Tunde’s first priority was finding a safe place to heal, hidden from the overwhelming forces of the king and his first claw, whose combined aura had turned the entire area into their domain. The very sands glowed with their oppressive presence, as did their forces—Corespawn and beasts alike—marching toward Black Rock. It felt as if there was no opposing master left within the settlement capable of stopping their advance.

  He found himself venturing deeper into enemy territory, stealthily slipping past the lumbering forms of Sandshards, Cinderhides, and other massive creatures that no longer hid in the deepest parts of the wastelands. It was relatively easy for Tunde, thanks to Ethra Sight, which revealed the presence of dozens of Corespawns of various tiers, all led by their true beast lords.

  The extent of their forces had been severely underestimated, and the thought of the now-dead Highlord Kugan made Tunde rub the void ring where something precious was stored. The risk had been insane, but he had managed it.

  Lying low as a line of humanoid Sandstalker serpents—tier 2, possibly tier 3—marched past, hissing and snarling in their strange language, Tunde buried himself slightly beneath the sands. He watched them, his gaze drawn to the flying form of a true beast that led the group. Tunde had become adept at distinguishing between Corespawns—former cultivators who had forsaken the natural path of cultivation—and true beasts. These creatures had gained enough power to become sentient, humanoid beings.

  Once the group was far enough away, he slowly rose to his feet, crouching low as he resumed his journey. He pushed toward the small cave mouth he spotted in the distance but stopped a few meters ahead, using the sun's waning light to shield his position as he observed the figures seated around a small fire.

  They appeared to be a scout group, which was odd, considering they were far behind the bulk of their forces currently laying siege to Black Rock. A true beast led them, a large, muscular figure wielding a crude hammer fashioned from rock. He sat in their midst, tearing into fat-soaked meat roasting atop the fire, while the others took turns cutting slices from the large creature being cooked.

  Tunde’s eyes strayed to the two feline creatures bound by heavy chains at the edge of the gathering. Midnight black and large enough to reach his chest, they made his current situation more complicated. They would be his first obstacle if he were to get past them and deal with the gathered creatures.

  The true beast stood up, sniffing the air as Tunde tensed, unsure if the creature had sensed him. The other Corespawns lay languidly on the rocks they reclined on, holding large clay bowls filled with what he assumed was alcohol, given their inebriated state. Tunde briefly wondered where they had procured it but quickly discarded the thought. It didn’t matter now—only killing them did.

  “Relax, boss,” one of the Corespawns slurred, his unkempt hair and large ears making him look more beast than man. “The entire wastelands now belong to the king, this close to his throne.”

  “Maybe so, but I heard a few of their forces were left outside the barrier,” another said, a gruff-looking one with sharp spines lining his spine.

  The third Corespawn, with a feline-shaped form and long, sharp, dirty claws, spat on the ground. “Filthy imperials,” he snarled. “They will pay for the death of Highlord Kugan!” He bared his sharp, brown teeth in a feral grin.

  The true beast said nothing, its eyes still scanning the horizon, passing over where Tunde lay before it seemingly relaxed. “Lord Heito would have our heads if he found us slacking,” the true beast said, dropping its stone hammer. “Lady Jana’s death at the hands of one of the Imperials will not go unpunished. Better we not incur his wrath.”

  The large-eared spawn sighed. “Pity about Lady Jana. Lord Heito is the last powerful true beast of the Blazewing clan. The deaths of his father and sister will leave a scar on him.”

  Heito—a name unfamiliar to Tunde. The thought of Jana having a sibling unsettled him, knowing he was the one who had ended her. The conversation continued, Tunde remaining perfectly still despite the blowing sand and dust coating his figure, watching patiently.

  His core was nearly full, but his Ethra lines were sore. He was hesitant to draw on them too much, yet fighting the enemies ahead without techniques seemed impossible. As they began to doze off one by one, the chilly winds of night rising in temperature, Tunde shivered. Soon enough, only the true beast remained awake.

  It raised its head again, seemingly staring at Tunde’s position before blinking and shaking its head. Instincts, Tunde realized, were hard to shake off—the creature suspected something was amiss. It whistled, and the felines lifted their heads at their master’s call. The true beast tossed large pieces of meat and bones from the recently devoured creature to them, watching as they crunched down on the feast with enthusiasm.

  Tunde watched in horror as the felines crunched on a skull, finally realizing what he had been staring at. It had been a human on the spit.

  Rage flared within him—not at the true beast, for it was a beast, and beasts ate prey. But at the Corespawns, who had sunk so low as to consume their own kind. The thought filled him with revulsion. Had they fallen so far from their humanity that they would feast on their fellow humans? It gave him a new sense of urgency; if these were the kinds of creatures he was dealing with, he would show no mercy.

  The true beast stood, hefting its stone hammer onto its shoulders before kicking the large-eared Corespawn, who rolled over and promptly passed out again. A frown marred the true beast’s face at its force’s negligence. To Tunde, it was the true beast’s fault, and he would make sure it paid for it.

  He cycled his Ethra, his lines stinging as he gathered a void orb, shaping it into thin needles. With careful precision, he shot them at the felines.

  He moved with deadly precision, his body imbued with Ethra as he burst out of the sands, an aura-infused blade in hand. The needles he had launched tore through the felines, their yelps of surprise and pain cut short as the needles exploded within their skulls, instantly killing one and grievously wounding the other, which lost half of its face.

  But Tunde’s primary target was the true beast. It roared, yellow earth Ethra blazing around its form as it shouted for its forces to rise. The startled Corespawns scrambled to grab their weapons, stumbling in their fear and confusion. Tunde almost pitied them. Almost.

  The true beast unleashed a projection technique, stomping its feet as the stone ground beneath them shot up in large walls, attempting to destabilize him. But Tunde slipped past them with ease, much to the shock of both the true beast and the inebriated Corespawns.

  The first to attack him was the large-eared Corespawn, who wielded two short, serrated blades, hoping to slow him down. Tunde’s blade flashed, and the spawn’s head tumbled from its shoulders as Tunde advanced toward the second. The sharp-spined Corespawn brandished a spiked mace, roaring as it moved in tandem with the feline-shaped one, whose claws burned with an Ethra affinity Tunde couldn’t recognize.

  He wondered briefly why they attacked so recklessly like animals, forgetting that they were cultivators first, with techniques at their disposal. Their instincts had taken over, in contrast to the true beasts, who relished unleashing their techniques. Ethra Sight mapped out their movements easily. Tunde deflected the mace with his blade, slicing through it cleanly before unleashing Joran’s Wrath on the feline-shaped Corespawn.

  The third spawn exploded in a shower of blood and guts, its chest disappearing in an instant, the creature dead before its body hit the ground. Tunde’s blade buried itself in the neck of the sharp-spined Corespawn, whose wide eyes couldn’t comprehend its imminent death.

  As he withdrew his blade, Tunde faced the true beast, whose form rippled with power, yellow Ethra lines running through its gray stone skin-like veins. It charged at him, swinging its hammer in a powerful arc. Tunde’s imbued blade couldn’t withstand the force, cracks spreading through it from the impact.

  Dodging swiftly, Tunde sidestepped the hammer and drove his blade near the beast’s armpit, only for it to shatter after penetrating just a few inches. Rolling away, Tunde forged a void spear with his imbuement technique and hurled it at the creature. The true beast raised another stone wall to deflect the attack, but the spear exploded on impact, reducing the wall to sand. The true beast hesitated for a moment but then charged forward, stepping over the dead bodies of its underlings.

  Tunde met the beast head-on, gathering Joran’s Wrath once more as they exchanged brutal blows. Each strike sent tremors deep into his already aching bones. The weight behind his attacks staggered the true beast, who couldn’t hide its shock at the force Tunde wielded. In response, it summoned a large circle of golden earth energy, trapping Tunde within its boundaries. His legs locked in place as the beast grinned triumphantly, swinging its hammer down to crush him.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  But Tunde’s void realm manifested, swallowing the true beast’s domain. The hammer missed entirely; the beast driven to its knees in shock. Tunde had been shocking it repeatedly since their battle began. His force affinity came into play as the true beast struggled to move while Tunde shattered the stone bindings, reducing them to dust.

  Reaching into his void space, Tunde retrieved a spear made of Ethereon and skewered the creature before it could react. The true beast stared at him with hatred as it died, powerless. Tunde canceled his dominion technique with a cough, his body aching everywhere. Surveying the scene before him, he poured sand over the fire, extinguishing it before piling the bodies together.

  The other feline creature was dead, having bled out slowly. As Tunde contemplated how to dispose of the bodies without attracting attention, a wild thought crossed his mind—a desperate idea, but one he was willing to try.

  Taking a deep breath, aware of the pain he was about to inflict on himself, Tunde gathered his concept Ethra. The dark grey energy pooled in his palm as he placed it over the bodies, watching as they began to disintegrate. It had been a long time since he had used his cosmic Ethra, its disintegrating effects often mistaken for destruction Ethra by others, including the Highlord.

  The force component of his Ethra pushed the remains of the bodies into the sands, which parted, sinking the disintegrated corpses deeper until no trace of them remained. Exhausted, Tunde repeated the process for the entire campsite. By the time he was finished, his bones and body screamed in agony, but the area around the cave was spotless.

  Barely managing to reach the cave’s interior, Tunde navigated deeper, his vision swimming. Finding a small crevice that would fit him, he collapsed in pain and exhaustion. He opened his void ring and pulled out a leather skin filled with vitality-infused Ethra.

  Draining it, he whispered words of thanks to Lady Ryka, who always reminded him to carry a few with him. He ate some dried meat he had managed to bring along before passing out, completely drained.

  ***************

  Miria’s rage boiled as she stared at the formation barrier that held against the relentless onslaught of the Wasteland King’s forces. The entire battle made no sense, and it grated on her nerves. The masters on both sides were nowhere to be found, even though their dominions—Lady Ming had explained—wrestled for control of the entire area. Golden skies clashed with black flames above, creating a terrifying spectacle. Yet the occasional technique from Varis still crashed through the ranks of the thousands of creatures below, only to be deflected by another Highlord in the king’s army.

  The Ethra cannons atop the walls had fired for hours before the Highlord ordered the rankers to cease wasting ammunition on the never-ending army. Miria had even witnessed a surge rift open up amid the invading army, with large stone creatures pouring out in a mad frenzy.

  Drawn by the heavy Ethra that filled the air, the forces of the king had swarmed through the rift’s entrance, emerging minutes later with the rift core itself, causing the spatial realm to collapse with some of their numbers still trapped inside. The gravity of the situation had never been clearer to Miria.

  It was why she had petitioned Lady Ryka, and by extension, Varis, to allow her to search for Tunde. But while Lady Ryka’s concept had kept those within the walls safe, outside was a different matter entirely. Varis had bluntly told her that she was forbidden from stepping foot outside the settlement and threatened to end her if she disobeyed.

  At other times, Miria might have dismissed his threat as a bluff. But this time, she saw the rage in his eyes and knew better than to push him. So she spent her time atop the walls, watching as the hordes of creatures threw themselves at the barrier in impotent fury, all the while wondering what the imperial high-rankers were waiting for.

  Miria never imagined she would feel helpless as a Lord Realm cultivator, yet here she was, standing in mute silence atop the walls. A heavy sense of gloom had descended over the settlement, the constant pounding on the barrier a grim reminder of their impending doom. The news of Tunde’s absence had spread, and Miria realized she had underestimated just how vital his presence was to the people of Black Rock.

  The three heirs of the great clans had isolated themselves within their quarters under the pretense of closed-door meditations for the coming battle. But Miria knew the truth—or, at least, part of it. They had something to do with Tunde’s disappearance. The way his eyes had widened in rage as he looked up at them on the wall just seconds before vanishing told her all she needed to know.

  However, she had no concrete evidence. As Lady Ming had cautioned, one didn’t accuse the great clans lightly unless they had a great power behind them. The intricate politics and delicate nature of such power struggles were too much for Miria to bother with. The summary was clear: Unless she belonged to a powerful sect with an equally powerful and advanced cultivator behind it—preferably as a direct student or acolyte—it would be suicidal and foolish to challenge the great clans, and it would only bring more trouble to Black Rock.

  So, she had paced around, raged impotently in her room, and even cried before returning to her guard duty, unwilling to give up on Tunde. To the credit of the others, they hadn’t given up either, but Miria could see their hopes fading as time passed and Tunde failed to return. She coped by imagining the various ways she would lay waste to the king’s forces, perhaps even going down with them.

  Her past was a sensitive topic, but for most of her life, she had believed she and her father were the last of their people—a dying breed. Tunde’s arrival had ignited something within her, something she hadn’t expected or dared to feel in a long time. It also revealed how truly weak she was, how small she, the Ink Lady of Tyrant’s Haven, had been in the grand scheme of the continent.

  The realization had filled her with rage, but it also gave her a clear outline of her path forward, one she accepted with grim determination. As she stood there, a recently advanced disciple turned adept approached her, bowing respectfully.

  “Venerable Lord Miria,” he began, “Esteemed Elder Draven humbly requests your presence in his forge.”

  Miria gave no verbal response, merely turning and moving toward the shadows atop the walls. The night skies were illuminated by flashes of white lightning and the golden glow on the horizon. She melded with the shadows, navigating her way in a brief second to the base of the wall within the settlement. Miria’s ability to fuse with darkness and shadow had advanced, allowing her to travel short distances within sight.

  It was a powerful technique of her unique concept, one even Elder Wren had praised. Lady Ming had watched her intently the first time she used it, as if wondering if Miria would use it to spy on her.

  “Be careful,” the elder had warned. “Such techniques do not come without a price.”

  Those words echoed in Miria’s mind as she moved quietly and quickly through the crowded streets, past the bandits-turned-loyal-citizens who understood that if Black Rock fell, it would mean the end for them as well.

  The Iron District was alive with activity, the smoke from forges swelling as hundreds of hammers rang in disorganized tandem, reforging broken weapons and crafting new ones. All of this was in preparation for the inevitable battle Miria anticipated. Sera had also isolated herself, only coming out briefly before returning to her quarters. Whether she was searching for signs of Tunde or preparing herself for the coming battle, Miria didn’t know. She had given the barbarian wastelander the space she needed.

  When Miria reached Draven’s forge, she found its doors manned by forgehands wielding hefty hammers. At first, they frowned, ready to turn her away, but when she stepped out of the shadows, they hastily bowed, eyes wide in recognition.

  Every ranker sought Draven’s services; his Ethra-imbued weapons far superior to ordinary Ethereon-forged ones. His weapon tier limit had advanced to tier 4, making his tier 3 weapons expensive but highly sought after by the rankers of Jade Peak. The Highlord had even proclaimed a bounty for when the barriers fell, rewarding those who brought in the most cores.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, Miria made her way through the busy forge, entering Draven’s private quarters. Knocking twice, she stepped inside and found him hard at work at his personal forge table. He paused, glancing at her before dropping his hammer and wordlessly gathering her into a hug. Miria, realizing she had been tense all day, finally relaxed and hugged him back.

  When they separated, Draven studied her for a moment before nodding. “Good, that fire in your eyes burns bright. Keep it that way,” he said calmly.

  “You wanted to see me?” Miria asked softly.

  Draven nodded and gestured for her to sit in a chair beside him. As she reclined, Miria rubbed her eyes, realizing just how tired she was.

  “Your whip blade—how is it holding up?” he asked.

  Miria produced it from her void ring. “Strong, sharp, eager,” she replied.

  Draven nodded in approval. “I’ll test it well enough when the battle eventually finds us. Rest assured.”

  “And yet, I can’t help but hope it never does,” Draven murmured, to which Miria had no reply. He sighed and looked at her intently. “Do you think he’d like another axe?”

  Miria blinked, realizing he was talking about Tunde. She sat up straight. “You still think he’s alive?” she asked, a flicker of hope in her heart.

  Draven snorted. “Please. I watched that thrice-damned fool go toe-to-toe against Corespawns twice his size and strength as a disciple. You really think they’d stop him now that he’s at the Lord Realm?”

  Miria couldn’t help but laugh, a sad but genuine sound. “No, I doubt it,” she admitted.

  She stared at the Ethereon pole on the table, thinking about the question. “I don’t pretend to know his mind,” she began, “but the axe is a weapon given to him by the artificer.”

  Draven frowned. “Ah, yes. We all know how that ended,” he said. “You think it might remind him of Borus?”

  It was difficult not to explain to the Forgesmith that the artificer had actually betrayed Tunde and the late Elder Joran, rather than the lie Tunde had told them about Borus being a hero. But she nodded. “It might bring back unwanted memories.”

  Draven nodded in understanding. “I thought as much,” he said, tapping the table thoughtfully before looking at her again. “What would you recommend?”

  Miria was surprised by the question. Draven had never asked for her input when crafting a weapon, not even when he made her whip-blade. But she considered it, picturing Tunde and his ever-evolving fighting style.

  “He’s good at unarmed combat, which means he likes to get close in battle,” she began. “I’m guessing he’ll need something for distance, for those times when he can’t get close to turn his victims into a bloody mess.”

  Draven tilted his head. “Victims,” he repeated, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “You said victims, not enemies or opponents—victims. Why?”

  Miria shrugged. “When he fights, it’s not to prove he’s stronger than you. It’s to end you, once and for all.”

  Draven smiled slightly, touching the pole as he nodded. “Thank you, Miria,” he said before turning his full attention back to the pole. Miria watched him work in relative silence, for once feeling a sense of peace within herself.