcass¡¯s spray of blood and lunged towards the four-armed figure, trampling over corpses and the living alike. In his free hand, he held a mismatched lump of flesh¡ªrendered from the Ordinary earlier and hurled it at the First Ordeal to open up their battle.


    With scornful eyes, the First Ordeal swatted the bundle of flesh aside with a single arm and charged forth without a word. However, Osias didn¡¯t mind¡­ he wouldn¡¯t understand anyway.


    Osias met the four-armed brute in a fierce melee, delicately dodging and parrying the blows from what felt like four men.


    It reminded him of battling Nico¡­ yet this First Ordeal felt weaker in a way. Perhaps it was control or essence control, but the blows felt unrefined, albeit fast. They were predictable and the two extra limbs felt as though they were nothing more than a ruse that held the brute back. Like the extra pair was a trick to overwhelm or confuse Osias¡­


    Osias scoffed, avoiding a stray Ordinary soldier from interfering as he circled around the four-armed warrior. Then, with a precise blow, he cut the fingers off a limb, staggering the warrior as they reared back in pain, dropping a sword.


    ¡®Nico was stronger, more precise. Cunning with using his extra limb. Thoughtful as well.¡¯


    Throwing a vicious stomp at their lead leg, Osias crumpled the warrior¡¯s knee and continued to pressure them downwards. Two of their arms were forced to support themselves from falling down on their back, but Osias didn¡¯t relent in his assault. With a ferocious slash, he severed an arm through the weak attempt to block.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± His men chanted from behind as they made quick work of the other Ordinaries.


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Osias huffed, parrying another attack, and beheaded the kneeling First Ordeal. He stuck a hand into the corpse and reaved it of all its blood.


    ¡°Perhaps¡­ this will stop the Jentys from their bickering and prattles,¡± Osias murmured to himself, careful to not reave the head of its blood so it wouldn¡¯t be so mishappened and withered.


    He ripped the cloth from beneath the armored corpse, tying the head onto the sash around his waist and picking the metal brooch of their enemy¡¯s sigil ¡ª the Golden Hawk, from the fallen First Ordeal¡¯s left breast.


    Storing it, Osias continued forth, with the dangling head around his waist ¡ª a permanent grief-stricken and fearful expression plastered it.


    ¡®More¡­ perhaps if I gain reputation ¡ª merit, even, will I find myself facing the foe that will allow my ascent and return.¡¯


    ¡°Visalros!¡± His followers once more bellowed. Osias threw a quick glance behind him¡­


    His followers were quickly advancing towards him, almost finished with finishing the rabble under their fallen four-armed leader. Osias smiled under his helm, but returned his attention to the front¡­


    Together, they were advancing and breaking the faulty formations of the Golden Hawk Bannerman. They merely advanced, while Osias made sure not to over-extend past the other companies beside them, otherwise they¡¯d be isolated and pincered. Even his own men as barbaric and murderous as they are cannot survive being surrounded.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡®Where¡­ where are the Second Ordeals? At the rear?¡¯ He wondered to himself as his blade took another life.


    ¡®No, do I even lead these men that far?¡¯


    Osias was no general. He never fought in a war. He knew nothing of strategy and the battlefield. Osias is not privy to the mind of a leader, much less a leader amid a war upon tens of thousands of soldiers. This desolate plain, the haze covering the sky, and the countless battling heads that stretched on as far as he could see¡­ clouded the battlefield from revealing what he wanted to find out.


    He needed to know the general, or leader of both armies. How many soldiers are on each side. Where they were. Perhaps even why they were fighting. But the language¡­


    Osias sighed deeply. Lifting his chin, he looked to the sky as his ears perked.


    ¡®Heavy marching¡­¡¯ He noticed and brooded.


    He wondered if the Second Ordeals were to come today or later. By now he could only guess where the true dangers lurked¡­


    It was natural for him to think that if the Second Ordeals weren¡¯t fighting amidst the fray, they¡¯d be at the rear of the army. Perhaps in a battle tent of sorts, yet he didn¡¯t know for certain. But there must be powerful Path Finders present somewhere.


    After all, who else could round up enough Ordinaries to fight despite many of them obviously having not held a sword before?  It wouldn¡¯t be that foolish to think that even Fourth Ordeals were present.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± Another collective chant roared from his men, breaking his chain of thought. It seemed they slaughtered the last of the Ordinaries.


    ¡­Osias stifled a dark laugh from behind his helmet. If anything, his followers were beginning to gain the attention of enemies and allies alike. With time, Osias will find himself in the presence of the foe he needs to find. Perhaps even the leaders of his own red-feathered banner. Eventually¡­ he¡¯ll feel the pull Mance mentioned regardless and discover what he needs to kill to ascend.


    Returning to his attention to the chaos of their assault, they came upon a shield formation ahead of them. Osias made sure to scan side-to-side to ensure that the other companies led by the Jentys weren¡¯t too behind in this line of strife.


    ¡®An opportunity to break through perhaps?¡¯


    But it seemed these heavy infantry weren¡¯t the same as the rabble they had fought before. They were heavily armed, and Osias could sense multiple First Ordeals, their presence was like roaring flames beaming amid humble campfires. Even the Ordinaries weren¡¯t the kind he could kill so easily as before.


    Trained, experienced, and disciplined. They marched together coherently, obeying a booming voice in the same language Osias didn¡¯t know of.


    Yet the source of the cutting voice was far away from where Osias could sense if it was a Second Ordeal or not.


    He narrowed his eyes towards the Jentys and their company that fought far aside from him. Faraway, Osias could see the Jentys wielding a great bow atop a rolling structure. A tower of sorts. It wasn¡¯t too high, but enough to stand out clearly from the fray ¡ª a target for whoever could fire long-ranged attacks.


    But it seemed to be of no issue for the unnamed Jentys. Each single draw and fire of their bow unleashed a storm of arrows that diverged from the original. They hailed down on the Golden Hawk Bannermen, slaying many who foolishly lacked a shield.  Whenever they nocked another arrow and likely prepared their Ordeal Ability, they hid behind the tower¡¯s fortifications as men below pushed or pulled depending on the orders barked from above.


    ¡°Is it the same one that found an issue with me?¡± He muttered to himself. The voice seemed familiar.


    If anything, it was surprising that he even captured the attention of someone he assumes is important, a Jentys. Although his men number just below a hundred now because of the few deaths, his company is nothing more but a grain of sand on a riverbank.


    The Jentys seemed to possess a few hundred men at their beck and call, forming a dense area of fighting that stretched to where Osias was¡­ although it was just a more sizable drop in the lake of soldiers.


    Though¡­ Osias recalled the quick berating against him from the Jentys earlier.


    ¡®Ah¡ªwas I supposed to listen to his orders yesterday? Or perhaps carry on the orders of the Jentys who died?¡¯ He realized.


    That was probably what earned him a scolding¡­ alas he couldn¡¯t understand regardless. And today Geral only told him to kill which was more than likely the most simplified translation of what he needed to do.


    ¡®Bastard. I¡¯ll leave his company to test the waters first. I can¡¯t waste the lives of my followers.¡¯


    So Osias quickly rallied his chanting followers to merge with the Jentys beside them as they merely brushed against the heavy infantry, never engaging as they kept a distance. They walked through the cut down any stragglers of the regular Golden Hawk infantry, advancing towards the vast company.


    There, Osias could get a closer look at the Jentys, quickly noticing a frown plastered on their face.


    ¡®Ha! It is the same one from earlier.¡¯ He noted with a sneer below his helmet.


    His followers spread and aided from behind the other company¡­ seemingly noticing that Osias didn¡¯t want to fight against the heavy infantry on their own. Perhaps without words, his ploy was noticed by his men.


    Alas, the Jentys from above his tower couldn¡¯t do a thing as Osias pressed forward, pressuring the other Ordinaries to engage first.


    ¡®Yes¡­ yes! Go on!¡¯ He mused.


    As the first bold or brash row of Ordinaries engaged with the vast array of spears that jutted out from the impenetrable-looking wall of towering shields, Osias watched as they got impaled mercilessly.


    But in the next moment, by the left flank, a deep rumble sounded that shook the earth.


    ¡®Ordeal Ability¡­¡¯ It seemed that one of the First Ordeals began to seriously deal with the row of suicidal bannerman.


    Osias could only hope it wasn¡¯t his own followers who rashly engaged.


    Roars bellowed, and the other company of bannerman rushed ahead without a plan ¡ª relying on numbers and their Jentys to hail on the shields above.


    They climbed and waded through their fellow bannerman who either littered the ground or were still straggling while impaled by spears.


    Fear and apprehension took over them as they madly roared, swatting aside some spears and then sought to batter the shield formation with their bodies.


    ¡®No arrows?¡¯ Osais wondered, glancing behind.


    However, just as Osias was to turn his attention to the wall in front, a terrible crash sounded far ahead. The distinct sound of metal crunching beneath an impossible force and the pained cries of men that followed. Ash and dust billowed from whatever happened, and Osias could see more fellow bannermen flood through the debris.


    ¡®The Jetys?¡¯ Osias wondered, awaiting fro the dust to clear.


    The trampling bannerman surged past the opening in the wall, routing behind and carrying chaos on the edge of their steel¡­ and there, amidst the thundering steps, Osias saw it.


    A massive¡­ spire. As if the barrage launched by the Jetys was reformed into one singular arrow of heavy metal.


    It was burrowed deep into the ground with a mess of blood and armor crushed and wedged below. It looked like a lurching tombstone decorated with a base of entrails instead of flowers¡­


    A fleeting memory of a time long ago flashed through Osias¡¯s mind at the scene¡­ of a certain Path Beast Osias saw Kiran battle ¡ª before they found the Gracious Heron within its mountain.


    The dreadful blow was enough to cause such a memory to arise once more.

 Chapter 45 - Disgust in Reprieve

    After the monstrous attack from the ranged Jetys, they advanced deep past the enemy lines, but sensing an odd presence, Osias quickly retreated along with his followers. He didn¡¯t bother trying to relay it to the other company, and through fleeting glimpses from behind, cacophonies of anguished screams and cries sounded as his men only retreated with more fervor.


    That led him to now¡­ a familiar warhorn ripped across their side of the battlefield just as Osias¡¯s spear impaled the poor head that found its way in front of him. Ripping his spearhead out, Osias¡¯s gaze traced the sound and looked at his followers with a grim nod.


    They fought tirelessly¡­ Osias had come close to depleting his already great abundance of essence many times over. His men eventually failed to fight alongside him and Osias felt compelled not to engage any further, lingering in the rear of battle alone, allowing his men to recover. Finally, the retreat was sounded by whoever was commanding this great army.


    Leading his men further back away from the fighting, he did a quick head count of his weary men¡­ only to find that the number has remained almost the same. Without Osias¡¯s knowing, it seems some from his ragtag company of men both died and had been replaced by other stragglers.


    Osias could only laugh at how he came to be in a position to lead these lingerers, perhaps many of them came along with him today because they too have noticed that they¡¯ve overextended under their previous Jentys.


    Sighing heavily he wondered, ¡®Do I have to be a First Ordeal to be called a Jentys?¡¯


    Perhaps he could obtain that title instead by merit and strength despite being an Ordinary. Looking down at his waist, he studied the five heads dangling as he made his return towards where the others started the fires.


    All five of them died ugly deaths, the anguish drawn on their faces were clear signs of such. Osias slain five First Ordeals and pocketed their sigils, which also jangled at his side.


    ¡®Maybe I can show these to whoever commands the Jentys¡­¡¯ He thought.


    So he decided to not immediately rest, noticing far away that the blood-covered Jentys wasn¡¯t headed for the common camps where the Ordinaries rested.


    ¡°Geral!¡± Osias immediately picked out from the fires.


    Geral climbed to his weary feet, supported by a spear, and headed for Osias. Although they can only share a few words, their intentions and gestures could speak more.


    Tilting his head towards the far rear, Osias motioned for Geral to come along as he pointed at the heads by his waist.


    Geral initially showed a slightly confused expression, but quickly put together what Osias wanted.


    ¡®Ha! He¡¯s smiling.¡¯ Osias noticed through the thick brown beard mottled in blood and grime.


    They carried through the common camps, earning a few looks from their fellow Ordinary bannerman, yet none spoke up. They were all too busy cooking what small rations they were provided from the rear, setting more fires, and wearily gazing towards the battle site ahead, keenly listening to the small skirmishes through the night.


    However, it did make Osias wonder if the day he woke up in this Ordeal, was the first day of battle.


    Lifting his gaze as they waded through fire and men, he studied the sky above. Even though the haze that covered above masked much of the sky, he could at least tell that the sun had already set and the ghastly moonlight could just barely pierce through the shroud of war.


    But this wistful look ended with Geral turning his head towards Osias with a solemn nod.


    ¡®We¡¯re here¡­ huh.¡¯


    Before them was an encampment that held many great tents greater in size than many houses he had seen before. Even the buildings in Clan Grimm¡¯s fortress were almost the same size as these tents.


    As Osias and Geral trudged deeper into the grand encampment, the air grew denser, almost suffocating.


    ¡®Strong¡­¡¯


    As they continued forward, Osias couldn''t help but notice the distinct change in the soldiers'' demeanor. Those stationed closer to these central tents moved differently, their armor polished, their weapons gleaming even in the dim light. These were no Ordinary soldiers ¡ª they were the elite, each of them a Jentys.


    Finally, Osias found it ¡ª the stares edged in contempt. As though they didn¡¯t approve of a pair of Ordinaries brazenly storming through this grand encampment.


    ¡­The outer tents, while massive in their own right, were dwarfed by the towering structures that loomed ahead. These larger tents were constructed with reinforced materials, their thick, dark fabric swaying slightly in the breeze, giving them an almost living presence. The stakes holding them in place were as thick as a man¡¯s arm, driven deep into the earth. And to his keen ears, he did hear a few moans of women coming from one of the tents deep in the encampment.


    ¡­Flickering torchlight spilled out from within, casting long, eerie shadows that danced on the ground. The scent of smoldering wood mingled with the faraway tang of blood, a small reminder of the war these officers and generals were leading.


    Every so often, a gust of wind would catch the tent flaps, revealing glimpses of the interiors ¡ª rows of cots, maps strewn across makeshift tables, and the faint murmur of voices.


    Going against what his senses screamed at him to do¡­ he lifted the flap and walked into one of the outer tents with Geral in tow.


    What he found was a group of eight men, four of whom were Second Ordeals by the air they gave off. Hardened and rugged, they each looked as though they had battled endlessly, proving to Osias that his own company just didn¡¯t come across them.


    ¡®Does that mean that our part of the battle is among the least dreadful?¡¯ He wondered.


    The other four were Jentyses who were listening keenly to their weathered superiors¡­ at least until Osias and Geral entered.


    Audacious¡­ perhaps even presumptuous. But this was an army amid war. Osias refused to believe that a person capable of slaying multiple First Ordeals is someone they can simply turn away, at least in the outer tents. There was a good chance he¡¯d be executed or the like if he brazenly walked into the larger inner tents that he assumed had Third Ordeals dwelling in there.


    One of the Second Ordeals said something in their language in an amused and interested tone at the newcomers.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Then from beside Osais, Geral swallowed heavily as he began to explain and reason with them as to why they were inside this tent.


    Osias didn¡¯t bother to try and communicate through language in some unneeded way ¡ª so he simply untied the cloth that secured the five heads around his waist and pulled out the five golden brooches he picked from the chest plates of the five men.


    He slowly walked towards the table they all bickered and strategized over and set his belongings down as Geral continued to speak from behind... Then the string of five heads splattered in a wet thud while the five brooches jangled.


    More importantly, the four Jentyses raised their eyebrows in surprise and some of the Second Ordeals brought a hand to their beards of face in intrigue.


    ¡°Lladd.¡± Osias addressed them curtly with both hands presenting his blood-stained spoils.


    Suddenly, one of the Second Ordeals laughed and infected the other three as well. The same one then turned around, rummaged through a secured storage crate from behind, and spoke in a harsh tone.


    But not directed to Osias.


    The Second Ordeal pointed towards the four Jentyses around the table and berated them harshly in his rugged voice while Osias realized what the man retrieved from behind ¡ª a piece of parchment for writing.


    Swinging his head back to Geral, Osias found that his follower had abandoned his initial face of fright under the pressure of the Second Ordeals and instead wore an impossibly faint smile.


    Sighing slightly in relief, Osias turned his attention once more to the Second Ordeal who brought a black-ended brush in the time he looked away and began to write something.


    Patiently waiting for the man to finish writing, Osias wondered what he¡¯d get in return for slaying First Ordeals¡­ and then he realized that the heads of whom he killed before were left rotting somewhere in the mud!


    Regret pulsed through him, but he only twitched his face slightly.


    But in the next moment, the Second Ordeal finished writing and then began to circle the table towards Osias.


    The Second Ordeal extended a hand that held the parchment and Osias obliged wordlessly.


    But then Geral said something from behind directed to Osias.


    ¡°Urotys.¡±


    Osias¡¯s ears perked and glanced behind to find Geral pointing at the Second Ordeal.


    ¡®They are called Urotys instead of Jentys then?¡¯


    Meekly pointing at the Second Ordeal, Osias echoed, ¡°Urotys.¡±


    The Sec¡ª Urotys, nodded and followed by pointing a finger at themselves.


    With a grin, the Urotys patted Osias on the shoulder and laughed as he motioned him to leave the tent with the parchment in hand.


    Relenting to the dismissal, Geral lifted the tent¡¯s flap and Osias stepped out, not before glancing once more at the odd encounter of the group of Jentyses and Urotyses.


    As they stepped out, Geral gently grabbed and pulled Osias¡¯s arm and then pointed towards a certain tent near the periphery of the grand encampment.


    ¡®Ah¡­ is this what the parchment is for?¡¯ He wondered and followed Geral.


    Together they quickly reached the oddly spacious tent, and they found just one Jentys posted inside.


    ¡®Smells foul¡­¡¯ Osias immediately thought.


    The Jentys was sitting leisurely resting his feet atop a chair. He didn¡¯t wear the usual armor that other Jentyses donned, instead wearing tattered garments that have long since faded to grey.


    With raised brows, the Jentyses stooped and sinister face was revealed ¡ª coarse and ugly features hidden behind a thick ungroomed black beard.


    Geral came beside Osias and motioned him to pass along the parchment the Urotys gave him.


    ¡®Ah¡ª¡¯


    Suddenly Jentys stood up and from behind them Osias found an odd¡­ disfigurement of the tent. As though something obscured was being revealed ¡ª it reminded him of an unfavorable memory of a creature of the mist during his travels with Kiran.


    Geral and the Jentys spoke casually until the Jentys pulled from the hazy air behind them and miraculously a set of unnatural black metal armor appeared. It was familiar, after all, it was the same as the typical armor Osias found protecting the Jentyses in the encampment and even the one from yesterday.


    Small black plates laced together making it look as though the maker had flayed a massive beast for the material. Then, the helm that completed the set was also pulled from the blur, and a brilliant red plume accented it.


    ¡®My¡­ size?¡¯ Osias noticed as it lay on the ground.


    The uncouth-looking Jentys waved with his hands, dismissing them. Osias nodded while his face wore a grin at the new equipment¡­ finally able to wear something reliable then constantly scavenging the corpses that strewn the ground for pieces too tight or tattered to wear.


    Even Geral looked mesmerized at the set¡­ perhaps he already knew that Osias was named a Jentys, but with the fitting armor it only reinforced the reality of Osias¡¯s new status.


    Eventually, they left the tent and returned to the small fires where his small company of Ordinaries rested. From the commotion that arose as Geral sat by the fire and spoke along with the many gazes directed at Osias practically tearing off his old protection for the new¡­ his followers understood his promotion.


    Stifling a laugh beneath his decadent helmet, Osias closed his eyes and rested in this new set¡­ awaiting another day of battle in a few hours.


    ¡ª


    Osias''s parry flowed into a cutting arc, then a piercing thrust immediately after. He was aggressive as he looked, but also much with a feral blur, each step preparing the next in a chain of violence.


    By now an immense surplus of blood essence has been reaved and stored. Every waking moment in this desolate field of hell was used to empower him. Further, his experience, sharpen his movements and blade itself.


    It¡¯s been¡­ days. More specifically four days since he¡¯s been lifted to a Jentys.


    Slowly his awareness, outlook, and¡­ sight have been improved. It was hard to describe, but it was as though another sense, another way of perceiving his surroundings amid chaos was begin hammered and honed through war.


    It was a morbid thing ¡ª to improve at the cost of many lives, but what can he do? Whenever he felt such a thing, he reminded himself of why he was here. Why he was constantly throwing himself into a dreadful melee with figments created by his Ordeal


    ¡­He sighed heavily, panting a little as he scanned around him and reflecting upon his company¡¯s position in battle.


    They were among the absolute front of the battalion of Ordinaries ¡ª something he came to learn over the few days of relentlessly barging into the discussions of the outer tents with Geral. It was difficult to make out from the lack of understanding of the language, but the map laid in each tent was his lifeline for information.


    He was a part of an army of almost fifty thousand if Geral taught him correctly. Though now the number was cleaved to a mere fifth. In a mere five or so days, the Ordinary were thrown into a slaughter. This army was one of three, each roughly the same size, yet his own was the furthest away from the others. They advanced deep into the lands from which the Golden Hawk hailed from ¡ª and this desolate plain they were fighting on was nothing but the Golden Hawk¡¯s attempt at pushing them away from a ruined city, buying time.


    But that wasn¡¯t Osias¡¯s plight, it was something to worry about later¡­ because this army and its Ordinaries were nothing more but numbers to fill out and to exhaust the enemy.


    It made sense in a dark light¡­ to throw enough armed Ordinaries, even Second Ordeals could fall if they were too proud or foolish enough.


    ¡®Especially against the crazed and battle-mad.¡¯ Osias thought, glancing over his followers which have grown to more than a few hundred of weary men.


    Osias laughed pitifully as he recalled how they¡¯d gathered together. They were survivors. Whoever escaped and lingered on despite the odds. From the fallen company of the Jentys Osias overtook and from many others.


    It was especially eye-opening as Geral taught him another word that resonated with many of the other followers.


    ¡°Hoggva,¡± Osias whispered to himself.


    All of them¡­ they were farmers and the like. Common people who had no proper reason to fight, at least from the little Osias knew. Perhaps their circumstances demanded it. Perhaps the army of the Golden Hawk threatened to swallow whichever land the Red Feathers hailed from. Osias didn¡¯t know¡­ but slowly he was getting used to speaking the language.


    Currently, the Golden Hawk Bannerman were fleeing. Some on foot, and some on mounts of Path Beasts or Ordinary horses.


    Osias chose not to pursue them. He and his men were exhausted as is¡­ besides, Osias knew that another dreadful battle ahead would ensue. Something he had even less experience in than in open-field battle.


    The many Urotyses and the mysterious Third Ordeals that Osias knew not of their titles and appearances will begin to order the march.


    Osias has seen the massive figure set on the maps of the fortress they must conquer. He didn¡¯t know of the size nor how many people populated it, but because of the tense glares of the others who shared the table, Osias figured it was the most important task of their decimated army.


    ¡®Hopefully¡­ only the Ordinaries were exhausted in this battle.¡¯ Osias wistfully wondered, continuing to watch the turn-tailed Golden Hawk soldiers become increasingly small even with his sight.


    But even so, Osias hadn¡¯t let go of his own agenda.


    To find and feel the pull somewhere in this hell.

 Chapter 46 - Advance And Push

    ¡°Ventos. Ventos. Ventos!¡± Osias cried out wearily.


    His followers reciprocated his grievance. The other Jentyses and even the reclusive Urotyses that he has yet to see in battle ordered the march. Thousands of men exhausted from battle trampled upon rough earth towards their target.


    The roaring orders were yelled out so many times that Osias didn¡¯t even need to ask another to figure out what ¡®ventos¡¯ meant.


    Looking around the thousands of glittering spearpoints under the sunlight that broke through the haze of war and men, Osias recalled how they¡¯d got here¡­


    All the Ordinaries that Osias could see, including those from other companies, scavenged the corpse-ridden plains for equipment and spoils they could pocket and donn. It was something necessary before the corpses rotted it seemed as Osias noticed the cruel gleam in each of their eyes.


    It only reminded Osias of each of their origins. Perhaps war makes thieves of many honest folk.


    Osias joined them, but nothing fitted him better than the seamless black-scaled armor he was given. Though he did claim the great sword of an enemy of the First Ordeal he slew. It was an impressive weapon¡­ something Osias had rarely come upon even back in the Red Sky¡¯s Great Mountain.


    A weapon imbued with special properties.


    A Path Finder with the ability to create such a thing was precious, and even the Red Sky only possessed a handful able to forge weapons like this. However¡­ it was likely because they almost always emerged from those of the Second Ordeal because of how prominent Blood Mend was seen from the First Ordeal.


    ¡­ Resting a hand on the well-made hilt of this great sword, Osias recalled himself adding his essence to the sword, and suddenly the seemingly First Ordeal weapon became immensely heavy, even for him. But it still had room to take more essence, though, any more and it would be too unwieldy for his strength.


    Laughing giddily, Osias collected himself before his men thought he was turning crazed just as they did.


    But then he noticed that the vanguard of the march slowed their steps and Osias¡¯s face turned grim. Noticing Osias¡¯s change, the rest of his men steeled themselves. Useless prattle and chatter stopped as this change slowly spread from the front of the army to the very rear.


    Osias rushed ahead to a higher rising of the ground, just enough to peer over the few hundred men that separated from where he was and whatever the men at the forefront slowed for.


    And in the next moment, Osias realized¡­ it was a small fortified city. High stone walls encased a desolate city situated beside a lake too murky to replenish and fuel the soldiers.


    But Osias only scoffed as he realized what was going to happen. And before he could even finish the thought, the vanguard quickened their pace towards the city.


    ¡®Pillaging¡­¡¯ Osias noted, glancing over his followers ¡ª they too felt the allure.


    The weary army looked onward as though they discovered the very heavens themselves. Like paradise has descended to save them from misery.


    And as they all rushed ahead¡­ Osias joined them without another thought.


    The men marched with newfound fervor as word spread. They spoke many foreign words at the sight of the small city, all of which Osias knew not the meaning of, but they all were spoken with a grim tone.


    ¡®Is this how those of the band felt? Before they raided and plundered?¡¯


    Osias¡¯s company was placed a little before the vanguard, probably because of his measly worth as an Ordinary being a Jentys, but he didn¡¯t mind. Ahead was the single company led by another Jentys with an ability to improve their sight in a way. Although Osias did find it a little odd that no Urutys or anyone stronger led the army and instead cooly brought the rear, Osias had no pull nor ability to ask why.


    Sighing to himself, Osias lifted his gaze and threaded through the many Ordinaries that flooded into the main gate of the city. They climbed over another pressing forward against the useless orders and cries of the Jentys. Perhaps they were warning them if it was laced with traps, that a detachment manned the buildings within. If the food and valuables left behind weren¡¯t real.


    ¡®Avarice¡­ was it?¡¯


    Like flies covering a rotted carcass¡­ they swarmed everything left to be scoured and taken from.


    With a mere blink, he found himself alone and atop a high watchtower as he oversaw the desolate city as thousands of men pulled apart even the very stones that made the walls. Given time they¡¯ll uproot even the homes in search of spoils. Osias simply found the highest point away from all of it and waited for the next march toward the true target.


    A few stragglers remained, and from the distant wails of the forgotten in the corners of the city, Osias already knew of their fate.


    Such was the nature of retreat¡­ not all could. From here, Osias couldn¡¯t see, but he assumed it was those who couldn¡¯t leave in time despite the army of the Golden Hawk advancing to delay the Red Feathers.


    Elders. Orphans. Children. Those unable to march even if their lives depended on it.


    And even those who have the heart to stay beside such people.


    More distant cries sounded, but as faint as they were, they were especially loud compared to the gleeful laughs and cackles of his fellow bannermen taking what they could find.


    Osias leaned against a dusty wall continuing to watch over the city as he thought to himself of something different, washing away other thoughts.


    ¡®Somewhere¡­ somewhere in this vast land is the one I need to find. How many years will it take?¡¯


    At first, he thought that he would behead some warrior on the first battlefield and return. Yet¡­ not once has he felt the familiar pull. Not from the enemy nor his side.


    It was a slight suspicion, something he concluded as he walked by the great encampment ¡ª that the one he needed to kill wasn¡¯t donning the same Red Feather.


    At least not in this army.


    There were two more armies of the same banner and an unknown amount from the Golden Hawk Bannerman. But as long as Osias¡¯s own side continues to press forth, he¡¯ll be sure to find them.


    Sighing to himself, he began climbing down from the watchtower he darkly laughed to himself.


    He can only hope that what Mance said was true and that no matter how many years pass in this place¡­ that his true body will not age so much.


    After all, he had back experiences waking up in a new, yet old body.


    ¡­Osias was given a few nods from the unfamiliar soldiers, likely from other companies as he trampled through the roads he oversaw earlier. He remembered much of the elaborate layout, and he headed towards the other side their army entered from.


    As he walked, more soldiers came bustling out of ravaged homes and small buildings. Overturn carts and broken entries littered his sight. The cackles of them were especially loud down here and greed tainted their beaming faces. It was amusing how much they could smile after fighting for days endlessly¡­ or perhaps it was because of it that they could smile like that. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    From the corner of his eye, he heard a group of his fellow raiders pull an old man by his long hoary air. They dragged him roughly across the stone streets outside what Osias assumed was his home. Tattered brown rags for clothes only covered the old man¡¯s bottom half, his wrinkled skin practically outlined his ribs. As if the old senior couldn¡¯t bring themselves to take and steal over what was left behind in his city for the few days before the Red Feather banners approached.


    ¡°Khamar! Kham¡ª¡±


    A wet cut sounded and flesh hit the stone in the distance, but similar scenes riddled his sight and senses, so much so that he didn¡¯t know if it was the old man.


    ¡°Hmph¡­ so ¡®khamar¡¯ means please?¡± He spoke to himself in Vorin¡­ away from the ears of his bannerman.


    Raspy cries and high piercing pleas sounded as Osias continued to wade through the carnage of the desires left on the street.


    Was it something flowery in this? Osias recalled the grins that spread throughout the soldiers outside as they approached the city walls.


    Something like paradise for one and hell for another?


    He silently laughed to himself for trying to think of something poetic¡­ what was he? One of those story vendors in those entertainment troupes he saw?


    He was someone who helped these men survive and thrive like this.


    In the next moment, Osias brushed sides against the road that led to the city center. Yet it was already more ruinous than the other roads and buildings than any other¡­ in the short time they¡¯d entered the city it was torn asunder. Perhaps the soldiers wanted to make an example of such a precious place to the lost inhabitants of this city, a source to direct their anger while the others drowned in avarice.


    Osias hesitated, he wanted to reach the other end of the city wall sooner, but his curiosity wrestled against his duty. Even if the other soldiers ran through and ravaged it all over, he wanted to know what once decorated this city''s center. In the end, Osias decided to explore the desecrated yard.


    Stone-paved paths led and wove around once glimmering cerulean waters ¡ª though it did seem some decided to let their waste spill in and tainted it. Osias stepped atop the patches of trampled grassland and inspected the many beds of uprooted flowers scattered all over in a mess of squashed stems and torn petals.


    It seemed that everything of beauty¡­ of value was stripped of what made it so. Was beauty something so frowned upon for men to spoil it?


    Before the desecrated fountain and paths leading to the absolute center, stone statues loomed the once beautiful yard. The forgotten deities of this desolate city brandished their broken spears at the sky as Osias sauntered past their feet. Giant stone kings looked down on him from their broken thrones, their faces chipped and stained, even their names lost in the mists of time ¡­ and the Red Feather¡¯s arrival.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± He murmured as his eyes traced downwards.


    Lithe young maidens danced on stone plinths of these once majestic carvings, draped scarcely only in flowers. They looked to be once the dancing and playing daughters of the larger statues from how the scattered limbs of stone and beaming heads looked. Osias could imagine that his fellow bannermen seeing these beautiful carvings of stone only invigorated the seething lechery that welled below these tortured men. Perhaps that¡¯s why they hurried out of this city center once they found only stone women.


    Monsters stood in the paths right outside of these fair stone maidens. From scaled behemoths to many-headed and many-limbed furred beasts¡­ All of which were beasts he could not name nor recognize even if they weren¡¯t shattered and destroyed ¡ª protectors who failed their duties it seemed as Osias clutched the thin stone arm of one of the beaming stone maidens with a sigh.


    ¡®Bastards overturned everything¡­ Stone guardians couldn¡¯t protect them.¡¯


    Continuing deeper into the yard, Osias found a¡­ shrine of stone. An odd sight he surmised as he studied the dozens of pillars that circled the stone center. The large towering pillars enclosed it so tightly that Osias could only think that if it was made with steel then it¡¯ll look more like a cage.


    ¡®Or perhaps rotted wood and branches¡­¡¯ He wistfully thought, rubbing his wrists.


    A person couldn¡¯t fit in the gaps between the pillars, but as expected, it too was turned into ruins. Climbing over a toppled pillar, Osias came towards the center. He shuffled over the wrecked and risen stones that once were laid beautifully he assumed.


    As he did so, he raised an eyebrow and blinked, only finding a single raised altar of sorts made from a different stone than the others, a pure white of fresh snow streaked with lines of night black. It looked to be carved intricately with such a grace to detail Osias couldn¡¯t understand the purpose.


    But then as he walked closer, he found something that made his blood run backward. The altar¡­ wasn¡¯t chipped, shattered, or broken.  It looked to be untouched and unsullied by the graces of his fellow Red Feathers. He felt like a fool for realizing it only now despite walking atop upturned stone and earth by his bannermen.


    ¡®Did they not bother? Why¡­?¡¯


    He blinked and in the next moment he found himself overwhelmed and enraptured to touch it ¡ª his finger already headed for the stone structure.


    ¡®Wha¨C¡¯


    Then the hairs of his arm rose just before he touched it and jerked his hand back and a wicked memory drew and stirred in his mind.


    He breathed raggedly and his face turned flushed. Desperates gasps left his mouth and he tumbled down to his knee. His hand that once almost touched the altar reared back and grasped his armored chest as he then staggered onto the ground. But nothing could calm his mind as he tried to collect himself and recall the buried memory.


    Osias fought it, clenching his fists until his nails bit into his palms, the sharp sting a fleeting anchor to his waning resolve. His vision blurred, blood rushed to his head, and the world around him seemed to darken, leaving only the altar and its insidious pull.


    ¡®I¡ªI have to!¡¯ He thought and suddenly slammed his head against the rigid and overturned stone.


    This metal clang repeated over and over until the memory surfaced.


    Splatters of his crimson blood followed each wet thud, even staining the altar.


    ¡°Kira¡ª¡± Another hit sounded through his words.


    ¡°Pull¡ª¡± More blood tainted the stones as he formed his thoughts between blows.


    ¡°F-First Ordea¡ª¡± He realized, driving off the overwhelming sense of restlessness.


    ¡°Relic!¡± He yelled.


    A relentless urge gnawed at him, the sensation of being on the precipice of something both terrifying and glorious. It was a restless hunger that clawed at his insides, demanding satisfaction, screaming for release. He felt as though he was teetering on the edge of an abyss, the relic within reach, yet just out of grasp, mocking him with its proximity.


    Yet¡­ why? Why did it feel dangerous?


    It was nothing more than an intricate stone altar, raised into a flat wide surface that faced the sky.


    His eyes strained and he tried to find why it seemed so treacherous. How did none of the other bannerman leave alive?


    It must be special to him and him alone.


    But it was just¡­ stone. Even while he was fighting against this enticement of Blood Reave, he couldn¡¯t find both what made¡ª


    Osias stopped moving and scanned with his eyes¡­ then delved into his blood connection.


    Blood connection¡­ was hard to describe. Like a different sense that was always present, and difficult to train and apply. Most Ordinary blood-born like himself could barely take blood from the ends of blades. But that was the limit of his connection and control aside from naturally being more aware of his blood flow and using that to improve his essence control.


    Outside of his body was something entirely different, and difficult to grasp. As though he was trying to trace a drop of water as it traveled through sand.


    But this time, the overwhelming allure of what he needed to grasp was beckoning for him. He clawed at it, attempting to impose all of his will into taking it with Blood Reave as it inched closer and closer.


    He strained himself and his breathing turned increasingly ragged. He brought out his hand as though the only thing that could placate his desire was before his fingertips.


    Before this endless precipice rendered him into an animal.


    Suddenly¡­ from below the altar¡¯s unsullied base where the attempts of soldiers desiring to break off the precious-looking object from where it stood, an ominous presence crawled from some crevice Osias couldn¡¯t find earlier.


    Its head was crowned with a pair of vivid, blood-red antennae that curled menacingly like twisted horns, jutting from its brow with an unsettling grace. The crimson hue of its head was vibrant, as if it had been seeped in fresh blood. The color stood in stark contrast to its inky black body, a darkness so deep it seemed to absorb the light around it.


    ¡®A¡­ centipede?¡¯


    The centipede¡¯s body was segmented, each segment armored with an ancient looking chitinous plate that reflected the dim light in sickly shades of oily black and green. As it moved, the segments rippled, revealing rows of thin, spindly legs that bristled with coarse hairs. The legs, countless and relentless, moved in a nightmarish wave, carrying the creature with a disturbing fluidity across the altar''s length.


    Osias wanted to move, to turn away from the crimson abomination before him, but his body refused to obey. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a deep fear and allure. The very thing that is the source of his fear is the same as what could satisfy his Blood Reave.


    And as each of its swarms of legs approached, Osias was pressed lower and lower as though he was to prostrate himself before it.


    Just as it came an arm''s length away, the centipede¡¯s beady, soulless eyes latched onto Osias, and in that moment, he braced himself for what felt like an inevitable doom.


    In a blur, the centipede¡¯s crimson-tipped mandibles lashed out, sinking into the flesh of his forearm with a force that made Osias¡¯s entire body jerk.


    And in the next moment, his sight faltered as well as his strength. His vision continued to darken, the once-vivid colors of the world now faded and grey. The pain, so intense at first, began to dull, replaced by a creeping numbness that spread from the site of the bite, consuming him from the inside out. He could feel himself slipping, the world around him growing colder, quieter, until all that remained was the distant, echoing beat of his slowing heart.


    And in that final moment, as the last vestiges of life slipped from his grasp, the image of the crimson-tipped mandibles and the inky black body of the centipede was seared into his fading mind, a haunting reminder of the horror that had brought him to this end.


    Then, there was nothing ¡ª only the cold embrace of darkness and the silence that followed.

 Chapter 47 - The Centipede and Fleeting Tear

    Myra awoke, groggily brushing the ends of her stinging and heavy eyes¡­ yet they felt oddly light despite how heavy they felt the night before. It seemed like the entire week burdened her more than ever, something she hadn¡¯t felt since the passing of her father and uncle.


    She yawned and tried to chase away the last lingering remnants of sleep. Her long brown hair and messily sprawled all over her covers and face, so she parted it aside as neatly as she could without a brush.


    ¡®Ah! Osias¡­¡¯ She thought quickly.


    She needed to run to the kitchen before the cooks arrived to cook something small for their breakfast.


    A small smile curled the ends of her lips upwards as she steeled herself to finally admit to Osias that she was the one cooking their shared meals instead of the cooks¡­ she couldn¡¯t bring herself to open herself up to embarrassment in case he had any complaints.


    ¡°What time is it¡ª¡±


    She turned her head and found herself not in her usual quarters¡­ but in Osias¡¯s room. A plain room like her own, but larger and had a lavish window: a familiar pale chair, a long table, and a humble lantern in the corner.


    Quickly swiping her head side-to-side it felt as though she tripped and a cold bucket of water poured all over her as the memories of last night returned and poured over her.


    Despite the cold air, she felt her face and ears turn a little warm as she slapped her face twice to make sure this wasn¡¯t a dream.


    ¡®I-I¡¯m so shameless! Immodest! Does he think I¡¯m¡­ indecent?¡¯ She thought as a small shriek left her mouth.


    She bundled Osias¡¯s covers and tightly clasped them with all four limbs and plunged her face deeply into them to mute her humiliating wails.


    ¡®Why! Why! Why! Why did I do that?¡¯


    Finally relenting, she lifted her and gently rubbed around her eyes, careful to not redden her eyes anymore, but suddenly she found something that puzzled her as she recalled what they talked about yesterday before she fell asleep.


    ¡­She found a lingering tear against where she pressed her face.


    In the next moment, a faint sad smile began to stretch. She¡­ couldn¡¯t help but worry about Osias.


    She lied to him, that she didn¡¯t watch him fight in the courtyard against the others of the clan. He was cruel to both those he faced and to himself. And it felt as though each cut on his skin pained her as well¡­ but the worst of it all was how he swallowed the pain, treating it as something natural.


    "Oh, Osias¡­ what type of life had he lived?"


    Although she wanted to voice her complaints about how¡­ painful he fights, she would only cause him to worry.


    And if he hesitates in battle¡­ she already knew the consequences of such a thing as she thought back to her father and uncle.


    Once again tightly embracing the soft covers stained with Osias¡¯s scent, she remembered that he was gone.


    He was fighting somewhere in his Ordeal.


    Somewhere she couldn¡¯t find nor see even as she worried about him so dearly.


    Somewhere she couldn¡¯t care for him.


    Somewhere they couldn¡¯t share a meal once more.


    And so a single hopeful tear once more trickled down her cheek as she hoped for him to return ¡ª a single teardrop that felt fleeting as the morning dew before it freezes in the cold winter.


    ¡ª


    Osias awoke with a jolt, his body drenched in a cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears as though it might burst through his ribcage.


    He didn¡¯t know where he was for a moment¡ªdarkness and confusion swirled in his mind. He reached for his great sword, gripping the hilt as though it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.


    ¡®Where? Where is that damn bug!¡¯ He thought with a shiver, looking around the same altar of carved pale stone along with trying to pull at straws through his blood connection.


    But he felt nothing¡­


    His limbs felt weak, almost numb as he struggled to push himself off the cold, rigid stone ground. He staggered, his legs trembling beneath him, barely able to support his weight. The once familiar heft of his sword now seemed a burden, yet it was the only thing keeping him upright. He leaned heavily on it, the blade dragging along the ravaged stones as he forced one foot in front of the other.


    Osias looked around and spotted his helmet which was knocked off earlier and he picked it up.


    There was nothing here anymore¡­ so he left, uneager to stay.


    His breath came in ragged gasps, the air biting at his lungs with each inhale. The world around him was a blur of sounds and sights¡ªcries of anguish, the clash of steel, and the distant roar of flames.


    He could hear the chaos once more, the brutality of war all around him, but it felt as though the horrors unfolding in the conquered city helped his mind recover as he was reminded where he was.


    ¡®What¡­ was that centipede?¡¯


    As he hobbled away from the city¡¯s center, the strength slowly began to return to his limbs. Each step became steadier, his legs gradually finding their strength again. The trembling in his hands lessened, and the weight of his sword became familiar once more. But with the return of his physical strength came the rising tide of questions in his mind.


    What had happened? How long had he been out? And what had the centipede done to him?


    The memory of the creature¡¯s venom flooded his mind¡ªthe strange warmth that had surged through his body, the clarity of his senses that had followed. But now, in the aftermath, there was only confusion. His thoughts felt fragmented, and disjointed, as though he were piecing together the remnants of a shattered dream.


    Lifting his gaze to the sky¡­ he found that it was the same as it was. As though mere seconds have passed, much less a few minutes.


    He shook his head wearily and pressed forward, his gait returned to as it was as he made his way through the city roads. The cries of the conquered echoed around him¡ªwomen weeping, children screaming, men groaning in pain as cackles and jeers followed.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Fires began to break, perhaps in the mere moments he explored the city center his fellow bannerman grown tired and wrathful.


    As he approached the other end of the city¡¯s walls, the fog in his mind began to clear. The venom¡ªit hadn¡¯t just kept him alive. It had done something more, something he couldn¡¯t yet fully grasp. His senses were sharper, and his body felt stronger, yet there was a profanity to it, a power that pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin. Beyond simple flesh and blood. Seeped into his very¡­ soul? It was unsettling, and yet, it called to him, urging him to understand.


    But it was familiar.


    ¡®Garm. What was in the ink¡­ what made the tattoos and his ritual the way it was. It¡¯s similar.¡¯


    Something that humans shouldn¡¯t touch. Even now¡­ Osias didn¡¯t know for certain how ¡®deep¡¯ the tattoos had been etched. How assimilated it is with his very being.


    It was always odd.


    How his skin could be burned, peirce, cut apart, torn to shreds, gnawed¡­ if he undergoes healing, they grow along with the skin. As if it was irreplaceable.


    ¡®It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡¯


    There was a heaviness in his chest, a sense of unease that gnawed at him. It was the same as he felt after each session of inking with Garm, that something within him felt¡­ wrong. This time, was as though the venom had planted a seed deep within him, something dark and potent, something that would grow if he wasn¡¯t careful.


    ¡®A¡­ relic. It had to be. There is nothing else even remotely close to the feeling Kiran described.¡¯


    But this was an Ordeal! How does this work?


    ¡®No¡­ where is it? What is it? What did it do?¡¯ He thought, his mind in turmoil.


    He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his fingers to make sure he was¡­ whole. Alive, even, so he could calm himself.


    ¡­When Osias reached the street corner leading to the other side, he stopped and took a deep breath. The city''s main road stretched out before him, now a ravaged and smoldering ruin, and Osias doubted that the already handful of inhabitants were still alive. The cries of the conquered faded into the distance as he stood there, staring out at the devastation as he breathed and collected himself.


    ¡®Relics¡­ The first was something that caused the change in our Path¡¯s progenit¡ª¡¯ Osias¡¯s eyes tensed and his eyebrows rose.


    ¡®Garm¡¯s father was a First Ordeal Path Finder. He came upon the first relic, but this¡­ I am an Ordinary. Kiran¡­ he never mentioned anything of an Ordinary relic.¡¯


    Osias felt as though he was discovering something unsettling as his mind raced and drew from odd suspicions and memories of what he knew.


    If this was truly the Ordinary relic of his Blood Path, then this was a boon. Nothing else could¡¯ve elicited such a response from his blood connection.


    But what did it do? There was nothing he could draw upon to learn. Or anyon¡ª


    ¡®... Is this Ordeal in the time before Garm¡¯s father? Of the true blood ancestor? The relics¡­ they came from something, someone.¡¯


    In the next moment, a haggard and wild laughter began to leave his mouth.


    ¡®Is the¡­ Great Blood Ancestor a tale turned truth?¡¯


    To think there was a day that he¡¯d wonder if such a tale was true! Osias was hysterical and his laughs grew crazed.


    The Gods¡­


    With that disturbing thought in mind, Osias shook his and turned away from the city center once more and began to walk, each step taking him closer to the opposite side from which the army entered ¡ª what his destination was before he came upon¡­ the nameless relic, pushing the worry aside.


    The reason for this is because from atop the watchtower he was on, he saw the leaders of the rear not partaking in the pillaging, but instead trampling through the main road towards the other end of the city wall. He wanted to see the faces of these elusive leaders of the Third Army.


    Eventually, Osias came upon a familiar face and called out to him.


    ¡°Erdma!¡±


    It was one of the followers of his from his first day waking up in this Ordeal. A short, stout, and burly man. A rugged and sharp face with a wild mane for hair.


    Osias sighed, finding Erdma inside a larger home of stone furiously yelling at a group of other bannerman as they struggled to pull apart a sealed cellar.


    ¡®Worried about his share, I wonder.¡¯ Osias groaned inwardly.


    Walking in leisurely, Osias drew his sword and helped them cut apart the cellar¡¯s entrance and then waited for Erdma to finish filling his pockets before they approached the city¡¯s high walls.


    Erdma had a long grin plastered on his face, fiddling an odd coin from a currency long forgotten that Osias didn¡¯t know of. But Erdma also didn¡¯t know where they were headed or why he was coming along ¡ª both of which were because of Osias¡¯s limited vocabulary.


    However, slowly, even Erdma could sense the difference in the air as the grin began to twist into a puzzled expression and then into a deep frown.


    Osias pointed upwards to the hulking tower structures built atop the fortified walls and said:


    ¡°Urotys.¡±


    Erdma frowned, but Osias pointed both at him and himself before gesturing up towards the towers once more.


    In a frantic voice, Erdma tried to gesture and voice what his apprehension at what Osias was trying to convey.


    Stifling a laugh at the outraged Erdma, Osias also ignored the cluster of words he didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡®He doesn¡¯t know that I only mentioned the Second Ordeals because I don¡¯t know the titles of those above that. ¡¯ Osias thought to himself with a grin.


    ¡°Jentys,¡± Osias abruptly said, using the tip of his hefty great sword to scratch the paved stone below before scratching another marking beside the first, ¡°Urotys,¡±


    He carved a circle beside the marking he made for Urotys before lifting his chin towards Erdma who was studying his crude markings.


    And if Erdma was outraged before, then now he looked as though he wanted to strangle Osias.


    Tapping against the circle, Osias wore a puzzled look and narrowed his eyes, directing Erdma to tell him what was a Third Ordeal or whoever was above a Urotys.


    ¡°...Cratys,¡± Erdma huffed out.


    ¡°Cratys.¡± Osias echoed back and pointed above the walls.


    With raised eyebrows, Erdma tried to turn aside towards the sounds of bickering bannerman inside a building to escape, but Osias nabbed his collar and practically dragged the stout man against his wishes atop the steps to lead up.


    But in the next moment, Osias¡¯s eyes narrowed instead of Erdma¡¯s.


    ¡®An Urotys¡­¡¯


    From above the steps, an unknown Urotys was descending the same steps. In his hand, Erdma became limp and slowly turned his head towards the descending figure and stammered out what Osias assumed was a greeting.


    Earning nothing more than a curious glance, they continued.


    As they made to atop the walls, his eyes were drawn to the three imposing structures that crowned the ramparts. The roofs of these massive edifices were adorned with intricate, upturned eaves, each level of the structure slightly smaller than the one below it.


    The tiles on the roofs were a deep, weathered green, but in the dim light of dusk, they appeared almost black, absorbing the remnants of daylight.


    Erdma looked as though he wanted to jump off the ledge, but Osias pushed him ahead towards the closest of the three towers.


    ¡®No running away. Even if it was insolent, I want¡ªno, I need to know¡­ is there a Fourth Ordeal?¡¯


    If a Fourth Ordeal Path Finder led this army¡­


    It was telling of many things.


    The state of this period¡­ if it was even an accurate portrayal made by an Ordeal, but regardless, it showed how significant he was.


    If a Fourth Ordeal led a single great army among three similar ones¡­ then perhaps there may be a Fifth Ordeal.


    Osias took a deep breath as he tried to imagine such a being.


    If there was a God amongst the world below¡­ then Osias believed it was whoever a Fifth Ordeal was.


    Perhaps all stories of a God have been spun from mere vestiges of such supreme beings. After all¡­ the Tailed Rebellion was led by such a figure.


    Shaking his head, Osias realized he was beginning to get ahead of himself once more ¡ª a poor habit he needed to resolve.


    First, he has to figure out how many and perhaps even accustom himself alongside a Cratys.


    Step by step, and eventually all he needs to know will unravel itself in time.


    ¡®So why¡­ are my legs trembling below my armor?¡¯ He thought with a grim smile as they walked atop the city''s walls.


    Eventually, Osias took off his helmet ¡ª it was the least he could do when addressing those superior to him¡­ although marching in without knowing anything of the circumstances and dynamics is already impudent enough.


    With a sigh, he pressured the poor Erdma ahead towards the entrance of the first tower.


    However, Erdma glanced back, and his once flustered expression suddenly turned a little curious as he pointed towards Osias.


    ¡°Hm? Erdma?¡± Osias asked.


    ¡°Amisya mo!¡± Erdma abruptly said, gesturing once more.


    Osias looked behind but found nothing amiss.


    ¡°A-mis-ya-mo!¡± Erdma grunted again, but this time touching Osias right temple.


    ¡®What is it¡­ blood? My hair?¡¯


    Erdma swiped Osias¡¯s helmet and wiped it a little on his leather armor before displaying it in front for Osias to study.


    Osias narrowed his eyes and tried


    ¡°What is this gu¡ª¡± Osias¡¯s eyes narrowed and he scowled at what he saw.


    ¡®...What is this?¡¯


    He¡­ he had a new tattoo.


    A menacing centipede in the same black and crimson hue as all his others¡­ it spanned from behind his ear and probably further beyond he could see and perfectly blended into the rest of his ink.


    He stretched behind his ear and past his temple and circled his right eye, all the menacing legs and wicked jutted horns were all on display. It looked barbaric and wicked, and made his face look even more like a brigand¡­

 Chapter 48 - Cratys

    Osias waved off Erdma and pushed him to continue for the first tower¡¯s entrance.


    The new addition to his head did not affect what he wanted to figure out here atop the walls. He¡¯ll explore what ensues with the centipede afterward ¡ª for now, he wanted to meet with the Cratys or perhaps even more.


    ¡­From within the tower, Osias heard loud chatter and bickering from many voices.


    ¡®The Cratys and Urotyses should already know of my presence, perhaps even as I came upon the steps.¡¯ He thought, slightly hesitating before entering.


    Osias heard a loud dry swallow from Erdma who looks as meek as a weasel now.


    ¡®Having him enter first is too much.¡¯ Osias thought to himself with a grim smile.


    He knew he was a level lower than a true Jentys, an outsider who had earned the title through his feats rather than his standing or fluency in their language. His presence here, unannounced and uninvited was reflective of that.


    But he had to know.


    Bringing a hand to the gate, he gave a small push as it creaked and rattled.


    And as soon as he stepped in, the room shifted. Conversations halted for a second, the sharp clang of armor and weapons being adjusted echoing in the brief silence. In the next moment, the once loud chatter pulled to a stop as many of the Jentyses threw a glance at him ¡ª their expressions ranging from curiosity to irritation.


    ¡®That¡¯s right¡­ if word hasn¡¯t spread, only a handful including the lone Urotys who gave me this armor knows of my rank despite being an Ordinary.¡¯ Osias inwardly said, studying the crowd.


    ¡®There!¡¯


    In the far rear, seated against a wall was a muted, yet overwhelming presence¡­


    But before he could inspect the looming figure any further, the tower¡¯s bustling noise returned to as it was before as the Urotyses continued as though nothing had happened.


    ¡®Bastards¡­ scared me there.¡¯ Osias thought with a heavy sigh leaving his mouth ¡ª Erdma followed his relief.


    These people of status were arrayed in odd groups, each handful of Jentyses were obviously led by some Urotys. These groups were conversing with others while some addressed the Cratys who sat at the back pensively¡­


    Osias eyed the Cratys and inspected him.


    It was a large and burly man, someone Osias wouldn¡¯t be surprised to find on the battlefield. Donning armor thick as though they were castle walls. Although not as tall and wide as Kiran, the seated Cratys wasn¡¯t someone Osias dared to cross.


    ¡®Sharp.¡¯


    That was the only thought he remembered after looking at the Cratys.


    As though the man could simply look at Osias and cleave him whole ¡ª not murderous or thick in blood and danger, but it was an eerie presence nonetheless.


    ¡®Like a sheathed blade at the side of a warrior.¡¯


    Circling the vast floor, Osias spotted a familiar Urotys conversing with others of his standing with his company of Jentyses behind him.


    ¡®I haven¡¯t gotten his name.¡¯ He thought, heading towards the Urotys.


    The Urotys were already aware of Osias¡¯s intent as he hushed the men around him and waved the other Urotyses from further talk.


    As the Jentyses parted aside, Osias found Erdma at his side in a slight bow and¡­ gesturing something odd.


    Erdma¡¯s hands were extended and had a fist balled into the other hand¡¯s clasp.


    ¡°Jelmazma darys, Urotys.¡± Erdma said in a tone Osias has yet to hear from any of his followers¡­ even Geral didn¡¯t speak and great an Urotys in such a manner.


    Osias followed the gesture awkwardly but decided against echoing the same words he assumed were a greeting.


    Lifting his gaze, the Urotys once more had an amused and intrigued face.


    Now that Osias had been in the presence of the nameless Urotys once more, he studied his appearance, taking advantage of the well-lit tower.


    The Urotys were donning a similar black armor that covered all around and extended into a flap towards his knees. A more intricate brooch of a red feather adorned the man, but most notable was the face. Littered in scars, the intense eyes were full of wildness. He seemed more mirthful than the other somber-looking Urotyses at his side.


    Drawing in a deep breath, Osias straightened his back and pointed towards himself, ¡°Visalros.¡±


    Erdma threw a glance at Osias, before continuing.


    Perhaps Erdma was explaining Osias¡¯s station and being a foreigner, but Osias could only guess as he heard what his followers called him amidst a string of words.


    ¡®Visalros¡­ still, is it my name or my title?¡¯


    The Urotys put up a hand and Erdma snapped silent.


    Then, the Urotys pointed at himself and looked Osias in the eyes before saying, ¡°Solmer.¡± then he pointed at Osias and echoed, ¡°Visalros.¡±


    The Urotys¡ªSolmer had a croaky and harsh voice that cut through all the clatter from the other groups. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Solmer repeated the same words and gestures with a more amused face and walked closer to face Osias¡­ or Visalros.


    Solmer turned and said something to Erdma before heavily patting Osias¡¯s shoulder, rattling his body beneath.


    Then with a grin, Solmer withdrew his heavy arm and returned to converse with the people surrounding him as he welcomingly motioned Osias to stay with the other Jentyses.


    Osias and Erdma stayed there for a while as Osias thought to himself.


    ¡®All these Urotyses¡­ and perhaps more in the other two towers. It''s also likely that a Cratys is present in each tower. Is there a Fourth Ordeal leading these three?¡¯


    But as much as Osias wanted to know, it was enough to see the face and appearance of the Cratys that oddly stayed in the rear whenever the army fought and marched.


    Eventually, an hour or so passed and Osias grew bored of listening to the rabbles of others in a language he didn¡¯t know, so he pulled Erdma aside as they followed another group make off from the tower.


    ¡­As Osias descended the same stairs toward the city below, he began to change his focus to the centipede.


    And what entails with his new tattoo.


    It wasn¡¯t painful, perhaps surprising when it happened, but it was far from what he had to endure with Garm.


    Yet the lingering feeling felt alike¡­


    He exhaled heavily as he dismissed and waved off Erdma to do as he liked.


    Erdma fervently nodded and ran away, perhaps uneager to remain so close to the city walls after being forced to join Osias.


    Stifling a small laugh, Osias stared at many fires that scorched the city. Some were perhaps used for warmth through the cool night, but Osias doubted it as he recalled the glints in the eyes of the Ordinaries.


    Choosing a small humble abode away from the fires and relatively untouched from the soldiers, he made comfort a top of its small thatched roof and laid there, bringing a hand to touch the skin around his right eye. His hand dragged across his temple and then to his neck in a daze.


    ¡®I¡¯ll ask Mance upon my return¡­ if the Ordeals can truly conjure such a display of the past as I¡¯m thrown into such an unfamiliar place.¡¯


    Rolling to his side, he let the distant cackles of men and scorching flames soothe him to sleep as he awaited the march tomorrow¡­


    ¡ª


    ¡°Ventos!¡± The Jentys in the front yelled, his piercing cries somehow making its way towards Osias.


    The bannerman was in high spirits today, and Osias didn¡¯t hear much of the familiar tones and words of complaint from the day before.


    As he glanced back, his eyes narrowed, trying to peer past the almost endless sea of bannermen trailing behind him. Their banners, a flurry of red feathers, waved like a living tide in the cold wind.


    Despite much of the advance army being culled in the previous battle, the rows of bannerman still seemed innumerable from the front.


    For a moment, he felt small, insignificant amidst the throng, just one man in a multitude. Yet he looked at the followers he led with a small grin.


    ¡°Hoo¡­¡± He sighed to himself.


    ¡®I wonder how many would survive the siege¡­¡¯ He thought wistfully, looking forward.


    He wondered if he was marching himself along with his followers into sure death. It was clear that despite the planning, strategy, and bickering he had witnessed among the leaders of the advance army¡­ they had yet to participate. As though culling the Ordinaries was part of their strategy.


    ¡®Should I desert the army?¡¯


    Shaking his head, he knew it was another treacherous end if he left the army. He still needed to find the one he needed to slay to return, and he had a strong inkling that the army would lead him to them eventually. That was likely why he awoke on this side, to begin with, in a chaotic battle no less.


    Time will tell, he told himself.


    Though there may be something that time alone couldn¡¯t solve¡­ Osias brought a hand towards his right eye.


    This morning Osias tried to do whatever he could to see what the relic could do¡­ yet nothing ever happened. Whether it was essence control, sensing it through his blood connection, or even touching it, nothing garnered a response.


    He truly had no idea how to benefit from this relic¡­ and if intense feeling from his blood connection wasn¡¯t present before he first encountered the centipede, he would¡¯ve taken it for a mere dream¡ª


    ¡°Valvalur!¡± The same Jentys bellowed ¡ª a change in orders as his voice rippled through the air.


    Osias¡¯s head perked up, recovering from his daze of thoughts, and swiped to his left, noticing a cold wind billowing through the vast plains.


    ¡®Enemies?¡¯ But Osias noticed that the leading Jentys had yet to take action, leaving all the Ordinaries confused as much as he was.


    ¡°Sorasa hii!¡± The Jectys bellowed.


    Then the Ordinaries, even Osias¡¯s followers, began to chant. The Jectys bellowed.


    Next, the heads of the Ordinaries perked up and realized something that Osias didn¡¯t, and then what they next confused Osias even more.


    ¡°Sora-sa!¡±


    ¡°Sora-sa!¡±


    Then they all turned towards their left rear and suddenly a distant shadowy figure. Altogether the ordinaries began to chant as loud as they could with the same fervor as his followers once did.


    They clanged against their shields and armor ¡ª anything to produce as much noise as possible as madness spread through them all.


    Then from Osias¡¯s left, a dark figure loomed in the distance¡­ it was but a mere speck across the land, but in the coming moments it rapidly rose in height.


    ¡®Towe¡ª I see, siege towers.¡¯ Osias thought.


    It was an odd contraption. Very rarely would a soldier ever find the attackers not possessing a Path Finder capable of inflicting devasting damage against walls ¡ª or walls strong enough to withstand such power that the attackers are forced to scale it.


    Although, Osias has only heard of such things from the returning


    Blood Warriors of the band¡­


    ¡®Maybe in this period, it was different? No¡­ shouldn¡¯t be.¡¯


    Then a sickly thought crept from his mind as he saw more towers approach in the distance.


    ¡®Are they going to¡­ force all the Ordinaries to scale such things? We¡¯ll stand no chance if a Fourth Ordeal leads the stronghold we¡¯ll attack, so why sacrifice this many?


    Because Ordinary arrows shot from the ground don¡¯t amount to much? That the best we can serve is to distract them with our numbers?¡¯


    Yet all Osias could do was guess. It was only when the siege began that he truly knew what was to happen to himself and his men.


    Dissertation or voicing their complaints was out of the question. Even if they all banded together to escape, Third Ordeals are already enough to kill many, bringing the dissidents to heel, unwilling to die from opposing such might.


    Even the presence Osias felt as he trudged atop the city¡¯s wall wouldn¡¯t need to lift a hand.


    It''ll be a slaughter regardless¡­


    Eventually, the siege towers arrived in all its grandness. Each was high enough to make Osias wonder if the stronghold they would attack was truly so high and mighty that such a contraption was needed.


    Each possessed quite the air of its own¡­ perhaps it was conjured and constructed using an Ordeal Ability of a Path Finder or groups of them.


    Osias¡¯s eyes glazed over the still chanting Ordinaries and studied their faces ¡ª only to find faint trickles of the madness that engulfed some of his followers in his first day of war on the many faces.


    ''Do they¡­ know of their coming fate?¡¯ He mused, rubbing his wrists wearily.


    ¡­Osias took a deep breath as the chanting died and the many monstrous siege towers began rolling alongside their march.


    He could never know what the siege would entail. He could only await his orders.


    ¡®In a way¡­ it seems I''m truly a soldier now if I''m thinking like that.¡¯


    Glancing behind him, Osias asked for Geral.


    ¡°Sora¡­sa?¡± Osias asked, pointing at one of the many rolling siege towers.


    The rugged and hardy Geral looked at the siege tower and had his eyes wander there for a moment before pointing to the sky and responding:


    ¡°Sora-hii¡±


    ¡®The sky? What is that again, I learned that one¡­ Joruha?¡¯


    Osias wore a puzzled expression and pointed to the sky, ¡°Sora-hii joruha?¡± he asked.


    But that attempt only earned a mixed expression that Osias recognized as he was slightly correct in what he was trying to convey.


    ¡®Sky¡­ clouds? No, it can''t be.¡¯


    Osias pondered to himself until he arrived at what Geral was likely saying¡­


    ¡°God¡­ the heavens.¡± He whispered to himself in Vorin so no one could understand.


    In this world and the last¡­ God has always been thought of.


    But even so, it seemed God only exists in the mind and heart¡­

 Chapter 49 - Chaos and Strife

    Sunswept plains¡­ whatever beauty left of them was trampled atop the boots of soldiers. The earth groaned and trembled from its glint of steel and heaves of breath.


    An ashen sky tinted with orange, as though the very autumn air has been tainted with the breath of marching soldiers.


    ¡­And so the advance army has arrived undeterred towards the stronghold of the Golden Hawk Bannerman.


    ¡°Alasii!¡± An Urotys growled the moment the stronghold was in sight, albeit still across a vast distance.


    This change in the vanguard head was done earlier, likely a Cratys ordered it as they anticipated the march would soon find the stronghold. So a Urotys began to lead the army instead of a certain sharp-nosed Jentys.


    In the next moment, the march halted, and the Urotys huffed out another order. Then from about midway through the army, a separate attachment ¡ª a group of faces and armor that Osias hasn¡¯t seen before detached from the main army but¡­ on mounts.


    They each rode a different creature, all of which were sure to be Path Beasts from how unusual they looked.


    One rode a lithe-legged serpent with swift legs while another rode atop a hound-looking beast crossed with stone.


    ¡­Osias¡¯s company of Ordinaries still remained near the front of the army despite the change in vanguard heads, and that was why Osias could see so closely to this odd detachment of soldiers as they converse with the leading Urotys.


    But with just a few words exchanged, these mounted soldiers rode off towards the stronghold with an intense swiftness.


    Then they continued to march ever so closer towards the stronghold.


    ¡®Ah¡­ I didn¡¯t get the stronghold¡¯s name that day. Who was it with me back then?¡¯


    Glancing behind him, Osias began to study the crowd of downcasted followers of his before spotting Geral.


    ¡°Geral!¡± He called out.


    A sunken soldier lifted his head and obliged his leader¡¯s request and Geral was beside Osias once more.


    Pointing towards the stronghold, Osias began to gesture and put on a familiar puzzled expression that his men knew well over the days they¡¯d shared.


    But instead of responding with words, Geral simply pointed towards the stronghold and then the sigil atop both of their chests¡­ the Red Feather.


    ¡®Ah¡ªis it simply what their sigil is?¡¯


    Pulling out a small brooch that Osias looted from one of the many First Ordeals he killed, he pulled an intricately crafted Golden Hawk and displayed it to Geral.


    Geral simply nodded.


    ¡®Then¡­ I¡¯ll call it the Golden Hawk Stronghold.¡¯ Osias nodded to himself, satisfied with the easy and simple name.


    ¡­With time, their army began to spread and scatter about as orders to set camp were sounded and Osias followed his men as they


    The camp was to be set just beyond the enemy¡¯s attack range, a distance they all respected. They had marched alongside their siege towers, and now these towering constructs stood ready for use, their dark shadows cast over the land as they were positioned toward the looming fortress.


    Osias laughed to himself below his helm¡­ To raise a camp and fire beneath the shadow of death is to build your own grave, but still, their hands move as though it were any other day.


    It was odd¡­ to make camp so early. They still had a siege to fight.


    But as Osias helped Geral begin a fire, he realized that it was likely because many of them were to die in the coming hours.


    Might as well have them work before they fight.


    ¡­Resting his legs against a small rising in the earth alongside familiar faces like Erdma, Geral, and Ousal, they all grimly looked at the indomitable structure in the distance as they brooded together before the orders to attack were given. From where Osias stood, he found it odd to feel such dread from the stone ¡ª no matter how special the stone was.


    They looked to be twice as high as the walls of Clan Grimm¡¯s forward fortress which was made to defend against attacks from Path Beasts of the Third and perhaps Fourth.


    ¡®Myra¡­ I wonder how much time has passed.¡¯


    Slowly a faint frown grew, hidden from the gaze of his bannermen beneath the metal of his helmet.


    ¡®Was a¡­ promise enough?¡¯


    But then he shook his head slightly ¡ª of course, words enough weren¡¯t enough.


    So he¡¯ll return.


    Suddenly from his left, Erdma began to snicker¡­ but what began as a small snicker, has increasingly turned to howls. Yet Osias noticed ¡ª Erdma¡¯s eyes were glum and dark despite the cackles leaving his mouth.


    The other men didn¡¯t react to the odd action, perhaps understanding the woes of their comrade because Osias did as well, studying the Golden Hawk Stronghold.


    Perhaps a series of looting and pillaging was enough to draw away tomorrow''s plights, but facing this unassailable city, they could only silently cower.


    ¡­Dots of men, innumerable as they are manned atop the walls, ever imposing. From here, Osias couldn¡¯t tell what Ordeal level they were¡­ but if this stronghold was to be their capital, then they couldn¡¯t be weak.


    Their army simply couldn''t wage an attack on each of the four sides of this stronghold with what little forces they had. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Yet even faced with just one side, the siege seemed futile.


    ¡°Ventos Alva!¡± A piercing shout sounded.


    All the weary and grim Ordinaries looked up, all of them aware of their coming fates, and those who were resting slowly got to their feet.


    It was time.


    ¡ª


    The siege erupted in a storm of chaos. The air was thick, and oppressive, hanging with the stench of sweat, blood, and smoke. Acrid ash clung to the wind, while the foul odor of death hovered close, creeping into Osias¡¯s lungs with every breath.


    It seemed that whoever the Golden Hawk placed ahead of them was mercilessly burning Osias¡¯s escorts to nothing more than wisps.


    ¡®Vora, vora, vora!¡± Osias shouted together with his men.


    The siege tower groaned under its own weight, creaking eerily as Osias¡¯s entire company strained against it. Muscles burned and legs quivered as they leaned into the massive structure, each step heavy and laborious. The beams, worn and splintered, dug into hands already raw from just pushing. Sweat poured down their faces, mingling with the dust kicked up from the earth beneath them.


    The relentless weight felt as though it grew with every step gained toward death.


    Osias¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving under the strain, but he pushed on, his eyes flicking toward the strained followers beside himself. His arms screamed, the tendons threatening to snap, yet he could feel the cold dread that clung to the air¡ªknowing that beyond the physical exertion, a bloody battle awaited right after.


    Arrows and a myriad of indescribable Ordeal Abilities rained down all around and cries both of the gallant and the perished sounded everywhere¡­ and it felt as though their chants of pushing were the only way to let the world know they were still alive, and still here in this hell.


    An Urutys was escorting the siege tower, possessing some kind of harrowing ability to ensure the blood-stricken ground ahead of them could support the tower.


    Osias shook his head, focusing all his might on pushing the tower.


    To his right, through an entire web of Ordinaries that joined them from other companies, another siege tower had already made it to the walls much faster ¡ª Osias wasn¡¯t sure, but another Urotys seemed to be able to simply erase the presence of the tower in one moment and move it right against the walls.


    ¡®Is it a blessing or curse to scale the walls so early?¡¯ Osias wondered inwardly.


    Osias could barely hear his own thoughts amidst the cacophony¡ªthe deep rumble of ranged Path Finders launching their payloads from behind, the war cries of his comrades, and the desperate howls of those being overrun.


    Through his exhausted steps, he looked up, never finding an end to the mighty tower he was touching before thinking, ¡®If anything¡­ these towers are unbelievably resilient. It must¡¯ve been constructed using at least a Third Ordeal¡¯s powers¡ª¡¯


    In the next moment, a deep rumble sounded. Not from the walls or the many siege towers to their sides¡­ but from behind. Something different from the usual sounds of projectiles being fired against the wall.


    ¡®What!¡¯


    Still pushing the titanic structure, he whipped his head behind along with many others to see what was disrupting their rear.


    ¡®A flank?¡¯ He wondered in fright.


    If there was a flank¡­ then they were sure to be defeated. Osias would have to either steal a mount or hide among the dead if he wanted to live.


    But cutting off his plans to desert the army¡­ an indescribable sound rippled and distorted the very air itself, making him unable to breathe.


    The tower stopped moving, and Osias along with his entire company collapsed while he staggered to his knees and clawed at his ears and neck.


    ¡®J-Just what happened?¡¯ He screamed inwardly.


    It was a presence. A deadly and profane presence that makes him feel as though a blade was right against his neck.


    ¡®F-Fourth!¡¯ He instinctively knew, recalling his few encounters with such harrowing creatures before.


    From his strained eyes¡­ there, he saw it from the Red Feather¡¯s rear ¡ª where the Cratyses were always dwelling, never revealing themselves in battle.


    Osias wondered back then as his eyes locked onto the appearance of the Cratys in that watch tower, why the man looked battered and someone who would fight rather than cowardly linger in the rear.


    Even many of the Urotyses were unfamiliar¡­ and there were still two other watch towers in that city that Osias believed to be holding the same amount of Path Finders in each and even a Fourth Ordeal that he couldn¡¯t catch a wisp of.


    Two distant figures in their rear now appeared, both were so pronounced and suffocating to simply watch.


    One was a man in the air, flying with a pair of regal wings of red feathers. Even from the fray of battle, Osias could make out how grand and dignified the man¡¯s appearance was.


    ¡®Fourth Ordeal¡­¡¯


    But beside the feathered man was something that didn¡¯t look of this world. As though it was a bundle of all that darkened the world in darkness.


    A round bulging mass of mismatched corpses of men. Stacked and constructed so large and hideously it was the same height as the lofty siege towers.


    Bones jutted out from his body, and their faces that made it were¡­ alive. Growls and low groans from those who still possessed a throat and mouth.


    On its head, dark red eyes are accompanied by a set of large teeth that are revealed by the permanently exposed gums and rancidly decayed mouth.


    Desecrated and tortured bodies were used to create such a thing¡­ some of which were familiar to Osias despite how uncountable the number of corpses needed to make such a thing.


    ¡®Golden Hawks and Red Feathers, they are all from the battle days before.¡¯


    A demon made from some profane means using the remains of those who¡¯ve fallen¡­


    Then a sickly scowl plastered against Osias¡¯s face, and those of his followers who were well enough to sense the world around them began to grimace and glare at the monstrosity that groaned and rattled as it lumbered towards the walls.


    They all seemed to understand¡­ why there were no Urotyses present before as well as why they didn¡¯t seem to care about how many died in battle.


    ¡®This¡­ this is hell.¡¯ He thought with a dreadful smile.


    From in front of their siege tower, the Urotys that were able to harden the ground ahead of them shouted in a coarse voice, ¡°Vora!¡±


    Standing to their feet in weak steps of balance, they continued to push ¡ª the only way to wane off the feeling of fear behind and ahead.


    Glancing behind¡­ Osias could only lament the companies who weren¡¯t selected to front the assault with the siege towers.


    They were all in their rough formations together with other companies ¡ª a large square of Red Feathers as they awaited for much of the towers to mount before they aided the assault.


    Eventually¡­ they were close enough.


    ¡°Valassira! Va-va-va!¡±


    Stepping on top of a fallen Red Feather with a sick crunch, Osias brandished his great sword and put a hand to the body, and reaved it of its blood essence to replish what he used up to help his followers push the tower.


    ¡®One of the escorts who died¡­¡¯ He mused darkly.


    Then they entered the tower and found themselves in a dimly lit expanse, but found no stairs. However, Geral pointed to a raised platform that looked to be made from the most pristine cut of blackened stone Osias had seen.


    Geral yelled something he couldn¡¯t understand before leading their group to fit as many as they could atop the platform.


    ¡®Is this going to get us to the top?¡¯ Osias quickly guessed.


    In the next moment, Osias studied all that was atop the platform¡­ it was all of his followers. Almost all the faces he saw were ones he recognized from his first day of awakening in this war.


    Sighing to himself, he then felt a gentle tug at his arm ¡ª it was Erdma and Geral.


    They were gesturing for him to lower himself against the platform.


    ¡®Touch? Ah¡ªIt¡¯s like my sword.¡¯


    Bringing an armored hand to touch the pristine platform below their muddied boots Osias looked once more at his ragtag group of followers.


    Sighing heavily beneath his black helmet¡­ he felt the platform able to be infused with essence and allowed it.


    ¡®Words aren¡¯t needed. Whoever will survive will and those who don¡¯t will simply die.¡¯


    It will be chaos.


    But in that chaos, Osias will find it once more ¡ª his own and his follower¡¯s terrible rhythm, a dance of death that surged and ebbed across the battlefield.


    And with a blink and a flow of essence¡­ Osias opened his eyes as his men appeared at the latched bridge that had already mounted the ramparts of the Golden Hawk Stronghold.


    And before them were as many enemies as there was grass on the sunswept plains they ravaged and trampled on to get here¡­

 Chapter 50 - Massacre Of The Walls

    To kill.


    That was all he needed to do. Simple as it is.


    As long as Osias thought of that¡­ it was as though a fog lifted in his mind.


    ¡­With a growl his great sword passed through the heads of some unfortunate Ordinaries, uncaring of what armor they donned. All was the same at his sword¡¯s edge.


    It was madness through the ramparts, likely more than a dozen areas were being assailed by the siege towers, some even headed by a Urotys.


    So Osias and his bannermen just needed to hold their position within scads of Golden Hawks. Until they could secure a foothold before a Urotys would come to their aid.


    Another vicious arc sounded and Osias cleaved the very life of a haughty First Ordeal that desired to meet him in combat.


    His neck was separated so fast Osias didn¡¯t have the chance to discern what Ordeal Ability warranted such foolishness.


    ¡®Blood, blood, blood!¡¯


    Dashing through swathes of men he never stopped swinging his sword, he needed to lead his maddened men.


    ¡°Visalros!¡±


    Osias glanced to his right, and Geral was right there stuffing a dagger so deep into a Golden Hawk¡¯s skull that the poor Ordinary would have to be buried along with a blade that reaped their lives.


    ¡°Visalros!¡±


    Another swipe of his massive sword took another spray of blood he greedily devoured and took for his own. He could fight indefinitely if it was against such weak foes.


    ¡­If what Osias and all the other Red Feather Bannermen felt as they laid eyes upon the great walls was fear, then Osias wanted to return it.


    The Golden Hawk¡¯s soldiers in front of him trembled as his sword moved with both ferocity and grace. Savage fright as their lines were decimated.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± A weak voice gargled.


    A little behind Osias and to his left, Vernon, one of the faces Osias has come to know from his very first day fell to a First Ordeal ¡ª though not before embedding a sword deep into their leg.


    Seeing Vernon drop to his knees as the last wisps of his life were taken atop these damned ramparts, Osias pounced onto the weakened First Ordeal without hesitation.


    Within a blink''s notice, a furious line of flames erupted from the First Ordeal¡¯s hands.


    ¡®I won¡¯t make the same mistake again.¡¯ Osias dismissed, rolling aside into the First Ordeal¡¯s comrades, careful not to breathe in the scalding heat.


    He let the wild flames engulf both Golden Hawk soldiers and his followers alike as he weaved through the swathes of men, and with a quick slash, Osias severed the man¡¯s arm.


    ¡®Die!¡¯


    Thrusting his gauntlet deep into the open stump, Osias cruelly used Blood Reave before bringing his sword to the collapsed man¡¯s chest to finish.


    Osias could only throw another look at the fallen Vernon before continuing to establish their foothold.


    ¡®This¡­ my followers are falling in droves.¡¯ He thought with a frown.


    Bending over and reaching into Vernon¡¯s gash-ridden body, Osias made sure to take a piece of Vernon along with him.


    They all came up tired and weary, but they compensated with their ferocity.


    Glancing behind at the siege tower, more and more men from both his lingering followers and other companies used the pristine platform to come to their aid.


    Even Jentyses came to aid Osias!


    So he continued to fight.


    But then a baleful bellow came from just outside the walls, but Osias didn¡¯t care to look ¡ª he already knew the Third and Fourth Ordeals were battling.


    He needed to focus on his battle and soak the walls in the blood.


    He launched himself forward into the brutal melee once more.


    Spears, swords, and shields all rang against his black armor of a Jentys ¡ª something Osias has come to be thankful for its resilience.


    Those of the Golden Hawk screamed, cried, and pleaded as they died.


    Osias has fought endlessly for those days in the open battle¡­ he was already accustomed to fighting amidst the chaos of many.


    Ferocity, he never stopped, for that would be his death no matter how strong he was.


    He¡¯ll whittle down as many as he can.


    ¡­But just as his blade separated the head from another Ordinary, Osias felt it.


    The unfathomable pull he once felt to undergo this entire Ordeal. The same pull that brought him into this unfamiliar land.


    ¡®Inside the city?¡¯


    ¡°Visalros!¡±


    His followers continued to battle alongside with more reinforcements funneling outside the siege towers, and slowly they were almost approaching another foothold secured by another siege tower.


    There, they¡¯ll pincer the Golden Hawk¡¯s soldiers.


    The rugged great sword flashed through the air with an unnatural speed for how large it was, yet its wielder was equally as towering and frightening. Each swipe cuts through the air as it Osias lobbed arms and legs alike to reach the other foothold atop the ramparts.


    ¡®Far away, but I¡¯m closer.¡¯If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He infused some of his essence into his blade as he slammed the hardy blade downwards onto a First Ordeal on their knees pitifully attempting to block his attack.


    But his sword simply cleaved through both their armored gauntlets and split his head.


    Osias¡¯s tattoos surged as he continuously fed them and in return they flowed into his reservoir, invigorating him to continue this massacre of the Golden Hawk as he surged forward in a storm of steel and blood.


    ¡®Closer!¡¯


    Suddenly a great hammer of stone ¡ª rugged and rocky as it was, appeared above Osias before it dropped onto his head.


    Osias brought his sword above his head and because of its broadness, Osias was able to block much of the stone hammer¡¯s blow, but not its weight as even Osias was pushed down.


    ¡®Agh¡ª¡¯


    Straining himself with both hands, he was open for the Ordinaries to surge forth to strike him down as he was occupied, so he quickly lept out of the crushing hammer and abandoned his blade ¡ª after all, the target was Osias himself.


    But before Osias could engage once more, another Jentys has joined alongside him.


    Osias shared no words with the unfamiliar Jentys but welcomed his presence.


    Retrieving his sword, Osias watched as the Jentys threw something small and obscured from beneath their lightly armored wrists and suddenly an enemy soldier¡¯s head was crumpled ¡ª helmet and all turned into a bloody mess from the object so small even Osias had to focus to see.


    Then, the hammer of stone was dismantled into bits as it fell over the swathes of men.


    Shaking his head, Osias continued to fight, fortunate for the aid.


    Eventually, they secured a large section of the ramparts as they united with another mix of companies from another siege tower.


    But Osias didn¡¯t care for that ¡ª now undeterred from the Golden Hawk Bannermen, Osias quickly tried to narrow that pull he felt.


    ¡®Inside¡­ the city.¡¯


    It was faint, impossibly so, but it was profound and he couldn¡¯t mistake such a feeling.


    But over the interior of the walls¡­ were hundreds, perhaps thousands of different buildings so large he couldn¡¯t study them all.


    However, he felt it as his eyes narrowed whilst dodging a stray arrow.


    In the center of the city was another arrow of walls. They were less mighty and rugged, but they looked like a pure and unspoiled white.


    Enclosed inside these grand walls of the interior, was something no less than a palace. Osias could¡¯ve imagined it was built for a king of old from the time before the Three Factions were formed.


    Even from so far away, its regal gold shimmered below the same sun that illuminates war and strife. It was vastly different from where Osias stood and outside the walls. The sky was darkened by clouds of smoke, blotting out the sun, turning the battlefield into a twilight of blood-soaked rock and scattered debris. The distant cries of soldiers shouting orders barely pierced the thick din of battle as warriors clashed beneath the shadow of the towering walls.


    But there, Osias felt it.


    Somewhere inside the noble and unsullied palace where the sun shone brilliantly¡­ was who he needed to kill to return. The Ordeal was calling his name, gnawing at his mind, pulling him towards strength.


    ¡­In the next moment, Osias couldn¡¯t concern himself with how to succeed in his Ordeal, as the very stones that made the ramparts he stood atop began to rumble with such ferocity.


    Then a blood-curdling roar sounded, cutting through the sounds of war with more intensity than any horn or drum.


    ¡®That demon of corpses¡­¡¯ Osias realized, looking behind him and outside of the walls.


    He pushed it aside ¡ª the fighting between the Third and Fourth Ordeals. He couldn¡¯t intrude nor risk enduring a stray blow from such figures.


    Even if their battle would dictate whether he survived.


    As the rest of the Red Feather Bannermen struggled to hold the narrow junction between the siege towers, Osias sprinted to the far side to peer over the edge of the wall to catch a glimpse of the calamities in battle.


    What he saw astounded him. Awe¡­ fear, even washed over him.


    The Red Feathered Fourth Ordeal.


    Feathers of such a pure red as though they¡¯ve been kissed with bloody lips. The feathers were innumerable as they separated from the winged man.


    A storm of red streaked with blood as they mercilessly cut down what Osias sensed was the Third Ordeals of the Golden Hawk.


    All the while the demon-like abomination made from corpses groaned and shook the earth before battering into the main gate.


    The hardy walls that Osias and his followers fought so direly atop rumbled and tremored against its might ¡ª Osias was thankful all the siege towers avoided the center of the wall.


    Peering past the storm of men atop the ramparts, the unfortunate Golden Hawk soldiers that were posted atop the main gate were flustered and did all they could to aid their Third Ordeals against both the corpse demon and red-winged man.


    Abruptly, something menacing awoke, and Osias¡¯s senses screamed in response ¡ª that he shouldn¡¯t remain in this place any longer.


    ¡°Alasii, va amir, Herotys!¡± A hiss sounded in his head.


    He clutched his head and staggered lightly before jabbing his sword against the stone to support him.


    But Osias wasn¡¯t alone, as every Red Feather soldier atop the wall, from the Ordinary to the Urotyses halted their battle.


    Swords were left lingering in the air, spears were stuck and embedded into men, absent breaths held so carefully¡­ every man atop the walls didn¡¯t dare breathe.


    Even those donning the Golden Hawk halted and instead turned around to face the palace at the center of their city with trembling hands.


    As though they knew of the being that warranted such presence and reverence.


    From the corner of Osias¡¯s eyes, the red-winged Fourth Ordeal began to flutter in place as a maelstrom of red circled him.


    The giant corpse demon crumpled the wall as its strength resounded throughout, yet no one reacted to it.


    Osias has felt it before ¡ª many times, really.


    In the face of the absolute¡­ he could only cower.


    It was so eerily quiet, and only the distant groans from the many faces strewn on the demon and the light flutters of the red-winged Fourth Ordeals could be heard.


    Inwardly, Osias cursed as he forced himself to stand.


    As he did, he felt something so indescribably lethal begin to form.


    From the above brilliant aureate palace something tantamount to what Osias believed was the end of the world ¡ª an unbounded calamity was to befall against his fellow bannermen.


    An immense energy suddenly manifested, a blazing sun, and in just a few seconds, it rapidly expanded until everyone could only kneel in submission. It was like the sun that shone above the tales of the heavens had descended to their mortal world.


    His followers and the others around them realized this too, forcing what little wads of strength remained to turn around.


    The siege towers were too far.


    So the only way to run¡­ was to drop from the wall.


    Everywhere atop the ramparts, his bannerman began to fall in the numbers, desperately throwing themselves off the towering falls. Osias watched as one by one¡­ familiar faces and some not, plummeted to their deaths.


    Soldiers so mad in death¡¯s rhythm decided to kill themselves¡­


    ¡®A-a sword?¡¯ Osias wondered as the gleaming golden wisps began to form.


    A sword that stretched from the palace to beyond the clouds began to befall onto the center of the wall, headed straight for the red-winged Fourth Ordeal and the lumbering corpse-strewn demon with a merciless humm, cleaving the sky itself.


    The regal and kingly sword absurdly passed through those who wore the Golden Hawk against their chestplate and the towering wall.


    Red feathers emerged in an impossible number, probably enough to engulf everyone who fought atop the ramparts in an enclosed shadow. They flew to cover the monstrous shimmering sword.


    But the pristine edge of the sword was barely held back by the endless onslaught of feathers and then severed the demon-like corpse abomination top to bottom in a fountain of putrid blood.


    The cacophony of wails sounded in the distance, yet Osias noticed that the red-winged Fourth Ordeal wasn¡¯t spared either.


    Somewhere through the billowed dust, their army¡¯s leader seemed to have furled their wings in front of them to block the blow partially.


    Osias couldn¡¯t see the man¡¯s face, yet it couldn¡¯t have been anything other than dismay.


    ¡®Wait.. no!¡¯


    The Fourth Ordeal¡­ was turning around.


    ¡®This craven bastard!¡¯


    What was left of their wings began to flutter, bringing them into the air, and with an almighty flap, their army¡¯s leader¡­ abandoned them.


    Osias blinked from where he stood in shock.


    Suddenly the sky seemed to have lifted from each soldier¡¯s back and the cries of fighting and violence continued.


    Osias was still against the edge of the wall¡­ the same edge many of his bannermen rather chose to jump off than die or be captured.


    ¡®I¡­ what do I do?¡¯ He thought, his grip loosening around his sword.


    Osias watched as the troops below the walls had already begun to retreat in such a shameless manner.


    Some atop the ramparts dropped their weapons, and the clanging of steel rang downcastedly.


    Some fought bravely to the very end.


    But Osias¡­ was lost.


    Closer and closer, the Golden Hawk soldiers began to retake what was lost, reaping more lives with each strike of their blades.


    And as with a blink¡­


    He was in chains.

 Chapter 51 - Like The Dust From Old Homes

    ¡°Kosa!¡±


    ¡°Kosavi!¡±


    Insults and jeers flew from a language he wasn¡¯t fluent in.


    Then a heavy kick sounded and Osias spat out a bloody mess, stumbling down a few rugged steps while his cramped chains rattled. His face was then dirtied¡­ smeared with blood, dirt, and spit.


    But beneath his guise of a pained face hid the seething fury within as he weakly stood back once more and hobbled down the stone steps, headed for an open field below the walls.


    The Golden Hawk Bannermen were not¡­ gentle with their restraints and confinement.


    Stripped of armor, weapons, and clothing, they were beaten and battered. Kicked and cut ¡ª anything to appease lingering rage that only the victors could revel in.


    ¡°Agh!¡± A man groaned from behind Osias.


    ¡®Geral¡­¡¯ Osias thought grimly as he focused on descending the stairs.


    The gruffy man who taught him most of what he knew of this place was being beaten down relentlessly after being stripped whole.


    Osias too was subject to an even crueler beating than most, his black armor of a Jentys was worthy of note despite the enemies realizing he was an Ordinary underneath.


    Even his great sword was a great reminder of how many lives a mere Ordinary took from their comrades¡­ perhaps they thought each maims of their own could get them closer to reviving their lost ones.


    Some fingers were cut, and his stomach was battered until he was forced to spew blood and what remains of his rations, and his ears were severed. His back was ridden with lashings until he spilled blood. They took him by the hair and scalped him messily, revealing even more of his uncouth appearance unbefitting the rest of the soldiers.


    It was almost amusing how quickly a steely pair of whips made it atop the walls where a battle was being fought just moments prior¡­


    But Osias simply bit down on any feelings of retribution ¡ª he¡¯ll bide his time. If they made the foolish mistake to leave him alive¡­ Osias would be equally as foolish if he made them change their decision.


    ¡­Even on the steps downward, those of the Golden Hawk continued to beat or pelt them with odd things until Osias finally stepped foot on the open field below.


    ¡®Hoo¡­ am I to be bounded and put to death?¡¯ He wondered as he trudged forward.


    Those of the Golden Hawk¡­ they executed every Jentys and Urotys where they stood. Likely because of the myriad of possible Ordeal Abilities, they simply cannot contain such unpredictable soldiers. They cannot account for every Ordeal Ability in this world¡­


    So they hounded the Ordinaries in droves after the swift executions. By then, Osias had a choice ¡ª to leap off the walls in an idiotic gamble or accept his capture by the soldiers as his bannermen were wrapped in chains.


    ¡®Chains and chains.¡¯ He uttered darkly in his head.


    Eventually, all the captured Ordinaries were lined together in a single vast row and Osias found out how many remained as they all trickled into a sloppily made line.


    ¡®Thousands¡­¡¯ He thought wistfully as he studied the tormented crowd of stripped men.


    Few were standing proudly. Many were weary and meek. Most were beaten so bloody and bruised they couldn¡¯t stand.


    Facing against their rows of prisoners were soldiers and far behind them in the city itself were the civilians.


    Men, women, children, elderly ¡ª they all arose to spectate the capture of the enemies that ravaged their lands¡­ perhaps forced them to all herd into this city. They looked out of their windows, climbed to their roofs, and walked beyond the roads that led toward the walls.


    But before Osias could study past the mass of Golden Hawk soldiers, a thunderous crack sounded ¡ª a streak of gold followed the descent of¡­ someone.


    ¡®Third Ordeal¡­¡¯ He scowled.


    His powerful radiant figure exuded a sense of immense, but solemn strength. The man donned an intricate and spotless snow-white armor that was trimmed with regal gold and a pristine cloak of pure white dragged behind the man, yet never touching the dirt-ridden ground below.


    With wild light grey hair and a steely face, he reminded Osias of the elaborate statues in the city they pillaged days earlier ¡ª those of the desecrated deities.


    Except this one was alive and was retaliating against the attackers of his city.


    Without a word, the man heavily and slowly walked to the far left end of the row of prisoners as those of the Golden Hawk watched.


    Those of the Golden Hawk watched with grins and sneers.


    Those of the Red Feather who could watch had grim expressions as they could feel what was to happen when the Third Ordeal reached the end of the line.


    The man in gold¡¯s face was stern and emotionless, filled with nothing but cold resolve. Brisk, slow steps, each seemingly shook the very ground as each Ordinary in chains expected the worst.


    And finally¡­ he came upon the end of the lined men where a ragged Ordinary knelt trembling. Drawing a barbarously curved blade from his back, large enough to fit the towering stature of the man, he brought it right above the neck of the kneeling Red Feather Ordinary.


    Wide and heavy enough to split any man, much less an Ordinary, the man in gold said no words and only the quiet rattling of the chains on each prisoner sounded.


    But the ragged Ordinary didn¡¯t whimper, plead, nor beg.


    Osias¡¯s head that towered over all the others made him privy to see all the way there, and he caught it ¡ª the Ordinary was smiling defiantly despite his legs having been beaten so badly he was practically crippled. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Osias lurched forward to see a little better and as he blinked heavily¡­ the sharp sound of steel cleaving flesh resonated through the line of prisoners followed by the wet drop of a beheaded soldier rang clear despite the distance.


    The first victim crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his neck pooling with blood.


    Perhaps in a way¡­ they all had a choice atop the ramparts ¡ª to die from falling or by blade. Did that Ordinary prefer this rather than plummeting his body into a pulp?


    The radiant man in gold didn¡¯t waste another moment, before continuing.


    Osias narrowed his eyes as he watched the man skip over two Ordinaries, sparing them from his wicked golden blade.


    Another head dropped


    But then the following one was beheaded.


    Then three more Ordinaries were spared.


    ¡®Why?¡¯ Osias quickly wondered.


    Suddenly, dirty cackles from a haggard and foul voice erupted as the radiant man slowly moved along the line.


    ¡°Urahii! Va hek hii!¡± The Ordinary howled in a mocking laughter.


    Then the onlookers from both their captors and the civilians far within the city broke their gleeful and satisfied silence as they berated the line of prisoners.


    But the radiant man simply brought his curved blade to the cackling prisoner¡¯s naked nape and swiftly ended his life as a bloody head rolled.


    Osias¡¯s eyes narrowed and noticed that the beheaded Ordinary had a crazed smile stretched, exposing his dirty teeth even in death.


    A flurry of harsh words, some Osias recognized, began to be thrown from far away, and the Golden Hawk soldiers broke their discipline as they pelted them with whatever they could.


    Whatever the Ordinary said seemed to have broken and riled them into madness, as a Path Finder suddenly executed an entire swathe of Ordinaries in the line with a vicious arc formed by slashing their sword.


    Chaos erupted as the Red Feather prisoners who were strong enough to stand began to lash out and shout cruelly and defiantly.


    Weak growls and roars were huffed out from those who wished and could, but despite the madness, Osias didn¡¯t do anything and remained still in his heavy chains.


    However, with a thunderous stomp that raised dust, the Third Ordeal silenced the onlookers, but not the most vocal of the prisoners. Still never saying a single word, the radiant man continued to execute them seemingly arbitrarily.


    A head was lopped.


    Then some men were spared.


    As this series continued, Osias then winced slightly as he recognized a face that the executioner was slowly approaching.


    ¡®Erdma¡­¡¯


    Throwing a quick glance to his left, Osias frowned as he found that Ordinary closest to the radiant Third Ordeal that he recognized was¡­ Erdma.


    A few rolling heads later, the Third Ordeal came upon the still-faced Erdma. Osias watched tensely as one of the first of his followers faced the executioner in gold and white.


    ¡®Not trembling this time¡­ Erdma?¡¯ Osias thought solemnly.


    Osias was among the first to be taken to the stone steps leading down the walls, so he wasn¡¯t present to witness much of his company of followers being beaten and subdued cruelly.


    He studied Erdma¡¯s grimy and dirt-ridden body. He was lashed until the bones on his back were exposed and was likely rolling his open wounds into the ground as he was beaten.


    It looked harrowing, but it wasn¡¯t among the worst of Osias had seen from a quick look at everyone among the line of prisoners.


    But as the man donned in gold and white brought his curved blade against Erdma¡¯s neck, a ruthless cry croaked out from Erdma¡¯s mouth as it stretched into a mad sneer:


    ¡°Visalro¡ª¡±


    Osias blinked, and closed his eyes for a while, before looking at Erdma¡¯s head that rolled a few steps away and exhaled sharply.


    These men, this country or kingdom, this world was nothing but a conjured sight made from his Ordeal.


    Osias never lost sight of that, no matter what he saw and did.


    But to have a fervent follower, no matter how brief call out to him proudly at the end of their life¡­ stung like salt in a wound.


    He didn¡¯t see all of the Red Sky die.


    He didn¡¯t see Kassia die, only her corpse as an attendant carried it out.


    He didn¡¯t see his parents die.


    He didn¡¯t see Kiran die.


    He didn¡¯t see Zevir die.


    It was always news¡­ always by word of mouth, always brushed aside as nothing more than a face on a corpse he once knew.


    Was that why it felt all so fleeting ever since Kassia died under Garm¡¯s needle? Or all the time he spent confined in that damned dark chamber?


    ¡­This was the first he had seen anyone he had a relationship with die before his eyes, and he didn¡¯t like it. No matter if it was nothing more than something created from his Ordeal.


    And almost as though he had regained something lost¡­ he felt something akin to the embers of resentment. It wasn¡¯t as deep as what he felt upon the first of his knowing when the Red Sky died, but this feeling felt pronounced, reigniting something he swallowed down and pushed aside.


    The radiant man continued, and a trio was spared before another head was lopped off.


    ¡°Visal¡ª¡± A voice screamed before being cut off abruptly.


    It was from a face Osias knew was familiar, but he didn¡¯t know of the name.


    Their execution has reached the bulk of his followers now.


    ¡°Visalr¡ª¡±


    Osias scrunched his face into a deep scowl.


    ¡°Visa¡ª¡± Another cried, looking to his right towards Osias.


    A slight grimace flashed across Osias as the execution continued to walk down the line.


    ¡®Ousal¡­¡¯ Osias recognized the next in line ¡ª it was one of the men on the first day. Ousal didn¡¯t converse with Osias much after teaching him words along with the others, but Osias recognized the man¡¯s coarse face and dirty black beard. Most notable was that he seemed to know Geral and some others Osias didn¡¯t know the names of.


    Osias held his breath as the executioner approached Ousal¡­ but to his surprise, Ousal was spared and he exhaled in slight relief.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± Another nameless follower bellowed as they felt the cold blade touch their nape.


    Osias winced once more, but he couldn¡¯t worry about his followers any longer¡­ the golden executioner had reached him.


    Osias stood tall as he always did. Even among the row of prisoners, he believed he stood out the most. Endless tattoos traced his entire body, not even sparing the ends of his feet and his head.


    He was taller than all and possessed a burly physique. Scars littered anywhere his tattoos didn¡¯t cover ¡ª the sinewy canvas of ink was never altered or warped with mere blades for reasons Osias didn¡¯t know of.


    ¡­Osias met the intense eyes of the radiant executioner.


    Shimmering gold irises that only made the Third Ordeal¡¯s gaze more fierce, yet unworldly.


    Sharp features and flawless white skin¡­ he didn¡¯t have the look of a soldier ¡ª a warrior.


    But his strength was undeniable¡­


    Eyeing the armor, it looked unspoiled despite the hundreds of men he had already put to death, not a drop of blood touched and stained both his armor and pristine mantle as though his very presence abhorred to be tainted with anything from the Red Feather Bannermen.


    Osias''s gaze darted to the faces of the civilians far away, some turning away in disgust, others watching intently with hardened expressions, as though the violence were just another part of life¡¯s toll. The soldiers flanking his executioner, however, stood expectantly, their faces strewn in sneers as they recognized Osias¡¯s stature and appearance.


    He inhaled deeply and remained still as he expected the worst.


    The enormous curved blade seemingly forged from the purest of gold raised highly.


    The rhythmic cadence of death was like a beating war drum, quickening Osias''s heartbeat with every stroke¡­


    But then the executioner walked to the next in line, sparing him.


    Osias exhaled a heave of breath as he thought:


    ¡®Why?¡¯


    He narrowed his eyes as the executioner brought the wicked golden blade upon the nape right beside Osias.


    ¡°K-Kahm¡ª¡± A youthful voice stammered out as Osias looked drearily at his follower before his head rolled.


    Osias recognized what the boy was trying to say ¡ª he was pleading, begging. Something Osias has heard many times from the battles outside.


    But Osias understood¡­ it was a youthful face, and couldn¡¯t have been older than Osias was when he and Kiran traveled the Outer Valleys.


    Scowling at the lifeless body beside him, Osias couldn¡¯t help but think what Kiran was thinking when Osias was captured and enchained by that monster¡­


    That Kiran was spared while someone he should have overseen was captured and dead for all he knew.


    However, before Osias could wonder what reason the Third Ordeal executioner to spare him and execute the young follower, the same bloody and golden blade approached the kneeling Geral.

 Chapter 52 - A Good Reason

    The grizzled old, but Ordinary soldier. He didn¡¯t look like someone who could wander the battlefield so murderously as he chanted along with the others, perhaps he was a teacher in his past life before the war.


    At least that¡¯s what Osias felt from Geral during the few nights he was taught the language from him and the others.


    Osias learned slowly ¡ª an entirely new language was something he wouldn¡¯t ever think he needed to learn nor would learn when everyone spoke a common tongue in the Wailing Chain aside from a few sparse groups.


    But it was a welcome change, and the old man taught him well, despite how little and slow he learned in the short time he awoke in this¡­ place.


    They haven¡¯t even gotten to writing.


    ¡­The bloody edge of the golden blade hovered above the nape of the beaten-down and haggard Geral. Droplets of blood stained the ground below Geral, and some dripped into his already mucky aged hair.


    Geral was wheezing out croaky breaths, probably trying to recover his strength from how much those of the Golden Hawk pummeled and maimed him before pushing him down the stone steps in a rough stumble.


    Geral¡¯s head was lowered as his chin hung tightly against the top of his chest. He was weakly planted on his hands and knees before his executioner, seemingly waiting for the blade to be swung.


    Motionless, Osias continued to watch the old man he came to know so briefly await his death with narrowed and sunken eyes.


    Osias didn¡¯t blink as he burned the sight into memory, no matter of fabricated the Ordeals were ¡ª he was sure¡­ sure that this sight shall never be forgotten.


    But just as the Third Ordeal raised his curved golden blade tainted with the blood the shackled and bounded, Geral turned his head to his left towards Osias.


    Geral met Osias¡¯s eyes, and uttered something so quietly below his weak breath:


    ¡°Kassa relun, Visalro¡ª¡±


    A sickly crunch and cut of flesh and bone sounded.


    ¡­Then, Gerals head detached at the neck before he could finish his last words, but Osias already knew what was missing.


    He watched the mottled and dirty greyish hair trail behind the rolling head as the slow, but heavy steps of the Third Ordeal continued to the next of his followers as Geral¡¯s neck began to surge with blood.


    Swallowing a lump of discontent back down, Osias shut his eyes tightly for a moment and then opened them into a bitter glare at the back of the executioner.


    ¡®Kassa¡­ relun?¡¯ Osias inwardly recalled as his eyes traced the executioner once more raised his golden blade.


    He didn¡¯t know what either of those words meant, Geral hadn¡¯t taught him them.


    Nor will he ever get to teach Osias again.


    Exhaling sharply, Osias burned the vision of this long series of executions and added it to his miserable collection of memories.


    ¡ª


    Osias trudges forward, following another survivor of the executions through the city. His body still ached and pulsed with pain, but it had been long since he had been accustomed to such things.


    The metal bindings that wrapped around his wrists and ankles clanked and rattled with every step, a constant reminder of all the times he¡¯s been reduced to nothing more than a¡­ prisoner.


    Just how many years of his life have been spent in chains? From metal to wood to metal once more, a welling deep resentment for shackles boiled in his heart.


    ¡­Behind and ahead, the other survivors¡ªbloodied, stripped of all dressings shivered as they marched. So much so that Osias didn¡¯t know if it was because of the cold wind or from their terrible wounds.


    Some stumbled, barely able to walk, while the others drifted like ghosts, their eyes hollow and vacant.


    Despite being paraded in the city, the air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat, and the cries of the onlookers were deafening. The people of this city had faces twisted in a blend of hatred and vindictive glee as they watched the people who would¡¯ve razed their city to the ground being taken as prisoners. From windows and rooftops, they jeered and screamed, throwing whatever they could lay their hands on¡ªstones, rotten fruit, clods of dirt. They spat on them, dirtying their stripped bodies even more.


    Osias winced as a stone clobbered against his skull.


    ¡®Weak.¡¯ He huffed out inwardly.


    But he wouldn¡¯t dare act because of it, it¡¯ll only provoke more attention to his already notable appearance. So his eyes continued to stay fixed on the ground, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.


    Because although he was beaten down, dirty, and stripped to his skin¡­ the unfathomable pull he felt was becoming increasingly stronger with each step.


    ¡®Towards the palace indeed.¡¯ He mused darkly.


    Suddenly, Osias¡¯s ears perked up as he heard someone fall from behind him, their chains rattling alongside the plop of their torn body.


    ¡®Another one.¡¯ He noted with a faint wince.


    ¡°Kassa¡ª¡± A tired voice croaked out in dark contempt, but before the prisoner could continue his curse, he was struck down, and the ringing of steel against bone sounded once more as the onlookers cheered loudly at the sight. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡­For those who couldn¡¯t keep up with the broken procession, the punishment was swift. Too weak or wounded, they were executed immediately the moment their knees hit the road.


    Osias¡¯s gaze flickered ahead of him, finding another one of these slain bannerman.


    Those donning the Golden Hawk drove spears through the man¡¯s torso, desecrating the body even further before commanding a surviving prisoner to pick it up and carry it along with him on the march.


    As the line of prisoners traveled deeper into the city, they eventually brushed sides along with the austere grandeur of the white walls that enclosed the regal palace at its heart.


    Staring intensely as though he tried to peer past the solid walls, Osias came to answer one of his concerns.


    ¡®It¡¯s in here, definitely.¡¯


    Osias was worried at first that because of how far away the outer walls were, he could¡¯ve mistaken where he felt the pull of his Ordeal.


    Now, with how close he was to the pristine white walls, he was assured that whoever he needed to kill to leave this place was inside these walls.


    However, Osias also realized as he came close to the white stone walls¡­ the overwhelming presence that formed that glimmering golden sword was gone, muted somewhere inside those walls.


    ¡®Is that¡­ monster still inside?¡¯ He wondered.


    Before he continued his thoughts, Osias along with the other prisoners arrived at their destination as those in front of him suddenly halted.


    ¡®Didn¡¯t take long.¡¯ He huffed out to himself.


    The narrow streets they trudged along opened into a vast courtyard. A towering structure loomed ahead¡ªa fortress-like building.


    Massive gates of an ominous metal began to creak open as they were forcibly herded further inside. Osias glanced up at the ominous edifice as it passed over his head, and he could almost feel the dread tightening around the hearts of the other Ordinaries as they joined him.


    Inside, the air was thick with dampness and rot. The floor beneath his bare feet was gold and slick with grime. Dimly lit, the small flames flickered along the hardy stone walls of its corridors. The deeper they went, the louder the echoes of their chains rang.


    Osias, along with the others, was forced into a massive chamber lined with large filthy cells. Even those who carried the defiled corpses of the soldiers executed in their march through the city entered¡­


    ¡°Va!¡± A Path Finder yelled, pushing them inside without ceremony.


    Cramped and squalid, the floors were caked with dirt and waste. Thin slivers of light broke past into the chamber, but it was still impossibly dim behind the bars of metal.


    As they all funneled in, the sounds of groans from the wounded enveloped the cold chamber.


    Osias gritted his teeth as he sat motionless, staring at what was left of the soldiers turned prisoners with gloomy resentment.


    ¡®How do I escape? Leave, and kill the bastard that will free me from this damned place.¡¯ He thought with a dark scowl.


    This entire Ordeal was turned to a mess from the very moment he awoke. War was the furthest thing he thought his eyes would open to, much less being turned into a prisoner after barely escaping the judgment of the executioner.


    Now, imprisoned near the heart of the massive city enclosed with such imposing walls, a vast army, and the presence of something that was akin to a god to someone of his level of strength¡­ Osias was left distraught.


    If he thought he was lost before, than he was wrong as he evaluated where he was now.


    He didn¡¯t even know what tomorrow would look like.


    ¡­The massive gates that led into the chamber that held all the rugged cells closed as hundreds of Ordinaries made this dreary place home.


    Those strong enough to talk did, but many were too weak to even stand.


    Eyeing the far dark corner, Osias found that those who carried the corpses simply set them down there.


    ¡®Sharing a cell with hundreds, both alive and dead.¡¯ He thought with a deep frown.


    Osias didn¡¯t have hope that they¡¯d live. All the Ordinaries here couldn¡¯t hold a candle to how much essence he had, and were not privy to the same Path of Blood he had.


    Their wounded bodies would give out as their wounds fester if they didn¡¯t die from bleeding before that.


    Their bodies couldn¡¯t last long without as much food as he could.


    Their minds would break if they weren¡¯t already.


    ¡®To think we fought a battle before all of this¡­¡¯ Osais mused.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± A weary voice cut through the large murky cell.


    Osias lifted his gaze and traced the voice, finding Ousal.


    ¡°Ousal.¡± He gruffed out quietly, his tone trailing off as he remembered Ousal¡¯s ties with many of his executed followers.


    Raising a pair of rusty, but heavy shackles, Ousal sighed somberly before sitting in front of Osias weakly.


    ¡®They weren¡¯t gentle with you either,¡¯ Osias thought to himself, looking all over the mangled body of Ousal.


    Osias wore a concerned expression as he gestured toward the terrible wounds that littered Ousal¡¯s torso and legs.


    But Ousal simply shook his head slowly, dismissing Osias¡¯s concerns.


    Deciding to bring it up, Osias uttered quietly, ¡°Geral, Erdma¡­¡± but once again, Ousal only shook his head slowly with a soft and tired face.


    Nodding in understanding, they didn¡¯t share any more words. They simply brooded together as they gazed listlessly at their filthy surroundings, appreciating each other''s company in this damned cage.


    Slowly as time passed, the weak voices of the other captives began to quiet as they also quickly realized that they couldn¡¯t do a thing against those of the Golden Hawk.


    They were wounded, exhausted, hungry, and thirsty in the heart of a city of uncountable numbers.


    Tomorrow, they¡¯ll like to be put to work as well. Forced to do grueling labor for the enemy until they die. They¡¯ll struggle as hunger gnaws at their minds. They¡¯ll work until their very bones will refuse to lift the flimsy weight of their arms. The fate of them all could be foreseen, it didn¡¯t take a Path Finder to know of it.


    ¡­In the next moment, Osias¡¯s gaze lifted and the bloody stumps that were left of his ears perked up as he heard weak shuffles headed toward him in the number.


    Heavy steps from the limps and wobbles over the occasional puddle of rancid waste sounded, growing ever closer to where Osias and Ousal sat.


    It was the rest of his followers ¡ª or at least those who knew of Osias¡¯s presence in battle. Perhaps some have seen his Innate Ability and thought of him as someone special. Perhaps some have seen his strength as he cleaved apart Ordinaries and First Ordeals alike.


    ¡®No¡­ even more, from the other companies.¡¯ Osias realized, doing a quick count.


    But regardless of their reasons, they huddled around Osias as he rested against the rear wall. Slowly, more and more joined them as they surrounded Osias in silence, having given up on finding a miraculous chink in the metal bars that trapped them or a key that will free them from this hell.


    ¡®Ah¡­ what can more followers do in this place? ¡¯ Osias thought, shaking his head tiredly.


    Was it hope that they felt?


    Turning to someone like him when there was no way out?


    Osias could say nor do a thing for these Red Feather soldiers, as he too was as weak as them inside such a place.


    Looking ahead through tired eyes, Ousal seemed to have noticed the others gathering beside him.


    ¡®A faint smile?¡¯ Osias thought, raising an eyebrow at Ousal.


    ¡°Ousal?¡± He said quietly.


    But Ousal put up a weak hand and waved him off before pointing behind his back towards the metal bars to contain all of them.


    ¡°Visalros, lladd?¡±


    ¡®Kill? Kill who?¡¯ Osias wondered.


    Weakly swinging and flailing his arms as though he was wielding a great two-handed blade, Ousal gestured once more to Osias.


    ¡®Ah¡­ he¡¯s saying that I¡¯ve killed.¡¯


    Then Ousal was likely saying that these other prisoners of war have seen him kill a lot of the Golden Hawk Bannerman.


    Was Ousal trying to say that¡¯s why they¡¯ve gathered around him?


    Returning another faint smile, Osias nodded.


    ¡®Perhaps¡­ it''s time to learn this language wholeheartedly.¡¯


    Time was something fickle, especially while he was confined alongside these men. Learning the language was the least he could do in such a place, and he¡¯ll likely come to learn much more than he could have without it.


    And just like he did so on his first night in this unfamiliar place¡­ Osias spent the night learning to speak and converse without sleeping.


    Whatever he does tomorrow, be it fight, work, starve, or kill¡­ he will continue to learn the language and do everything to get closer to succeeding in this Ordeal.


    Even if it will take years.

 Chapter 53 - Fluent, Yet Quiet

    ¡°Ousal¡­ I can make it quick.¡± Osias said solemnly.


    He was grasping a weak hand missing two fingers. The skin stuck so close to the bone, that Osias feared the man had already died.


    Alas, famished and battered¡­ Ousal responded weakly:


    ¡°Visalros, you needn¡¯t care for an old man. Endure. Endure and fight like you¡¯ve always done.¡±


    Osias paused briefly as he brooded over Ousal¡¯s sickly thin body. It was a miracle itself that it had lasted this long. Perhaps the reason why he rejected the little rations provided was because he knew they¡¯d simply be wasted on him.


    Ousal coughed and hacked violently in a fit, spit, and blood intertwined as it dirtied his lips and mangled beard before adding:


    ¡°In time¡­ I refuse to believe our kingdom¡¯s armies wouldn¡¯t rein another attack. You must survive until then.¡±


    Narrowing his eyes at Ousal¡¯s words, Osias asked:


    ¡°I never asked you¡­ and it was too late to ask Geral and the others back then. But why? Why did you all follow me that day?¡±


    With a smile stretching on Ousal¡¯s cracked and lifeless lips and with a voice that was as hoarse as though knives were scratching against stone:


    ¡°Because you were strong. Impossibly so, even as an Ordinary. I have never seen another like us strike down a First Ordeal. Not once. I¡¯ve told you once already¡­ we were farmers before the war ¡ª old ones at that. So when we saw you lift your tattered helm and found a face as young as our sons would have been¡­¡±


    Osual began to hack roughly once more, and Osias frowned deeply as he found more blood trickled from his mouth.


    ¡®He¡¯s going to die.¡¯


    ¡°We¡ªwe felt as though following you will redeem ourselves, just a bit. Immortal, we called you. Ha! To think it was a lost boy underneath those vicious killings with your sword.¡±


    Osias has come to find that ¡®Visalros,¡¯ meant immortal in Jorah ¡ª the common tongue in this place. Ever since his first day waking up in this place, they¡¯ve been calling him immortal, both as a title and a name.


    ¡°H-how¡¯ve you grown, boy.¡±


    ¡°But the old will only grow older, you¡­ you still have something to do.¡±


    Ousal¡¯s sunken hand gripped Osias¡¯s firmly, but only so briefly.


    ¡°...Thank you, Ousal,¡± Osias said quietly.


    With a faint bloody smile, Ousal died lying atop the black stones that made their rotten cage. Osias didn¡¯t know of any rites or traditions to do upon someone''s death, but he stayed with Ousal¡¯s body until it turned bleak and cold.


    Then, gently picking up the light corpse he shuffled through the swathes of old bones and shackles left from the other fallen prisoners in the far end of their cage ¡ª a reminder of how many have died since they¡¯ve been captured.


    Placing Ousal¡¯s cold corpse in the far end so it¡¯ll return to the earth away from his sights, Osias sighed heavily before using Blood Reave to drain it entirely before heading back to the side of the cells for the living¡­


    What was hundreds of prisoners eventually turned to dozens.


    Three years¡­ for three years they¡¯ve been confined.


    Every day, they¡¯ll be pulled awake by the guards. Pulled deep below the city to dig a sort of tunnel array for them.


    They¡¯ll be kicked and lashed with whips. A scowl on your face meant you¡¯d be beaten even closer to death. Their meals were nothing more than the rotted leftovers of the guards, far from enough to sate even the smallest corners of their stomachs.


    Osias¡¯s face scrunched darkly as he remembered what he and many others had to do to appease his hunger¡­


    That daily cycle would repeat over and over and over until they¡¯d break. And every month, the guards led by a Second Ordeal would descend into the dim chambers that held their cells.


    They¡¯d pick out a handful and force them to fight above in the courtyard. Those who¡¯d win would return below once more, but that only meant that they had killed all the others that were picked.


    Deep contempt plastered across Osias face as he recalled how many times he slain the very ones that turned to him in hope. How many times did the metal shackles that were used to restrain him turn to heavy weapons as he caved their heads in to survive.


    No matter how many times he¡¯d remind himself that this was an Ordeal¡­ it stung nonetheless. To eat, sleep, and struggle in the depths of cruelty alongside them was enough to make it feel all so real.


    Bringing himself to the corner furthest from where the corpses lay, Osias plopped down heavily, disregarding the waste he sat atop.


    ¡®I wonder who¡¯ll survive this time¡­¡¯ He thought to himself.


    Earlier this morning, before they were tugged along to dig the tunnels, the Second Ordeal warden picked out five of them into another fight for survival.


    ¡­Slowly, their numbers dwindled, but Osias found that all who remained were almost like him ¡ª resilient, and broken.


    Yet all bidding their time.


    ¡®Perhaps in their hearts, there must be something they can¡¯t get over¡­ or someone they can¡¯t let go of. The same goes for me.¡¯ He thought, once more studying the bleak faces of his fellow prisoners.


    After learning the language in a few months of endless help and teachings from not only Ousal but from all the others as well, Osias in turn, exchanged teachings of battle.


    He instructed and instilled what he knew of essence control along with the style of combat for those of the Red Sky to these imprisoned souls.


    ¡­Even if it meant some would turn against him using these teachings if they were ever pulled by the warden.


    Clenching his thin fist, Osias inspected himself under the dim and distant torch light.


    He was thin, almost as he was after he was retrieved from the Fettered Bournewood Branch. Old wounds covered his head and body, but his tattoos were the same as they always were. His dark grey hair grew long, reaching below his shoulders. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡®Then there¡¯s that¡­¡¯ Osias thought, his ruminating stopped as muffled steps sounded beyond the entrance to the chamber.


    The hefty rusted gates of thick metal creaked upon, grinding against the stone below as it groaned. A gust of cold, but dirty air followed the many who barged in, the sound of the door crashing against the wall reverberating throughout the chamber.


    Two dozen First Ordeals armed to the teeth with the detestable sigil of the Golden Hawk displayed atop their hearts.


    Osias¡¯s eyes narrowed darkly as he continued to stay seated deep behind the bars that enclosed the cell.


    His eyes brushed along the many other prisoners who shared the massive cell, almost half a hundred of them now.


    They too shared the same resentment of their captors in seething wrath through their sunken eyes and thin cheeks.


    From behind the two dozen First Ordeals was the warden ¡ª A Second Ordeal.


    ¡­And consequently, the loathsome key for Osias to succeed his Ordeal.


    Osias watched, burning his eyes on every movement the warden made. Every aspect of their gleaming steel armor. Inspecting the long sword they kept sheathed on their side.


    As much as Osias wanted to tear apart the bars and kill the warden, such things were not so easy. This was the reason why Osias spent all this time training the other Ordinaries, even learning from them at times.


    It was quite intriguing¡­ Osias once believed the origins of the cruel, ferocious, and almost feral way of fighting that the Red Sky adopted came from beasts, but instead, Osias found that it was likely the desperation of a human¡¯s death throes forced to the limit.


    Essence would only enhance these prolonged throes as you¡¯d fight with everything you could to reap blood¡ªblood that will fuel your strength as you continue to fight and slaughter.


    It was something he picked up from the many fights Osias partook in as the warden picked him along with the other comrades turned prisoners.


    So in a way, the style of the Red Sky fights perfectly with such an uncouth and unrestrained lot. Perhaps it was the War Art for the broken¡­


    But most important, was that Osias felt as though he caught a glimpse of two things he narrowed down to that he shouldn¡¯t have so seen so early on his Path in this foundation of the Red Sky¡¯s War Art and the applications of it with different weapons¡­


    First, was that as the years passed dreadfully slow and painfully, Osias honed his essence control to something akin to immaculate.


    He began to weave his ferocious and almost volatile, but controlled method of flowing his essence into certain rhythms. It was erratic at times when he needed it to be, but these rhythms were paced to be controlled.


    Second was something that arose with him being unable to access an abundance of blood essence like he once did atop a battlefield. Osias was forced to be as efficient as possible to allow his body to process the rest of his stored blood essence into physical strength.


    And so his control, which was already incredibly efficient and elusive was born anew as he tempered himself steadily. It felt as though he could lead his essence to every little crevice and part of his body along in ways to fit his style. The growth he obtained under the pits of the city was the result of his spite unassailable will to leave, to succeed. At this level, his understanding will also help him to recognize the innate rhythms of how his enemies moved, breathed, and attacked with their own flow of essence.


    But this second aspect of his growth was something he could foresee as his future.


    Because although it was impossibly weak now¡­ perhaps his blood connection could extend to the flow of others in a certain range.


    It was far from now ¡ª something he could only develop as he progresses through his Ordeals and his blood connection grows stronger in time.


    ¡­But suddenly, the First Ordeal guards opened the old cell and pushed in the survivor of today¡¯s battle, and it was one of the few faces Osias came to know over the years.


    Behind the common guards, Osias looked towards the warden who simply waved their gaze across the fifty or so prisoners before turning around and directed the other guards outside after locking the cell and the entrance to the chamber once again.


    It was odd.


    To leave prisoners unattended. Even they were stripped, chained with heavy shackles, behind stalwart bars and a massive gate, starved, weak, broken¡­


    Was this the hubris of mere Ordeal levels?


    But regardless, Osias took full advantage of this.


    He slowly brought himself to his feet while the others watched, and came before the man who survived the fight.


    ¡°Sarzal.¡± He said darkly.


    ¡°Did you kill them all earlier, or did the guards kill them?¡±


    Sarzal the survivor was gasping for breath as both hands tightly gripped the bars to support him. He was missing a hand by the wrist, so his shackles only wrapped around his other as the rest dangled in the air.


    His wild mane of hair was bloody dirty, like everyone else''s, but most importantly was the murderous glint in Sarzal¡¯s eyes as he turned towards Osias.


    ¡°I killed them all, Visalros. I didn¡¯t want to go in the room.¡± He hissed coldly.


    ¡°Even Erin¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes! I killed him.¡± He yelled out before adding in a voice almost like a whisper, ¡°I-I killed him.¡±


    Osias paused briefly, before waking away with a nod.


    It didn¡¯t matter any longer¡­ death was coming for them all eventually. Osias knew this, and the others did too.


    He just needed something to occur so the attention would no longer be on them and the prison.


    Osias needed the other two armies to advance and mount an attack on Qussai, the capital city of Golden Hawk.


    Walking towards the bars, Osias wrapped his thin hand around them and tugged slowly. An eerie groaning metal sounded as he grimaced and let go, confirming once more that he had grown incomprehensibly strong.


    ¡®If soldiers attack the outer walls, and cause a ruckus below here¡­¡¯ Osias sneered at the bars.


    Something he came to know as time passed miserably ¡ª the relic, the red-headed centipede that embedded itself so deep Osias didn¡¯t know how much of his being was now intertwined with it, aided him in this way.


    The passive strengthening of his body was faster.


    It didn¡¯t rid of the same requirement, that being an abundance of essence, but it still made his strength grow even faster. Thankfully, he stocked up a lot from his times in battle¡­


    He didn¡¯t know how strong he was compared to another Ordinary, but he was sure a First Ordeal would crumble before his clasps.


    Sometimes¡­ sometimes the urge to escape and leave so brashly would overwhelm him as though he was delighting himself in the intense rapture of Blood Reave. Such was the nature of strength.


    However, doing something so foolish would only put him back into that cramped room once again.


    Osias¡¯s hand and whatever was left of his fingers clenched tightly as he recalled the time he was punished when he tried to save Ousal a year ago.


    Dragged into a small stone room ¡ª one so low that he¡¯d have to tuck his head to even fit inside as he breathed through small slits.


    He¡¯d be tightly seated and handed a finely crafted wooden carving tool, and before him lay a single slab of bone¡ªa bone from a beast they had once fought, or perhaps the remains of a fallen comrade.


    The task seemed simple: carve the bone into intricate shapes, over and over again.


    Every day, he¡¯d be given a new piece, and each day the pieces grew smaller and more brittle. The guards watched in silent amusement as the prisoners, their hands sore and calloused, struggled to create ever-finer carvings. The bone would chip, sometimes splintering at the final moment, forcing them to start anew.


    Osias was already missing fingers by the knuckles, and if he¡¯d disobeyed them or failed once more, they¡¯d sever more as they entered.


    Day after day he¡¯d carve as the white dust of bone filled the air, clinging to his skin, and coating the walls. The room was filled with the dull scrape of bone against the tool, a sound that became an annoying whisper in the dark, damp confines of their cells.


    Success brought only another bone the next morning, even smaller than before.


    Over time, his hands would tremble, the fingers cramped and bloodied.


    His vision blurred from endless days of staring at the fine details of their carvings. The never-ending hopeless task ate away at Osias one tiny, fragile bone at a time.


    Sometimes he¡¯d repeatedly slam his head against the stone like he did in a memory so far back to break his crazed mind and return to carving once more so delicately.


    He can be tormented over and over again ¡ª he has endured such pains before.


    But his mind¡­


    Osias began to laugh under his breath as he found it all so disturbingly ominous. This entire Ordeal itself was unsettling!


    Why? Why did he lead men? Why did he wake up in a war?


    For what reason did he end up in chains once more?


    For what reason was he miraculously spared just to be thrown into another dark chamber?


    ¡®It''s as though my soul bleeds... and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows me whole. The Ordeals¡­ they are so much more insidious than Mance or anyone else let on.¡¯


    Even the war itself¡­ was it a telling of a times past, or was it a foreboding future?


    Osias murmured his suspicions quietly to himself as embers of madness rolled beneath his tongue. He walked towards the end of the cell, disregarding the looks of the other prisoners who thought of him as a leader.


    ¡­Towards the darkest end, he sat once more in his damp corner. He raised his knees and crossed his lithe arms and tucked his head against them with a scowl.


    Too long. For too long has he suffered in another world.

 Chapter 54 - Ploys and Mockery and Loathing

    ¡°Say¡­ guard. Is it such a righteous duty to oversee so little prisoners? Are you serving your dear Son Of The Golden Hawk well in such a dreary place? Is that all you¡¯ve amounted to? A guard for Ordinaries?¡± Osias said coldly, sharing and passing around what little rotten and sloppy meals were with the other prisoners.


    The guard was beginning to leave after handing out the little food for the haggard Red Feather prisoners.


    ¡°Not a word? I knew a man who didn¡¯t speak much like that¡­ Though, I don¡¯t know where he¡¯s gone.¡± Osias said whimsically.


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s lost¡­ are you as well? Come, come! Take revenge. Perhaps one of these¡­ valiant soldiers of the Red Feather ravaged someone you knew outside your gates. You can strike us down like the other guards, quell your rage.¡± Osias continued, mockingly waving a hand over the dozens of prisoners eating their foul meals.


    Noticing the First Ordeal guard¡¯s lip quiver ever so slightly at his remarks, Osias sneered maniacally.


    ¡°Visalros, the warden¡¯s called for you. Thank that whore you call mistress.¡± The nameless guard hissed out, anger edged his words.


    The bars opened and Osias allowed himself to be dragged out, feigning his weakness.


    ¡°That whore you call is someone who could have your head lopped off in a second. Does that remind you of what we Red Feathers done outsi¡ª¡±


    ¡°Audacious cell-rat!¡±


    Suddenly Osias was fiercely hauled onto the ground, and the lone guard began to kick and stomp on him. Slyly shaking his head away from sight, Osias rolled and hunched with each crunch of the grimy boot against his skin to maintain his guise of weakness.


    It was just a single First Ordeal guard, and Osias felt as though he could simply crush the armored neck of this guard and take his weapon, but he decided against it.


    He needed to get past the behemoth of the gate at least to reach the Second Ordeal warden and then the many other guards standing in his way¡­ It was too early for such a ploy.


    It¡¯s been a week since Ousal passed away ¡ª the body being overridden in maggots, flies, and the odd rodent. By now, Osias and the others have grown disturbingly accustomed to such things.


    Today was the day of the month Osias could be escorted outside. It was a small ¡®privilege¡¯ of sorts he obtained over years of proving himself as the strongest among the prisoners.


    The nameless guard led him through the same series of stairs and through a familiar corridor before opening into a dreary courtyard ¡ª the same one all the prisoners trudged through three years ago.


    Osias sighed heavily as he followed the guard.


    ¡°Say, can¡¯t you release me from these shackles? You¡¯ve already beaten me.¡± Osias asked.


    But the guard didn¡¯t respond¡­ it seemed that a few kicks were enough to satisfy the quick outburst, as he returned to silence.


    Eventually, they reached the pristine white walls outside the main gate, but their destination wasn¡¯t inside, rather it was one of the higher-class buildings that surrounded it.


    It was a grand pavilion ¡ª a word and name that Osias had come to learn as he spent his time here. He was sure that such things likely existed in the many mountain cities of the Tailed Brothers in their Heartlands, but he has yet to travel there.


    Entering the vast, but empty stone courtyard, Osias¡¯s eyes changed as they narrowed dearly at the many signs of battle. Upturned bricks, slashes of immense depth against stone, aged blood¡­


    ¡®Still early, huh.¡¯ Osias thought inwardly.


    This place was called the Autumn Wreath Pavillion. It was one of the two jewels of the House of Silk ¡ª the most distinguished Union of courtesans.


    Every Autumn, a grand tourney was hosted for all the renowned families under the Golden Hawk. They¡¯d be matches between Ordinaries and all the way to the Third Ordeal.


    However, with the war ongoing, there were fewer of the most powerful families present other than the wastrels who couldn¡¯t contribute to both their families or the war effort.


    If anything, Osias was surprised such a thing could continue despite an attack, no matter how quickly was quelled, reaching their walls.


    ¡­The nameless guard brought him to the steps of the luxurious wooden pavilion before stopping.


    ¡°You know this, kneel.¡± The guard said coldly.


    Osias stared blankly at the guard for a second before obliging, lowering himself to both knees atop the steps before uttering mockingly:


    ¡°You should heed your own commands.¡±


    Before tucking his chin tightly as he bowed, Osias caught a small irking on the face of the guard and faintly smiled.


    ¡°Mistress of Rolling Silk¡­ I¡¯ve brought your prisoner.¡±


    The tone of the guard was cold and dismissive, and from behind the thin regal panels that closed the entrance, Osias¡¯s ears perked up as he heard some shuffling.


    Soft steps, leisurely and elegant as a gentle dragging of fabric traced the movements.


    The thin panel was pulled and revealed from within the pavilion was a lone woman covered in thin sheets of white silk. All of her face was hidden behind a soft veil and so was much of her body, yet Osias didn¡¯t think any number of clothing could hide her figure.


    ¡°You may leave¡­ send my dearest regards to the Black Warden.¡±


    Without another word, the guard hurriedly disembarked, leaving Osias alone in the presence of this gorgeous woman.


    ¡°Visalros, come inside.¡± She said softly, yawning lightly as she headed inside once more.


    ¡°Yes, Mistress Seol.¡± He replied subserviently, raising himself off the steps. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Osias closed the thin panel behind him as he entered the luxurious interior. The tower was quiet, almost eerily so. The interior was dimly lit and had extravagant furnishings. Colorful clothes of the most flagrant designs hung enmass along the walls stretching to a large white bed. Odd ornaments made by some of the finest craftsmen in Qussai lay scattered messily alongside a drawer with a great mirror mounted atop.


    There he found his Mistress undressing the silk veil that covered her face, exposing more of her beautiful features and snow-white skin. But the most striking feature was her eyes.


    Mistress Seol had eyes unusually white, even making Osias intrigued at how strange they looked when he first caught her attention.


    He has heard from her before ¡ª that countless men fell infatuated when she simply unmasked herself, yet none has shared her bed despite being the most ravishing courtesan.


    But Osias didn¡¯t see her as such.


    ¡°Visalros¡­ you spoke well. But you mustn¡¯t offend the guards, even I cannot protect you inside the Black Warden¡¯s keep.¡± She said, seating herself atop a humble high stool that didn¡¯t fit her appearance.


    ¡°It¡¯s thanks to your lessons,¡± He said curtly.


    Mistress Seol laughed lightly, before responding:


    ¡°I don¡¯t get you¡­. Do you withhold or do you not feel? Even after we spent a little more than a year seeing each other.¡± She paused and puckered her lips into a pout, ¡°Even more than seeing.¡±


    Osias brought himself towards her dangling legs draped in the fine silk as he returned to his usual routine whenever he was called into her presence.


    She responded casually and extended her supple and bare leg, pulling up her dress as Osias clasped them with both hands.


    He began to massage her feet with a delicate grace in the dimly lit quarters of this lone high courtesan.


    ¡°Your hands are rough as always.¡± She commented with a chuckle, ¡°Visalros, do tell¡­ are you ready for the tourney? I¡¯ve heard you haven¡¯t been chosen as much as you have in the last few months by the Black Warden.¡±


    Osias grimaced ever so faintly but responded calmly:


    ¡°I fear he doesn¡¯t want to anger you, and your matron if I am in danger.¡±


    ¡°Danger? What danger? You¡¯re a prisoner! Besides¡­ you know four or five of your fellow prisoners aren¡¯t able to kill someone like you.¡± She said before adding with a smile, ¡°After all¡­ you¡¯re fighting for me.¡±


    In the next moment, a soft whimper sounded below her breath as Osias continued onto the other foot.


    As for why Osias was so obedient¡­


    It was because she was a Second Ordeal, and far from a weak one. Though, most importantly is because Mistress Seon¡¯s matron was said to be the Son of The Golden Hawk¡¯s wife.


    The mysterious wife of the being that slayed a Fourth Ordeal being and almost another in a single attack.


    ¡­He continued to massage her until she finally waved him aside. Osias took a long step behind and waited patiently for her to fix her dress. As she lifted her pearly eyes at him, her face twisted to an almost lofty smile.


    ¡°Why the frown, Visalros? Do you want to continue?¡±


    Osias paused pensively before responding lowly:


    ¡°The tourney will come soon. If I win the Ordinary line for the House of Silk¡­ will you hold your promise?¡±


    She stepped off her high stool, and she came closer to Osias endearingly with gentle steps, not even the boards below their feet creaked. Mistress Seol was quite tall, reaching Osias¡¯s neck¡­ but only if Osias didn¡¯t lower his head.


    Bringing a pale smooth hand to his chin, Mistress Seol caressed his jaw and cheek as she lifted his gaze to meet her pearly eyes.


    ¡°I keep my promises¡­ my warrior. I¡¯ll tell you all you wish to know of my matron that none knows as well as all else you wish to know.¡± She paused and pursed her lips before whispering to him, ¡°And if you kill all those who challenge you, I¡¯ll even grant another wish of yours if it''s not too grand.¡±


    She dropped her hand to his chest and caressed it as she danced and circled around him slowly as he stood motionless.


    ¡°Such an obedient man you are¡­ strong as well. Gifted with such a powerful Innate Ability. A foreigner no less.¡±


    Her hands began to strip Osias of the tattered rags that reeked of prison waste, blood, and sweat. It was¡­ an odd sight. Upon Osias¡¯s first impression of her, he didn¡¯t think someone like him would garner her attention.


    It was nothing more than her passing by the outer courtyard of the dreary prison as he fought four other prisoners almost a year ago.


    Four soldiers-turned-prisoners attacked him as they always did. He was their teacher for so long, and they all knew they weren¡¯t a match for him. Osias didn¡¯t reprimand them either¡­ it was part of his teachings to use everything they could to gain an advantage after all.


    But regardless of that¡­ his great saber did not fail to reach their hearts.


    Mistress Seol saw the barbaric display, but before she left, she caught a glimpse of his face after slaying four of his fellow prisoners¡­ and she mentioned later that his face was what made her claim him for her own.


    Barechested, Osias was only barely covered below the waist as she waved around him frivolously.


    ¡°And these peculiar tattoos¡­ truly, do you not wish to speak of your true name? I know that Visalros is not it.¡± She said teasingly.


    Osias¡¯s gaze remained locked on where his head sat, as he responded:


    ¡°Why do you never force me to tell you?¡±


    She laughed once again, turning around, and came right against his nose once more with provocative eyes.


    ¡°I want to see those flinty eyes of yours tell me the truth out of your own will. The best men aren¡¯t so easily enticed.¡± She said ever so closely to his face before adding, ¡°Tell me Visalros¡­ did these tattoos hurt you?¡±


    He slowly brought a hand to his right temple where the centipede¡¯s body sat menacingly before wrapping around his eye.


    ¡°They did.¡±


    ¡°Ah! So timid. Are you beginning to desire me?¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond as she put just a finger to his chest and in a blink, he was against the edge of her oversized and lavish bed.


    ¡°Say¡­ you mentioned you loved someone in your home. You never said how she looked.¡±


    Osias winced as he knew where she was beginning to lead him to once again. A small knot formed in his throat before he forced it down and responded meekly ¡ª something befitting his appearance.


    ¡°She was pretty, like a lone little flower atop a snowcapped mountain. Color in plains of black. Her hair was a fawn¡¯s brown. Her eyes weren¡¯t round, but rather sharp like an arrow. Her eyebrows only added to them like feather fletchings. She was someone who would scold me because she would care. We would share every meal together ¡ª so much so I didn¡¯t know if it was I who was lonely or it was her¡­ She was kind.¡±


    ¡°Ho¡­ you finally speak of her.¡± Mistress Seol said in an unusual tone. She was still by her dresser in front of the mirror, and Osias noticed a small frown forming on the ends of her supple lips.


    ¡°Do you see me as such a precious flower?¡± She asked, her voice tinged with something a little frightening.


    Osias felt his chest twist and tighten before he responded scornfully:


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t. She was so much more than gorgeous.¡±


    With that, her gaze lifted resolutely in an odd smile.


    Osias blinked once more and she was suddenly in front of him with her face pressed against his bare chest in a flutter of fabric.


    But despite such a gorgeous face being so close to him¡­ he didn¡¯t feel anything but pain. A sort of pain that felt dirty to touch, unable to wash like the prison waste he made home for three years.


    His breathing turned slightly ragged, and Mistress Seol noticed it and her slight turn curled into a wry smile.


    ¡°My warrior¡­¡± She hushedly whispered, and in another blink, Osias was lying atop the center of her pale bed.


    His back graced the immeasurably soft and lavish coverings, but it couldn¡¯t get rid of the impossibly rigid and rough feeling in his throat.


    Pulling his head upwards to look down his feet¡­ he found Mistress Seol suddenly climbing coquettish atop the bed to his feet. The scattered candles illuminated her smooth, white, and undressed body.


    ¡°Come, Visalros. My warrior.¡± She whispered.


    ¡­Until the night ended and the bright of the morning came piercing through the long bygone ashes of a war that clouded the skies, only then was Osias escorted back to his cell¡¯s filthy holdings.


    Yet nothing inside his cell chamber felt more hideous and filthy than what filled his heart once again.

 Chapter 55 - Tourney of a Hundred Golden Talons

    ¡°Look up, in the highest level of the pavilion, you can see her drapings.¡±


    ¡°Is that the Mistress of Rolling Silk?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see from here!¡±


    Cutting through the loud chatter of the many scions, heirs, wealthy families, elders, high-ranking soldiers, and other renowned figures, the raspy death throes of a young man sounded throughout the Autumn Wreath Pavillion.


    And cheers pierced all their ears as their attention shifted to the many battles at the center¡­


    The Ordinaries fought first in the tourney before all the exalted warriors of the Ordeals began their battles.


    In the past, only death matches were displayed, but in recent years as the war approached, they couldn¡¯t waste any Path Finders.


    But such reprimands didn¡¯t apply to Ordinaries no matter how talented, prospective, or which family they hailed from.


    So although they were once the most overlooked day of matches, the audience now roared in delight at the madness unveiled upon the stone stage that wouldn¡¯t happen in the following days as the Path Finders fought.


    Osias was waiting inside a vast branch of the main pavilion along with all the other Ordinary competitors¡­ hundreds that would eventually dwindle to a single one.


    They were all divided ¡ª everyone lingering around their own small corner with their attendants if they had some. From military families to martial schools, their origins were all varied.


    But Osias was the most out-of-place Ordinary here.


    He was accompanied by tens of lower courtesans ¡ª the little flowers of the House of Silk who served under his Mistress.


    With their attention, He looked nothing like the war prisoner of another country. Mistress Seol provided him some gifts the Ordinary representative of her House ¡ª a deep and fine blue martial robe and a gallantly large curved saber.


    Tall as he normally was, but much more lithe and ghastly, he looked like one of the elegant swordsmen under a grand family.


    From his right, another of the courtesans came right beside his ear and said softly:


    ¡°The Mistress wishes you luck, Visalros. And she also said¡­¡± Her words trailed off hesitantly, but relented when Osias turned to face her and added, ¡°She hopes to see more of your pained face.¡±


    Osias grimaced and scowled at the words but before he could say anything, one of the Second Ordeal guards that oversaw the many Ordinaries called for him.


    ¡°Visalros and Rickard.¡± A low voice huffed out.


    ¡°At the first platform closest to where the Mistress is, where the attendants are cleaning where the last competitors fought.¡±


    Osias nodded, stepping to his feet with a groan, and waved aside his many attendants as they yelped in surprise.


    He came to his large dresser where his barbarically fashioned saber rested and he brought it to his back.


    ¡°Such a blade?¡±


    ¡°I thought that was a spare taken from the soldier¡¯s armory¡­ the like to cut down the beast mounts of the Red Feathers.¡±


    Osias disregarded the many whispers as he brushed past the guard and eyed down his first opponent.


    It was a stout and round bellied man¡­ it reminded Osias of Nico if his stomach was as large as the armor that covered it.


    This competitor used a great hammer¡­ an odd pairing, but Osias didn''t care.


    With a scoff he emerged from the warrior''s quarter and into the ever-shimmering light that illuminated the city in gold and narrowed his eyes.


    Above the many extravagant floors of the Autumn Wreath Pavilion, Osias caught a glimpse of his Mistress''s flowing lines of silk that covered her entirely.


    ¡®Pained face¡­¡¯ He recalled with a dark scowl.


    He hurried to the first raised stone platform and got to his end, facing the pavilion from below.


    Although many cries sounded from the other platforms, Osias could hear the many murmurs and chatter among the onlookers.


    ¡°Is that the Rolling Silk Mistress''s pet?¡±


    ¡°He looks too thin to wield such a¡­ saber.¡±


    Osias shook his head and poised himself, raising his absurdly large saber to his shoulder in just one hand.


    His opponent reciprocated, simply bringing his hammer over their own shoulder.


    ¡°Uncomfortable¡­¡± Osias said quietly, but he saw his opponent''s helmet slightly lift as he said it.


    ¡°I''d worry about not dying before my hammer, you plaything.¡±


    Osias glared at the stout man¡­ Rickard.


    In his free hand, he tore the silk drapings that the attendants took so long to dress and fit him into. With that¡­ some of the crowd whispered amongst themselves as they witnessed his appearance below the extravagance.


    Before he could even make out what they wete saying, the soft bell chimed, and their battle began.


    Withiut hesition, Osias lowered himself and dashed towards his greatly armorred opponenent ferally with the tip of his saber dragging across the rough stone below.


    He sometimes brought a hand below to keep himself just above the ground as though he were a rabid dog.


    ¡°Insolent!¡± Rickard yelled from his helm and swung downwards with both hands the moment Osias came into the distance with his hammer.


    But Osias felt like the man was impossibly slow¡­ his essence control was likely inefficient, clouded, and wild as Osias¡¯s demeanor.


    Ans though Osias rashly approached, he feared nothing, trusting his experience and himself.


    Simply bringing his saber to gracefully meet the shaft of the man''s hammer, Osias parried the blow as it trucked deeply into the stone below with a thunderous crash.


    Without another word, Osias kicked the man away, releasing their grip on the hammer as they stammered, not knowing what to do.


    Osias chased the staggered competitor and battered his saber deep into the joint of their knee in a wicked arc.


    Severing everything below their right knee as they pooled at blood, Osias watched as the stout Rickard tried to hobble away from the platform, leaving a trail of blood as Osias slowly walked towards him.


    His saber made an eerie and rough noise as its weight was dragged along the platform, trailing the line of blood leaving Rickard''s leg.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Suddenly, Osias felt the attention of many powerful Path Finders all lined against him at once as something unnatural began to occur.


    From the tip of the saber, the trail of blood was¡­ flowing upwards through the blade and past the hilt into Osias¡¯s hand.


    Immense intrigue plagued the crowd as cheers and shouts sounded, dampening the loud pants and wails of Rickard who tripped over his own leg.


    Rickard turned over and brought two hands to wave off Osias in a desperate plea.


    ¡°Plea¡ª¡±


    In the next moment, Osias''s tall frame disappeared from the weakenening sight of Rickard¡­ and suddenly he felt as though the sky itself collapsed onto his torso.


    Osias lept and slammed both his feet into Rickard¡¯so chest, crumpling into his armor.


    He threw his saber aside and tore off the fragmented chest peice and eventually the helm of Rickard, disregarding what weak words were being spouted.


    ¡®My nails¡­ they''ve grown long again. I wonder if Myra could cut them again.¡¯ He thought, his mind in an entirely other place from this morbid scene.


    Osias didn''t stop one the broken apart was stripped apart. Deeper and deeper, Osias clawed into the chest and tore apart flesh and bone. He gripped an odd bone and broke it off, exposing where Rickard''s heart was before he grabbed it. Alas, he was too rough and it turned into a mess in his hand.


    ¡®Heh, it''s like that time she said I was too rough with the kneading the dough.¡¯


    Rickard was long dead by this point and his kicks and struggles below Osias stopped coming.


    Climbing back to his feet, Osias looked up and took a deep breath as the metallic tang in the air brought his mind to reality once more. He disregarded the many differing emotions in the audience ¡ª the disgust shown on the faces of some, while others showed a mad excitement at his display and everything in between.


    And from atop the highest level of the Autumn Wreath Pavilion¡­ in a storm of silk, his Mistress was leaning over the fine balcony, her face was half exposed as her veil was lowered just atop the bridge of her nose.


    The crowd quieted down and even the competitors stopped their fighting to catch a glimpse of her pearly eyes.


    ¡°I bring you all¡­ my warrior¡ªmy champion, Visalros!¡± She said proudly.


    Osias scoffed, breaking the silence by throwing the bloody mess he held toward his Mistress in an arc, landing right atop the balcony alongside her.


    Suddenly Mistress Seol began to laugh softly and turned around to enter the pavilion once more, yet Osias could hear it already and he was sure the onlookers could as well.


    Turning around without another word, Osias headed for the warrior''s quarter once more as he awaited his next fight. Glancing behind him, he found exasperation strewn on the attendants tasked with swiftly cleaning the platforms between matches.


    He apologized to him below his breath, but more importantly, Osias¡¯s eyes caught the two people he needed to find in this tourney ¡ª the Black Warden and his daughter.


    Making sure to not have his gaze linger too long, Osias began to pull together a scheme if he couldn¡¯t rely on the other armies of the Red Feathers to siege this city.


    Chaos¡­ if it wouldn¡¯t happen on its own, he¡¯ll sow it himself.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Visalros and Creman.¡±


    Just about an hour later, he was called up once more.


    Osias once more gently pushed aside his attendants and emerged from the warrior quarters and faced his opponent¡­ but like his last one, this Creman wasn¡¯t special.


    He didn¡¯t hear the entire background of the Ordinary Creman, but it was something about a line of swordsmen who served the army.


    But Creman met an untimely and brutal end as Osias deeply caved the man¡¯s helm with a stomp.


    ¡°Visalros and Herin.¡±


    ¡°Visalros and Jeraha.¡±


    ¡°Visalros and Mosen.¡±


    What was hundreds of competitors eventually dwindled to just four in a few rounds. And although the difficulty has been gradually increasing for Osias¡­ he still felt as though they weren¡¯t a match for him.


    The moment his saber hit true and they felt an overwhelming amount of blood pour out, their minds were riled.


    Whenever Osias¡¯s blows could crumple their Ordinary armor, they were staggered in hesitation.


    When doubt plagues their minds, Osias walks them down.


    Though Osias did see someone interesting, eyeing down the far other corner of the warrior¡¯s quarter there was someone who felt¡­ dangerous, even for him.


    In this these large quarters once bustling with competitors and attendants was now desolate, empty of the many Ordinary prospects. Osias was one of the few enigmas who didn¡¯t mind to kill their competition without another thought, something he came to learn as many powerful families do not wish for their talents to die so early.


    So when Osias cut down Mosen just as he mouthed the words to surrender, he heard piercing screams somewhere from his left. Second Ordeal guards under the House of Silk rushed out to quell the yelling, and even Mistress Seol said a word from atop her pavilion.


    ¡®...More, I need more.¡±


    The Black Warden¡¯s presence as part of the audience was something Osias couldn¡¯t ignore. The pull was intense, calling him towards the warden. To kill him, gut him down, behead him into a mess of blood as his daughter watched.


    Osias narrowed his eyes and shook his head, if the walls that enclosed the quiet warrior''s chamber were made of glass, he¡¯d be staring daggers at the Black Warden.


    Averting his gaze, he focused his attention once more at the particularly strong Ordinary. No more than just a single attendant, the Ordinary was called Surtil.


    And Surtil, like Osias¡­ possessed an Innate Ability.


    Surtil was the pride of his family ¡ª his father was the Golden Duskveil General. The Third Ordeal that beheaded Geral and Erdma before Osias¡¯s eyes. The same one that spared him that day.


    ¡­As Osias studied the other two competitors, he knew that there was no one capable enough to meet both himself and Surtil in the finale. The pride of the military and the champion of the courtesans.


    Osias could laugh at how different they were. Yet it was fitting in a sense¡­ the general¡¯s son can finish his father¡¯s execution today.


    ¡°Visalros and Pierce.¡±


    Nodding to the Second Ordeal guard, Osias got up and once more dragged himself out to fight.


    ¡°Merkel and Surtil.¡±


    Raising a slight eyebrow as he walked out, Osias wondered why they wouldn¡¯t have one match at a time.


    However as he emerged from the entrance of the warrior quarters, instead of a dozen raised stone platforms, two vast platforms of the same style were set aside from each other.


    ¡®Ordeal Ability¡­¡¯ He noted.


    Walking over the the platform on his right, he came to his end as his opponent, Pierce, awaited him at their end.


    Inhaling deeply, Osias studied the young man named Pierce. A long staff of an unnatural snow-white, as though it was made from the very pristine stone of the walls that enclosed the city¡¯s palace, Pierce looked beyond his years. Draped in loose and aged garbs of blue and gold, ivory wrist and leg wraps, and a headband of gold wrapped tightly around his head, Pierce exuded elegance.


    Even his weapon choice looked to be reflective of mercy and sport instead of death.


    ¡°Truly a foreigner indeed,¡± A smooth voice left Pierce''s mouth.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite the mystery.¡± Pierce then said from across the stone stage. He paced slowly around the edge with his regal and hearty staff before adding in a curious tone, ¡°We look to be of the same age, though you may be older. Though for anyone else, they¡¯d find it difficult to see past that dirt, hair, scowl, and most notably¡­ that bloodlust. Instead of an older man, they¡¯d call you a monster instead.¡±


    Looking up towards the Autumn Wreath Pavilion, Pierce continued:


    ¡°I wonder¡­ What sort of conviction would warrant such strength? My master has told me I am lacking.¡±


    Osias awaited for his platform¡¯s bell to chime, uneager to exchange words with the strange Pierce.


    ¡°Not responding? I heard you talk a lot to the guards¡­¡± Pierce said, bringing a hand to scratch behind his ears.


    In the next moment, a bell chimed and the audience clamored in response, but it was the bell for the other platform to begin ¡ª not Osias¡¯s.


    Pierce and Osias looked towards the two who were fighting, yet even from the very first moment, they both knew that the opponent named Merkel stood no chance against Surtil.


    A whistle sounded from Pierce as he added:


    ¡°That Surtil¡­ I should ask him later. He talks more than you.¡±


    ¡°Later? Are you so sure you would survive?¡± Osias cut back, breaking his silence.


    ¡°Ah, so you do talk,¡± Pierce said with a smile. ¡°But indeed, I do believe I will walk out of this platform alive and well. But before I do, I wish you could provide an answer to my question.¡±


    Osias paused, accepting that the bell had oddly not chimed.


    ¡°To live untethered from the whims of the others.¡±


    Pierce narrowed his eyes and eerily smiled, ¡°I see, I see. Perhaps it is fitting¡­¡±


    Meeting Osias¡¯s eyes, Pierce continued:


    ¡°Grief and rage lay untold,


    I saw kindness repaid with cold.


    Oh, the world, the dream smeared in dread,


    Let the world bleed as the sky turns red.¡±


    Osias¡¯s eyes raised uncannily as he heard the poem Pierce sang, before scowling deeply and tightening his saber to tightly his sunken hands turned paler than usual.


    But before he could raise his question, the bell for their platform chimed melodiously.


    ¡°I concede,¡± Pierce said, having already left the platform.


    The audience roared at Pierce¡¯s refusal to fight, but Osias stayed still. He was confused, shocked, and frustrated at what Pierce hinted at.


    He wanted to dash towards the disembarked Pierce to ask more, but just as he lifted his foot in that direction, he felt his chest pull taut and a cold shiver ran down his back¡­ and then he heard an unsettling voice sound intrude in his mind:


    ¡°Why so eager to chase the defeated, Osias of the Red Sky?¡±

 Chapter 56 - The Feral And The Jewel

    Osias didn''t dare take another step, instead, he turned his head back to see Mistress Seol and assure himself that what he just heard was heard by him and him alone.


    Atop the pavilion, she was intrigued, but that wouldn''t have been the face she''d make at the sight of someone capable of afflicting Osias with such dread, nor the face she would make if she heard his true name.


    Instead, she reacted as she would if a near finalist simply conceded without a fight.


    Osias turned towards the warrior''s quarters and found that Pierce was already gone., leaving him with no answers.


    ¡®Let the world bleed and the sky turn red.¡¯ He recalled inwardly.


    Frowning deeply, Osias thought of what¡­ no, how the man knew of his name and origin. It doesn''t make sense. Mance¡­ Mance told him it¡¯ll be made from the past!


    ¡®Pierce¡­ is that even his true name?¡¯


    From the exact Ordeal level to his origins, Osias knew nothing of Pierce.


    But before he could think any further, a flash of light covered the platform, and a moment later, the cries of pain were heard.


    ¡®Looks like he''s finished as well¡­¡¯


    Osias¡¯s expressionless face veiled a storm brewing inside his mind, but the loud cheers that replaced the yells and shouts of Pierce¡¯s surrender forced him to return his gaze to Surtil.


    Merkel, Surtil¡¯s opponent, was on his knees far away from the light''s source, yet clutched his once armored arm and shoulder as it bled heavily underneath.


    ¡®Not enough to kill.¡¯ Osias quickly found.


    ¡°I yield.¡± Merkel stammered as relief edged the man¡¯s tone, perhaps even thankful he didn¡¯t face someone like Osias.


    Suddenly a soft clap somehow reached Osias¡¯s ears, and instinctively he looked atop the Autumn Wreath Pavilion where Mistress Seol began to address them all.


    ¡°With such quick battles¡­ I¡¯ll deem it unnecessary to rest before we resume the finale. Unless the jewel of the military wishes otherwise?¡± She said, riling the audience away from their disappointment.


    From across the other platform, Osias eyed down the radiant Surtil who looked up to address Mistress Seol.


    ¡°No need, Mistress of Rolling Silk. This¡­ Merkel wasn¡¯t enough to satisfy my spirits.¡± Surtil said. His voice was confident, certain, and almost lofty.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Mistress Seol said.


    In the next moment, Osias raised an eyebrow as he felt the stone platform below his feet shake and rumble. Then, he raised his chin and found across the courtyard that Surtil¡¯s platform was also shaking.


    ¡®Ah, they¡¯re joining these two at the center.¡¯


    Although Mistress Seol moved the finale ahead without asking him, Osias didn¡¯t mind the sudden change, rather he welcomed it.


    Willing his body to remain upright, Osias awaited his battle with Surtil.


    The Golden Duskveil General¡¯s son... Surtil, standing tall across from him, wore the same disdain that his father once did. His gleaming white armor, trimmed in gold, radiated a sickening purity that seemed out of place on the battlefield, and the similar sword in his hand¡ªthat gilded monstrosity, was an ornament of execution, not battle. The young competitor¡¯s cold sneer was visible even from the other end of the platform, his posture too relaxed for what was to come.


    However, Surtil¡¯s appearance made it seem like Osias could avenge Geral and the others in a way.


    Osias scanned the crowd once more, searching for the familiar radiant figure of Surtil¡¯s father, the man who had executed his comrades with cold precision. But the Duskveil General was absent. Osias''s lips curled into a bitter smirk.


    ¡®So it falls to the son.¡¯


    "Is your father not present here?" Osias called out, his voice clear but thick with venom.


    Surtil¡¯s response came quickly, his words sharpened and emboldened by pride:


    ¡°He¡¯s been tasked with the honorable task of eradicating your country, prisoner rat.¡± Scowling at the sight of Osias¡¯s body before continuing, ¡°I¡¯ve been told that all those under the Red Feather were an uncouth lot, barbaric as they attacked our lands.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been told the truth.¡± Osias agreed, his mind flashing to the raid on the abandoned city.


    ¡°...Honesty that betrays appearances too it seems. I¡¯ve also been told that my father was the one who passed both sentence and blade after the pitiful siege against Qurssai.¡± Surtil continued, eyeing how the two raised platforms have joined entirely now.


    ¡°Will you try and finish what your father could not?¡± Osias asked. Narrowing his eyes, Osias brought a wary hand to his saber and lowered himself in anticipation.  The bitter cheers and sweeping wind touched his back as he awaited the chime once more.


    Osias steadied himself, his muscles tensing under the weight of his anticipation. As the platforms met with a grinding shudder, they locked into place, forming a single, vast stage in front of the pavilion where the high families and other onlookers gathered.


    ¡°Your best tricks, use them. I won¡¯t hold back.¡± Surtil said, disregarding Osias¡¯s probing.


    Surtil shifted, taking up a stance that seemed foreign to Osias ¡ª something odd as Surtil¡¯s hand gripped the hilt with grace in front of him, but two fingers on his free hand brushed the back of the blade.


    The golden sword gleamed in the pale daylight, catching Osias¡¯s eye. Its etchings, too elaborate and grand, distracted from the blade''s purpose.


    ¡°My sword spans the nine skies, the light touches all,¡± Surtil said below his breath, something Osias could only hear if he focused.


    Osias exhaled, feeling the wind whip against his face. The sun dimmed behind a cloud, casting long shadows over the arena. The distant roar of the crowd and the howl of the wind became background noise as Osias''s world narrowed to the man before him.


    Slowly¡­ everything around Osias became increasingly dampened and disregarded. A blur in both sight and sound as he focused his entire being onto Surtil as such strength demanded it. Mistress Seol, Pierce, the prisoners, the Black Warden, returning¡­ it all didn¡¯t matter if he died by Surtil¡¯s hand.


    His hand twitched on the saber¡¯s hilt, ready for the clash¡ª


    A soft jingle of a bell sounded and in the very next moment, a ruthless grunt prologued a shimmering golden light that covered all Osias could see.


    Expecting an immediate attack like all of Surtil¡¯s matches from before, Osias turned to his side and guarded what he could with his saber. He sealed his eyes shut, and in the absence of light, he felt a searing cut against his right arm that guarded much of his midsection.


    Opening and inspecting himself, he found that despite the distance, it was as though Surtil slashed him with that golden blade. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    It was deep and concerning, yet Osias was sure that he¡¯d be healed after the finale as usual.


    ¡­His toes and feet arched and he lunged forward towards Surtil. Each step pounded heavily against the stone.


    ¡°Hmph. Like an armored dog.¡±


    Suddenly another flash of light was directed at Osias, but knowing the same ploy, Osias relied all he could upon the sense and reflexes he honed whilst fighting many enemies at once.


    ¡®A flash of light that blinds, and then a second, but thinner light with weight that cuts from the edge of his sword.¡¯


    This time his thigh was cut. The Innate Ability itself was potent, much more than even many First Ordeal Abilities. But this couldn¡¯t be it if Surtil felt so dangerous.


    ¡°My father gave you a chance, yet you¡¯ve spurned his decision¡­ such ingratitude.¡± Surtil suddenly said, finally taking up a proper stance as he brandished the golden sword to meet the rapidly approaching Osias.


    Osias didn''t respond ¡ª there was no point. The memory of Surtil¡¯s father, the Golden Duskveil General, weighed heavy on him. The sight of that man executing his bannermen, one by one, still lingered in his mind. Osias had survived that day by chance, but this time, chance would not decide his fate.


    Osias surged forward, blood dripping from the fresh wound on his thigh, his body straining but still surging with the strength that made him so formidable. His breath came out in deep, controlled bursts as his focus narrowed further into his essence control.


    The second flash of light had left a burning cut across his thigh, but Osias was undeterred. He pushed harder, knowing that the key to beating Surtil was surviving long enough to exploit the openings between those blinding flashes.


    Each step reverberated through the stone platform, his wrapped feet and legs thudding heavily as he closed the gap between them. Surtil was waiting, his golden blade gleaming in the pale sunlight. His stance was perfect, almost too perfect, like a pose struck in a painting.


    Suddenly, Surtil¡¯s blade shimmered with light again, and Osias braced for the inevitable flash. His instincts screamed for him to shut his eyes, to avoid the blinding assault. But this time, he did something different.


    He kept his eyes open.


    The blinding light erupted once more, but Osias forced his body to react on instinct alone. His vision burned white-hot, and for a moment, the world dissolved into pure brilliance. But his saber, heavy and familiar, was in his hands, and his muscles moved as if they knew what was coming.


    A sharp slice of light tore through the air, aimed at his shoulder. With a grunt, Osias threw his body to the side, feeling the searing heat graze past his arm but missing the vital flesh it sought. Pain flared up, but he gritted his teeth and continued forward.


    Surtil''s eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second, as Osias closed the distance with terrifying speed,


    The golden light had faltered.


    For the first time in the fight, Surtil looked truly focused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features ¡ª something that even Osias could see with his damaged sight. His polished stance tensed as Osias brought his saber crashing down with raw, unrefined power.


    The clang of metal echoed through the courtyard, and the spectators watched with bated breath as the two warriors finally clashed head-on.


    Osias pressed hard, forcing his weight down against Surtil''s gilded sword. His arms trembled from the effort, muscles straining as the heat of the duel roared between them. The blinding flashes, the golden slashes, none of it mattered now. It was strength against strength.


    Surtil snarled, pushing back with surprising might, but Osias didn¡¯t let up.


    ¡°I cut down the prison rat you are!¡± Surtil hissed, pushing Osias back as another flash of light erupted from the golden blade.


    ¡®No blinding?¡¯ Osias wondered, evading the cutting slash of weighty light.


    ¡°You¡¯re an animal.¡±


    He heard Surtil''s mocking voice over the din of battle, but it barely registered as he relentlessly re-engaged once again.


    Osias fought with a feral, almost animalistic intensity that sent chills through any who witnessed it. His movements were savage, yet terrifyingly efficient, as though each brutal strike was calculated for maximum destruction.


    At times, he dropped to all fours, lunging forward like a beast, his powerful muscles augmented by the violent surge of essence coursing through his veins.


    The back of his blade would scrape against the stone platform with an eerie, grating sound, as it dragged across the ground before another devastatingly heavy attack was thrown onto Surtil.


    ¡°Is this all your father taught you?¡± Osias growled, teeth bared. He shoved harder, his saber grinding against the golden blade.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to die from a champion of whores!¡± Osias mocked, wishing to crack and irk the military jewel¡¯s mind.


    Surtil¡¯s face twisted in frustration, his earlier calm slipping away. He raised his sword, ready to unleash another burst of light, but Osias was already moving. He dropped his shoulder and lunged forward, his saber swinging low in a brutal, sweeping arc.


    Surtil barely managed to parry, but the force of the strike sent him stumbling back, his perfect stance formed from a particularly grounded and balanced battle style was broken.


    And now Osias knew for certain ¡ª Surtil wasn¡¯t invincible.


    But in the next moment, Osias felt the hairs on his skin rise in response to the very air cackling oddly.


    "Enough impudence, you will not prance before me!" Surtil''s voice had dropped into a cold fury, his body trembling with the power he was summoning. Supporting himself on his blade, he spat in a menacing whisper, "I¡¯ll shake the stars in the vast skies. My blade bolts the air and rouses to the thunder."


    Osias suddenly saw blood spill from Surtil¡¯s gleeful mouth once he was finished reciting whatever it was.


    In the next moment, Osias felt the hairs on his skin rise as the very air crackled and shimmered around him. Tens of thin lines of pure light, sharp and searing, began to materialize in every direction, crisscrossing the battlefield in brilliant streaks. They filled the air like the webs of some deity, firing and lancing outward without warning.


    Osias¡¯s instincts flared in warning as the lines of light erupted violently, ricocheting off surfaces and slicing through the space around him. Surtil¡¯s wrath filled the air with sharp streaks of light cutting through the sky as though the world itself was being torn apart.


    He dodged and evaded what he could in the small spaces between the constant webbing of thin light tendrils, and compromised what he couldn¡¯t have to places he could withstand being damaged.


    In a few seconds, this storm of light quelled and the vast platform was devasted. The pall of stone dust began to fall and the scene revealed to those of the crowd who couldn¡¯t sense the two final competitors shocked them.


    In the aftermath of Surtil¡¯s storm of light, an unrecognizable battlefield was revealed. Upturned stones littered the vast platform, streaked with glowing scars left by the deadly barrage. The ground was split in places, cracked open like fragile pottery, while a haze of dust fell in slow, drifting sheets, obscuring the spectators¡¯ view.


    For a moment, there was silence.


    Such¡­ power wasn¡¯t supposed to belong to someone who has yet to suceed in their First Ordeal.


    But then, from the settling dust, two figures emerged, both eerily still, leaning heavily on their swords like pillars of exhaustion.


    Surtil¡¯s once-pristine white and gold armor was marred with blood and dust, his face drenched in sweat. His body trembled under the weight of his own power, the toll of his Innate Ability now evident in the staggering rise and fall of his chest.


    Across from him, Osias stood, hunched over, blood dripping from deep gashes across his arms and legs. He looked like a feral beast cornered, fighting in his death throes. His wounds should have slowed him, should have brought him to his knees ¡ª yet his flinty eyes were undeterred. He gripped his saber like it was an extension of his own body, using the flat of the blade to steady himself, the faint rasp of its edge grating against the torn stone underfoot.


    Osias¡¯s body was a patchwork of injuries, each one a testament to Surtil¡¯s deadly power, but none were enough to stop him. His eyes, wild and focused, glinted in the fading light as he pushed off the ground. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself forward, closing the distance between them.


    There was no honor or grace¡ªjust raw, primal violence honed for one purpose: to kill.


    ¡­Surtil saw him coming and raised his sword weakly, trying to muster the energy for another strike, but it was too late. Osias lunged, his saber sweeping upward in a savage arc. It wasn¡¯t elegant. It wasn¡¯t graceful. It was the strike of a dying animal, one that refused to go quietly into the night.


    ¡°Yield! Champion of the House of Silk, you¡¯ve won!¡±


    ¡°Surtil, yield!¡±


    ¡°Hey¡­ he won¡¯t kill him, right?¡±


    ¡°Father, do we engage? That is our second cousin!¡±


    ¡°Fool! Do you see those guards? No, even the Mistress of Rolling Silk too¡­ even the grand matron of their house could be angered. We can¡¯t save Surtil.¡±


    ¡­Then the saber¡¯s edge met Surtil¡¯s side with a sickening crunch, tearing through his armor and sinking deep into flesh. Surtil gasped, his body jerking violently as the force of the blow drove him backward. His sword clattered to the ground, the golden light dimming as his strength finally gave out.


    Osias, panting heavily, stood over him, his saber still lodged in Surtil¡¯s side. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling beneath his feet as he struggled to stay upright. He watched as Surtil¡¯s eyes, wide with shock and pain, slowly glazed over, the golden light fading from them just as it had from his sword.


    The crowd was silent, their bickering and prattle stopped as they could only watch. Even those who shared ties with the military and the Golden Duskveil General couldn¡¯t help his son.


    ¡­The only sound that remained was the labored breathing of Osias, standing amidst the wreckage, saber in hand.


    ¡®In another life, the one who died today could¡¯ve been the general himself instead of his son¡­ I hope you all will be satisfied with this.¡¯

 Chapter 57 - The Black Warden

    ¡°Visalros, the champion of the House of Silk has bested Surtil Duskveil.¡± A familiar voice sounded from atop her balcony of the Autumn Wreath Pavilion.


    However, many of the crowd didn¡¯t cheer or clamored in satisfaction. Many had ties to the military and even the Golden Duskveil family in a way, and for those who didn¡¯t, they didn¡¯t wish to anger those who did.


    Noticing this, Mistress Seol called out to Osias, ¡°Visalros¡­ I¡¯ll gift you the rewards for the Hundred Golden Talon Tourney at a later time.¡±


    And in the next moment, a Third Ordeal descended from behind Mistress Seol.


    A man shrouded in loose fabric from head to toe¡­ yet the material and style of it was undeniable ¡ª it was a Third Ordeal under the House of Silk.


    The nameless man in silk extended a hand towards the lifeless body of Surtil and immediately, sheets of silk stretched and wrapped around Surtil.


    In another wave of silk, Osias blinked and appeared back in the dim warrior quarters again. His handful of attendants were startled at his sudden appearance, but then from the faraway shadows¡­ Osias lifted his gaze with narrowed eyes and stared at the darkness.


    Nothing happened, but Osias knew something was there.


    And then as though the darkness itself was made from fabric, it was stretched towards the weakened body of Osias and smothered him in its cold embrace.


    ¡®Another¡­ Third Ordeal.¡¯ He mused, accepting the care. It wasn¡¯t as if he could do anything if the obscured Third Ordeal had ill intentions anyways.


    ¡­In what could¡¯ve been an hour as he sat and rested, he felt a slight shift from the layers of silk, and then the dark sheets slowly unraveled. Opening his eyes, he patiently waited as the layers lifted from his bare skin and the cold air touched him bitterly.


    ¡®Healed in full¡­¡¯


    Blinking a few times to acclimate himself, he found that the mysterious shrouded figure disappeared alongside their care but thought nothing of it as he tightly clasped his hand into a fist, feeling his strength had returned.


    ¡°Ah! Visalros, you¡¯ve come to¡­ we¡¯ve been tasked with dressing you once more.¡± Said a familiar voice from behind him.


    It was one of the courtesans who attended him, and she was peeking outside of the hallway¡¯s entrance to the warrior''s quarter. Bringing a soft step forward, she came along with many beauty tools in hand and many other courtesans followed her.


    Osias sighed a little before relenting, allowing them all to clean and dress him in a similar refined attire they draped him with before the tourney began.


    Enjoying this moment of repreive, he laxly closed his eyes as they worked.


    Then he felt a small soft brush along his chest but thought nothing of it.


    And then two gentle palms on his collar.


    Skittish giggles sounded from around him and Osias annoyingly sighed before muttering:


    ¡°Enough, I''m of the Mistress. I have no interest in any of you.¡±


    They worked fast and gracefully and within moments Osias was dismissed and told to approach the highest floor of the Autumn Wreath Pavilion to greet Mistress Seol.


    Passing the entrance outside the warrior¡¯s quarter as he did so many times this day, he wasn¡¯t greeted with rows of people in the audience, rather the courtyard seemed as desolate as it was the many times he met with Mistress Seol in preparation for the tourney. Many attendants were out dismantling the festivities and cleaning the area¡­ even the stone platforms were lowered and leveled as they normally were in the brief time he was recovering.


    He was greeted with beaming smiles and nods as he slowly made his way through the courtyard, the cool evening air brushing against his skin as he walked. The sight of attendants dismantling the remaining decorations, packing away the remnants of the festival, made it clear how quickly things moved on, even after such a brutal contest.


    The consequences of killing so many prospective talents of powerful families weren¡¯t something Osias considered when tasked with being the champion of the House of Silk¡­ and hopefully, if Mistress Seol grants his request then he could succeed his Ordeal soon before the consequences reach him.


    The climb to the top floor of the pavilion was quieter than he expected. The air inside the pavilion was fragrant with the scent of incense, a sharp contrast to the blood and sweat of the tournament. The courtesans who had attended Mistress Seol were nowhere to be seen now, leaving the halls eerily silent.


    Finally, he reached the highest floor, where the grand double doors to Mistress Seol¡¯s chamber stood ajar, allowing the warm glow of candlelight to spill out into the hall. A soft murmur of voices reached his ears as he stepped closer, and he could make out Mistress Seol¡¯s familiar tone, calm and measured as always.


    Inside, the chamber was just as the other floors ¡ª lavish tapestries adorned the walls, a grand bed to the side, and fine silk cushions were arranged around a low table where Mistress Seol sat, flanked by a few close handmaidens. She was draped in her usual robes of deep red and gold, her presence as commanding as ever. Her eyes gleamed with something between satisfaction and expectation as they landed on him.


    ¡°Leave me.¡± She said, and the servants left her with a bow.


    ¡°My my¡­ the girls did their duty well, you look refined as ever, truly a champion of our House. Tell me, did they swoon over you?


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well, Visalros,¡± Mistress Seol said, her voice smooth as the silk that covered her, though her eyes flicked over to his body. ¡°To emerge victorious against Surtil is no small feat, but you are not here for pleasantries, are you?¡±


    ¡°I have a target, larger than before on my head with that victory¡­ I want my answers.¡± He said curtly with a lowered head.


    Pausing briefly, Mistress Seol brought a hand across to her ear and unmasked the veil that covered her face, revealing her pearly eyes to Osias.


    ¡°Mm,¡± She hummed before standing up and pacing slowly. ¡°Ah, yes¡­ the matron of the House of Silk.¡± This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Osias lifted his bowed head and listened intently. He wanted two things from winning the tourney ¡ª one was the circumstances of the matron and the powerful being within the palace of Qussai as well was to leave without worrying of Third and Fourth Ordeals impeding him.


    ¡°The Queen Consort of the Son of the Golden Hawk¡­ how much do you know of them both, Visalros?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. The other prisoners didn¡¯t know either and the guards would rather spit than converse with us.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± She giggled softly, climbing atop the lavish bed.


    ¡°...The Son of the Golden Hawk is our guardian, our lord. He was said to have been born from light and fire as he carved out Qussai from his talons raking the desert. He was said to be a hawk that turned to a man when he cleansed himself by basking in the sun¡¯s embrace, having repented his territorial aggressions, and swore his love to my matron."


    ¡°My matron¡­ I only know her by title, not by name her raising me.¡± Mistress Seol said with an odd, longing tone before meeting Osias¡¯s puzzled gaze with solemn pearly eyes. ¡°Visalros, you¡¯re mine. You will not speak of this to anyone, and I will make sure of it aside from promises.¡±


    Suddenly, Osias¡¯s knees buckled as he staggered and brought a hand to his head as it pounded in pain¡­ but within a moment, it was gone, and before he could ask what happened, Mistress Seol continued:


    ¡°The Queen Consort is dead and the Son of the Golden Hawk is to follow her soon.¡±


    Osias raised his eyebrows in shock, but then immediately stifled a smile at the news¡­ it meant that another siege upon Qussai was bound to occur with even greater force without someone like the Son of the Golden Hawk defending the city.


    His freedom was coming. In one way or another.


    ¡®Is this why another siege hasn¡¯t been mounted? Why our advance army was so ill-equipped? To test and see if the Son of the Golden Hawk was still alive or not?¡¯ He mused.


    If Mistress Seol couldn¡¯t grant him his request¡­ then he could only wait for the inevitable. It¡¯ll just be a few years. But he¡¯ll still try and push for it.


    ¡°My, my¡­ I haven¡¯t seen such a face on you so far Visalros, even after all the nights we shared.¡± Mistress Seol teased, stretching her lithe body playfully.


    ¡°Is that all you wish to know of the palace?¡±


    Osias nodded before asking more:


    ¡°Then what of¡­ Qussai and this country. Where did the Red Feathers hail from? What do you know of my Innate Ability?¡±


    Now it was for Mistress Seol to have a curious face as his eyebrows raised every so slightly at his flurry of questions.


    ¡°Truly a foreigner¡ªno, even more. You¡­ you are a long way from home, Visalros.¡± She said endearingly.


    Osias paused, thinking carefully of his words because he doesn¡¯t know of the ramifications if he so bluntly said the truth.


    ¡°I was¡­ taken here. Not Qussai, but this war itself. As though my life has been nothing but dancing between powers I do not dare test. Moving from one death to another, so much so I couldn¡¯t care about such things before.¡±


    ¡°Ho¡­ finally speaking of your past? Do tell more, now that you¡¯ve won the tourney in my name, The Black Warden cannot hold you any longer, you¡¯re mine and mine alone.¡±


    Osias slowly shook his head, before asking more from the knowledgeable Mistress:


    ¡°I¡¯m free from the Black Keep?¡±


    ¡°You are, but you¡¯re mine.¡± She replied sternly.


    ¡°...I won''t. Time will tell, but I''m sure I''ll never be yours.¡±


    Mistress Seol paused with a contemplative expression before her lips curled into a smile.


    ¡°Still defiant, my champion? Is it that precious flower that''s stopping you?¡±


    Osias narrowed his eyes¡­ he didn''t think his conversation after winning the tourney would lead here once more.


    ¡°No. It''s not just her. I wish to return home.¡±


    ¡°Do you even know where your home is?¡±


    ¡°...With the people I left behind.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Another crooked smile stretched onto her lips before she turned over on her back and in another blink, Osias was already by the bedside.


    ¡°My champion¡­ I hope you¡¯ll call the House of Silk your home. Perhaps in the coming days, it¡¯ll dawn on you as you spend all your time here.¡±


    ¡°Tell me, what more do you wish for? Words alone cannot be exchanged in such a deal. You¡¯ve reminded those who caught wind of the rumors about the Queen Consort¡¯s passing that the House of Silk is not to be trifled with. Even more¡­ you are not entirely free.¡±


    In another blink, Osias was already on top of Mistress Seol by means he did not know of¡­ yet his mind was still as clear as ever as a deep scowl formed on his face.


    He was already playing a tool in her clasps, nothing more. But he still stammered out dreadful words in a vile hiss:


    ¡°There is nothing I wouldn¡¯t do to return to my home. I already know of my first step¡­ bring me the Black Warden.¡±


    Osias blinked once more and the decadent silk clothes that covered each of their bodies were whisked away. His sinewy flesh inked with an impossibly dark ink with hues of crimson was illuminated by the countless candles scattered across the chambers of this highest floor. Mistress Seol¡¯s lithe and snowy pale body was revealed, and an abnormal enticing overflowed in Osias¡¯s mind, something he resisted with all he could.


    Noticing his pained face, Mistress Seol brushed her hand gently below his chin, and within a blink, he was lying against the bed.


    ¡°Ah¡­ you must be in pain, my champion. It¡¯s too early it seems for a change of heart.¡± She said with a sheepish grin.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡­ It¡¯ll be just a little more. A little more and I¡¯ll return.¡¯


    ¡ª


    Osias rested his back against the bed¡¯s soft backboard with Mistress Seol beside him, covered below in a soft blanket at the neck.


    ¡°I see, I see¡­ The Path of Blood you say?¡± She echoed wistfully before adding, ¡°I don¡¯t know of it.¡±


    Frowning to himself, Osias wondered if he should mention and explain his Path and the centipede relic he came upon on the outskirt city outside of Qussai. However, before he could think of the proper way of asking, Mistress Seol instead asked something of him.


    ¡°Why the Black Warden, Visalros? I fear that I cannot grant such a request to sate your vengeance.¡±


    ¡°Is it not within your power?¡±


    ¡°He has quite the standing within the military¡­ he serves directly under the Golden Duskveil General, the one whose son you¡¯ve killed. If you push him any further, the general may descend onto the House of Silk without warning and leave without repercussions.


    ¡®Is that why I felt the pull inside the palace that day? Was he alongside the general within those white walls?¡¯


    ¡°I need to. I cannot serve you when that stain of my time in Qussai breathes.¡± He lied through his teeth.


    ¡°Ho¡­ so eager to stay with me?¡± She laughed softly before adding, ¡°I cannot burden the House of Silk with such a thing. So I¡¯ll scheme a little and pull the strings to bring him to you without the name of the House of Silk being tarnished anymore.¡±


    Osias frown finally began to curl darkly as he felt the allure of leaving this damned place just a second earlier.


    ¡°What are you planning for me, Mistress?¡±


    ¡°Hm? I wonder¡­¡± She hummed melodiously, betraying the wicked expression as she lay her head across his lap.


    ¡°A shame, but I¡¯ll have to share my champion.¡± She finally said, and Osias raised an eyebrow in puzzled irritation.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± He huffed with a scowl.


    ¡°That precious daughter of the Black Warden, I¡¯m sure those flinty eyes of yours have crossed the delicate girl beside the object of your vengeance.¡±


    ¡°What does she have to do with bringing the Black Warden to me?¡±


    ¡°Do something with her and her father will come raging before you. Have the Black Warden ravage the prison in his wrath, and if you¡¯re strong enough¡­ you can kill the mad warden. I can handle the aftermath if the Black Warden causes enough destruction in a rampage.¡±


    Osias felt something heavy well up in his throat the moment he heard Mistress Seol mention the daughter¡­ but he swallowed it and pushed it aside. If it¡¯ll allow him to return, then he¡¯ll do it.


    ¡®At the very least, I¡¯ll be gone before the aftermath even comes when my saber meets the warden¡¯s neck.¡¯

 Chapter 58 - Dogs of the Cells

    ¡°Visalros¡­ we only heard a few words from the guards. You¡¯ve won a tourney of sorts with that benefactor?¡±


    ¡°Aye, I did. Soon¡­ soon we can break free.¡± Osias said, peppering his words with hopeful endings. He¡¯s been training these remnants of the Red Feathers with his entirety for this moment after all.


    What was a little below half a hundred prisoners in the time he left with Mistress Seol to enter the tourney was now reduced to just forty in the few days he was away.


    But it was enough for the plan Osias formed together with the aid of Mistress Seol as a reward.


    It was entirely reliant on Osias and his fellow ragged prisoners. The House of Silk will not aid him in the act, only afterward when Osias is gone ¡ª either by dying foolishly or succeeding and leaving this damned place conjured by the Ordeals.


    Thankfully, outside of the House of Silk¡¯s influence and power, other factors came into play to Osias¡¯s advantage.


    Primarily¡­ the war.


    The war effort was something Osias didn¡¯t know entirely, even with the help of Mistress Seol. Still, the fighting on the outskirts of the territory of the Golden Hawk was said to have become increasingly more violent and numerous. Although not on the scale of entire armies meeting in an open plain, it was slowly becoming as such again.


    Perhaps the probing of the Red Feathers will reach Qussai in a few years. But a few years was too long. For too long he has stayed here¡­ and besides, the fact that bloody skirmishes were being fought has already helped him enough.


    It was a boon¡­ slowly more and more First Ordeals were moving out of the prison and the Black Warden was less present at his prison keep. The military needed all the power they could obtain.


    As time passed and their worries shifted towards the outside of the war, the tales of Visalros The Immortal were only left among the prisoners. Everyone who he had faced and survived was outside fighting their own battles¡­


    They¡¯ve forgotten how many First Ordeals he slaughtered on the rolling plains outside and atop the walls.


    They¡¯ve forgotten how monstrous his followers would fight in his name.


    ¡®Did these guards believe Surtil wasn¡¯t someone who could beat them? Or perhaps they didn¡¯t know how strong he truly was from just word of mouth¡­¡¯ Osias wondered, curious where the confidence in the guards derived from. Did they think that even the strongest of the Ordinaries would be just that ¡ª an Ordinary who couldn¡¯t fight across Ordeal levels?


    ¡­Darkly smiling to himself, Osias¡¯s demeanor wasn¡¯t befitting a prisoner covered in filth, grime, and waste.


    Looking outside, he found a handful of First Ordeals handing out the rotted rations he had become so used to over the years. With a sigh, he walked up and resumed his usual place by receiving the food from behind the bars and handing it to the others.


    The guards treated him better now, especially with the rumors of the House of Silk vowing to free him. No longer did they degrade, spit, and beat him as they did so blatantly before. Even the other prisoners weren¡¯t subjected to such treatment ever since his return from the tourney.


    Sighing to himself, Osias passed along the last of the trays of food to the other prisoners and the guards shuffled their way out of the metal gate that served as the barrier between the cells and the chamber.


    Osias ate silently as the others prattled eagerly with newfound fervor. Ever since Osias came bearing the news of his victory and the implications of it¡­ smiles returned to their faces.


    ¡°Hehe,¡± Osias laughed giddily to himself between bites, looking over the crowd and ragged men.


    ¡®Fourty¡­ fourty!¡¯ He thought excitedly.


    Forty of the most stubborn and broken of them who¡¯ve been tortured and sharpened beneath the filth of the Black Keep were ready to fight, even if they died doing so. It was already a better fate than the rest of the hundred who¡¯d died so pitifully before them, their rotted corpses still lingering on the other end of their cell.


    Osias knew that the essence that flows through their bodies thus far along with their stronger dispositions have all allowed them, along with himself, to survive all this time. Sickness, hunger, torture, labor¡­ too many things have they overcome to simply fall back to.


    Their sunken skin and flesh, beady watchful eyes with trickles of madness, ghastly hands with fingers that warped around their spoons like the hilts of swords¡­ they wanted to fight more than anything.


    But in the next moment, his musing was cut short as someone addressed him:


    ¡°Visalros, I¡¯m sorry, but I told that fool Sarzal to wait. To imagine that he thought the guards wouldn¡¯t notice him undergoing an Ordeal in the cells¡­ how many times have we tried such a trick?¡±


    ¡®Ah, then there''s that¡­ a shame.¡¯  Osias thought with a frown, he was already expecting such a thing to occur the moment Sarzal returned from being picked alongside his friend. But to try and undergo an Ordeal for newfound strength ¡ª enough to break free, slaughter, and kill¡­ Sarzal was a fool to think such a thing could work in his favor.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, his mind broke at last when his blade took the life of Erin. You know how long they¡¯ve been together ¡ª they were from the same village if I recall?¡± Osias solemnly, recalling each of their stories.


    ¡°Aye.¡± Another of his followers nodded slowly.


    Even from behind this follower of his, many more agreed silently as they continued to scarf down their putrid meals.


    ¡­After spending more than three years together, eventually, they all came to know each other more than simply names and such. Afterall, what else would they talk about when trying to teach Osias their language?


    Their homes. Their loved ones. How the Red Feathered militants peeled the very tools they held to farm with and replaced them with spears and swords. It was such a common tale between each of them. Very few ever wished to be a soldier, a warrior.


    So many of them lived humble lives, devoid of violence and strife. And for Osias to hear how much they¡¯ve seemed to have changed from their past was something that reminded Osias of what Kiran said long ago. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Looking at the crowd of prisoners before him, Osias somberly recalled Kiran¡¯s voice:


    ¡®It is said that there is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a spear and send him forth to battle, the beast stirs. The taste of blood is all it takes to wake it ¡ª either their own or their enemies.¡¯


    Then with a ever so faint smile, he whispered to himself:


    ¡°But for us who were born from blood, the beast is born awake.¡±


    ¡®Kiran¡­ Myra, and Clan Grimm as well. I wonder how much time has passed ever since I¡¯ve undergone my Ordeal.¡¯ His thoughts shifted to¡­ home. It''s been too long. So much so that Osias has gone to think that this Ordeal is far from usual. From its time to his experiences, it bewildered him.


    But regardless he was to survive and return, just like these fellow prisoners.


    It struck a deep calling within Osias when he realized many of them fought for the same reason he did ¡ª to survive and return. To return to a life with people they didn¡¯t know of their fates. Did the ones they loved so dearly forget them after so long? Did they perish while separated? Will they be remembered upon their return?


    Such thoughts were bound to arise after so long, but Osias was sure that home was somewhere that lit up the minds and hearts of these forsaken prisoners ¡ª him as well.


    ¡®Lucky bastards¡­ even after I leave, Mistress Seol will house them all until the war is over. At least those who didn¡¯t die.¡¯ Osias recalled another part of his reward. It was the guarantee that as long as their end was completed, then she¡¯d handle the rest.


    ¡­Osias didn¡¯t mention Mistress Seol¡¯s plan because he didn¡¯t know exactly what it was either. It was just that the daughter of the Black Warden was to come before him from within the palace. Bloodshed was bound to occur and lives would be lost ¡ª both of the guards and the prisoners. Such was the nature of fighting for freedom.


    But although the plan of their escape was something he wasn¡¯t certain about¡­ he was certain that the Black Warden was to die. There was no other way ¡ª both Osias¡¯s completion of the Ordeal and the survival of the other prisoners.


    Mistress Seol couldn¡¯t protect the remaining prisoners unless the Black Warden was dead ¡ª the one person in power who couldn¡¯t allow their change in status to free men under the care of the courtesans. Although her House was quite lofty and powerful, they couldn¡¯t kill a person from the inner palace themselves without reason.


    And as long as the forces under the House of Silk enter the vicinity soon enough before either the military or the palace guards come¡­ they¡¯ll suceed and live. However, Osias felt as though the House of Silk also wished to play both sides in order to preserve their own House in case the Red Feathered armies ended up decimating those of the Golden Hawk. Protecting the few survivors of the Red Feathers could end up saving themselves¡­


    ¡°Visalros, how will we fight with¡ª¡± One follower said, before lifting a shackled hand, ¡°These?¡±


    ¡°Ah, our chains? I can handle them when the time comes, but my benefactor must¡¯ve known about them in advance. I wouldn¡¯t care for such things¡­ we just need to be ready when the time comes.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­ then tell me, how do we fare against those in the tourney you fought in? It was all Ordinaries, correct?¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Osias brought a hand to his head in thought, recalling all the competition he came to face before he responded, ¡°You all would¡¯ve done well. You are not the absolute best, but you are all a match for most families of renown. In some ways, better. Besides, I¡¯d prefer no other than you all to fight alongside.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Even those military families? Then if the Red Feathers come to save us, we¡¯ll leave Qussai with great fortune! Do you think I could become a Jentys?


    ¡°I¡¯m sure the First Ordeal would not pose any trouble.¡±


    ¡°You hear that, Uron?¡± A follower said, slapping the back of another beside them before saying, ¡°A Jentys, Visalros said! We can bring back wealth for our village after scouring Qussai. Officers of the army as well if we complete an Ordeal on the return¡­ do you think Pia would marry me then?¡±


    Osias squinted at the shabby looking prisoner, Yoren. He had a crooked nose that moved too easily from the many beatings he suffered from, even playing a joke at times by pressing it flat against his face. But most notable of his appearance was the round and oddly lighthearted eyes that spoke of his brightness despite the dreary cell they made home in.


    ¡°Is this Pia so pretty you remember her so, Yoren?¡± Osias asked, cutting through Uron and Yoren''s laughter.


    ¡°Aye, Visalros. I vowed to return to her when the militants brought me behind their wagons that day, a pretty little thing she was!¡± Yoren said, bringing a thin hand behind his ear to scratch before adding in a less joyous tone:


    ¡°Though¡­ she may have been wedded to the village chief¡¯s son.¡±


    In the next moment, many chuckles and muted laughs sounded all around Yoren.


    ¡°You all don¡¯t think she has forgotten of me and has¡­¡± Yoren¡¯s words trailed off as the muted laughs slowly raised in volume.


    ¡°Y-Yoren¡­ maybe she thinks of you while she¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Uron, don¡¯t say it. I don¡¯t want to think of it ¡ª I¡¯ll gut the village chief¡¯s son when we return because of you.¡±


    ¡°Bahaha!¡±


    Osias laughed alongside them all, but then a stray thought arose from within and he suddenly stopped.


    Yoren noticed Osias¡¯s reaction and called out:


    ¡°Hey, Visalros¡­ don¡¯t tell me you have such a woman waiting for you? Was there any other bastard who would move to her in your absence? Please, tell me you¡¯re the same.¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t think so. Perhaps some baker or cook would but¡­ no, maybe a warrior?¡±


    Nodding his head and humming in agreeance, Yoren responded pensively:


    ¡°Mm, mm. Warriors indeed, they¡¯re the ones who I¡¯d never trust. Alas, my dear Pia is not one to welcome such another man in her heart!¡±


    Uron perked his head up from his side and pointed at Yoren:


    ¡°Jentys or not, she wouldn¡¯t take a beggar over a chief¡¯s son you fool.¡±


    ¡°Beggar? Bah, you¡¯re lucky the guards have yet to choose the both of us to fight it out!¡±


    Osias had a faint smile as he watched the duo play and mock each other¡­ such times were rare below the keep, but were welcome. However, a quiet jangle of metal ¡ª not the same as shaking chains and shackles sounded.


    He wasn¡¯t alone in hearing this, and the laughs quieted as they all caught on to the familiar noise behind the gate to their dark chamber¡­ but they also realized something else.


    ¡®At this time?¡¯ They all suddenly thought together unknowingly.


    The metal gate creaked and jittered, cutting through the many voices behind the gate. And like any other time it has opened and closed, the guards came pouring inside. Ordinaries upon Ordinaries and First Ordeals speckled the lot.


    ¡®Twenty First Ordeals and more than twice of that in Ordinaries.¡¯ Osias noted with a lowered gaze, his hands slowly brought some rotted food to his mouth.


    Although there used to be many more¡­ as the prisoners died, the number of Path Finders used as guards dwindled as the manpower was consolidated into the military. Even now, twenty First Ordeals were something unfounded in Osias¡¯s opinion. Each of them could lead quite the company of troops on their own, or be of greater help to their armies.


    The guards knew this as well ¡ª it was something Osias had mocked them over and over again, earning him quite a number of beatings. To guard just forty Ordinaries who¡¯ve been starved and weakened¡­ their pride as First Ordeals was being admonished for partaking in such a lowly duty. But it seems the hate of the Black Warden has kept them in line all this time.


    It seems the Black Warden has even used his position under the Golden Duskveil General to keep Osias and the others suffering below his keep until they¡¯ve all died according to Mistress Seol.


    However, one of Osias¡¯s questions was also answered upon his success in the tourney ¡ª how does the Black Warden enter the palace despite being so¡­ low in status, even after following the general?


    But upon Mistress Seol¡¯s bedchambers, Osias was informed that his deed of killing Surtil was something he shouldn¡¯t have done if he was to remain in Qussai.


    That was because the Golden Duskveil General is currently ascending into their Fourth Ordeal.


    So if Osias doesn¡¯t kill the Black Warden before the general awakens¡­ he is going to die.

 Chapter 59 - The Fall

    Aeron¡¯s head perked up disturbingly, feeling something¡­ something disrupting the settled mist.


    ¡°Henrik, stop the clansmen.¡±


    With a nod, Henrik used one of his Ordeal Abilities ¡ª the reason why he was a trusted and invaluable aid to the clan head.


    The clansmen tasked with being the vanguard and scouts quickly reformed and merged with the main moving company.


    Henrik also was able to improve these gallant clansmen¡¯s ability to discern and roam the treacherous embrace of the Longing Mist.


    ¡°Count!¡± Aeron bellowed, graveness rippling through the crowds of men and women.


    ¡°All¡¯s well under Vare.¡±


    ¡°Mine as well.¡±


    ¡°I have all my men.¡±


    Assuring himself and the others that something wasn¡¯t amiss, Aeron¡¯s eyes narrowed as he peered far ahead.


    ¡°Brace!¡± Aeron barked, his bearing changed, and drew his broadsword and shield as within a mere blink he was almost at the front.


    Despite how chaotic the sudden orders were, the hunting company was trained and disciplined ¡ª clansmen tempered against the horrors of the Outer Valleys.


    Quickly, Path Finders who possessed defensive capabilities mounted the front alongside their dear clan head.


    As they all formed into their positions and formations, they braced themselves despite the eerie quietness that muffled everything under the mist.


    Nothing happened despite Aeron¡¯s orders, but they weren¡¯t foolish enough to disregard the senses of a Third Ordeal.


    And as if the mist agreed with their clan head, a quiet ruble spread throughout the ground.


    Small stones lifted and increasingly became more violent as¡­ something approached.


    Then cutting through the air, indescribable sounds and roars reached their ears and everyone tightened their grips in anticipation.


    The sudden sound was enough to tell them¡­ whatever was approaching wasn¡¯t simply a single beast, no matter how powerful.


    It was an entire onslaught, a wave of such creatures of the mist.


    ¡®Third Ordeals¡­ if it was just one, then¡ª¡¯


    Suddenly, the mist parted with a quick billow and a humongous tree broke through the murky sky ¡ª at least for those who can see it.


    Aeron didn¡¯t respond with any words, but from his shield a piercing shriek wailed and cried out, and a monstrous mix of a mishappened woman and steel clawed out of its surface.


    Heavy steps sounded and with a ferocious snarl lept up to meet the approaching towering tree, smashing it to mere splinters.


    Another deformed person ¡ª a man of lustrous steel emerged from within his shield. It was a sinewy and stout man with an arm too large it was as though it was made into a cudgel as he dragged it across the ground.


    Then another.


    And another.


    Within seconds, ten fearsome amalgamations ¡ª crude and vile-looking crosses between beast, human, and steel now joined the ranks of Clan Grimm.


    Yet, Aeron himself didn¡¯t know if all his strength was enough to hold back what was approaching.


    A vast cacophony of screeches and bestial roars sounded and the trampled earth was groaning impossibly close to them, yet the mist hadn¡¯t cleared enough for the First Ordeals to see.


    Aeron eyed Henrik wearily, then gave a curt nod.


    ¡°Fire!¡±


    From behind, all the ranged Path Finders fired whatever they could into the obscured fray of mist. From spires of stone, titanic arrows and bolts, arcs of lightning, and even a wailing circular blade, they all knew their attacks struck true from the thuds and cries of beasts.


    But before anyone could revel in their kills, the first line of beasts came.


    A monstrous-looking beast, much worse than anything Aeron could produce crashed into the stalwart front line.


    Feet dug into the earth. Metal and steel creak. Men and women groaned in response.


    But it held, and the first line of many crumpled before their shields.


    Somehow, Aeron was able to place much of his ten steel amalgamations to face against the most harrowing of the beasts in advance ¡ª mainly due to his senses as a Third Ordeal able to peer into the mist much further than the rest of Clan Grimm.


    He even funneled much of the horde to fit accordingly to the strength best fit of his clansmen.


    ¡°Hold!¡±  He sharply yelled before issuing another command, ¡°Kill!¡±


    The command sliced through the air, igniting a frenzy amongst Clan Grimm. In a seamless, disciplined movement, the warriors surged forward from behind a wall of shields.


    Their formation remained tight as madness and fury took hold, yet their movements were precise, honed by endless drills and battles. Each step echoed with purpose as they descended on the beasts like a wave crashing upon the shore.


    Swords slashed through thick, sinewy flesh. Axes cleaved into limbs with sickening crunches, and spears jabbed forward, plunging deep into the side of the creatures. Blood sprayed through the air, staining the ground as the clan warriors bellowed with roars.


    The stalwart shieldmen stepped forward, their movements synchronized from years of discipline outside the walls. Thick shields, reinforced with Path Beast remains, locked together with a resonant clang, creating an impenetrable wall.


    The formation shifted with precision, disciplined to perfection, as they braced themselves for the retaliation of the remaining beasts.


    ¡°Kill!¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    In the next moment, Aeron rushed ahead deep into the fray of beasts¡­ his monstrous pawns were best brave the brunt, easing the pressure of the first wave before they followed him into combat.


    Aeron was like an indomitable stone in the river, unassailable despite the raging current.


    He fought grounded as one with the earth below his feet as he steadily cut down the beasts, no matter if they were of the First or Second Ordeal.


    It was best this way¡­ he has refined his War Art to encompass this way of battle ¡ª to fight as a group, a formation with just himself. He controlled every one of his steel-like pawns as though they were his fingers.


    ¡®I¡¯ll kill it before it tramples upon the company¡­¡¯ He thought before lunging ahead towards a particularly weak Third Ordeal Path Beast.


    It was best to decimate the weakest first if he couldn¡¯t find what was leading this amount of different Path Beasts into such a vast horde.


    ¡®What could inspire¡­ or force such beasts to gather? Not so far from our fortress as well.¡¯


    Dodging a blade-like and titanic arm, he had the rest of his pawns butcher the creature as he occupied its attention, quickly dismantling it.


    ¡®We can¡¯t retreat¡­ the moment we turn around, even if all the Second Ordeals and myself hold the rear there are still too many. We¡¯ll cut down as muc¡ª¡±


    ¡°Urk!¡±


    But then one of his pawns couldn¡¯t dodge in time and was battered below the ground.


    Another Third Ordeal appeared, wielding a cudgel the size of a humble home cleaved through the air as it let out a guttural roar.


    It was an ugly thing, fat and horrendously large with mishappen growths all over it, Aeron began to have his other pawns rip into its leg, staggering the giant.


    The cudgel swung again, but Aeron was already prepared for it and moved himself and his pawns accordingly.


    Without a moment''s rest, the warped face of a screeching woman jutted from his shield towards the neck of the lumbering beast.


    Horrible deep wails sounded from the giant as the face took something more than mere flesh and blood from its bite.


    But Aeron would be a fool to not take advantage of its staggered lapse.


    And so he quickly dismantled and toppled the giant with the might of five steel pawns along with himself without another thought. The enraged giant waved its fat arms, but although its might and size were quite strong for its level, even possessing a weapon that fit its strengths¡­ it wasn¡¯t a match for Aeron.


    However, Aeron wasn¡¯t satisfied with the kill. Lifting his gaze into the misty expanse, his eyes raised in shock as his eyes caught the glimpse of something he felt was too much for him. It was nothing more than the wisps of black, like the ends of a frayed cloak at the end of how far his eyes could peer into the mist, it disappeared as fast as it appeared.


    Murderous¡­ and malevolent. Just a slight gauging of its presence was enough for Aeron to immediately throw his pawns ahead of him before he roared something to his clansmen in order to save as many as he could from what he feared would happen with the appearance of such a being far away.


    ¡°Henrik! Sound the retreat! I¡¯ll cover the rear alongside with Second Ordeals.¡±


    Noticing the long-forgotten face of worry on the head of Clann Grimm, Henrik immediately understood that Aeron found something deadly enough with his senses as a Third Ordeal enough to retreat despite knowing the consequences of such a hastily made order.


    But he complied as usual, and he gave the order, eventually joining the line of Second Ordeals he relayed the intents of the Aeron to hold the rear.


    ¡®Just what did Aeron find?¡¯ Henrik wondered, bringing himself beside the other Second Ordeals as they braced themselves accordingly.


    From within the entire crowd of guards¡­ Osias found a bright presence that didn¡¯t belong in such a dreary and filthy place.


    ¡®The Black Warden¡¯s daughter? Is this the opportunity?¡¯ He thought.


    His mind was hiding a storm within as he tried to figure out what to do. It was sudden despite the few days of waiting. But his time was coming!


    ¡°My lady, pardon my insolence, but please¡­ your father would be furious with us if we allow you to continue any further.¡± A pleading voice sounded from one of the First Ordeals. Osias recognized this one as the one who took over the reins whenever the warden wasn¡¯t present.


    ¡°What is the matter? He¡¯ll no longer be a prisoner in the coming days anyway. There is no danger.¡± A soft voice sounded.


    Osias narrowed his eyes as he studied the girl in question ¡ª now being so close, only separated from him by bars of rusted metal and tens of armed and armored guards.


    She was an Ordinary, with a slightly chubby face and figure. She wore a dress of dark green unfitting for a trek below the Black Warden¡¯s keep.


    Round eyes and long curly golden hair, she reminded Osias of a plump peach in the summer.


    ¡°Ah! There he is! The champion of a hundred golden talons!¡± She said, her neck and eyes swiftly glazed over the many seated prisoners, landing on Osias who fronted them all right against the cells.


    ¡°My lady! That¡¯s too close for you.¡± A guard said, but it was a fruitless warning as she lifted her dress slightly in her dash towards the cells.


    ¡®Do I grab her now? Or when the cells ope¡ª¡¯


    ¡°Visalros the champion¡­ to think I can meet you first before the other ladies!¡± She said in a excited tone before turning to the First Ordeal guard at her side with a stern expression, ¡°Open the cell, bring him to me. I don¡¯t want to remain in such a place any longer. I told you all earlier that it would¡¯ve been easier if you brought him up rather than me having to walk in this¡­ filth.¡±


    ¡°Y-yes my lady.¡± A guard said with a sigh, opening the cell with a piercing creak. ¡°Visalros, come. You know this already.¡±


    Stepping to his feet with the rattling of his chains sounding, Osias rose to his full stature as he glared down at the guard. His hands were dirtied with the rotted food, and his face and body were once more covered in the filth of the prison. He reeked like a prison rat as they¡¯d called him, but he couldn¡¯t care less as his eyes met the guard.


    The guard¡¯s hair bristled and nervously laughed was half a titter and half a whimper ¡ª perhaps an attempt to calm himself as the other guards and the daughter of his lord watched him pull Osias out of the cell.


    And just as the armored hand reached for Osias¡¯s wrists where his shackle covered, Osias rejected his pull with a scornful face.


    ¡°Visalros, don¡¯t test me now.¡± The nameless guard hissed out quietly, tugging his wrists once more.


    But Osias withstood the weak pull of the guard once more.


    ¡°Hey! Visalros, don¡¯t think that whore would save you here. You¡¯re still a prisoner.¡± The guard said in a threatening whisper to not let his lady hear him.


    ¡°Morment! Just cut him a little¡­ did winning the tourney get to his head? Our lady¡¯s waiting you fool.¡± The First Ordeal beside the Black Warden¡¯s daughter harshly yelled as more guards fitted through the cell¡¯s open entrance to deal with Osias¡¯s disobedience.


    ¡®Three First Ordeals and ten Ordinaries.¡¯ Osias counted those who entered the cell.


    And suddenly, his eyes changed and a wicked smile stretched on his face.


    In the next moment, the weak chains that held together his shackles were split apart by the force of his hands. Faster than any of them could react, Osias clasped both of his hands above him in a swift motion into something akin to a hammer and roared as he pummeled the turned head of the First Ordeal guard into a bloody mess.


    Already realizing such a thing was bound to occur the moment something so unnatural occurred at this hour, Yoren pounced at an Ordinary guard with a snarl and wrapped his chains around the neck of the guard.


    And within moments¡­ chaos followed.


    Osias dashed with all his might, even cracking the worn down black stones below his feet, throwing the withered husk of the guard who not only died under a single blow but was also drained from Blood Reave in death at the closest First Ordeal guard with an impossible speed just as they struggled to unsheath their sword.


    But Osias swiped the blade from the side of the husk already and drew the well-made weapon as well as slashing it in a wicked arc in a single motion, beheading the flustered guard.


    ¡°Arm yourselves, brother!¡± He shouted with the rage of the enchained.


    ¡°You fools!¡± A sharp cry sounded from behind the cells as the guards scrambled in response to Osias¡¯s and the other prisoner¡¯s abrupt actions.


    It was uncalled for. All of them were obedient and weak all this time¡­ for years!


    Many of the other guards weren¡¯t as well equipped as usual, as their lady made such a spontaneous decision just as they were finished with their daily duties, ready to return to their homes.


    But Osias moved like a feral monster as now all three First Ordeal guards fell without warning. They were First Ordeals!


    The guards closest to the cells were now over their surprise, slowly shuffling the screaming lady who fell on the wet filth below her at the sight of blood and savage prisoners.


    ¡°Fight! Kill! This is our time! I¡¯ll lead you to the slaughter!¡± The champion named Visalros bellowed.


    ¡®Wait¡­ wait! This can¡¯t¡ª¡¯ Some of the guards thought in unison, just as they witnessed the leader of these prison rats raise the stolen blade.


    And before their eyes¡­ the rusted gate was split asunder under the wrath of his shackled hands.

 Chapter 60 - Wrath of The Deprived

    A wave of offensive Ordeal Abilities was used, yet none of them were potent enough ¡ª a common theme Osias has found amongst the weak First Ordeals. Only a few were potent enough to kill Osias unless he was foolish to not defend, yet Osias whisked through them all, even cutting down a giant the size of Kiran made of stone.


    ¡­To Osias¡¯s side, a fellow prisoner was stabbed with a spear in the belly, yet they viciously dragged the arm of the guard with unexpected strength and drove a scavenged knife right below the helmet to draw blood.


    ¡°Vi-Visalros!¡± The prisoner gargled out, bringing back memories for Osias of the many who died uttering his name in this world.


    Shaking his head, Osias stepped forth, intent on breaking through the thin wave of guards who were still struggling to bring the flailing and manic lady toward the gate.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let him approach the lady, you useless lot! Wall! Warren, where¡¯s my wall?¡± A voice sounded, trying to grasp any semblance of unity amongst the crowd of guards.


    They were such an unorderly bunch in this situation that Osias could almost laugh. A few projectiles even hit their own before they made it across the low ceiling of their dark chambers. Even more so as some of the prisoners dove deep into the wave of guards ahead of Osias to sow even more chaos in their feral rampage.


    But just as Osias¡¯s stolen blade was about to behead a crippled Ordinary, a barrier of some sort that shone in an orange flare managed to block his blade. Alas, the barrier cracked and in another hammering blow it shattered and the guard fell before him.


    ¡®Quite potent, that ability.¡¯ Osias frowned, but nevertheless advanced to catch up with the others who were headed for the lady.


    ¡°Back! Back!¡± Piercing cries sounded from behind a few guards. The lady was astraught, flailing her plump arms and legs in the air and against the attempts of the guards to calm her down.


    The rabid and gleeful howls and roars of the prisoners who¡¯ve managed to kill and take some weapons and even advanced further than Osias as he was occupied against First Ordeals for them were almost an arm''s length away from the lady.


    ¡°Damn it all! Grab our lady and retreat! Someone call the warden or I¡¯ll have your head before he takes all of ours!¡±


    ¡­By now, Osias has slaughtered almost half of the First Ordeals and shattered the chains of many of his fellow prisoners to have them fight better.


    The numbers were in their favor as well¡­ they seemed to thrive in such dire straits, unlike the guards. Osias could sense it ¡ª the guard¡¯s essence and movements were erratic. They weren¡¯t expecting such a situation to occur while as for the prisoners¡­ blood and death were something they¡¯d all awaited.


    This was the time to return their suffering in chains tenfold as their immortal leader led them forward as he had always done for them.


    Unhindered, Osias abandoned his worn-down blade picked up a spear a little too small for his size, and rushed forth alongside the prisoners who were so close to the crying lady.


    He spotted a guard who was busy trying to defend himself, let alone his lady, against the ravenous and insidious blade style of the Red Sky that Osias imparted all of the prisoners with and he reared his arm back and threw it with thunderous might, impaling him through their aged leather armor and all.


    The guard was thrown back, knocking down a few others and in a blink, Osias¡¯s titanic figure lept past a row of prisoners and barrelled into the bewildered guards.


    Abdonning any sense of self-preservation, Osias braved the onslaught of weapons and charges when they regained their slight composures, but it was too late.


    They were spread too thin against the wild prisoners.


    Osias tightly clasped the ankle of the fallen and flailing lady with a sickening crunch. With all his strength he squeezed and likely broke her bones and he lobbed the crying lady behind him and over his head with a crazed snarl as swords and spears impaled and cut him.


    Supported by the other prisoners, they struck down the guards who tried to cut Osias down. Bringing a bleeding hand to their still-live bodies, Osias had a mad glint in his eyes as he hissed out:


    ¡°I¡¯ll be taking this!¡±


    Draining two guards with a hand burrowed in each, Osias disregarded their pleading screams as another prisoner slammed the tip of a spear into their heads, and Osias felt that he could take their blood essence faster with the loss of their conscious will.


    ¡°Forward! Kill them! Slaughter them! Take their lady and ravage her bloody!¡± A familiar voice bellowed somewhere beside Osias.


    Osias looked around, trying to spot the prisoner, but when he did¡­ he sullenly frowned.


    Finding the source, Osias found that it was Uron ¡ª a friend of the lighthearted Yoren crying tears over Yoren¡¯s corpse who hissed out such words. Letting go of his old friend¡¯s bloodied hand, Uron wiped away the streaming tears, smearing his face with Yoren¡¯s blood as he ran wildly, almost on all fours before pouncing onto an Ordinary guard.


    Gritting his teeth, Osias rushed ahead once more¡­ his task wasn¡¯t over with the capture of the Black Warden¡¯s daughter. He needed to preserve as many prisoners as he could to aid him in his final battle. He needed to rush ahead before they could close the gate. He needed to reach the courtyard the moment the Black Warden returned to his keep to deal with the ruckus.


    ¡®Will he be alone? Mistress Seol must¡¯ve accounted for this, right?¡¯ Osias thought, gutting another First Ordeal.


    Even though he was bleeding from a few wounds despite his heightened disposition, before he could even worry about such a thing¡­ he smiled to himself.


    He felt it.


    The unfathomable pull was getting closer. But it also meant he needed to hasten their assault.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± A dark chant began.


    Newfound fervor sounded, perhaps they were invigorated by the sight of the once lofty and mighty guards who tortured them for so long being cut down so easily.


    They were strong! Visalros, their immortal leader has taught them well!


    These guards who hadn¡¯t seen the same dreadful battles they¡¯ve seen weren¡¯t a match for them! This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Visalros!¡± Another collective roar sounded as they watched Osias crush another First Ordeal below his feet with a wet stomp.


    ¡°Close it! Hurry you fool! Forget the lady, we¡¯ll explain ourselves and fight later!¡± A guard bellowed from behind the gate.


    ¡®Damn!¡¯ Osias thought, quickly bending over to grab a fallen guard¡¯s corpse and hurling it at the gate.


    But it didn¡¯t do anything as a large orange barrier once more arose, blocking anything from wedging the gate from closing.


    Rushing ahead past a flurry of Ordeal Abilities and blades, Osias desperately tried to reach the end of the chamber, tbecause even he could not force such a heavy mass open¡­. They¡¯ll be sitting ducks for the Warden to slaughter when he¡¯s not blinded by rage, perhaps even using his position to garner the support of another Second Ordeal in caution.


    The great gate was quickly closing, but Osias was too far away to do a thing, even with his immense power and speed.


    ¡®No!¡¯


    The potent barrier still covered it¡­ and Osias couldn¡¯t hurl a body or anything else to gain another second. His head pounded as he thought of something to keep it open, but in the next moment the orange barrier shattered abruptly.


    ¡®What is this?¡¯ He thought, and then his head perked up as he heard cries from behind the gate.


    His pace never waned and he quickly approached as he stepped over the shattered shards of the orange barrier and pushed the gate wide open until he passed through into the grand hall that led into their chambers only to find a grand amount of blood and the dead bodies of the few guards who¡¯ve retreated enough to close the gate.


    Osias¡¯s steps slowed as his bare feet submerged into the blood, and his eyes traced to a single small sheet of blood-soaked silk atop the face of the guard Osias recognized as the one that led the others when the Black Warden wasn¡¯t present.


    Then, the same eerie method sounded in his ear¡­ the same voice no matter how quietly spoken reached so close to him.


    ¡°Visalros, my champion. This is all I can do, any more and the seers of the court would find my direct support. The Black Warden is coming, band together your brothers in chains. Remember, if you wish to free them, save them¡­ then you must kill the warden.¡± A soft voice whispered in his ear, sending a cold shiver down his back as he scowled.


    ¡®How much of this is a reward and how much of this is a scheme?¡¯ He wondered.


    Before he could think of continuing ahead, he heard ragged breaths approach from behind him and as he turned, a bloody hand reached around the gate.


    It was a fellow prisoner.


    ¡°Visalros¡­ there¡¯s only sixteen of our brothers left.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s enough. Quickly arm yourselves. Strip them of their best armor quickly ¡ª our fight is not over yet. What of the women?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s collapsed, and the moment the fighting stopped the others had already¨C¡±


    ¡°Enough, hurry them. The warden awaits¡­ you¡¯ve done well. Bring her along with us, we cannot fight against such a powerful Second Ordeal unless his mind is broken at the sight of his daughter in such a condition.¡±


    Pulling Uron closer, Osias said something in a low voice right beside his ear, earning a dark smile to twist Uron¡¯s frown as he returned inside once again.


    ¡®Home¡­ that¡¯s right, home. It gnaws at my being, the thought of home. I don¡¯t belong here.¡¯ Osias brooded, watching as the prisoner returned inside the chamber to gather the others.


    Eventually, the survivors filtered out, each of them armed to the teeth in mismatched armor and weapons. Seventeen Ordinaries including Osias were to meet a Second Ordeal, who was by no means weak, in battle.


    ¡°Visalros here¡¯s what you¡¯ve asked for¡­ also there¡¯s also this too ¡ª I don¡¯t think you noticed it on the guards, but here,¡± Uron stepped forth to the front to meet Osias. But in his hand was something Osias had long forgotten of¡­


    It was the great sword he once ripped from the hands of a slain First Ordeal all those years ago. The same one that he could alter the weight of in the midst of battle ¡ª an aspect of his guile and trickery in combat.


    Its length was already immense, but its thickness was enormous and made it unwieldy for anyone under the Second Ordeal¡­ and Osias could recall the large-statured First Ordeal who wasn¡¯t quite adept at wielding the sword and was killed because of it.


    The essence needed to imbue it to make it either as lightless as a feather or as heavy as a boulder was also something Osias had to adapt to even with his mighty reservoir. Knowing this in hindsight, this could¡¯ve been something made for Second Ordeals rather than the First.


    Lifting his gaze to the blood-caked Uron, Osias nodded and accepted the return of his once mighty symbol that led Uron and the scarce few who saw him in battle before their capture.


    ¡°If I had the armor of a Jentys on hand, then it¡¯ll just be like back then,¡± Osias said with a grim smile, resting his hand on the well-made hilt of the great sword.


    His tattoos still possessed quite an abundance of blood essence ¡ª something he made sure of throughout his imprisonment. He didn¡¯t waste any needless essence as he fought and trained the others. He scavenged the blood of all who died in the cells and who were unfortunate enough to be picked alongside him for a death match atop the courtyard.


    All so he can be sure his body will continue to be strengthened over time and have enough to account for the final battle that was bound to happen.


    ¡°Visalros, take these¨C¡± Another prisoner said, handing him a few sets and pieces of armor from the largest of the guards before returning another solemn smile, ¡°It¡¯s not the armor befitting a Jentys¡­ but you¡¯d look a little as you did back then.¡±


    Osias grunted as he adjusted the ill-fitting armor, the metal creaking with each movement. The filthy, dim hallway stretched ahead, damp stone walls glistening in the sparse torchlight. The wet, musty smell of rot filled the air, mixing with the stench of sweat and blood.


    Donning some mismatched greaves and a chest piece fastened a little too short for his size and a dirty helm still smeared in blood, Osias led the ragtag bunch out the hall with the sullied woman dragging in tow.


    ¡°Uron, to me,¡± Osias said with a turned head.


    The rushed clanking of boots and armor splashing atop the filthy hall sounded as Uron made his way beside Osias in the front.


    ¡°Take the daughter and stay behind the entrance. You¡¯ve been around war enough to judge how far a Second Ordeal¡¯s senses can reach¡­ go beyond it if you must.¡± Osias directed the red-eyed and maddened Uron.


    ¡°Not fight? But Visalros! I must¨C¡±


    ¡°No. Stay with the daughter, tie her down with something, and keep her there¡­ for if the battle reaches such a state, I want you to bring her out. Cause a lapse in the Black Warden¡¯s judgment ¡ª then, we¡¯ll strike to an end.¡±


    Uron wanted to protest in defiance, but after a quick second of thinking¡­ a wicked sneer was stretched across his lips, and with a nod, he returned to the rear.


    ¡®A little more¡­ just one more battle and I¡¯ll return.¡¯


    The shuffles of seventeen grizzled men walked, their steps echoing through the dim hall.


    ¡®Kiran¡­ Myra. Clann Grimm. My debts are many, and I haven¡¯t had the chance to even repay them all. But


    Osias trudged forward, great sword in hand. As they neared the end of the hall, Osias felt it again ¡ª the pull. A deep feeling that thrummed beneath his skin.


    The Black Warden, he must¡¯ve left the palace already.


    Strong, oppressive, like the air before a storm. The closer they got to the courtyard, the stronger the sensation became, like an invisible hand pressing down on his chest. The others couldn¡¯t feel it, but Osias knew. The warden was coming increasingly closer.


    ¡®I¡¯ll return and find Kiran. Reunited, there is nothing we cannot do. Perhaps we can make use of Clan Grimm and pay back my debt all the same time. Ah¡­ there¡¯s so much I need to tell him, what I¡¯ve gone through ¡ª what he¡¯s gone through.¡¯


    The door ahead groaned as they approached, creaking as Osias swung it open. A rush of cold, damp air hit them as they stepped into the Black Warden¡¯s courtyard, a desolate place shrouded in shadow. The sky above was a dull gray, barely visible beyond the towering walls. The courtyard was vast, with uneven stones beneath their feet, each crack and fissure glistening with the rain that had fallen earlier.


    ¡®There¡¯s just so many things I want to tell her¡­so many things I want to ask her.¡¯


    ¡°Everyone aside from Uron will wait with me,¡± Osias said grimly before turning his head towards the small back road that led to the territory of the Black Warden.


    ¡°He¡¯s coming.¡±

 Chapter 61 - Mastery and Death

    The courtyard was deathly quiet, the tension mounting as the prisoners waited. Osias stood at the front, his mismatched armor barely holding together, the weight of his great sword heavy at his side. Behind him, the ragtag group shifted uneasily, their eyes flickering to the grand stone entrance across the courtyard. It wouldn¡¯t be long now.


    Suddenly, the great iron doors groaned open, a deep metallic sound that echoed through the courtyard like a death knell. From the shadows emerged the Black Warden.


    He was a giant of a man, wrapped in dark, thickened plate armor that seemed to absorb the light. His face was hidden beneath a blackened helm, the only visible feature the gleam of his cold, gray eyes. His steps were slow and deliberate, each footfall sending small vibrations through the stone beneath them.


    Behind him, the dim light barely caught the trailing edges of his cape, which shifted like the shadows themselves. His gaze locked onto Osias and his band of prisoners.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this, rats?¡± The Warden''s voice boomed, low and thunderous. His eyes flicked over the scavenged armor the prisoners wore, armor that once belonged to his men¡ªhis prison guards, now quickly realizing their fates having been stripped by these scoundrels.


    He sneered beneath his helm.


    The silence lingered as Osias stood, unflinching, his jaw set. The Warden took another step forward, his eyes narrowing.


    ¡°And here I thought the House of Silk would stay out of my affairs,¡± the Warden muttered darkly, mostly to himself. "That wench mistress must have her hands in this." His voice dripped with disdain.


    ¡°They send their champion to sow chaos, and now I¡¯m rushed back to my keep by whispers of treachery. This reeks of them and their damnable courtesans ¡ª the moment my lord wasn¡¯t allowed into the inner chambers as we¡¯ve done so many times in the years past.¡±


    The Warden''s voice echoed in the empty courtyard as he continued to speak, the frustration evident. ¡°Fools think they can lay hands on my keep, my prison? No doubt their reach spreads even to the palace. Damn the House of Silk¡ª¡±


    Osias cut him off without hesitation, stepping forward and lifting a bundle in his hand, a handful of thick, light locks that had once belonged to the Warden¡¯s daughter.


    ¡®Thanks, Uron.¡¯


    ¡°Your daughter,¡± Osias said bluntly, his voice cold and cutting through the Warden¡¯s dark mutterings. ¡°She¡¯s not in her chambers, warden.¡±


    The Warden''s body went rigid. The shock was clear, even through his masked visage. His hand twitched toward the hilt of his saber, but his voice betrayed his fury.


    ¡°Another trick of those whores? His words trembled with rage as he stepped closer, the air around him seeming to darken.


    ¡°Wait¡­¡± He spat the words with venom, the crackling tension almost palpable.


    Without another word, the Warden reached to his side, drawing forth a massive saber from its sheath. It gleamed with a wicked silver, its edges sharp and menacing, a deadly contrast to the golden blade Osias had seen before in the hands of Surtil. This one was more vicious and darker in its intent.


    The prisoners behind Osias shifted, sensing the danger, but Osias remained still. The saber in the Warden¡¯s hands felt as though it thrummed with power, cutting the very air as he brought it forward. He didn¡¯t call for the city guards, nor the palace sentries¡ªthis was personal. It seemed that upon closer study, the locks in Osias¡¯s hands weren¡¯t a ploy.


    With a guttural growl, the Black Warden lunged at Osias, calling upon his great saber arcing through the air with lethal precision towards the rough formation of the prisoners.


    Osias immediately deposited much of his reservoir into the great sword to increase it¡¯s weight to its utmost, and ignited the rest to strengthen his body to brace.


    A brutal clang sounded, even a grunt of surprise surfaced from the irked warden at an Ordinary who managed to stop him for just a second.


    Osias barely managed to parry, the force of the strike sending a shockwave up his arm. His body ached from the fight before, and his muscles burned, but there was no room for hesitation now. He gritted his teeth and surged forward, leading the charge as the prisoners descended from behind him, armed with nothing but scavenged gear and desperation.


    ¡°Kill the coot, enjoy his daughter after for all they¡¯ve done!¡±


    ¡°For Minos!¡±


    The prisoners struck with a vicious flurry as coordinated as they could, but in an instant, something impossibly black wrapped around the nightless plate armor of the Black Warden rendering their attacks futile.


    ¡®He¡¯s a brute.¡¯


    Picking back to his feet, Osias charged ahead, his sword aimed at the less protected chinks and gaps in the warden¡¯s armor as the others continued their onslaught like a wave of steel. They had to overwhelm the warden with both numbers and intensity.


    ¡­The Black Warden¡¯s weapon style was something both brutish and rigid ¡ª encapsulating a slight connection to the premises of the Red Sky¡¯s style, but much different in its techniques. It was much more uncompromising and less erratic.


    Steadily taking the brunt of attacks relying on the defensive Ordeal Ability he possesses, weaving its usage into the rhythms Osias tried to fight through.


    ¡®He¡¯s strong. Far from Kiran¡¯s strength, but strong enough to not be threatened while being surrounded by sixteen pseudo First Ordeals.¡¯Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    A moment later, Osias lept from behind the cover of his followers and his swift and giant edge shot downwards at the Black Warden''s head from a cloud of risen dust.


    Yet right before his blade met the both the black protective Ordeal Ability and the thick armor, Osias drained his entire reservoir into his great sword, using the force of the swing to both cut and slam the Black Warden.


    A crushing ring sounded and the ground below their feet trembled. The eerie veil-like cover shattered into nightless shards as both Osias and the warden was thrown back from the monstrous blow.


    His tattoos pooled into his reservoir, quickly filling it with his abundance of essence ¡ª something it seems he¡¯ll need because through the backs of his followers¡­ the warden didn¡¯t look too affected.


    However, Osias observed too soon as he saw trickles of blood spilling from beneath the jagged helm.


    Just as Osias was to lead another attack, the nightless veil that protected the Black Warden changed ¡ª and it felt as though the dark courtyard shifted. Like their shadows themselves screamed and groaned at the onset of the warden.


    ¡°And here¡­ I wished you vile Red Feathers would suffer longer.¡±


    ¡°Still thinking of our imprisonment when we have your daughter?¡± Someone beside Osias laughed out, hiding their nervousness.


    ¡°Visalros¡­ engage again?¡± Another hushed whisper asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but what else can we do? I¡¯ll lead, only three of you follow this time.¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t like this motionless warden. It was frightening, even more so than usual. He felt immense pressure pressing down on him by the warden¡­ and even though the brief exchange was enough to instill a little confidence in both him and his band of prisoners, a Second Ordeal Path Finder wasn¡¯t an enemy to be taken lightly.


    Looking to his side, Osias found three others ¡ª valiant and skilled as they could be in the conditions they were provided. Rats of the cells they were¡­ ferocious ones at that.


    Perhaps these were the most bloodthirtsy or foolhardy among them to follow first, but Osias didn¡¯t complain.


    Inhaling deeply, Osias poised himself and imbued more essence into his great sword to make it lighter for the charge.


    ¡°Behind ¡ª tear his back open!¡± One of the three coldly hissed, circling around.


    Osias brought his sword up again to do another one of his dreadful blows that used an immense amont of essence to give weight to his weapon.


    The nearest of the three timed their attack along with Osias, bringing a spiked hammer behind them before wickedly lashing it towards the Black Warden¡¯s side.


    ¡°A shame¡­ I was welcoming all of you to die in a single stroke!¡± The still warden cackled below their black helm.


    And suddenly the dark veil pooled beneath the knelt warden, spreading like a shadow on the ground.


    ¡°Back!¡± Osias bellowed, shifting the weight of his great sword to be as light as it could before letting go and using a free hand to nab the scruff of the closest follower away from the black pool.


    Darting his eyes to the other two unfortunate enough to enter the black veil, Osias watched as the pools rose up into spikes and blades as they impaled the two.


    The sharp points and edges cut and dismantled the two into a bloody mess, each cut slid thorugh their armor, flesh and bone with such ease.


    Osias suddenly felt dangerously cold ¡ª unknowingly, the others did as well.


    ¡®But he¡¯s not moving¡­ can he only choose between attack and defend using that black veil at a time?¡¯


    ¡°To me.¡± Osias huffed out as the remaining band of prisoners made a ring around the warden.


    Shaking his thoughts aside, he focused on deciphering the limits of this insidious black veil that the Black Warden seemed to have been named from.


    ¡®I wonder¡­ what would Kiran do in my place? Without a means to heal from such wounds, would he still brave the black veil? Ordinary projectiles wouldn¡¯t work against such a foe either with their amount of strength ¡ª perhaps Osias, but the warden would only have to counter a single blow rather than the onslaught of numbers.¡¯


    ¡°You¡­ you can¡¯t move with such an attack?¡± Osias suddenly blurted out, ¡°I must say, for a Second Ordeal, to be so wary of Ordinaries is something astounding to me.¡±


    ¡°All the same as you meet your end ¡ª with myself or you all coming forward.¡± The Black Warden responded with spite, suddenly withdrawing the black pool below his feet back to cover his armor.


    And with a single breath, the warden lunged forward to meet Osias once again in a brutal clash of steel.


    ¡®So it is a choice¡­ but then again, he may be plotting for the moment we all gather close to him before he pools the veil below again.¡¯


    ¡°Three more! Slaughter this wretched warden!¡± Osias commanded, braving a heavy blow with trembling arms.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Plea¡ª¡±


    ¡°Cease your pleading¡­ I''ll stsrt cutting again.¡±


    Uron was seated against the dark stone walls that made the hall that connected to the filthy chambers they called home for years. He tied the warden¡¯s daughter with some spare cloth ripped from those they just massacred inside ¡ª the dirty stench still hled thick in the air as it wafted outwards.


    She was in a miserable state. Her face beaten until red and purple with clear stomp marks on the back of her head. Her well made dress was torn and made dirty from both the hands of their brothers and perhaps her squirming on the prison keep¡¯s grounds.


    Uron¡¯s blade lay rested against his shoulder ¡ª a comfortable thing it was despite how brief the time he had it was¡­ having scavenged it from a First Ordeal he crushed with his shackled hands.


    ¡®Like a spades handle, right Yoren?¡¯


    But before his longing thoughts continued for another second¡­ he felt it before he heard it.


    A quiet rumble that shook the walls and ground ever so slightly. The muted whimpers and raspy breath of the samnable warden¡¯s daughter ssounded in response.


    ¡®He''s here¡­¡¯


    Stepping to his feet, Uron grunted as he realised how tired he was. Although he wasn''t the most blessed with essence, the grueling training the military and Visalros has imposed on him was enough for him to be much more efficient then he ever was with his control.


    ¡®Ah¡­ she can''t stand.¡¯ He thought, throwing a glance at her legs and feet.


    Suddenly the warm glint in his eyes turned eerily cold and dark as the memories of what an entire lifetime ago was pushed aside. Uron tightly clasped her bare ankle and began to drag her through the hall ¡ª closer to the entrance where the rest of his brother''s were fighting.


    Eventually, the two of them came dangerously close to the entrance and that was where Uron set the daughter down against a wall. It was far enough where an Urotys or Second Ordeal could sense like Visalros commanded him to.


    ¡°Stay, or do you want me to cut a leg to make sure?¡± He hissed to the tear and grime ridden face below him.


    Taking her erratic nodding as a proper answer, he slowly shuffled out to the entrance and stepped a single foot in the courtyard as he studied the raging battle.


    But in the next moment, his eyes narrowed and his heart sank as his gaze crossed to the litter of bodies on the ground.


    ¡®No, Uron¡­ focus on what is important.¡¯


    Lifting his chin, his eyes met the back of their valiant leader, Visalros, an Ordinary just like him.


    Although¡­ they could be the furthest thing apart from each other. Visalros was a leader, whether his driven mind knew or not.


    He was the strongest of all the prisoners, yet he starved and ate what little scraps were given to him just like they all did. He alone took it upon himself to give what possible rites and respect to their fallen brothers ¡ª even using his Innate Ability to put them to complete rest. He taught them and nurtured their strength in turn for something as small as language. He cut their chains and fought to free them.


    ¡­So Uron couldn''t disappoint such a man.


    A heavy ring sounded from the clash of steel as Visalros along with a handful of their shackled brothers ripped their blades against a heavy mass of black armor. But only a few of the dreadful blows could even pass the elite guard of the Second Ordeal, and even less could shatter that black veil outside.


    Yet, their leader¡¯s great sword struck true like a monster of the Ordinary.


    Visalros''s long hair was dirty, and his face was strained. He was cut and prices of his scavenged armor was ruined already, but he fought with victory in sight.


    ¡°Back!¡± Visalros screamed, directing their brothers away from the Black Warden.


    There, Uron watched as Visalros lept to his side to push the nearest brother away from something ominously black that spilled from the Black Warden¡¯s armor.


    ¡®I see¡­ so he can''t move in that move? Is that why he donned such thick armor ¡ª to cover when he couldn¡¯t defend himself with his Ordeal Ability?¡¯ Uron thought.


    It also seems that such an offensive move was something that Visalros and their brothers have expeiranced before by the way they''ve reacted, only a few were even grazed before they the Black Warden huffed in annoyance before withdrawing the pool to cover his armor once more.


    Uron¡¯s mind was something he was proud of, and out of him and Yoren, he was the smarter one¡­ definitely more than that witty fool.


    ¡®Perhaps thats why I lived longer than you, friend.¡¯


    Stifling a wistful smile, he knew what his next action would be, and then he quickly headed back inside for the Black Warden¡¯s daughter.

 Chapter 62 - Take All You Have

    Osias grunted heavily. Six out of the sixteen have died under the Black Warden¡¯s hands.


    After the first time, the warden used his black veil to strike and kill instead of protect, Osias couldn¡¯t find the chance to relay someone to retreat and inform Uron. Not only did all of them have to engage, but Osias couldn¡¯t spare a single second away from the battle ¡ª so all he could do was hope Uron was able to figure out the right opportunity himself.


    Warden was monstrously powerful. True enough, he was of high standing in the military, an elite.


    After trading blows and exchanges, Osias found that the warden¡¯s essence control followed a sort of rhythm, a delicate cadence of his control woven into his weapon style.


    ¡°I was looking for the opportunity to strike down that House of whores¡­ although you¡¯re an Ordinary, you serve the Head Mistress. This offense is enough to bring their audacity down for years.¡± The Black Warden suddenly hissed, likely probing Osias for his relation with the House of Silk.


    Hefting his light sword in the air, Osias maneuvered around his followers before delivering a crushing slash past the assault of the flurry of steel.


    The Black Warden staggered as Osias unleashed as much weight as he could muster from his essence resevoir before disengaging to wait for his tattoos to fill him once more.


    ¡°Kill!¡± The prisoners bellowed as several of them lashed their blades against the veiled armor.


    ¡°Back!¡± Osias commanded from behind, bracing for another attack from the veil or a swift lunge to strike down Osias in the brief time he needed to recover.


    His followers obliged, but just as Osias prepared for another round of this same sequence, he noticed one who remained inside the pooling darkness below the warden.


    ¡°Wai¡ª¡±


    Suddenly, the prisoner who wielded a great hammer with a bloody spike at its end screamed, ¡°Vislaros!¡± before slamming it against the Black Warden¡¯s temple with enough force to knock off the unveiled helm.


    ¡°Cretin!¡± The Black Warden suddenly bellowed, immediately severing the arms of the prisoner a little too late then raising a black blade that impaled the back of the prisoner¡¯s head in an instant.


    ¡®Is it because he didn¡¯t expect one of us to attack in his pool after evading it so many times?¡¯ Osias quickly wondered as he looked at the crazed, but satisfied bloody face of the fallen prisoner.


    The prisoner¡¯s body fell limp, crashing to the dusty stone floor with a sickening thud. Blood pooled quickly beneath him, a stark reminder of the Black Warden''s lethality¡­ It was a shame that they were slowly being shaved down in numbers ¡ª people he came to know for years as they struggled to the very end.


    ¡®To the very end.¡¯


    Osias growled under his breath, his eyes flicking to the fallen hammer as the Warden stood tall, the dark blade still lodged in the prisoner¡¯s skull. The Warden, helmetless now, exposed his snarling face, contorted in rage and painted with streaks of blood. His silver saber gleamed in the torchlight, the same cruel glow that had ended so many lives under his command.


    The Warden sneered but said nothing, his breathing heavy, and Osias seized the moment. His tattoos pulsed once more, sending a flood of essence surging through his limbs. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready for one final push.


    He charged.


    The Warden swung his blade wide, the silver arc cleaving the air as he tried to catch Osias mid-stride. But this time, Osias was ready. He ducked low, feeling the wind of the saber¡¯s swing pass just above his head, and rolled beneath the Warden¡¯s guard. In an instant, Osias was behind him.


    With a feral roar, Osias swung his blade with all his might, aiming for the Warden¡¯s exposed back. His sword connected a little past the black veil, shattering it against his edge ¡ª the force reverberating through his arms as the blade bit deep into the armor.


    ¡®Blood!¡¯ He screamed inwardly, before immediately relishing in the rapture of Blood Reave.


    Finally, the Warden howled in pain, staggering forward, but Osias and his followers didn¡¯t relent.


    ¡°Kill!¡± They roared, joining their immortal leader in fury and steel.


    But their bodies couldn¡¯t match their zeal¡­ they were Ordinaries not of the Path of Blood like Osias. It was a foregone conclusion the moment they had to face a Second Ordeal ¡ª their essence control albeit on the levels of elites couldn¡¯t match the difference in Ordeal levels. They were bound to fall.


    Osias himself would¡¯ve run out of essence in the first few exchanges without his Innate Ability¡­ even the only sure way of damaging the warden aside from chipping away was through the immense amount of essence his great sword could take.


    Now, every time Osias had to disengage to have his reservoir filled he done so at the cost of dire wounds appearing on his followers. Severed fingers, cleaved limbs, lacerated torsos¡­ death.


    But Osias could only swallow down whatever feelings that arose, he couldn¡¯t be distracted from killing the source of the unfathomable pull gnawing on his mind and soul.


    ¡®Anytime now Uron¡­¡¯ Osias noted through gritted teeth. It¡¯s clear ¡ª the Black Warden couldn¡¯t use his veil in both defense and offense simolteanously.


    Although many have died to figure this out, it saved them from sure death¡­ because if this monster was able to, Osias couldn¡¯t hold back the warden from slaughtering them in a wave of black.


    Exhaling sharply, Osias lowered his body and rushed into a feral dash towards his men and the warden.


    However, just as he came close, the warden wildly spun his great saber in a vicious arc to clear away his immediate surroundings before planting it on the ground as the darkness pooled beneath him before they could blink. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡®Agai¡ª¡¯


    Osias¡¯s ears perked up, and knowing what would ensue, he darkly smiled before he barked out, ¡°Split his head apart!¡±


    His band of prisoners hesitated at his abrupt change¡­ all this time they were avoiding the black veil the moment it spread on the ground, but it was Visalros calling the order.


    But before they could even step foot into the field of black, piercing screams and wailing sounded from behind them.


    And on cue as though they all shared one mind with Visalros¡­ their faces twisted into a wicked sneer with bared teeth.


    ¡°Visenya!¡± The Black Warden¡¯s eyes opened in shock. All this time he was planning on settling the futile uprising himself to save face¡­ but to think his daughter was truly in such a state.


    She was in such a poor and miserable state, even from far away he could tell each detail. His mind raced as rage seeped into every thought following what he saw.


    But his wrath clouded everything for just a second as the leader of these savage prison rats who ravaged his daughter so miserably somehow appeared right behind him.


    ¡°Three years!¡± Osias snapped behind gritted teeth. He was practically frothing at the mouth with blood and spit as he pulled his blade high and struck dearly, this time cleaving through the back of the warden¡¯s armored knee.


    ¡°Uron!¡± Osias roared, disregarding if anyone outside the Black Warden¡¯s keep and territory in the city could hear¡­ it didn¡¯t matter anymore.


    Because without the sturdy black veil¡­ whatever material the armor the warden donned stood no chance at the abuse it took constant battle against Osias¡¯s wrathful edge.


    ¡­The Black Warden''s scream of pure, guttural rage echoed across the courtyard as Osias''s blade bit through the back of his knee, severing the joint. His towering figure buckled, collapsing forward with a thud, the once-mighty saber clattering to the stone ground.


    He willed his Ordeal Ability to slaughter the rats as they entered ¡ª and tens of agonizingly sharp blades conjured from below their feet began to cut and impale them all in their frenzied rush.


    But the real devastation struck when his eyes, wide with fury, flicked behind them all once more.


    There, amidst the carnage and chaos, stood Uron ¡ªone of Osias¡¯s most vicious men ¡ª his face twisted in an animalistic grin, gripping the severed head of the Warden¡¯s daughter by the hair.


    The wet, sickening snap of her neck had been drowned out by the battle, but the piercing shrieks that followed lingered in the air. The head, now dangling lifelessly in Uron¡¯s grip, was like a grotesque trophy raised before the slaughter.


    "Vi¨CVisenya..." The Warden''s voice cracked, shock and disbelief coloring his words. His rage evaporated for a heartbeat, replaced by a chilling, numbing stillness. But that moment of hesitation, of grief too thick to process, was enough.


    Osias stood above him, breathing heavily, his bloodied hand clutching his sword so tightly the knuckles had turned white. His features contorted with an animalistic hunger, eyes wild. His face was no longer that of a man as though the very pull that led him to the warden took away something dear to him.


    The screams of battle and the cries of prisoners mixed with the haunting memories of comrades lost, and he leaned closer, his voice closer to a growl than speech:


    ¡°Blame your lord for sparing us that day¡­ rat.¡±


    The Black Warden tried to push himself up, but his body was failing him. Blood gushed from his wounds, pooling around him, mixing with the dirt and grime of the courtyard. But before he could fully react, Osias''s blade flashed again¡ªa brutal, vicious arc that cleaved through the Warden''s arm, severing it cleanly from his body.


    The Warden roared in agony, but it was drowned by the cacophony of madness around them. The prisoners, spurred by Osias¡¯s savagery and the death of the Warden¡¯s daughter, descended into a frenzy. Like wolves who had finally cornered their prey, they lunged forward, weapons raised, eyes gleaming with the lust for blood as though they were blood fiends of the Red Sky.


    Osias stepped back, letting them take over.


    In that moment, the courtyard became a scene of barbaric chaos. The prisoners hacked and slashed at the fallen Warden, no longer a figure of authority but a helpless, broken object of their suffering. They tore into him with the same violence he had meted out for years, their strikes fueled by years of pent-up hatred. Blades, fists, and boots rained down upon the Warden, reducing his body to little more than a bloodied pulp.


    Osias stood back, breathing hard, watching as the other prisoners exacted their vengeance. His eyes, sharp and cold as an predator¡¯s, flicked over each face¡ªfaces twisted in fury, their teeth bared in savage grins, eyes bloodshot and wild. They were no longer men.


    They were beasts, just like him.


    He could see it in their eyes, the same unhinged fury he had seen in countless battles, when men crossed the line from soldiers to killers, from men to monsters. That thin, fragile thread of sanity that snapped in the heat of violence. It was something Osias had embraced long ago, but to see it in others, here, now, was a grim reminder of the world he inhabited


    Osias simply watched, letting them take their revenge. Blood sprayed across the courtyard as the Warden¡¯s once-imposing figure was reduced to little more than a bloodied mass of flesh beneath the weight of their frenzied blows. His screams, once powerful, were reduced to guttural gasps as life ebbed away.


    But something darker stirred in Osias as he saw the Warden¡¯s chest still rise, albeit faintly. A lingering defiance.


    Stepping forward, he pushed through the crowd of battered prisoners. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the Warden¡¯s shattered form, a cold determination etched into his every movement. He could feel the weight of his follows¡¯ suffering, of the years of torment they had endured, coiling in his chest like a centipede.


    Perhaps it was deserving¡­ they were the furthest from noble and righteous men. But they were prisoners and the warden was the warden, that much was true.


    Counting the few survivors¡­ it was but a mere eight not including Osias who was to leave this place.


    Sighing deeply, Osias addressed them in a solemn voice:


    ¡°The House of Silk will be coming¡­ you¡¯ll be housed and sheltered. If the day comes and the sigil of the Red Feather mounts the walls of Qussai once more, and if they are successful¡­ return the debt to Mistress Seol, my benefactor.¡±


    A wave of narrowed eyebrows and quizzical faces were directed at Osias at his odd tone, but raising a hand, Osias walked towards the barely breathing Black Warden with his great sword raised high.


    ¡®At last¡­¡¯


    With a brutal, final swing, Osias drove his blade deep into the Warden¡¯s chest, piercing through bone and heart. The Warden¡¯s bloody eyes, wide and filled with pain, locked onto Osias¡¯s for one last, agonizing moment before the life drained from them.


    Osias twisted the blade before yanking it free, watching as the Warden''s body finally slumped lifelessly to the ground, his blood pooling into the stones beneath him until he used Blood Reave to reap the last of the Warden¡¯s stain on his mind.


    The Warden was dead. His daughter gone. And Osias, standing tall amidst the wreckage, had once again proven why he had survived when so many others had fallen.


    Closing his eyes and letting his great sword¡¯s tip fall onto the ground, Osias felt as though he was being pulled into the darkness he once felt in a time so long ago¡­


    However, just as he let the feeling envelop him whole, a cold shiver ran down his back as though it were an anchor that held him inside this world made from his Ordeal.


    His heart froze.


    He couldn¡¯t breathe.


    He tried to open his eyes just before the pull took him away from this place and through the thin slit, his gaze caught the last sight of his Ordeal before the darkness took him.


    ¡­A glorious light of a brilliant gold.

 Chapter 63 - Rewards Outside of Hell

    ¡®The Golden Duskveil General¡­¡¯ Osias thought as his mind drifted along the abyss.


    ¡®He must¡¯ve awakened from his Ordeal. Will the House of Silk be enough to placate his wrath? For the prisoners, the general spared three years earlier to cut down one of his most fervent retainers must¡¯ve irked him so¡­¡¯


    Before he could try to make sense of what he¡¯d seen and been through in the Ordeal he felt a familiar feeling in reverse ¡ª instead of the world seeming to blur and darken, his senses returned as everything became clear.


    Osias¡¯s eyes snapped open and blinked many times over, finding himself in the deep embrace of darkness.


    ¡®The chamber for those undergoing an Ordeal¡­¡¯ He recalled as his eyes caught a dark figure seated crossed leg with a tranquil face on the other end of the chamber.


    Osias pulled himself up from the cold stone floor, his limbs trembling as they adjusted to his true body once more. He staggered, almost tripping as his weight and balance felt foreign. Unlike the lean and bony body he had worn in the Ordeal, this one was full of strength¡ªthick muscles that ached but pulsed with power.


    Clasping his hand into a fist, he felt powerful¡­ so much so that he suspected his true body had never stopped being strengthened by the essence stored in his tattoos from the inheritance, but also the ¡®body¡¯ that was in the Ordeal was likely merged in someway upon his completion.


    ¡®I need to ask Kiran¡­¡¯ He noted, acclimating to his great strength.


    But just as he was reeling in his strength¡­ his eyes caught onto something missing from his ring finger.


    ¡®Where is it? Myra¡¯s¡­ ring.¡¯


    He caught his breath, steadying himself, and glanced around the dimly lit chamber. His eyes locked onto a large water trough near the entrance, half-covered in shadows, where a flickering torch provided the only source of light.


    ¡®I¡¯ll ask her about it later¡­¡¯


    He made his way toward it, each step feeling increasingly more natural and familiar. His body was his own, yet more¡­ something beyond what it had been now that he was a First Ordeal.


    Reaching the water trough, Osias leaned over and splashed the cold water onto his face. The shock of it sent slight shivers through him, but something else caught his attention¡ªhis reflection in the water. There, stark against his pale skin, was a menacing black tattoo creeping from his neck up to his temple, wrapping ominously around his right eye. Faint crimson hues glowed from within the design like aged blood.


    The tattoo¡­ the same one that had appeared on his body in the Ordeal when he discovered the relic.


    ¡®Deeper than mere flesh¡­ huh.¡¯


    The centipede coiled wickedly, its segmented body crawling up the side of his face as if it had been etched there for ages. His breath hitched as his fingers traced the lines, feeling the slight rise of the inked skin beneath.


    ¡°How will I explain this to Myra?¡± His voice was barely a whisper as he took in the sight with a faint wistful smile. The horned centipede, black and crimson, a symbol of something dark, dangerous¡ªyet undeniably his own.


    However, just as he got over his daze from his sudden awakening¡­ Osias sighed heavily as he looked down at his overgrown nails before dragging them across the skin on his bare chest. The cut wasn¡¯t deep, just enough to draw blood.


    ¡®There¡¯s this too,¡¯


    Inhaling sharply, he used the newfound knowledge that appeared like a fog being lifted the moment he awoke¡­ he willed his essence to use his Ordeal Ability.


    ¡®Blood Mend, just like the many others who came before me.¡¯ He thought longingly, recalling a question he once asked to Kiran if he¡¯ll obtain something normal upon his First Ordeal.


    Immediately, his wounded skin closed and the blood underneath refused to spill as he smiled.


    Obviously, this wasn¡¯t enough to gauge how potent his healing was, he needed to sever a finger, perhaps a limb. But it was both thrilling and terrifyingly pleasing.


    Turning away from the closed cut, he looked at himself in the rippling reflection atop the water¡¯s surface.


    It was still hard to believe all that he¡¯s experienced and witnessed in more than three years. The war, the siege, deaths of enemies and comrades alike, his imprisonment, his¡­ mistress, the tourney, and his freedom.


    ¡®Pierce¡­¡¯


    Even now, that experience still mystified Osias. An oddity that was even more confusing than the relic he obtained. Osias pushed it aside, deep in his mind in anticipation of the fight against Surtil, but now that he was in Clan Grimm¡¯s familiar chambers¡­ he could finally reflect upon the strange man.


    For Pierce to know of Osias¡¯s true name, his Path of Blood and the Red Sky¡­


    ¡®Grief and rage lay untold,


    I saw kindness repaid with cold.


    Oh, the world, the dream smeared in dread,


    Let the world bleed as the sky turns red.¡¯


    Osias didn¡¯t know what to make of the¡­ poem? But it must¡¯ve had purpose if Pierce told him of it. The words shouldn¡¯t have been said without purpose.


    ¡®Ha! Only if I can tell of its purpose¡­¡¯ Osias said inwardly.


    But before he could poorly attempt to decipher Pierce¡¯s fleeting verse any further, his ears perked up at something far away ¡ª both the muted shuffles outside the entrance of this chamber and his blood sense picking up a person approaching.


    ¡®My senses and blood connection have been improved upon as well...¡¯


    A harsh grate sounded from the door as something opened, and behind a small opening, Osias saw old beady eyes peering through.


    ¡°Osias? You¡¯ve awakened?¡± An old, but slightly weary voice asked.


    ¡°Y-yes. Apologies, I¡­ I just came to.¡± Osias stammered hesitantly ¡ª his words and tone were odd because of the sudden change to Vorin, the common tongue of the Wailing Chain.


    A jarring sound began to screech as the great door opened and the Second Ordeal guard of Clan Grimm responsible for overlooking the aspiring Path Finders stepped through.


    ¡°You¡­ you look fine. As uncouth as you were.¡± The guard said with a hand on the hilt of his sword.


    Osias didn¡¯t respond, though he did raise a shy hand to scratch his head¡­ such comments on his appearance weren¡¯t something he expected to wake up to so suddenly.


    ¡°Sorry, boy. I don¡¯t know if Mance told you back then or if you¡¯ve forgotten, but some succeed in their Ordeals with a broken mind. Nothing more than a shard of themselves prior¡­ Tell me, do you sense anything wrong with yourself? I haven¡¯t seen anyone remain in that state for as long as you have.¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Narrowing his eyes, Osias asked:


    ¡°How much time has passed?¡±


    ¡°A little more than a moon ¡ª a year¡¯s passed, boy. It¡¯s the thousand and ninetieth moon.¡± The guard answered, bringing his free hand to stroke the long beard that fell from his chin.


    Exhaling sharply, Osias felt a little relieved. He was expecting the worse, perhaps having the time spent inside the Ordeal matching the time outside.


    ¡°I see¡­ a year then. Am I free to leave?¡± He asked with a neutral expression.


    ¡°One thing first¨C¡± The guard said abruptly.


    In the next moment, Osias felt a dangerous premonition. Scowling his eyes, Osias stared daggers at the Second Ordeal guard who drew his steel.


    Osias¡¯s body tensed as the sword glinted in the dim torch light. The air thickened, and for a brief moment, the tension felt like a taut string ready to snap.


    Without warning, the guard lunged forward with great speed.


    But Osias reacted instantly ¡ª his hand shot out, fingers stiffened like a spear, aimed directly at the unprotected side of the guard¡¯s head. Time seemed to slow as his strike neared its target, and for a fleeting moment, Osias was certain he had him.


    But just before his fingers could make contact, the guard slammed a heavy foot on the ground.. and began, laughing hoarsely.


    ¡°Easy, boy, easy!¡± the guard grunted, his weathered eyes gleaming with amusement. ¡°I meant no harm.¡±


    Osias¡¯s arm remained extended for a moment longer before he relaxed it, his expression darkening.


    ¡°You old coot¡­ did Henrik put you up to that?¡± Osias growled, lowering his hand but keeping his body poised, still wary of the guard.


    The guard held up his hands in mock surrender, his laughter dying down to a raspy chuckle. ¡°Apologies, boy. I just wanted to see¡­ I already know you¡¯re fine, but I wanted to see how you¡¯ve grown. I don¡¯t know if you know it yourself but¡­ the moment I entered I felt as though my blood froze and flowed backwards!¡±


    "Hoo¡­ I¡¯m leaving. Are you going to tell Henrik, or should I?¡± Osias dismissed, walking towards the door.


    The guard paused briefly with a slight frown and hesitated before speaking.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite early right now ¡ª before daybreak, but Henrik isn¡¯t at the fortress. He¡¯s outside with the main company. I¡¯ll relay your success to the Elder¡­ if he isn¡¯t so busy. Go elsewhere, after all, there¡¯s someone you want to see first besides that old bastard, right?¡±


    Osias raised an eyebrow before realizing what the guard meant and began to cough on his way outside the chamber as raspy and teasing laughter followed him.


    However, unknowingly to Osias, the old, but powerful guard in charge of overseeing the aspiring Path Finders waited until Osias left before bringing a shaky hand around his neck whilst exhaling a long, ragged breath. His fingers brushed against his clammy skin.


    ¡ª


    The chamber he underwent his Ordeal in was burrowed and constructed deep behind the main keep of Clan Grimm¡¯s fortress, a necessity in case a Second or Third Ordeal happened to emerge broken although as rare as it was. And with the first step into the wintery sky, Osias stared at the white-lined stones and earth.


    Sheets of snow covered all he could see while more and more continued to fall every so gently, adding to these plains of white. With a sad smile, he spotted a lone budding green stem just barely breaking through the surface of the snow.


    ¡®If flowers can grow through blankets of snow, there is hope for me too.¡¯


    ¡­Osias was wearing nothing more than aged wrist and legs wraps, a loose tunic, and rough-hewn grey trousers making him feel the frigid winds of winter at its peak.


    His dark grey hair reached a little below his neck and his nails were a little too long. He was older now, his twenty-second moon, and at last, a First Ordeal.


    Lifting his gaze, he found that the guard spoke the truth ¡ª it was early and no one was outside doing their duties, Ordinaries or not.


    But in a way, he had a strong inkling of where he would go to find Myra.


    Before that, he headed to the fortress¡¯s vast kitchen.


    Leisurely walking through the series of illuminated and seemingly warm corridors, he brushed his fingers across the familiar walls as he breathed in the familiar air and sights.


    ¡®It¡¯s been¡­ a long time.¡¯


    His ears perked up, hearing muffled chatter and busy sounds as he neared the kitchen.


    ¡®Is it the cooks and bakers? Preparing for later?¡¯ He wondered wistfully.


    Then he made it to the open entrance, poking his head past the walls. And he was right ¡ª a small number were prepping the ingrediants and working through a large swathe of supplies, likely delivered recently from the merchant company that frequents Clan Grimm.


    A few of them looked at the towering figure of Osias and almost immediately their eyes traced his distinct appearance and their puzzled faces twisted into recognition of the ¡®bandit¡¯ little Myra led into their work quarters a little more than a year ago.


    ¡°Osias!¡± A loud cheery voice that betrayed the hour of day bellowed from behind them all from where the bakers worked.


    ¡°You¡¯re back! And a Path Finder as well, boy?¡± The source of the voice, Umber, said.


    He was the bald baker that Myra stole his speical cheese from many times as well as the one Osias came to know bits of Mance¡¯s past from. Umber was a large man, not qutie as tall as Osias, but more¡­ wide.


    Wearing a dirty and flour-caked apron that barely covered the round man¡¯s ribs, Osias welcomed a warm hug from the Umber.


    ¡°Did you just return? Ah, you must be famished! Here, I¡¯ve gotten some interesting ingredients a few days ago¡­ you bastard, I could¡¯ve used you to help bring those crates in if you¡¯d return earlier.¡± Umber laughed, patting roughly against Osias¡¯s back.


    ¡°Look at you, strong as you are!¡± Umber continued as Osias smiled.


    ¡°Can I make it this time, Umber? I want to make a meal enough for two.¡±


    ¡°Bah, we¡¯ll make it together. Wait a little while though, I have fresh bread baking right now¡­ if you go a little slow you can bring her some along with that cheese she pilfers.¡±


    ¡°Thank¨C¡± Osias¡¯s words of gratitude trailed off as Umber rambled, realizing who Umber was talking about.


    Looking at the beaming grin stretching Umber¡¯s face, Osias frowned slightly before playing along with Umber¡¯s teasing.


    ¡ª


    Osias gracefully held a vast wooden platter full of hearty food. Two bowls of a piping hot stew made from the meat of Path Beast¡¯s along with large cuts of fresh bread still steaming and a thick chunk of the special cheese wrapped in cloth was being carried towards the room Osias recovered in a lifetime ago.


    The stone halls were quiet and desolate, just as he remembered. Few maids and attendants frequented here, and others would simply use the corrider as a way to cut pass to another end of the courtyard.


    Soothing scents followed Osias¡¯s steps as he carried the platter and eventually made it to his room¡­


    And it was the same as it was when he left for his Ordeal.


    Humble in its furnishings, a small table, a lone pale wood chair, and a large bed that fit Osias¡¯s frame all illuminated by a small lantern in the corner.


    And on his old bed, his sheets were puffed out, rounded as they covered the small figure cloaked in its warm embraces.


    ¡®Myra¡­¡¯


    Just her head was exposed, and her face softly slept. Her long oak-like hair lay messily atop the pale sheets. When she was asleep, her usually sharp eyes that reminded him of arrows turned soft, matching her graceful fletchings for eyebrows.


    Looking outside the window, the sun began to pierce through the rolling grey clouds that covered the night as daybreak began on the horizon.


    But before he could take another step, he heard soft murmurs and the shuffling of soft sheets and Myra squirmed below.


    In the next moment, she raised herself against the back of his bed with a stiff and tired arm and used her free hand to wipe her groggy eyes from the remnants of sleep. First, she looked out the window to see for herself what time of day it was, and just as she turned her gaze to the doorway¡­ she locked her tired eyes on the tall figure that stood there motionlessly.


    Osias didn¡¯t know what to do ¡ª to say. But the words flowed out regardless¡­


    ¡°I-I¡­ I¡¯m back, Myra. I promised you I would¡ª¡± Osias said softly, almost in a whisper.


    In a heartbeat, Myra closed the distance with as much speed as a seasoned warrior, as she locked her arms around Osias¡¯s torso as he raised both arms to avoid her clashing heads with the platter.


    ¡°Welcome home, Osias.¡± Those were the only words she could return to him as she tightened her arms.


    Those three words alone were enough for Osias to know that¡­ he returned. That he truly returned after so long.


    Her figure was small and her arms were thin, but her hands felt as though they were able to reach past his skin, touching his soul as she pulled him up. It felt as though he just taken his very first gasp of breath after his head had been drowning underwater all this time.


    And in response¡­ Osias felt a lone tear trickle down his face, landing atop the warm head nestled at his chest.


    A single tear was all that was mustered, yet it held everything¡ªeverything he swallowed and push down all this time. Every dirty, filthy, and vile thing from his Ordeal¡­ because they didn''t belong here in such a place.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m home.¡± He croaked out, his voice edged in both pain and relief as he welcomed her entirely.

 Chapter 64 - The Closest to Heaven Ill Ever Be

    ¡°Myra¡­ isn''t this too close?¡±


    But all he got in return was a small hum in refusal as she was busy chewing her food.


    ¡­Osias didn''t know how long it was before Myra let him go, but he didn''t mind. It wasn''t until she suddenly said that the food might get cool that they began to share the platter with each other.


    Pulling the table right along the bedside where they sat, Myra decided to cuddle against his side as they ate like they''d done so many times before but just a little¡­ closer.


    ¡°I helped Umber make the soup this time, you know ¡ª I sliced out thick cuts to broil in the broth he had prepared the night before and cooked the grains.¡±


    ¡°Mhm, and you even remembered the cheese and bread!¡± Myra laughed out.


    ¡®That¡¯s right¡­ I remembered after all of that.¡¯ Osias inwardly said a little nostalgically.


    They continued to eat and chatted about silly things, like how the other maids began to treat Myra as well as they did when her father and uncle passed¡­ perhaps writing Osias off as dead. It was nothing more than small talk, yet it was filling.


    But eventually, Osias sensed a little reservedness from Myra as silence hung between them.


    ¡®Of course¡­ she¡¯ll want to know.¡¯


    And just as Osias anticipated it, Myra abruptly asked:


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry if it brings up awful memor¨C¡±


    Osias waved a hand, gesturing to her that it was fine.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I can talk about it. What do you want to know?¡± He asked.


    Myra hummed curiously before asking something simple:


    ¡°How long did it take inside your Ordeal to complete? My father once said something about how time isn¡¯t the same.¡±


    Expecting something else, perhaps something heavier than that. He chuckled a little bit before answering:


    ¡°A little more than three years. I found the one I needed to¡­ defeat quite earlier than that though. I was too weak, and it wasn¡¯t the right place to do such a thing, otherwise, I would¡¯ve failed and died.¡±


    ¡°Three years¡­¡± She echoed wistfully before adding quietly, ¡°Can you tell me a little about those three years?¡±


    ¡°I can, but it¡¯ll be a little long then. Three years¡­ it passed by painfully slow.¡± Osias began to recall with a long face, staring at his empty bowl.


    ¡°I awoke in the middle of a raging war. An ashen sky covered most of the sun, yet all I could see were plains of men all fighting, yelling, screaming¡­ dying. They all spoke another language too, something I came to know of and become fluent in after remaining there for so long.¡±


    He shivered a little, and upon seeing that Myra turned towards him and set a soft hand on his lap.


    ¡°I fought endlessly. Days of battle and bloodshed¡­ I¨CI didn¡¯t know what else to do. All I knew was that if the soldiers who donned the same sigil as my own died, then I¡¯d died alongside them. I took so many lives, that even if the enemy spoke a different language, I knew what the word ¡®please¡¯ was the moment it was said on their last breaths.¡±


    Cradling the empty into his hand, Osias remained silent for a bit before continuing his retelling:


    ¡°I had followers as well. On the nights we rested and ate before our bonfires they taught me the language ¡ª their names too. Then, the following morning, I¡¯d led them into battle, and emerged from it with them victoriously. And eventually, our banners won the battle.¡±


    Osias paused and remained silent for a while before his face turned sour and he continued in a hoarse voice:


    ¡°But then¡­ the war was brought to a grand city. Walls much higher than this fortress we are in and stretched long enough that I couldn¡¯t imagine how large it was and how many people made home inside. I haven¡¯t seen the mountain and valley cities of the Tailed Brothers, but I believe this one was quite large even compared to them¡­ But I was on the side of assaulting this grand city. We failed in the end, and I along with my followers who managed to survive the fruitless attack were captured and brought inside, though not before we were lined up and executed.¡±


    He then felt Myra¡¯s hand pressing into his skin a touch harder in response to his words, but with a deep frown he continued:


    ¡°They died ¡ª those who followed me. The people I came to know in a place so unfamiliar to me. Many of them died whilst saying my name. Some died while fighting, some died before an executioner and many died in chains below the prison we were kept in ¡ª the prison I spent much of my three years in.¡±


    Pain edged his words, and he the bowl he grasped cracked ever so slightly before he realized what he was doing before setting it on the table. He wore a sad smile before adding:


    ¡°I was starved and beaten. Every day¡­ the others as well. We¡¯d be taken to work endlessly in a tunnel beneath the city before returning to our cells. There, we¡¯d be fed the wastes and leftovers of whoever was above. And in our meals, I conversed more and came to know the language better. There, I came to know more than the names of those who suffered alongside me¡­ their pasts, their stories, and their homes ¡ª it wasn¡¯t just myself either, they came to know each other better too.¡±


    Putting a hand over Myra¡¯s atop his lap, he softly brushed his fingers back and forth.


    ¡°But the guards and the warden¡­ they¡¯d take a handful of us above the cells, towards the courtyard. There, they¡¯d command us to fight amongst each other or die where we stood. I was the first among this group¡­ perhaps some of them recognized my face from the war, but I wasn¡¯t sure. And in that handful of prisoners, I learned from, taught to, and suffered with¡­ I killed them with my bare hands like animals.


    Looking sadly into Myra¡¯s sunken face, Osias grew silent as he reached the part of his Ordeal that tainted his mind and body. But he needed to tell Myra of it, he couldn¡¯t stand for it otherwise ¡ª both for himself, but also for her. And through gritted teeth, then said quietly:


    ¡°There¡­ was a woman who saw me fight ¡ª a courtesan of sorts, of high standing in the city as well. She took a liking to me and used her standing to pull me away from the cells and labor for hours at a time.¡±


    Osias lowered his gaze because he couldn¡¯t meet Myra¡¯s eyes before adding in a shaky voice.


    ¡°...I¡¯d share her bed whenever she called for me. Like her toy¡­ or her pet.¡±


    He was¡­ guilty. Ashamed, even. He felt dirty, and far away from someone like Myr¨C


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault, Osias.¡±


    Lifting his gaze, he saw Myra a little teary-eyed wearing a sad smile.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault. All of it. Killing those men. Killing your own men. Having them die under you. Sharing her bed. Surviving ¡ª all of it¡­ it wasn¡¯t your fault, Osias.¡±


    ¡°What do you mea¨C¡±


    Suddenly wrapping her shaky arms around him, she continued:


    ¡°You survived¡­ you managed to come back. It¡¯s alright, you don¡¯t have to say anymore, I understand.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Sharing the same sad smile she wore, he thought to himself of how thankful and fortunate he was to know of such a person.


    ¡®It feels like I died a lot to live a little with her.¡¯  Osias wistfully recalled his time recovering after meeting her for the first time.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He said in a weak whisper.


    ¡ª


    ¡­Finishing the abundant bowls of soup once filled to the brim, they didn¡¯t hesitate to move on to Umber¡¯s fresh loaves of bread.


    ¡°Say, Myra. Do you happen to know where that¡­ ring you made for me has gone? I¡­ I don¡¯t want to say I lost it, but when I awoke, I couldn¡¯t find it.¡±


    Myra flinched slightly, something he picked up from his blood sense rather than sight. Yet as he turned to face her, she responded in an odd tone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe later we can go find it in that chamber if we have the time?¡± She laughed gently before changing the topic.


    ¡°...Can I ask about that new tattoo? How did you get it? And why a centipede? It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve returned to Clan Grimm¡¯s home mountain and there aren¡¯t many places to find that creepy creature that I had to take a moment to remember its nam¨C¡±


    ¡°Slow down!¡± Osias cut her off before answering one by one. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ hard to explain how I¡¯ve gotten it. But it was from my Ordeal, think of it as¡­ ah! You know Nico? How he has a tail after achieving his First Ordeal? In a way it¡¯s similar, but instead of a tail, I have a tattoo around my eye. Maybe because it¡¯s fitting?¡±


    ¡°Nico¡­ Clan Grimm¡¯s guest from the Tailed Brothers?¡±


    ¡°Mm. As for why it''s a centipede, I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve been trying to figure that myself in the time I¨C¡± Osias suddenly cut himself off as his face turned fraught with alarm.


    ¡°Hm, Osias? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t respond, only letting go of the bread in his right arm before raising it to touch the centipede around his eye.


    ¡®Hey¡­ why does my essence not seem to flow right around it?¡¯


    The centipede ¡ª the relic of the Path of Blood didn¡¯t come along with innate knowledge upon its use like Ordeal Abilities. Once he awoke, he simply knew how to use Blood Mend¡­ but it wasn¡¯t until now did he discovered something off with the centipede around his temple and eye.


    Immediately focusing onto his essence around the area, Osias tried to figure out what was causing this sense of unease.


    ¡®It¡¯s¡­ taking my essence.¡¯ He realized this in just a single breath of time.


    His fingers trembled as they traced the etched lines of the centipede, the foreign sensation now undeniable. It wasn¡¯t a simple disruption ¡ª the tattoo was absorbing his essence, slowly but steadily. Each beat of his pulse sent a ripple of power, and the tattoo siphoned a portion of it, distorting the natural flow within him.


    ¡®Why didn¡¯t I notice this before?¡¯ Osias wondered, his heart pounding as panic began to crawl in.


    He closed his eyes and concentrated once more, pushing his essence toward the mark, attempting to control the flow. But the more he focused, the more the tattoo seemed to resist, like an insatiable leech drawing nourishment.


    "Osias, do you need a moment?" Myra¡¯s voice broke through, concern etched across her face.


    He slowly dropped his hand and turned toward her, forcing a weak smile.


    ¡°Sorry, I was remembering how I¡¯ve gotten it inside my Ordeal.¡±


    ¡°Ah, it must¡¯ve hurt, right? That¡¯s what you said about the others¡­ sorry, I¨C¡±


    Gently shaking his head and holding up a hand he cut her off:


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, I¡¯m alright. Sorry, Myra. Maybe I wasn¡¯t doing as well as I thought I was coming outside of my Ordeal. Anyways¡­ about Nico?¡±


    ¡®I¡¯ll figure out the repercussions of this¡­ thing later.¡¯


    ¡°He went to help outside and the Clan Head¡¯s company in harvesting Path Beasts the moment you began your Ordeal. But¡­¡± Myra said, her words trailing off downcastedly and Osias narrowed his eyes.


    ¡°After almost a year of fighting and aiding the clan, a Second Tail came along with the escorts of the merchant company and took Nico back to the Heart Lands of their clan.¡±


    Exhaling sharply, Osias was a little worried by how Myra initially worded the news, but he was relieved to find out that Nico hadn¡¯t tragically died or worse fighting outside the fortress.


    ¡°Do you know why he returned with the Second Tail?¡±


    ¡°The word was that he¡¯s seen fit to begin his Second Ordeal, but not here.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡®Seen fit¡­ does that mean the Second Tails have been here another time prior? Or can they simply tell by some means I don¡¯t know¡­¡¯


    ¡°I wanted to ask¨C¡± Myra said after swallowing a mouthful of food, ¡°Did Umber or that clan¡¯s guard say anything about what happened in the time you were away? A year¡­ was long, especially for Clan Grimm.¡±


    Osias continued to eat after shrugging his shoulders.


    ¡°The guard said that the clan has changed a lot.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Myra replied, her words trailed off. Osias looked over and saw a frown plastered on her pretty face.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°...Somethings changed on the outside of the fortress. More Path Beasts attack in number, so much so that even Ordinaries like me were told of how dangerous it turned recently.¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t the clan head retreat¨Cnever mind, sorry.¡±


    ¡®Perhaps that''s why the Second Tail came in the first place¡­ did Henrik request aid or if Clan Grimm has served the Tailed Brothers enough to return to their lands?¡¯


    ¡°Mm. We can¡¯t leave, not with the war brewing.¡±


    ¡°War?¡± Osias said with raised eyebrows.


    ¡®Did the war between the Three Factions become common knowledge as of now?¡¯


    Myra¡¯s face was concerned and a little frightened under the rising glare of daybreak. But rightly so¡­ war was something she and her clan hadn¡¯t experienced it seems. They were spared against the fighitng in the south against the Red Sky ¡ª in the Century of Blood, they were nothing more than suppliers of Path Beast carcasses at the most.


    ¡°The Tailed Brothers, it¡¯s said that the eldest of the two, Atlan, leveled and burned down a Crestland Forest, something akin to a mountain or valley city in the Heartlands for us¡­¡±


    ¡°I see ¡ª so it''s either kill and harvest Path Beasts in the Outer Valleys to aid the war or join the war personally¡­ I think the clan head decided well.¡± Osias said somberly as what ensued in his Ordeal flashed through his mind.


    Either choice was bound to incur the deaths of many, but at least Aeron could spare his clan from the ravages of man.


    ¡®Kiran¡­ was right. Osias has seen common men turn to savages before his eyes ¡ª even himself. Aeron was correct in his choice.¡¯


    But thinking of Kiran, Osias wondered where his elusive and powerful elder brother was. Those of the Blood Path cannot survive alone, and with the two of them sharing all that was left of the Red Sky, they needed each other.


    ¡°...My elder brother, did I tell you about him before?¡±


    ¡°A little when along with your family.¡±


    ¡°I see ¡ª I want to tell you about him. He¡¯s the reason that¡¯s brought me to you after all.¡±


    Suddenly Myra¡¯s frown curled into an intrigued face and shook her head, perhaps because Osias withheld a lot of his family and past, leaving much of it to interpretation on her own end.


    ¡°He was a Path Finder ¡ª strong too, the strongest I¡¯ve seen for his level. He was the heir of not just our family, but our people as well. He was just eight moons older than me, yet he had achieved such feats too. But I think because of how strong he was, he wasn¡¯t in my life for years ¡ª busy with being the heir as well as the training he has done to obtain such strength¡­


    I think you¡¯d like him, he looks a little like me but with deeper eyes and a rougher face ¡ª a little bigger too.¡± He said with a sad laugh.


    Osias grabbed a covered cheese and began to unravel the tie that wrapped the cloth before breaking pieces to eat alone with the warm fresh bread.


    ¡°When soldiers and tailed ones descended onto our lands, he saved me as we escaped from the battle. He nursed me when I was injured, fed me when I couldn¡¯t lift a finger to help, taught me how to fight, and much more when I recovered. We ran and escaped, leaving everything behind. Our families, home, people¡­ but eventually on our run, I lost him.¡±


    After taking some for himself, Osias pushed and offered the cheese to Myra before adding:


    ¡°Because I was a hindrance. Had he been alone, I can¡¯t imagine anything could prevent him from reaching where he wanted to go unless it was the Tailed Brothers themselves¡­ I want to find him and reunite with him. He must be hiding in the inlands, away from the sights of the tailed ones. Can we¡­ can we return to the inlands together?¡±


    ¡°To where Clan Grimm presides?¡± She asked with a smile.


    ¡°Mm. I¨Cmy elder brother and I haven¡¯t came across cities and the like during our escape. I wouldn¡¯t know where to begin¨C¡±


    But before he could ask her to leave this place with him¡­ her face beamed and interrupted him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go! I¡¯ll ask Henrik before the next time the merchants visit this fortress! I¡¯ll take you to mothers home and¡­¡±


    Osias didn¡¯t catch the rest of her long rambling, and eventually her words blurred and blended together as they finished their first shared meal after years, but he was happy.


    She talked and talked of their future, yet all he could think about was if the heavens were real¡­ then she was the closest he¡¯ll ever be to them right now.

 Chapter 65 - Test and Guise

    From outside his window, the activity in the courtyard turned increasingly busy as they talked. But inside, they shared enough laughs to make them crease¡­ felt some moments that had they not been resting atop a bed, their knees would¡¯ve buckled and felt weak. They talked and talked about the mundane, the serious, and all that lay between. They¡¯d been in each other¡¯s company since the earliest glimpse of daybreak that Osias even asked Myra if she had any duties she needed to attend to, but all she replied with was that the other maids would understand when he announced his return.


    Eventually, they did finish, albeit it was because Osias pushed her gently.


    ¡°Myra! I need to go to Mance and tell the others.¡±


    ¡°A little longer ¡ª it was a year, they¡¯ll understand!¡±


    Osias wanted nothing more than to stay, but they had things to do¡­ and besides, word must¡¯ve spread and it was already late into the day. Mance had likely been waiting for him for hours by now.


    ¡°I¡¯m going!¡± He cried out, but his mind was too weak to force his hands to push her off of him any harder.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you then.¡±


    ¡°Wha¨Cfine¡­¡±


    ¡­Eventually, they went along toward the training yard covered in blankets of pure-white snow. The walk there wasn''t long, but they had to take a detour for Myra to get appropiately dressed for the weather.


    There, Ordinaries and First Ordeals alike trained outside regardless of the cold, and slowly as Myra and he continued closer to where he met Mance for the first time, he heard a piercingly loud voice that cut through the winter winds.


    ¡°Osias, boy!¡± A rough voice reminiscent of grating steel.


    There in his dark mismatched armor stood Mance, armed to the teeth, standing stoically like a sentry of winter.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long time, Mance,¡± Osias said with a small smile as he came before Mance with Myra in tow.


    Mance raised a small eyebrow at the thickly dressed Myra who donned a furlined brown coat ¡ª Osias thought she looked like a round bundle of warmth under the white sky as snow speckled the top of her head.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t cold?¡± Mance asked at the lightly dressed Osias.


    Osias didn¡¯t change his attire despite Myra¡¯s complaints, chalking it up to his disposition as a Path Finder¡­ and he didn¡¯t forget to tease her a little with his new status too.


    ¡°No¡­ you know how resilient my body is.¡±


    ¡°Right, right, how could I forget,¡± Mance replied with a grin. ¡°Well¡­ the first I wish to know was why it took you so long. It¡¯s rare to find someone undertaking an Ordeal for a year. How long was it inside?¡±


    Wearing a pensive face, Osias replied:


    ¡°Three. Three long years.¡±


    Mance¡¯s brows raised in surprise at his answer bringing a hand to his chin in thought:


    ¡°Three? That¡¯s¡­ an oddity. But alas, you¡¯ve returned. I won¡¯t ask you about your Ordeal Ability, but still¡­ that centipede around your eye must be new. I don¡¯t recall such a wicked thing etched on your face.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said too!¡± Myra interjected excitedly from behind the bristles of her fur-lined coat.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ another thing I¡¯ve obtained from my Ordeal. I didn¡¯t think my appearance would change, but here I am.¡±


    ¡°I see, but what brought you here to me?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to spar in a mock battle ¡ª with you. There¡¯s no one else amongst the clansmen who I¡¯d like to exchange with than you, even those atop the walls.¡± Osias said, eyeing far past Mance towards the Path Finders who observed and guarded the fortress.


    Suddenly at his request, Mance¡¯s lips curled into a proud smile.


    ¡°Confident?¡±


    ¡°Very much so¡­ three years are nothing to scoff at.¡±


    ¡°Bah, let us get on with it. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve fought anyway¡­ I¡¯ll accept. We¡¯ll use Ordinary weapons¡­ we don¡¯t have many First Ordeals in spare anyway. Though, I don¡¯t think those would be enough for you anyway.¡± Mance said, his lasting words accented with an odd and probing tone.


    ¡°And Myra¡­ come with us. You don¡¯t have to stand outside in the cold, me and Osias will be sparring inside the training hall.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Mance.¡± She said through jittering teeth, already waddling towards the training hall under her heavy layers.


    Eventually, Mance barked something towards the dozens in training, something somewhere between an order and a threat before he followed Myra and led Osias towards the grand training hall.


    Their steps trudged through and left marks on the snow beneath their feet, following the smaller steps in front of them.


    ¡°I could be having them train inside¡­ but you know that strength doesn¡¯t arrive with comfort. Not now¡­ the clan needs them to be strong.¡± Mance said as they watched Myra hopped and skipped merrily towards the indoors.


    Osias hummed in agreeance, sighing at the display in front of them.


    ¡°The war?¡±


    ¡°Aye, did Myra, or Tsor, the guard overseeing those undergoing an Ordeal tell you?¡±


    ¡°Mm, it was Myra who did. I think the clan head decided right¡­ it wouldn¡¯t be right for these people to fight against others. I haven¡¯t seen much of the company that harvests Path Beasts outside, but I can¡¯t imagine they¡¯re much different aside from strength and experience. The clan head wishes to spare them from the reaches of this grand war, correct?¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Mance looked back at Osias, his armor creaking from the cold.


    ¡°...Aeron is a kind soul, something different from the previous heads of Clan Grimm from what I know. But it¡¯s welcome ¡ª his choice on the matter as well. Had he not chosen to remain out here in these wastelands and chose to follow the attacks on the Crest Lands, I would¡¯ve¡­¡±


    But then his face turned a little distant and long before adding:


    ¡°I think it¡¯s right to tell you more about Clan Grimm. You¡¯re a Path Finder of our clan now as well¡­¡±


    Osias¡¯s ears perked up, noticing the odd change in tone from Mance.


    ¡°Myself, along with many of the older Second Ordeals fought alongside Aeron against a formidable foe¡­ this was almost thirty years ago.¡±


    ¡®Still in the Century of Blood¡­¡¯ Osias noted.


    ¡°Aeron achieved his Third Ordeal one day, a great feat and boon for the clan had it been under better times. He finally reached the level of strength needed for the previous clan to hand down the mantle to a great vassal Clan in such turbulent times under the rule of the Tailed Brothers.¡±


    ¡®A Great vassal, not a lesser vassal?¡¯ Osias picked up the distinction but didn¡¯t voice his curiosity.


    ¡°In this time¡­ there was a certain mountain clan that rose to power, once a smaller independent faction that found employ under the Tailed Brothers. I believe they joined the tailed ones in attacking the South, against those blood fiends.¡±


    Osias''s face twitched ever so faintly at the mention of his people, but Mance didn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°They were called Half-Moon Clan, headed by a particularly powerful Third Ordeal whose might could rival that of a Fourth Ordeal ¡ª an incredibly rare feat. Although this leader, Vorin of the Crescent Axe was in the great graces of the Tailed Brothers for his valor in the battles to the South, his people weren¡¯t accepted¡­ pushed to the very ends of the Tailed Brother¡¯s territories, practically forced to live in the Outer Valleys upon their return from battling the blood fiends.¡±


    ¡°But dissent and defiance rose both in Vorin and his people. More deaths came from residing so far in the Outer Valleys than from the battles against the Red Sky. Believing in his strength, Vorin wagered his odds against the Tailed Brothers, threatening to aid the Red Sky. A fool he was, in my opinion¡­ but a commendable one. He was too brash in his approach, especially considering his origins and their standing as simply a faction employed by the Tailed Brothers, not true vassals..¡±


    Mance lingered for a few moments, and then he continued:


    ¡°They marked one of the many others whose deaths were called for upon Atlan¡¯s and Arslan¡¯s bloody clasps over their territories, ushering in their control as one of the Three Factions. The order came to us, the nearest great vassal under the Tailed Brothers, and a Third Tail proctor was sent to our mountain city¡¯s gates that day. I remember it well¡­ I just achieved my Second Ordeal and was to fight against a clan who rallied and united bandits and brigands alike.¡±


    ¡°Clan Grimm¡¯s previous head was a Fourth Ordeal¡­ and the Grand Elder you came to know was the same one that advised both the previous head and Aeron. Together the three of them undertook the order and led our great vassal clan and rode for the Half-Moon Clan. Followed by the Third Tail Procter¡­ I¡¯ll spare you the details, but many lives were lost. Mainly from those under Vorin, but enough from Clan Grimm died in the fighting enough to lose our status of being a great vassal clan despite our history.¡±


    Slowly down to face Osias¡¯s pensive face, Mance¡¯s eyes lowered and his glare twisted to a deep scowl, lines of anger etched on his skin.


    ¡°As we beheaded Vorin¡­ the Procter commanded us to kill them all as well ¡ª all the united tribes and mountain clans that banded under Vorin. Women, children, infants, all of them. We resisted, but the Third Tail Procter demanded it. But that was the line our previous head couldn¡¯t cross, and when our disagreements turned violent, the Third Tail struck our previous head in anger. We butchered the Third Tail and harbored the remaining people in our mountain city.¡±


    ¡°...But the ire of several Fourth Ordeals, much less just a single one is much more frightening than you¡¯d imagine. I myself was raised hearing the tales of the brothers born from fire. Atlan, the one who embraced the flames and scorched the mountains¡­ and Arslan the one who snuffed the fire, never to be burned again.¡°


    ¡°However, they never came¡­ it was only the Grand Warden of the Wall, an old friend of our Clan Grimm who came rather than the other Fourth Ordeals. But he came bearing unfortunate news¡­ that Atlan and Arslan called for the death of our previous head along with every adult we harbored into shelter and safety, only leaving the infants too young to remember such a tragedy.¡±


    ¡°Since that day, Clan Grimm¡¯s been much weaker, and I once thought Aeron decided to save you because of your appearance¡­ an attempt at making things right.¡±


    ¡°Do I look like this¡­ Vorin?¡±


    ¡°Aye, you do. Your stature and tattoos, but I¡¯ve been told that your tattoos are different¡­ they all seem the same to my eyes.¡± Mance chuckled, opening the gate to the training hall.


    ¡°But the reason I¡¯m telling you this tale of old is to let you know that Clan Grimm abhors war against men¡­ you¡¯re well fit for our clan if you agree with Aeron¡¯s sentiments and decision upon the Three Faction war.¡±


    Shaking off the snow that blanketed his head and tunic, Osias traced Mance¡¯s gaze towards Myra climbing the stairs to the second level of the training hall.


    ¡°Hey, Mance? What you get by being fit for the clan, you don¡¯t mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, boy? Aren¡¯t you going to wed her?¡±


    Osias¡¯s face twitched and he felt a thick lump welling behind his throat.


    ¡°I¡­Myra? We¨C¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s smitten for you, boy. I don¡¯t know how you¡¯ve charmed her so, but anyone can see it. Her face pitifuly sad and disheartened over the last year, yet hopeful. You shouldn¡¯t waste your chance with such a caring girl.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ Thank you, Mance, you¡¯re right.¡±


    The way to the training hall wasn¡¯t long, obviously because it wasn¡¯t far from where the clansmen trained, and as they entered, Mance led him towards a familiar rack of spare weapons all cleanly hung up and organized.


    Many weapons shone with menacing glares and glints under the bright torches that lined the training hall.


    ¡°You like heavier arms if I recall¡­¡± Mance said wistfully, his hands brushing along the rows of assorted weapons before clutching the hilt of a well-forged and balanced single-edged long sword.


    ¡°Mm. Though anything Ordinary wouldn¡¯t be close to heavy as I am now. But you¡­ I don¡¯t mind if you use any of the weapons you have latched against your body and armor.¡±


    ¡°Worrying about me now, boy?¡± Mance laughed out, walking to one end of the great stoen training hall, his eye trailing the small figure of Myra who was lurching over the rails that overlooked the training hall.


    ¡­Osias decided on a great sword ¡ª though it wasn¡¯t as monstrously oversized and broad as the one he was familiar with in the Ordeal.


    ¡°Unweildy choice regardless, Osias.¡±


    Osias shrugged in response, walking to his end of the hall.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about tearing up and breaking this hall¡­ it was made long ago by the previous head of Clan Grimm when we were stronger and more plentiful. Made for Second Ordeals to fight and train without worry.¡±


    Brandishing his great sword, Osias reared it to his side like he¡¯d done so many times before.


    ¡°A part of getting older is living with regret, yet not allowing it to consume you. The older you are, the more mistakes you¡¯ve made, opportunities you¡¯ve missed, people you¡¯ve disappointed¡­ and disappoint yourself as well. And every day you¡¯ll remind yourself to be better, and forgiving of yourself. Accept what you¡¯ve done, and what¡¯s been done. Move on, live your life proud, knowing now as old as you feel today, you¡¯ll never be this young again.¡±


    Mance let the silence linger between them and in the next moment, he whispered under his breath.


    ¡°She¡¯ll never be this young again.¡±

 Chapter 66 - A Candle That Soothes All

    ¡°She won¡¯t ever be this young again.¡±


    Osias bristled at that, visibly irked.


    He¡­he liked her, perhaps even more than he knows himself. He wants nothing more than for her to be happy ¡ª and if it wasn¡¯t too much to desire¡­ he also wished for him to be that person to make her happy.


    To be her home, as she was for him.


    ¡­Shaking his head, Osias focused on his task at hand. There were two things he needed to achieve through this sparring session with Mance.


    But breaking through his attempt to focus, Mance continued:


    ¡°Is it your ambition, boy? Is that the reason why you keep her at arm¡¯s reach away, never accepting her as your own like she has to you? I came to know that your ambition is strong when I guided you through your Ordeal. To where it will take you¡­¡±


    ¡°You said it was three years inside your Ordeal, correct?¡±


    In the next moment, Osias watched as the space where Mance once stood turned to a black mist of sorts. And as though a mighty gust blew in the training hall, the black wind swelled right in front of him, but he prepared accordingly and met Mance¡¯s sword that emerged from the black wind followed by the rest of his armored body.


    ¡®Not Clan Grimm¡¯s essence control and techniques?¡¯ Osias immediately discovered the change of technique from Mance¡¯s usual from just the first touch of steel. It wasn¡¯t the firm and grounded method of Clan Grimm, honed and tempered as it was the day Osias witnessed it in the courtyard all that time ago.


    Disregarding the odd change, he matched Mance¡¯s physical might, making sure not to display all his capabilities in the first exchange. Besides, they were fighting with Ordinary weapons rather than ones befitting them, perhaps Mance was limiting his strength as well and focused on technique.


    Mance raised a small eyebrow and his face turned long as their blades grinded against each other.


    ¡°Indeed¡­ I¡¯m sorry you suffered for three years. You needn¡¯t explain, I already know the nature of the Ordeals and what one must do to obtain such strength.¡±


    Osias grunted, dismissing Mance¡¯s words. Fluidly moving with the grace of a seasoned veteran to counter and throwback Mance only for him to switch to a sharp, vicious, and almost primal assault to follow. He weaved his essence into an erratic, yet skillful rhythm of violence and cruelty, kicking Mance¡¯s knee to stagger him down.


    But before he could swipe at Mance¡¯s armored neck, he turned to the same black wind that whirled around in a vicious gale, nicking Osias¡¯s face and arms as he heard a shy shriek sound from atop the rails overlooking the training hall.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry, Myra.¡¯ He said inwardly¡­ though he didn¡¯t know exactly what for. He didn¡¯t want to worry her ¡ª such things inflicted him with more pain than any blade could.


    But that was exactly the reason¡­ that he couldn¡¯t acknowledge the pain from a blade as anything more than a hindrance, unlike Myra.


    ¡®Did Mance bring her along because of this? Asking those questions too?¡¯


    Wildly slashing his great sword in a brutal arc at where he sensed Mance¡¯s true body, he forced Mance to reform himself. There, he used his blood sense to strike Mance¡¯s Ordinary blade away before slamming his shoulder against the experienced warrior, overwhelming him with power and strength as Mance grunted at the weight of his blow.


    Without reprieve, Osias swung his sword down as though he was executing Mance.


    Yet another gust of black wind saved Mance from imminent death¡­


    Mance emerged from his black gale behind Osias, dragging his blade along Osias¡¯s arm to block it from any further damage.


    Looking down at his bloodied arm, Osias narrowed his eyes.


    ¡®Did he coat his blade in that cutting black wind?¡¯


    Choosing against using Blood Mend in front of Mance, Osias continued his assault on the incorporeal Mance, biding his time.


    Huffing out a low, guttural sound, Osias parried another attack dangerously, but it was enough to create an opportunity to cut Mance at the elbow.


    Osias¡¯s essence rhythm turned violent, bursting with vigor and ferocity as he followed the cut with a heavy blow with the butt of his sword¡¯s hilt. Though it managed to slightly crumple the area of impact, his hilt warped and was too damaged to wield.


    ¡°I¡¯m astonished¡­ did you already weave such rhythms and patterns into your essence control?¡± Mance asked with an intrigued tone, waiting for Osias to grab another weapon from the rack.


    ¡°I did¡­ I killed a Second Ordeal inside my Ordeal ¡ª far from a weak one too. I couldn¡¯t have done it otherwise.¡±


    Mance¡¯s eyebrows shot up in response. Such a feat was unheard of, and Osias as an Ordinary possessed immense battle strength. To kill a being of the Second Ordeal, crossing two entire levels was extraordinary.


    ¡°You¡­ you understand that the feat you accomplished inside your Ordeal is unheard of?¡± Mance said, eyeing the wicked curved saber Osias picked out.


    Osias didn¡¯t respond, leaving silence in his wake as his saber dragged along the stone tiles below his feet. The familiar feeling of a grating saber¡¯s tip against stone brought back memories of fighting Surtil, son of the damnable general of gold.


    ¡°Your essence control and consequent blade techniques¡­ it''s hard to read. It¡¯s like I¡¯m fighting against a disciplined warrior only to face a rabid dog with bared fangs the next moment.¡±


    Mance turned into another violent gale of black, but instead of whirling around to find a usually impossible angle of attack as he did so before, he chose to meet Osias from the front without deceit.


    Their blades clashed and Mance was pushed back despite the force of his gale thrusting him towards Osias. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°But it feels like you can read me¡­¡± Mance uttered under his ragged breath. Osias caught a little irritation that edged Mance¡¯s words.


    Osias stifled a smirk. ¡®If only he knew about my blood connection. It¡¯s weaker than Kiran but through this exchange¡­ I can tell that it¡¯s about ten meters. Anything beyond that and my sense grows mute, but this is enough to gain quite the advantage.¡¯


    ¡°I can. Very well too.¡± Osias replied, slamming his foot against Mance¡¯s torso with a deathly rattle.


    Once more, Mance raised his eyes in shock¡­ astonished at Osias¡¯s strength.


    ¡°Forgive me for asking, but your Ordeal Ability¡­ how much stronger can you get?¡± Mance asked through heavy heaving breaths, his hands brushing along the indent made on his armor.


    ¡®Good,¡¯ Osias thought. This was the first goal Osias wanted to achieve in this spar ¡ª he was alluding to Mance of his Ordeal Ability without outright mentioning it. It was a little taxing to limit his strength earlier, but now he could display it in its monstrous entirety to convince Mance.


    Although it was likely unnecessary to do so, he didn¡¯t mention nor use his entire physical might. Partly because it wouldn¡¯t seem natural for a Path Finder to inform another of their capabilities so flippantly.


    ¡®What was it that Kiran said back then¡­¡¯ He tried to recall something as his face turned long.


    It was something Kiran mentioned, no, asked a long time ago¡­ how they can use their tattoos to hide, taking advantage of the fact that nobody knew what they could do.


    ¡®Perhaps Kiran had this same idea in mind back then.¡¯


    Osias was to the front as Path Finder who possesses a strengthening Ordeal Ability, not a sort of healing from Blood Mend. If he hadn¡¯t done this, he was bound to draw more suspicion into his hazy origins.


    His hefty stature, hair color, vicious War Art, and rarely-seen battle strength were already enough to be suspicious of after all.


    ¡®Will I have to shave my head?¡¯ He wondered, bringing a shy hand over his shaggy grey crown.


    But his worries were cut off as Mance moved with the ferocious black wind once more, though a little hesitation was seen in Mance¡¯s eyes before he turned into the wind.


    ¡®Because I can read where he is, even through his Ordeal Ability?¡¯


    Yet Mance¡¯s hesitation wasn¡¯t unfounded as Osias anticipated where Mance would attack from. Weaving away from another black gust of Mance¡¯s blade, Osias decided to move.


    Mance could almost sense this as he retracted his blade immediately pulling away into his guard, but Osias had a wild glint in his eyes.


    He could anticipate the rhythms of Mance, and prepare accordingly to what he¡¯ll likely do next based on how he is moving his essence¡­ it was practically the next step from observing how a person moves with just sight.


    ¡®Ah¡­ he went back to Clan Grimm¡¯s style. Abandoning that baleful offense?¡¯ Osias quickly noticed even before Mance moved according to the change of style but Osias¡¯s blade was unwavering in its heavy assault.


    Smashing through before Mance could put up Clan Grimm¡¯s firm guard, Osias hefty sword stopped right against Mance¡¯s face.


    With the force he put into it, even an Ordinary blade could¡¯ve killed Mance with the way Osias was now.


    ¡°Thank you, Mance,¡± Osias said, pulling back his sword, achieving the second goal he wanted to achieve with this spar ¡ª to prove to himself where he stood when it comes to his battle strength.


    Mance remained still and silent for a while before pulling himself up, leaning against his sword.


    ¡°It was a pleasure, Osias. You¡¯ve grown strong.¡±


    They walked back to the rack of weapons situated below the balcony where Myra stood, and Osias even made sure to glance up to see her expression.


    There, he saw a beaming and proud face that made him want to melt on the spot.


    Behind him, Mance appeared to have noticed what he was feeling before asking quietly:


    ¡°Osias, part of the reason I came here was to ask you of your intentions. She must¡¯ve told you that her father and uncle served under Henrik, correct?¡±


    Osias quickly lowered his bashful hand from rubbing his head before turning around to Mance.


    ¡°I¡­ yes, she told me of it.¡±


    ¡°Mm¡­ Heed my advice here. Wed her. You can enter the ranks of Clan Grimm and usher both yourself and her into a high standing when we return to the inlands and our home mountain city. You¡¯ll be respected there with your battle strength ¡ª you¡¯ll practically be a Second Ordeal in status.¡±


    Osias paused, thinking to himself.


    ¡®After Myra and myself trail along the merchants¡­ if I don¡¯t find Kiran, what then? Will I¡­ risk remaining here? Perhaps Kiran was wrong, that the land of the Tailed Brothers wasn¡¯t safe. Maybe it was safe¡­ I haven¡¯t been persecuted and hunted down yet. There was an entire war brewing, right? They must care about that more than two stragglers of a fallen band.¡¯


    ¡®That can¡¯t be too bad, can it? I¡­I can remain with Myra. And Mance isn¡¯t wrong, we could live a great life.¡¯


    But he was¡­ conflicted. He still owed it to everyone who entrusted both himself and Kiran with all there was with the Red Sky. Although he wasn¡¯t inclined to simply seek the deaths of everyone who played a role in eradicating his family and his people¡­ the deaths of their leaders would suffice. It would also suffice in proving their Blood Path, as Garm said, no matter how Osias felt about the man who tortured him in the pursuit of strength.


    ¡°I¨CI still need time. I can¡¯t say for certain where I will go, but Clan Grimm has sheltered me well. I¡¯m sure to remain here for a long time to return my debt but after that? I¡­ don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Is it revenge? Vengeance? Revenge against the Tailed Brothers for striking down your people? I¡¯m sorry for bringing up such a time, but Henrik told me of your past.¡±


    ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m fine with it. But revenge? I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know about it.¡± Osias responded, half a lie.


    Mance brought a thoughtful hand to rub his chin with a faint smile, ¡°Good. Revenge against them is foolish. Not only are they too powerful to even think of such a thing, but we as Clan Grimm are also part of the Tailed Brothers too after all. I¡­ I was worried you¡¯ve learned nothing of what happened with the Half-Moon Clan.¡±


    Coming right alongside Osias, Mance said in an endearing tone unfitting his stern and unforgiving appearance, ¡°Osias, I can only give you my advice, but think it over. Please. It¡¯d be a shame to disregard her feelings¡­ her love. She¡¯s already lost everyone aside from her mother. It''s not as though I¡¯m forcing you to love her¡­ you already know that you cherish her.¡±


    Mance¡¯s words seeped deep into Osias¡¯s mind and soul. It troubled him greatly¡­ balancing what he wanted and what he was entrusted with.


    ¡®What if I find Kiran when Myra takes me along with the merchants? Will we still head for the Northern Wind Union after that? Can I convince Myra to come along? But she¡¯ll¡­ she¡¯ll be taken far away from her home. Her mother.¡¯


    Mounting his great sword back to where he grabbed it from, he heard the dainty and playful steps echoing down the stairs ¡ª Myra¡¯s steps. Yet those familiar steps felt especially loud to his ears, echoing in the hollow chambers within his heart¡­


    ¡°Osias! You beat him! Ha, Mance, you¡¯ve grown old!¡± Myra said with a melodious laugh, patting Mance¡¯s back before rushing to Osias with her arms stretched to embrace him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done it! You fought well, Osias.¡± She said, her proud laughter ringing out as she jumped into him.


    Osias opened his arms to welcome her beaming leap, but his eyes trailed away from her¡­ landing on Mance¡¯s thoughtful face from behind her. It was as though Mance¡¯s expression was telling Osias to consider his advice once more.


    ¡®The way her fingers grace my scars and old wounds, it felt as if the pain never existed¡­¡¯


    And so with the most gentle, beautiful, hopeful, caring bundle of home that clung to his chest with the endearing arms¡­ Osias made his choice.


    Whether Kiran was found or not¡­ he¡¯ll remain here alongside her.


    If need be, he¡¯ll convince Kiran to remain here as well. If it was dangerous, then he alongside Kiran and the rest of Clan Grimm will grow strong enough to protect all he cares about.


    ¡­Because it was worth it. She was worth it.