Tunde tasted bile as he roused back to life. His body burned hot, his eyelids seemed firmly attached to each other, and his body screamed from within. For a brief moment, he wondered if he was dead and in some mockery of an afterlife. The biting rays of sunlight coloring his inner sight red were all he needed to know that he lived.

  He took a shuddering breath, his chest expanding even as it came with nerve-wracking pain that threatened to put him under again. It passed as quickly as it came, releasing him as he swallowed forcefully. His environment was empty; the absence of noise said as much. As he forced his eyes open, Tunde bit back a groan of serious discomfort at the sunlight

  He was a lord now, he reminded himself, not some weak adept passing out after every battle. And yet, the weakness he felt within his body was one he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had dreamt, the most bizarre of dreams. He had found himself within the body of the jade tyrant, an abhorrent thought that caused him to shiver.

  He had seen the lady Rhaelar summon a tempest of such power that even now, Tunde wondered how a single person could wield such power. It seemed impossible, and yet, this was a master he was talking about. Nothing was impossible for them; he had seen it firsthand.

  The fact that he was alive was a testament to how lucky he had been. That and the realization that Varis had come to find him in the wastelands. Tunde mulled over it for a second, unsure of the ramifications of such an action. If he was here and silence reigned, then that meant they had been victorious; they had won. But what had become of the wasteland king and the tyrant?

  He doubted masters could be killed that easily, not with the way they threw attacks that could obliterate entire settlements with such ease that it had placed Tunde in awe and fright. There were truly insane heights to advancement; the powerful were the law, and once again, he had been at their mercy.

  It was becoming a recurring theme for him now. Advance one step forward and get squashed like an insignificant bug in the face of superior power. Kugan, Yumar, the tyrant, and even the wasteland king himself. He frowned, staring at his scabbed palms, one of the few parts of his body that despite his advancement had never changed.

  They were signs of his efforts, of every sword or weapon he had swung, every battle he had faced. They were his scars, and he was proud of them. Eyes flicking to the door of the room he was unfamiliar with, he could hear noise from outside, a figure pausing before entering. Ani stared at him with shock in her eyes, holding a tray filled with pills and what looked like a purification elixir.

  He raised his eyebrow at it, wondering where she had gotten it when she placed it gently on the table, hands on her waist. “That’s a really expensive elixir,” he said softly, his throat still dry. She poured him a bowl of water, Tunde nodding gratefully as he took it to his mouth and drank heavily. It felt like pure bliss, the water cooling and relieving his parched throat even as he felt the life Ethra infused into it heal him slowly.

  A tiny bite-like itch around his body informed him that his Ethra lines had been sorely used and were still healing. By the time he dropped the bowl, Ani was seated opposite him, staring at him with concern even as Tunde gave her a soft smile. “How are you?” she asked softly.

  “I’m alive, aren’t I?” he replied.

  She frowned at the reply as he noticed a confident gleam in her eyes she rejuvenator had been sorely missing, a sort of innate confidence he was glad she had. “Twenty broken bones,” she started, as if reciting a list she had been forced to memorize over and over. “Torn muscles, damaged Ethra lines, you aren’t supposed to even be moving right now, Tunde,” she said.

  He nodded, looking anywhere else but at her. “How am I fine then?” he asked, turning his gaze back to her. She got up, handing him a pill as he stared at it and then at her.

  “That’s a grade 4 pure Ethra pill, courtesy of the Highlord,” she replied. Tunde nodded, pill still in hand.

  “You burned from within,” Ani continued, drawing his attention. “You were broken, gripping a weapon of such power that even the Highlord doubted he could pry it from your hand without first breaking them,” she said.

  “The jade blade,” Tunde thought to himself. It had to have been the weapon; there was no other one. This was puzzling, as Tunde could remember the weapon being pried from his hands the moment he stabbed Yumar. Perhaps it had come back into his possession at one point or another; he wasn’t sure.

  “Then, somehow, you began to heal rapidly, and if I didn’t know better, I’d assume you were a freshly advanced lord,” she completed.

  “Then why do I keep feeling pain?” he asked with a wince as he rotated his shoulders, his body seemingly protesting.

  “Because you can’t cheat nature, not with the level of injuries you sustained. In fact, I’m surprised your core isn’t damaged. Just what monster did you face out there?” she asked incredulously.

  If it wasn’t general news by now that he had faced a Highlord and, to some laughable extent, a master, then Varis was definitely keeping it silent. Tunde decided to wisely keep shut as well, simply smiling at her as he spoke. “The wastelands are filled with unimaginable horrors,” he replied.

  She eyed him a bit more even as he got to his feet, stumbling a bit in embarrassment before regaining his balance. Tunde realized he was dressed in a fresh pair of robes, with an odd crest of a black rock amid floating clouds. He turned to Ani, indicating the crest even as she smiled softly.

  “The venerable Highlord and master of the empire have accepted our request to become a lesser sect of the empire,” she replied as Tunde felt a smile worm its way across his face. “As of this moment, you are Lord Tunde of sect Black Rock,” she added.

  Tunde glanced at the crest again with a soft smile. “I need to see them,” he started, suddenly finding himself heading for the doors. “Lady Ryka, Miria, I need to see them all,” he said as he hastily left, not paying attention to how Ani’s smile dropped.

  ****************

  He was in the recently built healing home of Ani, something that caught him by surprise as he huddled his way out of the building. Various faces he was unaware of paused at the sight of him, eyes wide as they bowed in deference. Tunde neither had the time nor the patience to tell them to desist, that all he had done, he had done in the name of Elder Joran and Black Rock. He had done it for them.

  The stronghold itself loomed in the distance, the black walls that rose up high and stood as a bulwark between the wastelands and the settlement itself no longer seemed ominous. For once, he could smell the fresh air, the sweet aroma of wine, fried and baked goods, even the flowers. The laughter of little kids he hadn’t even noticed flooded the cobbled streets as he made his way towards the stronghold.

  More homes had been built, more streets illuminated, and to Tunde, it felt like he had slept for quite some time. It made him wonder just how long he had slumbered. How long ago had the battle ended? And just what was he walking into?

  All those questions and more flooded his mind as he found his steps quickening, his powerful lord body already accustomed to the stress he was putting it through. The gates of the stronghold loomed ahead, where two lightning warriors of the imperial army stood at attention. Tunde paused in his stride, tapping his body as he hissed in disappointment.

  He had misplaced the medallion given to him by Varis, his one evidence that he carried the authority of the Highlord. The lord realm warriors saw him and bowed a bit in deference as Tunde blinked, surprised.

  "Welcome," they both said as he stepped closer, watching them for any signs of a prank.

  "The venerable Highlord is within," the one on the left said as Tunde nodded gently, passing through the gates and into the surroundings of the stronghold.

  Flowers decorated the landscape, a sign of Lady Ryka’s concept, he believed. He hadn’t seen it much in action, but he had heard of it and appreciated its necessity. Sure, it would have its lethal part as well, but its obvious uses went beyond the regular fighting techniques every cultivator was always interested in.

  The great hall of the stronghold was unusually filled to the brim, noises coming from all angles as Tunde noted dozens upon dozens of cultivators, mostly disciples and initiates, handing over items to the people behind counters and collecting lumens in return. He could see cores of lower grades, no doubt gotten from the dead fighters of the wasteland king. What had once looked like an annihilation was now a source of bounty for the sect.

  The sect, Black Rock Sect.

  It sounded as novel and as pleasing to him as ever, and yet, even as he stared above the throngs that milled around, some pausing at the sight of him, he smiled contentedly to himself. Joran would be proud to see what they had accomplished. From a settlement with no hopes of braving the wastelands to a sect that could stand on equal footing with any other lesser clans or sects within the borderlands.

  Whispers of his name spread among the throngs as a quick hush settled among them, wide-eyed cultivators bowing to him.

  "Cultivators of Black Rock!" a loud voice boomed as Tunde saw Giselle making her way to him, a wide smile on her face. "Pay your respects to the Dark Fist himself," she commanded.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "WE GREET THE LORD!" a loud chorus came from the assembled numbers as Tunde winced, partly in embarrassment and partly in pain, the noise too much for his still sensitive ears. Giselle was next to him, hugging him lightly as he smiled.

  "It is good to see you alive," she said, looking him over. "The Highlord said your survival depended on your determination to live and that there was nothing he could do for you," she finished.

  "You won’t be getting rid of me that easily," Tunde promised as she laughed, patting his sore shoulder gently.

  "How long have I been asleep, Giselle?" he asked gently as he noticed the smile on her face waver just a bit.

  "Come, come, the rest have been anxious about your state," she said, blatantly diverting the topic.

  Tunde let her; it would be easy finding out sooner or later. For now, though, he would enjoy the sights. He noticed items he hadn’t imagined the sect owning. Robes in large quantities, grade 1 and grade 2 elixirs being handed out like they were water. Was the clan so flush now as to remove the rationing?

  "We’ve been receiving resupply ships from the empire proper," Giselle said, as if reading his mind. "Once a week, a ship arrives with much-needed items and a few people who apparently want to relocate to Black Rock for the coming opening," she continued.

  "Opening?" Tunde asked, confused.

  "I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll let Lady Ryka explain," she replied as he nodded. Ships coming from the empire itself. While the thought was as surprising as it would be seeing that he knew just how hard it had been to even convince them, what stuck to him was the duration it took between supplies.

  A week, and if numerous ships had been coming and going, then that meant Tunde had been asleep for a significant amount of time.

  Tunde kept it to himself even as he noticed Giselle shooting sidelong glances at him. He ignored it, climbing the steps to the first floor of the stronghold. Around them, cultivators, mostly disciples, milled around, carrying large scrolls and books as they hastily made their way around. Only a few even noticed his presence, stopping for a few precious seconds to bow to him before resuming their hurried journeys.

  “Elder Wren and Ming have turned this floor into their own personal knowledge hall,” Giselle explained. “Rewriting what little knowledge they know and changing what we knew. Did you know that the emperor himself is a regent?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

  Tunde nodded. It seemed painfully obvious now, seeing as a master was somewhere within the building. It would take more than a master realm cultivator to control half of the continent, just as he was realizing that the Verdan clan, along with the other supposedly powerful clans, weren’t the most powerful in the empire.

  Speaking of clans, “The heirs,” Tunde asked, finding himself surprisingly calm. “Where are they?”

  “Restricted to their building, by the order of the master herself,” Giselle replied with a hint of venom in her voice.

  “You know,” Tunde said as a matter of fact.

  She nodded. “Yes, we all know.”

  Tunde left it at that, saying nothing as he let himself ponder the answer.

  They stopped at a large glossed wooden door that smelled of fresh books even from outside. The large doors opened into another large hallway, entire rows of scrolls filled both sides, the brown painted floors adorned with stylized shapes Tunde couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around. Disciples and initiates, even one or two adepts, hurried around with scrolls, all coming from a large desk in the distance.

  All activities stopped as the hurrying cultivators bowed to him and Giselle, clearing the way for Tunde to see two figures seated side by side. One with a cup that steamed and the other holding a scroll. Both smiled at him, beaming looks that almost had Tunde pausing in his tracks as he stared at the couple. Elder Wren and Ming, once both high-ranking members of clan Verdan, now likewise powers of sect Black Rock.

  And they were lords too; he could feel their subtle aura as he occupied the space between them, giving the feel of such age that Tunde wondered if they even knew it felt as such.

  “As I live and breathe, the Dark Fist,” Elder Wren said as Tunde bowed to them.

  “I greet the venerable elders. Congratulations on your advancements,” he said.

  “Please, Ryka had to plead over and over; I almost felt sorry for her,” Ming replied, her wise eyes poring into him.

  Tunde sat on a chair provided by a disciple who avoided eye contact with him, same with Giselle. “We don’t have much time,” Giselle interjected.

  “Yes, yes, the Highlord and master would no doubt have felt your presence,” Wren said as he patted his wife’s shoulder.

  “It is good to see you back up and doing what you like,” Tunde commented.

  “Someone has to set the history right and other things considering the madness clan Verdan threw us into,” she replied with a shrug, “as well as a little help from the master who, in her gracious benevolence, granted us access to a few scrolls from the branch knowledge halls of the empire,” Wren added.

  “Things seem to have been coming along since the battle,” Tunde said softly as Elder Ming sighed, glancing at Giselle.

  “He’s not aware, is he?” she asked as Tunde waited for them to finish whatever silent discussion they were having.

  Elder Wren turned to him. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, Tunde,” he started.

  “I guessed as much. Black Rock has changed far too quickly for my slumber to be a short one,” Tunde replied.

  “Not too long as well,” Lady Ming added as he glanced at her.

  “Two months,” Elder Wren said as Tunde paused. “You’ve been asleep for two months, during which a lot of things have happened that, even as I say it, I find almost impossible to believe,” he continued.

  Tunde swallowed gently, staring at his palms again as he clenched them tight, taking a deep breath and shuddering in response.

  “That is indeed a long time,” he said calmly as they waited for him, “and the battle?” he asked.

  “After you were brought back by the Highlord, the battle was more or less over,” Elder Wren continued. “No one knows what happened in the wastelands. We were hoping you’d shed more light on it for us?” the elder asked as Tunde gave a sad smile.

  “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” He replied.

  “We’ve heard broken fragments. I’d believe you even if you said you fought the Wasteland King,” Wren said with a soft chuckle.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Tunde replied wearily, causing Wren to freeze, even Ming raising an eyebrow in surprise.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Tunde sighed. “Long story short, the King wasn’t the only master out there. There was another, a grand Ethralite who went by the name the Jade Tyrant,” he explained.

  Giselle could only stare at him with wide eyes. “So that was what the other power was,” she said softly, and he nodded.

  “How are you even still alive?” Wren muttered, looking him over as Ming tapped him softly, the elder seemingly getting a hold of himself as he continued. “My apologies, no doubt a tale for another time,” he said.

  “With the war over, the battle of the masters scarred the wastelands. Entire mountains gone and others replacing them. A large jade crystal forest blooming within it with all sorts of new creatures native to it. There are even large oases sprouting here and there; it’s like the planet is turning the wasteland into a habitable place,” he narrated.

  “No doubt, as a result of the actions of the masters there,” Ming added, Wren nodding.

  “And Black Rock?” Tunde asked.

  “The dead Corespawns and true beasts were commodities we could not overlook,” Ming said.

  “Aren’t Corespawns humans who decided to cultivate the path of creatures?” Tunde asked, concerned.

  “Indeed, and they also have cores just as any other creature, both native and rift-made, as well,” she replied nonplussed. Tunde supposed if she didn’t have any issues with selling what was more or less an organ of a former human, then he was fine with it.

  “With that, along with the slowly changing wastelands that kept producing rift after rift of tier 5 and below, we’ve been basically producing more cores and other items to a stage that we had to sell to the empire,” Wren said.

  “And with the reluctant help of the great clans who, after having heard of the atrocities of their heirs, were more than eager to recompense us,” Ming said with a satisfied smile.

  “I wouldn’t go as far as calling it atrocities, don’t you think?” Tunde asked.

  “They threatened and planned to kill a cultivator who gained the interest of a member of the Talahan clan as well as was under his protection,” Ming recited as if counting charges.

  “I’d be surprised if the imperial clan has not found a way to get back at them for this. Offering us their trading connections is the least of their worries, believe me,” Wren took over with a chuckle.

  Tunde nodded. “And the rest? Miria, Draven, Isolde?” he asked.

  “Isolde, now head of both our merchant and transport bodies, rarely stays in Black Rock for now. Too much is required of her, so she now mans a little checkpoint along the former ruins of Jade Peak, built for her and a contingent of our sect members under her for protection,” Wren replied.

  “Draven continues to head the forging district. Heard he had a little surprise for you,” Ming said.

  Then they paused as Tunde raised an eyebrow. “Well, what about Miria?” he asked.

  “She’s hale and hearty, well, last we heard,” Wren said with a slight cough.

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” he said slowly. “Last I saw her, she was safe behind these walls,” he continued.

  “Hence why we said hale and hearty,” Wren replied as Ming placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. Wren paused, glancing at her as he sighed. Tunde found his hands clenched into fists as he tried to understand what was going on.

  “We had an unexpected guest while the battle was going on,” Ming started as she stared at him, “one I cannot speak of, cannot name, cannot even write down.” She raised a hand, pausing him. “Believe me when I tell you that she couldn’t be in a safer place than where she was taken, which was partly due to a certain affinity crystal you gave her,” she said meaningfully.

  “The shadow crystal,” Tunde thought as he sat up. “And where is she now?” he asked, his chest beating wildly as he gritted his teeth. Confusion warred within him. Was this the Highlord’s doing? A sort of punishment for dragging him out to the wastelands? Or was it worse, the master’s doing?

  She had no interest in Miria, not that he knew of. So there was no reason for her to send Miria somewhere in the first place. “Shadow affinity is highly regulated on Bloodfire, Tunde, no doubt as you must have put together considering that was the lie we gave the Verdan clan,” Wren said softly.

  He nodded, still waiting for an answer. “Shadow affinity belongs to one body within the empire, and that shadow affinity you gave her belonged to them. Do you understand now?” Wren said slowly.

  Tunde picked his words carefully, even with the hints being dropped about a mysterious body. “I got it off a cultivator sent to hunt me,” he said calmly as Elder Wren nodded.

  “Yes, but what kind of cultivator?” he asked as he placed one finger to his lip.

  Tunde’s eyes widened. Assassins? Did they come after her for revenge? Elder Wren nodded as he saw the answer click in Tunde’s eyes. “Can’t the master or Highlord do something about it?” he asked.

  This was his battle, his fight, and Miria wouldn’t pay for the consequences of his actions. Ming shook her head as all attention turned to her. “Only esteemed paragons of the empire and the person above them can give them orders,” she said meaningfully as Tunde felt a chill pass through the room.

  It felt like the large hall was closing in on him at the meaning of her words. Not a Highlord, not even a master, but a paragon and above. Which meant their orders came from the imperial clan itself. “So this is not about me?” he asked, unsure if he should feel happy or sad for once in his life.

  “Sadly no, it was about that crystal,” Wren replied as Tunde swallowed nervously.

  “And you’re sure she’s safe?” he asked. Lady Ming handed him a communication construct, an inky black flat and circular device that fit within the palm of his hand.

  “A recording from her, you can view it in private,” she said as Tunde nodded silently.

  He took a deep shuddering breath, Elder Wren patting his hand. “What else did I miss?” he asked.

  “Best you let the Highlord inform you. We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting longer than usual,” Wren said as he glanced above.

  Tunde nodded, getting up along with Giselle as he tucked the construct into the folds of his robes, bowing slightly to them. He felt his mask of calmness cover his face, saying nothing as he moved in silence towards the next floor, heading higher to the abode of a Highlord and a master.